#but this turned out long enough on its own

[mywritersmind]

ALL’S FAIR IN LOVE AND WAR - LN4

↳ pt.1

summary : Its the vacation of your dreams! With your best friends, rich men, live music, and flowing drinks, nothing can ruin it. Even if a certain Formula 1 driver (who seems to have an affinity for annoying you) is there every step of the sandy way.

listen up : suggestive themes! swearing! ‘enemies’ to lovers. probably my last sunny vacation fic for a while! get ready for winter fics!! cmt if you want a pt. 2 <3

word count : 4570

⋆｡‧˚⋆

“Y/n!” Kika throws a pillow onto me. I groan in response, pulling the blanket over my head, “Get up! Get up! We’re leaving in thirty!”

I fall off the bed and start my rushed process of getting ready, we’re in Marmaris, Turkey for a little holiday. A holiday that I've been promised is for friends, yet every friend I have is with a man.

Kika, Alex, Rebecca, and Lily promised they would act like single ladies with me! That’s clearly not true because of the love they have for their boyfriends and how those same men never leave their sides.

The only other addition is someone I don’t want to talk about. Someone who’s a pain in my ass and the construction to my headache.

I’m instantly in a better mood when my friends and I start taking photos and making tik toks. I’m in a light blue dress and sandals, my skin is practically yearning to be tan but that will start tomorrow.

I have my own hotel room which I intend to spend no time in unless I'm hooking up with a hot turkish man. Lily holds my hand as we start walking. The guys said they would meet us there and I’ll never not treasure time with my girls.

The sun has already set but the sky is still a dark blue and orange. Lily squeals next to me, she’s in the cutest white mini dress, “I can’t believe we’re here!”

Kika laughs in a long yellow dress, “The trip literally made it out of the group chat!”

I eye them, “More like it was infiltrated by another groups chat!” Alex laughs and puts her hand on my arm.

“I promise it’ll be fun. I know you’re a little sad but we’ll find you someone!”

“It’s not even that- I just want to be with you guys.” They all seem a bit sad about it. It’s not like I don’t like their boyfriends, I consider them my friends too! It’s just that I was really looking forward to some much needed girl time.

“You are with us!” Alexandra frowns.

Lily swings are hands, “You’re with us and five other idiots who have money!”

This makes me laugh as we make it to the restaurant. It’s beautiful, part of the hotel, and looking right over the water.

The guys are already sitting. Charles, Pierre, Alex, Carlos all smile at me, kissing their girls as we sit. There is one missing, though. It’s hard to ignore but I'm definitely not complaining.

Drinks are ordered and our thoughts about the hotel is passed around. I became friends with this group through Lily, we grew up together and when Alex suggested I should come to a grand prix, I was hooked.

The other girls took to me immediately and were so excited to have another friend that they actually like. I don’t travel as much as them, but I do see them often enough.

We haven’t gotten together in a group like this though in forever!

I sip on my cocktail and talk to Carlos as his eyes stray past me. I turn to look at what he’s distracted by and have to fight the urge to roll my eyes.

You know those people who just really piss you off? The type that just irks you even though you’ve tried to hear your friends out?

That is how I feel about Lando Norris.

He strolls up to our table as if he isn’t late. He’s in blue jeans and a white button down that’s definitely not buttoned enough. His hair is messy and looks like he just woke up, “Hey.” Is all he says before plopping down next to Carlos and sipping his water.

Rebecca already sends me a look that screams, ‘Leave it.’ So I do, I order my food and talk to my friends while avoiding the man two seats down from me.

It’s not just that Lando bugs me, It’s that he’s repeatedly cocky and flat out annoying. He teases me any chance he gets and it never fails to ruin my day. He knows it too.

“What’s the plan for tomorrow?” Pierre asks as he puts his arm around Kikas chair, everyone’s food is nearly gone and I'm more than ready to climb into my plushy hotel bed.

Alex holds Lily’s hand, “Beach, explore, eat? That’s also my plan for every day of our trip.”

Charles nods, “My buddy has a boat out here that he said we can borrow one day.”

I smile and lean my head on Kika’s shoulder, “I'll be anywhere you guys go, with a book and an apple.”

“You still into that?” His voice already pisses me off. I look at Lando who’s staring at me, “Reading.”

I blink. “Are you still into being illiterate?”

Charles covers his laugh with a cough as Alexandra shakes her head, “Hey! You two need to keep it civil this trip.”

Carlos eyes Lando pointedly as he groans, “Why? I didn’t even do anything! The witch said I was illiterate!”

I sit up straighter immediately, leaning over Carlos as my friends talk in a haze around me, “You really wanna see a witch, Norris, I’ll fucking show you!”

“The worst thing you could do to me is throw sand in my face!” I groan as he rolls his eyes and Kika pulls me back into my seat.

“This is what we’re talking about!” When she whispers is when I realize the people dining around us are staring.

“It’s one week!” Pierre shakes his head, “One week of peace!”

I don’t dare look at Lando, my arms crossed.

He gives in peace, “I won’t start anything if she won’t.”

“Perfect, I'll have a great trip of silence.” Fine by me. I can ignore him for a week, easy.

Lily and Rebecca exchange looks as Lando speaks again, “It’ll be nice not hearing your-” Carlos slaps his arm and he shuts up.

I sigh in my seat, this is going to be an interesting week.

⋆༺

I start off my first full day with breakfast. I’m up early and decided to make the most of it by enjoying my food with a beach view.

I grin when I see that there’s two pieces of bacon left, grabbing them swiftly and plopping it onto my plate just when someone goes to reach for it.

I look up to see Lando. He’s sweaty and in running clothes, looking at me annoyed per usual, “Seriously? Who takes the last two pieces?”

I raise a brow, “Me. You literally just saw me do it.”

He gives me a bored expression, “Didn’t you ever get taught manners?”

“I got taught how to get what I want.” I bite into the piece of bacon just to watch him flinch. “Weren’t you taught that it’s not nice to be insufferable?”

“Can’t you share? It’s one piece.” I take another bite, pretending to think.

“Hm… No!”

“We’re supposed to be civil. Friends even!” He steps closer, “I know you would give the piece to Lily.”

“You’re too greedy.” I finish the first piece of bacon and start to walk away. He scoffs and follows me.

“Me!? Greedy?” He scoffs, plate still in hand. I eye it, it’s mostly empty except for a nutella crepe, “You know what- never mind.”

I nod, “Great job being civil, Norris. I’m so proud of you and you for giving up.”

He does not find this funny, “I can’t stand you.”

“Then sit.” His eyes narrow at my words.

“Fuck it, Free will!” and with that, he grabs the piece of bacon off my plate and runs!

“Norris!” I yell after him but when he turns, he’s smiling with a mouth full of bacon. “Dickhead.” I mumble to myself and continue getting my food.

⋆༺

I’m warm, I'm tipsy, and I'm listening to live music. I don’t think life could get any better. I sit up on my beachside chair, lifting my sunglasses to see Lily, Alex, Charles, and Alexandra playing chicken in the water.

Kika stirs next to me, she was asleep on her stomach but slowly sits up when she hears our friends laughing.

I watch Lando and Pierre floating and Carlos swimming towards them. Rebecca went to get drinks so that just leaves Kika and I.

“How’s the whole ‘civil’ thing going?” She’s in an orange bikini that makes her look unfairly tan.

I shrug, “Bad? I just can’t imagine talking to him normally. We always fight.” I sip my drink, the glass coats my hand in condensation but it cools me down.

“Maybe you should just fuck.” I choke on my drink. She doesn’t even attempt to hide her laugh, “Sorry, Sorry!”

“Kika!” I slow my breathing, “Why would you say that!?”

“It makes sense! You’ve got a lot of pent up energy… I’m just saying!” I shake my head, pulling my sunglasses back on and laying down again. “I know you’re attracted to him.”

I pray that she thinks my cheeks are red from the sun, and not from her words. “I am not.”

“You can't lie to me!” She laughs, “It’s not a bad thing, Y/n. You both just need to shut up for two seconds and get eachother shirtless.” Lily walks up right as she says that.

She plops down onto the sand, “Whatever this is about- I agree!”

“She’s trying to get me to- Nope! I’m not even going to say it!” I can’t have that manifestation in my life.

“I think she should hook up with Lando.”

“Completely agree. Just make it quick.”

“If he’s with her, he’s gonna be quick.” Kika jokes and I actually laugh at that one.

“Okay enough! I’m not taking any advice from you two!” I stand, pulling my hair tie out of my hair and starting down the beach.

“Think about it!” Lily yells as I flip her off.

Now all I can think about is hooking up with him. I mean, I hate the dude, but I’m not blind.

Lando is fucking fit. But it’s hard for me to see past his assholeness. So the probability that i’m going to fuck him, is slim. Very slim. Like ZERO.

Just as I'm off in my Lando Norris shirtless world, a shirtless Lando Norris walks up to me. He’s exiting the ocean, pushing his wet curls back as he laughs with Carlos.

I look away as soon as I get a glimpse of his torso. The cool water feels great on my legs as I walk in the ocean. I sink down and dunk my head, opening my eyes underwater, I see the tiny fish and shells.

I reach down and grab a handful of sand, when I get air again, Carlos and Lando are next to me. I push the sand off my hand to reveal some shells and a tiny crab, “Aw!” I smile at it, showing it to the boys.

Carlos raises his brows, “Looks harmful.”

“Harmful?” I glance at him, “He’s a baby!” I hold it closer to him and he backs away like it’s going to jump on him.

I turn to Lando and do the same, he backs away as well, “Pussy.” I say it to his face and he clearly takes it as a challenge.

He holds his hand out and snatches the crab right from my hand, “Are you just a thief by nature?”

He gives me a look before bringing his hand closer to his face to examine the sea creature. I step closer to see it, “It’s adorable.”

“It’s a crab.”

“Thank you, Norris, for your insightful words of wisdom.” I go to take it back from him but he jumps and throws his hand down.

I let out a huge laugh when I realized it’s holding onto his thumb, “Shit! Ow!”

I keep laughing as Lando panics, swinging his hand around to try to get it off. Carlos is long gone by now, not amused by his friends' antics.

The crab finally unclips itself from Lando and he looks like he was just betrayed. I grin, “Maybe I am a witch!”

He looks me up and down, holding his hand and thinking. “If you call me a bitch that crab won’t be the worst thing that hurts you today.”

And then something weird happens.

He smiles.

He just smiles and walks away.

⋆༺

LANDO

Marmaris is stunning. The water is clear and besides me getting bitten, I'm having a great time. We end up going into town to get lunch and I'm faced with the issue of Y/n’s ass in my face as we walk up what feels like a million stairs.

I really feel like she’s doing this on purpose but I could be thinking that to just make myself feel better about checking her out.

She’s in tiny low waisted jean shorts. I can see her bikini bottoms peeking out from the sides. Her top is a crocheted cover up so her sliver of a bathing suit is still on display.

Carlos pushes my back when I slow down on the steps, I turn around to swear at him but he’s giving me an all knowing look so I close my mouth.

After what feels like hours of staring at Y/n’s backside, we make it to the lunch place. It’s hidden quite far up and we all get cramped into the room with a huge window and a view of lemon trees.

With our stupidly coupled up group, I'm forced to sit with Y/n. She’s across from me, sipping on her water and leaning on the table with her arms crossed.

When she notices I'm staring at her, she glares at me. I can tell she’s about to say something snappy, but eyes our friends and shuts her mouth.

As much as she pissed me off, I find it fun to annoy her. I like the way her cheeks heat and how her lips press together, but I would never admit that to her.

“Did you go for a run this morning?” Carlos asks me while shoveling food into his mouth.

“Yeah and the gym- it’s nice.”

“And quiet?” I nod, knowing what he means. Five Formula 1 drivers on vacation together is pretty hard to miss. But besides a stare or two, no one has said anything to us.

Lily claps her hands together, “Who wants to go golfing with me on wed-”

Y/n groans, putting her head in her hands, “No!” Kika looks horrified at the suggestion as well.

“Yes!” Carlos and I say at the same time. Lily has been a great addition to our golfing group and by far the best out of the three of us.

Rebecca laughs, “I’m with Y/n on this one. I’m feeling… spa?” This immediately perks Y/n up.

“That sounds perfect!” Alex smiles, “Girls day! Minus Lily because she’s actually good at a sport.”

Charles eyes us all, “I wanna go to the spa. I hate golfing.”

⋆༺

YOU

When Rebecca suggested we take a cooking class, I thought it was a great idea! I’m not the best cook so why not learn something? I had a bad feeling as soon as we entered and the room was decorated with hearts.

“Welcome! Welcome!” A man ushers us in along with two other groups. The room is large with one wall completely open and facing the beach. “Everybody get a table and we shall begin!”

“I knew I missed something on the website…” Alex cringes as we stare at the tables set for two, “Sorry? Lando, careful with Y/n and knives!”

A couples cooking class!? You’ve got to be kidding. I look at Lando the same time he turns to me, “Well, love… Let me handle the sharp things. I value my life.”

This is going to be the longest hour ever.

“My lovely people in love!” The man is short, with gray hair and the biggest smile I've seen in a while, “My name is Ali and today we begin making the dough for Kemal Pasha!” Apparently the kind we’re making is sweet balls of dough with a very delicious sounding syrup.

I’m standing next to Lando who’s struggling with his apron. They have huge heart pockets and his is bright green. As fun as it is to see him struggle, I want to start cooking soon.

“Give me that.” I swat his hands away and step behind him, taking the pieces of fabric and tying a knot.

“Thank you, Sweetness.” I suspect that this teasing won’t end soon, considering the man teaching the class asked everyone what their names were and put a name tag on each table of the couples ‘ship’ name.

I tie it tight and he flinches, “Hey my girl is trying to kill me!” I roll my eyes and loosen the bow, listening to the man and thanking the woman who’s walking around to make sure everything is correct.

I pour in all the ingredients and Lando starts stirring. I look around at all the couples, they’re doing everything together while looking all lovey dovey.

It makes me miss my ex. Which is weird because we barely acted like this alone. But still, seeing Alex and Lily laugh with flour already on their faces makes me sad.

“Angel!” Lando calls for me again as I put my hand on my hip. He has his hand out that’s covered in white powder, “C’mere!”

“No!” I back up but he’s already pulling me in and squeezing my face. I frown, my face squished between his hand as he laughs. I can feel the flour covering my face. I put on a slow smile when he drops his hand, “Aw, love bug!”

Nothing about my tone is loving and I can tell he’s not excited by the way his face drops. “Now darling…” He backs away as I pour some of the flour from the container into my hand, “I told you i’ll let you lick food off of me later, not here!”

I scoff at his audacity and throw the flour right into his face. When he opens his eyes, I slap my hands over my mouth. His whole face is white and when he breathes out, some comes out of his mouth.

I hold back a laugh as he stares at me, along with the rest of the room, “Oh baby… you’ve got a little.” I motion to his whole face, “Just a little something right there.”

“Er…” The man blinks at us, “True love comes in many forms!” He laughs uncomfortably as we get back to mixing our dough.

“That was not a fair move, Love.” Lando whispers to me as I knead the dough between my hands. His face is wiped off but the flour still resides a bit in his hair and cheeks.

“All's fair in love and war.” I say sweetly.

“Alright ladies, If your man isn’t helping you with his big strong muscles…” Ali eyes us, “Remind them who you are! Men, help your women!”

I turn back at Lando, looking up at the driver, “Do you need reminding?”

He just bites his lip and turns me back around, his hands on my waist. That, I did not expect. My hands go back to the dough in the bowl and his arms move into view, copying the other couples and massaging the treat with me.

I swallow and eye the veins in his arms that go all the way to his hands. His very big hands. The same hands that softly reach over mine.

His touch is surprisingly gentle as he matches my movements. I try to not think about how close he is to me, and focus on the dough but fuck that because I can feel him behind me.

I move back a bit unconsciously and his hand goes to waist to stop me, “Do you need reminding?” His voice is deep in my ear and I fight the urge to roll my eyes even though I know my cheeks are hot.

I thank god when Ali says we will be moving onto rolling the dough into little balls.

I swiftly move away from Lando and don’t dare look at Alex or Kika who I know is looking at us. I start rolling the dough in between my hands.

Lando glances at me, his balls sort of uneven and too small, “Your balls are ugly.” Lando chokes on air and whips his head around to look at me.

“Excuse me?” I roll my eyes at his suggestive tone and show him one of mine, “Ah so you’re a ball expert? Working from experience?”

He’s so childish it makes me want to throw one of these at him. Sadly, I'm not above acting suggestively, “Never worked with any so small.” I shrug as he stares at me. That shuts him up really quick as we place them on a round baking sheet.

We take a short break while they bake and I venture outside, looking over the balcony to the sea far below us.

My skin feels rejuvenated by the sun, I’m tanner and I swear the air is just different here. Alex appears next to me, he looks quite happy, “Having fun?”

I shrug and realize that I actually have been. “Uh… yeah.”

“You know, I think everyone else thinks you’re a real couple. It’s cute.” I gape at him. Is Alexander Albon betraying me right now?

“It is not cute. He’s bullying me.” He just snorts.

“Sure…”

I frown when Ali calls us back in. Lando and I are mostly quiet while stirring our syrup. As it boils, he nudges me. I look up to see him watching another couple.

They’re practically making out and feeling eachother up. I let out a laugh that his eyes widened at, “You’re so not inconspicuous.” He whispers, leaning down a bit.

“They are definitely not paying any attention to me…” They’re so wrapped up in each other that they don’t even notice when Ali turns their mini stove top off so their sauce doesn’t burn.

He looks down at me one last time, sending me a tiny smile. I think it’s the first time I'm genuinely attracted to him when his shirt is still on. Shit.

⋆༺

LANDO

Besides Y/n trying to kill me with the dessert we made, we were civil throughout the rest of the class. We get to take home a small box which leaves everyone in a good mood.

“Here, pretty, I don’t think I can eat that without feeling sick.” I don’t mean to call her that, but I just say what comes to my mind. I hand her the box and takes it without any change of expression.

I’m ready to leave but Ali claps his hands together one more time, “My lovebirds!” Y/n gives me a look that I laugh at, “One more gift for a very special couple of… well, couples!”

He pulls out three pieces of paper. Handing one to the couple that was making out he says, “Most affectionate!”

Then he turns to Pierre and Kila and hands them one, “Best dessert!” I realize these papers are some typos of superlatives.

I think he’s going to go to Charles and Alexandra, but he turns to Y/n and I. A big grin on his face, he hands me a paper. I read it before he says it and my eyes widen, “The most authentic love!” I don’t look at her, I can’t.

“I hope one day you all come back!” And with that, we’re ushered back and stripped of our aprons.

Y/n is already walking down the marble steps with Lily and Rebecca next to her. Carlos just shakes his head and slaps his hand on my shoulder, “Man… Congratulations!”

I eye him as Alex laughs, “I’m framing that!”

⋆༺

YOU

Six hours later, i’m in a tiny white dress, my hair curled and makeup done, and on my way with Rebecca and Alex to a club.

Everyone’s already left but Alex took extra long to slick back her hair. “So!” Rebecca grins as we walk past the beach, “Plan for tonight? Hook up with a local? Make out on the beach?”

I laugh at her enthusiasm, “I’ll see where the night and vodka takes me! I really just need a hot dance partner and a good drink.”

And that’s exactly what I get. I get my drink and well.. many hot dance partners! My friends and I scream the lyrics of the songs we know, holding hands and jumping around.

The club is part of the resort we’re staying at. It’s half on the beach and half in the beach bar that has a 24 hour drink service. I laugh at the guys who are awkwardly waiting for their girls to join them again.

“Okay, go, go!” They leave me at the bar and as soon as they’re gone, a man approaches me.

He’s very tall and very blonde, “Hi.” he’s got an accent but I can’t tell from where, “I couldn’t help but notice you dancing…” I listen to the same line that a hundred guys have fed me before. “Could I buy you a drink?”

Now this is what I like! Ten minutes later I'm dancing with him and a vodka lemonade. His hands are on my waist as I laugh.

He’s hot against me, his hair sweaty and salty. His name is Leon and he really likes my dress. I have a feeling he would like me without it too.

“Are you staying at the hotel?” He asks, screaming in my ear.

I nod, “Are you?”

“I’m staying in town with a friend!” I nod and sip my drink as he talks, “Do you know him?” I frown at his words, turning to see who he’s talking about.

I roll my eyes at Lando who’s standing with a pretty girl but staring at me. I turn back to Leon, “No!”

He looks like this annoys him, “Well i’m not surprised! You’re hot!” I nod as the music continues and keep dancing with him.

He turns me around so he’s staring at my ass instead of my face. But I just slip my fingers into my hair and keep dancing. I open my eyes to see Lando again. The girl is still talking but he’s still staring at me.

I run my middle finger around the rim of my glass, the sugar lifting onto my skin. His expression stays dark and focused on me as his hand goes to his jeans pocket. I lift my finger to lips, licking off the sugar without breaking eye contact.

He brings his drink to his lips and that’s when I realize I've had a bit too much to drink because he looks too damn hot.

He’s in a light blue shirt, his silver rings and LN4 necklace sat on his skin like it belongs there. His hair is damp with I don’t know with what… sweat, water, or the air, I don’t care. His jaw ticks at Leon’s hand moves from my waist to my stomach, my head dropping back on his shoulder, and spinning back around.

He kisses me, it’s messy and drunken but I don’t care. It’s only when he whispers, “Let’s get out of here.” When I'm massively turned off.

I end up back with my friends, Lando nowhere in sight and a smile on my face as we sit at the bar and drink.

[homosexualmorelikehomiesexual]

i was homeschooled by a neo nazi. the sheer amount of damage it did to my psyche as a queer child in that environment is something im still grappling with to this day. and thats to say nothing about having my education, health, and emotional wellbeing neglected. i had to fucking laugh in 2020 when people were crying about not leaving the house for a single month, when i had been kept housebound since i was 6 years old. i cant describe the indignity of watching people finally recognize what id been saying for years, which is that remote learning was not only useless as an education method but fundamentally damaging to the students mental health, and then not ONCE think to check up on kids who'd already been homeschooled. not once.

because nobody gives a flying shit about the actual voices of homeschooled kids, least of all the parents that subject them to it. and thats not to say those parents dont care, or arent attached - quite the opposite. remember, we're talking about the kind of abuse that seeks to keep the victims closer, not further away. its just that the pressure to cover for that abuse is placed directly on these childrens shoulders. i know, because i lived it. we are expected to present ourselves to the public as prodigies, partly to sell people on the idea of homeschooling but mainly to ward off social services. and if we fail to do that, which we largely do, we are kept out of the public eye our entire childhoods.

and thats assuming it ends with the onset of adulthood. if we're lucky enough to have parents willing to let us go at all, that isolation and lack of worldly experience leaves us with no resources, no networks, no support systems, no basic survival skills. do you know the difference between debit and credit? what health insurance is, who pays for it, how to find a provider? who taught you to drive? do you know what the dmv is? what social security is, or where to find your birth certificate? do you know how to use a crosswalk? if you arent homeschooled, you do not realize how much knowledge you have that you take for granted. the level of dependance it creates on the abuser is terrifying. im 21, i didnt move out till 6 months ago. most people assume i took an extended gap year. the truth is i was psychotic from isolation trauma, rapidly developing stockholm syndrome, and had no resources to leave after i turned 18 even though i desparately wanted to. if i hadnt been lucky enough to have other family members to rescue me, i would probably not be alive today.

and despite how damning the evidence is that this is a terrible byproduct of multiple systems that long since shouldve been fixed, despite all the hubub about protecting children in this stupid, stupid fucking country, there is ZERO public interest in acknowledgeing our existence outside of using us as a talking point to snub rural america. a talking point, and nothing more. nobody actually cares to change those red states, they just want someone to blame. so when we do speak up, we get tuned out. because it turns out nobody actually wants to hear about the medical neglect, or the cults, or the grooming, or the domestic violence, let alone do anything about it. (besides vaguely gesturing to things like...calling CPS on our own parents, once again placing the pressure on the victims to rescue ourselves, when weve often been taught to fear those institutions since the onset of our abuse.)

if you think im exaggerating, go read through r/homeschoolrecovery. thats just the kids whove managed to get internet, most of whom profess terror at facing further abuse if their parents find out. look at your phone. look at your computer. every single device you own has the ability to set parental controls. i dont know the exact numbers of the silent majority of homeschooled children without access to the internet, but considering the main demographic who chooses homeschooling is white supremacist christian fundie cults, who really fucking love having numbers of white babies that exceed the double digits, id be confident in wagering its a lot. so you wanna know why over half the states in the country are red? fucking start there.

because theres a *reason* isolation is a cult tactic. its why im such an advocate for libraries, unpaywalled and un age restricted internet, and actually putting money into rural infrastructure - ESPECIALLY internet networks and public transit. because while the american public education system remains the stinking garbage fire it is, people are gonna keep choosing to take matters into their own hands. and under this presidency, it is going to get worse. there is no point bashing the parents for it, because it just convinces them further that the left has an agenda to systemically brainwash their kids or whatever. so please, for the love of god, make sure that even in the worst case scenarios where they have complete control over their children, those kids arent completely cut off from the world.

Anyway enough lame gifted kid discourse we are in our 20s. Let's talk about how homeschooling in america should be fucking illegal it's insane lol

[mindmelter]

Up To The Brain Floor

As a security officer at a high-end hotel, I spent most of my time sitting in the control room, eyes on the security monitors. The job seemed straightforward, but I had a secret duty too. My employers, so to speak, were an alien species in search of human hosts—and I was there to help them find the perfect bodies.

Like right now, I watched this hot tattooed hunk walk in the elevator, the man was stunningly hot.

The aliens were kind enough to let me pick the host bodies based on my judgment, and this hunk was just perfect host material. I smirked as I pressed a key on the keyboard.

The man didn't notice, but a small hatch opened on the lower part of the wall of the elevator, and a small alien slime crawled out of it. The hunk continued waiting, assuming he was on his way to the parking lot. But the elevator wasn’t going anywhere—I’d frozen it mid-floor the moment he stepped inside.

I would only make the elevator work again once the alien had done his job. I unzipped my pants and fished out my cock, I just love this part so much, I thought as I stroked my hard cock. I spotted the slime crawling on the man's shoulder, and then it jumped straight into his ear.

The man flinched, instinctively jabbing a finger into his ear, but it was too late. The creature was already worming its way to his brain.

His body suddenly jerked, slamming against the elevator walls as he struggled to remain standing. He threw his head back, his eyes were rolled back and his face twisted in a silent scream. My own breathing quickened, my hand moving faster on my shaft as I watched the scene, it was like watching porn to me. The man fell to the floor, convulsing as the alien took control.

After several minutes, the man slowly began to rise, as if testing his own limbs. He turned to the mirror, lifting his shirt to reveal those hard abs and massive pecs, running a hand over them like he was seeing himself for the very first time.

Then, he looked straight into the security camera, locking eyes with me through the screen. The corner of his mouth turned up in a grin. He suddenly tugged his waistband down, just enough to free his impressive cock, smirking at the camera as he gave his shaft a few strokes.

With one nod, he signaled he was ready. I pressed a button, and the elevator started working again. I watched the hunk put his cock back into his pants and fix his hair in the mirror. The door finally opened, and he stepped out as if nothing had happened.

I was the only person who knew the truth. I knew he wasn't the same man who had entered that elevator. That man was long gone and an alien was now in control, and I had the video of the moment it happened saved on my computer.

I looked down at my hands and saw they were covered in cum. For that occasion, I already had a tissue box on the table. After cleaning my hand, I titled the footage "The Tatted Hunk" and added it to a folder filled with other videos.

Alongside it, I had "The Jersey-Bound Jock," "The Fresh-Faced Gym Rat," "The Burly Man With A Beard," and "The Blond Stud In A Suit" Each one showed the exact moment they ceased to be human to become a host, and now, I had "The Tatted Hunk" added to my collection.

I just can't wait for the next hunk to walk into the elevator.

[loganhowlettshousewife]

request for a logan x reader where logan comforts the reader after they come home from a mission all bloodied up? i see a lot of reader comforting logan fics but im curious to see how itd be the other way round :)

me? responding to a request like three weeks later? it's more likely than you think. also sorry it's so short. originally it turned into smut but i didn't know if you'd want that given the request was for hurt/comfort. (if you guys want i can publish the alternate smut version of this fic too).

solace

summary: you come home from a mission gone wrong and logan helps you through it.

warnings: death (offscreen), blood, non-sexual intimacy, nudity, reader has hair, pet names (logan canonically calls his love interests "darlin'" and this is me pushing that agenda), english is not my first language so please do not be rude

word count: 1004

you’re splattered in blood and grime, grey ash streaking your skin from the fire created by a little boy lashing out at the world. he had set his own house on fire, his parents dying in the most brutal of ways, burned alive.

“oh princess, c’mere,” logan pulls you into his arms. you’re in too much shock to argue, letting him manoeuvre you like a doll.

you don’t like going on missions, don’t like hurting people. you’re only ever sent on the easy ones, the non-violent ones, where you try to convince mutant kids to join the school. you’re good at talking to children, at getting them to admit their fears to you, at soothing their worries. but even the easy missions don’t always go well.

charles could sense that this particular child was powerful, and far worse than that, he was angry. he’d lashed out when he’d seen you, screamed in anger when his parents expressed a desire for him to go to xavier’s school, to learn to control himself before he came back home again. his parents were frightened too, scared of what might happen if things continued the way they were.

they’d all died in the explosion of his power.

he was so scared. he never meant to hurt anyone, you could see it in his eyes when the fire continued to burn despite him letting go. it was out of control, no longer a part of him that he could control like an extra limb, but something with a mind of its own.

it reminds you of yourself when you’d first discovered your abilities, scared and alienated from the rest of the world, from the non-mutants around you. you see yourself in every kid you save, and in every kid you lose.

you stay in logan’s arms for a long while, the only sound in the room his steady breathing contrasting with your ragged, choked out sobs. his chest rises steadily against yours, a rhythm that you try to imitate but you can’t, and with every failed inhale you feel your frustration grow, your panic increase.

he picks you up easily, and you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist, clutching onto him so as not to fall. he would never drop you, you know that, but it’s always a slight surprise when you’re not expecting him to lift you from the ground.

he leads you to the bathroom where he helps you strip out of your clothes, so gentle with your shaking form. his hands trace each new sliver of skin revealed to him, keeping a firm pressure on you always, grounding you, reminding you of where you are. not in a burning house watching a child’s corpse go pitch black from the flames, but in the house that logan bought the two of you, not too far from the school but enough to give the two of you privacy.

in the shower, the blood rinses off your skin, pink rivulets swirling down the drain. yet you can still feel it, thick and sticky and warm. you want to scrub at your skin until its red and blistering, until you have to grow a new layer of skin, a fresh one that hasn’t been touched by death.

logan doesn’t let you. he catches your hand and whispers, “let me take care of you, darlin’.”

you lean into his bare chest and he massages shampoo into the roots of your hair, over your scalp until it foams, and then rinses it away. he runs your conditioner - the one he always claims is too expensive and why would you spend so much on hair products - through your hair, tugging gently at the strands when he notices you disappearing into your mind.

afterwards he pats you dry, and kisses every inch of your skin, reverent, on his knees before you. and then he rises to his feet and finally presses his lips to yours, soft and intimate, not rushed or heated, just reassurance that he’s here, he’s got you, and he’s not going anywhere.

“do you want to talk about it?” he asks eventually.

you shake your head, “he was just a kid.”

“i know,” logan says, rubbing his large, rough hands over your arms, up and down, “but it’s not your fault, you know that. you can’t control what other people do. d’you blame storm for what happened?”

“no!” you exclaim, eyes wide at the implication that one of your best friends could have caused the boys death.

“but she was on the mission with you,” logan comments, and you shake your head, “if you don’t blame her, you can’t blame yourself. neither of you knew, you couldn’t’ve stopped it.”

“maybe,” you say. you don’t really believe it, but logan knows it’ll take you time to get back to your usual happy self, and he’s fine with staying by your side, whispering praise and reassurance until you start to believe him again.

afterwards, he puts on your favourite movie. he spends the whole time making fun of the characters and their decisions, grumbling about how movies will base their entire plot progression on actions no real, rational person would ever do, until you giggle wetly and slap him in the arm, telling him to shut up and let you watch the film.

you lean back into the circle of his arms and he holds you tight, occasionally wiping stray tears that run down your cheeks. there’s less tension in your muscles now, but you’re not quite relaxed, so he shuffles the two of you around until he can massage your shoulders and back.

you moan at the feeling, sinking into the sensation of his large hands working at the knots, until you’re putty for him. you feel warm and fuzzy by the time his hands start to stray down, massaging your thighs.

“feelin’ better?” he asks as the end credits roll, pressing a kiss to your hair.

“yeah,” you sigh, “thank you for taking care of me.”

[shalotttower]

Will-o'-the-wisp

Title: Will-o'-the-wisp

Fandom: Hunter x Hunter

Characters: Chrollo Lucilfer x Reader (female)

Summary: Reader encouters fae!Chrollo and breaks some rules along the way.

Word count: 1700+

Notes: yandere!Chrollo, fae!Chrollo, abduction, manipulation, AU, modern setting with fae, Chrollo is charming af and a bit creepy as usual, Reader is doomed long before they know it and slightly depressed

You walk home the same way every day, like many people do. There's comfort in routines. Comfort and security which you crave. The familiar routes, the repetitive programs on TV and the books you've read a million times. You like to know what happens next and hate surprises.

The fourteen-year-old you wouldn't approve.

Maybe even express a little pity, because she always thought you two were destined for an adventure, like in fantasy books you used to devour one after another. Every free second was spent reading or dreaming, but life went on and adventures didn't happen. The girl grew older, a lot more careful and a lot less hopeful.

When you finish work, it's usually around six. Your adult self is practical and prefers to save money on the bus, besides, every other time you take it, you end up having to stand, squeezed between people. It's not worth the frustration; a fifteen minute walk isn't that long and the crime rate in the area is low.

There's a small grove nearby that nobody has bothered to turn into a park. The residents made their own paths in time, put a few signs so the joggers wouldn't get lost, but that's it. Once or twice a month you stroll through there, picking up trash left on the side. People make you want to move to the woods altogether sometimes.

That's how the day starts or ends — with crossing a bridge which connects the grove to your neighbourhood.

And this is where you see him for the first time.

The man looks so out of place among the rustic wooden railings and rushing water below. Nobody wears this kind of clothes here. Expensive and elegant, something that blends well in a big city. They don't stare at passersby like he does either. You hate when people do that ─ block already narrow spaces by just stopping midway. Or groups who spread across the entire sidewalk.

"Excuse me," you say politely. Polite is good. Polite can be used as a shield and always makes you look better than you are. "I need to pass."

He smiles, then moves aside. "Of course."

His face is exactly what you imagine when thinking of pleasant: beautiful grey eyes with long lashes, pointed chin and a strange mix of delicate and sharp edges.

"Thank you."

The smile widens. "You're welcome."

---

It's time to accept that you've grown into an average person with a simple desire to live in comfort. Dreaming isn't your strength anymore, the last book you picked up was several years ago. Movies bore you fifteen minutes in, even if everybody else praises them; the idea of a relationship seems exhausting.

You do enjoy gardening.

Growing tomatoes is a far cry from distant fictional lands, but they taste nice with a pinch of salt.

The condo you live in doesn't have enough space and light, so you chose a small patch of ground in the grove to start a garden. A few tomato plants and some herbs like chives and basil. It might be illegal, yet nobody has come to yell at you. Most people don't pay attention to what's happening here, as long as you don't damage the trees or leave trash.

You water and prune, weed, add fertilizer if needed. There're some flowers too; mother told you that marigolds scare pests away from veggies and keep the soil healthy. They're pretty, little orange spots.

---

You find a crystal at you patch. Azure would be too bland to describe its color ─ maybe more like a mix of cerulean and moon stone. It's round in shape, polished so nicely that the outlines of your face are reflected in the surface. Did a magpie bring it? Or a kid? The thought of someone poking around your garden makes you frown. You hope they didn't step on your basil.

The stone is heavy and cool. You turn it around, entranced, before stuffing it into the pocket of your jeans. Maybe you can ask the neighbours' kids about it later.

"Would you look at that," you mutter and bend to inspect a tomato plant. Two green fruit, each no bigger than your knuckle, hang there, sprouted over the weekend. "Hello, my pretties."

---

You lie in bed, staring at the ceiling. It's past 1 AM, you should sleep; instead, you keep twisting the stone in the moonlight.

You asked kids from around here, but nobody claimed it.

Maybe it's a lucky charm, you've had a wonderful day. Got a call from your cousin in the morning, she has't contacted you in a long while and it was nice to catch up. After lunch, the resource manager praised your work, then an elderly lady from the store complimented your cardigan.

At a certain angle, the stone seems almost glowing. A summer night sky condensed into a tiny orb. Your fingers trace its smooth surface without much thought until eventually it drops onto the pillow by your side.

You don't notice when exactly you fall asleep.

It's the strangest dream you've ever seen.

Gone is the condo building with its stuffy kitchenette and old pipes that constantly rumble. Instead, you feel damp grass underneath your feet. Wind brushes through the hem of your nightdress, carrying the scents of rain and moss. So many shades of black and raven blue swirl together that you barely recognize a signpost nearby. It's the grove, but you've never seen it like this, as dark as it can be only at night.

It's uncomfortable to stand barefoot, with a chill creeping up your legs.

After a while your fingers touch the rough bark of a nearby tree to get a sense of direction, and you start walking, because there isn't anything else to do.

There's the bridge, you think. If you just get to the bridge, the rest will be simple.

You're walking there, or that's what you think when a small ball of light appears right before your nose.

Fireflies don't glow blue. It doesn't falter, doesn't flicker, coming up closer then farther like a pendulum. There's something uncanny and fragile about it. For a second you forget everything and stand mesmerized, until it starts moving.

Through the trees, past the branches, onwards.

It's more instinctual than anything ─ you don't want to be left here alone again, so you follow. Light is good, darkness isn't. The ground becomes more uneven as you go, the grass changes to moss, but you can barely register anything at this point apart from that lonely glow. It halts at times as if making sure you're keeping up.

Is that a clearing ahead? Your eyes hurt from trying to focus.

The blue dot continues to float, never speeding up, never falling behind.

Then it disappears.

No. Not disappears ─ settles on the tip of a pale finger.

There's your tomato patch, your plants, the empty box that you forgot to take back to the condo.

But it's impossible.

Your garden should be not very far from the border, yet it feels like you've walked through half of the grove by now.

Why is he here?

"It took you a while," he says, the stranger from the bridge whose eyes made you pause before you caught yourself. "I was waiting, my dear."

Maybe you shouldn't ask. Maybe the wisest thing would be to turn around and run. You step back and trip on a root which somehow snuck between the moss. He catches your hand before you fall and doesn't let go. Instead his thumb caresses your skin in leisurely strokes.

There's a faint scent of lilies coming from him, and something else. Something heavy, equally sweet that lingers on the edge of cloying and enticing.

Smells aren't supposed to be so strong in dreams.

"I need to go."

"Where?"

This simple question asked in an equally plain tone makes you falter. What does he mean 'where'?

"Home," you say softly and try to free your hand again without success. The man leans in close enough that you can see his face, illuminated by that blue light.

"And where is home?"

"I-" you swallow. "I have to go."

He releases you with surprising ease; you don't waste any time rushing towards the path. The long walk has exhausted you, and the lack of light makes it difficult to tell which turns to take. You stumble multiple times. The hem of your nightdress catches a few twigs. You sprint past the trees, past the low bushes along the familiar trail, and it's there, suddenly in front of you: the wooden bridge.

Out of breath, you grab the railing. And then open your eyes on the same side where you started.

How?

Again and again, you dash across it, yet every time there's a single step left to cross over the stream, the view shifts. Your feet land at the beginning of the bridge. On the ninth time when it's impossible to run any longer, you press your forehead to the railing. Every breath feels short and raspy.

"That's enough, dear."

"What is this?" You grip the planks with trembling hands. "I don't understand. Why can't I-"

A coat falls over your shoulders; you clutch at it mindlessly, because it's warm and you're shaking all over.

"You thanked me. Claimed my land, charmingly audacious of you. Such care and love, right under my nose."

There's no malice in his voice. Gently, finger by finger, he uncurls the tight grip of your hand. The stone is there, cerulean blue like summer sky condensed into a tiny orb.

"Took my gift and kept it close to your heart."

It takes some effort but eventually you manage to speak. "I didn't," you whisper urgently, despite the shiny proof in your palm. "I didn't know! Take it back."

"I'm afraid it's too late for that."

"I didn't know!"

He lifts you in his arms when your knees give out and you sink to the ground, still gripping that damned stone. His coat carries the same distinct scent of lilies and heavy sweetness. The sceneries you dreamed of when younger pop in your head, like old postcards covered with dust, of mystical beings hidden from human eye, fantastical places no one has seen, grand adventures where heroes defy impossible odds and come out victorious.

Those were tales for the brave and imaginative. You're neither.

"It doesn't matter. The land claims you," he says. "And so do I."

[nonbinary-octopus]

I don't recall if it was under the readmores of this version of the thread, or on a different version, but I recall someone saying that each invader must win the battle to gain entry

so

Imagine that a terrifying being has come to conquer earth, and has brought his vast army.

He stops at the doorway in space and calls out for the challenge. He is a clever strategist, and has been studying past battles.

Phantom appears, and gives him the rulebook. The invader flips through it like he's already familiar with the rules, and declares that he is ready.

The battle table appears, an ethereal thing made of starlight and green ghostly energy made solid. The two combatants take their seats, and the battle begins.

Everyone on earth is hopeful but stressed, because their strange protector hasn't lost yet, but any time could be the first. So it's a very tense couple of days as they battle. (there are rules about breaks, if it goes on long enough. They meet each day at a certain time, and battle until another certain time or until both agree to take a break, and then they go away to rest until the next day.)

Finally, after nearly a week of drawn out card battling, the worst outcome occurs: the invader ekes out a victory.

The door to earth opens.

The invader strides through, triumphant. He has defeated earth's greatest protector, and now he shall conquer the earth itself! Come, minions!

His army attempts to follow him. Attempts, because as the front line approaches, the door swings closed again of its own accord.

Phantom, who has not yet left, stands beside the closed door holding another copy of the rulebook.

"Do you too wish to challenge me?"

The invader demands an explanation. He does not like the one he recieves.

"You have been granted entry," Phantom tells him, eyes glittering dangerously with the power of many suns. "You, alone."

"Challenge him," the invader growls at his second in command, who does. Phantom gives the Second the rulebook.

"You have as long as you need to study the rules," Phantom tells the Second. "We shall recess for seven days hence. After that, whenever you are ready, we shall begin."

The second begins to read the rulebook.

The invader had not accounted for any of his subordinates needing to know the rules. He had not instructed them in strategy, not even his second in command.

Under other circumstances, he would simply command their actions, and they would obey without question. Such obedience is a trait he specifically cultivated in his soldiers.

However.

Among the many rules, is that the combatant must win on their own merit. Seeking or accepting outside guidance during the battle is an immediate disqualifier.

Phantom turns to the invader, and steps through the shimmering wall of the barrier to join him on the earthly side. "To be clear," he says, ever so calmly. "You have been granted passage through the doorway. You have not been granted safe passage to the surface of the earth, nor have you been granted protection from those wishing to defend it." He gestures back at the design on the floor on the outer side of the door, a protective sigil which prevents anyone inside it from entering into any combat other than the one taking place on the battle table. "By passing through the door, you have exited the diplomacy zone. You may fight others, but they may also fight you. I may also fight you."

His eyes glint with starlight as he says it, and the invader thinks of how formidable a foe he had been at the card table, how powerful a being he must be to have created this barrier.

The invader considers his second, still in the introduction of the rulebook. He considers the heroes of earth. He considers the small but intimidating figure before him. He considers the size of his army. He does some math.

And then he goes home.

DP x DC: The Most Dangerous Card Game

Ok so Danny has essentially claimed earth as his. And he is fully aware that there are constant threats to the planet. Now he can’t stop a threat that originates on earth (that’s something he’ll leave to the Justice league) but he can do something about outside threats. Doing some research on ancient spells, rituals, and artifacts, he cast a world wide barrier on the planet to protect it from hostile threats so they cannot enter. This will prevent another Pariah Dark incident. However, barriers like this come at a price. You see, there are two ways to make a barrier. Either make one powered up by your own energy and power (which would be constantly draining) or set up a barrier with rules. The way magic works is that nothing can be absolutely indestructible. It must have a weakness. The most powerful barriers weren’t the ones reinforced with layer after layer of protective charms and buffed up with power. Those could eventually be destroyed either by being overpowered, wearing them down, or by cutting off the original power source. No, the most powerful barriers were the ones with a deliberate weakness. A barrier indestructible except for one spot. A cage that can only be opened from the outside. Or that can only be passed with a key or by solving a riddle. So Danny chooses this type of barrier and does the necessary ritual and pours in enough power to make it. And he adds his condition for anyone to enter. 

Now the Justice league? Find out about the barrier when Trigon attempts to attack, they were preparing after he threatened what he would do once he got to earth. How he would destroy them. The Justice league tried to take the fight to him first but were utterly destroyed, so they retreated home to tend to their injuries, and fortify earth for one. Last. Stand. Only when Trigon makes his big entrance…he’s stopped.

The Justice league watch in awe as this thin see-through barrier with beautiful green swirls and speckled white lights like stars apears blocking Trigon and his army’s advance. The barrier looks so thin and fragile yet no matter how hard the warlord hits, none of his attacks can get through and neither can he damage said barrier. That’s when Constantine and Zatanna recognizes what this barrier is. Something only a powerful entity could create. For a moment, the league is filled with hope that Trigon can’t get through yet Constantine also explains that it’s not impenetrable. And clearly Trigon knows this too for he calls out a challenge. 

And that’s when, in a flash of light, a tiny glowing teenager appears. He looked absolutly minuscule compared to Trigon and yet practically glowed with power (this isn’t a King Danny AU though).

And that is when the conditions for passing the barrier are revealed. And the Justice realize that the only thing stopping Trigon and his army from decimating earth. The only way he can get through….is by beating this glowing teenager in a card game. 

Not just any card game though. The most convoluted game Sam, Danny, and Tucker invented themselves. It’s like the infinite realms version of magic the gathering, combined with Pokémon, and chess. And Danny is the master. So sit down Trigon and let’s play.

(The most intense card game of the Justice league’s life).

After Danny wins, this happens a few more times with outer word beings and possibly even demons attempting to invade earth, yet none have been able to beat the mysterious teenager in a card game. Constantine might even take a crack at it and try to figure out how to play. He’s really bad though. Every time this happens, the Justice league worry that this might be the time the teenager looses. Yet every time, he wins (even if only barely). 

Meanwhile, Danny, Sam, and Tucker have gotten addicted to the game and play it almost daily. Some teachers might seem them playing the game are are like ‘awww how cute’ not realizing this game is literally saving the world. Jazz is just happy they aren’t spending as much time on their screens playing Doomed.

[the-moons-tears]

Scaramouche x reader (Spiderman au)

GUYS GUYS SPIDER-MAN SCARA BRAINROT EIFJEJDCKKEFM gods i CANT

Hot emo spider boy grrr

Not very spicy (a bit at the end) this is pretty much just a plot that I enjoyed writing about

Preview:

"all you have to do is keep your pretty eyes open, and try not to fall behind."

Blues, greens, whites, and reds zoomed by the eye coverings on your mask. Noises from the city and its traffic flared up in your ears and ended as soon as they came. The sharp wind whipping your hair around, and the feeling of your suit moving with your body made you feel alive.

Your hands moved methodically in a pull up, release, and shoot cycle. The strong webbing that was naturally formed in your body shot out through a tiny slit in your wrist, and the cut in your suit fabric made it easy to shoot out of.

The ground seemed so far away every time you launched yourself up into the night air, but became almost touchable when you let gravity take you back down. Your lungs took in large amounts of air and released heavily through the mask fabric.

When you arrived at a certain large skyscraper, you began your ascent. The webbing that flew out hit the glass panels which you used to propel you upwards. The noises from the city below grew quieter as you neared the top roof with the internet tower sitting in the middle.

Your hand grasped the edge of the building and used your upward force to swing over the ledge onto the roof surface. Standing upright, the wind hit you and blew your hair away from your face showing you the view that you never got tired of. The city looked so small from there. Leaning over where you just came from, this was definitely the tallest building in your city.

Planes overhead made their presence known by the blinking lights that were flashing from their bodies. Above them lay the stars, although you couldn't see them because of the light pollution. The silence, even though so many things were happening, was always strange. It just showed how high up you were. The wind was your only company with its occasional howl coming from any direction.

Although, your solitude didn't last long. A cold sensation ran down your spine and an instinctual alert inside your mind told you something was coming. A figure, black as the night above came so fast at you, you didn't have time to react.

In a tangle of arms and at the speed of the impact, you and the figure crashed into the part of the roof that led to stairs to the floors below. A loud grunt came from the figure beside you when their head hit the wall.

Your own body had slammed into the stone pretty hard. Obviously it was much worse for you since the impact sent you into the wall first. A strangled gasp for air escaped your lungs after it had been knocked out and you fell to your side with your vision spinning. Rough hands turned you over, ripped off your mask from your face, and grabbed you over your mouth. The other hand held your shoulder to the ground.

Above you, the figure, who you figured was a male, was breathing hard. The hand over your mouth gripped hard, and your attempts to speak failed. In your panic, you shot webbing onto his face with your free hand and kicked him back once you got a leg up from underneath him.

Immediately once you had enough free space, you made a dash for the edge so you could jump off. Alarms went off in your mind again, making you duck in time to see a web shooting overhead at what would have been your neck. The next one, however, you couldn't dodge in time.

White webbing caught your ribs and pulled you to the man again. Before you could blink, you were wrapped in web that was holding you in all directions. You couldn't move, and your mask that protected your identity lay away from you on the ground. When you finally were still, you could see clearly who he was.

Short violet hair moved in the wind revealing a black mask with purple and blue iridescent web looking designs interlacing it. The body suit also had the same design. The person's mask ended at their hairline, letting the bangs that were there fall over it. Everyone had seen him, he was quite famous although no one knew his real identity. The savior of teyvat city, spiderman.

He ran a hand through his hair rubbing the spot that hit the wall and let out a long sigh. "I really wanted an easy night tonight..." the man ran his hands down his face and walked toward you. Without gentleness, he grabbed you face again and tilted it how he pleased.

"What the hell-do you always treat people this way?"

"Well most people I come across that have any sort of power aren't exactly wishing the city a merry Christmas."

Fair. From what you had seen, every time he made an appearance was when a supernatural threat was in the city, like that one battle with a giant lizard you saw on YouTube. You'd seen what he was capable of, and that he probably didn't have any intention other than protecting the city, so you decided to be compliant.

For a bit, he was silent. He brought a hand up that had your webbing that was on his face on it, and his silver eyes on his mask narrowed.

"I watched you swing up here from a distance before attacking you. You shot this from your wrist."

"Yeah, I'm guessing you want a backstory?"

"Normally I wouldn't care, but your web is the same make as mine. It's not coincidental." He then waved his hand for you to speak.

You simplified the story as needed in your head, and begin to tell about your spider experience.

...

You were in college enjoying your student life when it happened. With your university being so close to ILDOTTORE Inc., a lot of students came to study in the sciences, you being one of them.

In one of your leisurely afternoons at the campus park, you were sitting on a bench just looking at the wind blow through the trees when you felt a sharp pain on your hand. The pain continued to spike when you pulled your hand up and shook it. Looking at your palm, sitting there was an iridescent spider that had its fangs lodged in your skin.

It looked abnormal for sure. Its eyes were bigger and it's legs were longer. A strange symbol was marked on its back, almost like an experimental number you would put on test subjects. Without a thought you immediately slapped the spider.

When it didn't come off the first hit, you took off your shoe and pressed it to your hand, not caring about the dirt because the bite hurt. When you got the spider off your hand, you relaxed thinking you'd definitely killed it.

Feeling something moving on your thigh, you looked down and jumped from your sitting position with your hand swatting at your thigh. The spider, with one less leg now, was crawling up your leg until you swat it off.

"Oh hell no, die hoe." You took the shoe that was still off and put it quickly back on your foot. As the spider was speeding away, you chased it a couple of steps from the bench and stomped on it like you'd never put your foot on the ground before. After twisting your foot back and forth on the spider, you took your shoe off an examined if it was really dead.

It twitched only once even though it was completely crushed, but that was enough to smush it again until you were only looking at a black smudge on the concrete path.

Ever since that day, you had to stay in your apartment with a sick excuse because of the changes your body was undergoing. The pain was blaring. Your hands would stick to things randomly, and your vision would shift from regular to being able to see through walls. You felt feather light, could move faster, and jump higher.

The strangest parts were the fact that you could shoot webbing from openings in your wrists, and that you would get a strange feeling when something was about to happen. Your reaction time had heightened and your body molded itself into being fitter.

After days of change and determining that the spider gave you those powers, you found ways to control your new abilities. You even made yourself a suit from your webbing. After school days, you would practice in a remote alleyway what all you could do. Swinging around and climbing walls wasn't as hard as you thought. Watching videos of Spider-Man's fights also gave you some tips on how to move well. You were around one month into your new experience before this incident.

...

"So that's where it went...And you made sure 100% that you killed the spider?"

"The only thing left was a blot on the ground. Pretty sure it's dead."

"Great. My two problems have been cut to one."

You wondered if the problem he was referring to was you and the spider. You were correct.

"So can you let me out now?" You wiggled the only movable thing your body, which was your hands. Spider-Man laughed sarcastically and stepped backwards to sit onto the edge of the building. The wind picked up swaying his hair, and his eye pieces on his mask moved in a gleeful expression that you knew had a teasing glint in them.

"Nah, you can get out yourself. You're the same as me right?"

The same? You huffed and looked around you spotting the places his web connected to other structures that held you in place. Angling your hands in the direction of the connection, you shot a web and held on to the end. Your web connected to the place his was stuck on and you pulled with your hand as far away as you could.

His web snapped off, letting one arm loose. From there you broke yourself free from all the webbing. Walking with your back turned to him, you picked your mask up off the ground, moved your hair out of your face, and put it back on.

Suddenly, you felt a web come in contact with your back. Turning around, you saw that spiderman wasn't there anymore. A long web was quickly sliding down off the edge, and you noticed too late that the web was connected to you.

With a scream, you were yanked forward and launched off the building. Looking down, you spotted Spider-Man diving down with the web that held you in one of his hands. When his fall had reached around half of the buildings height, we shot a web from his free hand and began a swing.

"You better shoot a web, I'm gonna let go!" Although most of his words got lost in the wind, you got the message. As soon as you shot a string, the web on your back became loose. You quickly yanked it off your back and swung with your other hand to catch up to him.

You synced up your swing timing to match his, but as soon as you did he changed direction. you caught up to him stopping on a building top where he hung off the side waiting for you.

"You're slow." Indigo hair blew in the wind and his head tilted. His arm hung out in the wind beside him while he held onto the edge with his other.

"Well maybe I would have caught up faster if someone didn't pull me off the tallest building in the city. Secondly, I'm still knew to this whole thing." You landed a bit below him with a web holding you to the building. The man above you laughed and spoke in a haughty tone,

"all you have to do is keep your pretty eyes open, and try not to fall behind." His hand left the edge letting gravity take him. Diving after him, you followed him through narrow alleyways and under highways. It was hard to see him because his suit was so dark, but the iridescent colors on his chest guided you.

You didn't know why you were following him, or better yet why he was indirectly telling you to. Chasing him around in sporadic movements soon became easier. It almost felt like he was training you.

At one point, he disappeared from your vision. Coming to a stop in a dark street where no cars were coming, you looked around. A sharp zing went off in your head, making you turn around in time to see a web come in contact with your face. The mask attached came off and your hand shot up to cover your face.

"Hey! You don't know who's around here, and there may be cameras in this area!" You yelled out in the direction the web came from with your hands over your whole face.

"If you can't block a simple thing like that, and by the way that wasn't even an attack, you're not going to survive fights or the media." A sultry voice spoke near your left ear.

You turned pretending to not be surprised by his sudden closeness. "What are you even talking about-"

"You think you can go back to normal society with these powers? You're already all over the media from swinging around tonight with me."

Spider-Man shoved your mask on your hands that cover yourself and you quickly put the mask back on. When you remove your hands, the first thing you see is a phone screen reading,

Another spider joins Spider-Man? Two swinging figures seen around teyvat city tonight, watch the video footage!

With narrowed 'I'm-not-having-it' eyes, you looked at him behind the phone, "you did this on purpose didn't you."

"The point is, you're now obligated to protecting the city whether you want to or not. It would be better if I trained you so you don't end up wasting your abilities by dying early."

My gods. Everything was happening so fast. Your hand came up to rub your temple through the mask because of the headache that rose.

Your hands went out in a calm down motion. "Ok ok give me a minute. I'm in college and I do have a lot of time, but how am I going to balance these two things? And how on earth are we going to meet up, to quote you, train?"

"Well I make it work with my classes. We can set a schedule for you to meet me at the building we first came in contact."

You mean the place you nearly busted my head open you thought to yourself before you caught an important detail in his words.

"You're in college?" You pause and look at Spider-Man who has his arms crossed. Silence before he spoke,

"No-"

"Oh wow you're younger than everyone thinks. I thought you were like 30 or something."

"Do I sound anything like thirty?" He said aggravated as he shot another web in your face making you take a couple steps back and struggle to get it off.

From that spot, you both worked out a plan to meet up three times a week on the tallest building roof. The first few weeks were rough, and they made you realize how tasking his job was. His training was rigorous, but you caught on fairly well. There were a couple times you went to grab his mask in hand to hand combat, only for you to fail and for him to flick your forehead. You tried making conversation, to which he didn't necessarily ignore you, but he kept his answers short and vague.

"So what major are you in since you won't answer which college you're at?" You poked his shoulder from where you were both sitting on the edge of the building.

"I'm an art student..."

"Actually?" You leaned forward and peered into the eyes on his mask. He nodded and went on staring out at the city. "What kind of medium do you like to use?"

"Charcoal most of the time. Occasional graphite or spray paint."

"I'll have to see some of your work sometime when we're not training. I really enjoy art."

"hmm..."

Over the next few times you two met, Spider-Man would let himself be more carefree with you in your now frequent conversations after training on top of the building. On one of your more tiring training sessions, a thought came into your head. This is merely training, what about real fights. Getting beaten and bruised with the media filming all of it. Was it ever lonely or stressful all by himself?

When you both sat down on the edge, you asked the question.

"It is lonely, being the only one in this position? Saving the city all by yourself?"

"It...was lonely, but now I'm too preoccupied dealing with your annoying ass to be like that."

"Aww, did my 'annoying ass' fill the void in your heart?" You exaggerated the last bit and poked his shoulder.

"Pshh." He pushed your poking hand off of him and tried to shoot a web at you again, but you dodged it. When his hand shot the web, you took the opportunity to try to grab his mask again. It had honestly become a thing to tease him with.

This time however, was different. He just seemed to sit there and let your hand wrap around the edges of his mask, taking it off and exposing his face. His hair whipped around in the wind, the violet bangs brushing his forehead. Long eyelashes and eyes that blinked slowly, almost teasingly so. His irises, like the color on his suit, but with depth and a color you could only describe as mesmerizing. Skin soft and a rosy pair of lips that parted slightly as you took the mask away. You almost reached out to touch him.

"Your eye pieces are wide open, what's the matter~?" His hand extends a bit and closes your slightly open mouth. He doesn't even bother to take the mask back from you, and instead just leans back on the ledge and throws his head back. Adam's apple moving as he swallows slightly.

"Uh-" you cleared your throat and tried looking at him again to speak, but when you did his eyes were locked with yours making your lungs close up.

"Scaramouche."

His voice brought you back. "What? Like Bohemian rhapso-"

"My name dumbass. You can use that instead of Spider-Man. Of course, not in public..."

You took off your own mask and set it beside his that now lay between you both. The wind felt good on your face, you hadn't taken it off in a while up there. There was a silence that hung from that point. You both rested there in your seated positions, and scaramouche could have sworn he heard you try out his name on your tongue.

...

The next month was peaceful. Winter break had begun, so you were able to rest at your apartment and spend more time with scaramouche. He actually started letting you into his life. You learned where he went to college and got to see a lot of his art projects in his own living space, although he kept some of them hidden from you for reasons unknown to you. Of course, you couldn't leave him alone about them and would always be trying to search for them when he wasn't looking.

"Hey, what do you say to getting a drink at- what the hell do you have in your hand?"

You stood there at his sketching desk, with papers that made your eyes wide. On the parchment, were graphite sketches of...you. The way the details on your face were so accurate made you blush furiously. All those times he would just seem to stare at you when your mask was off, was he looking so intently so he could draw you? The answer was right in front of your face.

Gods you were in deep. Not only did you develop feelings for him when you started training, but seeing this made you realize it was probably not one-sided.

Quick footsteps came behind you and a hand reached out to take the papers from you. Turning to him, you were surprised to see scaramouche's face close to yours with glaring eyes and a red that reached his ears.

"Did I not say that you weren't allowed to see those?"

Nothing came out your mouth. Your lips only parted to try and give an apology, and you didn't miss the way his eyes flicked down to your parted mouth. His eyes said so much, but you could see there was a fear in them as well.

...

After that incident, not much was said between you. The very next day you met on the tallest building once more. It was the day that you two would spar, like every other time right?

Wrong. You were both distracted. Every grab on your arm shot electricity through your soul, more than before. The same could be said for him. The distraction caused an accidental blow to the face, which knocked your mask off.

"Ah shit, are you al-" his voice cut short. You were leaning back against the wall behind you that he first encountered you on. Your chest was heaving and visible breath from the temperature came from your mouth. You looked too good to him in that moment, so he let his desires take over.

"Yeah I'm good...it just knocked my mask off-" a strong grip pushed you against the wall.

"Hey what-" Looking up at him, you saw his hand reach up and rip off his mask, his violet hair messily flowing around. He threw it to the floor before grabbing your face and smashing his lips on yours.

Your hands instinctively grabbed his suit turtleneck collar and pulled him into you. He wasted no time pushing his tongue past your lips and putting his body flush against yours. Surprised sounds left you as you could barely breath. He was desperate, hungry, and could no longer hold himself back.

The drawings were his only cope to deal with the feelings. Gods he was scared, scared that you would want to end the whole partner thing if you knew. Now all those doubts dissipated when he felt you meld your lips back with his when he tried to part your mouths.

Hands ran down your ribs and to your waist. His fingers were gripping you with need, and his mouth kissed you with abandon. Scaramouche never wanted to take his lips of yours, not after he'd waited so long gazing at you, watching the way you tried to do what he did, and feeling your covered skin when you fought.

Neither of you needed to breathe. You believed you could be sustained solely by each other's lips.

Only after several minutes of pure bliss in each other's mouths did you break apart for much needed air. You gasped and panted, and scaramouche did the same. He rested his head on your shoulder in the aftermath, just feeling your warmth that enveloped him despite the cold winds.

"Want to head to my apartment? We can um...continue there if you also want to-"

"Yes.”

You blushed when his hands wrapped around you and his face turned to kiss your jaw.

"I wonder if the media would like to know that Spider-Man is a romantic."

"Shut up..." He gave a slight laugh and slowly drew away from you. His eyes were clearly glazed over with a need for more, but he'd save it for when you were both warmer in your home. After picking up your masks off the ground, you both quickly made your way to your home where you couldn't stop scaramouche from starting to kiss your nape and skin before you even got into your apartment room.

[loki-cees-all]

Ch. 5 - Turn Against {Against All Odds - TVA!Loki x Female Reader Longfic}

Previous Chapter / AO3 Link / Against All Odds Masterlist / Next Chapter

Pairing : TVA!Loki x Female Reader

Summary : Loki attempts to sneak out of your flat before you awaken.

W/c : 8.8k words

Content / Warnings : Fluff, angst, and a touch of smut. 

Author's Note : Apologies this chapter took me so long to finish! After 6 months of working on it, it blew up to a length of 14k words and I ended up having to divide it into two chapters just to make the editing process more manageable. So congrats, this fic is now a grand total of 20 chapters! Yay!

Also, just fyi - I basically wrote the whole thing (so, Chapters 5 and 6 together) while watching Infinity War and Endgame on repeat, if that gives you any insight as to my mental state, or the amount of angst these chapters have. So, uh…good luck!! <3 

18+ Only - Minors DNI

⊱ ── ༓ ── ⋅•⋅⊰ ──  ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ∙ ⋅  ── ⊱⋅•⋅ ── ༓ ── ⊰

Date : June 27th, 1977 [Sacred Timeline]

A pair of ethereal beings slumbered peacefully in your bed. 

Twisted among the silken sheets, your angelic form was snuggled against the chest of Loki’s duplicate - a leg hooked around one of his, an arm draped across his torso. Your fingers twitched in your sleep, your lungs slowly inhaled and exhaled in sync with that of his seidr. The only thing you had on was a quiet, serene expression - one that meant you were blissfully unaware of the trickery that had already befallen you, or of the cruel disappearing act that was yet to come. 

The true Loki approached your bed with incredible precision, moving cautiously so as to not disturb the exquisite goddess or her beauty sleep. His gaze roamed lazily over your every curve, your every spasm and pulse, every inch of skin peeking out from beneath the sheets. The polish on your toes was cherry-red, the freckles on your back replicated the stars of the night sky, and the air from your lungs was sweet, intoxicating, mellifluous.  

The entire scene was breathtaking, but that wasn’t what was suffocating him. 

As he paused by your side, you stirred a little in your sleep - muscles tensing, breath hitching. Your face twitched lightly, brushing your cheek against the duplicate’s skin, and he responded in kind by holding you closer, squeezing you tighter, soothing and comforting you under the true Loki’s direction. And it worked; you relaxed in that false embrace, reassured by the solace of his presence enough to resume the slow, deep breathes in, and then back out. 

This time, it was Loki’s turn for his breath to hitch. How was this possible? Why did you find serenity with him? What did you see in him that he could never see himself?

His eyes flicked to the mimic in bed with you. It matched his appearance in every single way, from the dark curls spread across the pillow to the tips of his fingers now tracing light circles along your arm. Its scent was the same, its voice would have been identical if you had needed to hear it. He could have switched places with it in less than a second, just to have you in his own arms once more, and you never would have known the difference.  

Because the duplicate was him: a literal, physical manifestation of his deceit, cradling you tenderly while you slept. While the real one searched your apartment for the evidence of an addiction you clearly hadn’t developed yet. While he neglected his responsibilities back at the TVA, because he was too preoccupied with a future problem that he might cause to fully focus on the massive problem he’d definitely helped to cause at the end of time. 

As usual, his attentions were divided. Lately it seemed as though any attempt to solve a problem would just create two more in its place. And forever the masochist, Loki was drifting hopelessly between the past, present, and future; stuck between a rock and a hard place, while being unable to fully focus on either. 

He was trapped inside a personal Hel of his very own making. 

It wasn’t fair that he hadn’t found you until after he’d broken the timelines. Without judgment or sound reason, you gazed upon him like the sun looked down at the clouds, parting the storms of his heart and warming the oceans of his mind, stilling the thoughts that swirled in nervous energy, and regret, and prayers that he could somehow be different for the both of you. That he didn’t have to choose between you or the TVA. 

That he could somehow be with you, without being Loki. 

He couldn’t help but wonder: if you’d been born on Asgard, would you still feel the same way about him? If you had grown up together, if you knew all of his secrets and heartbreaks and betrayals, would you have still slept this peacefully in his arms? Would you still look at him like he was somehow everything you’d ever wanted?

Perhaps in another timeline you did, and if he could manage to save the TVA after all, then maybe afterwards he should go searching for it. 

Outside your flat, the sun was just starting to crest over the horizon. Its rays drifted in through the bay windows of your bedroom to bring on a beautiful, new day. But Loki needed to leave before you woke up. Actually saying goodbye wasn’t an option - because he couldn’t lie, but he couldn’t tell the truth either, and he certainly couldn’t predict the future. 

In fact, no one knew what was going to happen now that the timelines were free, but he couldn’t shake the ominous feeling that somehow this would only end with his self-sacrifice; dying was the only sure way Loki knew how to redeem himself, and even if you never knew about it, he would have happily done it for you. 

But even in the off chance that their efforts with the Loom were successful and he didn’t have to sacrifice himself - the next problem on the TVA’s To Do List was to deal with the variants of He Who Remains and their potential for waging multiversal war. And after that, there would inevitably be a thousand other problems for him to deal with, each one with more dire consequences than the last, and Loki would never be able to stop. 

He’d never be able to take a moment to breathe, to exist, to just love you. 

Loki wasn’t sure if he was in love with you now, but the appeal of letting himself feel something good was too much to ignore; in truth, he was only safe to feel it because he knew it was going to obliterate him later on, and it was why he couldn’t deny himself one last touch. 

Kneeling beside the bed, the arm of his duplicate lifted slowly from your body. And as if it had been rehearsed, the true Loki brought his fingertips to brush through your hair, gently massaging your scalp. As if he were doing it mindlessly in his sleep, instead of doing it fully conscious while his heart shattered into a million pieces. 

And he didn’t know if he was even capable of loving you. Loki had spent centuries hurting and longing for what he couldn’t have, bitter and resentful to what he had too much of, and disillusioned over everything else in between. At no point in his long life had his experiences ever been what anyone might call normal, especially not to a mere and simple human, and he’d long since forgotten what it was like to just be, let alone to have something he actually wanted to hold on to. 

When Loki was younger, he believed love to be a calculated decision that required delicate measurement of the pros and cons. Which option would benefit Asgard the most as the spouse of its disinclined and least favorite prince? Who would be the most trustworthy to safeguard an outcast’s heart? 

Back then, the obvious choice would have been whomever could simply tolerate him while maintaining an innocuous distance. It never would have been real, just like this couldn’t ever be. 

As his fingers began another pass through your hair, he wondered what sort of tragedy had happened in your younger years to make you cling so tightly to such a broken thing like him. Had you loved, and then lost? Had you failed someone in the way he was about to fail you? Had you repeatedly cracked open your soul, only to have no one even notice? 

Whatever it was, whatever atrocity had made you look at him like that, Loki both cherished and cursed it. He wanted to fix it, he wanted to make it worse. He wanted to see it, he wanted to taste it. To nurture it, to smother it, to let it rise and then push it back down. He wanted to be the cause of it, and then to be its cure. 

His eyes filled with tears - big, wet, silent, pathetic ones. The tears of a child no longer allowed to keep the only thing that had ever brought him any kind of solace. His chest tightened, and he could feel the tears bleeding down his cheeks, painting sharp lines of misery and staining his skin red for anyone who dared to look closely enough. 

This was so absurd, his reactions and feelings were so unbelievably foolish, because you were just a human. You didn’t really know him, and he didn’t really know you. Your perspective, by design, was so much more limited than his. What could you possibly ever have in common with him? Or him with you?

Whatever was waiting in your future - perhaps he was just overthinking it. Maybe the addiction had nothing to do with him at all. Maybe he was just projecting, maybe your feelings for him were nothing but casual ones, maybe you’d be able to completely forget about him as soon as he walked out the door. You’d be better off without him anyway. 

That thought brought him some comfort, while quietly slitting his throat. 

He swallowed hard, and tried to get a grip on himself. What was it that he was supposed to say on Svartalfheim, about Thor falling in love with the mortal Jane Foster? 

It’s nothing. It’s a heartbeat. You’ll never be ready. 

Loki’s biggest problem had always been never knowing when to walk away - and if he didn’t do it now, then it might someday be completely out of his control. Your path might lead you down a branched timeline, one that another rogue TVA agent could destroy. The Loom’s explosion could take out everyone and everything. Loki himself could accidentally get you killed, or worse - you could finally see him for what he really was, and decide to walk away from him instead. 

The only woman whose love you’ve prized will be snatched from you. 

Letting out a restrained breath, he dragged his hand across his face to wipe away the tears, while the other’s gentle touch remained in your hair. This was going to be tricky; once he left your bedroom, Loki was going to have to carefully withdraw the duplicate from your bed - slowly, cruelly, and without waking you up. He brushed his thumb along your cheekbone one last time, and just as he was debating on whether to kiss you goodbye, you startled yourself awake with a sharp gasp. 

Loki panicked, and quickly switched places with the duplicate. His kneeling form beside the bed disappeared before you could fully open your eyes. His muscles tightened, and with a gasp of his own, and he pretended to just be waking up alongside you. 

“Are you alright, darling?” he murmured breathlessly, nudging your temple with his nose and praying that you couldn’t feel his heart pounding wildly in his chest. 

“Huh? Oh…” Your eyelids fluttered quickly, attempting to blink away the sleep from your eyes. When you finally recognized him next to you, only then did your breathing slow. “No, I’m fine…”

He struggled to not let out a massive sigh of relief at that. Your grogginess had mercifully prevented notice of the two Lokis that had momentarily been in your presence, and he shuddered to think of what your reaction may have been had you seen it. 

“Bad dream?” he asked softly, his fingers resuming their bittersweet caresses against your scalp. 

Again, you had found solace within his touch. Your muscles relaxed as you sank back into his embrace, and his followed suit, finding just as much consolation in giving it as you did in receiving it. He couldn’t believe how little effort it took to bring you comfort, and in contrast, he could believe how little it took for him to offer it. 

“Do you ever dream you’re falling so hard that your body thinks it’s actually falling…?”

Of course, his consultation was different. Unable to slip out quietly like he’d planned, he was now staring at the daunting task of actually saying goodbye - and possibly lying to your beautiful face in the process. Once again, hesitation had cost him dearly, and he wondered if he was ever going to be able to make a timely decision ever again.

“Of course. All the time, really…” 

But truthfully, a part of him was extremely grateful for the chance to be in bed with you again. He adored the sensation of your warm skin against his, just as alluring and soft as it had been the night before. Stirring up all the same desires, making him ache for an encore performance. As his fingers drifted through your hair, the scent of gardenias stimulated the memories of his first kiss between the rows of Midgardian flora his mother had grown in her garden. 

During the few times he’d had lovers in the past, mornings were always his favorite; the lazy kisses, bodies moving on autopilot but not without purpose or reason. It meant that the night before wasn’t a mistake. It was intentional, it was deliberate, it was worth repeating. He was actually wanted, and the idea of bringing on the new, terrible day with a subdued brisance of ecstasy was -  

Loki scolded himself for letting his mind wander from this devastating predicament. His fingers drifted through your hair once more, brushing and massaging in the hope of keeping you from noticing the confliction on his face. Should he just promise to come back, even though he didn’t know if it was possible? Should he tell you it was goodbye forever instead, and then never return even on the off chance that he could? 

You let out a peaceful hum as his fingers trailed down to your neck, pressing gently into the muscles and tendons to relieve any knots they found. Every part of you practically melted underneath his touch, and you snuggled into him deeper, unable to get enough. Your leg wrapped around his again, your lips brushed against the bare skin of his chest, and your gentle fingertips trailed along the lines of his abdomen. 

“I was afraid you’d be gone by the time I woke up…” 

His lips curved into a sad smile. Every murmured word was like another chain of iron locked around his ankles. Loki was used to ruining everything, and he knew he still might, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull the trigger just yet. Being of genuine use was a pleasure he was rarely afforded any more, even though it was all he really wanted. 

When he had purpose, he had a place to belong. 

“I’m still here, darling…” Loki had to stop himself from continuing, from promising to never leave, from cursing the TVA and all that was waiting for him back there. He was never one to subscribe to the ideology of “what will be, will be” before, but that option was looking better and better with each passing moment. 

You shifted on the bed, working your lips up his chest, kissing over his heart and up to his collarbone. “And I am so very grateful that you are…” you hummed against his neck. 

Unable to resist the effects of desire as it flooded his veins, Loki let out a deep groan. He tilted his head back to allow you better access to his flesh, your lips soft and warm as you tasted his skin. Why couldn’t he just stay here forever? Where pleasure was given and received so freely, and without expectation? 

Once you were properly kissing his neck, his hands acted of their own accord, latching on to your ass and pulling you up to straddle him completely. You must have enjoyed that, because you gasped softly and eagerly pressed your hips to his, rolling and dragging yourself against his quickly hardening cock. 

Your tongue swiped at his skin while you kissed and sucked on his neck, and your fingers tangled in his hair. The exhales from his nose were heavy, his moans were urgent, shameless. His muscles tightened and stretched underneath you, and he started to forget he’d ever heard of the Time Variance Authority before. Loki gripped your ass harder, encouraging your every movement. 

“Are you sure you’ve got no other place to be?” you murmured breathlessly, grinding yourself just a little harder against him, clearly wanting this just as much as he did.  

His cock twitched hungrily, his fingers dug their need into your skin. Loki would gladly trade the next millennia or two in happy exchange to keep such a beautifully eager woman writhing against him. He groaned out a sound reminiscent of the word “no” before cupping your jaw and angling your mouth to his. 

Deeply passionate kisses consumed you both, and your arms locked around his neck. You passed heated moans back and forth, and Loki could feel how much you wanted this as you coated his cock in arousal. He began adjusting your hips to allow him entry when you murmured one last question against his lips. 

“So you’re not married? No wife or kids to get back home to?” 

Loki froze, and then burst into laughter. His entire body shook as his head tilted back with eyes closed, eyebrows raised, completely flabbergasted by the idea. Married? With children?! Who could be foolish enough to do such a thing with him?

When he managed to compose himself enough to open his eyes, the forlorn expression on your face sobered him completely. Concern had pulled your eyebrows to the heavens, and your lips had parted with childlike embarrassment to both your question, and his unexpected reaction to it. He forced himself to stop laughing, to position his brow into sincerity as he caressed your cheeks with both hands. 

“Darling, darling, darling…what could have possibly possessed you to ask such a thing?” he murmured cautiously, dragging his thumbs along your cheekbones. His eyes desperately searched yours, trying to see what it was that troubled you.

“Well, it’s just that…You know, I just don’t - ” you sighed, then paused to chew on the inside of your cheek. 

Loki’s heart ached as you stammered along while carefully avoiding his gaze. It would have been adorable, if it hadn’t been so heartbreaking. 

Of course, Loki had a sinking feeling about what you were really after, but he didn’t know how to explain himself. The only other experience he could possibly derive guidance from had happened to his brother, but even that wasn’t the same; Jane Foster had always understood Thor to be a mythological being of the cosmos from the very beginning. 

As usual, his brother hadn’t needed to lie about who he was or where he was from; Thor had never once needed to endure the humiliation of trying to explain himself. And as usual, Loki found himself envious of the blind confidence that flashed like lightning through every fiber of Thor’s being. It wasn’t fair that he’d never had to prepare for situations like this. 

Situations like this, where Loki definitely should have known better. 

Because it wasn’t like their father had ever provided instructions on how to break the news of their otherworldly existences to their mortal lovers; in fact, Odin had explicitly forbidden the idea altogether. And as he watched the gears whirling in your mind, as they tried to put the right words in the correct order, or maybe they were trying to spool up enough energy to just blurt it out - Loki wished that he had listened to his father. 

He wished that none of this had ever happened. He wished that he’d never been kidnapped by the TVA, he wished that he’d never met Brad Wolfe. He wished that he’d never decided to get back at him by seducing his date to the movie premiere. He wished the duplicate Tony Stark had never dropped the Tesseract, and he wished that he’d never picked it up at all.

Loki wished he could wake up tomorrow in the dungeons of Asgard. He wished he could experience, first-hand, the deaths of his mother, and then his father. He wished he could personally hammer that final nail into the coffin of his brother’s trust. He wished it could be his neck that Thanos had snapped. 

Because even if everything worked out perfectly - even if you somehow accepted his truth, something no one else had ever managed to do, even if he managed to save the TVA and all the timelines, even if he was able to stop HWR and prevent multiversal war - in 50 years time, you would still be gone. 

If he was lucky, he’d be able to watch your hair fade to gray. He would be able to count the smile lines as they grew along your cheeks, and he’d be there for every single frown, every single moment of joy. Every spot of luck, every inconvenience, every tragedy, every victory. But then he’d also have to watch it all turn to ash, and he’d have to continue on alone after you were gone. 

Seeing the ones he loved come and go, watching them pass him by while he was powerless to stop it, was a burden he was simply unwilling to bear. 

Loki’s attention was drawn to your lips as they started moving. The sound of your voice was muffled in his ears, and your eyes darted back and forth between staring off into the distance and making brief, heartbreaking contact with his. He could tell you were stammering and struggling to make sense of your thoughts, but he was too busy picturing your casket to even really listen. 

“I just - I just don’t know anything about you, Loki!” 

The exclamation was made out in defiance of yourself. It was only then that your gaze became totally affixed to his - watching, waiting, hoping for some kind of answer from the stranger in your bed. 

Loki matched your anticipatedly heartsick expression with one of his own. His brows slanted upwards while his eyes grew immense with regret and remorse; for someone whose many monikers included the God of Lies, he was truthfully finding himself completely out of his depth with you. His throat tightened, sealing off his lungs from the air in your bedroom, but he somehow managed a meager smile. 

“I’m afraid there’s not much to know about me, darling,” Loki replied, hoping to assuage some imaginary guilt you may have been harboring. He prayed this was all you really needed to hear, anyway. “But I can assure you, wholeheartedly, that I do not have a spouse, nor any children, that I’m hiding from you…”

You stared at him closely while he spoke, as if you were looking for any twitch or vellication that might have betrayed his answer. Once none could be found, your eyes narrowed in careful dissection of what appeared to be the truth. Loki’s heart fluttered with twinges of nervous energy and pure admiration for the only mortal he’d ever felt drawn to; he just hoped you were aware of how intelligent you were, and how much it both terrified, and impressed, him. 

After another moment or two, your demeanor shifted once more, altering your calculating gaze into something much more friendly and open-minded. You smiled sweetly while bending your elbow against a pillow and propping your head against your palm. The fingertips of your other hand moved to trace light, swirling patterns against his bare chest, and Loki was sure that this time you could feel his breath hitch inside his lungs. 

“Can you tell me what you do for a living then?” you murmured softly, clearly attempting a different tactic to pull his precious details out into the open. 

But Loki could still see right through your methods. He was, unfortunately, quite used to being interrogated for both the things he had and had not actually done; when you’re known to the Nine Realms as the God of Mischief, everyone practically falls over themselves trying to be the one to finally catch you in the act of malfeasance, just to prove to everyone else how clever and ingenuitive they were. 

And as much as it hurt to constantly be on the receiving end of such distrust and misfortune, it had also fortified and strengthened Loki’s adaptability and perseverance. But the one thing he hadn’t ever counted on was that someday he’d find himself in the bed of the most beautiful and extraordinary lover he’d ever known, who was asking him for the kind of truth he simply had no way to provide. 

“It’s…complicated,” Loki answered with a patient sigh. He brought his fingertips to caress the back of your hand as it traced over his skin. The contact was so very soothing to him, and he hoped it would, at the very least, be a distraction for you. 

But it didn’t work. Instead, your gaze burned hotter into his. “If there’s not much to know about you, then how complicated could it really be?” 

Loki chuckled as he dragged his knuckles up the length of your forearm. “Oh, you’d be surprised…” 

“Well, thankfully I love those. So I’m all ears.” You shifted closer on the bed, hooking one of your bare legs around his, flexing your foot to brush slowly along the inside of his calf. The smile on your lips was patiently, and infuriatingly, insistent. 

Loki’s breath hitched yet again. His blood chilled underneath the weight of someone paying such close and affectionate attention to him; he simply didn’t know what to do with it. He never had. 

Almost with a mind of their own, his eyes shifted down to his fingertips as they resumed tracing up the length of your arm. Despite everything, Loki couldn’t bring himself to stop touching you, even though he knew it was just further trapping him within a time loop of lingering and longing. 

And you didn’t recoil when he touched you; that would never, ever cease to surprise, or alarm, him. Thus, a game of tug of war ensued deep within his heart - a hand of cold, gnarled fingers pulling it towards outright vitriol, and a kind, loving hand attempting to guide it towards acceptance. But both destinations were terrifying in their own ways, and neither hand was able to make any significant progress. 

Loki cleared his throat, his eyes avoiding direct contact with yours while you waited for his reply. His thoughts raced by at a trillion miles an hour. They collided and smashed together behind his signature furrowed brow and measured persona, fracturing and blending into an unrecognizable mess - one that was completely uncharacteristic, uncomfortable and unforgivable to the God of Mischief. Selecting a single and coherent idea was going to be next to impossible, and he absolutely loathed feeling this out of control over his own mind. 

“Why do you need to know so badly?”

It was the only thing he could manage to say, and he immediately regretted it. The way your face fell rivaled the destruction of many great civilizations the Nine Realms had known and lost over the past millennia. Your eyes widened like the Bifrost’s beam as it opened upon the cold, barren wasteland of Jotunheim. 

Your breath hitched like the innocent citizens of New York when the Chitauri Army descended from the Heavens. Your formerly warm skin turned colder than Thor’s expression when the last flames of hope that Loki might still turn things around died on his features. 

But Loki knew that to be an impossible endeavor, if your anguish was to be any sort of indication. He’d never be able to turn things around, not really. He was very well accustomed to judgment, and of condemnation - to conviction without trial, and to criticism without consideration. They were the necessary bedfellows that came with his title. 

And they were comfortable, familiar. They allowed him to stand defiant in the face of total and complete reckoning, and they also saved him from the problem of trying, and inevitably failing, to be better than anyone could ever hope for him to be. 

But the look on your face right now was something else entirely. Your eyebrows arched upwards, recreating the highest precipice of the Asgardian palace - a home that wasn’t ever really his, one that was built with shimmering gold and the most rubious of blood. Along with the emerald of your sheets, those were the only colors he really knew how to paint with. 

It was honestly shocking how much your expression truly rattled him; he felt like a child again, cowering behind his mother’s skirts because he hadn’t yet figured out how to talk his way out of whatever trouble he’d found himself in. Except this time, there was no Frigga to do the talking for him. There were no skirts, or titles, or utter defiance for him to hide behind - it was just you, and him, laid bare and mute underneath the silk sheets of your bed. 

Loki was sure that he’d ruined everything…again. What he didn’t know, however, was why your reaction was one of hurt. He had seen the spark dim in your eyes and he could feel you recoiling even as your mouth opened and closed, in slow-motion and without sound, as you attempted to answer his slightly cruel, albeit fair, question. 

Why did you need to know so badly? Why was he starting to fear that this may be more than a passing dalliance to you? Why did that warm his heart with feelings of worthiness, while simultaneously cracking it under the weight of all that responsibility? 

So maybe it would be better to let that question fester into an open wound of resentment, instead of trying to reassure, or deflect, or explain. Despite being all too aware of his own shortcomings, Loki had no idea how to broach the subject himself; that was something that was always done for him. He’d never had to suffer the drought of no one to remind him of his repeated failings before, and thus, never really learned how to bring them up on his own. Where would he even start explaining?

Not to mention, this might make leaving easier. He could just stand up and get dressed, taking the time to actually button and buckle and fasten the Midgardian ensemble he’d conjured just for you, while he repeated the question and made you feel like a fool for wanting to know him better. Didn’t you know he was just using you? That this wasn’t ever going to be serious and that it was just for the game, for the chase, for the sex? 

Loki knew how to be cruel. It was the only thing he was better at than being a massive, colossal force of chaos and destruction - and he’d learned it from the very best. Callosity was like breathing to him; he didn’t feel alive unless he was driving a dagger into someone else’s heart. And then afterwards mocking them so they couldn’t see that he was bleeding even more than they were. 

That was easy. It was familiar, it was safe. 

It was home. It was his home. 

Finally accepting the inevitable, Loki let out a heavy sigh. He couldn’t carry on with this imposture any longer, it was too risky. You could find out what he really was, or you could simply not believe his explanation at all. 

Loki raked a nervous hand through his dark and tangled curls as he straightened his back away from your headboard. He swallowed hard, steeling his expression into something far more neutral than how he felt, and then he forced himself to finally use his favorite dagger of betrayal once more. 

“Listen, darling…I - ” 

A sharp, piercing ring suddenly echoed across the flat, and behind it, followed a penetrative silence. Its air was tense, suffocating the rest of his sentence and making it perish on his tongue. The sound of metal striking metal in that brief and frenzied rhythm was unexpected, but the Asgardian still was able to recognize the source of the noise as an innocent and harmless doorbell. He remained unreactive, his curious gaze fixed solely on you.

Your response, however, was different; you’d practically jumped out of your skin, clearly not expecting your own doorbell to ring at such an imperative moment. Your heart beat a rapid cadence inside your chest, and there was just a tiny bit of air lodged in your throat. 

But other than a vigorous heartbeat and your lungs heaving for more oxygen, you didn’t move. You said nothing, you did nothing - you just stared at him like it was his fault the doorbell had rung. 

Sensing your need for a push, Loki reached forward, gently brushing his fingers along the sensitive skin of your inner wrist. “Darling, were you expecting additional visitors?”

Your pupils dilated at the sound of his voice, and your eyelids blinked once, twice, three times as you processed his latest question. Your brow raised and then furrowed as you glanced at the clock on the nightstand, your eyes desperately trying to decipher the lines and numbers and what they meant when illuminated together. 

Loki wasn’t sure if you were still exhausted from the very late night you’d spent with him, or if his first question had rattled you that much. But the look on your face was honestly so adorable that he almost forgot that he’d been only seconds away from saying goodbye forever. 

“Darling?” he murmured again just before the doorbell rang again, this time in a short series of three bursts to indicate the visitor’s urgency. 

And this time, it suddenly clicked in your mind that it was your responsibility to actually answer the door. You quickly mumbled excuses as you popped upright, swinging your legs over the edge of your bed and practically gliding across the bedroom to throw something on. 

Once again, desire roared to life in his veins, and he was unable to stop himself from admiring your naked form as you moved. As your muscles and tendons and ligaments all stretched and contracted with such supernal purpose, as your delicate hands reached for the silken, phthalo green fabric draped across the bench at the foot of your bed. Practiced fingers worked quickly to push both arms through the robe’s sleeves and situate the collar around your neck as you continued heading for the door. 

Each movement was stunning and comforting, and Loki watched as though he were in the presence of a divinity so healing it could easily cure him of everything that had ever aggrieved, bruised or lacerated him. Watching you quite literally took his breath away; never before had the God of Mischief been so entranced, so mesmerized, so captivated by the simple act of getting dressed. 

He didn’t even mind when you pulled the panels closed around your waist, obfuscating the curves and swells of your thighs and hips and torso. Because he’d already memorized your form; it was etched so profoundly into his mind that he wasn’t sure how deep it actually went. 

And without even trying to, you answered every question he’d ever had. It made him want to ask even more questions, like why was the sky blue? How many stars could you count before you finally lost track? Would you object to ignoring the doorbell and having breakfast in bed with him instead?

Loki barely registered another triplicate of harsh doorbell rings, but he was aware of you disappearing through the door frame with an exasperated shout to the mystery caller. 

“Yes, yes! I’m coming, I’m coming…” 

Your bedroom was noticeably colder after you left; your bed, freezing. Loki swallowed hard, his lonely gaze falling upon the heap of his wrinkled suit, pulled off in a hurry the evening before and discarded carelessly on the floor. Somewhere in the pockets of his trousers lay the TemPad, ready to transport him back to the TVA and all its problems - both the ones he’d already caused, and the future problems still waiting to be revealed. 

Loki pulled the sheets away and swung his legs over the edge of your bed. His head hung low, shoulders dropped and tendrils of the darkest night hanging in his eyes, blending into his perception of what you’d left behind. Down the hallway, he could hear you speaking to the visitor through the flat’s intercommunication system, blissfully unaware of the plight distressing the God you’d just spent the night with.

How did his life turn into this? All he’d wanted was a chance to breathe, to let his muscles finally relax. To possibly let his body finally heal after all the horrors he’d endured so far. But instead, he found himself locked in the sham of a fascist organization, and the only way to escape it was to dismantle it from the inside. That, in turn, somehow and inexplicably, had led him to all of this. It had brought him right here to you. 

This room, and him inside of it, was now a barren, withering moon; a lifeless satellite, drifting aimlessly in the dark without its shining star to tether itself to. His sun was so far away now, unlocking the front door to her universe and happily greeting her unexpected visitor. He could feel the warmth of your light by the smile in your voice, in the way you laughed in excitement from whatever the visitor had to say. The sound was so alluring, beckoning him closer like the call of the most tempting siren. 

Weary muscles groaned as Loki pushed himself up to standing. He desperately didn’t want to go, but time was running out; any moment now you’d return to the bedroom, and he’d have to say goodbye face-to-face. That was a scene he knew he did not have the strength to withstand, not after everything else he’d already lost. He’d much rather just run away again. 

His feet shuffled forward, and Loki reluctantly retrieved his trousers from the floor. They were heavier than they should have been, what with the tremendous weight of the multiverse conveniently stored inside the compact and portable device hidden in his pocket. It was too much responsibility; how much easier this would all be if he could just forsake it and stay here instead. 

Stalling, Loki chose to ignore the option of spellwork to get dressed. He thought about intentionally smashing the TemPad to destroy it entirely, and take away the option of leaving altogether - but instead he slipped one foot through the trouser leg. 

Out in the kitchen, you were saying farewell to your visitor. Loki was dying to know who it was, and why they dropped by. He wondered if he could ever manage to blend into your life; could he charm your friends? Your parents? Could he actually handle having a job, and paying taxes, and pretending to go to the doctor once a year for a check-up? 

It couldn’t be worse than spending his youth trying to prove himself a worthy son to a father who would never see him as such. But could he stand manually getting dressed every morning? Could he really go that long without his seidr?

Loki slipped the other foot through its trouser leg. He thought about X-5, and how eager he was to return to this timeline, to this life. Was it a life with you he wanted, or did he just want to be loved after spending so much time in a place that had never once valued the individual experience? 

The front door to your flat was closed, and then locked. His trousers now buttoned and zipped, Loki picked up his white shirt and pushed his arms through the sleeves. He thought about Mobius and his incredible self-restraint, how he was somehow easily managing to ignore the potentials of his own timeline. 

What if it’s something good? Do you think I wanna have that rattling around in here? 

It was as admirable as much as it was infuriating. If Mobius ever knew what he was considering, if Mobius ever discovered that Loki wasn’t giving his complete and undivided attention to the more pressing issue of the Temporal Loom, then he would be so impressively furious. He’d be so disappointed, he’d call Loki expedient and selfish and narcissistic. 

But didn’t Loki deserve something good for a change? He’d once had just about anything one could hope for, even with a disdainful shadow hanging over his shoulder. How much more would he have to lose before his selfishness was to be labeled justified, understandable, warranted? 

A long life of clinging to discarded scraps had made him selfish. But it wasn’t sickness, it was necessity. 

Of course he’d rather stay with you. Here, he was valued and appreciated. He was allowed to feel good, and dare he say it - wanted, even. Something he’d never once experienced in over a thousand years of tortured existence. Who wouldn’t be clinging to a liferaft while drowning in a vast ocean of nothingness? 

In the kitchen, the faucet was running, and the sound of cabinets opening and then closing echoed down the hallway. You were starting your day with or without him, it seemed. But that was to be expected, thanks to his earlier, thoughtless question, and it was a feeling he should have become used to by now. As Loki caught his reflection in the mirror above your bureau, he knew that wasn’t the case. 

Only a few weeks had passed since he’d escaped from the clutches of Thanos and the Black Order, and this was the first time he’d gazed upon himself since the S.H.I.E.L.D. research facility. He was slimmer than he remembered. But instead of that gauntness sharpening his features as one would expect, Loki saw himself fading away within the hunger of yearning. His Godly features were dulling before his very own eyes, seeming to drift away into abstraction while he got dressed in a mortal suit and tie. 

Yet again, Loki was pretending to be something he wasn’t. That was all he’d ever done, instead of determining what it was that he wanted or forging his own path forward. He’d either do his best at what was expected of him, or he’d intentionally do the complete opposite of it, just to punish them for never asking what he wanted for himself. 

The irony was he’d never be able to answer that question. He simply didn’t know what he wanted. Even now, the TVA and all its people were both on the verge of total annihilation, and here he was wishing he could just crawl back into bed with a human. No matter which option he chose, the guilt of not picking the other might very well eat him away from the inside.  

But what if he didn’t have to choose between those two paths at all?

For the first time in his life, Loki could truly create his own destiny. There was no one pulling the strings anymore, no pre-fabricated tragedy for him to obediently succumb to. He could button up his shirt as fast or as slowly as he wanted, he could snake his feet into his socks and shoes, or forgo them entirely. He could join you in the kitchen, slip his arms around your waist, and he could promise to return soon. 

He could mean that promise, and it was possible that he could fulfill it too. 

Moving hastily, Loki finished getting dressed. He tucked the dress shirt into his trousers and he retrieved his tie from the floor, slipping its middle into his pocket and leaving the ends to dangle down the length of his thigh. He picked up his jacket from the floor, folded it neatly over his arm, and then he began his approach into the hallway with his chin held higher than it’d been in a very long time.

He could do this, he could make this work. He could have his Key Lime pie, and he could eat it too. 

Successfully ignoring the horned candelabrum on the narrow bookshelf, he instead admired your displayed photographs as he moved down the hallway. Your smile was so joyous and bright in all of them, but especially in the ones where you made goofy faces with your friends. When you dressed up for holidays with your family. While standing in front of that treasured crepe myrtle in the backyard of your childhood home, the one that clearly meant so very much to you. 

There was nothing in your past that indicated a miserable future, only the deep-seated roots of pleasant memories. Loki hoped that would be enough to keep you safe until he fixed the Loom, but he felt optimistic about his chances as he approached the kitchen; he was going to keep you from falling into the clutches of addiction, and he was going to save the Temporal Loom at the same time. There was no one around to decide that he wasn’t allowed to any longer. 

If there was only one true thing in the entirety of the multiverse, it was that he despised being told that he couldn’t do something. 

And afterwards, he would go to the Æsir to request a spell. If necessary, he’d return to Asgard to search their libraries, and he’d go to New York and interrogate the so-called Sorcerer Supreme. He’d tear apart the entirety of the Nine Realms if he had to - all in search of a way to allow you to live as long as he would, just so he’d never have to figure out how to say goodbye. 

After rounding the hallway’s corner, he found you were standing in front of the kitchen stove, carefully measuring out spoonfuls of dark brown granules and methodically pouring them into a tall, silver pot. Your eyes were bleary, your movements sluggish but not without purpose. But in that early morning light, while wearing nothing but a silk robe, Loki found you entirely and completely magnificent. 

“Would you like some coffee before you go?” 

Your question was soft and polite. There was an air of distance to it that Loki simply couldn’t blame you for, but it also wasn't anything he couldn’t fix. He flashed his best, most impeccable smile as he laid his suit jacket over a barstool and seated himself on the other. 

“Yes, that would be lovely, my dear, thank you.” 

On the other side of the counter, you tried to hide the shy smile that crept across your lips, but it was impossible for him to miss. He grinned in return, thinking how lucky he might be to someday get to see that smile every morning.

Shifting his attention, Loki watched closely as you quietly assembled the rest of the contraption before placing it on the range. He may have been slightly out of touch when it came to Midgardian habits, but he did understand coffee to be of great and immeasurable importance to humans. He’d even grown fond of it himself, after several expeditions in his youth to visit each of the Nine Realms. 

And he could tell this intricate procedure of yours was dutifully performed every single morning, regardless of how late you’d been up the night before. That it granted you comfort, and just the smallest bit of control amidst the rampant chaos of the world. So he watched carefully, intending to memorize the steps so that someday he could be able to perform this task for you instead. 

“Who was at the door earlier?” he asked softly, eager to avoid a return to the previous, more unpleasant conversation you’d almost had before. The one that no longer mattered. “Was it another gentleman caller hoping to have coffee with you?”  

You laughed and shook your head while removing a match from the cardboard box. “No. It was just the doorman, if you must know…” 

“Doormen still drink coffee, do they not?” Loki teased, his eyes sparkling and his shoulders shrugging innocently. 

You struck the match along the textured side of the matchbox. The tip ignited flawlessly, momentarily erupting into a wild, bulbous flame before settling into a controlled burn. 

“I mean, if I was your doorman, I’d certainly be up here to have coffee with you every morning…”

“Oh, would you now?” you murmured with a smile, shifting over to the stovetop and carefully adjusting the burner’s dial. You brought the lit match just close enough to ignite the burner, and then blew it out. “Something tells me you wouldn’t be a very good doorman if you were only focused on opening and closing my door…” 

This time it was Loki’s turn to laugh. He shifted on the barstool, his long legs splayed wild and leaning closer to you with his elbows on the counter. “Yes, I suppose I’d probably be dismissed pretty quickly, wouldn’t I?” 

“Mmhmm. And then you’d have to go to doorman remedial classes to restore your honor,” you grinned playfully while turning on the faucet to run cool water over the extinguished match, just to be certain that it was out completely. “That would be so humiliating, wouldn’t it?” 

“Yes, and we can’t have that, can we?” Loki replied, tilting his head curiously. He found your behaviors to be quite intriguing; every action had a specific purpose, a unique rhythm to them. Every item had a designated place, a proper condition that it needed to exist as. You were clearly a meticulously neat person, and he thought it was terribly endearing. 

After tossing the thoroughly drenched match into the trash bin, you then pulled a folded cloth out of an overhead cupboard, let it soak under the running water, and then shut the faucet off. 

“So, tell me. What is it that exemplary doormen do while they’re on the job? Perhaps I just need a lesson or two…” 

Your arm swung in wide circles over the countertop, collecting any spilled coffee grounds with the damp cloth and guiding them into the sink. 

“Oh, he was just bringing up the script that was dropped off while I was out last night.” You nodded towards a neat stack of correspondence beside him on the counter. At the very bottom was a large, cream-colored packet with the words “PERSONAL and CONFIDENTIAL” stamped in red ink at each corner. 

“Well, that was very thoughtful of him.” 

You nodded in agreement. “Apparently he was very excited when he arrived at work this morning and saw it. He just couldn’t wait to bring it up here.”

“I see. And this doorman - is he a strapping young lad?” Loki grinned. It was hard to say if he just wanted to make you smile again, or if he was actually trying to suss out any potential competition for your affections. “A dashing gentleman, eager to impress a beautiful woman such as yourself?” 

The countertops now wiped clean, you made an amused and befuddled face as you began to rinse out the washcloth in the sink. “Oh, my God, no! He’s my father’s age, I’ve known him since I was a child.” 

Loki’s smile shifted into warmth, his heart full with the reassurance that there were so many people out there who loved and cared about you. He wondered if you knew how lucky you were, and what his life might have looked like if he had been afforded the same luxury. 

But as it was, everything seemed to be like it should. The vessel on the range was steadily heating up, thanks to the light blue flames licking up its sides from underneath. Your kitchen was spotless, he had a beautiful companion at his side, and for once, Loki wasn’t being hunted by an enemy hellbent on either killing him or ruining his life again. 

“I went to school with his daughter, and she’s still my best friend. So he thinks of me as like a second daughter,” you continued, wringing out the excess water from the cloth and draping it neatly over the faucet’s neck. 

“And what about this script made your second father so excited?” Loki asked, trying not to think about the fact that he’d once had two fathers himself, until he’d murdered his biological one. “Is it for a role you hope to get, or for a role you already have?”

You shifted to open another cupboard behind you. Inside, neat and organized stacks of matching dishware of the crispest white awaited your selection. You pulled out two sets of mugs and a saucer for each before turning back towards him. “Oh, it’s for - ” 

An unexpected, and loud, electronic chirp interrupted your answer. 

You both froze in place, but for very different reasons - your eyebrows raised, and your eyes darted around the flat as though you weren’t sure that you had actually heard the startling noise or not. You certainly had no idea what had caused it, and it showed in your expression. 

Loki froze because he knew the sound had come from the TemPad hidden inside his pocket. 

⊱ ── ༓ ── ⋅•⋅⊰ ──  ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ∙ ⋅  ── ⊱⋅•⋅ ── ༓ ── ⊰

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[slytherinslut0]

quiet reckoning. chapter one

summary: mattheo comes to visit. it’s strange, being twenty five and still seeing your childhood in his eyes.

warnings: just a ton of fucking angst. complicated, self destructive mattheo who’s finally coming to terms with how he pushed you away when you were younger simply because he couldn’t stand being second to tom in your eyes. the acceptance doesn’t make it hurt any less. get the tissues. cry with me please.

masterlist & other chapters.

Life these days holds a strange, silent kind of peace, interrupted only by the faint sound of water rushing over stone—the creek that runs quick along the forest edge. In your early summer afternoons, the trees form a leafy wall of emerald and ochre, and they sway with the breeze that brushes the hair back from your cheeks.

You sit cross-legged in the dirt, hands buried in soil as you pull vegetables out of your garden in prep for the approaching cold months. You love how earth has its own signature scent: damp, fertile, alive. Somehow it makes you think of Tom—his manor, with its towering windows overlooking manicured grounds, its own gardens sprawling wide. His manor with its grand, sweeping staircases, polished black floors.

Everything was pristine, almost oppressively so. Even the walls seemed haughty, disdainful of the cobwebs that clung to the corners.

Tom had never let you stay long enough to tend to those.

But his gardens—those had their own softness, a quiet beauty that only fully revealed itself after dusk when the moonlight cast everything in silver. I loved you there, you reminisce, and the ache has a name in memory—longing. I wish I could have loved you there longer.

And now you're here, a few years after Tom told you never to come back to him—here where the ache feels smaller, further away. Here where there’s no temptation, where the air smells of earth and moss and freedom, and the silence holds its own kind of comfort. Mattheo visits sometimes, wandering into the quiet when your absence grows too thick, when too many of his owls have gone unanswered.

"He'll visit soon." He always tells you. You start to hate how much he lies to you.

"Don't pretend," you said once, and his mouth stretched into a thin, humourless smile.

"Alright," he replied. "I won't."

So now, when he comes to visit, he doesn't say it—he just sits next to you. He doesn't talk much. Neither do you. Life here is quiet—few neighbours, even fewer visitors. A woman brings you pastries from time to time and the town grocer knows your name, but most days you pass unbothered. You tend the garden when the days are warm, work on the cottage when it's cold.

When it's raining you read books and pretend they're not the same kind Tom used to keep.

On a day in early October, Mattheo sits next to you on the porch and you hate that you notice how he doesn't look at you the same way Tom did. It's something lighter, something less cloying. Sometimes you think of how unfair it is that he can taunt you silently like this—how he can remind you of the chocolate streaks in Tom's inky hair, the depth in his dark eyes. How he can remind you that he holds all the same features as his brother, just without the weight.

As the sun sinks slowly through the trees, casting pink and orange across the sky, you turn your face to the creek, watching the water ripple over stones and rocks, and you think of how young you loved them—the way your love grew different when you weren't looking.

Mattheo was chaos, always had been. I could have helped him find himself. But that thought feels hollow, and it's always followed by another. If he would have let me.

"It's strange to think that this is your life." Mattheo speaks after a while of not. He lights a cigarette, and you reach for it when he passes it to you. "You could have done anything."

You inhale the smoke and close your eyes—thinking of how cigarettes taste like fire and ash and the last time Tom had taken your hand.

"Maybe this is all I ever wanted to be." You reply, spinning the cigarette between your fingers. "At peace."

He glances at you in the fading light—the way the sunset casts shadows in the hollows of your cheeks, makes the gold of your earrings look darker against your hair.

He frowns. "You don't look at peace."

No, you think, taking another drag. I never really have.

You pass the cigarette back to him, watching the smoke drift in the breeze. He doesn't say anything else, so you don't either.

Instead, you watch the dark start to close in, the sky turn into an endless stretch of indigo, stars winking to life somewhere above the trees. The fireflies come out eventually, when the night is quiet and heavy and the world turns a little sleepy. They flutter around in the trees and grass like faeries—like stars that've made their home on the ground—and Mattheo watches them with a furrow in his brow.

You wonder what he's thinking, then think better of it at the bitter twist of his mouth. He always thought they'd burn.

"Why do you still come here?" You question. He turns to you, and when his eyes meet yours that's when you realize you'd verbalized the thought. "To sit with me."

Mattheo shakes his head. "I'll need another smoke to answer that."

So he pulls out another cigarette and lights it. The first inhale is long, and the exhale makes you blink. You look away and pretend like his response doesn't make your stomach twist.

The stream moves a little darker in the moonlight and the pine trees shiver with a gentle breeze that smells like soil. You feel the comfort in it—in knowing that all of this has been here longer than you ever have, and that it'll be here long after you're gone.

Perhaps that's precisely what you chased. A home in something steady.

"I come to remind myself you're okay." He says after a long silence, staring at his hands. "Sometimes it feels like you're dead."

You blink again. He's more perceptive than you remember.

"I'm still here," you remind him, but he laughs without humour in it.

"Sure, you're there," he replies, before another pause. "But you're not really living."

He says the words casually, like they're a fact. You think they're meant to hurt. He's right—it's a thought that comes quietly, the way most unwanted thoughts do. You over look at the river, the fireflies, the dirt under your fingernails—you try to feel the chill in the October breeze, the soft moss under your feet. You try to be alive.

"Why do you think that?" You ask even when you know the answer.

He takes another drag of his cigarette, and then exhales—casting his hair grey when the smoke drifts over his face.

He looks older here, when the night stretches over him. It reminds you how much has changed.

"Sometimes I think you're here to punish yourself." He says, passing you the cigarette again. "You say you come here for peace, but this isn't peace like a person should have. It's just an absence. Silence, and isolation, and nothing else." You glance down at his hand resting on his knee beside you, shadows deepening in the lines of his palm. He watches you. "I wish you'd stop hating yourself for what he's become."

A lump forms in your throat—you remember Tom as a boy, the way he'd hold magic in his palms and make lights dance just to make you laugh. You remember the way he once looked at you, quietly and gently in a way that made you feel safe within crumbling walls offering cold stone decorum. You remember one of the last times at Hogwarts, once things took a turn, when he held more than just magic in his palms—when the lights danced only to burn you instead of make you laugh.

You wonder what it says about you, that you loved him in both.

"I don't hate myself, Matt." You mutter, more conviction than truth. "If I'm punishing myself at all, it's for giving him something to hurt."

He doesn't say anything for a while, so you think briefly that his silence is agreement. You and him both know that there is a lot to hurt about, when it comes to Tom.

"You didn't give him anything." He rebuttals with certainty. "He was who he was before you even knew his name."

It's easy to forget that sometimes, the way he had been all sharp edges even when you'd first met. The way he'd pulled you and his brother through crumbling, damp, narrow hallways with something far too assured for a six year old. Something that made you want to follow him forever—something that whispered; I'll never let anything hurt you.

You exhale a plume of smoke. The fireflies look like falling stars when you close your eyes.

"Sometimes, I think I made him human." You say, and immediately wish you didn't. It's a weird thought, but one that comes unbidden. "Others, I think I made him evil."

It tastes like acid the moment you say it aloud. I made him evil. You think back to all those nights in the quiet, the way you taught him how to confide in you, the way he looked at you as if you held some answer he couldn't find on his own. You remember the secrets he shared, the way he softened when no one else could see. You remember how long it took him to get there.

But you remember the darker moments, too—moments when you didn't pull away, even when you should have. Moments you whispered reassurances instead of warnings, when you offered comfort instead of caution. Maybe, in those silences, you fed a need that shouldn't have been nourished, let him believe his ambitions weren't dangerous, only misunderstood.

You wonder if, in being the one person who never condemned him, you gave him permission to be what he became.

"And me?" Mattheo turns to you. You glance at him, the hard line of his mouth and his eyes that look more black than brown in the night— "did you make me evil too?"

You're both quiet for a moment, the only sound is the stream, the only motion is the flutter of the fireflies.

"I don't believe I made you anything." You say finally, letting him take the cigarette back from you. "I suppose you only became who you wanted to be."

You think, quietly, that it's a kinder fate than the rest.

He huffs a laugh. "So you think I wanted to be an asshole."

He's joking, you think. Or he's bitter again, resentful. You're sure he wanted to be whatever Tom would accept him as—though you'd never say those words out loud.

"I think you wanted to be loved." Is what you settle on, and the words tear your throat apart as you speak them. "Just like I did."

He hums, noncommittally, and lights a third cigarette.

You wonder why you still know that he's bitter even when he's not saying the words—why you still know that he only hums that way when something hurts, or when it's a truth he can't bring himself to admit.

"You found it now, haven't you?" You fill his silence with another sentence you wish you didn't say. "You're engaged."

You watch the embers from the cigarette tip light up the hollows of his cheeks, the way it burns his eyes gold as he takes a drag on it.

"Yeah," he nods into the night. "I'm engaged."

Something selfish in you aches at that.

"Then why do you come here and look at me like you're lonely?" You try to ask it casually, but you don't think you manage it. You see him tense when he realizes how well you still read him. "What is it you're missing, Matt?"

"I don't know." He looks at you in the dark, his expression lost in the shadows of his hair. "Sometimes I think it's you."

It's an answer like a knife, because you've known all along that he feels the same way you do—that the loneliness stays and the regret never really dissipates—that the 'what-ifs' linger long after they shouldn't.

"I'm not your girl." You remind him.

It sounds empty when you say it, but he made it clear when you were younger that he wanted it this way.

"You never were."

He looks away after that, to the stream, and you wonder if it has ever felt hollow like this.

All the lights seem very small suddenly, the moon, the stars—you're not sure where his vulnerability is coming from, all these years in passing. You assume it’s the old saying—absence makes the heart grow fonder.

"But you wanted me to be." It's more of a question.

"For a time, when we were kids." He gives you honesty that surprises you. "Sometimes I think I still do."

Why?—you want to ask, suddenly, desperately—and wonder at the cruelty of the thought. Asking that would be the worst kind of question. Why do you want me?

You think you know all the answers already. They sit bitter at the back of your throat.

"So that's why you come here." You say instead, shivering with the wind that brushes over you. "To remind yourself of all the reasons you still feel empty."

There's a dark sort of humour to the sound he lets out, one that makes your chest ache. He turns to you again, and his hands shake when he lifts the cigarette.

"It's not you that makes me feel empty, princess." He whispers. "It's the absence of you."

You look at him, then—really look. There's something strange about being twenty five and still seeing your childhood in his eyes. Despite the nickname, he’s not joking. It’s the kind of confession that tastes like a fist, like a punch that breaks bones.

I know, you think. I wish it could have been different for us.

"You need to stop coming here." There's no spine in those words. They're putty between you. "Just like Tom told me to stop, I'm now telling you."

He's quiet, watching you as the embers of the cigarette flicker over his fingers.

"I'll stop," he pauses, and you see the pain in his throat as he swallows. "When he finally comes to you."

That, you think, will probably never happen.

"So you'll come here forever." You say, and his mouth twists in a silent, bitter smile.

"I guess I will."

You don't have a response to that. It's not a choice he makes so much as it is his reality, and you, of all people, could never fault him for that.

So instead of words, you lean to rest your head on his shoulder, same way you did when you were kids. You sit together, watching the moon and stars and the stream and the trees and everything else around you that reminds you you're alive, even if you don't feel it. You think of his fiancé, you know she'd never understand. This is childhood love in its most vulnerable form—and you thank him for it, silently, for reminding you that you're not alone. Even if you're sure you are.

He leans his head sideways, on top of yours—a gesture almost automatic.

"I still think of you in the summer." He mutters into your hair. You close your eyes and remember the sun, the way it once felt like it touched your bones. "The summer when we were nine. Swimming in the river at night. Those stupid bugs that I thought were made of fire." He pauses for a minute, looking around, and you think he's done talking, until he isn't. "I suppose I do understand why you chose this life."

You remember that summer, too. Small children swimming in a river that was all silver shadows under the moonlight, chasing fireflies like stars. No parents to call you home, no rules except the ones of your own.

Somehow, that's not your favourite memory of him.

"And I think of you in the fall." You say, listening to your own voice sounding distant. "The year just before Hogwarts. When the leaves turned red and orange and gold. When you raked them into a pile for us to jump in."

He hums. "I tried to kiss you that fall."

"And Tom fought you for it."

"And he won." Mattheo's voice sounds distant too, almost lost. "He always won."

It's strange, thinking of autumn when you think of Mattheo, but it fits—he's just as fleeting. Beautiful, easy to fall into, but always gone too soon, leaving a chill in his place.

"Sometimes I think it's because he knew he could." You build off his thoughts. "And sometimes I think it's because he just wanted to prove it."

He shrugs. "Either way, I still lost."

It's such a mournful way to reminisce, you think, for the children you used to be.

"And what now?" You ask.

He exhales slowly, and the smoke looks like a mist in front of you. "I suppose now we both lose."

And that, is the most honest thing he's said all night.

You turn your face into his shoulder, the way you had when you were younger. You close your eyes, and for a moment you imagine being a child again—back in the days when love was simple and nights were endless. Back to a time when you didn't know things you should and all you had were each other's shoulders to lean on in an orphanage dirtier than the forest before you.

"We lose together, then." You offer, a half-whisper.

"Yeah," he answers, just as quiet, just as lost. "We lose together."

There's a bitter kind of contentment in that, you think. You're sure that's a terrible thing.

You take a few moments to brace yourself for the shift in conversation, and then—

"How is he?"

"He's fine." Mattheo understands what you aren't asking. "The leader he always wanted to be."

You close your eyes again and hear the stream running steady, moving around rocks that have been shaped by years of its presence. You ignore the ache in your chest.

"He's happy?"

You don't have to open your eyes to know that Mattheo smiles bitterly. "He's as happy as someone like Tom could be."

There are several beats of silence, the kind that holds too many unsaid things. You feel it in Mattheos exhale that there's something he isn't saying. You don't press him on it. You sit together like this for a while under the sky—watching the way the dark clouds move, the stars shift.

You think about childhoods that never last. About fireflies and streams and boys you loved.

"Tell me something true." You murmur as the midnight grog sets in. "Tell me something that'll warm me through winter."

Mattheo pauses, silent, and for a moment you think he's not going to answer.

"I've loved you most of my life." He mutters finally, into the top of your head. The words feel like a breath of summer, in a quiet, dark night. "That's the kind of truth that could melt an iceberg."

It's the sort of declaration you could only share in the cover of the night, in the silence of a forest. Not the sort of admission that would ever survive daylight. I've loved you most of mine, too.

"And a lie?" You reply.

His fingertips run through his hair, almost idly. You suppose he's looking back into memories of fleeting autumn's and summer sun, the time he tried to kiss you and the day he pushed you away. He doesn't answer the question for a while. You wonder if he doesn't have an answer, or if he just doesn't want to say it.

And then, finally, quietly— "I'm happy for him."

You close your eyes again. That, you think, is the cold truth of winter.

You turn your face again into his shoulder for a second time tonight, but you keep your eyes open. You can feel the weight of your childhood on your shoulders, the trees and the creek behind you, and the silence that follows his lie.

Suddenly, you're furious—a fire tearing through regret. You wish Mattheo hadn't chosen booze, fights, and empty escapes. You wish he'd let you love him properly before pushing you away. You wish he hadn't always resented Tom—hadn't always felt second best in a way no amount of reassurance could fix. Yet somehow, you just can't fault him for any of it.

He's always known you loved Tom first; he's carried that like a wound.

"Ask me to lie to you." You say as you swallow your anger.

There's an exhale. You're sure Mattheo's watching the trees, the wind as it runs quietly past.

"Lie to me."

You tilt your head up to the sky. You try to remember that fall, you try to feel what it was like to be a child again, and to believe in a future that wasn't shaped by the past. You think of his fiancé.

"I'm happy for you." You whisper.

From the corner of your eye, you know he smiles bitterly again, but he responds with nothing more than his unsteady breathing. You're both silent like this for the rest of his stay, together under the moon that's watched you both change.

"I'll be back in a month," he mutters, just loud enough for you to hear as time stretches thin.

He has to go before the sun rises, before dawn coaxes him into staying. You consider, if only for the flicker of a second, letting him.

"I'll see you then." You lean back and look up into his eyes, searching into the gold buried deep. If you look too long, you think you may see his broken heart. You make yourself smile anyway. "Write to me."

"Even if you don't write back." He replies with a nod.

The cold air makes your eyes water. For a moment he's still, like he may pull you into him and drown you in all the things he feels. Instead, he puts a cigarette into his mouth, lighting it with one of his hands. The lighter casts an orange glow over his face that makes him look pale and tired again, like the boy you'd met in an orphanage that was so much dirtier than the forest before you.

"Good night." He murmurs, and you feel his thumb brush your cheek before he apparates back to the life you left behind.

And now, alone under the black sky, you take a deep breath. Then, you exhale, go back into your cabin and you try not to think about all the things you've lost.

You try not to think of the boy you've loved for far too large a part of your life and how it changed the boy who's loved you for far too large a part of his. You try instead to focus on what you have—walls and peace and solitude, something certain that won't disappear when it rains.

[rin-solo]

Finally, I am happy to present to you my ...

EPIC: THE MUSICAL | ACT I [Character Design project]

I have been working on these for a long time and I am very happy with how these turned out. I am a huge fan of visual character design and I simply needed to do a full lineup.

Act II will follow shortly (it is all done except for Ithaca Saga, which I will add as soon as it drops.) Please enjoy, and read below for some thoughts and background on some of my design choices!

TROY | CYCLOPS ft. Odysseus, Athena, Eurylochus, and Polites

With Odysseus, I really wanted to emphasize his free spirit in this era and mark him as Athena's warrior, so I gave him a special belt and some armbands that represent her (this was inspired by some of @mircsy's work). He also has heterochromia; his left eye is green, representing his cunning, wisdom, and spirit; his right eye is gray, representing his ruthlessness and warrior side.

I simply love Athena in purple/gold. Her mask is a symbol of her invulnerability and comes off only during "My Goodbye" when Odysseus tells her that she's alone. Her cape can also transform into wings, and her eyes are actually golden without the mask.

I had to give Eurylochus his large anime sword (it's just as heavy as it looks but he likes it that way because that means no one besides him is strong enough to wield it ... I imagine Eurylochus can bench press at least Odysseus' and Polites' weights combined. He and Polites are also wearing variants of Odysseus' armor, indicating that they belong to the same army.

Listen, I can vibe with Eurylochus' giant sword but I draw the line at Polites with glasses, sorry. He still gets the hairband, of course. He's also dressed more casually, and without a weapon, because of his pacifistic outlook. He's the physically weakest among the trio by far but also still an inch taller than Odysseus (it's fine, Odysseus is still like 5'10, his friends are just all so freaking tall...)

OCEAN ft. Aeolus, Poseidon, and Odysseus

Not gonna lie, I LOVED designing Aeolus' outfit. She's playful and mischievous and loves to hang out in the clouds all day; her outfit is probably made out of clouds let's be real. Also yes, her image on the windbag moves to make cheeky faces.

Poseidon I cannot imagine without tentacles anymore thanks to @gigizetz's "Ruthlessness", idk it just fits him so well. He definitely got all dressed up to go and sink Odysseus' fleet that day, he has a reputation, you know? And he just likes the shiny gold and accessories; the ocean is full of them so why wouldn't he?

Since breaking up with Athena, Odysseus lost her belt and armbands. He's still wearing her brooch because he couldn't bring himself to fully throw that away as well yet. Polites' hairband around his wrist reminds him of what he's fighting for and what to live by ... for now (Poseidon is about to ruin this man's whole career...)

CIRCE | UNDERWORLD ft. Circe, Hermes, and Tiresias

I wanted to give Circe the "witch" vibe while putting a Greek spin on it and I actually adore her design. She seems both immortally youthful (something I aim for with all my god designs) and motherly. There she was, gathering some herbs when a bunch of strangers crash onto her island ... Oh well, at least this man was a good man this time.

Hermes is kind of just Hermes. I wanted to keep him shaded, a bit impish, and definitely up to no good. He's wearing the contrasting colors on purpose, by the way. And yes, his hat can fly on its own ... But for it to do that he'd have to actually be willing to show his face which he seldom does unless he really trusts you.

Tiresias is a soul, so he has the same kind of ageless youth as all my gods (something that goes for souls of dead people too, since I like to think they get to appear at whatever age they want after death.) He's looking a bit regal since he's a prophet, so I imagine regarded highly, even in the Underworld. Instead of the blindfold, his hood covers his face, adorned with a symbolic eye to identify him and his skill.

***

Well, that's it for ACT I, friends, I hope you liked these! I will upload ACT II asap. Please comment and/or tell me your thoughts about my designs! And feel free to ask any questions you may have! I would love to talk more about these.

[greeniegirl23]

Isn't It.. Lovely? (Chapter 3#)

One month.

You had one month to make the biggest decision you'd ever make in your life. Part of you wondered why you didn't tell Alastor to have a field day with your Father's corpse, until you remembered that the other part of you still loved and cared for him.

He was still your Dad and once upon a time he was a very good Dad. Your parents were practically a power couple when your Mom was alive, after her death, depression fell on him like a bag of bricks. Leading him to find feeling again in glasses of wine and bottles of hard liquor.

Everyday you pondered on this, wondering if something would finally push you over the edge. If you'd snap and take revenge for yourself.

You didn't like having those thoughts. Yes, the idea of liberty made you feel elated but at the cost of the last family member you had? It was conflicting to say the least.

All that worrying came to a halt once Alastor began to solidify his place in your life.

Every night at 9pm sharp, when you were dressed for bed and your despicable abuser was asleep. Alastor used his powers to turn your radio into your own personal hotline. He was ever so happy to hear from you, happiest when he saw nor heard any traces of harm inflicted on you that day.

He soon found out that you were a curious one and a terrible over-sharer. It was obvious you never really had friends before and if you did, they left you behind long ago. You were as innocent and pure as the driven snow. Always asking questions about him, about Hell, and what it was like back when he was on Earth.

You loved when he told you more about his life. It was like he was reading you your own personal bedtime stories. Tales of speakeasies and the depression, parties that lasted from dusk to dawn, and of course, all of the completely justified crimes he committed before his demise.

As payment for his stories, you told him about your own and caught him up on modern day issues. He seemed especially interested in World War I, disappointed that he died a few years shy of when it started. You told him about your health science classes, your school, and he even became a good study buddy to help you out with your tests.

“Alright darling, last question.” He stated, a drum roll playing in the background. “If your patient performs a forward lunge, which plane of the body are they moving in?”

You chewed on the end of your pencil. “..Coronal?”

A bell dinging made you smile. “Correct! Well done darling, but I'd like for you to work on your confidence when you answer. No one wants a doctor that's unsure of what they're doing.”

“Yeah..I just get so unsure sometimes. I think I'm more scared of being wrong than being right.”

He chuckled. “Do not fret my dear! I've been doing these little pop quizzes with you long enough to know you have a sharp mind. Confidence is a tool that will solidify your place in the career you plan to pursue, so don't be afraid to utilize it more.” His voice was so kind and mentoirish. It felt like he was giving you life lessons almost every time he talked.

On one hand that made you embarrassed. Like these were things you should have already known but you didn't, but you decided to give yourself some grace. Life was different for you than everyone else, so obviously there would be some things you didn't experience to gain knowledge from.

You placed your pencil down and sat cross legged in your chair. Not being the type of person who could sit still, nor do things normally. “Is that how you become a radio host? Because you were super confident?”

There was a pause. “Well, it was something that helped. Being a professional at what I do required more than just believing in myself. Most people think it's easy, but it has its challenges. For example, I used to rehearse my script in the mirror to stop myself from unconsciously going ‘umm’ every 10-30 seconds. It also aided in preventing myself from fumbling my words.”

“That sounds like solid advice.” You smiled. “I should start keeping a journal when you're around and call it ‘Life Lessons As Taught By The Radio Demon.’”

A loud cackling broke out over the radio. “Ah, so the girl does have a sense of humor. A good one at that!” He said proudly. “And here I thought you were all doom and gloom.”

“Hey! I'll have you know staying positive at all times can be very exhausting.” You huffed, placing your hands on your hips in a pouty attitude. “It's really hard to smile when it feels like the world is against you...”

There was a stagnant silence in the air as you turned your head to gaze out the window, watching the rain drizzle from the grey sky. It was your favorite weather, even more so because of the friend it allowed you to find.

Alastor pondered over your words before he took a deep breath. “That leads to a question that I've been meaning to ask you for some time now. It's a rather sensitive one so if you'd prefer not to answer, I would understand.”

Giving the plushie your attention, Alastor's tone turned concerned as he asked. “I can’t help but wonder, Darling, where is your mother..?”

Without missing a beat, you replied. “Oh, my Dad murdered her.”

A sharp microphone screech omitted from the radio. It was safe to say he most definitely was not expecting that..

Not because he can't see your degenerate of a guardian doing something of the sort, he was actually more curious as to how someone as sloppy as your Dad could get away with something like that. No. What got him was even though you were saying words that no child should ever say until they're well into adulthood, you smiled. A soft one, filled with unspeakable pain and a lust for something you could not yet gain.

You could feel him hesitating to ask you some more questions on the topic, so you decided that you could quickly give him your life story. “Whenever anyone asks about it, I always tell them that she passed from cancer but, that's not true..”

Alastor’s signal chirped in curiosity, but he made sure to sound sympathetic. “What happened?..”

You chuckled a bitter melody.

“She was born a diabetic and I was around twelve.. Everyday my Mom took her medicine, the diabetes is actually what led her to becoming a doctor in the first place. Every morning my Dad would make her coffee, as a way of telling her he loved her. I snuck a few sips before only to find out she made it black, when she caught me she told me “Mommy can't have sugar…”

When I turned fourteen, they started arguing. A lot. I can remember hearing them sometimes. Mom threatened to leave him because he was starting to grow a gambling issue and she was tired of taking the brunt of most of the bills. He promised to change and that's when everything started to go downhill.. Weeks went by, she just started getting sicker and sicker seemingly out of nowhere. Still had her morning coffee though. I'd make it for her sometimes and she reminded me “Mommy can't have sugar.” Hardly able to do anything for herself, much less take her medicine. Of course he said he'd do it, he promised me he did when he took me to school..He still made her coffee, before he went to work and after she had been made bed bound..I thought it was a lie, that it wasn't true until I realized that she died that morning with a cup of coffee in her hand..”

A sour laugh left your lips, as you recalled that day you came home from school and found her lying there with blood on the pillow, blood that she had been coughing up for almost a month.

“That bastard was poisoning her with fucking sugar… Everyday he was putting a little bit in her morning coffee and not giving her the insulin she needed. She was a Type 1 diabetic and he did all of it for some fuckin insurance money..” You sighed, running a hand through your hair. Before yanking it in frustration and punching your fist through the nearest wall, your face was blank and unmoving for a second not even flinching as you removed your bruised fist from the drywall. “Mama couldn't have sugar..”

Alastor listened as you explained your mother's demise. His distaste for your father grew more and more as he recalled memories of his own childhood. He'd never tell you to your face, but he could see parts of himself in you from his younger years, if lead in the proper manner, you could become quite the promising killer.

He shook his head. Not the best thoughts to be having right now, not while you're on the edge of a mental breakdown.

“I..Would be lying to you if I said I knew what to tell you about such an awful situation..” He stated hesitantly. “But I can say that I am sorry, that you had to deal with something like this so early in life.”

“Don't be sorry, there's nothing to be done about it…She's gone now and I have to get away from him.” You declared, looking at your now bruised hand. “Now you understand why I made that wish. On any day, at any time, for any reason, that man could decide to kill me. To kill his own daughter in cold blood..”

Alastor hummed. “If you know this, then let me help you." He demanded. "I cannot sit idly by forever my dear, these links to your world are only good for short times to prevent other demons from causing other problems. No one understands the severity of this situation more than you. I would love to help you exact revenge on that putrid sack of skin but you must choose before it is too late and I am no longer around..

You sat in silence as Alastor did his best to help you come to a decision. As much as you hated being rushed, you couldn't deny that he was correct. But the decision was hard, harder than you thought it would be considering the fact that you still loved your father and the man he used to be…

All these thoughts ran through your head on a daily basis, everytime they made you wanna curl up and cry. Snatching up the plush doll, you gave it a good squeeze and hid your face in your knees, wishing that your Mom was still around.

The Radio Demon pursed his lips in thought, he wasn't good with others emotions unless he could feed off of the entertainment from it, much less comforting them. There was nothing entertaining about this, about you being sad. He didn't like it for a reason he couldn't explain, perhaps because you were so bubbly in the beginning?

You weren't trying to do anything miraculous, you just wanted to live your life in peace and possibly get justice for your mother. That was something he could understand. He wouldn't mind completely decimating your Dad, truly he wouldn't! It'd be on the house for you, truly you're the most pitiful soul he's come across in a long while.

He supposed he could pull a few quick strings to make you feel better in the moment. To bring back that smile of yours, full of wonder and a desire for life.

As you continued to seek shelter in your knees, you felt a gentle touch caress the top of your head, sharp claws softly scraping your scalp in an attempt to comfort you.

Wait..

WHAT?!

Quickly yet carefully, you snapped your head up to see none other than The Radio Demon crouched down right in front of you. His hand still rested on the crown of the head as you both stared at each other for a moment.

“I'm sorry.. am I dreaming?” You blurted out.

Alastor smiled, laughing in a low tone at your completely gobsmacked expression. “Fortunately for you, the answer is no my dear. As a gentleman, it'd be rude of me not to at least attempt to help a lady in emotional distress.”

You were still dazed and confused about him being here, much less t o u c h i n g you!! “Ida..I-- I didn't know you could-”

“Travel through the radio? It is quite possible but I only do so on rare occasions since it requires a fair bit of my power that cannot be overexerted in one day.”

Standing up to his full height, you realized how tall he was and thanked God that the ceiling was high enough for his antlers not to scrape. Crawling out of your chair, you immediately felt like an ant compared to him, the top of your head barely came to his collarbone.

“Holy crap you're tall." You blurted again. "I mean, I knew that you were tall but, you're really, really tall..”

Smirking with pride, he twirled his cane expertly like the show off you knew and loved. “7”0 exactly my dear, a foot taller than I was when I was a mortal! Though I suppose that was the universes funny way of punishing me for my crimes, I've bumped my forehead on door frames a good 50 times in both life and death!”

As you examined his real life appearance, you couldn't help but laugh. “Yeah well, the heels don't help.” You pointed to his shoes.

He huffed in feigned offense. “They are not heels, darling they are tap dancing shoes and it was quite common for them to have a bit of height back in my day.”

“Okay, Fred Astare.” You snorted as he settled himself on the side of your bed as you marveled at the fact that he was still taller than you even while sitting down. “And here I was preparing to offer you a dance in hopes of lifting your spirits, only for you to insult my tastes in fashion.” He hmphed, crossing his arms and legs while sticking up his pointy nose towards you.

In a daring moment, you sat right next to him crissed crossed, careful not to to touch him while he continued to play offended. “C’mon Al, don't be so huffy. I didn't mean anything by it.”

“ ‘Al’ huh?” He hummed. “Sounds like someone is getting rather familiar.”

“Hey, you call me 'Darling' and 'Dear' so often I think that it's only fair that I call you 'Al' on occasions.”

“I suppose you have a point. Nevertheless, I came here to try and boost your spirits, you seem to be doing better so if you wish to be bratty I can just go back home..” He teased with an evil grin.

“Wait!” You said just a bit too loudly. “Would you like to play a game with me? Ya know, before you go..”

Alastor raised an eyebrow in curiosity as he parted his lips to deny your offer, until you pulled out the big guns and gave him your best puppy girl eyes. A chill went down his spine from your usage of such cheap tactics, remembering his years as a lad and doing the exact same thing when he wanted something desperately from his dear mother.

“Okay! Okay!” He said, placing his hands up in surrender. “I shall subject myself to whatever game this is for one round, as long as you stop making that revolting expression..”

He watched as you smiled with pure enthusiasm. Such a beautiful smile you had, it made him irritated that you didn't do it more, yet proud that he typically was the source of it sprouting in the first place. Crimson eyes followed your movements as you shuffled off the bed to grab a small deck of cards off of your shelf. A part of him hoped you heard the chuckle that left his lips while you struggled to stand on your toes to retrieve this game.

“It's called ‘Uno’ “ You explained, walking back to him with a red box in hand. “It's a pretty simple game and the rules are easy.” Dumping the cards out of the box, the two of you sat parallel with one another.

”However, this simple game has been known to end more friendships than Monopoly and Mario Kart put together. It shall truly test our bond as companions, only the strongest survive it's trials..” You spoke in a dramatic tone while shuffling the cards and placing the proper numbers out for the both of you. Once you were finished, you placed the extra cards in the middle and looked the Radio Demon square in the eye. “Are you ready?”

“Yes yes,” He replied aloofly. “There isn't any possible way this silly game could cause such a staggering amount of broken relationships. I refuse to believe it's that bad.’

You chuckled bitterly. “You beautiful unsuspecting fool.”

---------------------- ( 2 Hours Later) ---------------------

“That's against the rules!” Alastor hissed underneath his breath as you threw out a fat stack of +2 cards.

“No it's not Alastor, you said you wanted to play stacks and this is how it's played.” You muttered.

The first round between you two consisted of showing Alastor the ropes. The confident man he was, he assured you that the game was easy enough for an infant to play and win effortlessly, especially since he won the first round. You then decide to spice things up by teaching him how to play stacks. He claimed that was easy as well and you allowed him to believe this as the next round consisted of him losing, and so did the next round, and the round after that, and the round after that…

Before you knew it, two hours had gone by and Alastor was determined to beat you at least once. It had gotten so intense that he resorted to taking his tail coat off and even putting his hair up, leaving him in his tight red office shirt and hair that framed his face like the scrumdiddlyumptious being that he was. The sight of his bare arms totally didn't have you blushing up a storm behind your cards.

While he was stewing over his next move, you got to confirm a few fan theories and ogled at his appearance.

Respectfully, of course.

But, the game wasn't over yet. Alastor sat across from you, irritated and with at least eleven cards in his hand, while you had three. The air was tense as he scratched his head and finally decided to throw out a small handful of 8’s, bringing his card count down to five.

Your poker face remained unmoving as you calmly threw out a wild card. “Blue.”

A warble of interference omitted from Alastor's person as his eyes scanned his cards carefully. You were actually surprised at how the tables had turned personality wise. In the beginning, it was Alastor who was calm and collected, but every loss slowly chipped away at the pride that fueled his unwavering persona. His usual smile was now looking more forced, making his disdain obvious.

Throwing out a blue card, you threw out two on top, leaving you with one card as you stated that dreadful word. “Uno.”

With a growl, Alastor tossed out a draw +4. “Red.” He stated blandly. A quick glance at the clock let him know he was late for a meeting with Charlie, but formalities be damned because he was going to win this game.

You took your cards quickly and deemed your hand an amazing one. He replied by tossing out a 2 and leaving three cards left. Victory was close and he swore that once he won he would ‘kindly’ rub it in your face.

But, just as you had been doing for these past five rounds, you had an ace up your sleeve. You tossed out the red ‘Skip’ card, costing Alastor a vital turn that could have turned the tables, only to metaphorically slap him in the face by cheering “Uno!” and dropping your final cards in the middle of the messy deck.

He suppressed a scream of irritation as you did your little victory dance, glaring at you both with gaiety and pure spite. He stood up and snapped his coat back on and his hair back down, he pinched your cheek just a little too hard. “That's enough cutting a rug darling, especially for someone that has two left feet such as yourself.”

“Stop trying to cease my dancing, I must wiggle out my joy.”

With a roll of his eyes, he tuned the radio on to his station to prepare to go back home. “Well you can dance until your heart's content, unfortunately I have to return back home to handle some business.”

Immediately your uncoordinated movements stopped, as you frowned. “Oh, right..”

Part of him felt bad. Not that he would tell you outright, but he didn't exactly want to leave you behind either. The thoughts of what your father could do unannounced made him concerned for your safety, but there wasn't anything he could do. Instead, he smiled genuinely and lifted your gaze up with his finger.

“Chin up, dearest. I shall check on you tomorrow as always and don't forget, you still need to make up your mind about what you want from the options presented to you.”

You didn't reply verbally, but you did nod your head sadly which would have to be enough for now. As he prepared to walk off, he was suddenly stopped by a tight embrace from behind. Anyone else who would have ever dared to think of such a thing would have been a splatter on the wall and he was just about to give you a kind yet serious talk about personal space until he felt something wet soaking through his clothes.

“..Thank you.” You mumbled through the fabric. Inhaling his scent as you sniffled and tried to calm down, honestly you were surprised he didn't push you off.

As mentioned before, emotions were not Alastor's think nor was physical affection. However in this moment, with you crying lightly and hugging him as if he were your only hope of survival, he decided that maybe, just this once, he would let it slide.

For his comfort, you didn't allow the hug to last longer than a minute. Once you pulled away you were embarrassed to say the least and prepared for him to possibly scold or never talk to you again. But, to your surprise, he simply pat your head and whispered, “Sleep tight, cher.”and was gone with a blink of your eyes.

To say you were sad was an understatement, but you knew that he'd be back tomorrow like he was everyday. The idea of talking to him tomorrow. To hear his voice in real time, talking to you and to offer comfort because he actually cared made your heart pound in your chest. As much as you didn't want to think this way, you couldn't help it. He seemed so concerned about you, in a way that no one else has until now.

You did your best to still your beating heart as you began to clean up your fun from earlier, only to find your cards were missing. You looked everywhere and still couldn't find them, ultimately you claimed into bed and decided that maybe Alastor snapped them somewhere you'd never find so that he wouldn't have to loose, I mean, play anymore.

Meanwhile…

“Alastor you're late!” Vaggie snapped as he came waltzing down the stairs, following her to where the rest of the group sat waiting.

“I am aware Vagatha, I was busy doing something else.” He replied calmly, only to make the fallen angel more irritated. “Whatever, I hope you brought something because it's your turn for a group activity today..”

“But of course! How could I forget?” He smiled impishly, before pulling out a red box with a familiar word on it. Once with the rest of the residents, Alastor clapped his hands together and pulled out a chalkboard seemingly out of nowhere.

“For today's activity being hosted by yours truly, we shall all be playing a game suited for bonding and the strengthening of relationships,” He beamed, writing out the title of the game in big letters for everyone to see.

“The name of the game is...UNO!"

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

(Thank you for coming back for Chapter 3# of this story! I hope you stick around for the next one because I plan to make it the last. I've been so busy with life and stuff, it's kinda hard to find time or motivation to write, but I do want this to come to a close while still making room for a bit of fun between Al and the Reader.

For those who asked me to make a tag list, I'm not entirely sure how to 😅. Though I will try to figure it out for the next time I write a short story. Don't forget to leave your opinions behind in the comments and thank you for all the love you guys give me, it means a lot 💜

Stay Tuned! :D

Taglist: @twistedvanillacoffee @diffidentphantom @boldlyenchantingfox22

[jacktheeldergod2]

Poll time y'all

As part of a multidimensional alternative rehabilitation program you were randomly selected to be the master of an otherworldly criminal for an unspecified amount of time,your options being:

The eldest vampire of a parallel earth long lost to ruin,a girl from the very first batches of homo sapiens evolution crafted. Speaks only her tribe's language but has a little translator pendant to understand you. Her crimes were described as pestilence spreading for eons. Wants to hunt constantly. Plays single player videogames and exercises. Does little to nothing else. Immune to the sun and holy symbols,claims she was allergic to garlic since garlic was a thing. Wants to sleep hugging someone,the more people the merrier to her

Alecorax the one who knows. a dragon of purple and orange coloration the size of a cruise ship. Knows more than you can comprehend and yields magic so skillfully that he slayed the gods of his realm all by himself in a fight that took 37852 years and 29 days. His crimes are deicide and experimentation on people. The only reason he won't kill you is cause he was allowed to not have to share any of his knowledge horde with you. Will ignore you half the time.

A salamander made of broken obsidian. Consumes all the heat around it slowly but surely. Its crimes are going to the core of multiple planets and over the eons freezing them in a quest to be the last alive in its world. Always complains about how there are more dimensions with more even more planets it has to kill now. Is is constantly snuffing out heat sources.

Irene the daughter of air. A siren that controlled the minds of billions of civilizations with her music and committed the biggest count of tax evasion in the known multiverse. Can stop your anxiety or bring you exquisite sleep with a mere whistle. If you look at her purple scales long enough it may take hours or days for you to snap out of your trance. Will either steal your money or everyone elses,your choice. Refers to Freddie Mercury and robopup as fellow sirens. Can hear your thoughts. Heard that insult you thought of and laughed at you

Though-shall-not-bow-to-evil. An angel that killed an unspecified amount of innocents by accident and thus fell. Has 28 wings and 4 faces,covered in armor that conceals their perfectly smooth,spotless shining form. Deeply regretful and cries rose water almost every time they remember their sin. will do anything you ask even if it kills them. Will follow into the next life if you reincarnate,won't stop following you until you are in a comfortable afterlife

Dilar the dealer. A fey with a bug like form hidden under their suit,hat and stained glass mask. They will kill you if you try to touch their mask or undo their clothes. Their crimes were simply described as fraud. Will try to get you to make deals with them. Proceed with them at your own risk

Cornelius the last court jester of the court of witchcraft. No one knows how this one man who was once a mere eunuch guard that watched over a warlord's harem of slaves became the most trusted man in the court of witchcraft nor how he killed them all. He doesn't have to disclose this information to you. His crimes are mass murder as well as the theft and hiding of all the magic items of the court and its participants. Jokes about everything that is brought to his attention

Slorvenovia the traitorous queen. A giant type of bee or wasp,you can't really tell. As big as the average plane. Ate all of her kind on her world and devoured her own genitals as to never bear spawn again. Claims she did it so she could be the only one as beautiful as her race is. Can turn to a humanoid form,a 2 meters tall woman with blond here and hazel eyes. Will beat the shit out of you if you demand honey from her and will side eye you if you consume any honey

The presence. An incorporeal invisible being with only the ones it desires feeling its presence. Can do any menial task,housework,your job and more,always leaving notes ridiculing the job it did,calling it too easy. Will do tasks you didn't tell it to and mock you for not remembering to tell it to do them. Its crimes are described as sightseeing

The weather beetle. a big humanoid machine made of gold,hunched over and with 8 arms helping it walk in an animalistic manner,fully composed of glass and gold. Many machines detecting,analyzing and controlling the weather lie upon it's back. Jolly and curious. Its crimes are creating weather phenomena that almost killed all the lifeforms on its world in a week. It's confused as it thinks that the weather is something whose damages would always be excused and doesn't understand why it was punished

Spade the knight of every forest. A σπουργίτι(type of small bird) with a needle made out of porcupine quill he uses as a sword. Speaks of his glorious queen often,seems deeply in love with her although he denies it, rambling about how dishonorable it would be to pine over the king's wife. Talks in a deep boastful voice,sings without a semblance of rhythm. Asks to kill specific people,not saying why. Similar murders landed him in this program. Gathers lost coins to buy fig tarts

Sfera the haunted pistol. A demon locked in an old colt revolver. Speaks to you in your head. Weathered with little of her hilt painted white anymore. Starts laughing proudly when her crimes are mentioned,which were described as "crimes of war". Always asks to be repainted and polished,gets all mushy when these requests are fulfilled. Always suggests vile actions and brutal solutions to you. While you own her no bullet will touch you and she'll never run out of lead for you to shoot. Demands to listen to guns and roses,queen and nirvana in the morning,always demands you read old myths to her before bed,often asking for the works of Homer

The godmother. A 9 foot tall ethereal undead with pale skin and pure white glazed over eyes. She's soft spoken but starts yelling at you if you don't follow her wishes. Her crimes were described as child abuse,child endangerment and use of chemical weapons as discipline methods. Tries to lead your behavior in any way she can. Not allowed to hurt you or disobey your wishes at all. This is for your own safety

@1969chevycamaro @whereserpentswalk @everythingismadeofchaos @techiekittie @trashsouppossum @ononpetitecroissant @parsley-and-lesbianism @polkadotsunshine @strange-and-stupid @doyoudreamofwater @dackychansworldofhoshino @dh-ng @decoysender @foxundermoon @frozen-antifreeze @gloriousvermin @kinkshame-puncher-666 @kirkland-brand-witch @leavesswaytoday @bisexual-bat @bellaphomet3 @mmmmmmky @mun-urufu @moonsfavoritedaughter

[peppermintquartz]

Evan kisses Jeremy a little harder than he intends to, but Jeremy goes with it, goes with all of it until he is a panting, naked mess on the couch, Buck fucking into him like there's a prize to be won at the end of it.

Jeremy comes with a shout that's a little too sharp, too grating (nothing like the guttural groan that Tommy sometimes let out when Buck has done a good job on his prostate). Buck plants another kiss on Jeremy's collarbone, tasting sweat, chasing his own pleasure even as he drives his hips up up up up into an increasingly vocal Jeremy.

(Tommy never did make a lot of noise; he had a habit of holding in all his sounds, so when he does - did - release an utterance, it's like a gold star sticker for Buck.)

He comes into the condom, pulls out, offers Jeremy a clean towel for the shower, and then waits for him to leave. Only then does he take a quick shower, scrubbing all over himself until his skin feels raw, and then he goes up to his bed and turns out the lights and buries his face in a pillow.

(Tommy's scent has faded by now, but it's not like Buck will ever forget how gorgeous he looked lying there in the morning after, sweet and loose and wickedly charming sometimes, if he's feeling frisky.)

He's explored his options for the past three months. He's sick of his options. Guy, girl, whatever. None of them could crowd out the presence of the man who shifted his world.

"Fucking bastard," he whispers, and pretends that he doesn't have tears in his eyes. He sits up in bed and grabs his phone, opens the chat message that he hasn't deleted yet.

Probably never will.

you should've said hi, he types and sends.

It takes about twenty-five minutes before he gets a reply.

you seemed busy

It's less than a minute when another message follows.

is he good to you

Buck debates lying. Then he sighs. just a hookup

His fingers dance over the keyboard, and he is tired enough of all of this that he lets himself hit send before doubt can raise its head.

can we talk?

The response is immediate. not tonight. it's been a long shift.

Buck snorts. this thursday? we'll go to a new cafe. neutral ground. let me know if that's ok with u

Knowing he won't get a reply until morning, he rolls over and tries to sleep.

tommy driving home after a 48 but ending up at buck’s - not because that was his intention - but because it became so second nature after six months of coming back to his boyfriend’s after a long shift.

[klunkcat]

Life is short, and I've shortened mine

rise of the tmnt gift fic for the T3 server november exchange, for the very lovely @remedyturtles

Sensei is a character that can actually be so life changing and brain consuming. Very grateful to have the opportunity to play in your sandbox, exploring their headspaces is actually incredible and also devastating.

Note: This is an offshoot from Rem’s “little kid with a big death wish” fic and will not make sense on its own I fear.

title from good bones by Maggie Smith

read on ao3

___

He didn’t ask for this, is the crucial thing. He’d been— not relieved to be dead, because he hadn’t managed to make it yet to where his brothers were, because his kid was still out there fighting for tomorrow. Relieved was too gentle a word, but he’d been something. 

Maybe less tired. 

It was nice to think about, selfishly. He’s been carrying lead weights and anchors at the edges of himself since the moment the world fell, but there’d never been any other volunteers for the job. Somewhere quietly inside himself he’d thought the ending would mean a moment of reprieve. He should have known, though. They’d all been the universe's favorite chew toys for long enough, dying was too nice a bow to wrap around it. 

He really hadn’t asked for this, no matter what the subconscious thoughts he’d hit to death with sticks in the back of his mind said about escaping. Stumbling across the kid— another him, a version of him he’d never gotten to be, that he thinks maybe distantly he shouldn’t have needed to be— he’d hoped he could silently wrap himself in that thick blanket of nothing and fade out at least. Not fuck things up for him worse, but, well. 

Maybe the throughline to being Hamato Leonardo was fate-led curiosity; he’d never learned how to leave well enough alone in either direction. Of course Leo had scouted him out, of course he’d been compelled to try to help the kid float when he should have stayed put, of course. Of course. 

And so, as the classics say, here they were. 

“Can you give me a number, Leo?” Raph’s voice creeps in, all-over earnest and thoughtful in the way he intrinsically is—was. It’s a shard of glass to hear it at all, it’s everything he’s ever wanted. The kid fuzzes out a little and slips sideways a step; oops , Leo thinks. There’s a hard line around not transmitting too loud, he’s still trying to figure it out. 

Could do without whatever that was ever again , the kid thinks, sharp and rattled under the surface.

Leo winces. Sorry, I’m all thumbs over here. Trying to keep quiet. 

Psh, younger Leo rolls his eyes. You’re all one thumb .

The kid turns back to his brother, thrumming still between a one and zero now. He’s scrambling to ground still, to focus. He gives Raph a quick OK sign that there’s no way Raph doesn’t see through. It’s kind of funny to watch his force-fire white-knuckling deflection in technicolor from the outside like this, he’s not sure why he ever thought this worked. 

“That’s okay, that’s fine. Can you give me a number, bud?” The pleading edge hurts to hear. 

They hold up a shaky one, maybe overconfidently. Mikey and Don are in the room somewhere, he can hear them shuffling even with Leo’s eyes closed. The sudden memory of a thousand days where the only rest his littlest brother got was when he was locked in meditation, the way he walked like his bones and joints hurt right up until the end, nearly knocks them both back to a firm zero. 

The kid glares at him, Leo holds his hand up apologetically and imagines zipping his non-existent lips shut. 

They’d been doing better for the last few days. He’d started talking out loud, had been at a solid two a handful of times. He knows the kid’s frustrated and exhausted, he can feel it, especially seeing them slip all the way back. Leo feels a hot well of shame creep up his ethereal throat. 

He knows it’s a push and pull game they’re playing. Wounded leading the wounded, and all. 

It’s still a lot, to think of seeing his family that isn’t his family. Of them knowing he existed and talking to him. Points towards the ‘he should fuck off forever’ category, as soon as they figured out how to get rid of him.

(The kid talked about it like they’d miss him if he left, like there’d be some great love lost— they didn’t know him, though. He’d lived through twenty years of a war they’d never have to see. Leo was not the teen they were missing, the one they were trying to call home, because he’d given that up a long time ago.

Of course he had to leave, this kid had a life of his own to live now. Leo didn’t have anything.)

“ — he was for a moment, just give him time,” Raph’s saying. He forces the kid to take a purposeful long breath in, squeeze his fingers, twitch his toes. Keep him from tipping all the way over into the dark where he’d accidently shoved them. 

“See, he’s back with us,” Raph continues, brightly. The kid groggily radiated all sorts of furious signals like a firecracker popping in several unplanned directions, all different fonts screaming exhaustion and hurt the only way he knew how. Leo’s heart aches for him. Beating himself down for daring to survive at all. 

“Is he?” Don’s voice cuts in haughtily. Leo makes them blink their eyes open, caught out despite the kid’s anger. 

They’re looking for you, bud. Rise and shine.

I don’t care, the kid hisses. Fuck off. 

Okay. Well. Less than ideal. 

“Which one are we dealing with,” Don’s voice hovers closer, half lodged in icy suspicion. He wouldn’t be this closed off for his Leo, obviously. Leo— Sensei smothers a sigh. 

“He’s trying not to  answer the phone right now. So, just me. Sorry.” 

“Is he okay?” Raph asks, concern evident in the dark shadow of his brow. Sensei can’t look at it directly, it’s not for him to feel all the reminiscent grief of a brother that isn’t even his. How he feels about any of this never helps anything. 

“He’s….” He prods the kid and gets an indistinguishable slew of curses and general hypothetical middle fingers back. “He’s taking a break, he’s okay.” 

Don arches a brow back. “I don’t care that we’re forced to take your word for this, just to be clear.” 

“Fair enough. He says, and I quote, bite me, so I think that’s where we’re at.” 

“Ah,” Raph hums. “Well, if you can tell him I’ll be back in ten minutes with tea, I’d love to check in on him then.” 

Sensei nods, relays the message with a garbled hiss as a response. Expected. 

Don stares at him, impassive. Arms crossed and eyes narrowed. Feral cat radiating protective instincts three counties wide, like always.

It’s… an ache under the skin, to be left alone with Don. He hasn’t forgotten the way Dee’s face would shift in a scowl, he never could, but seeing it played out on a younger face scratches something in him regardless. 

“I want to speak with my brother, if it’s all the same,” Don says, blunt. 

“I’ve been trying to ring him, I promise. Bad morning.” 

Don arches a brow with a twitch to his jaw Sensei knows means he’s attempting to fight off a full on annoyed pout and failing. It hits him sideways to see, funny in the chest. A thousand sense memories, a different Donnie and a different place, coalescing all into one. His Don had gotten really good at not emoting at all near the end, he’d almost forgotten.

Hey, the kid grouses. Who’s flying this plane?

Right, thumbs again, Not-his-Don hovers closer when he blinks back to the front. A frown touches the middle of his maskless forehead. 

He makes himself walk through a few quick grounding steps and breathe in as deep as he can before speaking. “Back, sorry. Uh, Sensei, that is. Leo’s listening though.” 

Don’s still frowning, but he leans back a touch. “He’s making it harder for you to stay here too, isn’t he?” 

He doesn’t think the phrasing of that is fair, but. “Was all me that time, if I’m honest. We’re at a one now though, I’m good.” 

“Is he ?” Don tilts his head. 

Sensei considers. The kid’s not sinking back there just… Curled up, pill-bugging. Radiating furious hurt energy like a solar system all on his own. He’s present enough to tell Sensei to fuck off and focus on Don at least. 

“Think so, yeah. He’s just…” He mimes a snapping maw with his good hand.

Don sighs and rolls his eyes, there’s an edge of anxiety there Sensei can still read as bright as anything. Isn’t that a thought. Twenty years without and this younger Donnie is still under his skin like a part of himself. 

He needs you bud, Sensei tries again, nudging his younger self. 

I’m tired of this , the kid growls back, not-voice cracking all the way through in a way that makes Sensei ache for him. 

Sensei sighs, patting his shell. I know.

Don shifts his weight in front of them, frown deepening as he moves to tap on his wrist guard. Probably texting the family about the general Bad Leo Day, he imagines. He knows how this would go with his Don— the way it would itch at him being unable to instantly resolve whatever problems his brother had. He never dealt well with any mystic issues affecting Mike for the same reasons either. 

There’d always been a thrumming line between them, some unspoken thing; Sensei carried it with him even now, even with the end gone dark. He knows Don’s having a hard time reconciling all the ways ‘Sensei’ is his Leo and is someone entirely different. Managing the fear that his Leo will go somewhere far away inside himself and he’ll only be left with someone he doesn’t know. That he’ll be left alone. 

The worst part about being a twin is when you aren’t one anymore, after all. 

Bad thought. Shit. The pull in the back of his mind grows louder. He holds up a shakier zero. Don’s sharp eyes narrow, tapping something harder on his guard before shifting closer. “Leo?” 

Can you stop being horribly sad for five minutes while looking at my brother? It’s so not helping. 

He shakes his head. “Still me,” the words come out soupy. The kid jabs him angrily somewhere in the back of his brain, uncurled with annoyed concern, which is maybe an unintentional win. 

“Is it— can you ground him?” 

He’s trying; his brain fires unhelpful flashes of the days after. Of the months of searching desperately, of the moment he woke up in the middle of the night with sudden certainty that wherever the other half of himself went, he couldn’t get back on his own. Shit. 

Shit , the kid echoes, less angry with the barely concealed concern. Sensei can feel the dark pit creeping at his arms even as he blinks furiously to stay present. 

“Not him, it’s— sorry, all me again. Don’t think I can stick around.” He squeezes his fist, forces himself to breathe deeper, but it catches somewhere around the middle. The kid slides forward with a flurry of aggrieved panic that sparks through him and sends him back down several flights. There goes that plan. 

Sensei cracks an eye back open and catches a familiar flash in Donnie’s eyes, and yeah— sorry, kid. Lights out. 

The last conversation he remembers having with Don had been about Casey. He was getting to the age where he was asking to follow them out on missions more and more, curious about everything Uncle Tello was up to. He wanted to help, desperately. Itching with the need to be useful in a way they all understood. 

It was different with Casey, though. He knew why it was different.

“We let Mike do this stuff when he was his age,” Leo had said with a sigh. “It’s hard to find good reasons to say no that aren’t just three rounds of my own loud clamoring panic. He should go, he’s trained plenty.” 

Don clicked his goggles, focusing on a project in front of him with a hum. “Mike wasn’t dealing with an apocalypse. He was, at worst, trying to find a new place to tag at Casey Jr’s age, so.” 

“Exactly,” Leo smooths his hand across his head. “But also…” 

Don looks at him, eyes gone big with the layers of lenses so he gets hyper close up patented ‘Tello Eye Roll in high definition. “But also, you’re a mother hen, and he’s talented, and he’ll just sneak out anyways if we keep making him hang back.” 

“Points for you,” Leo sighs again. “Want to make that a daily double?” 

“You remember how Micheal was about being babied,” Don sighs. “So, I don’t know. Let him go on a supply run, something small. A practice version,” Don shrugs, turns back to his work. “There’s that lower activity quadrant we got a ping on last week. I can take him and go get that part we need to fix up the generator.” 

Leo lets out a long breath. “Yeah, that— huh. That could work. He’s always saying he wants to learn more about how to keep things running around here, he’ll be over the moon. Kid asked me last week if I could show him how to do stitches.” 

Don snorts. “Great, soon there’ll be two of you.” 

Leo steps forward, leaning his elbow on Don’s chair to peer over at his desk. There’s a mess of wires in front of him, a plate he’s meticulously soldering ends together on. “Eh, there’s already two of me.” 

“Excuse you,” Don nudges him back with a shoulder. “As the funnier twin, I resent that remark.”

He laughs, lets out a breath. The thrum of Don’s room sometimes settles him, like it’s echoing the place in him where his ninpo sat before. Constant hums of his family flitting through open rooms. 

“You don’t think I’m being paranoid, do you?” Leo has to ask. The variables tripped around each other in hyperspeed in his mind at all times, racing down to the ends of his fingers. Casey’s only thirteen, they’re down too many runners, there’s never any right choices and only Leo to make them.

Don pauses for a second. He flips up his goggles before Leo can wrench the question back into himself, not that it had ever worked before. 

“I’ll keep him safe,” Don says, slowly. “It’s a good call, he’s earned it.” 

“You’re just saying that because it was half your idea.” Leo glances away, embarrassed on some fundamental level that Don had even needed to give him the reassurance. He sighs, squeezes Don’s shoulder quickly as a thank you. Don hums with a smirk. 

“Well? Are you going to teach him? Don’t think we have any oranges to practice on.” The implication rings loudly enough, Casey stitching up real wounds is a foray they haven’t dared make.

Leo waves his hand. “Might be a good idea for the kid to have some medical information in between all the supercomputer nerd things.” 

“Avoiding the question is a bold move.”

Leo deflates, winces. “Yeah. Thought it might make him worry less.” If he could help without leaving the base at all, maybe they’d both relax. A quieter thought, under that: maybe Leo would, if he knew Casey could take care of himself without him. 

Don squints. “It might. Here’s a better thought, his Sensei letting someone else take on the riskier missions for once, hm?” 

Ah, well. 

Leo feigns a wide grin anyways, shrugging. “What can I say, the Krang love me.” 

The arched eyebrow he receives is scathing. He is scathed. He waves his good hand Don’s direction with a huff. “Don’t look at me like that, this is about the kid. Table the psychoanalysis for Mike to take over.” 

“You want Michael to get in on this?”

Good point. He sighs again, shuffling over to a side table and crossing his arms. This is an old argument, the circles of it are worn through and practically scripted. If dear Tello insists, he purses his lips. Round and round they go. 

“I’m faster.”

“Other people are fast enough.” 

“Enough isn’t safe.”

“Letting the Krang learn all your moves is?” 

“Come on, I’ve been fine.” 

The scathing meter ramps up as Don’s eyes pointedly flick to Leo’s robotic arm. “They blast you with enough of their power? How long is that going to be true.” 

“I know how they work.” 

“For fucks sake Leo, the rest of us grew up in the apocalypse too.” 

The rest of you aren’t responsible for it, though , he thinks with all forty old years of packed self directed venom. There’s no point to this conversation, he finds the way out Don wants. 

“Fine. I’ll stay back for the next few, okay? You and Case can do the supply run. April’s been saying she wants to get back out, I can send her with Angel.” 

Don’s steely gaze doesn’t shift, his jaw tense. Usually, this is where the conversation stalls and dies out. World like theirs is lacking in many things, including fuel to burn with. 

“I’m sick of watching you do this,” he spits out, sharp and barbed. It stops Leo up short. 

He nearly says ‘do what’, but he knows his twin. They haven’t gone into any of this since— well, since Raph. Since the mantle of the Resistance became something heavier and lodged in him with anchor weights. Since everyone started looking at him like his plans were god. Since his fuck up ruined everything.

No time for heart to hearts, really.

“Come on, Dee,” he swallows roughly, carefully. “I’m careful. This isn’t about that.” 

“Isn’t it? Isn’t everything you do about that?” 

Leo works his jaw. “It isn’t.”

“When will you stop acting like you have to make up for it, then?” 

Ouch. Leo redirects. “We’re going to win this. It’ll work out, you know it will. I’m not going anywhere without you.” 

Winning the war hasn’t been a tangible thought in his mind in years either; he’s not sure he knows how to do anything but follow the script anymore, though. He hopes he’s putting up a strong enough act.

Don’s hand clenches around his soldering gun, relaxes. “There’s only one you,” he practically growls out, and Leo’s chest squeezes. “If he goes somewhere he takes me with him. Do you get that?” 

He swallows again. “Course I do. I’m not— this isn’t about me, Don. Strategically, until they start catching up to me we have to make them believe I’m their only concern. Promise, that’s all this is.” 

You swear? He almost hears a younger Donnie ask, crouched up in their hideout over Donnie’s gameboy. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, with as much sincerity as he carries with him. He wouldn’t, there’s nowhere else in the world for him to go when everything that matters is right here. 

“You aren’t allowed to pull anything. I’d know if you were,” Don glares. “We need you.” He says it funny, emphasis on both the need and the you all at once, like one of those endless staircase paintings that look different the longer you try to make sense of it. Leo holds up his hands helplessly. 

His twin’s stare pins Leo through for a long moment. He takes the whole half a second of pause to step closer. “Hey, that whole thing— back at you. Obviously.” 

Don lets out a long breath, expression flat and assessing. For a moment, Leo thinks he might say more, but he turns his chair around to continue soldering. 

“Obviously.” 

They’d let the conversation fall lighter, moving to charitable waters. And Leo had let Don take Case out for an easy supply run. 

The last thing his twin ever said to him was lost somewhere behind the distress beacon and the noise of the Krang leveling an entire building on him. He thinks there was a sorry in there, or a be right back to the scared kid he was giving up the world for. 

The part that’s always stung, a burr against his core, is that they never find any sign of where Donnie went. There’s his ninpo, and his bo staff with his fucking mask tied around a bleeding wound on Casey’s arm, the hum of electricity somewhere down the corridors of his mind, and Casey safely bundled and shaking in a propped up section of rubble. His kid is so terrified, asks for Uncle Tello in a quiet whine like he knows.  

He doesn’t remember the mad scramble to get there, the fact that he’d reached so far down into his struggling well of ninpo he’d felt something entirely shatter apart in his hands. The way Mikey had put his own hands over Leo’s, and brought the two of them together all at once. He only remembers the wake of whatever devastation cracks through him once it’s clear they were too late. 

The recording he’d left that Leo couldn’t bring himself to listen to for weeks. 

Leo would know if he died. He would. The light never goes out, but Don never comes home. It’s a loss he can’t name all the same. 

It’s impossible to regather whatever off the cuff words he’d said last, before Don left. Had he said be safe? Had he said he’d loved him? They’d never needed to say it before, but the lack still haunts him. He hadn’t gotten to say goodbye.

‘Be right back’ is a shitty thing to lie about, he thinks wryly.

It’s the first promise he’s ever broken. 

The ache never leaves but there’s no time for grief. He steps outside of himself and into whatever he needs to be, and he chases the corridors in his mind to that safe space Donnie’s ninpo has always rested. The door is closed, but it’s still humming. He doesn’t know what that means. 

“God, stop ,�� the kid groans at him. Leo– Sensei blinks back into himself, or— to the place between what constitutes as himself these days. The spot by the tree with just the two of them. “It sucks when it’s you somehow even more than when it’s me.” 

The sludge is still there, distantly. Tugging at him in ebbs and flows. Sensei makes himself breathe out, take a look at the kid. Take stock, soldier. Focus on the problem at hand, deal with your shit somewhere else. 

“Or, here’s a thought: you could deal with your shit at all. Call me crazy, but this ‘shoving all my old man pain in a box and burying it deep down’ thing seems like it’s fucking us both over.” The kid whines, leaning his head back. The irony does not escape either of them, he knows. The Uno reverse is unspoken.

Magnanimously, Sensei lets it slide. 

The kid’s problem is more complicated and knotted somewhere inside himself than he likes to acknowledge, at least Sensei’s is all obvious lines of too-long-losing-wars and grief. It’s all outside. The problem has always been that it’s outside.

Sensei settles beside him, hand on his knees and head tilted up to the still sky. They don’t speak for a long moment, instinctively mimicking the long drawn out grounding breaths in sync. He wonders if it’ll ever stop feeling so strange. Seeing himself from the outside like this, entirely encased in different baggage. It’s hard to think about anything other than ‘he’s so small’, loudly. On repeat. It’s not a helpful thought. 

“Sorry,” Sensei breathes as the sludge lessens minutely along his back. “Should be used to that by now.” 

The kid shrugs. “Is there a way to be used to it?” 

He knows he’s asking for them both. The truest answer feels the most bleak, so he opts for something gentler. 

“I think there has to be a way to think around it at least? Make the brain box bigger. Less likely for the shit in it to hit things.” 

There’s a long sigh beside him. “Sounds exhausting.” 

A long pause. “Would it… help? To talk about it?” 

Man, this little blue. Sensei can’t help the smile that tilts across his heart; he’s so tentative and determined all in one. Still stretching a hand out even though he knows whatever Sensei’s going to say might bowl him right over again. 

He shakes his head. “Nah. I tried once, with my Mike. It’s an old scar anyways.” 

The conversation hadn’t gone anywhere helpful, even with Mikey’s ability to see right inside his brain. They’d both been too tired to argue. 

“I don’t think I could do it,” the kid says, sullenly. Tiredly. He rolls his head to the side to make eye contact with Sensei. “Live without any of them.” 

Yeah , he thinks. He doesn’t say that there hadn’t been much living at all. “You know it's the same for them about you, right?” 

The kid scowls, turns away. “Saying things you don’t mean about yourself seems kinda useless, old man.” 

I mean it about you, though , he thinks. Something twitches in the kid's face. “I had twenty years as the last resort,” Sensei offers. “Changes your perspectives on things.” Or your priorities, really. Whether or not they needed him didn’t change that he was responsible for keeping them alive. 

Or that he’d failed. 

It’s obvious math with the kid anyways. He can see the way the kids brother’s hover, checking in and creeping forward and patiently holding his hand, working constantly to make him feel safe. Twenty years and mires of grief isn’t enough to drown out all the big and small ways he can see how his family loves. 

“What was he like,” the kid turns with a sharper look in his eyes. “Your Don.”

He sighs, lets it roll through him. “Tired.”

He closes his eyes. 

“He was really tired.” 

He’d barely slept, all the way up until the end. Too many defense algorithms to scrub through footage of, supposedly— he wonders now if he should have checked in more. If he should have asked. 

“Yeah,” the kid says, quietly like he doesn’t expect Sensei to hear. “You feel tired a lot, too.” 

Oh . He supposes that’s fair. 

Sensei swallows and imagines the fractured pieces of his heart settling back into their ruins. “It’s funny, he made all the systems in our base use his voice. Had to hear him anytime someone tried to use the microwave. Technically his last words to me were ‘front door compromised’.”

“Yeah. Funny. You ever thought about therapy?”

He doesn’t want to talk about this, it never helps. The rioting part of his core that is four parts missing and agony and one part instinctive need to move forward writhes anytime he lets himself remember any of it at all. As if he does anything other than remember it. 

“Kid—” He exhales. 

The kid turns to face him, frowning with that divot above his brow and his dead set determined set to his beak that screams stubbornness in neon colors. “Listen. I know how— I do the same thing, with my Ang, right? You know, where he doesn’t need all of my… me-ness on top of everything. So tell me the real version, get it out of that slow cooker of a brain so you can stop freaking out every time Don breathes our direction.”

He’s having a weird brain schism, he realizes. The divides between where this kid went and where he himself had walked are so different, sometimes past him feels like a different turtle entirely. A younger one, boiling entirely over with how little he sees himself at all. 

I see you , he thinks, tragically. Pointlessly.  

Sensei breathes out. “There’s not much—” his voice breaks, he clenches his hand around the inexorable pull of that dark space at his edges. The kid sees all of it anyways, doesn’t he? Dancing around it only makes it more his problem, less Sensei’s alone. His throat burns with some memory of tears, it feels silly but the words crawl out of him anyways. “I just. I never got to say goodbye. We never found out if he—” 

But he had to have. It’s so much worse to imagine he had been alive and trapped, that Leo had left him there in that awful world. He had to have been dead because his twin would have broken apart the planet itself to get back to them if he could have. 

His shoulders round forward and he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. “I just, I should have gotten to say goodbye.” 

The kid is silent. A long moment passes. 

Sensei feels a small hand carefully land on his knee. “Sorry.” 

He puts his larger one over the kids, squeezes it. “Nothing for you to be sorry for, kid.” Nothing in this whole wide world. “Whatever my Don was doing, I have to believe he’s with everyone else now.” It makes it manageable, at least. Widens the box in his brain so he can think around it. 

The kid hums thoughtfully. “Can we… I mean, dad talks to our ancestors and things, in the mystic plane, right? He could maybe—” 

Panic wrings through him, ice cold and visceral. Sensei feels the shudder crack through both of them and their tree side hang out waver into darkness. “--right, okay.” The kid gasps. “Bad plan, got it. Noted.” 

“Sorry,” Sensei manages. “I just…” He doesn’t want to know what they think of him. What any of them would say about the world he broke. He knows them, he knows, but he’d been tired for so long before that, and he doesn’t want to know that Don went slowly or painfully. That he’d been waiting for Leo to find him.

Maybe he deserves to know how much he let him down. 

The kid's hand twists, squeezing his back as hard as he can. “Forget it, shit. Grounding, let’s um. Let’s do that and not whatever this is. I hate this, fuck. ” 

They walk through a few start and stop steps, the kids hand tight in his the whole time as they both dig their heels in to stay. It hurts, and Sensei wants to give in. The hand in his keeps him pushing through, cracks through him enough to speak. 

“He, uh,” he clears his non-corporeal throat. “He kept a section of his database specifically for chess games for me. To run on my wrist guard when I couldn’t sleep.” Which was most of the time. Sensei shakes his head. “Kept a file for Mario Party cheat codes, too.” 

The kid stares at the side of his face. Breathing steadier. He can feel it like a brand. “I knew he cheated. Asshole! I knew it.” 

Sensei shrugs, a laugh surprising him as choked off and wobbly as it is. “He rigged up a giant screen once. Told me he was going to come for my crown once and for all, right in front of the entire base. Raph ended up winning.” 

The stare gets more intense. “No.” 

“Swear on my life,” he says. Pauses. “Or, well. My ghost possession afterlife? Don was furious.” 

“Raph never wins at Mario,” he can hear the cogs in the kids' heads freezing in place. Hell has rained ice, pigs have started flying. Raphael, chronically confused at Mario Party mini game rules to a truly fascinating degree, won a video game.

“It’s true,” Sensei laughs. 

“Was it the pity stars?”

“It was the pity stars.” 

“Ah.”

He remembers how hard Mike had laughed at that, just absolute shrieking peels of delight as the rest of his family stared in complete silence. April had needed to drag a completely feral Donnie back to his quarters because Leo ended up crying laughing with him. 

There weren't a lot of those good days after they lost dad. It’s important he holds onto them. It’s important he doesn’t let himself forget even when it’s hard to think about. 

“That’s a relief,” the kid says, leaning back again. “Was starting to think everything about the future was completely and morbidly depressing. Least you had Mario Party.” 

At least they had Mario Party. 

The kid wakes up on his own, Sensei tucked carefully somewhere in the background. There’s a flurry of commotion somewhere out in the hall that sounds a lot like Mikey and Raph, but it’s still and quiet in the med bay. 

Shit, the kid thinks, looking at the clock. It’s definitely been more than a few hours since they fell under. Sensei can see the medical clip on the kid's finger is back in place before he wiggles it off. 

“Number?” Don’s voice cuts in, stern. Flat. Standing with his arms crossed in the corner of the room by his desk. 

They hold up a two after a long moment. “I’m fine,” the kid says. Don’s expression doesn’t change.

“Who am I talking to?” 

The kid groans. “Don’t be like that, Tello. He didn’t mean to. Half of it was me, anyways.” 

Don looks squarely unimpressed, but something eases in the line of his shoulders. Relieved not to be talking with the body snatcher, probably, he gets it. 

“He said he dragged you under, it’s been twelve hours. Am I not supposed to think your parasite is making it worse?” 

He’s not wrong either.

The kid radiates frustration at both of them. “He’s not— Dee. He’s been through a lot. Leave off him, alright? I was pissed off, he got his flip switched. I wasn’t making it easier. I’m doing good, I don’t want to be mad, okay?”

Don’s expression flickers, faltering as it always does around their particular brand of pleading honesty. “Fine, I’m not done talking about this but. Tabled, for now. What do you need.” 

The kid thinks for a minute. Water would be good, Sensei nudges him. 

“Would you talk to him?” The kid says instead, startling both Don and Leo. 

Don recovers first, eyes narrowing. “Why.” 

The kid’s brain is a mess of picture show slides, a strange warped retelling of Sensei’s own memories. It makes him wince, guilt rising thick in his chest. He’s gotta get better at locking that down. 

“Look he— he misses his own Don. It’s not the same thing, but he had a rough night. Just shut up and talk to him.” 

“Oxymoron,” Don and Sensei say in sync. The kid glares. 

Kid, Sensei tries. 

No. Not up for debate. You won’t let me tell Casey? Fine, this is my compromise. I’m tired of playing referee. 

Sensei hates the pang of panic that still lights up in his mind at the thought. The kid lets out a frustrated growl. 

Stop trying to leave! I’m sick of it. What if I— what if I don’t want them to pry you out of here. What then? You gonna sit here in this pissing contest stand off with my Don until we die? 

There’s. A lot to unpack there, and not enough of the kid standing firm enough to do it— the conversations knocked them both back swiftly to a one that’s tenuous at best. Sensei didn’t make it so long as a general without knowing how to pick his battles, anyways. 

If this is what you need from me, okay, he relents. 

The kid’s glare is still hot, assessing. He turns back to himself, to the med room. 

Don’s fussing with his tablet, brows twitching and his hand firmly in Leo’s good one. “‘M here, sorry.” The kid squeezes his twin's hand for them. “Just having a conversation, hard to be both places at once.” 

Don’s jaw shifts. “I will refrain from the comments I desperately want to make.” 

“Noted, file that under an IOU.”

Don rolls his eyes. “Scoff. As if I don’t have a mountain of those already.”  

The affection in the kid is warm and strong as anything. He clears his throat. “What if I… what if I asked him to stay. Sensei. Would you be mad?” 

Sensei shoves his own festering pile of guilt and doubt aside as hard as he can. Don’s expression flattens. “Why would you want to do that.” 

It’s your life, Sensei whispers. 

The kid shakes his head. “Casey needs him.” 

There’s another need underneath it, neither him or the kid acknowledge it directly. 

Don sighs, eyes squinting in the vague pained way of his. “I’m supposed to be okay with someone that is not you, taking you away from us when—” He cuts himself off, breathes out sharply. 

The kid stays silent. 

“Fine. Tabled. Get him out here.” 

Sensei slides forwards, patting the kid on the arm distantly and ignoring his grumble about it. He’s bracing himself— he knows how Dee is, in any version of them. Getting his head chewed off would be the easiest way out. 

“For the record,” Sensei starts, with a faint curve to his mouth. “I agree with you.” 

The kid glares. 

Don arches a brow, crossing his arms. “I don’t…. Like you, being here. I’m not convinced you aren’t impacting him in ways that are halting his progress.” 

Sensei manages a shrug. “You’re probably right. I try really hard to stay out of his way where I can, but. You saw yesterday.” 

Don’s jaw works, terse in every line of his body. Sensei remembers how his Don was before Raph. The way he’d gone along with all of Leo’s plans just inherently trusting that his goal was always to get everyone back out above anything else. The way he’d shifted. Their last conversation had been a lot of sharp lines like this; something adjacent to doubt. It still burns, funnily enough, even from a sixteen year old version of his twin who doesn’t know subtlety at all. 

“If I told you I had figured out how to rip you out of him without injuring Leo at all, would you fight me?” 

Sensei nearly laughs, I’d thank you, he tries not to think. “No,” he says with a stronger lilting smile. “I’d just ask that you do it before Case realizes I’m here. He doesn’t need that.” 

Something in Don’s face shifts. “When Leo says you’ve been through a lot, what does that mean.” 

“Ah,” Sensei huffs. “Maybe not a conversation for right now—” He can feel the daggers of the kid’s ire, nonetheless. Sighs. “Krang won where I’m from, Case probably mentioned.”

“And that means?”

He winces. “A lot of things that are hard to remember, mostly.” 

Don’s gaze is assessing. He types something onto his wrist guard. “Any triggers I should know about?” 

You. Raph. Dad. He breathes out. Shakes his head. 

“Fine. Bring him back, please.” 

The kid’s eye roll is something fierce internally, externally it’s too much effort to muster. “Dee. That was barely anything.” 

Don shrugs. “I talked to him, didn’t I?” 

It’s fine , Sensei reassures him. He means that it wouldn’t help, not with the hole that’s been carved in him for years. 

There’s nothing at all in the world for what he’s missing. He should just be better at it. The missing. 

Something stubborn lights up in the kid, a spark he doesn’t think he’s seen in the younger turtle since they crash landed together. Fuck this. 

“Can I ask you something and have you promise you won’t get mad?” 

Don’s brow twitches. “I’m not promising shit.” 

A pause. “Say it anyways.” 

“If you went somewhere,” the kid starts, and his voice shakes like a nervous glance over his shoulder. Sensei tenses immediately. “If you went somewhere, and you didn’t know how to come back. What would you do?” 

Don’t , Sensei thinks, helplessly.

“Wouldn’t happen,” Don says. Not a moment of hesitation. “I wouldn’t let it happen.” 

“What if you didn’t have a choice?” The kid asks. 

He has to imagine his Don didn’t have a choice either, clings to it with everything in him. He didn’t know the kid had seen that, the wilful refusal to believe in any world where the other half of himself would walk away on purpose.

He doesn’t know the expression on Don’s face. He’s seen it before, at the planning table. After missions. He’s never known what it meant. “I’d come back,” Don says, like it’s obvious. 

This younger version of his brother, some spun off worried and sideways Donnie, leans forward and pokes the kid as carefully as he can in the center of his chest. 

“If I still exist, in any universe, I’d be coming back.” 

Sensei swallows. He remembers this; that simple constant of trust, of knowing half himself sat between his ribs and the other behind a desk with a computer screen. He remembers believing it, too.

There’s a hallway in his mind that he goes to, where his ninpo once lived and breathed. A living room where he kept all the lights on. There’d been a time where all the rooms and all the doors had been flung wide open. They’ve been shut for years now. 

“If you didn’t?” The kid asks, voice small. 

Sensei walks through the empty room, hand trailing against the wall of his mind. He hasn’t visited this door, hasn’t been able to think about it around the hurt in him. He presses his forehead to the wood of it, now. 

“If I’m gone, it would never be forever. You’d just have to wait longer.” 

In his dreams, or at least where he goes when the kid is sleeping, the door is warm. 

He sits himself against it, and pretends it's the same as the door being open. To feel his brother existing here at all. 

Sometimes he thinks he can almost hear someone knocking back. 

[haruka-vii]

Help request to Rayman and retrogaming fans

Unfortunately, as much as I’m making efforts in solving my long-term unemployment situation there are things out of my control and I reached a point I really, really, need help.

Besides my grandma’s recent passing, there’s been a collection of unlucky events happening to me and my family in a small time interval. Both our dish washing machine and my Nintendo Switch Lite need to be repaired. The console stopped turning on regardless what I do and it’s out of warranty already. The console’s fixing, alone, can be up to 103€ according to the Iberian Nintendo support page).

But the worst case was our car’s “death”. Days after my grandma’s funeral, the car burnt its electronic system to the point of replacing that system being more expensive than the current value of the car of the same model without problems, meaning we were forced to replace the whole vehicle to a different model. The car is essential for our quotidian lives even for simple things such as doing groceries and buying food and cat litter for our seven small felines that we own. The latter unpredictable expense is very costly and adds a bigger layer of problems on my family’s end about financial management given that my mother is also jobless and there’s the bed replacement (done in January 2024) funds I want to also return to her whenever I manage.

2025 is going to be a difficult year for me and I already recently had to shrink down my Crash Bandicoot collection to a single item for a start but it’s still not enough. Now I had to make a very difficult decision of selecting personal items from my private Rayman collection and make them available to anyone in the Rayman and retrogaming fan community to be able to purchase in case they show interest in any particular object.

Please note the following details:

Products that are shown alongside with other product or more in the same photograph square means that those items are only sold as a pack/batch and not separately. I can clarify which ones by DM if you aren’t sure through the photographs.

I ship to most countries in the world, and always with tracking code so we’re both able to know its whereabouts. I won’t accept other types of shipping due to safety reasons.

The shipping address and other sensitive information will be exclusively used to ship the parcel.

Prices will be always discussed by DM, as well shipping costs as these vary depending on the destination country and parcel weight.

PayPal only for payments. While I prefer EUR currency I can also accept GBP and USD.

I’m conscious of how a good portion of the list contains particularly rare and valuable collectibles.

Some items prices are negotiable, especially if someone is interested in acquiring at least 3 different items or more that combined make up a significant total.

All items work 100%, including the Playstation accessories.

The Rayman memory card will be formatted if it gets a new onwer.

MS-DOS era games require emulation techniques to work on modern computers and there are community projects like Rayman Control Panel that help with that.

All games are complete in the box and between very good condition to like new.

The Rayman memory card is in good overall state.

The statues are like new and will be packed carefully to avoid transportation damage.

I can consider including the matching Switch videogame to the pack if I get a fair offer.

I reserve the right to not accept a sale for reasons not mentioned here.

List of items available in the photos:

Rayman Gold [PC/MS-DOS] (Rare, Original Big Boxed United Kingdom Edition)

Rayman For Ever [PC/MS-DOS] (Rare, Original Big Boxed France Edition, it even includes a Ubisoft catalogue with unique Rayman drawings)

Quick CD-ROM Demo Nº2 - Rayman 3: Hoodlum Havoc [PC/Windows]

Rayman M [PC/Windows] (United Kingdom Edition, still factory sealed!)

Rayman Rush [Sony PlayStation] + DualShock Controller [Sony PlayStation]

Rayman 2: The Great Escape [PC/Windows] (Very rare, Original Big Boxed United States of America Edition; I only saw maybe not more than 2 copies like this for sale online in over 15 years)

Rayman 100 Niveaux Inédits [PC/Windows] (Rare, Original Big Boxed France Edition)

Rayman Designer [PC/Windows] (Rare, Original Big Boxed France Edition)

Rayman 1 [PC/Windows] (Rare, Original Big Boxed European Edition)

Rayman Gold [PC/Windows] (Rare, Original Big Boxed France Edition)

Rayman 3: Hoodlum Havoc [PC/Windows] (The manual is translated in Portuguese but the games are in multilanguage)

Rayman 2: The Great Escape Sony Playstation Memory Card (Guillemot brand, uncommon item)

Rayman Raving Rabbids [PC/Windows] (Original United Kingdom Edition)

Rayman Raving Rabbids Activity Centre [PC/Windows] (Original United Kingdom Edition)

Rayman 2: The Great Escape [Sony Playstation] (Original France and Germany Edition)

Full collection of 4 medium-sized PVC statues of Mario+Rabbids: Kingdom Battle characters

Other alternative ways to help me that don’t involve buying my Rayman items:

Ko-Fi donations (https://ko-fi.com/haruka_vii)

Currently opened with the goal I’ve referred earlier of collecting enough funds of the bed replacement expenses to return to my mother combined with the needed funds to be able to send my Nintendo Switch Lite for repair.

Art commissions

I can open a limited number of slots and draw single or groups of characters in a single digital or traditional drawing. Details can be discussed through DM!

Reblogging and sharing

If you know anyone who could be potentially interested in getting anything please share them, it’s also a help!

I don’t like to ask help but it’s been a rough timeline for me. Thank you for reading in advance, any help is greatly appreciated while I don’t manage to find a job. 🙏

[skeletorrito]

satosugu shower scene i wrote today uhnf 🫦

NSFW 18+

“It’s not every day we get to share a private shower,” Suguru commented quietly with a coy smile, turning the showerhead on. He pulled off his trunks, wringing them out over the bathroom drain and hanging them over the glass shower door. He begrudgingly did this with his friend’s swimsuit as well, for Satoru slipped them off in a damp heap and jumped in immediately.

“Oh, this is definitely not hot enough,” Satoru declared, a little too loudly, and Suguru shushed him. “Sorry,” he whispered apologetically, cranking the shower’s temperature. 

Suguru stepped in, hissing as burning droplets of water hit his skin. “What the hell?! Why did you make it so fucking hot?” He took up the far corner of the boxy shower, reaching out a curious hand and wincing. 

“I was cold,” Satoru replied and shrugged. He turned the dial down by barely a centimeter. “Now who’s the sensitive one…” He trailed off playfully, shivering pleasantly as he allowed the scalding water to flush his ivory skin.

Suguru’s gaze flicked up and down Satoru’s naked body with a grin. He moved in closer, pressing his cold front against the man’s warm back. Satoru inhaled sharply, jolting. 

“Thanks for warming me up,” Suguru murmured into Satoru’s neck, reaching out to adjust the water as he fought against the burning, steaming spray. (He still left it hot for Satoru, but a bit more manageable for him.) “Want me to wash your hair?” 

“Sure, can I borrow-”

“No.” 

Satoru flipped around, pouting and flashing fake teary eyes. “C’mon, I just forgot it this time...” 

Suguru crossed his arms and scowled as he replied, “You always use up my nice hair products, Satoru. Just go buy them yourself!” 

“I’m sorry, Sugu, I’ll pay you back, you know I’m good for it. I really did forget my shampoo.” Suguru could tell he was speaking candidly. Satoru’s long, wet lashes fluttered against his rosy cheeks. He looked like a porcelain doll, his glowing, crystal eyes still piercing and otherworldly even in the foggy steam of the shower. His cheeks and lips flushed bright pink in contrast to his pale, perfect skin. “Sometimes it’s just nice to smell like you…” he murmured sheepishly. 

Suguru avoided eye contact as he grumbled, blushing, “Just give me the shampoo, creep.” 

Satoru grinned widely, snatching the bottle off of the shower ledge and tossing it over. He turned his back, closing his eyes and sighing contentedly as Suguru’s fingertips started massaging his scalp. “This feels so good,” he groaned softly, “It’s kinda turning me on…” 

Suguru laughed. “Shut your mouth unless you want shampoo to get in it.” He scrubbed a little harder, eliciting a pleasant moan from Satoru. “There, wash it out.” He stepped back, watching as Satoru turned around blindly, and his gaze immediately fixed on the man’s stiff cock. “Oh,” he started, amusedly, “You weren’t even kidding, you pervert.” He bit his lip, curious fingers reaching out and teasing. 

Satoru sucked in a breath as he finished rinsing the suds, leaning into the touch as Suguru slowly stroked him. “Who’re you calling a pervert? I’m just washing my hair over here, minding my own…”  He opened his eyes, surprised to find a wet, seductively coy-looking Suguru on his knees, cock in hand. “...business.” His lips parted, mouth suddenly dry despite the water trickling down them.  

Suguru locked eyes with him silently, putting a finger to his lips in warning before taking Satoru into his mouth. He closed his eyes as he licked and sucked hungrily, trickles of water dripping onto his face as he did. Satoru moaned into his fist, his other hand finding its way to the back of Suguru’s head and grabbing a fistful of damp, salty hair. 

Satoru guided him deeper and deeper without complaint until he was nearly swallowed whole, eyes rolling back and blessing the higher powers of the universe for Suguru’s nonexistent gag reflex. A tongue lashed to graze the head of his cock as Suguru’s hands reached around to squeeze Satoru’s tight ass. His curious fingers slipped between cheeks teasingly, a gentle press to his entrance but nothing more. Satoru released a surprised gasp, tensing as a spike of nervous, excited adrenaline rushed over him.

Satoru stifled a groan, pleasure choking him, arresting his chest, his stomach, his aching arousal. It took everything in him not to moan or sob, both (probably, both). He fucked Suguru’s mouth with quaking thighs, burying himself into his hot throat and pulling away only to be pressed into calloused fingers. 

He was always a quick shot, and being exhausted and anxious didn’t help the matter.

Satoru bit into his knuckle with a choked cry, eyes watering as he pushed onto Suguru’s head and suddenly spilled into his mouth. Knees growing weak, he anchored himself against the cool tile wall with heavy breaths. His fingers fell from Suguru’s hair and to his side. 

Suguru swallowed, unfazed, and licked his lips with a wicked smile. He rose from his knees, putting his shampoo bottle in Satoru’s hands. “Your turn, right?”

Satoru grinned and bit his lip, catching a big breath as he straightened up. “You’re dangerous, y’know?” 

Suguru turned his back to soak his damp beach waves in the shower stream, gazing over his shoulder momentarily as he replied, “I know.”

yayayay thank you for reading 💕

I think I'm nearing the end of this chap? hehe we'll see 😈

here's a link to my other works: