#butter is no longer allowed to give me drawing ideas

[morroodle]

*hurk*

BLELLEGHGEHGGLLEHEGHHHHH

This took 4 days

[chiliiscereal]

May I offer a prompt of how the turtles would be with a mom friendTM? you know the type I mean? like.... I think they might benefit from that kind of friend in the group lol (also I love your stories, your such a cool writer keep up the awesome work!)

Rottmnt headcanon: mom friend TM

And thanks so much!

Mom friends are severely underrated XD

——

-Okay these boys need a mom friend badly

-but that’s where you come in!

-as the mom friend you keep them safe in many ways

Donnie💜

-starting with this guy, he never really wanted a mom friend

-when April first brought you over he was cold

-didn’t even bother talking to you

-you were determined to befriend him, even though he left whenever you tried to talk to him

-you became comfortable with the turtles quickly and the others accepted your mom friend nature

-not Donnie though

-he didn’t hate you, sure, but you were too much

-you were too overbearing and too nervous for his safety!

-you’d make him wear a helmet when he used his jet pack 

-you made him put on SUNSCREEN whenever he went outside

-you told him to be careful when rewiring a project even!

-it’s like you wanted to ruin his bad boy image

-he hated it and wanted you to stop being so smothering

-…

-…until he realized that attention and moral support comes with the smothering

-the moment he realizes that he’s all for it

-he’s no longer hiding his inventions from you so you won’t bug him, but he’s seeking you out for your advice and praise

“Hey so I made this and… I don’t know…”

“Wow you built that? It’s awesome!” 

“Really? I mean, I know, I just wanted to show you that it was.”

-praise ain’t something this boy has

-have you SEEN how his brothers react to his ideas?

-he needs this

-with praise comes affection

-I’m talking homemade snacks and questions that his brothers never ask

-you’re there if he needs a cup of coffee or if he hasn’t eaten in a while or taken a nap

-“don, it’s been two days since you slept go to bed.”

-“*hissssss*”

-“I’ll make a cup of coffee for you after...?”

-“*hisses but less intense*”

-you may be good at making snacks and everything

-very good in facts

-but the questions are probably his favorite part

“Woah what’s that supposed to do?”

“Well it’s a device that’s meant to fix all the broken McDonald’s ice cream machines.”

“That’s amazing! What did you use to build it? How does it work?”

-you’re actually trying to learn about his work!

-you’re trying to learn about him!

-he loves it

-and he loves that you’re careful to

-it’s a nice change from his brothers

-you’re someone he can depend on

-doesn’t matter if it’s missions or just being a good friend

-and I mean it when I say depend

-you’re there when he needs help rewiring something or just to simply talk about his dumb dumb brothers

-honestly April isn’t even mad that Donnie stole one of her best friends

-she knows he needs this

-Donnie fully learned to trust you after the purple dragons mishap

-you told him they were untrustworthy but his heart was dead set on that satin jacket

-when he came back to the lair, late at night, with no satin jacket and a handful of his missing tech, he found you raising an eyebrow at him from where you had sat to wait for him

-he knew from then on to trust you and your opinions, even though his often got in the way

-you can often be found sitting on Donnies bed while he works, offering your company and comments

-Normally no one else is allowed in while he works but that’s just because they don’t have anything positive to provide

 Raph❤️ 

-Raph IS the mom friend

-your mom friend energy and his mom friend energy just work together so well together

-I’m talking planning missions together, figuring new ways to trick his brothers into being responsible, cleaning the dishes, and even making snacks together

-“so the mission is tomorrow right?”

-“yep! Should we bring apples with peanut butter or pretzels with hummus?”

-“well Donnie doesn’t like peanut butter, but Mikey does, so both?”

-“awesome! And you’ve got the water covered?”

-“dude I even have caprisuns packed so we’re ready!”

-the others find it to be too much with the two of you but Raph really appreciates the help

-especially during the pizza puff episode

-oh that part nearly set you on fire with worry

-Raph had never seen you that worked up

-you had a fan for Leo, a bowl for Mikey, and a bag of fruit snacks for Donnie

-Raph has to activate his supreme mom friend energy to get you to stop hovering over them

-that meant literally dragging you away from them so they could figure things out on their own

-he’s seen you be a mom friend to them all the time

-but never once for him

-you two were like... co mom friends working together to stop the younger irresponsible three

-until Raph got separated in the sewer

-oh man you were torn with worry

-you nearly destoryed the place looking for him

-and finding him all savage like that... ack that was enough to practically shatter your heart in two

-once he stopped trying to barbecue villains and destroy his brothers you took him to the lair and helped him calm down

-you even turned on a movie for the two of you so he could relax

-it was nice to have your best friend and partner in stopping crime back

-Raph of course was embarrassed because it’s HIS job to help everyone, not the other way around

-after much assurance you had him convinced that you didn’t mind

-he was grateful to have you and your help

-he just wished you didn’t worry quite so much

Leo 💙:

-this boy is soaking it all up from the start

-someone to compliment him?

-someone to help him out?

-someone to admire his achievements?

-oh he’s all for it

-he’s showing off skateboard stunts, he’s doing flips, and he’s randomly pulling you to him and creating a portal

-usually you end up somewhere sketchy but sometimes it works out

-you always have to be ready though

-one minute you’re walking to the projector room and the next you’re in New Jersey with a sheepish looking red slider

-his only problem is now he has to be more careful with skateboard tricks

-he’s fine with a helmet but when it comes to you hovering next to him while he’s going down the skate ramp...

-eh he’s not so fond of that

-praise?

-sure

-home made gifts and cards?

-always appreciated

-but you constantly trying to protect him from things he knew how to do?

-no

-just no

-now he only feels like he can skate if you’re not there or if he goes to a skate park without telling you

-you figure out quickly and still worry that he’ll mess up a flip

-doesn’t matter if you’re watching or not

-you’re the mom friend

-your job is to worry

-you promised that you’d stop worrying about him if he can back

-you didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable in his own home!

-he agreed and you did your best to keep your promise

-...

-until he actually messed up a flip

-you don’t know WHAT he landed on but it must have been sharp because there was a LOT of blood

-maybe you thought there was a lot because you were so worried but still

-you hadn’t even been in the room but you heard his shout (and crash) and you came running

-oh he was lucky you carried gauze and everything in your bag because other wise they’d have to go buy some

-you chewed him out while patching him up, much to his displeasure

-you’re both sweet and sour about it

-“I’m fine! Look, nothing’s broken!”

-“I TOLD you that you could get hurt! I TOLD you it wasn’t safe! Why did you not listen- I’m sorry does that hurt? I’m sorry!”

-“yeah it does hurt-.”

-“than you should have listened to me!!”

-for a while he’s bitter that you were just waiting for him to mess up

-clearly you thought he was just a big clutz to you

-but after a while of him avoiding you and pouting you brought it up again

-“I’m not just waiting for you to fail you know. I just want you to be okay.”

-“that’s not what it feels like! You clearly don’t trust me!”

-“life happens, Leo! Doesn’t matter how skilled you are! You’re an amazing skater but sometimes mistakes are made!”

-ha that changed his tune quickly

-“you think I’m an amazing and skilled skater?

-you just rolled your eyes and left, not saying anything about his comment

-didn’t matter

-this boy is all smiles for the rest of the day

Mikey🧡:

-he was on board from the very start

-he’s got cuddles, piggy back rides, and his own art fan/critic

-lots of baking and cooking together

-maybe even drawing if he’s lucky

-only problem?

-you don’t trust him to go out on his own

-even if it’s just to grab a video game from the store or pick up pizza

-“I’m just going down the block!”

-“what if someone sees you?”

-“I’ll be careful!”

-“just let me go with you.”

-“no! I can do this on my own!”

-you’re always offering to give him a ride or tag along just because you don’t want anything to happen to him

-that means, of course, sneaking out

-not for a long time, just enough to get some air

-but that also means you’re staying up late waiting for him to come back

-he’s your buddy!

-you can’t let anything happen to him!

-he didn’t know about it until he found you cashed out on the couch with the lamp still on

-normally you gave him an excuse about why you were still up, such as a late night snack or a movie

-but your phone and the tv were both off

-he decided to think nothing of it until he noticed that you were grumpier in the mornings

-he didn’t want his actions to affect you so he started coming back earlier

-even texting you and telling you he was fine

-you two talked and set up a deal

-he could go out by himself and you wouldn’t stay up late waiting for him as long as you had his location on your phone

-it was easier for both you from then on

[nik-the-bik]

Henriel Week Day 4: Fireside

“Perhaps It’s the Wine”

Summary: Jekyll is super attracted to Gabriel and Gabriel is oblivious

CW: Alcohol, sex mention, and enough sexual tension to take out a priest, but nothing that veers too NSFW.

Gotta thank @corvidayyy for the awesome prompt because I'm surprisingly proud of this one?

****

It was a bitterly windy evening in January, but the guests at Dr. Jekyll’s home were none the wiser. That night he hosted an extravagant dinner for many of his friends and colleagues, sparing no expense for the endless array of hors d’oeuvres, hearty meats, and assortment of rare wines and spirits. Most everyone left the dinner party warmed with a good meal and head fuzzy from drink. As the evening crawled on into the deepest hours of the night, all that remained in Dr. Jekyll’s parlor were himself and his two oldest friends, Dr. Lanyon and Mr. Utterson.

The three sat around a roaring fire reminiscing about their boyhood follies, having animated discussions as they corrected each other’s memories and laughed at long forgotten stories. Some of the last of the wine was passing from hand to hand as they all sank comfortably into its stupor.

Henry opened the final bottle he had bought for the occasion and poured himself and Utterson another glass as Lanyon finally rose from his chair and stretched.

“What’s the matter, Hastie? We’ve got just a bit more wine left! Surely you can stay for one more drink?” Henry asked.

“As tempting an offer as that is, I’ve had more than my fair share,” said Lanyon, straightening his appearance as he prepared to bid his goodbyes. “I feel that any more would be too dangerous—I’m not as avid a drinker as I used to be, and I’ll lose my head entirely.”

“Suit yourself,” Henry chuckled. He and Gabriel Utterson shook his hand goodnight as Lanyon made his way out the door, but not without a few more jabs at his friends. The three were left with laughter ringing in their ears as he left them, Henry and Gabriel relaxing into the plush armchairs closest to the warm fireplace.

The two sat in silence for some time, feeling quite at ease with each other. The situation was not new to either of them—many a dinner party had ended with these two being left alone at the end of the night, softly whispering philosophy with each other or simply dwelling on memories while nursing one last drink before turning in for the night. These quiet, intimate moments were perhaps the ones that Henry Jekyll looked forward to most out of these evenings. Jekyll put down his empty glass and turned himself to face his best friend.

Gabriel Utterson looked beautifully relaxed. He had sunken into his own armchair, one arm around the back while the other lazily twirled the little remaining wine in his glass. He had one leg up on the ottoman, and a rare, small smile of sheer contentment rested on his face, as his eyes hungrily watched the roaring fire before them, cheeks rosy from the wine. Jekyll was captivated – warmed both by the glow of the fire and the soft glow of hedonistic bliss radiating from this man before him, a man who had always lingered in the back of his mind as the example of moral perfection. Yes, Gabriel Utterson was beautiful, and finding him in this tiny moment of domestic pleasure, Jekyll felt that old secret yearning ignite within him once more.

His attraction to Utterson was not something Jekyll let himself dwell on frequently, but on instances where the pangs of desire struck, they often were crippling in their intensity. Tonight was no exception.

Henry suddenly regretted that he never learned to be a painter, wishing that he had the talent needed to capture Gabriel Utterson in this moment. When he felt brave enough to confess as much out loud, Utterson let out a soft chuckle, and his eyes twinkled as his smile became broader across his face.

“Whatever would you want to paint ME for?” he asked, turning his attention away from the fire for the first time, and looking directly into Jekyll’s eyes. Jekyll’s heart stopped for the briefest of moments before his insides turned to butter under Gabriel’s warm, affectionate gaze.

“Well,” Henry started, averting his own eyes as he felt the heat rise to his face. “I guess it’s because you look so…effortlessly happy. It certainly suits you.”

Gabriel laughed again, a cozy, inviting laugh. “Perhaps it’s all of the wine.”

Henry Jekyll couldn’t help but grin himself and bring his eyes back to Utterson’s. He reached for the wine bottle that they had started just before Lanyon had left them and decided to refill his glass. “It certainly is good wine,” he said, scooting his chair a bit closer to Utterson’s in order to top off his glass as well.

“It is good wine,” Utterson reaffirmed, clinking their glasses together and giving him a jovial wink. Henry Jekyll nearly choked on his own drink—why was everything that Gabriel did suddenly so captivating, so…seductive? He was grateful that Utterson had turned his attention back to the fire as he dried his lips with a handkerchief, heart beating loudly in his ears. He had been secretly attracted by Utterson plenty of times before, but somehow tonight, somehow this was more than Henry Jekyll was able to take, and perhaps most maddening of all was how the seduction seemed entirely unintentional on Gabriel’s part.

Yes, this entire evening had been near perfect. Great food, plenty of alcohol, engaging conversation—the pièce de resistance for the night would be great sex, and the primal part of Henry Jekyll was suddenly roaring for it.

Another sip of wine as he stared into the open flame of the fireplace, and suddenly his heart was braced and tongue was loosened just enough to do something a bit foolish.

“You should stay the night, Gabriel.”

“Mmm?” Gabriel lazily hummed, turning his attention back to Henry. God was he gorgeous.

“It’s so late, and the weather tonight…I would prefer to know you were here, safe.”

“Thank you, Harry, but I couldn’t possibly intrude for much longer,” Gabriel said, suddenly shifting in his seat.

Jekyll leaned forward, putting a hand on Gabriel’s knee to stop him. “But I insist! It’s no intrusion, none at all, not when I have so many empty beds—”

“I still have my carriage waiting…”

“Send them home for tonight, and tomorrow you can take mine.”

Gabriel was quiet, only just now noticing that Henry’s hand was still resting on his knee.

“Henry, it would be lovely, but I really shouldn’t stay much later, not when I have so much work waiting for me tomorrow,” he said, turning his face back to the fire.

Jekyll brought the last of his glass of wine to his lips and downed it in one swallow, setting the glass aside and leaning still closer to his companion.

“I am requesting the honor of being hospitable to my dearest friend,” Henry said, voice lilting. He decided to give him the most sultry stare that he could muster. “I do so enjoy the pleasure of your company.”

Gabriel turned his bright, beaming face back to Henry’s, a sweet, naïve giggle escaping him. “I have really enjoyed our visit too.”

Beautiful, innocent, oblivious Gabriel! He had no idea what Henry was getting at!

This wouldn’t do, this wouldn’t do at all. The primal monster inside Henry was hungry, demanding he be sated. He bit down on his lower lip as he pictured himself losing control and yanking Gabriel’s face forward into a deep, passionate kiss, arms encircling his waist, Gabriel’s fingers trailing along his spine... But no, as tempting as the fantasy was, that couldn’t happen either. Not yet.

“It would certainly break my heart to have to spend tonight alone,” Henry said, slowly moving the hand from Gabriel’s knee upwards, rubbing up and down his thigh. “If you were here, well, I could imagine we could make it worth both of our trouble…” he trailed off, delighting in the feeling of Gabriel’s warm, firm thigh in his hand, unconsciously tightening his grip, tongue just starting to touch his lip as he continued rubbing, letting his hand wander ever closer to--

Gabriel’s hand snatched Henry’s away. Henry looked up at Gabriel, who was blushing furiously.

Oh. Gabriel finally understood.

Oh God, he finally understood that Henry--!!

“We shouldn’t,” was all he said.

Henry Jekyll’s heart was racing faster than it ever had before, his face hot with shame, or was it just the fire? Why had he allowed himself to indulge in this secret want of his?

But the foolish, drunken part of Henry’s brain began to chime in. He said WE shouldn’t! Emphasis on the WE!

He didn’t seem offended or angry or ashamed, did he? Just…flustered? Could that possibly mean…?

Jekyll realized that Utterson was still holding his hand. Casting off any sense of caution, he drew Gabriel’s hand towards him, clasped in both of his, desperate to salvage the moment.

“Forgive me, Gabriel, I sometimes forget myself and…”

“It’s alright,” Gabriel said, unable to meet his eyes. His breathing seemed a bit more shallow than usual.

“I'm so sorry if I was inappropriate--I want you to know,” Henry continued, drawing Gabriel’s hand towards his own heart. “That you mean the world to me, and that I would hate to completely jeopardize—”

“It’s alright,” Gabriel insisted again. “You don’t need to apologize. You haven’t done anything.”

“I’m a weak man,” Henry said. “A slave to my most base, sensual urges, many of which, I must humbly confess, center around you.” With that, Henry drew Gabriel’s hand towards his lips, kissing it tenderly. When Gabriel didn’t pull away, Henry continued to plant kisses all over his hand, losing all sense of hesitation as he began to dip into the frenzy of his own desire.

Gabriel finally retracted his hand from Henry’s greedy lips, his whole face red. “Perhaps it’s just the wine making you feel this way,” Gabriel said, pulling his own chair a little further away from Jekyll. “I know I can definitely feel it enacting a certain…influence…”

Henry straightened himself up, running a hand through his hair as he tried to regain his composure after his brief slip into blind ecstasy. “Perhaps it is the wine,” he confessed. He grabbed the bottle, nearly empty now, and decided to pour one small, final glass for himself.

“It’s very, very good wine,” Gabriel said, offering his glass for the remainder. He had his hand half covering his face, still brilliantly pink, eyes sparkling slightly as they peered at him between his fingers.

Henry smiled as he raised a silent toast to his companion, a thrill in his heart as it foolishly began to harbor the belief that maybe, just maybe, this overwhelming desire wasn’t entirely his alone.

[tummyachesandchocolatecakes]

i really liked your writing about the chinese food? don't know if you remember what i'm talking about lol but something else like that would be great. sorry if this is too vague

I’m pretty sure I know the one you mean! If it isn’t and this isn’t what you had in mind, just hit me up again and I’ll write something else!

The annual fair has come back into town, and you and your friends decide to head out. Everyone is excited as there isn’t much to do in your small hometown so the fair is a big deal. Everyone is excited for the rides and entertainment, but you’re most excited for the food. Just thinking of the sweet treats and savoury snacks has your mouth watering.

Upon arrival you all decide to have a bite to eat before exploring too far. You head to a food stall close by, and decide on loaded fries. They all sound so good you order two portions so you don’t have to choose, you pick the chilli beef and the spicy pulled pork. You all sit down at a picnic bench and dig in.

You take a bite of the chilli fries first, the flavourful spices igniting your tastebuds like fireworks. You devour half of them before deciding to try the pork. When they said spicy, they meant it. You can handle your spice but even you find yourself needing a drink. Leaving your food with your friends momentarily you head to the milkshake stand. Peanut butter chocolate chip of course, and you make it a large. Why not you think, it’s part of the fun!

Returning to your friends you have a large gulp of your shake, the sweet taste feeling amazing in your mouth. You finish off the chilli fries before moving back to the spicy pork. By now you acknowledge the fact that actually, you’re not hungry anymore. But you can’t waste the fries so you eat them anyway, interchanging every other mouthful with a swig or three of thick creamy milkshake. Everyone else is ready to leave so you eat it all at lightning speed. You finish the fries and down the last of the milkshake before leaning back slightly. You’re overly full. Not completely stuffed, but beyond the point of being “comfortably” full. You give you’re belly a little rub, it’s protruding a tiny bit but not hugely bloated. You encourage up a huge belch, it’s thick with the milkshake and it lasts a long time. You’re friends laugh, and you all get up and make your way to the next activity.

You all decide on watching a fire eating show, followed by playing some carnival games. By now you’re feeling a lot less full, so when someone suggests a snack you’re all for it. This is where you’re gluttony sets in. Choosing just one snack out of all of the wonderful choices is too hard. So you buy a selection, stating you intention is to share it all out with your friends, though you yourself know that you’re going to have more than your fair share.

Donuts, churros, candy floss, ice cream, popcorn, deep fried mars bars, and chocolate coated strawberries (fruit is healthy right?) fill your arms as you find a shaded place on the grass to sit.

You go for a donut first, followed by a churro. Your lips and fingers covered in sugar. Annoyingly you find yourself feeling full already. Another small rub to your belly brings up a little gas, allowing for some more room. Next you eat the ice cream, it’s soft where it’s started melting in the heat. Each lick taste wonderful and refreshing, you chose a vanilla and it’s super creamy. And of course what goes better with vanilla ice cream than chocolate strawberries? You devour the lot in under five minutes. To break things up a little and refresh your palate, you then chug half a bottle of water. Once you pull the bottle away from your lips, you become aware of a heavy feeling in your stomach. You try to encourage up yet another burp, but instead get a regurgitated mouthful of water mixed with undigested ice cream. Swallowing it back down, you lean back, suddenly acutely aware of how full you are. The fullness is increasing by the second, and you’re stomach begins to ache a bit. Letting out a deep breath, you place your hand on you belly and begin rubbing circles on it, praying to aid it in the digestion of all the food crammed inside it. Your belly grumbles and whines unhappily as it tries to break down all of the sugar and fat soaked food inside of it. You can feel it bloating, expanding to accommodate all of the food it’s that you’ve shovelled inside. You feel a gas bubble forming, but even the thought of burping makes you feel queasy. You rub a little harder, hoping against hope that you’ll be able to disperse the bubble and hold out on burning until everything is a little more settled inside you’re now pretty upset tummy. But no, the rubbing just encourages the air up and you feel it rising within you, along with a lump of undigested dough filled stomach acid. No matter how much you try and suppress it, this burp is coming. You lean forward over your gurgling tummy, anticipating vomiting. But all that comes up is a gigantic wet, sickly belch that vibrates through your entire being. Once again you’re friends laugh, commenting on you gluttony and your iron gut. You don’t have it in you to tell them that actually your belly was feeling far from iron clad, that in fact you were in a lot of discomfort, bordering on actual pain. But it’s okay you think, as you’ll have some time to let your belly recover before moving on. Except you’re wrong.

One friend suggests moving on to the rides and attractions. Everyone eagerly agrees and you’re encouraged to finish up. You place the popcorn and candy floss into your rucksack, they’re both in plastic bags so can be eaten at a later date. Then you get to the deep fried mars bar. The grease from the batter has already leaked through the wrapping, meaning you can’t put it aside for later. You offer it around but nobody else wants it, all of them seem a little grossed out at the idea of the deep fried candy bar. You go to throw it away, but you are stopped by a friend who tells you what a waste it would be. That leaves only one option, to eat it. Your belly is upset already, still bloating bigger as you’re all wondering around choosing rides. You can feel all of the food mixing together and not settling at all. You’re gut has started feeling bloated and gassy lower down too, meaning that the fries from earlier are also upsetting your intestines, as much as you love spicy food it doesn’t always love you.

But you do it. Despite your poor tummy practically screaming at you not to, you take a bite of the mars bar. The mouthful of batter mixed with the sweet candy bar tastes divine, but you don’t have time to enjoy it. You forcefully swallow it down, taking another bite before your belly has time to process what you’re doing. Bite, swallow, bite, swallow, bite, swallow, bite. It’s the last bite that gets you. You hold it in your mouth way longer than necessary, because you can already feel the rest of it practically sitting in your oesophagus because there just isn’t any room in your tummy to put it. After a slow deep breath through your nose, you force yourself to swallow. The battered candy slowly slides its way down your throat, and sits itself in what feels like your chest. But you’ve done it. It’s all gone.

And then you get a sharp pain in the centre of your stomach. You’re tummy catching up to what you’ve just put inside it. It’s not happy, not happy at all. A long, deep gurgle comes from your stomach as it moves things around to find room. Room that doesn’t exist. Your stomach stretches, pushing tightly against your skin, tighter than it’s ever been before. Your belly gurgles some more, and the food settles like a rock in your tummy. Hard, heavy and unmovable. You’re friends have chosen a ride, one of those ghost trains with questionable scares and even more questionable sanitation. You excuse yourself from this ride, telling a half truth, that you think ghost trains are lame. You place yourself on a nearby bench as they get in line.

Once they’re out of sight, you allow yourself to feel the full effects of your food consumption. You leans back into the wooden bench, spreading your legs wide to accommodate you’re severely bloated tummy. You pull up your top. You are huge, like 8 months pregnant kind of huge. Your stomach is protruding far out from you, your jeans cutting into you tightly. You would love nothing more than to pop the button, but know if you did that then it would not go back together. You place your hands on your stomach and rub it desperately. It’s solid, when you push it doesn’t give at all, it’s so tight and round it almost feels like it’s actively pushing out against your hands whilst your rub. Sickening groans and sloshing gurgles continue to be emitted, as you experience the hot flushes and tingling sweaty sensations of nausea. Your bend forward, cradling your aching belly and rocking back and forth whilst also rubbing hard and fast circles over your engorged abdomen.

All to quickly you see your friends returning and you straighten up, not wanting to be caught. They all agree that the ghost train had been lame, though you’re not really listening as you fight off wave after wave of nausea. Standing up to join your friends brings a new issue. As soon as you’re upright you’re stomach seems to go into overdrive, gurglings and sloshing in your tummy, whilst huge cramps suddenly engulf your intestines. You double over, not sure if you’re going to throw up or shit yourself. You cradle you’re tummy and groan, feeling like a bloated whale out of water. Once the cramps finally pass you’re able to straighten up, only to see that your friends had already began to walk away and hadn’t noticed. You sigh a small sigh of relief before slowly waddling to catch up with them.

Walking isn’t helping. Each step increases the pain surging through every inch of your poor bulging belly. Your jeans are cutting so deeply into you that you’re beginning to fear they’ll actually draw blood. You walk with your hand up your shirt, rubbing profusely at your aching sick tummy. And then someone notices. They slow down, joining you at the back of the group. They ask if you’re okay, and by now you don’t have it in you to lie. You tell them how much your tummy is hurting, how sick you feel and how upset your tummy is. You pull your shirt up and let them see the swell of your stomach. They’re shocked, placing they’re hands on your tummy and pushing it slowly. You feel something rising in your throat and turn away, but only a small sickly burp escapes you. And then you stop. Your friends have chosen a ride. A roller coaster. You begin thinking up excuses to not go, but know they all know that you’re a roller coaster fiend.

That’s when your friend turns to you and quietly asks if you want to leave now feeling so sick or if you want to feel a bit better first. You look at them questioningly as they point at the ride. Oh. You stand there, wondering what to do, but your tummy is so sore, so bloated, so sick, you know what needs to be done. As you all queue for the ride, you and your friend remain at the back of the group. They place their hands on your tummy, rubbing it gently and soothingly. The pressure in you tummy is still growing, your belly so big and so tightly packed you can barely breath. Your friend moved their hands down and pops your button. Your fly undoes itself from the pressure, and your belly let’s put a huge groan of relief as it has more room to accommodate the greasy food and ever building gas and awfully digested food. You groan in painful pleasure at the release of some pressure, though by the time you reach the front of the line your belly is fully bloated and tight as a drum again.

They sit you two by two, your friend sat by you to offer comfort and continues tending to your belly as everyone boards. When the lap bar is pulled down, it pushes tightly into your stomach, and you let out a huge sickly belch along with a wet, gut wrenching fart. Your friend chuckles a little, patting you reassuringly on the knee before the ride begins.

The rollercoaster begins it’s incline and the contents of your tummy sloshes backwards making you nauseous once again. And then the coaster drops, and turns and jolts along the tracks. The insides of your belly splash and move in all directions. You close your eyes as the nausea builds and builds and builds. All of the food mixes and swirls within you, and you can feel it all bubbling sickly. Your skin is prickly with sweat as you feel acid rushing up your throat whilst you swallow thickly to keep it down a little longer. Finally the ride stops, the lap bar raises, and you run off of the ride and out of the exit. You don’t have time to find a trash can, your tummy is so sick and upset and the nausea is building fast.

Finally you exit the ride area and dash to the side of the path before collapsing onto your hands and knees. You wretch once, nothing but spit comes up. You wrap your arm round your belly, it’s so tight and painful that you can’t not do it. And then you feel pressure building again and you know what you have to do. You push your hand into you tummy forcefully, and that’s all it takes.

A wave of sickly sweet vomit projectiles our of your mouth, splattering onto the grass. You have no time to even breath before another wave forces it’s way out of your mouth. You vomit with such force you feel like you’re going to fall into your own sick. But a pair of hands grabs your shoulders holding you up.

Wave after wave of projectile vomit escapes you until you’re left dry heaving profusely into the grass. Your friend pulls you away from your sick and seats you between their legs. They tell you that they’ve made the others leave and it’s just the two of you. They rub their hands deeply into your tummy, interchanging between circular motions and palpating you’re still very bloated tummy. You assess yourself, seeing that you still look pregnant and that your tummy is still rock solid. As they rub your tummy you begin bringing up gas, belching wet sickly burps that occasionally bring up mouthfuls of partially digested food that you forcefully swallow back down. Then your intestines cramp, you force your friends hand deeply into the pain, and they rub hard forceful circles into it. Once the cramp passes they then focus on the lower area of your tummy. Groans and gurgle escape, and they get louder and more urgent sounding. Cramps begin to hit more frequently, and pressure continues to build. You know you’re going to need a toilet pretty soon and you know it’s going to be an awful experience, but you’re glad you’re friend will be here to help you expel all of the upset and pain from within your poor distended tummy.

[floral-and-fine]

Linger part 1

Beorn x female human reader

Summary: Beorn worries about the reader's safety shortly after meeting her and the company.

A/n: This idea is based on that deleted scene where Gandalf introduces the company to Beorn. I just love that scene so much! I'll probably write another part to this. And thank you @luna-xial​ for the help!

You jumped every time you heard the loud hollow thud the ax made as it connected to the tree trunk. Peeking through the window, you saw a beast of a man. He was taller than anyone you had ever seen before, with long wild hair.

With seemingly minimal effort, he swung the large ax again, splitting another log straight through the middle like it was made of butter.

Your body shivered, imagining how he could easily make quick work of the company if he chose. Not to mention, if last night was any kind of example, it would seem he wasn’t too keen on any of you.

The rest of the company were bickering about what to do next. They were all rather cautious or afraid of the skin-changer, and they had reason to be. The bear all of you encountered last night was large, fast, and fearsome. The man seemed to be the same.

It was no use listening to them though, they all talked over one another and they were getting louder by the second.

Instead, you focused on watching your mysterious host chop firewood without pause. Your face began to heat up as you noted the way his back muscles tensed as he lifted the ax again, preparing for another swing.

“There’s no point in arguing,” Gandalf spoke up, silencing everyone. With all eyes on him, the wizard explained that the company needed Beorn’s assistance.

“Now this will require some delicate handling. We must tread very carefully the last person to have startled him was torn to shreds,” he explained heading towards the door. All eyes followed Gandalf, especially at the mention of being torn to shreds.  “I will go first, and Bilbo, you’ll come with me.”

No one was envious of poor Bilbo as they all made room for him to get to the door.

“Is-is this a good idea?” Bilbo stuttered, his hesitation obvious about joining Gandalf outside.

“Yes,” Gandalf answered firmly. “Now the rest of you wait here,” he instructed. “Only come out in pairs, well Bombur you count as two, so come out alone.”

Just as he was about to head out through the door, he paused and turned back around. “Oh and Ms. Y/n, you will be the last to come out,” He added, facing you.

Your eyes went wide, but you nodded.

“Yes… That should be fine,” Gandalf muttered mostly to himself.

“Should?” You squeaked, but he didn’t hear you. He was far too preoccupied worrying about greeting your host.

“Remember, wait for the signal,” Gandalf warned one last time before heading out.

…

The rest of the company filed out, leaving you and Thorin as the last ones to exit.

Beorn didn’t hide his distaste as he stared down all the dwarves before him. A snarl practically formed on his face as his eyes reached the end of the line. However, his features immediately softened as soon as he spotted you.

Gandalf noticed the immediate change in their host’s expression. “Ah, and that’s Miss y/n,” he spoke up. “She’s one of our companions as well.”

You waved shyly at the skin-changer. Who slowly lowered his ax, setting it down beside him.

The giant man sighed, wringing his hands together. Beorn’s eyes flickered from you to the dwarves then back to you again. He was obviously mulling things over, trying to decide what to do with his unexpected house guests.

With a drawn-out sigh, Beorn walked past Gandalf and approached the company.

“You must be hungry,” He said looking directly at you.

“Oh, we’re starving,” one of the dwarves chimed in, but Beorn chose to ignore your companions. His focus solely remained on you, patiently awaiting an answer.

“A little,” you admitted with a shrug, feeling rather bashful over the attention.

With a curt nod, he ushered you forward, back into his home. Beorn gestured for you to take a seat at the table.

“Your home is beautiful,” you complimented, admiring the beautiful details carved in the wood. You didn’t get a chance last night or this morning to really take in the craftsmanship. There were a lot of fine details that must have taken a lot of time and skill to complete.

He gave you a soft smile but it only lingered for a brief second and was replaced with a frown as soon your companions started taking their seats beside you and around the table.

Beorn started placing food out, everything looked so delicious. There were various cheeses, fruits, nuts, and types of bread.

Your host made sure that your plate was full first, not trusting that the greedy dwarves would be considerate of someone as soft-spoken and kind as yourself.

He didn’t understand how you were a part of this company, how someone as well mannered and delicate was associated with such loud brutes. You didn’t appear to be a warrior of any sort, and you weren’t a dwarf, so why were you assisting them at all?

You observed Beorn carefully as he towered over you, despite his great stature and strength, he was cautious of his movements, and despite his obvious dislike of dwarves, he was still fairly hospitable. Being in his presence had you feeling quite small, not in a bad way, necessarily, in fact, almost as if you were made of glass with the way he treated you so attentively.

Holding a large pitcher, he poured milk in your cup first giving you a generous amount which you doubted you would be able to finish.

“Thank you,” you murmured as he moved on to the next cup.

After making his way around the table and back to you, he held the pitcher in both hands, looking down pensively as he shared what had happened to him and his people.

His story made your heartache, much like it did when your companions shared their story. Without thinking, you reached out placing your hand on his forearm in an effort to comfort him. You couldn’t imagine what he had gone through, what he had to do to survive, or how it felt to be the last of his kind.

When he offered his assistance to Thorin, you were honestly surprised.

Beorn provided provisions and ponies to the company in order to get all of you to the forest in time.

…

As the company started preparing the ponies for travel, you couldn’t help but notice Beorn acting apprehensively. He was pacing about, double checking things, and kept asking Gandalf if they needed anything else.

You approached him quietly clearing your throat to draw his attention towards you.

“Thank you for everything,” you said, smiling sweetly at him. “I know it’s not easy, dwarves might seem unappreciative and careless but I do think they’re grateful.”

Beorn sighed, taking your hand in his, his thumb caressing lightly over your knuckles.

“Must you leave with them?” He asked, his voice sounding rather defeated.

“I made a promise.”

“It’s not safe,” Beorn whispered, feeling how delicate the bones of your hand were and soft your skin. “I know what Azog is capable of…”

Beorn wasn’t quite sure why, but he cared for you, and he truly feared what might happen to you on this journey. He hasn’t known anyone like yourself to encounter an orc in which the outcome wasn’t death. He frowned at the idea, the unsettling image of the hand he was holding lifeless and limp appearing in his mind.  

Tilting your head you whispered his name, he had gone quiet but appeared to have something else to say.

He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again, shaking his head slightly. “Is there nothing I can say to change your mind?” He asked, almost on the verge of begging.

“I’m afraid not,” you said, giving his hand a slight squeeze.

His expression conveyed his disappointment, but he nodded, accepting that you had to leave and finally dropping the subject. Slowly, Beorn led you back to where the ponies were and reluctantly released your hand.

Without another word, he walked back towards his home. He wasn’t good at saying goodbye and was struggling with the fact that you were leaving. He felt like he was allowing you to walk straight to your death.

Before mounting your pony, you took a deep breath and looked around one last time, really taking in the scenery, before leaving. This place really was beautiful, so serene and peaceful. Might be the last time you’re at a place like this, who knows what you might encounter next.

As your pony slowly started trodding along, you turned back to see Beorn, who was standing by his garden with a solemn expression, you wondered if he felt lonely out here alone with just his animals.

You wouldn’t mind visiting him again after this was all over, maybe spend a longer visit here, perhaps even help him out with the garden or the animals.

You waved goodbye, a small sad smile on your lips. He gave you a small nod in response watching as you and the company disappeared past the horizon.

He fought every urge he had to go after you. Trying to convince himself that you would be fine. You had managed to get this far more or less unscathed.

Beorn stayed outside, working on the fields and tending to his animals until his ponies finally returned. He led them back to the barn, making sure they were all accounted for. Lingering by the pony you rode, he ran his hand through its mane.

“I wish she had stayed,” he admitted, regretting that he let you go or didn’t offer to join the company in order to protect you. He gave the pony another good pat before heading into his home.

[dulce-pjm]

under the table

word count: 3.8k

genre: fluff

summary: you’re doing great! 100% amazing. a-okay! alright, no you’re not. but what does everyone say is the perfect cure for a heart that never had the chance to be broken? game night, of course! but knowing you, there will always be complications. 

You’re at peace. 

When things are like this, the universe is in harmony. You’re tucked away from the rest of the world, cuddled up under a blanket next to the thing most important to you, a relaxed smile across your face. You think you could spend the rest of your life here, content and happy. Safe. 

But you’ve never been particularly lucky. 

“The fuck is a board game club?”

“It’s fun, I promise!” Mina looks you up and down as she stands in the doorway of your bedroom. You know how you look, sprawled on your soft comforter in sweats and a grease-stained t-shirt. Your laptop sits beside you, a trashy drama playing in the background, while your hands are occupied with your phone and a large bowl of popcorn. 

“But I’m having fun now.” You gesture to your well-planned setup, grimacing when Mina turns the lights on. “Dude. Warning, please.” She sighs, stepping into the room with a stern look on her face. You can already feel your stubborn resolve slipping. 

Mina shuts your laptop and moves it aside, plopping onto the bed next to you. She takes your non-butter-coated hand in hers. 

“Y/N, I love you. But it’s Friday night. We haven’t gone out in a month. A month!” You glare, offended she’d bring up the subject. 

“Because you know what happened last time!” Mina opens her mouth to argue, but shuts it quickly. This discussion always goes the same direction anyway. 

“This won’t be like last time,” she reassures, taking the popcorn bowl from you, much to your dismay. “I promise. You like games! It’ll be fun and tonight we’re betting, so if you win you might even have some cash to take home.” 

“But I’m so happy here.” You cuddle your pillow childishly, puffing out your bottom lip. Mina is not amused. She sighs, massaging her temples. 

“I didn’t want to do this,” she begins. “But you owe me, remember?” You cock your head, no memory coming to mind. She sighs in exasperation. “You dragged me to that stupid dance class last semester! By the end I thought I was gonna puke!” You scoff. 

“Oh, puh-lease, you were practically drooling over the instructor. He was so hot I forgot about the pain. Too bad he has a girlfriend now. I stalked him on Instagram.” Mina laughs, a light tinkling sound compared to your usual guffawing, abrasive and obnoxious. 

“So… you’ll come?” You take a moment to think, despite already knowing your answer. You were too easy to guilt-trip, you knew. Too trusting, too. But Mina was right, you did owe her. You sigh. 

“Fine. I’ll come.” Mina’s entire face lights up as she cheers and hurries to her feet. Your joints creak as you heave your limbs off of the bed while Mina begins babbling instructions your way. 

You were rather talented at board games. And silly banter. You might even have a chance at walking away with the money. This will be fun, you assure yourself. 

“...So, yeah. Just bring ten bucks. And maybe change first.” Her eyes take one last glance at your outfit in light disgust. “Be ready in half an hour?”

“Mhmm,” you groan, stumbling to your closet. You sniff one of your old sweaters and when no ungodly stench meets you, you shrug it on in place of your tee. Mina thanks you before trotting out of the room, taking away your snack with her. 

This will be fun, this will be fun.

Or, at least it better be. You make a mental note that, if this goes south, you aren’t leaving this apartment for the next six months. 

After sprucing up your appearance and coating yourself with cheap perfume, you approach the supposed ‘board game club meeting’ (how the hell did that get approved, anyway?) with a newfound sense of confidence. Your smile is beaming, your shoulders are back and unbothered, your skin glowing. Wait, doesn’t that phrase mean you’re pregnant? You can’t remember. Not that pregnancy is even a remote possibility for you anyway. What with you never leaving the apartment and all.

You trail after Mina as she weaves through the library halls, before slowing in front of a corner study room. You’re astounded she made it here so easily, you had no idea this was even here. To your knowledge, this wing of the library was reserved for storage and staff. 

 Just as you’re about to follow her through the door, she spins to face you. 

“You know, I’ve been thinking and you know if you really don’t want to go-” 

“Oh my god, we’re here already! Let’s just go in!” You smile at her teasingly while she blushes. Despite how it might look to outsiders, you and Mina care about each other deeply. You appreciate how considerate she is of you.

 “Alrighty then!” She turns back around and throws open the door, drawing the greetings of everyone else in the room. Your eyes land on Mark, Mina’s boyfriend, who’s already shot to his feet and pulled Mina in for a kiss. 

You barely have time to scan the rest of the crowd before Mark’s wrapped you up in a hug, ruffling your hair. He’d always been friendly, definitely a little much for you. But his affectionate ways are perfect for Mina. 

“Hey! Didn’t expect to see you here.” He finally parts from you, allowing you room to breathe. You shrug sheepishly. 

“Well, here I am.” Your hands fidget nervously at the belt loops of your jeans. “So expect to lose.” Mark laughs, wrapping an arm around Mina. You suppress the part of you that’s immensely jealous of their easy-going relationship. You’ve never been able to achieve quite the same thing. Your relationships rarely lasted longer than a few months, at best. 

“I believe it. You always outplay me in Monopoly.” He throws a thumb over his shoulder. “But Yoongi might give you a run for your money.”

Your blood runs cold. Chills travel across your skin. A fire fueled by anger and embarrassment that had almost sputtered out over the past month is suddenly reignited, a blazing furnace beneath your face and chest. 

“What?” Mina’s smile becomes strained while you stand there, face void of emotion despite the thunderstorm raging inside. Her voice lowers to a harsh whisper. “I thought you said he wasn’t coming!” Mark, oblivious to the brewing conflict, smiles happily.

“Yeah, but his work thing got canceled, so I told him there was still plenty of room.” Pride beams off of his face. At any other time, Mina would congratulate him for his efforts to be inclusive and encouraging to their mutual friend. But right now, she was starting to be as panicked as you were pissed. 

Your mind is flooded with memories of fun conversation, casual flirting, and, ultimately, anxious nights spent staring at your phone screen, waiting for a very specific notification to appear. But it never did. You’re starting to see red. 

“God, Mark, I told you about this!” Mina turns to you, eyes frantic. “You know, if you just want to go back home, that’s okay. I’ll go with you, we can watch dramas and eat pizza and-”

“It’s fine,” you spit through clenched teeth. You force your fists to relax, allow a gentle smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes to settle across your lips. 

“A- Are you sure?” Mina touches your arm with concern, forcing you to tear your gaze away from a certain someone across the room. You shrug nonchalantly, forcing your smile to go wider. 

“Why wouldn’t it be?” 

“Y/N, you seriously don’t-”

“It’s fine, Mina.” She immediately clamps her mouth shut, knowing your will is set in stone by the harsh tone of your voice. She nods vigorously and steps back into the arms of a very confused Mark. 

“Okay, okay.” She puts up her hands defensively before smiling and facing the rest of the group. “Who’s ready to get started?” She’s met with cheers and smiles as Mark settles into a seat beside her and starts dealing cards, leaving one empty chair, across from Yoongi. 

You slide into it, meeting his intense gaze as he looks up from his phone. Not that it surprises you, but he appears exactly the same. He’s fucking gorgeous. His features are soft, yet when he meets your eyes with that piercing gaze and unreadable expression, he becomes sharp and intimidating. His greyish-brown locks just barely sit above his dark, umber eyes, effortlessly tousled. Even his taste is good, his outfit composed of a leather jacket and vintage band t-shirt, topped with a single hoop earring. 

God, he is so perfect. Was so perfect, until he’d ignited your unending anger. 

“Hey,” you mutter, words coming off much more bitter than intended. Whatever. It’s how you feel, anyways. 

“Hey,” he replies. “Been a while.” His eyes never leave yours. 

“Sure has.” Your nostrils flare against your will. “You doing alright? Gone on any more blind dates?” Yoongi’s lips twist into a scowl. 

“Can’t say I have. You were the one and only.” The staredown between you two could start wars. The negative energy you’re generating sends a chill down an unsuspecting Mark’s spine. 

Your brooding is interrupted when a shiny, white sticker is passed in front of you. 

“It’s a name tag!” Mina explains, looking between you two anxiously. “You can decorate it. It’s fun.” You internally roll your eyes at Mina’s not-so-sly attempt to break up your silent argument. 

You grab a stray pen to scribble your name, but just as the ink begins to meet the sticker, fingers tighten around your wrist. With his free hand, Yoongi takes the sticker from you, bringing it to his side of the table. 

“Let me do it. Your handwriting is shit.” You grimace. He isn’t wrong. You work to get your mind moving, you’re already behind in the insult-slinging. After a brief moment, Yoongi releases your wrist and snatches the pen from your fingertips, dipping his head to start writing. 

“So are your dialing abilities.” Yoongi pauses, his eyes lifting, a poorly built facade of confusion masking what you’re sure is smug pride. The little shit. 

“What?” he asks curiously, pen lowering. 

“You heard me.” You cross your arms and lean back in your seat, as if daring him to challenge you. This asshole had the nerve to pretend he enjoyed your company despite the less-than-ideal circumstances, treat you to a nice date, not call you ever again, NOT EVER CALL YOU AGAIN, and then pretend he didn’t know what you were talking about? God, you’d really dodged a bullet there. Or, you would have. If Yoongi had picked up the damn phone and taken a shot in the first place. 

After a few seconds, a smirk plays on his lips and he shakes his head, returning to the sticker. 

“I see you and Yoongi are acquainted!” Mark comments, throwing an arm over your shoulder while blissfully unaware of the situation. Oh, to be pretty and ignorant. “He’s a monster at Risk, let me tell you. He could probably take over the world if he really wanted to. Most of the time, he’s the lucky guy walking away with the payout.” Yoongi shrugs, eyes still focused on the project before him. 

“Or you guys just suck.” Mark laughs, the boisterous sound rattling from his chest. 

“Either way, he’s the guy to beat.” You nod in understanding as a plan hatches in your mind. You rub your hands together, not unlike a cartoon villain. Your fixed smile becomes slightly crazed and Cheshire cat-like. 

Interesting. Very interesting. So, if you were to, perhaps, theoretically, make some private bets and win this game night, Yoongi would be out a shit ton of money? Now that sounded like fun, Mina be damned. Screw closure and moving on, revenge is much more gratifying. 

When Yoongi finishes your nametag, you slap it on your sweater without so much as a glance, oblivious to the way his face falls. 

If it took every fiber of your being, you were going to beat Yoongi’s ass, steal his money, and never ever see him again. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

Fuck!

How was it possible for somebody to be good at Candyland?! The game’s pure goddamn luck. But here Yoongi was, having claimed victory for three out of the six games played so far (you claiming the other three) and being well on his way to winning the seventh and final game: Uno. 

You, Yoongi, and Mina are down to three cards each, while Mark and the other participants are too caught up in rambunctious conversation to care that they’re losing terribly. 

Mistakes have been made. You had egged Yoongi on into raising the bets between you two from ten to fifty dollars. And now you were fearing you’d lose. But your will was still strong, refusing to give up so easily. And where there was a will, there were Draw Four cards. 

“Are you fucking kidding me, Y/N?” Yoongi groans, reaching to draw from the pile. But at the last second, his fingers flicker back to his hand, slapping his own Draw Four card onto the table. You sigh, banging your head against the table without an ounce of embarrassment or true anger. That time had long passed. Now you were just exasperated. 

Mina cries out in protest, but having nothing to counter with, she begrudgingly draws eight, eliminating her from the close race between you and Yoongi, having two cards each. Yoongi smiles apologetically, making you laugh quietly to yourself. 

When he wasn’t being an ass, Yoongi still made pleasant company. He was nice and sarcastic and introspective, never failing to add something new to the conversation. Despite your initial resolve, you’d found yourself opening up to him once again, obnoxiously cracking your own jokes and telling wild stories from your past experiences. Whenever Yoongi smiled or laughed at you, your heart soared. If only he had called you back, things could be different. 

But they weren’t. This is a war now. A war you intend to win. 

“What are you doing?” The question startles you from the goofy selfie you’re taking as you wait for the play to make its way around the table. You set down your phone, ignoring the way that, in the picture, your eyes are straight ahead, meeting Yoongi’s, rather than directed at the camera.

“Texting my nephew.” Yoongi cocks his head, brows furrowing. “He’s five and has a tablet for some godforsaken reason. We just send each other pictures of ourselves making stupid faces back and forth. It’s silly.” You don’t know why you’re suddenly sheepish, heat rising to your face. It’s probably the bad air conditioning in this place. Yoongi’s confused expression melts into a soft smile, making the furnace beneath your cheeks blaze hotter. 

“Cute,” he murmurs.

“What?” He shrugs, taking a sip at his soda. Your eyes narrow. What kind of game is he playing? Does he think flirting with you will distract you from the mission at hand? Because if so, he’s an absolute idiot. 

“You’re an idiot!” you’re yelling just a few minutes later. Yoongi’s practically cackling from across the table, clutching his middle with one hand, the other holding just one card. You still had two, but no matter. It’s pretty unlikely he’ll be able to play his hand anyway. “The cookie is the backbone of the entire Oreo! Without it, the whole experience is ruined! Don’t disregard it so easily.” Yoongi only snickers more, his gums peeking out from behind his massive smile. He’s enjoying the way you get riled up so easily, how quickly he can get under your skin with the most meaningless of words. 

“It doesn’t even taste good, Y/N. The least they could do is make it taste like sugar, since that’s practically all an Oreo is.” You roll your eyes. 

“That ruins the whole balance. The only thing you could possibly add to an Oreo to make it better is peanut butter.”

“Peanut butter?” Yoongi leans forward in interest and slight disgust. You nod assuredly, finding yourself leaning forward as well.

“Trust me, it’ll change your life.” Yoongi looks at you earnestly. 

“I’m pretty sure it’s you that’s the life-changer.” Your eyebrows pop upward, jaw momentarily dipping open before you snap it shut. No. No. You’re not falling for this again. You scoff and fall back into the incredibly uncomfortable chair, which only makes Yoongi smile proudly. 

“Y/N, it’s your turn.” Mark nudges you and you barely acknowledge him, slapping your blue four onto the pile easily. 

Yoongi looks at you oddly, lolling his head to the side. 

“What?” you snap, giving him your best glare.

“You’re done with your turn?” he asks, expression turning slightly concerned. God, he was such a fucking tease. 

“Yes I’m done, you dipshit. Play your turn.” You glance at your phone screen, seeing several notifications from your nephew and a scolding text from your sister for encouraging his behavior. 

Yoongi sighs, drawing his card when he can’t play. When you glance up, there’s a smirk on his face once again.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Yoongi’s smirk deepens. 

“You didn’t say ‘Uno.’” You stare at Yoongi. He starts to snicker again. 

“Fuck!” you shout, ignoring Mina’s many comments about ‘language!’ and ‘non-competitive dialogue!’ Yoongi laughs in your face, not even bothering to cover his mouth and try to spare you. You’re about to go ballistic, your fists clenched as Yoongi does the favor of drawing four for you, sliding them in front of you. God, you hate him. 

In the end, neither of you wins. Some freshman with glasses you didn’t know took the victory, teasing his apparent girlfriend for losing. Who even let freshmen in here, anyway? The participants decide that the winnings will be divided between you and Yoongi, since you both won three games, and the mini-bet between the two of you becomes null, with neither of you able to fully stake your claim.

But you’re the one who’s really been defeated. You couldn’t even succeed in getting a second date with this guy, what made you think you could beat him in board games?

You give Yoongi a small, meek nod before standing to go. Mina left with Mark already after double and triple-checking that you were okay to walk home alone. You make for the door, open the handle as unexpected tears threaten to prick at your eyes. 

You’re so pathetic. You’d let a fucking blind date get you so upset you’d barely left your apartment in the past month except to go to class. Could you really be faulted? You hadn’t had so much fun with someone in your entire life. You could feel the connection, the spark, between the two of you. You were certain this was the one that would last. So you took the leap, gave him your number, proposed a second date. But he never called you. Not once. 

You’re unlikable. Unlovable. You don’t deserve to win game night, let alone to win at life or relationships or-

“Y/N, wait up.” Yoongi’s found his way next to you as you trudge out of the library, staring straight ahead. 

Great.

“What is it, Yoongi?” You shoot him a dark look, only to find his ears tinged pink and his hand awkwardly scratching his scalp. 

“Well, uh, I was thinking.” The sentence ends, thought hanging unfinished in the air. 

“You were… thinking?” Yoongi jolts, like he’d forgotten you were here. His eyes never meet yours, contrary to his crude confidence from before. 

“Yeah! And, um-” He sighs, taking a deep inhale through his nose. “I think we should use the money we won and go on a second date.”

What.

“What?” You’re openly gaping at him now. “Why?!”

“Because I really enjoyed our first date and I’d like another one.” You’re running out of air, sputtering on your breath. 

“But- But you didn’t even call me! I asked you out and now you suddenly change your mind?” After an excruciating moment, Yoongi’s eyes meet yours, panicked rather than unreadable. The image is unsettling and unfamiliar. You’re starting to feel dizzy. 

“Because you gave me a fake number!” You gawk at him in confusion. “Or that’s what I thought, until you were talking earlier and I put it all together.” He grins, seemingly finding his confidence again. “Your shitty handwriting made me misread your number. I almost thought it was on purpose until now, that you just wanted to get rid of me. But it was all a misunderstanding.”

The weight of his words settles on your shoulders, making your head spin. All a misunderstanding? All those stupid tears and endless nights over… a misunderstanding? You could laugh. You do, actually. The sound makes Yoongi jump as the two of you step outside, the night oddly warm despite the time nearly reaching midnight. A stupid, dopey grin spreads across your face. 

Yoongi doesn’t hate you. He doesn’t think you’re stupid or unlikable. You’d done everything right, well, almost everything right. It’s humorous, really. 

“So, uh… What do ya say? Tomorrow? Seven?” You smirk. 

“Bold of you to assume I’m free.” Yoongi’s grinning too, enjoying the casual banter significantly more than the way his face grew flushed and he couldn’t seem to spit out what he wanted to say. 

“Well, then cancel your plans.” His eyes flash wildly and you giggle childishly, taking delight in his antics. You nod, your cheeks beginning to ache. 

“Tomorrow at seven.” Yoongi grins as you prepare to go your separate ways. 

“Tomorrow at seven.” You spin and begin walking the other way, but not before Yoongi can call after you again. 

“What?” You laugh, yelling at him from down the sidewalk, the streetlamps barely illuminating his figure. 

“Check your nametag! And text me when you’re home so I know you’re safe!” You laugh again. 

“I don’t even have your number, dipshit!” Yoongi sighs loudly, the sound echoing down the empty street. 

“Just check the fucking nametag!” 

“Fine, fine!” You giggle as you peel the sticker off your shirt. Your giggle intensifies when you see its contents. 

Along with your name, Yoongi decided to draw a small picture that you could only assume was you, composed of an angry face, frazzled hair, and devil horns. And in the bottom right corner is a string of digits. You’re grinning from ear to ear as you stare at the piece of paper. You tell yourself to find a safe place to keep it when you get home. 

“Goodnight, Y/N!” he shouts, figure fading farther in the distance. 

“Goodnight!” 

You practically skip home, your body singing with adrenaline and joy. 

You muse that your world might never be in balance or harmony, not in your lifetime, anyway. 

But with you beside Yoongi, you thought it’d be pretty damn close. 

[bamfdaddio]

X-Men Abridged: 1976

The X-Men, those fiery mutants that have sworn to protect a world that hates and fears them, are a cultural juggernaut with a long, tangled history. Want to unravel this tapestry? Then read the Abridged X-Men!

(X-Men 97 - 102) - by Chris Claremont and Dave Cockrum

If I ever participate in Drag Race, this will be my entrance look. (“Hear me, bitches! No longer am I the woman you knew! I am fierce! I am fashion incarnate! Now and forever, the winner of season 27!” *mugs at camera* ) (X-Men 101)

It really amazes me how quickly Claremont shifts things into high gear. One year in and he absolutely does not calm down, giving us both the Shi’ar, more Sentinels and the (motherfucking) Phoenix. SO LET'S GOOOO

You’d think that, as a telepath, Charles would be used to dreaming absolutely twisted shit, surfing everybody else´s freaky dream waves, but apparently, vividly dreaming of space is so exhausting that he needs a vacation.

To be fair, I’d be exhausted too if I dreamt of schizo space bugs on detailed splash pages. Get into it, Mr. Cockrum. (X-Men 97)

Meanwhile, Alex and Lorna have absconded to the sizzling Rio Diablo to work on their doctorates. It’s unclear what they’re studying (archaeology?) and where this Rio Diablo is (Panama, Chili, Ecuador?), but considering that Rio means River, I’m unsure whether drawing a dry dry desert is the appropriate setting. But hey, this was the pre-Google era and you’re not here for topographical nitpicking, so.

Lorna is shot by an unknown assailant and continues the long, long history of Polaris being mentally overtaken by other entities. Together with the equally not-himself Havoc, they travel back to NYC and attack the plane Xavier is boarding. The X-Men battle them, until it is revealed that these former not-quite-X-Men are in league with… Eric the Red?

Scott is all: But I was Eric the Red! Also, Eric the Red does not exist!

Xavier escapes, apparently not giving a fuck that all kinds of X-Men are demolishing the JFK airport, but the still-evil Havok and Polaris also get away. The X-Men are shook!

Some time later, The X-Men celebrate X-Mas at Rockefeller Square, where Claremont skips some steps in favour of narrative expediency. Moira and Sean are apparently in a relationship, Jean and Storm are the best of friends. It’s some pretty rough telling, not showing, but we’ll allow it, but only because the Storm/Jean-friendship is one of my favourite things.

What, you think only the movies indulged in Lee/Kirby-cameos? (X-Men 98)

Anyway, Jean and Scott are attacked by the Sentinels, who continue their trend of being way too sneaky for supersized racist robots! Xavier is kidnapped on his boat trip with super-duper scientist Peter Corbeau (seriously, he has two Nobel Prizes), while they steal away Jean, Sean and Logan in NYC. When they come to, there’s some gloating from Stephen Lang.

Jean Grey being a literal pin-up while delivering nazi-burns is such a big middle finger to everything she was in the sixties and I am here for it. (X-Men 98)

When the three kidnapped X-Men make a break for it and escape the Sentinel’s clutches, they burst through a wall, only to be greeted by the cold vacuum of space! They’re not on Earth at all: they’re on a formerly SHIELD space station! GASP! (literally)

In secret, Peter Corbeau, inventor of sliced bread, helps the X-Men back on Earth board a space shuttle, where Colossus remembers his brother Mikhail (objectively the worst Rasputin), a kosmonaut who died at the launch of another spacecraft. It’s another Future Plotline Seed©.

The X-Men dodge solar storms which sounds like a made-up contrivance but aren’t, while the Sentinels try to destroy the shuttle. In what the kids these days call a pro-gamer move, the X-Men instead ram the space station and go through to these apparently sub-par Sentinels like Magma through butter. Kurt’s showmanship and Colossus’ loyalty are highlighted, while Cyclops becomes more robotic and repressed the more Jean is in danger.

Colossus’ secondary mutation is apparently BEING THE BIGGEST DORK. (X-Men 99)

Scott almost kills Stephen Lang, but then Stephen throws his ace in the hole at them: THE OLD X-MEN? This reveal throws us right in the hallmark one hundredth issue!

And, look. Stephen, this is just a terrible plan. Instead of using most of your budget on making more impressive Sentinels, you blow half of it on making janky X-Men clones to… what? Confuse the real X-Men?

It works for a hot minute, but Kurt and Ororo quickly figure out something is wrong. This Beast, for example, isn’t hairy and this Jean doesn’t remember being in Storm’s confidence. Wolverine is the first to snap: acting on instinct, he kills ‘Jean’, proving she’s an android.

Stephen Lang, foiled by the X-Men’s logical thinking skills (which, to be fair, are notoriously unreliable), spews some hatred and accidentally blows himself up. Nothing of value is lost.

Too bad the X-Men can’t return to Earth: their space shuttle is too damaged. I actually love this: going to space is kind of a big deal for most people and the fact that the X-Men have trouble because they’re stranded in space lends them a kind of vulnerability that has been lost over the recent years. Jean steps up to the plate, herds the other X-Men into the protected life cell and assumes the pilot seat of the shuttle. This is after zapping Cyclops into unconsciousness and telling the other X-Men to kindly fuck off when they try to stop her.

As the X-Men descend onto the Earth, Jean’s telekinesis isn’t enough to protect her as she’s engulfed by solar flares. OR IS SHE?

Nothing funny. All of these panels are just beautiful. Forget those robot copy X-Men, this is why this issue is worthy of being the hundredth one. (X-Men 100)

The space shuttle crashes, rolls over JFK airport before dunking in the water. The X-Men emerge, safe, sound and very lucky and then, defying all odds, Jean emerges as the Phoenix. Fire, life incarnate, etc.

After a brief but melodramatic burst of energy, Jean collapses into unconsciousness and is hospitalized. Wolverine intends to bring her flowers (aw!), before throwing them out when he realizes the gal’s taken, establishing the X-Men’s most famous love triangle. (You can fuck right off with your Scott/Jean/Warren-bullshit.)

I’m not sure what my favorite thing is here: the absolutely bonkers everybody’s-elated-panel (special mention to Kurt’s boots and his bounce) or the subtle character beat where Kurt goes all heart-of-the-team and checks on Scott, who turns out to be not so stoic. (X-Men 101)

Charles orders all the X-Men (except Scott) to go on vacation, so he can take care of Jean. Like, Charles, you’d think they could just go hang out at the X-Mansion. Instead, they go to Ireland because Sean has conveniently inherited the ancestral Cassidy Keep.

All the X-Men dress up fancy for a welcoming feast, and it seems Kurt and Ororo are flirting? But sometimes, it also seems like Ororo and Piotr are flirting? Listen, I’m not judging: I love these polycule vibes from the early X-Men. Especially because neither Kurt nor Ororo have had particularly satisfying romantic plotlines for the past 20 years.

I’m not here to insinuate nothing, but last time I said “I enjoy being with both of you”, it ended up in a spitroast. (X-Men 101)

The soiree is interrupted by… THE JUGGERNAUT, BITCH, and Black Tom, Sean Cassidy’s evil cousin. They are hired by an unknown someone to kill the X-Men! Since nobody subtle is involved, they quickly wreck the castle and everybody tumbles into the dungeons. (Local news paper reports: gay power couple harasses ill-dressed American tourists.)

This story is mostly a vehicle to tells Ororo’s backstory: Storm, one of the few who could conceivably put up a fight to Cain Marko, feels caged by the cold rocks of Cassidy Keep and is incapacitated by her claustrophobia.

Back in the USA, Charles, who’s heard Storm’s mental anguish, is furious with Scott because he doesn’t hop in a plane to save the other X-Men, even though Scott correctly points out that he’ll never get there in time if he leaves now. Meanwhile, Jean awakens, convinced she somehow brought herself back to life. Yeah, you go girl.

While the rest of the X-Men fight the evil duo in Ireland, Claremont tells Storm’s backstory in a few gorgeous spreads.

“I could write a novel about Storm’s backstory.” “You get two pages.” “Deal.” (X-Men 102)

Another classic comics trope appears here, where family members are immune to one another’s powers. I have no idea how Black Tom is immune to Banshee’s sonic scream - he has ears.

Does Black Tom just have a voice in his ears going NEENER NEENER NEENER when Sean screams? (X-Men 102)

When Storm finally pulls herself back together, it’s too late: the Juggernaut has pummeled the other X-Men into a paste and she also falls to his onslaught. IS THIS THE END OF THE X-MEN?!

Other things introduced this year:

Kurt’s image inducer, which he abuses to look like Errol Flynn. (I would abuse it to look like an amalgam of Milo Ventimiglia (ca. Gilmore Girls) and Timothée Chardonnay. OR like Emmy Raver-Lampman.)

The fastball special!

All kinds of name confusion: Lorna is Polaris, Havok is sometimes Havoc and Piotr becomes Peter.

Best new character: Phoenix. Hit me with that iconic shit.

What to read: The Stephen Lang arc is not fully necessary, just read issue 100 and 101. Don’t skip issue 102 if you want to know all about Storm’s past.

[ordinaryschmuck]

What I Thought About "What If...Captain Carter was the First Avenger" from Marvel Studios' What If...

Salutations, random people on the internet who certainly won’t read this! I am an Ordinary Schmuck. I write stories and reviews and draw comics and cartoons.

Back when Marvel Studios announced the new lineup of films and shows, I was admittingly underwhelmed. Nothing we've seen so far has been poorly written, far from it, but during the announcement, nothing really popped out at me as worth getting excited for. That is, except for one series: Marvel Studios' What If... An animated series that changes the canon of the Marvel Cinematic Universe, all through the simple question. The question being, "What if this happened instead of that."

From the get-go, I was sold on this idea. I'm a sucker for hypothetical scenarios, thinking up all the ways of how some of my favorite stories in fiction could be drastically different thanks to one tiny change. Some might call that "Fanfiction the Series," and while you're not wrong, I fail to see how that's a criticism. Because fanfiction can be fun...just as long as you ignore the sick freaks, sure, but it still can be fun! So whether Marvel Studio's What If... is fanfiction or not, it still didn't change how excited I was to watch it. Was it all worth the hype? Well, to answer that question requires spoilers, so keep that in mind as we dive deep into Marvel's most ambitious project yet.

Now, let's review, shall we?

WHAT I LIKED

The Watcher: Gonna get the generals out of the way before I talk about what I specifically like about this episode. Ok? Ok.

Now, using the Watcher as the narrator for this series is just perfect. What If... already has a similar energy to The Twilight Zone: An anthology series that takes viewers to new and mysterious realities all through the guidance of an omniscient narrator. And using the Watcher as that type of narrator might just be the second-best choice...number one would be Stan Lee, obviously, but...he's dead now. May he rest in peace.

I haven't read that many comics, so there's not much that I know about the Watcher's character aside from a ten-second Google search. But something tells me that a character described as a celestial being that observes and records the events surrounding the galaxy sounds like the exact type of omniscience to guide us through the unknown. All added with Jeffrey Wright's performance, who really does convey a character that sounds like he's as old as time and wise beyond his years. Plus, it's pretty cool that such a seemingly odd character now technically plays a major role in the MCU canon. Comics are weird, and if the Watcher proves anything, it's better to embrace that weirdness than deny it.

The Animation: Looks like someone watched Spider-Man: Into the Spiderverse.

That really is the feeling I got when watching this. What If... doesn't look as good as Spiderverse (Nothing can be as good as Spiderverse), but the idea is still there as it combines primarily CGI animation with a few hand-drawn elements. It makes certain scenes just pop and, at times, even makes specific shots look like they're straight from panels in a comic book. Besides, while Spiderverse still looks better, that doesn't mean the animation isn't phenomenal in What If... The scenery looks gorgeous, the CGI models moderately match their live-action counterparts, the expressions are fantastic, and movements are as smooth as butter. There was definitely some money that went into this series to make it look as good as it did, and my eyeballs were more than grateful because of it. Especially when it comes to--

The Action: Holy s**t, was it a good thing that this series was animated!

The MCU has had its fair share of great fight scenes in the past, but it always felt restricted to what the big superhero fights could be due to everything needing to look "realistic." That all changes in What If... Because now that this series is animated, we can finally chuck realism out the window and allow these characters to be as epic as they were in the comics. The movements are swift, the blows look like they hurt, and best of all, you actually get to see characters fighting each other! There are no random cuts to hide the stunt doubles or weird camera angles to avoid audiences seeing how ugly the CGIed replacements are. We get to see all of the action with zero restraint, thanks to the fact that animation is limitless and allows writers to get away with literally anything. And shows like this make me wonder, "Why the hell isn't the MCU animated?"

Peggy as Captain Carter: It's here that we get into the specifics, and by golly, do I love me some Peggy Carter making a return. And what a return she made!

Seeing Peggy kick Nazi ass as Captain Carter is as awesome as it sounds as she gives a new definition of a "Strong, independent woman." She took s**t from no one and was more than willing to destroy anybody who said differently. It's a ton of fun for fans (the ones who aren't sexist, at least) and even fun for Peggy as well now that she gets a chance to wreck shop. However, that in itself could cause problems. If you watched Agent Carter (a great show, by the way), then you'll know that Peggy doesn't act as...somewhat meatheaded as she does here. As she said it herself, she's "usually more covert than this." And she is, as she was pretty much the first superspy in the MCU, who's impressive through how she effortlessly infiltrates her way to winning the day with diminutive requirements for fighting. So stripping that away gets rid of a core part of what makes her character so interesting. Although, in fairness, you could blame the fact that the reason she's acting like this is that the super-soldier serum is messing with her brain a bit. We've seen through U.S. Agent the reciprocations of the wrong person taking the serum, and while Peggy is far from the worst pick, there are hints of why Steve Rodgers was the best choice. Still, even though it's not the same Peggy Carter, that doesn't mean Captain Carter is a poor addition to the hero roster in the MCU. She's cool in all the right ways, even though they're drastically different from what made her compelling, to begin with.

Howard Stark: Another character I'm more than happy to see again!

Howard didn't leave that much of a grand of an impression in Captain America: The First Avenger, but in Agent Carter (Seriously, great show), he was a blast. You can just tell he was Tony Stark's father through all the ways he fast-talks in and out of problems and brilliantly comes up with solutions thanks to being tech-savvy. The main difference between Howard and Tony, however, is that Howard prefers to stay on the sidelines, where Tony learned to be more proactive. You get a sense of that in this episode. Because even though he goes to save the day, you can tell that he would rather be anywhere else. And, as a bonus, Howard's just funny. Probably not up there as one of the funniest characters in the franchise (Paul Rudd's Ant-Man reigns supreme), but he still cracks me up more times than not. Howard may be nothing more than a side character, but he'll always win me over no matter how small of a role he has.

Steve Rodgers in the Hydra Stomper: Don't mind me. Just admiring the fact that despite being crippled and skinny, Steve Rodgers still finds a way to fight the good fight, which is who Steve is to me. One of the best things about The First Avenger is that it fully understands the hero that is Captain America. Serum or not, he will do all he can to do the right thing and won't give up despite how many times others tell him he should. So if Steve's going to fly around in a suped-up Iron Man suit that's appropriately named "The Hydra Stomper," then Steve'll f**king soar. Because he is a gosh dang superhero, no matter what name he takes at the end of the day.

Fast-Forwarding Through Events: Some fans might take issues with this. Don't get me wrong, I would love to see all the little changes that Captain Carter makes to the story, but realistically that's not the best choice to make. Let's be honest, there's not that much to show other than what this episode did, and doing a full-on rewrite of Captain America: The First Avenger would have rubbed some fans the wrong way. Besides, from what I can tell, most of the What If... comics are one-shots that very rarely branch out into longer arcs. The primary goal is less to write this large-scale story and more of this self-contained narrative that does what it precisely delivers: Show fans a glimpse of what would happen if this happened instead of that. That's what we were given, and I can't really complain that much. I would have loved to have seen more, but I can learn to be happy with what I got.

Colonel Flynn Taking Credit: This guy is sexist and an idiot, and that's why I hate him...but I'd be lying if I said that I didn't at least chuckle when he said everything was his idea. It's such a scumbag move that I couldn't help but find the humor in it.

(Like, what even was that scene where Peggy was pissed at Steve kissing a girl. THEY WEREN'T EVEN DATING !)nd Steve falling in love inThe First Avenger, which certainly wasn't helped by how they had these dumbass misunderstandings of each thinking the other was dating someone else. Here, they at least get to interact, confiding in one another about their insecurities and offer support when needed. And while it may be a little rushed, I'm more willing to believe their romance in under thirty minutes than I did in over two hours. It could have been better, but it also could have been much, much worse.

(Like, what even was that scene where Peggy was pissed at Steve kissing a girl. THEY WEREN'T EVEN DATING AT THE TIME!)

“I won’t tell you anything.”/”He told me everything.”: That's the Peggy Carter I know and love! Added with a solid joke, too.

Steve’s Pratfall: It's nice to know that no matter what universe we see, Marvel is still funny.

Peggy’s Sacrifice: Much like Peggy and Steve's romance, I buy Peggy's sacrifice way more than Steve's. Several fans already pointed out how it makes no sense for Steve to crash the plane into the icy waters when it seemed like he had enough control to land it or could have easily jumped out after aiming for the crash landing. Here, there's a more legitimate reason why Peggy sacrifices herself. The monster was undefeatable, and the only way to stop it was to push it back through the portal. Peggy, being the only one strong enough to do so at the moment, was the only option, and there was no way where she didn't end up going through with the monster. Even her return makes more sense, as I think her being lost to time and space sounds more believable than Steve surviving being frozen in ice. Something no mortal man should live through. Peggy's sacrifice proves that while the MCU can't change its cannon past, the writers learn from their mistakes and make something better.

WHAT I DISLIKED

The Reasoning Behind Peggy Becoming Captain Carter: So, the idea that one small change can greatly alter the story we knew is a great one, and it's one of the main reasons why I was excited about this series...but how does Peggy staying in the room cause the Hydra agent to detonate the bomb early? I understand the ripples that come from the Butterfly Effect, but I feel like that's too big of a leap to reason how Peggy ends up taking the serum instead.

Colonel Flynn: How is it possible that this guy is somehow even more of a pain in the ass than the general he replaced? At least Chester Phillips had the decency to respect Agent Carter!

Red Skull is Still on the Dull Side: Red Skull isn't an awful villain, but he wasn't really a great one. It's the same here, as he's just as forgettable and wooden an episode of television as he was in a full-length movie. But at least he had a cooler death this time.

Sebastian Stan is Not a Great Voice Actor: He's not awful, but his talent really doesn't shine in this regard. Some people think that being an actor and a voice actor is the same thing, but it's not always the case. Through live-action, actors are given a chance to express emotion through their expressions, movement, and voice. With voice acting, actors still have to convey emotions, but strictly through their voice. Meaning that actors like Sebastian Stan are limited to what they're used to and can stumble a bit when trying to perform in a field of acting they're unfamiliar with. You can tell he was trying his best, but this type of thing can take far more practice for others to perfect.

“Whew. Thanks. You almost ripped my arm off.”: ...hhhhhhhhhhHHHHHHHHA! HA HA! Ah...oh man...I, uh...I felt the internal bleeding with that one. Wow. Just...wow.

Bucky Leaving After Steve “Died”: Ok, now that's the biggest bout of bulls**t I've ever heard. BUCKY WOULD BE WITH STEVE 'TILL THE END OF THE LINE AND WOULD NOT HAVE LEFT THAT QUICKLY!

...This episode did Bucky dirty, didn't it?

IN CONCLUSION

I'd say that "What If...Captain Carter was the First Avenger" is an A-. It's still a solid start of what I can already tell will be a great series, but some elements could have used some polishing out. I loved it, but it wasn't as bloody brilliant as it could have been.

(And I meant it: WATCH AGENT CARTER! It's pleasantly surprising!)

[dirtykpopsnaps]

See You in the Dreamscape - Park Jimin (soulmate au)

Warnings: None

Contains: Cute soulmates!Jimin and Y/N meeting. Appearances from Johnny, Mark, and Lucas

Requested: no

Words: 6, 008 (this is really short compared to my others, but I couldn’t think of how to make it longer...😬😬)

———————————————————————

All around me, I hear soft music. I don’t recognize the song. It’s just...music. Peeling my eyes open, I blink around at my bright surroundings. It’s a warm day. Trees are blowing in a soft breeze. The grass that I’m laying on tickles. Calmly, I stand to my feet and start looking around. He should be here somewhere. I walk passed deserted benches and littles tables. No children are playing on the playground that I can see in the distance, but that doesn’t bother me. This is a place just for me and him. I search around some more, but I can’t seem to find him.

Standing tall, I cup my hands around my mouth. “Jimin?” I call out loudly, listening for his response afterward. Nothing comes. “Jimin?” I call out again, looking in all directions.

“Over here!” I hear a soft response call. I turn towards the direction the voice came from and smile widely, running toward it. When I finally find him, I shake my head, knowing I should have checked there first. Jimin is dancing fluidly in the middle of the open field of grace. The music is a little louder here, so he’s along following it. When I appear at the edge of the field, he stops dancing and smiles at me.

Without hesitation, I run into the field and pull him into a large hug. “Ugh, I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever. I thought you forgot about me!” I whine, pouting up at him. Jimin laughs lightly, shaking his head.

“No, no, I’ve just been very busy. The changing time zones have made me sleep at weird hours,” he explains. I roll my eyes at that explanation.

“Like our hours aren’t weird already,” I joke. He nods his head in agreement.

“I’d say it’s a good thing that you sleep in late. Gives us more time to talk,” he smiles. I sigh softly, leaning into the warmth of his body and enjoying it.

Finally, Jimin and I pull out of the hug. He both sit down on the ground and just start to talk. There’s never any true topics that we talk about, just anything on our minds. We tell each other about what’s been happening in our lives. There are a few things that our attachment won’t let us say, mostly because we think the attachment doesn’t want it to be “too easy”. So, I don’t know his last name. I don’t know where he lives. I don’t know his exact job. All I know is that his time zone is *much* different than mine and he has a job that makes him travel a lot. However, that doesn’t bother me. We’re able to talk about most things and I’m just glad to hear about everything he does.

After a couple hours of talking, I sigh softly. “I think it’s time that I should get up,” I mutter, frowning to myself. Jimin smiles sadly.

“I think so, too. But, don’t worry. We’ll be able to see each other soon enough,” he reassures me. I nod my head and we stand up, pulling each other into another big hug. Jimin softly kisses my forehead. “Until next time, my love,” he mutters. Those are the last words that I hear Jimin say for the night. The next second, my eyes pop open in my bedroom. I turn over to look at the clock on my nightstand and sigh at the flashing numbers, 10:15.

Sighing to myself, I climb out of bed and pull my phone off of the charger. I immediately open up the text thread with my best friend, Johnny, and message him.

To Johnny👦🏻🎤: I dreamed about him again.

I know that Johnny will most likely be asleep, since he currently lives in Korea, so I don’t expect an answer anytime soon. I set my phone aside and decide to start on my day.

Yawning loudly, I walk out of my room and downstairs. No one is in the kitchen, so I decide to take make some toast. I put the bread in the toast and grab the butter out of the fridge, waiting for the bread to pop back out. When it doesn’t I quickly butter the hot bread and allow it to melt. I set the plate on the table, then grab a water bottle out of the fridge again. Calmly, I sit down and have the few pieces of toast for breakfast. It’s not an amazing breakfast, but it’s something.

As I eat, I rest my head in my hand and sigh softly. I really wish I could spend more time with Jimin. I usually only have a few hours a night to speak to him, since our time zones are so different. However, I’m never sure when those hours will be. Sometimes we have a little longer to talk, if he’s in a place closer to my time zone. A few times, he’s even been in America and we’ve only been a couple hours apart! That was the best time. We talked for hours about anything’s because everything before I had to wake up.

Honestly, I’m not sure if you’ve realized what my attachment is yet. My attachment with Jimin is a dreamscape attachment. That means that I can only see him in my dreams. What makes it even more frustrating is that, no matter how many times I’ve seen him, I can’t describe him well enough for other people to know what he looks like. I know that I’ll recognize him when I finally *do* meet him, but I can’t describe him to anyone else. Truthfully, I’m not sure anyone else would care. My attachment isn’t a hugely rare one, but I only realized what it was when I was 13 and we had a class on attachments. I’ve been seeing Jimin for as long as I can remember, but when I was little, my parents and friends thought he was just an imaginary friend. They thought I would grow out of him, but I never did. As I got older and I kept talking about him, less and less people wanted to listen. My mother once even called me ‘childish’ for still having an imaginary friend. When I finally did realize what my attachment was and I told her that Jimin wasn’t an imaginary friend, she scoffed and said I just imagined the attachment to make myself feel better for keeping him around. That’s about the time I stopped talking about Jimin. The only person who has believed me all this time is Johnny. He’s the only person I still talk to about Jimin.

Most of my day is fairly uneventful. It’s a weekend, so I don’t have work and summer is coming up soon, anyway. I work as a middle school teacher, so the summer’s are a time for me to relax a little bit. As summer slowly draws nearer, I find myself getting more and more anxious for the break. I usually reuse lesson plans for each year, so there’s not much that I will need to do with that. I may look over them once or twice to make adjustments, but that’s about it. For most of the day, I simply lounge around, reading happily. However, around five o’clock, my phone rings.

Knitting my eyebrows together, I pick up my phone. I take one look at the contact and immediately answer the FaceTime, smiling widely. When it connects, I cheer happily at the face of my best friend. “Johnny!” I say. He laughs lightly, smiling back at me.

“Y/N! Nice to see you again,” he says cheerfully. For a while, Johnny and I talk about simple things. He hasn’t had much time to talk lately, so it’s been a few weeks since we last spoke over the phone other than our usual texts. After about 15 minutes, Johnny brings up a topic that I thought might come up. “So, you had another dream about Jimin?” He asks. I nod my head lightly, starting to tell him about the dream.

“It was our normal place, the deserted park. I couldn’t find him for a second, so I started calling his name, but I eventually found him. He was dancing in the open field. When I found him, he pulled me into a hug and we just talked about how things are going,” I shrug, thinking back on my dream this morning.

As I said before, Johnny is the only person that I still talk about Jimin with. Johnny used to live on my street when I was younger, so we got really close, even though there’s about 3 years between us. He was one of my closest friends growing up and, when he moved to Korea after high school, I was so upset. The summers without him around were always really hard and then he was moving to Korea for good, and I almost didn’t want believe it. Thankfully, we stayed in touch and talked as often as possible. Since he moved there, I’ve even visited a couple times.

On the FaceTime, Johnny messes with his hair for a second before focusing back on me. “You have summer break soon, right? Why don’t you come visit? I really miss you. Plus, we can talk about Jimin a little more. Try and figure it out,” he suggests. I nod my head slightly.

“I could probably try and swing a visit. It would be nice to see you again. And, we can talk about Jimin, but we can also talk about him over the phone,” I remind him. Johnny nods his head lightly, but bites his lip.

“It’s just...I think I might have an idea about Jimin,” he tells me. I sigh softly and nod my head.

“Alright, alright. I’ll get some tickets and come visit for a while over the summer. Then, you can tell me about your idea about Jimin,” I say.

Suddenly, I hear some talking on Johnny’s end. He looks away from the phone and has a short conversation in Korean with someone. When he comes back to the phone, he pouts at me. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. I need to start practicing soon,” he sighs. I give him a sad smile and nod my head.

“I understand, John. Go work. We can talk later,” I tell him. He nods his head and blows me a kiss before saying goodbye and ending the call.

—————————

The last month before summer is a busy one. I’m finishing up lessons with my students while also planning for this trip to Korea. I was able to get some cheap tickets on an airplane, so I called Johnny and told him that the plan was set. He was very excited that I’m able to come visit. A few days before my plane, school finishes and I’m able to spend the time packing up everything that I’ll need. I’m going to be spending a couple weeks in Korea, so I pack accordingly. When I finally have everything packed away, I set my bags on the wall of my bedroom and spend the last few days lounging around again.

The morning of my flight comes quickly and I wake up early to get on my plane. I keep some books and a small pillow packed in my carry on because, after a few visits to Korea, I know that sleeping on the plane is the best idea. I’m able to make my way through airport security without much problem and finally arrive at my terminal. Then, I wait for about an hour before everyone starts being called to board the plane. I join the growing line and get onto the plan without a problem.

The flight to Korea is also pretty uneventful. This flight, surprisingly, has no layovers, so I’m going straight from Chicago to Korea...a 14 hour flight. I settle into my seat and watch as the plane takes off. However, once the plane is in the air, I plug in my earbuds, turn on some soft music, and clock out. As I said, I know I’ll need to sleep on the plane. There’s a 15 hour time zone difference between Chicago and Seoul, so jet lag is the absolute worst. I could lose a whole day solely to jet lag. After my first visit, I realized that it was better to sleep on the plan than you be exhausted the whole first day that I’m in Korea.

Thankfully, I wake up about an hour before the plane is supposed to land. I let my music play as I look out the window, watching as the ground below moves passed. The hour flus by and, as soon as I plane hits the ground, I turn off airplane mode and text Johnny.

To Johnny👦🏻🎤: Plane just landed, John. Hope you’re here

Seconds later, I get his response.

From Johnny👦🏻🎤: Yes, I’m here, you little shit. I also brought some friends who insisted on welcoming you.

I knit my eyebrows together at the mention of friends, but shrug it off soon after. It’s most likely just some of the members from NCT. After my first visit, a few of them took a liking to me and have become part of my close circle of friends.

When the plane finally stops and everyone begins getting off, I stand up and grab my carry on out of the baggage compartment. I put my phone into my back pocket and wait in the line as everyone starts to leave. When I get into the airport, I slowly start making my way through and find the baggage claim. Near the baggage claim, I can see the doors of the airport. I grab my baggage and start heading that way, looking around for Johnny or anyone that I recognize. “Over here, Y/N!” Someone calls. I turn my head in their direction and instantly break into a smile. Johnny is standing by the doors to the airport. With him, I can just make out the forms of Mark and Lucas.

Without even hesitating, I run over to them and pull them into big hugs. “So, I’m guessing you two are the ones who insisted on welcoming me?” I giggle. Lucas and Mark both smile widely, opening their arms.

“Surprise!” They exclaim loudly. I giggle, shaking my head at the two of them. I glance at Johnny’s bad he just sighs, watching them.

“It’s a good thing they’re adorable,” he sighs, shaking his head at them.

For the most part, the beginning of the trip is filled with catching up Mark and Lucas. Both of them are part of the “close circle of friends” I mentioned earlier, but they’re just as busy as Johnny. I keep in touch with them as much as possible, but it’s still hard to talk to them at times. Lucas tells me all about what’s going on with WayV and the new music they’re coming up with. “I’m pretty excited for this comeback, honestly. It’s going to be very fun,” he says excitedly, bouncing like a small puppy. I giggle happily, watching him bounce up and down.

After a while, there’s a short lull in the conversation. I take a deep breath and decide to say what I’ve been thinking about for a while. “So, Johnny...you said you had an idea about who Jimin might be?” I ask softly. Both Mark and Lucas look between us in confusion. Neither one of them have ever heard me talk about my attachment or Jimin. Johnny chuckles lightly, looking into the rear-view mirror to meet my eye.

“You’re a persistent little one, aren’t you?” He chuckles. (I had been asking about his ‘idea’ ever since he brought it up a month ago). I flash him my signature ‘you-love-me’ smile.

“I am, but you knew that already,” I say. Johnny just rolls his eyes, looking back at the road.

“Alright, fine. I’ll tell you the idea. I’m not certain if you’ve looked into it already, but it’s just something that I thought about.

Y/N...are you sure that ‘Jimin’ isn’t Park Jimin from BTS?” He asks.

For a few seconds, I think. Although I do like kpop, I really only follow NCT and their subunits. I’ve never much looked into BTS and, although I recognize the members names, I don’t listen to them or actively seek them out. I shrug lightly and look at the back of Johnny’s head. “I suppose it could be him,” I shrug. Mark and Lucas still look highly confused, so I take a moment to explain my attachment.

“So...you see this person in your dreams?” Mark questions. I nod my head lightly.

“Almost every night,” I sigh.

“Could you describe him?” Lucas asks curiously. I groan, putting my head into my hands.

“That’s the problem, it’s almost like I can’t! I just...I don’t know. I figure I’ll recognize him when I see him, but trying to describe him to anyone else just doesn’t work,” I exclaim.

“Well, here,” Mark says calmly.

Immediately, he picks up his phone and starts searching around. He types something in, then scrolls for a few seconds before flipping his phone and showing me a picture. “This is Jimin from BTS,” he says plainly. Sighing, I take his phone and look at the picture.

Looking at the picture, my breath catches in my throat and I’m thrown into a huge coughing fit. Lucas leans over and delivers firm pats to my back, trying to help me. When I’m finally able to breath again, I stare around the car. “That’s...That’s Jimin!” I say in shock, looking down at the picture again and trying to make sure that it really is him. Mark’s eyes become wide and he stares at him in shock.

“Are you sure?!” He asks, taking his phone back. I nod my head vigorously, looking around at all of them.

“Yes, Mark! I’ve been seeing this guy for almost 23 years, this is him!” I say, pointing towards the picture still displayed on his phone.

Quickly, Mark and Johnny share a look before Mark looks back at me again. “...We need to get her to the BigHit building,” they say in unison. Almost immediately, Johnny changes lanes and starts going in a completely different direction than we had just been traveling.

“Where are we going?!” I ask in shock. Johnny looks at me in the rear-view mirror again.

“We just said, we’re taking you to BigHit,” he says, speeding up. His eyes flash towards the clock in the car and he sighs softly, muttering to himself.

Before long, we’re in front of a large building. “Get out, I’ll park,” he says plainly. Immediately, Mark, Lucas, and I all climb out of the car. As soon as we’re on the sidewalk, Johnny drives off to park. Mark and Lucas take one of my hands in each of their’s. I take a deep, steady breath and then they push open the doors.

The lobby of the building is much like I had expected. It’s pretty similar to the SM building, so it’s not a big surprise. There is a large desk with a secretary sitting behind it, computers positioned in front of her. A little bit in front of the elevators, a few large men dressed in all black and standing guard. Without hesitation, Mark and Lucas lead me towards the secretary at her desk. As soon as we stand in front her, she looks up and smiles sweetly. “Names?” He asks.

“Mark Lee, Lucas Wong, and Y/N Y/L/N,” he says quickly.

“And to what do we owe the pleasure?” She asks.

“Um...an emergency. We really need to see BTS, specifically Jimin,” Mark explains. The woman’s smile vanished quickly and she just stares at us.

“I’m sorry, but there aren’t any appointments for Mr. Park today,” she says, looking through the list on her computer.

“No, no, we don’t have an appointment. We just really need to see him. It’s important,” Mark says, his voice becoming a little more strained. The woman looks at us, raising her eyebrow and Lucas decides to try.

“I’m sorry. It’s just...we’re pretty sure our friend is Jimin’s soulmate,” Lucas tells her, gesturing to me. I wave nervously, but the woman just stares at me, her face still completely blank.

Finally, after several seconds, she looks back at Lucas. “I’m sorry, Mr. Wong, but do you know how many times I hear that excuse?” She says. Lucas’s eyebrows shoot into his hairline in surprise.

“But, we’re serious! They share the same attachment and her soulmate’s name is Jimin!” He says. The secretary still seems unconvinced.

“I’m sorry, but Jimin is a very popular name and Mr. Park’s attachment is well known. Not to mention, dreamscape attachments aren’t particularly rare. I’m sorry, but you won’t be allowed to see Mr. Park today,” she says plainly, shutting us down.

Biting their lip anxiously, Mark and Lucas lead me away from the secretary’s desk. “What are we going to do?!” I whisper nervously.

“I...I don’t know!” Mark whispers back, looking around for anything that could help us. After a few seconds, something seems to pop into his mind. “Wait, Jaehyun!” He gasps, immediately grabbing out his phone. I stare at him in shock.

“I’m sorry, Mark, but have you lost your marbles? What does Jaehyun have to do with Jimin?” I ask. Mark huffs at me and rolls his eyes.

“Jaehyun is a part of the ‘97 line group chat with Jungkook,” Mark explains, quickly typing out a message on his phone. Seconds later, his phone dings in response and Mark quickly checks it. “Yes!” He whispers, pumping his fist in the air. Off his phone, I can just read the message from Jaehyun.

From Jae✨: I’ll see what I can do. Jungkook might be busy.

Anxiously, Mark, Lucas, and I wait in the lobby of the BigHit building. When Johnny comes to join us again, we explain the situation to him. Johnny pats Mark on the back. “Good idea asking Jae,” he says calmly. The three boys take seats against the wall and wait to see if Jaehyun and Jungkook will come through. However, although I want to me as calm as possible, I can’t seem to sit still. I start pacing the length of the lobby, biting my lip and fidgeting with my hands. The secretary keeps giving me dirty looks, but she doesn’t seem to be able to actually do anything. The security guards don’t move from their post, but their eyes follow me as I walk back and forth.

After what feels like an eternity but can’t be more than maybe half an hour, I hear the elevator start humming loudly as it works. I stop pacing back and forth and my heart jumps into my throat. Slowly, the elevator makes its way down to wherever it’s going. The secretary eyes me beadily, obviously ready to call the guards into action if I try anything. When the elevator finally stops humming, the doors slide open and both Jungkook and Jimin rush out in a hurry. Although they’ve just been standing in the elevator for a couple minutes, they’re both still panting like they’ve run a mile. Jimin’s eyes search the lobby for a few seconds before they finally land on me.

For a few seconds, we both just stare at each other in surprise. Then, he pushes passed the guards and comes running over to me, pulling me into a big hug. I shout in surprise as I’m lifted off the ground, but Jimin just laughs loudly and I finally respond, hugging him back. “Oh, my God, it’s you! It’s actually you!” He exclaims, rocking back and forth on his feet. I giggle loudly, rocking with him.

“Yes, it’s me, Jimin. I’m here,” I giggle. He pulls back from the hug and holds my shoulders, his eyes flitting around all over my face.

“Oh, you’re just as beautiful as in the dreams. I’m so lucky!” He exclaims, pulling me back into the hug. I giggle in shock at the compliment, my face burning red and I just hug him back.

When he finally pulls back again, he takes my hand into his without hesitation and bursts into a story. “I’m so sorry it took so long! We were practicing and Jungkook was only just able to respond a few minutes ago. So, he read the message and immediately grabbed me. He had to explain on the way to the elevators I’m so sorry to keep you waiting,” he gasps. This is all said very quickly and in one breath and I stare at him in shock.

“Jimin, Jimin, breath, it’s okay!” I giggle loudly, trying to get him to breath with me and calm him down.

“No, no, it’s not okay! My soulmate has been standing in the lobby for 30 minutes and I just...but, you’re here! And...I’m here! And you’re my soulmate!” He says excitedly, pulling me into another big hug. I laugh again, rubbing my hands up and down his back. Over his shoulder, I can see Jungkook laughing silently and watching our encounter. When he sees me looking, he waves happily, a huge smile on his face.

When Jimin pulls back again, he finally seems to realize that there are other people with me. “Wait, Johnny? Mark? Lucas?” He asks in confusion, looking between the three of them. They wave slightly, smiling softly.

“Sorry for randomly showing up. We’re kinda the reason Y/N is in Korea,” Johnny explains. Jimin’s raises an eyebrow at him, then looks back at me.

“Yeah, I um...I live in Chicago,” I say, biting my lip.

“Well...that would explain the large time zone gap,” Jimin chuckles lightly. I giggle lightly and nod my head.

“But, yeah, we were driving her back to our dorms when Johnny brought up the idea that her ‘Jimin’ might be you. Then we just turned around and headed here,” Mark adds. Jimin nods his head lightly again.

“Well, I’m sorry, but...do you mind if I take Y/N?” Jimin asks sweetly. Johnny shakes his head, brushing off the question.

“So long as she’s safe tonight, either at your dorms or our’s, we’re good,” Johnny smiles. Jimin smiles brightly and thanks the boys, taking my hand in his again.

Just as we’re about to leave, Jimin seems to remember something. Without hesitation, he walks over to the secretary desk and looks down at the secretary. She’s shrunken back into her chair and her eyes are wide and scared. Jimin squeezes my hand lightly before addressing her. “If you see this girl again...please don’t bar her from seeing me,” he says. The woman quickly nods her head, adding my name to the bottom of a list of names.

“Absolutely, Mr. Park! If she comes again, I will direct to your whereabouts,” she says quickly. Jimin nods his head once then leads me back towards the elevators. He leads me between the security guards and hits the button for the elevator. Jungkook joins us in waiting for the elevator. Jungkook sighs, checking his phone again.

“We should probably get back. Namjoon hyung keeps texting me asking where we are,” he says.

“Tell him we’ll be there in a couple minutes,” Jimin says. Jungkook nods his head and quickly types out the message.

The elevator finally shows up at three of us walk inside. Jimin presses a button on the wall and the doors close before it starts humming and traveling up. Calmly, Jungkook smiles at me and holds out his hand. “Nice you meet you, Y/N. We’ve heard a lot about you,” he smiles.

“You have?” I ask in confusion. Jungkook leans around to look at Jimin and smiles. Jimin is refusing to meet his eye, suddenly very interested in the elevator buttons.

“Oh, yes. Jimin doesn’t stop talking about you,” Jungkook chuckles. I giggle and look up at Jimin, quickly noticing that a bright blush has spread over his sweet, chubby cheeks.

“Aww, that’s cute. And, don’t worry. I talked to Johnny about you a lot, too,” I smile.

The ride in the elevator is fairly short and, soon enough, I’m being lead down a long hallway. The hall is lined with several practice rooms, most of them empty. At the end of the hall, a bright light shines from inside the large practice. Jimin and Jungkook immediately open the door and walk inside. Jimin leads me to the far wall and sighs. “I’m sorry you have to sit through practice,” he says sadly. I smile at him, cupping his cheek lightly.

“Jimin...I’ve sat through several of NCT 127’s practice sessions, it’s okay,” I reassure him. He flashes me a soft smile before getting up and walking back towards his group mates.

As soon as they join again, Namjoon crosses his arms. He looks between Jungkook and Jimin. “What was that? Where were you? And, who is she?” He asks, looking towards me. Jungkook speaks up first.

“Sorry, hyung. I got a message from Jaehyun that Jimin’s soulmate was down in the lobby, so I had to pull him out,” Jungkook explains. Namjoon raises his eyebrows in surprise, looking over at me again, then he looks to Jimin.

“Your soulmate? That’s Y/N?” He asks curiously. Jimin nods his head dutifully, finally relaxing a little bit.

“That’s her. She cane to Korea to visit with NCT. She said she’s close to Johnny. So, they realized I was her soulmate and drove her here, but the secretary wouldn’t let them up,” Jimin continues. Namjoon makes a silent ‘ah’ noise and shoots a soft smile in my direction.

“Alright, that explains it. Nice to meet you, Y/N,” he says charmingly.

Quickly, Namjoon turns around and walk to the front of the room. He taps a button on a stereo and, seconds later, the room is filled with loud music. I figure that this is a song from their album, but I’m not completely sure since I don’t listen to their music often. Thinking to myself, I smile softly and remind myself that I’ll need to start listening to their music now. I hum along with the music softly, trying to be as quiet as possible. For the most part, I simply enjoy being able to sit back and listen in on one of BTS’s practice session. There are girls and boys all over the world that would kill for this chance. I settle myself against the wall and just watch and listen as they members go through several songs in a row.

After about 45 minutes, Namjoon calls for a short break and everyone stops dancing. The music stops and they all grab water bottles, wandering around. Almost immediately, all of the members gather around me. Jimin sits close to me, wrapping his arm around my waist. “Why didn’t you ever say she was so pretty?” Tae asks, smirking at Jimin. Jimin frowns, narrowing his eyes at Tae and pulling my closer into his side. Namjoon hits Tae’s shoulder lightly.

“Don’t provoke him,” Namjoon scolds. Tae just rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I was just asking,” he mutters, pouting.

“You know very well that he tried to describe her to us, he just couldn’t,” J-Hope joins in. At this statement, I blink a few times and look at him.

“You couldn’t describe me?” I ask. Jimin shakes his head.

“No. It’s almost like, whenever I tried, I couldn’t find the right words,” he explains.

“I couldn’t describe you either, and I know exactly what you’re talking about,” I smile, leaning into his side.

Calmly, the boys start asking me random questions. They ask me about where I’m from and what I do, as well as things like what foods I like and dislike. I answer all their questions calmly, rubbing my thumb over the back of Jimin’s hand. Practice continues on, but during their breaks, the boys all gather around me and ask questions. Jimin already knows most of this information, so he mostly stays quiet and just comfortably rubs his hands up and down my sides. Honestly, it’s really nice to be close to Jimin and I feel very comforted just being in his presence.

After several hours, Namjoon calls an end to the practice and everyone starts packing their bags up. Jimin helps me to my feet and takes my hand in his, entwining our fingers. “Do you wanna come back to the dorms with us? We could just hang out and cuddle,” he suggests. I nod my head lightly, and lean into his side.

“You better shower after practice, though,” I tell him. Jimin just chuckles and nods his head.

“Absolutely not. You must deal with my sweat and smell as we cuddle,” he jokes. I giggle lightly and scrunch my nose up at him.

“Then I’m not cuddling with you,” I joke. He immediately pouts at me sadly, pushing out his bottom lip. I feel horrible as soon as he starts giving that look. “Jimin, just shower! I will cuddle with you after you shower,” I tell him. He smiles softly and gives me a side hug, leading me down the hall.

Calmly, all of the boys head down the long hall and over to the elevator. We wait for the elevator to come up and then they press the button that goes down to the basement. In the basement, there is another long hallway and then a door that leads out to the back of the building. At the back, several large black vans are parked. In the driver’s seat of the first van, a single man is waiting for us. Hobi opens the door and the seven climb inside. Everyone gets seated before the man looks back to make sure that we’re all settled and drives off. Buildings pass by the window quickly as we drive farther and farther away from the BigHit building.

When we finally arrive at the BTS dorm, everyone quickly climbs out of the van and heads up to the door. Namjoon unlocks the door quickly and we all head inside. Everyone goes in their different directions, most heading towards the bathrooms. Jimin kisses my forehead and leads me into the living room. “You stay here. I’ll take a shower and then we can cuddle and maybe watch a movie,” he suggest. I nod my head lightly and plop down on the couch. Jimin kisses my head lightly, then heads back to the bathroom to shower.

Calmly, I climb off the couch and crawl over to see what sort of DVDs the group has. I smile softly, picking a movie out of the mix. I crawl back to the couch and set the DVD down on the cushion next to me. As some time passes, more of the members join me in the living room. Hobi sits down directly in front me and strikes up a conversation again until Jimin comes in and cuddles up next to me. He picks up the DVD case, looking at it curiously. “Rocketman?” He asks, looking up. I nod my head and nod towards the case.

“It was in your DVD case. It’s a movie about Elton John,” I say. Jimin nods his head lightly, turning on the tv and popping the DVD in.

It takes a few seconds for the tv to read the DVD, but it eventually starts playing little ads and the intro for the movie studios that helped make the movie. When it gets to the movie menu, Jungkook clicks the ‘play movie’ option and we all settle in to watch together. I snuggle close to Jimin, watching the movie happily. However, over time, my eyes slowly start to fall shut. Jimin chuckles lightly, pulling his fingers through my hair. “Go ahead and sleep, sweetheart. We had a big day today. We’ll tell Johnny that you’re here,” he hums, kissing my hair. I sigh softly and nod, cuddling into him and falling to sleep.

[purkinje-effect]

The Anatomy of Melancholy, 75: Paper Weight

Table of Contents. Third Instar, Chapter  6. Go to previous. Go to next. TWs: Religion, joint issues, diet/appetite weirdness, brief transphobia adjacent anxiety, minor dehumanizing ghoul treatment. Uh. Not in that order. A slightly longer groundwork chapter, and continuing evidence that I am, in fact, criminally insane. [Updated 2021.07.12.]

“...[F]ixed in a sort of eternity at the heart of the crystal.” -- Orwell’s 1984

______________________________

‘Choly woke to Sticks gently stroking at his long dark shock-streaked hair. He could not discern the time of day without any light sneaking in around the edges of curtains, and recalled their inn room did not have windows. The ghoul drew his attention back to him with a drowsy smile.

“Ready to start the day?”

To resist the draw to curl up into Sticks, ‘Choly stretched out with a yawn, only to jerk his eyes open. He laid on his back for some time. In the night, one of his shoulders had separated and dragged his neck out of alignment.

“--I’m not ready, but let’s start anyway. Angel, be a dear and turn the lights on, please.“

The Mister Handy puffed to life again. Reignition of its pilot light cast dim outlines to the space. Unveiling the Burlington glass fixtures returned the room to unnatural illumination by that strange red-green light which ‘Choly disliked intuiting as gold. By the time Angel had completed the task, Sticks had thrown himself out of bed to dress.

‘Choly managed to sit up, and palpated at his errant joints, using the mindful pressure of his fingertips to coax things back into place. Not dislocating his fingers in the process required what little focus he could summon without coffee or his reinforced gloves, but he could barely move let alone think straight with the strumming stitches radiating through his arm and neck. He squirmed inside, knowing he couldn’t help but force Sticks to bear witness to the strangled hisses and cartilaginous pops.

Angel presented ‘Choly a can, which he accepted half-awake. He put on his glasses one-handed.

“A canister of fresh water to start your day, Sir? I’ve only got the one at present, if you’d like to split it. More is on the way.”

“Would you be able to open it...?”

“I have no sharp implements,” it apologized.

“Give me that.”

Sticks snatched it playfully and held it between his knees while he reattached his Pip-Boy and left hand. He hadn’t quite got to buttoning his shirt just yet. He slipped the glove off his mechanical prosthetic, and produced a sort of multitool from the armature of the region analogous to the metacarpal bones. As the ghoul made use of the folding implement, ‘Choly watched the hand’s exposed mechanical parts in motion, intimating tendons and ligaments, not always attached to something resembling a bone. A dull pop liberated the can’s lid. Sticks took a few swigs and handed it to ‘Choly helpfully, before hiding the tool again and slipping the glove back on. He moved on to finishing with his shirt so he could tie his bow-tie blind, humor to his breath.

‘Choly simply sat there and observed Sticks at length, nearly altogether forgetting gratitude or thirst. Words failed him. Sticks ran his right hand over his one surviving curl of hair. The blond ghoul noticed him staring and sat up straighter.

“What?”

“A pocket knife? That’s allowed?” He kept turning his neck, head held at deliberate angles, seeking that last tweak of alignment his cervical vertebrae wouldn’t yield him.

“See’s never asks me to show my hand,” he shrugged. “Half the time, they don’t even notice it’s not flesh.”

“This isn’t about your hand, and you know it.”

“Hey now. They’re fine with utensils. It’s got to be scarier than a butter knife to make them skittish. Really, though. Don’t mention it. It’d probably risk ‘em taking my whole hand, especially now that it’s wired into this thing.”

Sticks huffed a bit. Angel leapt to assist when his neckwear wouldn’t cooperate.

“Oh, do let me help you with that, Sir.”

“Thanks, chap. Hard to do without a mirror.”

“I brought in a hand mirror.” Unappeased, ‘Choly gestured to Angel for his hairbrush, which he set to using with his head dipped between his knees, desperate to couple the inversion of gravity with cadence of his brushing. Once he sat up again, he looked to Sticks. “Which, would it be all right if we brought in some things from the car? I figure that even if we get lucky today, we’ve paid for a week, so we may as well stay for a week. No sense in rushing things. Might miss something, if we do.”

Sticks tilted his head.

“I could warm to that. What all would you even need to bring in, though?”

“Little things,” he reassured a little too quickly. “Toiletries. Some spare clothes. Nothing too elaborate.”

“I don’t see why not.” He gripped his own knees. “Let’s knock that out. After, we can head to breakfast. Now. You want my help with your corset and stuff?”

‘Choly’s shoulders folded in as he worked at unbuttoning his shirt. His reservations came not from distrust but self-consciousness. Despite having partook in several kinds of sex acts with him already, he still preferred that the ghoul only see him naked from behind, if at all. But, he didn’t care to parse any selfishness or perversion in the offer: he wanted Sticks’s help. He’d be a hypocrite, anyway, to find fault in Sticks’s own enjoyment of the activity, when his very physiology provided the same passive delight for ‘Choly. He pulled the corset to him, and removed his shirt so he could hook the busks. Only then, holding it up against his front, did he relent to receiving help stringing the back. The more pieces Sticks helped him into, the more straightened out and held in place he felt. More clearly than usual, he craved the full-body orthotics set, in the expectation that with them he might feel normal again. Functional again. In any sense. In every.

He objected, mostly internally, that his brain would thrust heavy self-reflection on him so soon after waking. The idea of returning to bed enticed him again. No. Sooner than do so in the bathroom mirror, he pinned up a french twist blind and loose.

The two finished off the water before leaving the room.

They first stopped at the restrooms, where Angel waited just outside. ‘Choly flinched at the doorway, only to scold himself for even thinking he shouldn’t use the men’s room. He remained aware of others the entire time, relieved to go unnoticed and unremarkable. He insisted to himself that the night before had been a fluke.

Exiting the mall made ‘Choly wish he’d brought his visor inside. The garage’s luminosity wasn’t significantly greater than inside the mall, but the shift in hues to natural lighting pulsated in his right-sided cervical migraine. He didn’t think he’d gotten used to the limited color spectrum indoors so soon, yet here he was, nearly thinking seeing any color besides red, green, and gold signified he was seeing colors which didn’t exist. The intensity with which he saw cyan, magenta, and even white, he approximated to an aura migraine. The edges of his vision felt over-illuminated and blurry. If this sensitivity overload would take place every time he adjusted to and from Burlington glass lighting, he decided he would avoid going inside and out with any frequency for the remainder of their stay.

In the garage, mostly only the children paid any attention to the trio. So early in the morning, many inhabitants shared cinder block campfires to prepare community breakfast. On the way to Little Boy Blue, they passed through delectable aromas of sweet breads and pan seared meat.

Sticks opened the trunk for ‘Choly. Once he could tell ‘Choly intended to make use of Angel’s storage compartment to carry his things inside, he tossed in few of his own clothes too. He smirked at yet another of ‘Choly’s outdated behaviors:

“You packed like you’re on vacation.”

“A vacation with a purpose, perhaps. I’m grateful for it, though. It doesn’t seem this hotel has complimentary soaps.”

Sticks snickered.

“To broach a veritable elephant,” Angel stressed, “I must point out that while we may be booked for a week’s lodging here, you only have four Melancholia remaining, Mister Carey. In addition to our primary goal, we should stay on the lookout for toothpaste and mouthwash today. And we may no longer require them for first aid, but do recall that Stimpaks are the most important part of that recipe.”

Stimpaks. 'Choly paled at his oversight.

“Surely four of those things will get you through the week,” Sticks muttered. “You can’t swear off food now, with the biggest restaurant cluster in New England at the other end of the building.”

“...If I can help it.”

Sticks puffed up.

“Not if I can help it.”

The Mister Handy and chemist turned down the invitation to argument.

On their way back inside, ‘Choly saw Maury eating with a group of other settlers. He didn’t want to interrupt their meal, but he still waved. When See’s screened them, ‘Choly showed them Angel’s compartment again. Everything passed muster with security, albeit thoroughly rifled through. ‘Choly welcomed their return to the clear, dark uniformity of the mall interior’s red-green glow. They dropped off their things at the room, then went into the mall proper.

The Concourse seemed to only just be waking up by this hour. Most walked southward like them. Only half the stores looked open for business. ‘Choly looked to his Pip-Boy for the time. Just after nine. He accepted it and slouched as comfortably as he could atop Angel.

He figured most of the people headed to the food court were Laners, while the rest were probably visitors, or at least lived outside the mall. Along the way, he people-watched, eventually making a visual distinction between Laners and everyone else less by their routine and more through their attire. The fashion of mall denizens seemed to posit some commixture of Irish crochet, beaded silk, and embroidered tweed, bakelite and astrakhan, plus-fours and long trailing skirt hems, chemisettes and dickeys tethered with layers of scarves and shawls.

More people packed into the boisterous food court for breakfast than had for dinner. Even getting to the counter with the shortest line took patience, with hundreds seeking their first meals. Sticks ordered himself carrot pancakes, then turned to ‘Choly.

“Are you sure I can’t interest you in breakfast? With the lines like this, I’m not ordering twice.”

Fatigued lyric traced his reply as he patted at Angel’s storage compartment to retrieve his Billerica Golf Course mug with a smile:

“You can interest me in a cup of coffee.”

The ghoul impatiently resigned to a smaller order than he’d liked, and flashed his inn room key fob to net a discount. He requested a plate from Angel, and took it and ‘Choly’s mug to hold out for the server, who confirmed, yes maple syrup, black no sugar, before plating up as requested. Twenty-seven pulls lighter, Sticks let Angel locate their seat with its higher passive senses.

‘Choly sat with his coffee warming his gloved hands for some time, content to let the aromatic steam roll over his face while he watched Sticks dig in with knife and fork. Angel set a Melancholia bottle on the table. Eventually, Sticks’s bites slowed, and he stopped to finish chewing. He cut off a forkful and held it out with a cupped hand beneath, optimistic the craving spurred ‘Choly’s attention.

“The maple syrup makes up for it being carrot.”

‘Choly eyed it. Sooner than admit due impropriety, he let him stuff the bite in his mouth. He had expected the syrup and apple compote to provide all the sweetness, but the finely grated root vegetable mixed into the batter contributed both sweet and savory. Against his better judgment, to quash any question altogether, he mooched a second bite as well with interest.

“Don’t you like carrot?”

“...Blueberries aren’t in season,” Sticks eventually smiled. “Now, I’d happily split these with you... or are you actually happy with that damn silt flour smoothie?”

“I’m only happy with my Melancholia, in that it doesn’t upset my stomach.” He opened it with his reinforced gloves, and thought to himself, This batch isn’t even cherry. It’s mint. “If you want my full faculties, you’ll have me with Mentats, Melancholia, and a cup of black coffee.”

Brow raised, Sticks frowned into his plate as he scrutinized where to cut off his next bite.

“Far be it for me to come between you and your faculties.”

Angel used the dish station at the far end of the food court to rinse their plate, mug, and utensils. Then, they got to skimming stores.

Beginning just outside the Customs House, they poked around any open store which appeared to carry armor or apparel. ‘Choly went by cane for the most part, and tried not to let interesting garments distract him or his cash from his goal. He wasn’t about to spend anything until he knew the price tag on liberating the leather orthotics from whoever might have them. Neither their descriptions nor the product photos in the catalogue produced results.

In one shop, Sticks unhelpfully described the item to the clerk, who immediately pointed them to an array of girdles and brassieres. Beet red and speechless, ‘Choly had to nearly shove away the salesmanship, no matter the young man’s encouragement or respect. Sticks didn’t know whether to find ‘Choly’s reaction revealing or amusing.

They passed crossway between the main entrance and Sutter Grove, only for ‘Choly to stop cold. Like some strange airport reunion, a loud, excited group of Laners fawned over a black woman with a shoulder-length white bob--white all the more stark in contrast to the red-green golden mall-sea. When Sticks noticed ‘Choly had stopped, he backtracked, eyes on the woman sooner than him.

“You need me to help you up on Angel?”

“Such accolades. What do you suppose she means to them?”

“From the look of her, she must travel a lot. They probably just haven’t seen her in a real long time. It’s not important. They’re going to Burlington Glassworks. They won’t have what we’re here for. Now come on.”

Head askew, ‘Choly watched the gaggle drag the overwhelmed yet pleasant woman across the Concourse and to the lighting store.

“I... I want to go in there.”

“Didn’t think you were particularly religious, but whatever. We can take a break and play tourist or somethin’.”

‘Choly almost objected, but figured he’d understand if only he satisfied his curiosity. If he recalled anything from the time before he’d stepped foot in the United States, he knew with certainty he’d been raised to abhor religious observance. At least, outwardly...

Myriad strange shapes the luminescent space, but the motif repeated in the glass art filled with glowing golden red-green fluid, that the neck swirled and looped around the body, then somehow reentered it. Bulbs were hung by these loops from the ceiling, some in knotted strings, while most other bulbs rested in metal fixtures reminiscent of egg cups. If not for the artistic shapes and the hue of light they cast, ‘Choly and Sticks almost considered it like stepping into the lighting department of a hardware store.

“Hierosacristan Fresnel!” The group begged, both in English and what ‘Choly could only presume was French. “Hierosacristan, tell us of your orbit!”

The staff had abandoned their posts in fascination of their visitor. Some showered her with sunflowers. Here, ‘Choly could see the woman wore an ornately embroidered shawl, fur-lined metal armor, and an all-black bodysuit. The woman could only oblige her admirers with a humility strained smile. A dozen or so stone park benches furnished the deeper half of the store, in two neat rows facing the back wall. ‘Choly sat at the last bench to watch, transfixed. Begrudgingly, Sticks joined him, and Angel, behind them.

As she spoke, Fresnel’s deep, silvery voice alternated between English and French, limiting ‘Choly and Sticks’s full comprehension. Her audience seemed more captivated by anything she didn’t say in English.

When she told them, “Qu’Atom vous garde,” they mirrored it in kind. ‘Choly filled in any gaps in the language barrier with presumptions of what little he knew of Orthodoxy.

“Much of my year I have studied in Thomaston... XXXXXXXXXX I wandered the Nashua ruins a bit before coming to the Lane proper... XXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXX I come to greet the granite... I must travel West before I return to Five Sisters. To report my findings to Grand Mother Skwodovska. But, I savor a leisurely return. My discoveries dictate my orbit. XXXXXXXXXX I Winter at the Lane for the first time... XXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXX ”

At some point in her speech, she took notice of their visitors. She broke away from sermonizing for the dozen or so practically clutching for her attention, to approach. ‘Choly straightened, expecting her to scold him. But she bowed to Sticks with grace, and held his hand in both her own. The ghoul fell speechless when she smiled up at him.

“What a blessing, that one of Atom’s beloved attends us. I never get the chance to speak with any Undying.”

Sticks let her hold his gloved hand, too, and laid on his charm.

“I’m impressed at our timing. We happen to be at Ant Lane right when such a highly esteemed Child of Atom has popped in.”

Again struggling with humility, she withdrew to stand. Taken aback by the sight of Angel, she hemmed into her fist.

“Forgive my start from the robot. One of my past orbits took me to the Commonwealth, and since my visit to the Cambridge Polymer Labs, I haven’t much liked the company of Mister Handies.”

“Cambridge!” Angel blandished. “Such worldliness.”

She appreciated that it did not take exception with her.

“My brothers and sisters show our devotion in a commitment to travel.”

“Forgive my stupidity,” ‘Choly asked, voice cracking, “but what exactly is a hiero...?”

The intense, robust woman half-sat on the back of the next bench to form her reply. Up close, ‘Choly could make out her face tattoo, of many concentric rings, emanating outward from one eye. Sooner than wonder what it signified, he could only imagine how much it must have hurt. The white bob was a wig.

“You speak Keb? No?” She became more particular in her words. “Among the Children of Atom is an order of scribes, historians, cartographers. We are the Daughters of Radon. We hail from the Rock of Ages. We document and research Atom’s holiest substances, such that any of Atom’s children can safely trace a path and greet everything She has touched. The rank bestowed of Daughters of Radon is Sacristan, keeper of holy spaces. Hierosacristans are the Daughters’ Zealots.”

‘Choly strained to follow along, teetering between looking lost and unintentionally judgmental.

“What interest, then, in granite? I heard correctly, that you intend to greet it? It’s very pretty, but really, I want to understand what has you all so enchanted. Is there correlation between granite and these glass lights?”

Fresnel smiled broad and beaming, nearly sarcastic in a way.

“A visitor from the Commonwealth. I see. The answer is Atom’s touch. We concern ourselves not just with nuclear bodies, but with large sources of granite, marble, and limestone. Anyone could observe these structures, both man-made and still-buried, but it takes the devotion of Daughters to listen to their histories.” A sigh and slouch announced her travel weariness. She pointed above them, to the hanging glass. “Everything is a vessel. We carry our world-soul. Nuclear bodies carry the Holy Light of Atom. And certain stones can carry recorded memories of the worlds which formed this one through Division. The Daughters are committed to documenting these memories, so that the Children can celebrate everything from the past which went into the creation of the present.”

‘Choly fumbled as carefully as he could. It fascinated him, that it seemed more and more that religious devotion tied directly into the creation and maintenance of the increasingly supernatural glowing glass fixtures--let alone that it had anything to do with radioactive material.

No wonder they appreciate Sticks. “And you... listen to the granite here?”

Sticks poorly hid his annoyance with a shift in posture and a grunt.

“Most granite is quite loud. The granite here... whispers.” Fresnel admitted. “The Children often call this place The Quiet Granite. You’re very new, and so eager to learn of Atom’s Kingdom... Are you here to let in Her Holy Light?”

“Until I stepped foot in here, I had no idea this place was a church. I know it sounds stupid, but I wanted to come in to see the lights up close. I’m fascinated that a substance could sustain luminescence without external excitation.”

Though his admission dulled her enthusiasm, his verbiage still held her interest.

“I’m not directly involved in glassblowing, so I know very little of it. The Glow is most remarkable, n’est-ce pas? Even if you’re here merely to marvel at our blessed work, you can still take a piece with you. You should speak with my brothers and sisters here. If you’re more than a scholar or tourist, the local Confessor can direct you to our body of scripture as well. I’m far better suited to geography than sermons.” Fresnel’s attention warmed back to Sticks. “Be no stranger to our space...”

“Sticks.”

“Be no stranger, Sticks.” She smiled, mirthful. “You and your odd friend here are welcome here.”

Before the game of Twenty Questions could continue, Fresnel stood to pat Sticks’s hand... and the top of ‘Choly’s head. The chemist frowned as she excused herself.

“Fresnel spoke directly with you,” a devotee said, behind them. They looked over their shoulders at the nervous man. “Is there anything I can do for you, Undying?”

“It’s Sticks,” he repeated, quickly growing tired of it. “We’re sightseeing, you could call it. I think this fella wants a souvenir.”

The man looked ‘Choly over and nodded, motioning for them to follow him to the counter. He produced an egg-crate tray of walnut sized glass baubles, and picked them up to swirl them around in visual demonstration.

“We’re blessed to meet a Hierosacristan.” He poorly contained his delight. “I wonder if she would permit that I be in her caravan when her orbit carries her onward.”

“Where is she headed next?” ‘Choly asked, moreso making conversation than wishing to know.

“The standard path for all caravans from Ant Lane to Burlington is Route 89, straight through the mountains. But, she mentioned traveling West. The Daughters of Radon follow the orbit of their heart. She may intend another orbit yet uncharted. --Forgive my gushing. You’re interested in a prayer armillary?”

“How much are they?”

The potentially inappropriate question caught in ‘Choly’s throat.

“Fifty-one pulls.”

“You don’t happen to take cash, do you?”

“Certainly. Our caravans do trade with more than just Ant Lane.” The Child picked up the tray’s edge to look at a note on the side. “One hundred fifty dollars.”

So deep in, he didn’t feel like he could say no thank you and just walk away. Not that he wanted to walk away empty handed after such a bizarre interaction.

“Tell me more about them. What makes them glow?”

“There are two aspects to Burlington’s glass artistry. We’re beholden to conceal our craft, but it’s perfectly safe for all Atom’s Children, blessed with the Endurance to withstand Her Light or no.“

In the remark, ‘Choly stifled a shiver at the possibility that the entire mall might be a religious settlement.

“The craftsmanship is remarkable.” His voice cracked. “How long do they last?”

“Years, if they must. But these smallest vessels are intended ephemeral: We encourage that you use them to seal a prayer, then shatter it someplace consequential to disperse the good will into the universe.”

“Are they... still safe if broken?”

“They are not grenades. And to drink its contents would be ill advised, foremost on account of the broken glass.”

“I would never have considered the fluid potable,” ‘Choly lied, having had the thought gifted him. He shakily produced the requested cash, and the Child let him pick one of the egg-like baubles. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you?” His beseeching, bleary eyes suggested more than simple commerce. “Do you require any arrangements? Any accommodations of any kind?”

Sticks eyed the tray with near disappointment, and rocked a bauble around in its cup with one finger.

“...You said they were fifty-one?”

“Take one, gladly!”

Feigning pleasantry, he picked one for himself. It exasperated ‘Choly that Sticks had not attempted to influence the price tag on his trinket, but only his frigid shoulders said as much.

“Thank you. Get to take a piece of this place with me, then.”

“But of course!” The Child nod-bowed to them both. “Qu’Atom vous garde.”

They mirrored the nod, caught in the uncertainty of pronunciation, and the uncertainty of appropriateness that they repeat it back.

‘Choly held his prayer armillary at his chest as they exited the Glassworks. He had no intention of ever break it. The thought crossed him as he glanced down at it, that he could place it in Angel’s storage for use as a perpetual light source, like the light to a glove compartment.

“...Angel,” he asked it, spellbound by the strange, vaguely oily, fluoresceinesque fluid, “you’ve got French programming, haven’t you? That was French, yes? What was she saying?”

“I believe it’s French, Sir. At least, partly. If I’m to understand Miss Fresnel, these Children of Atom worship gamma radiation... as well as something they regard as ‘foreign.’ ”

“Cultists, basically.” Sticks snorted.

'Choly didn’t care whether the Children’s religious motivations made any rational, scientific sense. It still burned him, that they’d given Sticks his trinket for free. The ghoul handed him his with only a vague smirk.

“I, you didn’t want one, then?” He had only starry-eyed gratitude. “Are you sure?”

“Why would I? I let them give it to me so they’d knock it off and let us leave.” The ghoul blurted out an abrupt chuckle and slung an arm around ‘Choly’s shoulders, to grip him a little too forcefully. He kept his voice down, cracked lips inches from ‘Choly’s ear. “Don’t make me go back in there. I get enough of that from you.”

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

A/N: I anglicized the maiden name of Polish-French Marie Skłodowska-Curie, in the expectation that oral tradition would follow phonetically. (I also wanted to differentiate the Grand Mother from both Mother Curie III and FO4′s Curie, while still nodding to the historical figure.)

A/N: I’ve thus far gone all my life not knowing it’s pronounced Freh-nel or Fray-nel. Even my science teachers all pronounced it Fresnel. Hm.

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[fourrarri]

He’d never thought himself much good at giving gifts. At least not the traditional way. A general non-interest in materialism and a fondness for practicality that grew with his age having made a habit for him of gift giving at random to address a need rather than wait for any specific occasion. Not something that anyone ever seemed to mind but had always caused him a prickle of disquiet in him when it came to birthdays, or christmas. Anytime he was left floundering for gift ideas really. Especially when the occasion for gift giving was someone near & dear to his heart & well within means to buy whatever they wanted much less needed.

Still, he’d always loved a challenge, and Lance. . . Well, the hitman was nothing if not that no? And so much more besides, as he’d been delighted to find in the time he’d gotten to know the man thus far. Knowledge he’d put to proper use making the birthday boy’s gifts over the last month. Gifts that not only fullfilled Joel’s fondness for practicality but that he hoped would meet the other’s fondness for aesthetic beauty as well. 

But perhaps above all, he hoped they’d translate how much he appreciated what Lance had been willing to share of himself with him. His openess. His history. How very genuine he always was in any response he gave him. Joel wanted to honor that. Show him somehow beyond words that he’d heard him, that he cared. That he was glad to know him. Who he’d been, was now, and if Lance was keen, who he’d become.

“I uhh--, made each of your gifts myself. Well, mostly. I didn’t actually make the packaging on these first two, just what’s inside em.”

The first of the gifts was a bottled set of massage oils. Each one had a color scheme of preserved blossoms to indicate the essential oil he’d picked for fragrance. Flowers that he’d picked himself either having found them while hiking or from various flowershops. The florals he’d then dyed, dried, arranged, glued, and set inside each bottle before adding the oils. 

It was no secret that Lance not only enjoyed attention, but absolutely thrived on it. Had made it clear on a handful of occasions that he was not above demanding it, loudly. Or turning into a complete bratling when it wasn’t given to him for longer than he had patience to wait. Lance also liked to touch, to be touched. And if Joel had thought to indulge himself his fondness for ‘taking care’ whilst gifting the man something that encouraged lavish amounts of pampering and focus all on him, well. He rather doubted the other would have issue with it.

“These are massage oils infused with aloe and other essential oils for skin care and fragrance. Should come in handy the next time the sun toasts ya a bit more than you meant. Or when you’re feeling neglected.”

The second wasn’t any less playful or indulgent. They were at a glance a bit of an inside joke, one that only a very small handful of people would probaly ‘get’ if what Lance had told him was anything to go by for how many people knew how he really made money. The gift was a set of lip balms he’d made with a mix of beeswax, shea butter, vaseline, and jojoba oil. Each one had been carefully colored with a combination of powder made out of the leftover blossoms, and food coloring to add tint to them along with their protective and restorative properties. 

The set itself was shaded from translucent to various nudes that ranged from natural pink to warmer spice hues. When adding the tint, he had paused, idly wondering if the addition of color to the balms would be too feminine a detail for Lance’s taste. A thought that had gone as fast as it’d come when he recalled the man’s new habit of painting his nails. How much value he placed in his appearence, how little he placed in social norms, how he was seemingly content to enjoy what he liked and not question it beyond that. How very fond he was of Lance for it.

His favorite part of this particualr gift however, was that the case for each one was a hollowed out, reforged, and repurposed rifle cartridge. This detail had probably been what’d taken the most work on his part but in the end he was more than pleased with the results, was certain Lance would be to, as evident in the smile curving his lips as he spoke.

“All that drinking and sunshine dries out your lips chéri. These should help with that, keep you kissable. Some of them are tinted to if you’re feeling flirty.”

The last was the only gift that he’d actually bothered to wrap. To hide. He’d wrapped it meticulously, kept the corners pristine. The paper was ocean blue, patterned with metallic designs. Tied with gold ribbon, topped in an immaculate bow. Inside was a simple white box, and below the lid, buried within more blue, delicate tissue paper was a driftwood picture frame. The frame scaled perfectly for the sketch portraying a memory Lance had described to him in detail from his childhood and coupled with his recall for the one picture Lance had, that he’d shown him upon asking. A picture of him in his boyhood and his mother.

The sketch had taken the whole day. Had been born from a deep rooted desire to somehow give Lance something of that day beyond what he held in his memory. To replicate the warmth he’d had in his tone when he’d spoken of Marianna, described her for him, how she’d been more of a mama to him than the one who’d actually given him life for the most part. 

A fact that the man himself had seemed content with upon it’s revealing but had cracked open something hot and hurting inside his throat, in his chest. Something that felt like tears. Was tears. Tears he’d furiously blinked away, turned his face & hid when Lance seemed to nearly notice. Had fallen free once home and he’d contemplated how his friend had learned to normalize loneliness. Normalize family being something you acted out for company and performed rather than actually had. Normalize not having any pictures of them in your home for everything family photos were meant to be and never had been for him. 

He hadn’t thought about it. Simply grabbed his sketch book, sat on the chaise in the corner of his living room, just beside the french doors that led out to his porch. The same ones that allowed sunlight in enough to warm him as he worked.

He’d let his hand skate across the page, pencil loose in his fingers, slowly, slowly, the shape of child Lance, the details of Marianna he’d given him coming to life. The profile of her face was hidden, back to the viewer’s sight as she turned, scanned the ocean debris at her feet, the tumble of soft sand in the churning wave line. Smile lingering at the corner of her lips. A peek of profile through her hair but only details, not her whole face. Curls tumbling down her back, the wind catching them, lifting a few stray tendrils. Pointing, reaching, directing a grinning Lance to another sea treasure she’d spotted for him to bring back home.

He wasn’t sure how many hours he’d spent on it; shading in her shadow on the sand, working to capture the gentle folds of of her sundress, capturing every detail Lance had told him about her. All he knew for certain was that it had been early noon when he’d started, and when he’d finally stopped the sun had already gone down. 

He didn’t color it. Knew he wouldn’t have to explain to Lance why. How sometimes the best and worst memories looked better in black and white? In the crisp shadows of grayscale, how if you tried to bring back too much you could lose it all? That a memory was its own breed of ghost? How he knew beyoind a doubt he could never capture the blue of the ocean, the warm shade of her eyes, the soft highlights of her hair. Like trying to pin down the wind. Same as capturing her visage without a picture, he didn’t dare attempt bringing the life of color to this memory. Didn’t want to trespass any further than he potentially had.

The smile from before fades, breath catching in his throat enough it hurts to swallow around. Makes him work to force words around his words, his feelings, how little room they leave for anything else.

“Really not good at telling people about how I feel about them when it really counts. Always preffered to show them instead so---.” the words trail off, and he reaches out a hand for the last gift, pushes it within Lance’s reach as his heart begins to hammer away at the cage his ribs suddenly are.

“Not sure if it’s anything like you remember but I wanted to do something for you. Something special. And this wouldn’t leave me alone till I finished it. Ended up drawing it the same day you told me about it. Really hope I didn’t fuck up.” He elects not to tell Lance he means in general, not just the sketch itself. 

“You mean----, a lot to me Lance. I don’t even have words for it and I have a few languages to choose from. Hasn’t helped. But I wanted you to know, wanted to show you. Anyways, happy birthday.”

       💸 ║ ❛   ————— It always overwhelms him a bit, all these feelings towards Joel and how observing he actually is. Definitely not a man he’s ever met before. And Lance had men before that showed interest in him, tried to promise him the world but in the end the motives were completely focused on the MONEY and lifestyle of the rich and famous. And it’s not like Lance never understood, money and luxury are things he himself enjoys the most as well. But that thought just always runs around his mind; people wouldn’t give a damn about someone like him if he didn’t have all the money, the cars and the big mansion. JOEL is a different kind of man though. Lance managed to convince himself that even if there wasn’t all this money and luxury, Joel would still be there. But most importantly, Joel IS actually here, between all these nice things and in the end all he cares about is putting the smile on Lance’s face. 

          Lance examines all the gifts while Joel goes off explaining the details. He does listen to what he has to say very carefully but his mind is telling him things. What is it that Joel sees in him that makes him so sure he’s deserving of these things. It only makes Lance notice that he’s only good at accepting gifts as long as he knows the person didn’t really put any effort into it. But all the effort Joel put into it, Lance doesn’t wanna ruin the good moment. Ruin it with his bad thoughts punishing him for feeling grateful for something he doesn’t quite deserve. He is pretty good at shutting his mind off if things make him too vulnerable, so that’s his solution.

          A bright smile forms on his lips while looking at all these nice things. Suddenly it just feels so warm inside him, almost pressuring as if there’s something he just has to let out. It’s just a feeling of genuine HAPPINESS that Joel manages to break free, and usually that feeling is archived once he’s had a few shots. No alcohol this time, there’s no need for it. Not even his mind is running to it. Blue eyes wander from all these beautiful gifts to Joel, only for a short moment though. He’s desperately trying to form a sentence in his head to not seem like a child who’s got all the presents it wished for. But talking, expressing himself is hard when he tries to not get over that spot of vulnerability. 

          ❝   Qué digo, qué digo.. Thank you, amorcito, honestly. I really don’t know what to say.   ❞  And just as he tries to fight his brain to throw out ANY WORDS, there is another gift coming. Joel seems much more nervous about it, much more emotional. Lance doesn’t wonder too long after he eventually unwrapped it and now examines this personal work. It just causes him to feel a lot of emotions, they just hit him like lightning, yet he’s QUIET for a moment. While there’s still this burst of happiness, there’s also an ache in his heart that’s not easy to handle. A picture like that doesn’t exist but when he looks at it it feels like there’s something real about it. Lance never had a picture of MARIANNA, but if he did he wouldn’t hide it away like he does with the picture of his own mother. Marianna deserves much more than what he’s able to give her. And the fact that Joel actually took the time to awake the memories in his heart does cause him to get very emotional about it. Things like that make him cry like a baby when he’s alone, so he’s really fighting some tears. He doesn’t wanna cry on his birthday.

         ❝   I can’t believe you did that. Man, soy demasiado emocional para esto. This is a lot. I love it.   ❞   At least he got out a little bit before his emotions make his eyes all watery. Still, he fights hard not to cry over it. So the best way to hide that is to simply throw his arms around the other man’s shoulders. The hug holds on for a moment until Lance interrupts it to place a kiss on Joel’s lips.    ❝   Merci, chérie.   ❞

[saxxxology]

What Goes Bump in the Night - 12

PAIRING: Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader WARNINGS: a/b/o dynamics, Victorian social dynamics, allusions to non-consent and dubious consent, dominance/submission, slow burn with eventual smut, suspense/horror/gore themes.

THIS WORK IS 18+ ONLY. DO NOT REPOST MY WORK ON ANY OTHER SITES.

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TWO YEARS LATER...

Yours and Sam’s relationship continues. The brothers work hard, sometimes leaving for weeks at a time as they go on hunting trips with their colleagues. Per Sam’s preferences, you spend your time reading and researching for them, which gives them considerably more time to focus on whatever case is at hand. 

On your second summer at the Winchester house, Sam takes you overseas to England for a much-deserved holiday. You spend the first day of the trip being sick in your private room onboard and finally venture out on the second to gaze out at the open sea. When you return, Sam promptly jumps back into the life, only giving you a couple of days to readjust to living at home before requesting your aid. 

One cold night in August, you’re woken by the sounds of an infant crying in the distance. Maternal instincts quickly take over, and you slip from the bed, runing from the room even as Sam warns you to stay back.

You follow the cries to the front door and let Sam work the heavy bolts back. It’s cold outside, and you shudder when a gust of cold wind washes over you. The cries are much louder now, and you peer through the darkness to see a basket on the stoop, piled high with blankets.

“What the hell?” Sam steps out and carefully picks the basket up, cradling it in his arms as he walks back inside and lets you close the door. Once you’ve thrown the bolts home, you’re at Sam’s side, eager to peer into its depths. 

There’s a pup nestled inside the blankets, wrapped snugly in a few thin layers that have done little to keep the chill out. The wailing hasn’t ceased, and Sam hears the sound of his brother’s bedroom door slamming shut. 

“What is that?” Dean asks loudly as he takes the steps two at a time. He’s upset at having been woken so late, and Sam places a hand on his chest, stopping him from coming closer. 

“It’s a baby,” you murmur, quickly unwrapping the blankets and checking the infant for injuries. He’s unharmed, if a little bit thin, and you swaddle him in one blanket and gently cradle him against your chest. He’s cold, his ears, nose, and fingers especially.

“There’s a note,” Sam says, pulling a thin piece of paper from the unraveled blankets. He skims over it, eyes narrowing before he starts to read aloud.

“Dear sirs, this is my son, Jack. He was born on May eighteenth, in the year of our Lord 1890. I am very sick and I am not strong enough to care for him. Your home is the only place I could think of where he would be truly safe for the time being. Sincerely yours, K. Kline.”

Sam sets the paper back inside the basket and peers down at the baby. His cries have petered out into soft, whimpering coos, and you’re carefully wiping the tears off his reddened cheeks.

“He’s still cold,” you murmur, “we need to feed him.”

“With what?” Dean asks gruffly. 

“We have milk in the pantry, correct?” You watch his nostrils flare and turn instead towards your Alpha. “Sam…”

With a grumble, Dean stalks away, heading back to his room. The sound of the door slamming again echoes all the way to the living room, and Sam lets out a deep sigh. 

“Sam,” you try again, “please?”

He swallows thickly and watches the baby root against your chest, searching for a nipple to latch onto. “Take him upstairs,” he says softly, “I’ll get the milk.”

You take the stairs carefully one at a time, trying not to jostle the baby too much. When you’re safely back in your bedroom, you slide back underneath the covers, slowly maneuvering Jack so that he’s cradled in one arm. You grip both of his hands in one of yours, trying to warm his chubby fingers. He’s barely three months old, and you have no idea how long he’d been out in the cold before his cries had finally woken you.

Sam comes back several minutes later, an old bottle half filled with warm milk in one hand. Jack’s begun to whimper again, his frustration evident as he tries in vain to search for food on a foreign body. 

“It’s from when Dean and I were little,” he murmurs when you give him an inquisitive look. “I sterilized it and the nipple’s a little stiff, but it should be okay for tonight.” He slips into bed beside you and watches you offer the bottle. Jack greedily accepts it, cooing lowly as the warm milk fills his belly. “I don’t understand why anyone would consider leaving their child with us,” he says. “We’re known through the city for being scientists who study inhuman things, not caregivers.”

“Maybe she knew I’d take it?” you supply. “At least he’s out of the cold. Any longer out there…” shaking your head, you lean down to nuzzle his soft blonde hair. 

“Where’s he going to sleep?” Sam asks. 

“Right here.” You pat the mattress next to you. “He can sleep between us, we’ll keep him nice and warm.”

Sam’s jaw tenses, but he gives in. He’s suppressed his Alpha instincts for a long time, especially with his denial of wanting children. Now, seeing you holding and nursing a baby sparks a warmth in his chest that he can’t stop from spreading. For a brief second, he wonders if this is how his father had felt when he’d seen Mary holding each of their newborn sons for the first time. 

“Just for tonight,” he says, trying to remain firm. The last thing either of you need is to bond with the infant, and as an Omega you’re already on your way there. “Tomorrow, we’ll have to let him sleep elsewhere.”

Satisfied, you allow Jack to finish the rest of his bottle and pat his back until he burps. You smile and nuzzle his cheek as you wipe the milky spittle from his chin, and Sam lets you tuck him in beside you before he turns out the light and lies down as well. One of Jack’s pudgy fists nudges his chest, and the baby gives a nervous whimper as he’s shrouded in darkness.

“There, now,” you coo before Sam can do anything. “It’s okay, Jack, you’re safe.”

It takes Sam a long time to fall asleep. When he does finally drift off, he’s torn between two final options. Convincing you to take Jack to an orphanage is going to be a long shot, and keeping him isn’t preferable either. Having a child in the house has never been a good idea, at least in his mind.

We’ll see what happens in the morning, he thinks to himself. 

***

You wake up to the sound of Jack’s mewling cries. Sam’s already out of bed and getting dressed, and he barely casts you an eye as you sit up, gathering the squirming baby to your chest to calm him.

“Good morning,” you offer him a small smile. “Did you sleep well?”

He grunts a reply and tucks his shirt into the waistband of his pants. “I’m going to make a run into town,” he says shortly. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“What for?” You ask, sliding out of bed with Jack still cradled in your arms. 

“We have nothing to care for a baby,” he says, “even if it’s temporary.”

He grabs his coat and gives you a short kiss before turning and leaving the room. He’s upset, and you can practically feel the tension mount when he leaves the room without fully closing the door. You wait for the creak and slam of the front door before looking down at the baby.

“You need a bath and a change, don’t you?” you coo, immediately overtaken by maternal instinct. “Come on, then, let’s give you a nice bath and then we’ll get you some breakfast.”

You’ve never bathed an infant before, but you slowly get the hang of it. It’s easier to simply draw a bath for yourself and bring Jack in, holding him firmly as you pour warm water over his body. He protests loudly when you wash his hair, and immediately calms when you allow him to float his body in the water, held up in your arms. His little arms and legs pump reflexively in the water, and you watch him play for a few minutes before getting out and carrying him into the bedroom. There aren’t any clothes for you to change him into, so you settle for swaddling him in one of the softer blankets he’d been delivered in and make a nest of four pillows to lay him in while he sleeps.

Dean’s in the kitchen making breakfast. He eyes you suspiciously as you walk in, but you pay him no mind. You learned to ignore Dean’s attitude a long time ago.

“Sam was upset,” he says gruffly. “Bringing that baby here was a bad idea.”

“Desperate mothers do desperate things,” you reply simply, gingerly dismantling the bottle and setting it in the sink. “She probably didn’t want her baby to get sick.”

“Could’ve just taken it to an orphanage, that’s what they’re there for.”

“And what would they do with him?” You rinse the inside and refuse to look at him as he butters a slice of toast. “They give children away to abusive parents or send them straight into the workforce.”

Dean grumbles around a mouthful of bread. “Just don’t keep it.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you snap back. “I understand that Sam is less than happy about having a child around, but he is my Alpha and I will discuss this with him as I see fit.”

Dean relents with a quiet growl. “Where is it, anyway?”

“Asleep in our bed upstairs,” you answer simply as you pour boiling water over the glass and set it on the rack to dry. “I bathed him and let him rest. I was just going to make him a little bit of milk for breakfast.”

You finish sterilizing the bottle and prepare another small serving of warm milk before heading upstairs. Jack’s awake and wiggling around in his blanket, and he immediately takes the rubber nipple in his gums. He finishes the bottle in only a few minutes, after which you burp him again and snuggle back underneath the covers. 

Sam returns after another hour. He’s carrying a burlap bag in one hand, and you cast him an anxious glance as he sets it on the foot of the bed. 

“Please don't be upset,” you beg quietly, “I know you don’t want children, but I want to have him a little while longer—”

“I’m not upset.” Sam heaves a sigh and glances at the tuft of blonde hair visible between your breasts. “I just… you know how I feel about wanting children.”

You watch him start to unpack his purchases and hesitate briefly before speaking. “You’ve never explained why.”

Sam freezes for a beat. His eyes close, and he turns slowly to sit on the edge of the bed. “You know that I wasn’t born out of my mother’s will,” he says, “I’ve always been afraid that if I create a child, I’ll become my father, or pass his… his afflictions onto them. I don’t have the time for them, anyway, or the patience.”

 “Jack isn’t yours,” you try to reason. 

“He’s barely been here twelve hours,” Sam says sharply. “I understand that children have been on your mind lately, but… Y/N, we can’t keep him.”

You clutch Jack tighter. “Just a little longer,” you whisper, “please, let me just… what if he goes to someone else and he gets hurt or grows up abused?”

“We’ll find him a place where that won’t happen.” 

You try to hide the tears in your eyes as you cast your gaze down at the sleeping baby. “I don’t want to let him go.”

Sam’s chest aches when he sees an errant tear stream down your cheek, and he reaches over to wipe it away. “Don’t cry,” he murmurs, “I know you want him, I really do, but we can’t.”

You pull your face away from his touch and turn away, slowly lying down on your side and tucking Jack in against you. Sam bites the inside of his cheek and stands up, slowly unpacking the rest of the supplies before muttering something about making something to eat, heading downstairs and leaving you alone.

[mostfacinorous]

Stoki Whumptober Day 15: Into The Unknown [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9][10][11][12][13][14]

When he was removed from the cell the next day-- or let out, depending on how you looked at it, he had managed to get himself back to a state of being reasonably well put together. 

“So I uh-- heard you didn’t sleep so great. Sorry about that. I had forgotten that Jarvis has problems when I ask him to monitor Thor’s vitals, too.” 

Loki flapped his hand dismissively at Stark’s apology; he didn’t feel like going into the fact that his baseline would be wildly different from even Thor’s. It didn’t matter much. 

“How is the Captain?” He asked instead. 

Stark hummed. 

“Seems fine now-- that was a pretty wild treatment, though, so I think it’d be good to keep an eye on him.” 

He held the door open to allow Loki to board the elevator. 

“We got breakfast delivered, so I imagine he’ll be there-- and Barnes, too.” Stark looked wary, and Loki wondered what part of the gathering caused that. 

He found it odd that Stark seemed suddenly at ease around him, but perhaps his performance with Rogers the night before, and his relative lack of ill-will after being nearly roasted by his machine had given him some sense of confidence in Loki’s intentions. 

Bold of him to assume that Loki’s goodwill extended to him. But then again, all of his windows were thus far intact, so perhaps there was some small basis for it. It wasn’t a high bar to clear. 

“You seem… somewhat less than enthused about breakfast.” Loki offered it as an observation, but it was a question, ever so delicate, probing gently to learn more about these people he’d fought so often. He’d certainly never been allowed this close before, into their home. Or, home-base, at least. He knew Rogers had a place of his own, outside of the tower. 

Stark lifted one shoulder listlessly. But before he had a chance to elaborate, the elevator announced their arrival with a cheerful ping and the doors slid open onto a scene of surprising domesticity. 

The Avengers were gathered around the table, shy only Stark and alongside Barnes and a woman that Loki only knew peripherally as Pepper Potts, Stark’s good half. 

“So, now we’re all here-- good morning everyone--” Stark began, but was interrupted by Barnes snorting.

“It’s after noon.” Banner pointed out, clearly amused, and Loki blinked. He must have slept longer than he’d thought, to compensate for the heat and his efforts the day prior. 

“Well, yeah, okay. After noon. Happy brunch. Point is-- Loki. Steve. James Barnes-- what are we calling you these days? Bucky?” 

Stark’s edgy energy was back, and Loki realized it was centered around the Soldier. Fascinating, that Stark was literally more at ease with Loki at his back than with Barnes at his table. 

“James is probably fine.” He said mildly, buttering some toast and casually avoiding eye contact. 

Rogers, too, seemed unsurprised but on guard. 

Interesting. And charming. A crack in their united front, and Loki wasn’t even the cause. He ought to be offended, he supposed. Instead, he was merely amused. 

“Right. So. James… after you stopped in on Loki last night, did you notice anything… weird?” 

Rogers looked thoroughly confused-- Loki wondered at that. Had Barnes not told him about his stepping in? Loki would think he would-- to curry favor, prove himself as a good person, if nothing else. 

Barnes sat his toast down, only a single bite taken from it. 

“Define weird.” He said slowly, almost like the words were a threat. 

“Your arm.” Stark said, clearly trying not to sound eager and coming off as smug instead. “I got your message after you were asleep, and asked Jarvis to run a scan, make sure Loki didn’t do anything to you.” 

Loki felt his mouth falling open to protest, and, without looking, Stark held up his hand to stop him speaking. 

“Your arm has some weird stuff going on with it, but it doesn’t match Loki’s power signature. And last night, it started flaring up. So, did you notice anything weird?”

“You’re asking if I noticed anything weird with my arm while I was asleep?” Barnes reiterated, speaking slowly, as if he was becoming more and more convinced that Stark was an idiot. “No. Because I was asleep.”

“Hang on, why were you scanning him in his sleep?” Rogers demanded. “And why would you visit Loki?” 

“To have a chat, Steve, why else do people go see one another?” Barnes snapped back. “Anyway, it didn’t matter, because when I got there, Stark’s robot was in the process of frying the guy’s brain, so…” Barnes trailed off with a sharp glance in Stark’s direction. 

Rogers whipped his head around, glaring at Stark who raised his hands defensively. “Loki?” He asked firmly, turning his eyes on him next. “Are you alright?”

“I should be asking the same of you, though your voice is much improved. In fairness, Stark’s machine was concerned because my vital readings did not match that of humans. No harm was intended.” Loki spoke mildly and strode forward to take a seat directly across from Barnes. “But tell me more about this ‘weirdness’. Do you suppose it’s related to the time stone?” 

He helped himself to some bread and jam, and began to paint the latter across the former, performatively, of course-- a show of unconcern. 

When he glanced up, though, it was his turn to receive the full weight of Barnes’ glare. 

“Time stone?” The widow asked sharply.

“Oh. I’m sorry-- did they not know?” Loki asked, pretending at surprise.

“Is there a magical artifact in my house, and you didn’t tell me?” Stark demanded. 

Banner stood. 

“I’m sorry, I’m gonna excuse myself. Ah-- Pepper, can you update me or give me a call if I’m needed?” 

“Of course.” She said smoothly, watching him go then turning her eyes back to Rogers and Barnes, who looked both cornered and uncomfortable. 

Loki took a bite of his toast. 

“Look, as much as I’m not excited about having the time stone here, I think we’re burying the lede. What weird stuff did Jarvis pick up, Tony?” the Hawk spoke up, having held his peace and just made faces for a bit, but, as ever, keeping his eye on the big picture. Loki shot him an appreciative glance.

“Like I said, it started flaring up-- and with the time stone present-- I assume you have it stored in the arm?” Stark asked pointedly, his gaze dropping to Barnes’ shirt sleeve covered prosthetic. 

He pushed the sleeve up and opened a compartment, revealing the time stone, glowing a soft green. 

To Loki’s eyes, it was pulsing, however faintly, but that wasn’t the real concern. 

“It’s corrupting the metal. Or-- the metal is absorbing it?” He murmured, surprised and enthralled. “I’ve never seen something like that happen before.”

“What do you mean?” Steve asked, at the same time as Barnes snapped “It’s what?” 

“Jarvis?” The Widow asked, standing to come closer. 

“The stone is emitting a low level of power. I can confirm that the metal of Sergaent Barnes’s arm is absorbing it. It is, however, also releasing it back and amplifying the power in the stone’s direction at a .20 percent increase from the original radiation.”

Loki nodded.

“The pulsing-- the arm is absorbing the power, storing it, and then releasing it back stronger. This, in turn, overflows the limits of the stone-- causing it to release more.” 

Barnes immediately plucked the stone from the compartment with his flesh hand. 

“That’s all well and good,” Loki said, “but that leaves us with one problem: we’ll need to draw the power out of your arm.” 

Rogers looked to him. “Can you do that?” 

“I can.” Loki said. “I cannot guarantee there will not be lingering effects, but the excess we can draw out. Only, I will need to do something with it.”

Loki turned to look at Stark. 

“Are you capable of building some sort of containment for it?”

“I don’t even know what ‘it’ is, that’s a power source unlike any we’ve seen before.” 

“And the longer it stays within the cavity of Barnes’s arm, the more it grows.” Loki said calmly, then sighed. 

“I can… try to ground it, or disperse it, but until I try, until I have it in my hands, I will have little idea as to the best way. Is there a safe place that Barnes and I may go to try and mitigate any damage we may cause?” 

Loki saw Barnes narrow his eyes, and it did not escape him the way his flesh fist clenched all the tighter around the stone. 

“I have the space upstate-- pretty isolated, big plot of land. That should be safest. I’m going with you, of course-- I gotta see this. And I doubt Steve’s gonna want to stay behind.” 

“Nope.” Rogers responded quickly. 

“We’ll hold down the fort here.” The widow responded, clearly not needing to ask the hawk how he felt about such exercises. Loki nodded in acknowledgement. 

“To upstate, then.”

---

The upstate facility seemed to be somewhat more like a hangar than a tower, which Loki was grateful for. Less to fall on them, should something go wrong. And Stark insisted it was well built, launching into specifications and logistics than Loki had no interest in and didn’t understand. 

Instead, upon arrival, he’d begun arranging a table with chairs for himself and Barnes-- opposite sides, to keep the surface between them. For Barnes’ peace of mind, more than anything else. 

Loki settled down and gestured at the table.

“If you’re ready.” He said. 

Barnes took his seat, and lay the limb out. Loki had been, admittedly, curious about it, and was finally being allowed his first close up examination of the thing. 

“The workmanship is beautiful. Utilitarian, yes, but intricate and graceful all the same.” Loki ran his fingers gently up the edges where he knew the hollow was, able to feel the energy humming beneath his fingertips. 

“I don’t need a narration.” Barnes said, sounding uncomfortable and cross, which Loki decided likely translated to scared and trying to hide it. 

“Of course.” He answered smoothly. 

The panel folded back and away, and he dipped his fingertips into the glowing green pool that had formed in the absence of the time stone. 

“Ah.” He said, brow furrowing as he tried to make sense of what it was. 

It was cold and hummed, the sensation not unlike being buffeted by a river. But it climbed his arm, and he felt it pulling at him, trying to toss him to or fro, back into the past and forward into the future simultaneously. 

He put out a few tendrils of his own power, anchoring himself to the here and now, and urged the energy of the stone up over his fingers, across the back of his hand, and then, as he rolled his wrist, into his palm to pool. 

Once he held it and was certain it would not leap forth nor spill through the cracks, he flicked his eyes back to Barnes. 

There was no further trace of it there, though the metal sang with the empty echoes of a newly hollow vessel. 

“I think you must take care to keep it separate from that metal, going forward. It is… It reacts oddly.” 

Indeed, it was vibrating with a movement he was not used to feeling from time related magics. It had become agitated with its constant duplication, and it wanted now to burst free. 

He frowned. 

He could not put it to ground in such a state; it would merely spread itself out, affecting all it touched. 

He could attempt to contain it with his own magics, however, and with any luck they might be able to lock that away in more conventional metals, for study or future use. 

This course of action decided upon, Loki called his magics up and through him, pulling from the soles of his feet, though the core of him and down his arm to wrap around the power in his palm. 

But in doing so, he made one critical error. 

Before the power was contained, Loki became unmoored. And the power was interested only in spreading, now. He felt as it latched on to his power and tried to pull back, but it was no good, and too late. 

The power of the stone slid within him, and he felt as time within him lurched, shifted, and changed.

[fanfictionaries]

Love and Academia Ch. 8 - Texting and Treats

Pairing: AU Professor!Bucky x OFC

Warnings: Swearing, smut, NSFW/18+ only, mentions of death/violence/suicide, Angst

Author’s note: Flirting? FLIRTING? That is all. 

And as always, I do not currently have a beta reader so please excuse any larger issues. It’s just little ol’ me!

***

One month. One month was all it took for the weather to turn and with it, Emily’s brain to mush. She was tired of staring at spreadsheets. Tired of Excel formulas and mapping software. Tired of literary research. And most importantly, tired of having to see Dr. Barnes’ face. To be fair, things were undeniably better than they had been the first few weeks of the semester. It was honestly a relief not having to act so cold towards him. It left room for more productive things like revisions, classes, and figuring out what the heck was going on with her advisor and his wife. Despite her best efforts, Emily had found herself consumed by the mystery that was Dr. James Buchanan Barnes’ love life.

“Now when we think about the different kinds of life cycles that organisms have, we usually think primarily of the gametic life cycle,” said the man in question from his place at the front of the classroom.

Emily sat in the right most seat, in the front row of the lecture hall casually listening. While this was all information she learned years ago, it was encouraged that teaching assistants attended the lectures that coincided with the labs they taught. That way they could match the content effectively. Glancing around the room, she wanted to laugh at the number of young, freshman girls sat in the front. They probably thought they hit the jackpot. First semester of college and they had possibly the hottest professor they would ever encounter. Emily thought back to her own professors during her time at Montana State. Every last one of them was over fifty and balding. Definitely not something to fantasize about.

“The gametic life cycle is the life cycle of most animals. However, there is also the sporic and zygotic life cycles.” Dr. Barnes turned to write the three life cycle names on the chalk board behind him. Emily’s eyes wandered to his broad shoulders encased by a green flannel shirt tucked into a pair of khaki pants that hugged his perfectly sculpted behind. No. She couldn’t think like that. He was married. This she could not deny by the wedding ring he kept so obviously on his left hand. But hadn’t he pretty much told her that his wife didn’t live with him? Just him and Trixie in that big house.

Trixie. God. She felt so stupid when she found out that Trixie was his dog and not his wife. If she had let herself focus on the moment for any longer than a second, she might come to the conclusion that jealousy had fueled the embarrassment. She expected him to be on a date with his loving wife. Not spending the night walking his dog and coming home to an empty house. But that was not the case. Instead, she chose to conclude that the embarrassment stemmed from the fact that she had made any assumption in the first place. No one liked to be wrong. Right?

Still, none of that answered her burning question. Where was Dr. Barnes’ wife? She had a few theories. Perhaps she hadn’t moved from Brooklyn yet. He had just moved into the area. Couples would move separately sometimes. One moving first and the other coming later when their job allowed. But if that were the case, then why did he look so sad when he mentioned being alone?

“Can anyone tell me what kind of organisms experience a zygotic life cycle?” Dr. Barnes asked, turning back to the class. A plethora of eager hands shot straight up in the air. Smiling in amusement, he called on one of the girls from the front row.

“Yes, Miss Hendrickson.”

“Is it plants, like mosses?” the young girl answered. Emily wanted to laugh. Clearly, she hadn’t done the reading and only raised her hand at the opportunity for Dr. Barnes to call on her.

Maybe he had been sad because he’s a good husband who loves his wife and misses her. Well, if that were true, then he wouldn’t have taken off his wedding ring and almost hooked up with her. Emily’s mind wandered to that night, as it often did. The cool brick digging into her back as he devoured her. The stubble of his beard so deliciously rough. The strength of his hands as he gripped her body tightly.

“Miss Colvert, would you like to enlighten the rest of the class?”

“Huh?” Emily broke from her momentary fantasy to see all eyes on her. Dr. Barnes liked to do this. When no one else knew the answer, he’d call on her. It was like a little test on her basic knowledge of biological concepts.

“It appears no one knows what has a zygotic life cycle. Would you like to give us the answer?” Dr. Barnes elaborated, looking at her expectantly.

“Oh, um. That would be fungi and protists. They’re haploid most of their life cycle and the zygote is the only diploid phase before it undergoes meiosis to produce haploid cells.”

“Very good Miss Colvert—” he smiled at her, a brief flash of brilliantly white teeth “—Now, let’s go ahead and draw out the zygotic life cycle to give everyone a better idea.” Dr. Barnes turned once again towards the board as he continued on with the lecture.

There was always the harsh fact that Dr. Barnes had in fact stopped things that night before they went too far. Maybe he regretted it. Maybe it was just a momentary lapse in judgement. Maybe him and his wife were separated, and he wasn’t ready to fully let go. At the thought, Emily felt her heart leap with excitement. The emotion was quickly followed by a strong wave of guilt. Emily shook her head, trying to clear it of her messy thoughts. This was taking up too much brain space. Space she needed for her thesis.

Whatever the answer was, it didn’t matter. Dr. Barnes was her advisor. There was a clear line that could not be crossed. Therefore, it did not matter. She needed to let the subject go and just move on.

Two days of “moving on”, Emily found herself elbow deep in flour, butter, sugar, and eggs, but no less preoccupied by the thoughts of Dr. Barnes.

“Tell me why we needed to use my kitchen when you have a perfectly good one?” Emily asked Natasha, looking at the disastrous mess around her. Flour covered every surface, including the floor and themselves. Butter wrappers and eggshells sat piled high in the trashcan. Splashes of cookie dough coated countertops and cabinet fronts. And Natasha was planted squarely in front of the oven, watching the fruits of their labor bake.

“Because, you have the most baking supplies out of everyone I know,” said Natasha, never tearing her anxious eyes away from the small glass window. She was a mess. Several pieces of red hair had fallen from her attempted ponytail. Blobs of cookie dough hug from the strands, sticking like large, grotesque, white grub worms. Flour covered all of her clothes and a manic expression covered her face. Oh, she had it bad.

“You know, the cookies aren’t going to bake any faster by you staring at them.”

“I can’t let them burn, Emily. This is important!” exclaimed Natasha, threading her fingers through her sticky hair and pulling at the roots.

“Hey. Hey, hey, hey—” Emily slid off her place on the countertop and crouched down next to Natasha on the floor “—Listen. There are already five dozen perfectly baked snickerdoodles sitting in Tupperware on my dining room table. The world won’t end if this last dozen gets a little dark.”

“But-but—”

“No, no, no. No buts. Besides, you only volunteered to bring two dozen cookies to Steve’s bake sale. Remember?”

“Yea, but I mean, we-we needed—”

“Test batches. Yes. I remember the last five hours very vividly.” Emily cupped her best friend’s face in her hands and stared into her frightened eyes, “Steve is going to love these. Please, breathe.”

Natasha nodded, taking a deep breath, “Okay. Okay, yea you’re right. You’re right. I just need to calm down.”

They both stood, pulling each other into a tight hug before separating and beginning to tidy up the kitchen. As Emily wiped the cabinet fronts with a washrag, she finally felt like Natasha was in the right headspace for her to ask the question that had been on her mind all afternoon.

“Hey so, you and Steve have gotten pretty close the last month and a half, yea?”

“Yea, it’s been so great. You know, I really think that taking it slow was the best idea,” said Natasha as she dumped a dirty bowl in the sink and turned the faucet on.

“And I’m sure he’s probably told you a lot of stuff about him…and his friends…”

“Where is this going Emily?”

“Has he mentioned anything about Dr. Barnes or like…his wife?” The moment the words left her mouth, Emily knew it was a mistake to ask.

“No. Absolutely not. I am not doing this with you Emily,” said Natasha, throwing the kitchen sponge down into the soapy water.

“What?” Emily asked, trying to pretend she hadn’t just asked her best friend for details about her advisor’s marriage.

“Don’t ‘what’ me, Emily Colvert. You know what you’re doing. Actually, no. Do you know what you’re doing?” Natasha leant against the countertop and crossing her arms in front of her.

“I’m trying to get to know my advisor better?”

“No, you’re trying to use my still very new relationship to get dirt on a marriage that doesn’t involve you!”

“You know, you used to be a lot more fun. What happened to fun Nat?”

“She started dating a kindergarten teacher. Now, answer this question Emily: why do you want to know about his wife? I thought we hated this man,” Natasha said, staring skeptically at her.

“We did, but now we might be okay with him…” Emily admitted, unable to look directly at the admittedly terrifying woman that was her best friend.

“Emily, are you sleeping with him? Because if you are, I don’t know whether I should be disappointed or oddly proud.”

“No! I’m not sleeping with him! I’m just curious!”

“Okay, I’m only going to say this once—” Natasha walked towards her “—he is your advisor. The details of his marriage are none of your business. As your therapist—”

“You’re not my therapist—”

“—And your friend, I highly recommend that you keep your curiosity buried. Deep down. You know, where you keep all the shit you probably should talk about. And stop trying to sabotage my relationship with Steve by making me snoop for you.”

“I’m sorry, you’re right,” Emily apologized, guilty for having tried to rope Natasha into her craziness.

“I know you’re going through a lot right now. But, not cool man. Not cool,” said Natasha, her tone lighter as she nudged Emily’s side.

Natasha’s phone buzzed from the counter, subsequently putting an end to their conversation. The smile that spread across her face as she checked her phone told Emily exactly who it was. Steve.

“What does hunky farm boy want now?” Emily asked, turning to the sink and taking over washing the dishes.

“Parent-teacher conferences ended early. He wants make me dinner,” said Natasha, still smiling down at her phone as her thumbs typed away.

“Ooooo dinner at his place. Does this mean you’re finally going to…ya know?” Emily raised her eyebrows suggestively.

“God. I hope so. He’s so hot Emily. I went and visited him at work the other day and he was having a tea party with a couple of the girls in his class during play time. I’ve never wanted to fuck a man in a flower sunhat so badly in my life,” groaned Natasha, burying her face in Emily’s back.

“I can’t even begin to imagine what goes on inside of your bedroom,” Emily said, shaking her head in exasperation as she scrubbed at a spatula.  

“There’s a lot of roleplay and prop use,” mumbled Natasha into Emily’s back.

“Yea, I didn’t need to know that,” said Emily, wriggling away from the tiny red head. “Now, get out of here. Take your cookies and go have sex your very single, very hot kindergarten teacher.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice!” Natasha exclaimed, practically skipping out of the kitchen. Emily heard the faint sounds of Natasha grabbing her stuff and a muffled “Wish me luck!” before her front door slammed shut. Lord have mercy on that man.

She continued to clean the kitchen as she thought about the advice that Nat had given her. Natasha was right. She knew she was right. For all the gripe she gave the woman, she really did give the best advice. But still, she didn’t see any reason why it would be so wrong to get to know the man. As friends of course. Purely as friends. There was nothing wrong with having your advisor as a friend. She was friends with Dr. Erskine. He was married. Why couldn’t she be friends with Dr. Barnes? A little voice somewhere in the back of her mind tried to remind her that she had never been in a situation where she almost slept with Dr. Erskine, but she ignored it. They had agreed to try and have a working relationship. Therefore, everything that had happened was in the past.

Drying the last dish and placing it back into the cupboard, the timer on her phone chimed alerting her that the last batch of cookies was done. She pulled the piping hot, cinnamon-sugar creations from the oven and placed it on the stovetop before turning the alarm off on her phone. The scent of the delicious treats made her mouth water. It was going to be a challenge not eating all of them in one sitting, but at least Natasha only left her with a single batch. Turning out of the kitchen, she found her assumption to be incredibly incorrect. There, sitting on her dining room table, was nearly three dozen cookies. Emily sighed. Apparently, she’d be responsible for finding a home for all the test batches. She could probably pawn a dozen off of on Sam and CeCe. There was always the graduate student lounge. People left food there all the time. Of course, she’d keep half a dozen for herself – there was no way she could resist snickerdoodles.

Suddenly, a self-proclaimed sweets lover popped into her head.

Pulling up the message app on her phone she sighed as she stared at the string of unanswered texts from Clint. He’d been trying to contact her since the day she kicked him out. Emily wanted none of it. Every call she sent straight to voicemail and every text she left on read. She took a moment to glance at the most recent texts.

Clint:

Babe. I swear to you, I didn’t want to go to Goody’s. I wasn’t there with Sharon. It was a lab thing. I found out where we were going when they pulled into the parking lot.

Clint:

Things with Sharon and me are over.

Clint:

How many times do I have to tell you that it meant nothing? It was just a stupid mistake.

Clint:

The least you could do is answer my calls and talk to me like an adult.

Clint:

This is exactly why I did what I did! You’re always so unwilling to open yourself up emotionally to me! I wouldn’t have cheated if my emotional needs were being met.

Clint:

I’m sorry Em. I didn’t mean that.

Clint:

It’s completely my fault. I’m just going crazy without you. I miss you. Please talk to me.

A small part of Emily told her to text him back. He gave her two years of his life. Didn’t she at least owe him the decency to explain himself? A larger part of her scoffed at the thought. No. She gave him two years of her life, and he didn’t even have the decency not to cheat on her. To hell with him and his reasons and opinions.

Pulling up her conversation with Dr. Barnes’, she smiled at his contact name – Brooklyn. She only meant it as a way to tease him about his big city caution, never as an actual nickname. But apparently, he liked it. So, she kept it. Moving back into the kitchen, Emily picked up one of the hot cookies and began to nibble on the edge as she popped herself up onto the counter.

Emily:

Question – do you still happen to have a major sweet tooth?

Absentmindedly, she chewed on the cookie, switching over to Twitter and telling herself that it wasn’t a big deal that she texted him. It was casual. It was just a casual question. She had extra cookies. He probably liked cookies. Normal. Super normal. However, the way her heart leapt in her chest and her phone leapt in her hand made her feel anything but normal.

Brooklyn:

If I didn’t, would I be going to town on the three loaves of banana bread Steve dropped off earlier?

Emily:

Bake sale?

Brooklyn:

Bake sale.

Emily:

Test batches?

Brooklyn:

Yup. He wanted to impress Natasha. How did you know?

Emily:

I just spent the last five hours baking with Nat. We made a lot of test batches.

Brooklyn:

Wow. They were made for each other.

Emily couldn’t agree more. If Steve truly spent the entire afternoon baking multiple loaves of banana bread to impress Natasha, then her best friend might have found the one.

Emily:

So, I’m guess since you already have three loaves of banana bread you probably don’t want any snickerdoodles?

Brooklyn:

I never said that.

She laughed at his quick response.

Brooklyn:

Are they any good?

Emily:

It’s my personal recipe.

Brooklyn:

That doesn’t answer the question.

Emily:

It’s the best cookie you’ll ever have.

Brooklyn:

The best? That’s a pretty strong statement.

Emily:

I wouldn’t make it if it wasn’t true.

Dots appeared on the screen as Dr. Barnes responded. Emily watched, wondering what he could possibly be typing as the seconds ticked by. Finally, they disappeared to be replaced by his response.

Brooklyn:

Do I get to taste your cookie?

Emily choked on the bite of cookie she’d been chewing. Coughing and sputtering, she attempted to dislodge the treat from her throat. When she’d finally managed to avoid certain death, she turned the faucet on beside her and used her hand to scoop water into her mouth. Glancing back down at the phone in her other hand, she stared at the message. Did he mean it to sound that way? To sound so dirty? Heart beating prominently in her ears, she gathered what courage she had and replied.

Emily:

You can have a taste.

Emily:

Of my cookie that is.

Oh god. Way to keep it professional. What had she done?

Brooklyn:

I’m sure your cookie is delicious. When can I have a bite?

Abort. Abort. Things were quickly getting out of hand. She was exchanging sexual innuendos with the man when all she wanted was to get rid of some of her extra baked goods. The way she saw it, Emily had two options: keep the flirting going and see where it went or put a stop to it now. In a panic, she chose the second option.

Emily:

I’ll bring a dozen into the lab tomorrow! I’m sure you’ll like them. Feel free to share them with the other professors as well. G2G! See you in class.

Hitting send, Emily threw her phone face down onto the counter. Shoving the rest of the snickerdoodle into her mouth, she jumped off the counter and walked towards the bathroom. She needed a long, cold shower.

Marvel Taglist: 

@caffiend-queen​

@hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall​

[darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts]

Devil’s Trust pt2

Warnings: Strong language, Moblord styling warlords.

Masterlist

---

Chapter 2

Rumour mills were in full production. The gossip circles were tapping out messages on the underground jungle drums throughout the city and word was out … The Ghost was here!

“Beware the shadows and its moving shade. Be mindful of your actions and the repercussions made. Judgement comes to those who don’t. Beware the Ghost.”

Every family with ties to the underground knew the stories. They were told and passed on generation to generation. Tales the grown-ups told the children the same way the ordinary everyday people would recite a fairy tale. Except these were different.

Fairy tales were edited narratives, sugar-coated and glossing over the gory details to give the next generation growing up in the world a little moral guidance. When it came to the stories about the Ghost there was nothing sweet about them. Even in the dark underbelly of the world, there were lines you didn’t cross, rules you obeyed and when that was ignored it was the Ghost that took you.  

It was because nothing about it was hidden and all of it was true that is struck fear into the hearts of all those living in the underworld. The Ghost was the avenging angel in their world. The Judge, jury and executioner at your final supper. They were responsible for making the unrepentant pay the price owed. Every detail behind the stories of the Ghost could be easily found in the lines of text written by the coroner; if they found the body at all. The question hanging in the air… who was the Ghost targeting now?

---

Two minutes, it was all he could claw back from the time given to him by Sasuke. He had to get out of the main flow of traffic. The road opened up after a few sharp turns, the wheels of his car were smoking as he pulled hard on the handbrake and went down some roads that were so narrow, they could take the wing mirrors off the car had he not been more aware of the space provided.

His engine as it raced through the old cobblestone routes of the old city filled the air with a monstrous roar even as the vibrations threatened to shake the chassis from the rest of the car. The other vehicles had not given up the pursuit but were now forced to follow him in single file. He wanted to get them out of town but that would be asking for too much. He followed the labyrinthine roads following a map in his own head and decided drawing them out to the dockyard was the best option. You’re in my playground. Don’t presume you can back me into a corner when I know all the short cuts.

The smile on his face grew deeper as his focus on the road ahead cleared. He was not so much the vision of a man being pushed in a murderous pursuit through the twisting veins of the city but that of one that was simply out for a drive on a long weekend. Yes, this was his city. The dark side streets and alleys were his bread and butter, all the old roads the jam that just served to make his nightlife all the sweeter for his hunt.

As the front of his car exited the alleyway like a bullet from a shotgun. The cobbles under his wheels gave way to slick dirt. The moisture from the water in the air here meant the ground was never what you could call dry. The natural clay content of it meant it was like skating on an icy pond. The other cars exited behind him and began to separate up to cover as many routes behind him as they could.

It was laughably predictable and he couldn’t avoid the dry chuckle that left him as he glanced in his rear-view mirror and once more pulled on his hand brake causing his car to spin on the ground under it so he could come face to face with his pursuers. The salt clogged mud slick sprayed in arcs by his rear bumper before falling still on the ground once more. He could almost feel the hesitation from them as he changed the game from cat and mouse into one of chicken.

Mitsuhide put his hand up to the handle on the roof clicking a hidden button that slid back a small compartment there revealing a primed and loaded gun. Now then, who’s first?

---

Stepping foot back into HQ Nobunaga was almost immediately accosted by a highly strung Hideyoshi. The man had been sitting in a chair by reception and practically pounced the second he saw his Boss’s highly polished shoes touch the tiles.

“You’re back!” The man blurted out as if in shock. Warm caramel brown eyes searched Nobu from top to toe as if he were expecting some sort of mortal wound to be present.

“Naturally.” Nobu replied rather lazily as he fixed his right-hand man with a nondescript look. He was a little amused but mostly thankful that it was past office hours and there were no clients that would be in need of explanations as to why the Vice President was acting like someone had put itching powders in his boxers.

“You didn’t answer your phone. I was worried.” Hideyoshi spoke with panic still clear in his voice and slightly shaking. You really would make someone a fine wife one day Yoshi. Still, for all your fussing I can’t deny you have been a dependable ally during some of the darker times.

“When are you never worried?” Nobu replied in exasperation failing to suppress the sigh that was building inside him.

“Why didn’t you answer?” Hideyoshi appeared hurt by being ignored and it was obvious it had been yet another thing he deemed life-threatening or at the very least major enough that could yet again bring down the foundations of their company that were already standing on rocky terrain. 

He didn’t know if it was the lingering effects of his time at the Birdcage or if he had simply found the eye of the emotional storm that had been raging inside him. He was reluctant to dwell too long on such a thing but he couldn’t keep his newfound amusement from escaping him.

Nobu smirked slightly and replied. “I left for a few hours. I fail to see what disasters could have befallen during that time that could not be easily handled by the men I left in my place. A fact that was confirmed when I turned my phone back on and was bombarded with several messages one of which was our new resident tech expert informing me that the matter was in hand.”

Hideyoshi stood where he was mouth agape at the succinct rundown of events. A surge of satisfaction washed over Nobu as he succeeded in rendering the other man speechless. The doors to the underground car park opened revealing a spectacled arrival carrying a bag printed with a grocery store logo.

“You fixed that?” Having found his voice again Hideyoshi stated more in shock than as a question as he turned his attention on the new arrival. Sasuke quickly looked between the two men noting that they were both showing polar opposite levels of the emotional spectrum and made the connection to the only incident of interest for the day.

“Yes. It did take a little bit of creative hacking to do it but I was able to shut down the news drone and have the incident written off as a scene being filmed for a new movie. Hardly something out with my skill set.” Sasuke pushed up his glasses causing them to glint in a way that made him look even more like a casual superhero than normal.

“You think people will buy that?” Hideyoshi stammered at the unbelievable ease with which Sasuke replied. Nobunaga stood silently watching the two converse. He plunged his hand deep into his trouser pocket his fingertips finding the edge of his key that would allow him to escape to his rooms.

“They already have.” Sasuke flashed his smartphone with a still image of the street view below the drone and the new headline “High-Speed preview of new action movie – was the Director’s choice of using the real world refreshing or irresponsible?” Nobunaga’s lips tugged into a large satisfied smile and chuckled with the amusement of the audacious plan as well as the apparent effect, it had on Hideyoshi.

“You don’t exactly look shocked by any of this.” Hideyoshi stated trying to figure out why he seemed so lax about the events. Ever since the companies had merged, he had to confess he had a hard time getting a read on this young man. His expressionless face gave nothing away and it was unsettling to not even be able to detect a real shift in tone as he spoke. Hideyoshi was a people person or as Mitsuhide had pointed out on more than one occasion a people pleaser. To be unable to get even subliminal guidance from someone as to how to assist them or what they are even thinking unnerved him.

“Kenshin is my Boss. Being asked to shut down a few cameras and changing a few things on the city grid to redirect attention is nothing.” Sasuke replied in a calm manner with a little shrug that only seemed to frustrate Hideyoshi even more.

---

The sound of tape being pulled from a roll and placed over cardboard almost seemed to echo in the almost empty rooms as the last of their things was finally packed. Her cat sat by the window where it had claimed a place for itself the second Mitsuhide had retrieved it from Takahiro’s loft space. Swishing its tail unhappily, as its blissful time enjoying the sunlight was being disturbed by the sounds of moving.

It had been a whirlwind experience coming back to Azuchi HQ after everything that happened. She had thought to try to explain everything at the church about her living arrangements but it seemed Mitsuhide already knew that she no longer had her apartment. He could have left her to return to Takahiro’s apartment but it seemed that was not an idea he wished to entertain. All of the familiar faces welcomed her regardless of the tension that was present in the air. Something had clearly been happening but it was going to be a few days before anyone explained the current situation to her.

Staying in his rooms at Azuchi was only ever supposed to be temporary. He was pulling strings and taking late-night phone calls trying to secure somewhere new. He wanted her to be safe it was key and his number one priority. Whilst it was safe at HQ Mitsuhide hadn’t felt entirely comfortable leaving her there on a permanent basis. [Name] was effectively a magnet for danger, as far as he could work out. Whilst they had survived a lot, he had no liking for the idea of leaving her in a place where she could easily become embroiled in yet another “plan”. On top of that if the others discovered [Name] was related in some distant way to the enemy he really didn’t like the idea of what might happen to her.

She took another look around the room just in case she had missed something they needed. Thinking that it looked just as empty as it had done when she first came here. Mitsuhide wasn’t exactly minimalist by choice it was something to do with his work. The less you have the fewer things people can use against you, but the lack of luxury items or things you might expect as a common standard of living somewhere were also not present in the apartment. He was never really at home to notice that an electric kettle or a microwave might actually help him a little in the mornings or late evenings. The longer she stayed the more she noticed little things she had taken for granted, like a hairdryer. She had taken to picking up these missed items on her way home from work.

Mitsuhide said nothing to the accumulation of objects appearing in his apartment. He knew what they all were and how to use them just had never seen a need to have them. They were together and would be for a long time. His small isolated little hole had been filled with something far closer to a kind of peace than he ever thought someone like him would even have a hope of seeing. It was a form of culture shock that was not entirely unpleasant. Despite his home being taken over with progressively more acquired bric-a-brac and miscellaneous goods, he felt comfortable and at ease. She had turned his place into the same warm and inviting area her apartment was, and he found he sort of liked it.

“Hey Kitten, you got any more ready to go?” A lively voice called out before the person attached to it had even managed to make it into the room.

“Think this is the last one.” [Name] called back turning to smile at the men who had been helping shift most of the belongings.

“Good because I’m not making any more trips.” Ieyasu huffed cracking open the lid on a bottle of mineral water and chugging half of it in one go.

“It was nice of you to help out Yasu.” [Name] smiled sweetly unaffected by the salty blonde’s attitude.

“I’m only doing it to shut Hideyoshi up and to get you and the body collector out of my hair.” Ieyasu hastily started to make an excuse desperate to hide the redness he felt breaking out on his face. He wasn’t exactly a stranger to interacting with women but there were certain types of them that seemed to trigger him to fluster badly. Masa often teased him that it looked like he was a teenager having a short circuit because a pretty girl spoke to them.

“Body collector?” She inclined her head a quizzical expression replacing that beaming smile.

“Best not to ask Lass. Yasu’s still a little salty over having to deal with what is left of your fella’s… whatever he does.” Masa chuckled and put his hand on her head. [Name] pulled herself back swatting the hand from her and met his smile with a brief glare that was rendered powerless by the man’s lack of concern.

“It’s strange to think I’m leaving here again.” She rolled her eyes and glanced about again.

“It’s not too late you know Kitten. Just have to say the word and I could steal you away…” Masa moved like a cat sliding up closer and leaning over to whisper in her ear. Failing spectacularly as his volume control was definitely off.

“My-my, someone is feeling confident despite his lack of depth perception.” A teasing voice came some somewhere behind them carrying a chilling edge to it. All three of them turned to see Mitsuhide propped up against the doorway, one hand in his trouser pocket. The smile on his face at first glance appeared pleasant but didn’t reach his eyes at all, it could send a shiver up anyone’s back.

---

It had taken some time to secure a residence for them but after conducting some final checks he was finally back at HQ. That little diversion from earlier had been interesting but he was still thankful for it to have reached its conclusion swiftly. He parked his car alongside the van that stood there with its loading doors wide open revealing box after box piled up methodically, each one labelled in her delicate handwriting. Looks like I’m a little late to the party on this one. I wonder who got the job of assisting the Princess. I could see Hideyoshi doing that, the man never knows when to stop smothering.

Moving from the car park to the elevator in the lobby he was hit with a feeling of something a little nostalgic. He had never really taken the time to appreciate the building. It was a base of operations, somewhere to work out of and run back too. It was also naturally a legitimate business and on a weekday was as busy as an anthill at a picnic. Today though it was quiet and as he stepped into the lift, he realised that the significance of the place was about to shift for him. He would be here but it was only going to be for work. He would maintain a room but it would only be for use on occasion. Is this what a normal life feels like? Working and then going home somewhere else?

The closer he got to his rooms the more he was aware of activity. And then just before he entered, he heard the unmistakable voice of Masa.

“It’s not too late you know Kitten. Just have to say the word and I could steal you away…”

“My-my, someone is feeling confident despite his lack of depth perception.” He stopped in the doorway adopting an air of nonchalance when he was, in fact, feeling anything but. The familiar tease in his voice didn’t manage to cover for him either. Of all the people why him? It’s not as bad as Shingen I suppose but still…

“I knew you were there.” Masa snorted meeting Mitsuhide’s smile with a knowing grin of his own. It was like watching a cat and dog in a face-off about to have a scuffle.

“Then you are also lacking in your sense of personal preservation.” Mitsuhide slowly moved closer to [Name] pushing himself between her and Masa forcing the other man back. Masa was chuckling and looking at Mitsuhide as if he had just found something brand new and shiny to play with. Don’t try to play games with me. You can only imagine what I will do and even then, I would easily surpass your delusions. Wait a minute why am I so annoyed right now?

“Have you met Masa? The guy is a walking disaster who is basically a pain in my ass.” Ieyasu spoke up disrupting the atmosphere enough to dissipate some of the friction.

“Haha, I’m going to miss you guys.” Her laughter from behind him snuffed out the last of his rising turmoil. She was a miracle balm to his fraying nerves. He was still not used to this thing called “love” they shared. It still threatened to be an all-consuming fire he would happily die in.

“No need to pull that face [Name].” Masa adjusted himself and pulled back. He had amused himself enough and didn’t wish to upset Mitsuhide further. It was so easy to see the emotions playing in the usually unreadable man. He had seen them clear as day in his friend after that fake funeral incident and the only one oblivious to it was apparently the man himself.

“He’s right, not like you are going so far away you can’t visit. I will probably be busy but you will no doubt find a way to disturb me.”

“Wouldn’t hurt you to be a bit more honest there Yasu.” Masa laughed and roughly rubbed his knuckles over the top of the fluffy blonde’s head, before picking up the last sealed box. “Anyway, I’ll take this down to the van.”

“I’ll hold the door for you.” Ieyasu leapt forward and barged past Masa nearly knocking him over in a rush to escape the room.

“Being awfully friendly today aren’t you Yasu?” Masa looked a little shocked at the sudden show of enthusiastic helpfulness.

“Not really I just don’t want to stay around here and play gooseberry.”

“Those two make a good pair.” [Name] said wistfully as she watched the others leave. It made him feel like he wanted to make her look at him.

“They do have an extraordinary ability to make up for each other’s deficiency.” He turned around locking her small frame in his arms. “Now then little one whatever shall I do with you?” I never had myself pegged for a possessive man. You really do have a curious power little mouse. The things you do to me.

“Me? What did I do now? I haven’t done anything.” [Name] startled and her blue eyes began to flicker around wandering the room attempting to remember anything that might have incurred punishment.

“You are very guilty my dear, you just haven’t realised it yet.” He dipped low and sealed her lips shut with his. I will never get bored with watching you, my love. If this is a dream I don’t want to wake up.

“Mmfph… Mitsuhide! Don’t tell me you’re jealous.” She placed her hand on his chest pushing him back. Her upturned eyes looking at his searching for answers he didn’t wish to give. Jealous? Ah, so that’s what that was…

“Alright… I won’t tell you.” His lips curved into a wolf-like grin as he claimed her mouth again.

---

The stars in the sky were obscured by that sickly glow from the city. He could only very faintly pick out one or two points of light above him. The air felt heavy but he was unsure whether that was an omen of rain or the echo of his own discomfort.  

His time at the club had been a welcome distraction even if he hadn’t been able to completely let go. The carefully crafted world of his was becoming more unstable. Voices carried in the wind, not wanting to openly admit the facts. They were concerned once more and it all had a negative impact on the trust, they had in Azuchi. A trust they had in him. The firm hand he once held the city with was being pried open and he could feel it slipping like sand through his fingers. But who the hell is it? Who is still pulling strings?

He sighed and lowered himself down onto the bench in the pavilion. His gaze moved from a fixed point in the past to the present and he frowned. Nobody liked change, but that is exactly what was happening. Esshu should have collapsed but didn’t. There was one reason for that, the only one that made any logical sense and it was that there was more than one head running the show. Wheels and cogs began to turn in his mind as he thought through various proposals and suggestions that he could use to secure a foot in the door at the other company. Anything I offer would be much harder to refuse if I could just find the focal point. That weak link in the chain that holds all the strings. Who do I know that could find that?

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