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moondirti · 1 year ago

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11. SUCK IT UP

CHAPTER ELEVEN OF ANIMALIC | MIGUEL O'HARA X F!READER

↼ chapter ten / chapter twelve ⇀

summary: you aren't feeling too good. miguel helps you get over it, in more ways than one.

explicit (18+) | 6.7k words warnings: enemies to lovers, smut, cunnilingus, face-sitting, fingering, squirting, power imbalance (everything is consensual), miguel is... sweet (?), mild fluff, angst, very little plot, mentions of death/gore notes: inspired by this hysterical ask. twas supposed to be a bit of short fun but i am a chronic over-writer. thus, i present to you – a week late tangent about miguel's magical tongue! enjoy

The night ends with you riding Miguel’s face, panties ripped and cartons of food waiting idly on your desk. If you could shatter the pleasure that seizes your brain with a vice-like grip, you would take a moment to admit one thing.

You don’t know how you got here.

It’s not the fact of it that’s got you fazed; no, you’ve long since come to terms with the new perimeters of your relationship. Really, it’s been the only active component in your life as of late, serving itself in all your food for thought. You’ve contemplated it before going to bed, upon waking up, during your lunches with Hobie – where the spider critiques your mentor so often that you’ve learnt not to mention your less-than-professional relationship out loud.

And, well– For every moment in between, you’re caught up in this exact transgression.

If you’re being perfectly honest with yourself, it’s fruitless to attempt to rationalise it. The day’s happenings couldn’t have hinted towards this at all. In fact, your morning had started miles off from where you are now. Laying on the ground, ambition fried save for one goal:

To take a break.

Your dreams still burn on your eyelids when you blink them open. They’re feverish, ochre and plum and sickly green, a little too blurry to make out the details that would’ve otherwise helped you decipher their meaning. It was something about blood, something about patchouli, and a conclusive explosion that fizzled with bright light.

Though the latter might merely be ideation. You forgot to close your blinds before falling asleep – the only reason you’re awake being the sun bathing your room in white.

A migraine strikes at your temple, rhythmic and reinforced with stainless steel. It’s vengeful. Your entire body is, actually. Sour aches run up your muscles, swelling around your joints, digging into your bones. When you attempt to readjust, your spine screams in protest. So does your stomach, gurgling for either food or relief. It’s hard to tell really; the pain is so profound that blaming a particular area would be dismissing the others.

You do know who to blame, though.

That asshole.

He’s ruthless. An absolute implacable force that grills you almost every hour of the day. If you didn’t know any better, you’d have said that his concern with your training is due to a growing fondness for you. But you’ve seen enough evidence of his method to prove otherwise – he’s merely approaching it with as much dedication as he prescribes anything else. Like the fate of the multiverse relies on your betterment, like his seeing to it is some sort of commandment by God.

(Perhaps it is.

But not even you take gospel this seriously.)

It’s been a couple weeks and you’re still not used to it. Over the year since gaining your powers, you’ve never exerted yourself this much. You’re so weak, you find, that your strength can be likened to that of a civilian. The constant wear and tear hasn’t pushed that front, either – the first few sessions, you’d come dangerously close to throwing up from the sheer exhaustion of it all. Your gut turned into itself, gags coated with bile as you ushered Miguel away from your perimeter. The only thing that held you back was a lack of energy to actually commit to the issue.

That, and the promise of his fingers buried deep in your cunt.

You’ve begun to understand him, though. The scientist part of you can’t help but pick up on his patterns, storing them in one place for further analysis. Eventually, having enough data allowed you to draw up a trend.

It tends to go something like this:

He compiles an exercise to help you learn a lesson. It’s devised to push you both mentally and physically – a killing of two birds with one stone. To phrase it like that, plain cut and simple, makes it sound almost juvenile, like a look into a kindergarten teacher’s book of discipline. The punishment should fit the crime, or however it goes. But it isn’t easy, not by a long shot. He seems to see what you have trouble harrowing from yourself; those meaty flaws, fattened from neglect, maggot-strewn and pulsing with a verve of their own. They’re pinpointed, slated, and then he gives you the knife all expectantly, like you can kill it by yourself.

The beasts’ name has been resilience lately. According to him, planking for two minutes wasn’t a sufficient enough appeasement to it.

Because the next day, he always expounds upon the lesson from the last. The training is a developed form of the one that nearly just killed you, and he tests how you respond. Your enthusiasm or lack thereof doesn’t matter, it’s your perseverance despite it that he rewards. You can smile every time you fall, if you don’t get up, then he doesn’t grant you an orgasm.

If you do, however–

Then, fuck. It’s so good that you often forget the struggle it took to earn it in the first place.

A strict system. One with little room for loopholes or faults. You can tell he’s thought it through – every exertion is met with an upside, a failsafe tailored to the type of pupil you’re proving to be. It means that he’s done this before; is accustomed to the patience and regimen it takes to guide someone as wayward as you.

You add it to your tally of proof that he’s a father.

(He’s able to come up with detailed plans surrounding your weaknesses.

You, on the other hand, have to resort to contrived assumptions to get a glimpse into who he is.

The imbalance is present, glaring. Enough to irk you but not enough to implode just yet. You stuff it away for later.)

Solid system aside, it certainly doesn’t account for how much of it you can tolerate. You’re paralyzed, hollowed out by the endless workouts. And while, yes, you could go to the cafeteria to fill up with fuel that alleviates the effects, you physically can’t move out from under your sheets – limp as the mattress that cushions you.

You wonder what he would say if he saw you like this. It’s become harder to guess now that you’re unsure of his true feelings towards you. A Spanish taunt, likely; something along the lines of have I worn you out already? And you’d huff but secretly squirm under the prospect of disappointing him, a scolded schoolgirl caught with a lame excuse between index and thumb.

Hell, he’s not even around and you’re still plump with shame. Your room doesn’t feel nearly as comforting with the knowledge of what waits outside. Down the hall, up the staircase. Through the common room and across the lobby. In that little gym, hidden in a corner near the med-bay, where no one frequents when the more advanced training facilities are in another sector entirely. You check the alarm on your desk – 09:00. He’s probably there already, waiting on you with arms crossed.

In your mind's eye, he’s wearing that black compression top he seems to resort to on laundry days. Grey sweatpants too. You don’t know what to call the passing reflection – fantasy is all too mortifying a word. Wish? Absolutely not. You wish for nothing when it comes to him. Except maybe–

Thighs squeezing, you brush the objection away. You could get it easily if you’re able to muster the energy. Take it one step at a time. Change into your athletic gear. Eat a light breakfast. Show up, if not a little late. Miguel would make a passing comment about it but nod at the fact that you came at all. And it would be enough, that little assurement, to motivate you through whatever gruelling exercise he has planned today.

If you let him know, though – how hard it was for you to go – would he add to your reward? So far it’s only been his fingers on you, rubbing you while you run slick onto him. Deliciously thick as they fuck into you, long and perfect at pinpointing that one spot that makes you just burst. Certainly better than your own, but…

His touch is beginning to lose its novelty. Increasingly, you’re left wanting more. You come down from your highs gaping, clenching around the memory of a length that’s only ever been in your mouth. And if he’s able to make you see stars with just his hand–

Then you’d abandon the cosmos just to get him to fuck you.

(A proclamation you’d never say out loud. Even your conscious cringes at just how depraved it sounds.)

So, you try.

Really, you do. With the fear of failing him and the lust that’s taken root in your core, you kick your legs off the edge of your bed. The air is frigid, biting at your heels as they press to tile, which is just as cold itself. You let it diffuse into your feet, getting used to it while bracing yourself for the pain bound to reemerge. Black broaches your vision, blotting its edges. You opt to ignore the blatant warning, sucking in a hurried breath – resilience – before rising to a stand.

Two seconds pass. You go blind. Like a marionette with its strings cut, you tip over and collapse to the floor.

Whether a headrush or your muscles finally giving up on you, you can’t help but attribute the display to none other than your ‘mentor’ himself. Cocky bastard with his stupid fucking philosophies. Resilience my ass. Look where that’s gotten you now; capsized like a turtle with a shell too big for its own good.

Groaning, you flip over to your side. Your elbow had taken the brunt of the impact, yet your head rings with alarm nonetheless. You’ll just… You’ll just stay right here. Yeah.

He’ll understand.

(And, if not, then you’ve dealt with him in poorer moods.)

18:00.

You’re pathetic.

So much more than that, actually. Pathetic is a description reserved for the pitiable. A person has to actually sympathise with you in order for it to be true, and you’re sure that if anyone saw you in this state – God forbid – then they’d convulse in disgust instead.

You cycle through a list of viable synonyms. Miserable. Lame. An absolute tragic case of wasted potential. None quite fit like you want them to. They all feel wrong – mirrors so distorted you can’t make out your reflection in them if you tried.

It’s just… becoming of you.

If there were a word that specifically meant befitting to Wraith, then you’d clutch it close to your chest for how validating it would read. It feels like all the work you’ve put in thus far was for nothing. Despite how it may seem, you didn’t just do it for Miguel. If it had been, then you would’ve given in half a year ago upon realising just how attractive your pursuer was.

(You remember it, clear as a waxy moon on an ink-blot night.

He’d thrown you into dry-wall and you’d called him a coward for not looking you in the eye. It must’ve hit him where it hurt, because his mask drew back and before you knew it, you were phasing in and out to the beat of your fluttering heart.

It was the first time you saw him. Once you managed to escape, your fist suffered through its duty in muffling your moans, cut by biting incisors as you rubbed one out in a hostel bed.)

No. It was for you. To put distance between the inconsiderate menace you were before Earth-15 and the woman you desperately want to be. You’d started to notice the difference too. Mentally, sure – where your self-hatred was tamped to the background, and every action you took was opened with weighty contemplation. But even physically – your eyebags had faded and you looked much cleaner than you have in a long, long time.

Where’s that progress now?

Because you’re crumpled on the spot where you fell almost eleven hours ago, with the addition of a pillow to support your head. You’re much like a wad of chewed gum, spit out by some being greater than this dimension. Gross and regressive and littering this world with your very existence.

It’s a close parallel to how downtrodden you’d felt in that convenience store bathroom, bandaging your forearm where Miguel’s claws had dug deep into the flesh. Your throat had been tight with suppressed sobs, both pain and primal fear replacing the pus that surged from your wound. The wash area was filthy. Dirt-packed grout and grey tap water. Paper towels balled in wet wads. But it felt right for you at the time, like you deserved no better.

Of course, you didn’t. Don’t. You went out and got an innocent woman killed not much later.

You still think about her sometimes. Her blood had been piping hot, almost bubbling from the yawning hole in her throat. The rescue was half-assed – you could’ve incapacitated the robber after knocking him out – but you’d been so filled with false bravado at actually having done something that it never occurred to you. The instinct lacking. Your spider-sense, absent. If you’d ever considered grasping the reins to your powers, you could’ve prevented the bullet from phasing through you and meeting her instead. You’ve always been short-sighted like that; prioritising the now over the what if.

And that’s what you stayed here to remedy. But if the same thing happened tomorrow, what’s stopping you from repeating your mistakes? You’d been too broken this morning to process that.

You should’ve just sucked it up and went.

From your place on the floor, out the window, only the top of Nueva York’s cityscape is visible. The sky has darkened to the colour of a bruised peach – an oxidised sort of orange that reminds you of last night’s dream – and the nightlights of some buildings flicker on cue when the sun dips below the horizon. You can see the ninety-degree highway up to Second Base from here. It’s been your entertainment for today, with its little commuting cars and the train that zips back and forth.

If you focus hard enough, then you can trick yourself into believing that the space station is visible, floating just above the stratosphere – where gravity is weak enough to let it hold its place. But you’re a woman of science and you know that it's impossible, that the silhouette you’re picturing is a figment of your wild reverie and you’re still anchored to earth where dreams are just that. Dreams. Your eyes burn from attempting it, anyway, those damn dust motes cropping up again.

Christ.

Given that life’s slowed, you’re spotting them more often. Back in that empty storelot, right after being bit, you’d fixated on them for a brief instant. They fit in with the setting back then, lazy in a stream of sunlight. Colourful – pink, green, orange, gold – flipping through the shades in a way that made sense. But their appearances have lost that sense of cohesion. Now, they emerge when you least expect them. In shadows. Hovering in corners not too far away. Places where it’s unnatural for them to be.

You reach a hand out. There’s no purpose behind it. Just… an exploratory action. To test the unknown. Your shoulder aches when you do, and so you don’t notice how odd it feels at first. Like electricity, buzzing at your fingertips. The motes start to drift towards your skin, magnetised to something you can’t explain.

When you sit up to investigate it further, there’s a knock at your door.

Hobie?

Couldn’t be. He mentioned he’d be away for a while last you talked.

There are few others who know of your assignment. Reilly, but he hasn’t paid mind to you since introducing your room. Jess Drew, maybe, though that’s far-fetched.

So–

You look down at your dishevelled state. In just a plain shirt and your pair of oldest underwear, you’re hardly dressed for entertainment. Especially when it’s him.

Is he checking up on you?

It’s so stupid that even in a depressive slump you’re able to laugh at yourself. Check up is the only way you can put it without making things worse. If he’s passing by, then it would be in suspicion. You’re no idiot, after all, in spite of your dejection. He wouldn’t let you roam free without having measures in place to ensure you don’t leave. That may just mean looking in from time to time.

Though it’s practically guaranteed that it isn’t out of concern.

(You have to remind yourself; you wish for nothing when it comes to Miguel O’Hara.)

Another knock. It’s hastier this time. Three raps with sharp knuckles. Impatient.

Panic overtakes all motor functions as you scramble to a stand. Yesterday’s joggers are thrown over your desk chair, in need of a wash with all the fluids secreted in them. They’re the closest in your vicinity, though, and will have to do for now. You briefly fuss over how your hair looks, whether your unwashed face is visibly oily – all fixable things that you dismiss while tripping to the doorway. The waistband is barely over your ass before you swing it open, greeting Miguel with a grimace.

Idiot. You shouldn’t have opened it that wide. Now he can see your mess of a r–

“Bad time, I’m guessing.” Is all he says, voice lilting into a question. You can’t help but register it with a tone of condescension; the raised eyebrows certainly don’t convince you otherwise.

All you really want to do is tell him off for the impromptu visit. The chagrin is there, latched onto your throat. But before you can, and against your better judgement, you give him an extensive once-over, taking heed of his state. What’s ironic – a tranquillising point that promptly shuts you up – is that it’s worse than yours.

In the complete opposite way.

Three big rips run along his torso, interfering with the technology of his spider-suit. It glitches between static and a transparent condition, baring the bronzed skin of his chest. There’s blood there too, reiterating the crimson that peeks from beneath his floppy hair, which is sweat-drenched. Tousled. He’s tousled, like he waltzed directly from a fight. A particularly bad one at that.

(And of course he still looks better.)

“One can say the same about you.” You bite.

“Don’t be smart.” He says. It isn't the snap you take it to be, more a mumble with consequence to his fangs. His mouth doesn't sit right when they’re withdrawn. You run your tongue along your gums upon remembering how they’d felt, pierced in your neck. “I couldn’t make our session this morning. An urgent issue came up.”

Immediately, something fresh smooths over you, like a balm to the anxiety that’d been plaguing you all day. He wasn’t even there. You’re tempted to laugh, but your humour dims on its way out. And when all is said and done, you find the disquietude is still there, nestled between your ribs.

You just blink in acknowledgement.

His jaw tenses. “We can reschedule.”

“You don’t have to sound so guilty about it.” The joke contains perhaps more sarcasm than you intend for it. It echoes, spiteful, and you at least have the sense to be ashamed, for you follow it up with a small reassurance. “It’s fine. I never showed.”

“Sick?”

“Something like that.”

(Lie.

Look at you, just embodying ignobility today.)

He nods, scanning your dishevelled clothing and chapped lips. Your only drink of water all day had been from the bathroom tap in an especially lamentable episode. It smacks, as though it were filled with cotton, the inside of your cheeks dry paper.

You wait for him to say something, unease broiling in your core. He does the same, gaze shifting from the scars on your arm to your bedroom and everything in between. It lingers on the external hallway, scanning for passersby. You recognise the indecision. Deliberation. Still – the long stretch of silence that hangs between you is awkward, broadening with every passing second, a gluttonous sort of tension whose favourite meal is the undefined mess that is your relationship to one another.

Finally, Miguel speaks up. “I’ll be back.”

And then he leaves.

He just… fucking–

Walks away, off to whatever takes precedence over your less-than-invigorating conversation. Which, admittedly, could be counted as anything in the world. But seriously, where is the decorum? Showing up unannounced only to leave you waiting? You run through the various reasons he couldn’t stand to be in your presence any longer, and what he expects you to do before his return.

The most plausible is that his injuries needed tending to. If they were that severe though, then why he saw stopping by first a greater priority is beyond you. In any case, he’ll probably return refreshed. But for what? Your response couldn’t have been misinterpreted to mean that you wanted to reschedule the missed session for tonight. You’re still sore, thank you very much, and in a much shoddier mood than you had been previous.

(This is what you wanted though; a second chance.

‘Just suck it up.’)

Steeling yourself, you shut the door and hobble down to the back of your room, stripping on your way. You’ll tidy up after your shower – it's bound to wash at least half of your self-loathing.

You just hope your leggings are clean.

As it turns out, you were the one who misinterpreted things.

Dressed in your athletic gear with damp skin and your sneakers primed to go, the dread had started to ebb away into a begrudging acceptance. Yes, your body still tenses with lactic-mutiny, raging where you’ve exerted it in the past, and your head still sings in migraine tones. But they all came second to the split-second fluster that had risen when he’d knocked on your door. That fear of disappointment returned with a vengeance, your worry for regression packing the final punch.

And, really. What were you supposed to think?

He left without so much as an excuse. It was up to you to decide what he’d see upon coming back. Just based on the nature of your prior meetings, the answer heavily leaned towards your own durability. Ready to face whatever exercise he has to throw your way, supposed sickness aside. You were actually quite proud of yourself for it, directing a heavy-handed pat on the back for the nail you ‘hit on its head.’

Never in your blurry dreams could you have predicted this.

Your face burns hot with puerile embarrassment.

“Um–”

“I figured you haven’t eaten.” Miguel explains, curling the plastic bags up in a gesture akin to surrender. They’re solid white, those thin types that bend under the weight of the cartons packed inside. You’re unable to process it before your stomach does, growling in suppressed hunger.

“No.” You shuffle to the side to allow him in. He takes the invitation, carefully, traipsing within your quarters to place the food on your desk. “I haven’t.”

The air resumes its resting level of edginess, however you’re far too wrapped up in your own head to buckle underneath it this time. It’s cold, you ascertain, your skin puckering in a gradient from foot to toe. His survey follows the same line, regarding your changed appearance in intrigue, cheeks sinking with a downward smile. It looks positively smug.

“Sorry, I thought… You’re not here to dole out another one of your lessons?”

“You’re sick aren’t you.” He isn’t interrogative in the slightest. You can’t bring yourself to lie again, so you stay silent. “I see you got dressed regardless.”

“Well, that’s me. Just a sucker for appearances.” You scoff, shutting the door behind you. The room appears infinitesimal in his presence, collapsing into those broad shoulders. “Tidied the space too and everything.”

Tall, packed with undiluted muscle. No longer in his spider-suit, but clothes more casual. A bandage stretched across his forehead. It’s stark against his skin, white on bronze and you can’t help but follow the way he gleams under the warm lighting. Fresh – he must’ve showered too, further evidence found in the way his hair curls, dips, drops of water rolling down his nape. You dig your teeth into your lip. Any closer and you’re bound to hit a wall of patchouli, that aphrodisiacal scent that triggers you like an animal in heat.

“Is that so?” He prods, unconvinced. It’s dark outside and you feel confined to this box. “You weren’t just anticipating it?”

“Anticipation is a forgiving word. No one would look forward to torment.”

His brows knit together, the creases between them playful, like the very implication is offensive on the same magnitude as a low-life’s taunt.

“But…” There’s nowhere to back into when he takes a step closer, your bed hitting the back of your knees. “You got dressed regardless.” He reinstates, emphasising each word, syllables punctuated to make his point. If you weren’t cornered, snared in the clutches of a cat celebrating its next meal, you’d have been able to see where this is going.

As it stands, you’re blind.

“You know what I think?” He adds upon your reticence. You shake your head. “I think, it’s finally starting to hit you.”

“Hit… Wh–”

“The point. These past few weeks have been tough, I won’t pretend otherwise.” Miguel clarifies. “But it was only the first part of it. Withstanding struggle, that torment you speak so… fondly of.”

“Like you said,” You catch on, recalling the reality check he’d given you that day with the plank. “Y’know. Resilience.”

“Remind me of the other half of it again.”

“There’s… Withstanding struggle,” You repeat stupidly, working overtime to try and fetch his exact words. It’s an almost impossible feat, the gears in your mind turning on empty fuel. The initial lecture wasn’t that long ago, but it’s been intercepted by a million other philosophies. And he’s right there, ducked close to your level, keen eyes patiently waiting for you to continue. His breath fans across your cheek. The pressure worsens. You feel dumb. “And–”

You resort to context, then – grasping for the crux of his little tangent. What did you do to inspire it, anyway?

It hits you so suddenly your neck twinges with phantom whiplash.

“Recovering when you fall.” You complete.

“That’s it.” The whispered praise tickles you, like sand filling an hourglass. Your tummy sinks, heavy with it. It’s warm and dry and feels much like how his bare hand did, supporting your neck under rubble. Behind your back, your own wind together as you shoot him a vampish look.

“Who would’ve thought.”

He shrugs. “Was your faith that lacking?”

“There were a few times, yeah. You should’ve seen me this morning,”

“Oh, I can imagine.”

“Fell right to the floor. Almost died, I’m telling you. I stayed right here,” You tap the ground with your heel. “All day.”

“It was not that bad,” He insists, speaking with a levity you don’t often hear from him. It’s nice when he reciprocates like this. You’ve always reckoned that he took himself seriously one-hundred percent of the time. You find that you get along better when he doesn’t.

“I wouldn’t be so sure.”

“Yeah?”

“Yep.” You pop the P, using the excuse to wet your lips. The guard you keep constantly raised bends to the contours of his face, curved elegantly around those high cheekbones and the jaw he must physically sharpen to get looking so pronounced. He’s studying you – you sense it, teasing your lashes, noting the way your eyes pointedly avoid his. They’re planted firmly to his neck, where corded muscles stretch under skin, so strong you can practically hear them creak.

Your heartbeat skips from between your thighs. When you rub them together, they glide easily, lubricated by the slick pooling into your panties.

“No logical reason you should continue putting up with it, then.”

It could turn out that Miguel’s voice is modulated and you wouldn’t be surprised given how pleasing it is to listen to. Deep, controlled from a low point in his chest where smouldering coal chars it until it’s rugged. You always pay closer attention to the letters through which his accent comes through; short O’s and throaty D’s. His mouth hardly moves when he speaks. You wonder when he chooses to properly utilise it. Whether he does at all.

Your kiss had been entirely one-sided. His rewards are so detached. There’s a lot you haven’t explored yet; with every passing second, the greater the urge is to push and find out.

“Except we can both appreciate why I do,” You breathe, throwing caution to the wind and catching his stare. An irrepressible smile blooms at the spirited expression he gives you. Eyebrows raised in a thick arch, forming an amused look that only bolsters you further.

“For your redemption?” He baits, only to interrupt your response. “Or…” Your nerves spark. “For this–”

And then he cups you over your leggings, pawing where you’re brim with molten arousal. Hips bucking, your jaw hinges to expel a high-pitched keen, pinched from the back of your gullet. You latch onto his wrist, eager to either neg him on or push him away – but with the torrid fuzz that gains control of your systems, you can’t work it out.

“Do you deserve it?” His ask caresses the shell of your ear, a whisper, fingers slowing until you land on an answer.

Distrusting yourself to verbalise it, you give a frantic nod, mortifyingly desperate. It’s as much of a revelation for you as it is for him, manifested with every needy rut you give his hand. Miguel lets you seek the pleasure, pinning harder to provide the pressure you need, before withdrawing just as assuredly.

You could almost sob. Your nose is stuffy and your lips bitten and you so badly wish to be filled with anything to help you forget your miserable day. When he taps your ass, you assign every ounce of remaining intellect to decipher the vague gesture – eventually falling back on your bed in a close measure of what you assume he means. It’s a sterling guess. Your shoes are shucked off in the process and he leans over you, one knee anchored to the surface as he tucks into the waistband of your pants. They slide off with his help, separating from heated flesh like velcro.

It occurs to you that this is the first time he’ll see you. So far, your body is familiar to him in touch alone – hurried, stolen and shoved under your panties in semi-public spaces while you fight to endure the conflicting sensations. There’s mind to currently faux humility – a game you liked to play with your college conquests. Batted eyelashes and babydoll modesty; a secret thrill present in watching them come undone at your relinquished control.

But Miguel is no lover, and you’re far too gone to play nice now.

You scoot back to your pile of pillows when he joins you. It’s unreal seeing him in such a domestic setting. Civilian attire, combed hair. In high nature. If it weren’t for the bandage on his temple and the shadows making allusions to the brawn he keeps at bay, then you could’ve fooled yourself into trusting his normality. That he isn’t larger than life – solely here because he’s like you, a person trying to make well for themselves.

As it is, though, he’s still impenetrable. Fully clothed while you lay bottomless.

(Again, you’re reminded that you don’t know him. The man sacking you of your underwear could have a spouse, for all you’re privy to.

It just adds another layer of distance you should be thankful for.)

Manic with lust, you’re barely enlightened to what’s coming when your mentor captures each leg in a separate grip. Big hands cradle their bends, under your knees where your skin is unconventionally soft. It poses a contrast to the calluses on his palm, worn by years of crime-fighting and swinging on reinforced webs. They’re warm and rough and scratch you, sending a nervous buzz down to your core.

He guides your limbs up. Your ankles sway. Definitely strong; he almost syphons the breath right out through your stomach. If you close your eyes, you can imagine that this is just another exercise, a preliminary stretch.

But you don’t. Folded with your thighs pinned to your chest, you can only fluster with real self-consciousness. Your cunt is exposed to the filtered air, biting the heated centre with its opposite degree. Perhaps more wickedly, however, is the way you’re spread to Miguel’s hawk-like gaze. He inspects the way you glow, humiliated, the sticky confirmation of your desire smeared across your puffy lips. Is he turned off by the sight – your eagerness a violation of the pseudo-professional boundaries marked around your deal?

No, you decide. He’s all too content when he ducks to face it, laying a heavy mouth to your throbbing clit. It’s intoxicating, the cool slice of oxygenated air after months of smoke inhalation. You forget your insecure tangent entirely, tipping your chin back to moan your encouragement.

Fuck, he’s good.

More than good. You scramble for a better description, hands clawing for purchase on your sheets. It’s indescribable in its obscenity – lewd and dirty and slow, mapping every fold and crevice with his tongue. The sweltering muscle, like velvet, swirls across your sensitive bud, taking in its high reactivity, before lapping at the hood above it. You hone in to every miniscule movement, raptured by its dexterity and unwilling to fully let yourself go.

Miguel hums, low, tasting the agony that pours from his skill. His fingertips paint bruises where they dig, holding your thrashing hips still. You find there’s nothing else you can do to bear it, your arms flailing pathetically, toes curling. You pant and it doesn’t help dissuade the indulgence building up within you, crashing against a dam that’s starting to crack. It’s almost as though you’re doing too much to seek it out, afraid he’ll turn to ash at any second and leave you wanting.

“Oh– O’h… Shit, shit!” You whine, pounding your heel on his broad back. He barely notices, peering up at you through dark lashes. “If I had… Don’t stop! Please, p–” His crimson eyes gleam dark and bloody, obscured in shadow. Sobbing, you suck in large gulps of heady air. “If you promised this earlier, I would’ve climbed up fucking buildings to earn it.”

“Mmm-” He ignores your plea, breaking away to bring two digits to his mouth. Your right leg flops uselessly to his side. “Good idea.” One lick and they’re covered in spit. You can’t help but notice the discolouration on his knuckles, deep red and purple, as he uses his index and middle to fan out your lower lips.

And then he’s back to eating you out. This time, though, he’s drinking from your weeping slit. Breaching it, exploring the perimeter that stretches to accommodate his pistoning tongue. Despite pursed lips, your scream still manages to sound through the way it vibrates your lungs. Rattling you, much like he does now, from inside out. His nose is pressed to your mound. You don’t doubt he can smell you, potent sex and clean sweat, contracting every joint until you’re an immovable board.

“Don’t do that,” Miguel groans, scorching the space he creates to reprimand you. Crying, you obey what he says, melting into a puddle of nectar. He strikes a fair point; things feel exponentially better when you aren’t tense, nerve pathways unobstructed in sending pleasure signals to your blank brain. Discerning the shift, he huffs. “Good.”

Stars and heaven above, your consequent wail is unhinged. Your hands fly to his hair, seizing the wavy tresses in a smarting hold. The praise serves as an amplifier to every sense. Hips bucking, free calf curling around his neck. His fingers plunge into you, scissoring your tight walls as he spits onto your pussy, gathering the pearlescent fluid with his thumb and using it as aid. Like you need the extra help.

Because you’re soaked. The dam is broken. Everything gushes out of you in an ugly mess, glossing his palm and the duvet below. He nips your clit, grazing his teeth along the swollen sprout, teasing, then places his mouth back onto you. Brown locks curl to his brow. You brush them back, shoving him harder, closer. Sort of power-drunk at the sight of him succumbing to your command.

It’s short lived. You’re about to cum when he chooses the inopportune moment to speak.

Growls, actually. “Hold on.”

Capturing you to his face, he makes sure you’re steady before relinquishing his fingers from your hole and upending you both.

Suddenly, you’re on top and he’s the one framed by your pillows. Your back bends and you almost crumble on top of him – an old building met with a wrecking ball of celestial proportions. You can’t hold your weight on your haunches. They’re practically useless like this, quivering with suspense. Where guilt would be the appropriate response at such a prospect, you’re bound by awe instead. He’s no doubt suffocated by your squeezed thighs and seated pussy – the force of which aided by gravity – but something tells you that’s what he wants. For the first time, his eyes flutter shut.

A sting – concentrated on the globe of your ass – registers only seconds later where he had slapped you. Go, it demands silently. You force yourself to muster the energy to do so.

You can’t last very long, anyway.

Pelvis waving, you ride his face, back arched away from his hand. It irons over your covered waist, wet and soaking the breathable material of your shirt. The position proves to be a workout in of itself, your core strength tested in the motions. For the first time, you find yourself thanking his training. You wouldn’t have persisted otherwise.

Your orgasm rises again, faster now that you’re properly edged. It floods up from your feet like a high tide, sweeping all the seaweed and shells and stability from your abdomen. Lost at shore, a stranded sailor waking up from a tempests’ shipwreck; dazed, sun-blanched on splintered wood. There’s sand on your skin – it clears that too. You’re renewed in briny water. Freshened, addicted to the feeling of the sea pulling you back into its gentle but firm embrace.

You take back what you said. About his mouth and how he chooses to use it. It’s none of your business so long as he keeps it on you, sucking and drinking the cum he milks for all its worth. It just keeps coming, no start or end in sight. It’s all you can do to withstand your weakened centre constantly clenching and still breathe, tears budding hot and heavy. Your nails scratch his scalp. Miguel gives a minute mmmm.

And in the wake of it, while he lays there and laps you clean, the echoes of your moans still rings from the walls.

Forget what you said. Technically, the night didn’t end there.

Much later, you’re both washed and warm. It took you a while to wipe the slick from your folds. He used your bathroom to cleanse his hands and face.

The same cartons of food now sit open between you, on the desk he’d manoeuvred off the wall to divide its chair from your bed. He’s much too big for the seat, but when you’d offered him the mattress, he brushed you off. You currently sit cross legged, cushions bare – sheets in the wash.

And it’s quiet. The empty type, strangely enough. Devoid of any of your usual sarcasm or awkwardness. Sort of… suspended between both, in the foreign land of amity.

Perhaps that’s what convinces you to ask. The inherent safety of the moment. There’s not much you can say to offend in the post-smut glow. Slurping the tail end of a noodle, you look away from your rapture with the illuminated highway outside to take him in. The train had just passed.

“Are you married?”

Miguel doesn’t reply immediately, chewing a mouthful of seasoned vegetables. Instead, he looks at you with mild amusement. Eventually, his adam's apple bobs in a thick swallow.

“No.” He says.

chapter twelve

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climatecalling · 11 months ago

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“The city doesn’t like fruit trees,” Marisa Prefer, a self-described “street-tree steward,” said recently, looking up at a plumless plum tree in Brooklyn. Prefer is part of an anonymous collective known as the Guerrilla Grafters, which hopes to change the city’s canopy. Their mission: “We aim to turn city streets into food forests, and unravel capitalist civilization one branch at a time.” Flash back to the springtime, when Prefer, who is nonbinary and wore double-kneed work pants and mud-caked trail runners, brandished a pair of pruning shears at a plum tree. They said, “What if everyone had an apple tree in front of their house instead of having to go buy apples at the store?” Prefer snipped a low branch, then used black electrical tape to graft a gnarly twig of rosy-gage scionwood in its place. (Scionwood is a twig cutting used to propagate trees.) In a few years, the twig might grow into a branch drooping with plums. ... Prefer went on, “ ‘Guerrilla’ is not just a chic term we use. It’s supposed to be a little bit secret.” There haven’t been any arrests, they said, but, technically, grafting on city property is illegal.

#guerrilla gardening #tree grafting #urban trees #guerrilla grafters

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goggles-mcgee · 11 months ago

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With the poison apple au i wanted to ask whats the evil queen and good king’s reaction when Raven tells them she’s pregnant?

I thought you could input it in a short story or so but of course you don’t have to if it’s to much<3

Raven nervously ran her hands over her dress and couldn't help the way they stopped briefly over her stomach. Dexter had long since tried to get his wife to calm down but knew it was fruitless, so he kept himself busy by making sure everything was in place for their lunch with Raven's parents. Raven, of course, would have helped her husband, but he was adamant that she sit and rest. So with nothing else to do but fret Raven looked over the table to make sure everything was in place and perfect. She wanted this lunch to be memorable and special.

"My Heart, the table is perfect. I myself looked it over, as did the maids." Dexter chuckled before he took his seat next to her and held her hands in his. "I know you're nervous but I promise you, your parents are going to be thrilled."

"What if they think it's too soon? My reign has barely begun, and there's so much to do! What if they think we're not ready? Are we ready?" Raven rambled but was cut off by a sweet kiss from Dexter.

"Raven, My Darling, breathe." Dexter said with a soft laugh. "Who's to say this is too soon? This could very well be written in the pages*. Besides, I don't think this is too soon. We had been talking about starting the next chapter of our Happily-Ever-After."

"You-You're right. I'm sorry, My King."

"There is nothing to be sorry for, My Dear. As to the question if we are ready.... Well, I'd like to think so. We bought all the books, we have Maddy sending us some paint for the nursery, Cedar is sending us a crib, and so on. We are as ready as can be."

Raven's answering smile was full of love. She was completely smitten with her husband. It's not as if she ever forgot that, but she was always pleasantly surprised that she could fall more in love with Dexter day by day. He always gave her reasons to fall further. She didn't know how she got so lucky, but she would do everything in her power to let him know just how much he meant to her.

"There's my daughter and my favorite son-in-law!" Raven's mother's voice crooned. It never failed to make her smile now when she heard it. Her mother had come a long way since her release. Gone was the animal bones and dramatic headdresses, though her love for darker palettes stayed the same, as did her love of more edgier clothing. She made it work, though, and now everyone could see her long, gorgeous platinum blonde hair, though she did add some purple and black highlights.

"I'm your only son-in-law, Mom." Dexter laughed as he got up from his spot and offered his arm to her mother and guided her to the table with her father following.

"Yes, but that doesn't mean you're not our favorite." Her father said as he pulled out a chair for his ex-wife. Dexter chuckled in response, but Raven knew it was his nervous one. Well, at least she wasn't the only nervous one.

It was like their normal weekly lunches, and that helped ease Raven's nerves. Lunch was wonderful and light, which helped with Raven's morning sickness. Lunch finished fast, though, and the nerves popped back up like an ugly hex.

"Mother?"

"Yes My Dearest?"

"Does Cook still make those baby jumpers out of enchanted yarn?" It was Raven's way of hinting before outright saying her news. She knew Cook made them rarely now that her two boys were older. She still made them jumpers but out of different yarn. The enchanted yarn she used when the boys were infants made sure it kept the babies warm and were oh so spelltacularly soft.

"It's been a while, she had made some for a Baker and his wife. Their little one has grown so much since then!"

"Is one of your friends having a baby, My Baby Bird?" Her father asked as he helped himself to another helping of plum pudding. It was always his favorite.

"Well..." She began with a soft chuckle.

"Funny, you should ask." Dexter blabbed out nervously.

The speed at which her mother turned to look at both her daughter and her husband surely had to break some kind of record. "Excuse me?"

"Dexter and I," Raven said with a smile as she placed a hand on her stomach, "we're gonna have a baby!"

"I'm going to be a grandma!?" The words would have worried Raven if she hadn't seen the wide smile her mother wore and a look of utter excitement.

"I'm going to be a grandpa?" Her father asked, his voice thick with tears. It made Raven's eyes fill with tears immediately as she nodded.

"We're going to be grandparents!" Her mother and father exclaimed at the same time to each other before they hugged and laughed and cried and it was a bit funny because that's how Raven and Dexter basically reacted when they found out.

As question after question was thrown at her and Dex, she simply smiled and reached for her husband's hand who didn't hesitate to lace their fingers together and bring her hand up for a kiss.

How could things be so wonderful?

#eah #dexter charming #raven queen #eva (evil) queen #james king #eah the good king #dexven #poison apple au #evil apple white

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wintermelonbear · 9 months ago

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Just Another Picture to Burn

Summary: Just a cute little friendship between Jon, Damian, and Marinette. Can be read platonically or with some romantic inclination. Just two friends who want the best for each other and will celebrate each other’s milestones

Sidenote: I haven’t written anything in years, but dragged my butt to write this for the MGI civil war so proceed with caution.

Sharp green eyes open up to the world moments before the buzz of a phone alarm signals the need to get up. Out of an abundance of caution stemming from his tumultuous upbringing the young teen scans the room for any signs of an intruder, most days this is a fruitless endeavor, but Damian could never find himself to drop this habit. He notes an envelope on his desk and reaches for the compressed bo staff under his pillow. As he approached the desk the only sound that could be heard was the light creak of the manor’s floorboards and low mumblings coming from the kitchen. A sigh of relief breaks this silence as Damian recognizes the gentle script sprawled across the front of the pale pink envelope spelling out “To Dami”.

Cautiously he flips the envelope checking for signs of tampering. While the sentiment is nice, the choice to send a handwritten letter rather than a text was out of left field from his companion. He notes with a slight grin that she had used the wax seal he gifted her after the defeat of Hawkmoth. Sliding a batarang out from the underside of his desk he slices open the top of the envelope to reveal a piece of thick cardstock. At this Damian’s brow moves into a sharp arch, what could have been so important, yet so minimal that she had to portal over to his place in the middle of the night. Pulling out a piece of pristine white paper, he reads, "You, me & Jon. 7 pm CET. I already checked with your dad, so no excuses. Love, Mari”

Picking up his phone –the latest from Wayne Tech– he taps out a message to his top contact, “Spotted Menace”. A bright blue message populates the screen reading out, “An invite? To what exactly?” For emphasis, he adds in a raised eyebrow emoji then after some contemplation adds in a thinking emoji. Following that text, he quickly snaps a picture of the note to Marinette to confirm he received her letter before preparing for the day.

Before leaving his room he picks up the envelope again, this time to admire her handiwork instead of ascertaining its threat level. Turning to the back of the envelope his chest puffs out a bit as he dons a victorious smile he takes in his handiwork. She had used the wax seal stamp he had gifted her on her 16th birthday. He hand-carved the image of a ladybug resting on a branch of plum blossoms, to signify her new beginning as a hero by choice and not by necessity after the defeat of Hawkmoth.

As Damian slipped into the driver’s seat of his sleek sedan he mused that 12-year-old Damian would be utterly baffled by the person he is today –apart from being the stronger member of the new generation of heroes, that has always been a given (Somewhere Jon is rolling his eyes). Honestly, when Damian first met Marinette he found her pathetic. She was just a worthless little girl who was gifted powers beyond her capability to wield, and he never hid his disdain for her. Thus, to young pre-teen Marinette the youngest Robin was just a massive dickhead who had no feelings apart from his superiority complex. He was an embodiment of torment; the worst parts of Felix and Chloe combined. Not to say that Damian is perfect now, but at the time he lacked the perspective he gained from his travels to and return from Lazarus Island. Now he has spent more time learning from others’ experiences, has gone through his first heartbreak after Flatline decided that time spent with him was distracting her from her personal goals, and all of that has taught him to care and have some level of empathy. He may not be like Marinette and Jon, ready to do what is right solely because they blindly believe in the goodness of others, but he understands that even if he may not find value in someone, that does not mean their life is worthless.

The first time Robin acknowledged that despite Ladybug’s lack of technical combat skills, she had plenty of other skills that other heroes would be envious of, Nightwing attempted to give him a “bear hug” and Superboy nearly fell from the sky. What Robin to this day doesn’t know about that night is that his comm was connected to Ladybug’s and the reason she fell off the roof was not the attacker’s sharp jab to her ribs, but rather the shock of Robin giving her any form of praise. From then on Marinette decided maybe Robin was capable of growing a heart, and while it may have started as one-sided conversations with her rambling on about herself and basic topics of conversation – how’s the weather in the Gotham? It’s been warm in Paris! Did you see the new Mecha Strike game launch? What’s your favorite dessert? – eventually, Damian started warming up to her.

By the time the youngest Wayne snaps out of his reverie, the bell has rung signaling the dismissal of his second-period and the start of the school’s 20-minute break. Fishing through his pockets, and quickly unlocking his phone he finds several missed messages from Marinette, Jon, and their group chat “Talk Shit Get Hit”. After skimming through their private messages, Damian bites the bullet and opens up “Talk Shit Get Hit” to begin tackling the growing number of messages. Scrolling to the top of the chain of unread messages he sends Jon spamming the chat with unintelligible keyboard smashes followed by “MARI HOW DID YOU GET US OUT OF LIZZIE-SITTING DUTIES???”, Damian swears that the capslock on Jon’s keyboards must be worn down with his overusage. He reacts to the message with a set of eye emojis because there are very few people Diana trusts with her fussy toddler and he knows for a fact that she’s in the midst of an investigation into a rapidly expanding crime syndicate. As he scrolls further he is dismayed to find out Marinette cashed in this free day in exchange for a date night babysitting gig in addition to normal babysitting duties. Damian loves Lizzie like a younger sister and of course, wants her to be in the care of someone befitting of her status. Still, he has been yelled at one too many times for taking her on patrol with him, and sometimes bringing a 3-foot-tall sidekick with a tutu (courtesy of Marinette) kills his intimidation factor. Once he makes it past a wall of crying emojis and gifs of betrayal from Jon, the chat goes back to its normal contents, filled with reels shared between Jon and Mari, and complaints about their teachers. Jon eventually asks Marinette what she has planned for tonight that is worth the extra babysitting duties, but Marinette declines to answer and instead tells him to be patient.

After school Damian carefully considers his outfit but sticks with his classic black turtleneck and a pair of khakis, Marinette will call him boring but what does she know? She used to have a crush on a guy who exclusively wore a striped shirt with an open button-up and bright orange Converses. Once they became comfortable with one another Marinette made it VERY well-known that while she wished his civilian wear had more diversity and color, she found his original Robin suit to be a “crime against fashion and most people’s eyeballs”. Stating that only traffic lights would appreciate sharing a color palette with him. Damian argued that it’s tradition, while Marinette replied with “It’s fugly and you know it. Y o u! ditched the design in the first place”. Rolling his eyes, he heads to the window and yells out “Jon! I am ready!” and with a flash of blue and red Jon shows up at his window clad in a red hoodie and blue jeans. The Super family really needs to consider their civilian “disguises”.

Swooping Damian up into his arm Jon bolts out the window and into the sky towards Paris until they reach a familiar flowered rooftop. After two taps to the trap door beneath them, the door abruptly gave way and Damian was met with a loud POP and confetti raining down onto him. Quickly Marinette busted out the door cake in hand and in unison started singing with Jon. While it was not a rare occurrence for Marinette to provide them with sweets at her residence, what was on the cake was the strange part. It was a picture of one of his earlier Robin outfits? One that after many earfuls from Marinette knew to be her least favorite, why would she put it on a cake??

“Happy outfit death to you! Happy outfit death to you! You no longer look like a traffic light! Happy outfit death to you!” Out of seemingly thin air, Marinette pulled out a lighter and lit the top layer on fire revealing a picture of his new outfit underneath. “You do not know how relieved I am that I do not have to be with someone whose color palette matches a kindergarten classroom rug, and not a cute one”.

Damian with a puzzled expression questions her, “Is this something to be celebrated? Besides that I changed outfits months ago”. Marinette looked at him mouth agape. “Close your mouth you will catch flies at this rate”.

Almost as if rehearsed Jon and Marinette reply in unison “What are you my maman/ma”?

After clearing her throat Marinette went to explain, “There are plenty of things to celebrate for your outfit change! You’re finding out the type of Robin you’re going to be, and I personally believe that is a worthy cause for celebration. Besides, after Monarch’s downfall, I was really struggling to figure out what to do myself. My whole world felt like it splintered into pieces, but you and Jon were there to help me figure things out when the consequences of my actions™ struck. I want you to feel empowered too, even if you don’t need it the same way I did”. With a smile Marinette brought out some forks, “Now let’s dig in”! If it made him uncomfortable how quickly his friends stabbed his frosting face with their forks, he didn’t let it show.

#maribat #marinette x damian #damian dominance #mgi civil war 2024 #daminette #prompt: color palette

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unlikelyjapan · 1 year ago

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s2e5 rewatch notes

Ah, "Pop" - it's so weird to have one of the least-satisfying episodes of television you've ever watched be sandwiched in the middle of one of the most satisfying television series you've ever seen.

"But the viewer uneasiness, the juxtaposition, that's the point of the episode!" cry future Storer/Calo** in unison, tearing at their shirt collars and throwing themselves prostrate in the middle of their 7th podcast interview moderated entirely by men "in the spirit of John Hughes, we wanted to convey....."

** For the record, I respect/love them for creating my 2nd favorite TV show of all time, they just grind my gears with the offensive stance on these narrative choices that were, in fact, very bad.

It was an over-reach, an unenjoyable viewing experience for most people outside a specific segment of uncritical (mostly white) men and the women who placate them.

Alright, preamble over - let's dig in!

We open with Tina getting a crash-course in Syd's vision. I bet this woman has never been exposed to breaking food down in the abstract - "earth, air, fire, water" , nor the overwhelming prep of the daikon and the fennel - but her just being like "this is a lot for a tasting menu" and then reassuring her with "it's okay ma, I got you!" - she has my full heart.

Tina's intuition on the food is good, though - it is, in fact, too busy. Sydney is still learning how to be a mentor, and she negates that Tina's background isn't automatically going to make her know what a play on an XO sauce is, or even how to identify a panzanella.

Remember Carmy explaining Japanese plum wine to Marcus? That's how you do it. Sydney still has a learning curve to go through, but Tina will weather it gangbusters.

Sydney - "It's a lot, it's a lot...I'm seeing that its a lot"

I see that iterative recipe development between Carmy + Syd fell into oblivion three weeks earlier when he blew her off, and she's suffering greatly.

Carmy is trying to get the 7 seconds down to 5 between stations when Cicero comes in, and Cicero sees it as a fruitless exercise after Natalie points out that he's been at it for over an hour. I can almost see the flash in Carmy's eyes where we're back 5 years ago, his family seeing him and his work as weird and irrelevant. This was probably the first blow of the day that led him to flake out completely.

I'm including all of Cicero's dialogue here, because I didn't realize it was so weighted on my first pass through the show:

"I'm a little concerned that we're taking our eyes off the ball here, and I want to be hyper-clear - if I ain't seeing no progress, I don't want to keep pissing money away. I'm calling this out now, because we are - How far from open, Sug? - Six weeks! And I somehow anticipate that the coming six weeks, there will be more pissin'.

The thing is, I like to control the pissing to the best of my ability....your schedule is kinked. You're doing whatever the fuck you're doing here. Thundernuts is out there making sandwiches for his entire family? I mean, look, as much as I look forward to selling this place - and trust me, I do look forward to it - I think it's just in all of our best interests if we have a maximally efficient place of business. I really would like to tell you a story of complete and utter failure...."

Syd interrupts.

Holy shit - this is the second time he's tried to tell his Gonzalez/Bartman story. I can't believe I missed this, TWICE (s2e1).

Instead, he tells it to Carmy on opening night - and I think by then Cicero has seen the writing on the wall and knows that Carmy is the only person who really needs to hear it - this is a big CP.

The scenes that follow just reinforce Ciceros current narrative - it's too casual for essentially being a House of Usher - everyone is interrupting, Fak's pal/contractor wandering in eating a sandwich the electrician made him, the drywall falling, Timmy's "no worries, it's still billable hours" crack. Mobster uncle or not, the man has already spent $550k just to witness this.

Tina telling Ebra that it's weird she hasn't spoken to him in a few days, and can't recount the last time that happened - it's amazing that with all the talk of platonic relationships this season, no one is pulling this one out of their hats in comparison *smirks*

But again (like Sugar faux-charming Cicero moments earlier). women be managing men's emotions along with their own lengthy lists of challenges, as the men retreat wounded and overwhelmed.

Cut to Syd perfectly laying out dining wares for Carmy while Fak blathers about 'Can't Hardly Wait' being "the greatest High School Song ever written" while his contractor friend sits idle....

"That's $55 a plate for that silence" - "Okay, then we can use the shitty ones" - Carmy is being so frigging childish and dismissive, right after he called Sugar "fucking disgusting" for being cutesy with Cicero to de-escalate him, but both women are doing what needs to be done - not what they WANT to be doing.

This is when Carmy completely checks out to call Claire for the ridiculous errand run to Winnetka. In my memory, I felt like "oh, he wanted to see her and he took the first opening to bail", but watching this episode now, he feels defeated and infantalized, and so he runs to a guaranteed source of flattery/unchallenging comfort. I don't think it was initially his M.O for the workday, just "later".

He exits with "Um....chaos menu. I dunno? I'll get back to you?" after we already watched Syd suffer on it until the wee hours - he's off to provide himself with amusement and enjoyment, so he can take care of Syd others- he just wants to give the menu to her straight-up (as he thinks this will please her), and this is his way of apologizing for bailing.

The same goes for his non-thank-you to Natalie as he's leaving. "You're not doing this because I'm pregnant, are you?" - No, he's doing it to provide himself with amusement or enjoyment so he can be better for you - enjoy working the entire day at the restaurant pregnant, though! If it makes you feel better, he appreciates you.

"Total Control" by Motels is playing as Carmy and Claire drive to the suburbs - I included the link to the lyrics, because it was an....interesting choice.

I really tried to analyze their conversation during their first foray into the car, but my raw scribbled notes look like this:

"It's perfect timing, I had all this extra adrenaline after resetting this guys Tibia" - screaming

"Whoa" (but not really impressed/getting it) "Does that shit really fire you up?" - oh my god

"It really fucking fires me up. Plus, I love driving. I'm a horrible driver, but I love the risk." - oh my fucking god

I can't do it. I'm sorry.

I'll only note that the chemistry during the envelope drop is non-existent. I think it was supposed to be scripted as a funny/awkward scene, but it just came off as two actors standing in a mail room - before this moment, I never perceived JAW as a guy who's just acting in this show, and it's jarring.

Why the hell didn't FX exert more pressure to get the chemistry read they asked for?

Sydney and Natalie's sit-down is just them acknowledging that they're managing the feelings and work of all the men that orbit The Bear, on top of the extensive labor demands they already have. Richie's interjections due to lack of purpose, Fak's inexperience with managing contractors, Carmy being checked-out and incapable of participating in things that don't rely on his existing ADHD skill-set.

One of these women is a bit green and needs support, the other is pregnant and overwhelmed, and all the men are mad or threatened by them for one trite reason or another - if season 3 isn't an overt celebration of female competence and resilince, I'm out.

"The menu is fucked - and I need Carmy, but he is....being Carmy, somewhere."

"At least he's hanging out with Claire, that seems moderately healthy, right?" - Sugar delivers this as not good, not bad, just completely ambivalent - a far cry from the Fishes discourse.

And Sydney's eyes fire up with the intensity of hell behind a smile and the "who's Claire?" - Ayo is such an amazing actress, that was a nice palate cleanser after the letter drop.

OK, we're back in the car - again, I couldn't extract much from the vapor, but here are some rough-hewn observations:

Claire saying "We've hung out so much, but we've never actually talked" - add it to the list of "telling, not showing".

I wonder if Molly Gordon is truly a great actress and intended to look at Carmy like that while he was talking about drawing pants (intense psychoanalysis eyes) or if she was attempting to look dreamily at him and just failed the assignment.

It's becoming a bit more clear to me that there's a weird brother-oedipal thing going on with Claire when Carmy talks about how she had so many friends, as Mikey did.

"Speaking of dead brothers, do you want to go to a party?"

Ignoring the totallykookycoolgirl line, I don't believe Carmy wanted/needed the tension to break there, he actually wanted to talk. The 'hmmmm' he lets escape is discomfort on multiple levels.

The party scene - "Pretty in Pink" by the Psychedelic Furs plays as they enter a house filled with 35-year-old fraternity dudes.

For those who maybe missed this, John Hughes also wrote "The Breakfast Club", wherein Molly Ringwald's character was named Claire. They just beat us over the head with this regression repeatedly, and I resent it. I came here for a high-caliber show, and I feel like I'm watching Zach Braff disassociate in a Scrubs dream sequence or some shit.

At least KJ (a 38 years old man with meth face) says that Carmy was in wrestling with him back in high school - maybe this will tamp down the "why is a chef so ripped" debate.

Even when Claire is comforting her friend (which is played by Mitra Jouhari, Molly/Ayo's friend in real life), the delivery is so wooden and sterile and not how adult women console one another in crisis.

Maybe it was the fact that she was forced to maintain the whispery voice through it for consistency in Carmy's presence, but even that seems out of sorts - imagine Syd, Tina, Sugar, anyone consoling a friend in a similar situation - and she uses that consolation to further her agenda with Carmy by dropping that no one has ever made her dinner before (at age 30???)

"Am I stupid?" "No, no....he's the one who sucks".

Wait, these are the lines of a very adult woman who has friends who are doctors getting over a 5-year-breakup? This script is stupid.

Jeremy Allen White is such a serious actor, I'd kill to hear his earnest drunk take on this.

"He's so nice. Why don't I ever meet anyone who's nice?"

*sighs deeply* - Again, y'all are 30.

Tina taking a shot and then getting up to sing "Before the Next Teardrop Falls" by Freddy Fender. I'd love to know if this song has a massive place of significance in Tina's life, but I choose to see it as her being a ballast of support for whoever needs her. Her heart is completely open - no notes.

Hold the phone - they chose "Here Comes The Night" to play as Claire is staring back at Carmy and comforting her friend leading up to the fireworks scene?

Here are the lyrics - Van Morrison/Them is great, but I wonder why they picked this song? Feel free to slap the Syd goggles off me, but this literally just chased Tina's ballad about being there when someone breaks your heart.

KJ saying "busted for having fun, busted for having fun!" as the cops are hauling him away. Loga....I mean, Carmy, was looking for "fun" in his life - I feel like this scene summarizes that pretty succinctly. He's not a man searching for fun, he's a man searching for meaning....and now he's going to conflate the fact that he's completely touch-starved with this type of fun, because the man is emotionally illiterate.

The one lyric from Strange Currencies (when they're driving to the restaurant) that they chose to flare prominently is "where were you when I kissed you" - at least they're driving home the message that these two aren't on the same wavelength.

Carmy walking into the Richie-fight-shitshow and being more concerned about the optics Claire receives when it's obvious that his whole staff has just been through a hellfire of a day, ugh. At least his acting chops are back on display in this scene.

Ahhhh, Claire's sourpuss face as soon as Sydney blurts out "I'm sorry you're here" - it almost makes this episode worth it. Almost.

For the record, I side with everyone who's stated that her introduction to the crowd was exclusively to draw Syd's attention to her.

The same goes for Richie's "Interesting." - if we based everything on what Fishes was trying to sell us, he would have thrown Carmy an arm-punch or something. It's more bemusement, not pride, in Carmy for "bagging Claire". Compare that with the "ooooooooohhhh" when Syd and Carmy are fighting - there's way more tension/acknowledgement of their dynamic.

Ugh - even Richie is like "Cousin, who's going to watch the copper?" as Carmy kicks everyone out. Even if they're ham-fisted about it (as Richie definitely is), everyone is concerned about something to do with the restaurant/their labor except for Carmy, who curtly dismisses them all with fake gratitude.

I won't talk much about Syd's exit, because it's already been discussed to death - yes, he's confused she's leaving. Yes, the only time he can look her in the eye is while Claire is distracted. Yes, he see's she's pissed and it's making him die a little inside.

I will offer a trite story, though:

When I was a young pup, I had a co-worker who had a massive crush on my friend - and the affection was mutual, but unacknowledged due to lack of experience.

He (being a traumatized, ill-equipped man-child) immediately sought out a less challenging girlfriend who even looked like a close approximation of my friend and excitedly brought this new girlfriend to a party I was throwing because he REALLY hoped that my friend would love her. She obviously didn't love her, he came to me confused/upset, and after I explained things slowly and carefully, he dumped the girlfriend a few days later. He dated my friend weeks after (and for transparencies sake, it ended terribly).

Where I'm going with this is that I think somewhere in the recesses of Carmy's damaged mind, he REALLY needed Syd's approval of him being with Claire since he was caught red-handed. He imagined her staying, asking leading questions or chaperoning the situation, or giving him a knowing smile or a "thata boy" - whatever. Even though he told everyone to leave. It's bizarre.

The Fak thing is so cloying - someone mentioned today about the Berzatto clan of fools wanting to live vicariously through Carmy and Claire, and they are 100% correct.

Finally, 30-year-olds don't kiss like this.

This whole thing was as unsatisfying to write as it was to watch. Hopefully, I caught something of use - thanks for sticking with me through this!

#the bear fx #the bear season 2 #the bear spoilers #the bear #carmy x sydney #syd x carmy #carmen berzatto #sydney adamu #tina the bear #richie jerimovich

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pico-digital-studios · 7 months ago

Text

Into, Across and Beyond!: Rivals' Madness Song List

DISCLAIMER: This is just the general structure of the concept, and will NOT be becoming a mod under any circumstances.

(Unless mentioned otherwise in the list, Benjamin is the playable character in a stated song. Anything in italics is a song idea original to this concept, and anything different to the originals will be linked.)

Prologue (Old Timeline)

Pico (Middle Area)

Why Not Die (IHY Luigi)

Forbidden Star (Wario Apparition)

Seven Coins (GB)

Caution (MX)

Death Cipher (Victim #1)

Role in the Play (Comedy and Tragedy)

Failure (Pico alone) (Only available after beating Fruitless Stand)

Boyfriend (Top Area)

Fruitless Stand (Rotten Smoothie cover) (Ultra M and GX)

Existence Deal (Non-Existent)

Minus World (Bottom Area)

Minus (??? vs. Pico)

Story Mode

Tutorial

2Torial (Sonic the Hedgehog) (from Sonic Legacy/RodentRap)

Lazy Day (Grace vs. Benjamin)

Week 1: Mushroom Kingdom

It's-A Me (Super Horror Mario)

Starman Slaughter (Super Horror Mario, John Dick, Super Horror Peach and Yoshi.exe)

Week 2: Devil's Wasteland

Marble Heights (Flicky vs. Benjamin) (from Blood Moon)

Tombstone (Sonic.exe/Xenophanes vs. Benjamin) (from Blood Moon)

??? (Xenophanes vs. Grace)

Overworld Zone

(All map asset credits go to Askywalker from The Spriters' Resource)

All bold entries are the area's climax boss encounter. For the Sonic side, you only need to beat 3 foes tops in each area to reach the climax boss.

Cosmic Awareness (KiloByte) (secret anti-cheat boss)

Mario World 1 - Irregularity Isle (Mario Memes and Parodies)

So Cool (Chris Pratt)

Lower Route

Mr. Alopecia (Mark)

SORETRO (Retro Mario)

Upper Route

Nourishing Blood (Grand Dad)

MARIO SING AND GAME RYTHM 9 (Somari vs. Pikafriend)

End Path

0-Star Run (Speedrunner Mario and the Speed Demon) (from FNF: Antiverse - VS Mario)

Secret Levels

Irregular Fighters (Somari vs. Grand Dad) (clear the Toad House)

??? (Water Daniel) (clear the Toad House)

Mario World 2 - Woodland of Lies (Mostly Legacy Creepypastas)

Main Levels

A Former Conclusion

Alone (Beta Luigi)

Terrors in the Woods

Oh God No (IHY Luigi vs. IHY Mario)

Retaliation (IHY Luigi vs. IHY Mario) (at the same point as OGN)

I Hate You (IHY Luigi)

Repentance (Music Box Mario/Alice vs. Music Box Luigi) (from SMB: Refunked)

Last Course (Turmoil vs. Galoombafriend)

Victims of Pain

Your Hell ("Luigi" vs. Mario) (Mario World pre-remake)

Victimised (Endgame/Inferno's Victim #1) (from MMNM)

...Again?

Dark Forest (Coronation Day Peach / Forest Demon)

Secret Levels

Move Dem Fingers (Scripulous Fingore) (clear the Toad House)

Apples of Sin (_____ vs. Peach, Yoshi and Luigi) (Super World post-remake) (move off the bridge leading to Dark Forest)

Mario World 3 - Content Cosmos (YouTube Plumbers)

Main Songs

Left Route (Marios / dudes who are pricks)

Bad Bay (Super Bad Mario) / Ever-Complaining (Mad Mad Mario)

Bloopers (SMG4 Mario) (unlocks Ssenmodnar Square upon completion) / Building Bricks (Engineer)

Day Out (Day Out Mario vs. Boyfriend and Day Out Luigi) / Burger (Mario's Restaurant Luigi vs. MR Mario)

Right Route (Marios who are murderous)

Dictator (Secret History Mario)

Rampage (Berserk Mario) (from FNF: Antiverse - VS Mario)

Race Traitors (Racist Mario)

The Last Path

No Hope (Devil Mario)

Secret Songs

Top Secret (Laser Suit Mario) (Mario Mix) (clear the Toad House)

Mario World 3.3 - Lovely Levels (optional; Level UP)

Main Songs

Entry Island

Summer-mation (Level UP)

Maze Mayhem (Pac-Man)

Basics (Baldi) (from Baldi's Basics in Funkin')

Arc Welding Island

Mario's Singing Challenge (Level UP Mario)

Friendly Heir (Princess Plum) (Bottom Path)

Vindicta (Mariocraft Magikoopa vs. Benjamin and Wolfie) (Middle Path)

Tumultuary (The Goomba Revolution) (Top Path)

Final Island

Nothing...? (Level UP Luigi / God Mode Luigi)

Planum Descendit (Level DOWN vs. Benjamin, Level UP, Wolfie and Princess Plum)

Secret Songs

Zombified (The Zombies vs. Benjamin, Mario and Toadette) (Move toward the lava pit)

Mario World 3.6 - Ssenmodnar Square (optional; SMG4)

N64 Castle Entrance

Spaghetti Humper (SMG4 Mario Rematch)

Paintings of Plight

Chomp's Out (The Chain Chomp vs. SMG4 and Mario)

Spaghettiria Bite (The FNaF Animatronics vs. Mario)

Fridge Milk (Jeeves vs. Mario, Luigi and Toad)

Trio's Trips (Mario vs. SMG4 vs. Toad) (encapsulates the three main "Trip" videos)

Two Funkin' Friends (X vs. FM)

Splatted Sunset (Meggy vs. Benjamin)

Running (Tari vs. Belle)

Saikosis (Saiko and Kaizo vs. Benjamin)

Arcs of Agony

Rejection Rampage (Waluigi vs. Benjamin, SMG4, Mario and Tari)

Anime Destiny (Meggy (inkling/human) vs. Desti (inkling/angel) vs. Francis)

Creative Control (Mr. Puzzles vs. Benjamin and the SMG4 Gang)

Genesis of Zero (Zero vs. Benjamin and the SMG4 Gang)

Final Revolution (Niles/Zero vs. Benjamin, SMG0 and Melony)

Mario World 4 - Classified Castle (SM64 CLASSIFIED)

Promotion (Promo Mario / Stanley)

Abandoned (Classified Luigi) (Left Side)

Finished Role (Classified Yoshi) (Right Side)

The End (Costume)

Play Pretend (Promo Luigi vs. Promo Mario vs. Benjamin / Stanley vs. Jim)

Mario World 5 - Ravaged Road (other SM64 content)

Normal Songs

Apparition (The Wario Apparition)

West Path (SimpleFlips ROM Hacking Competition Entries)

Watching (The Toad Circle from "Regular Pasta")

This Way (Eyeless Peach from "Please Come to the Castle")

Loneliness (King Bob-Omb from "The Picture of Bob-Omb Battlefield)

East Path (other foes and legends)

Near-Impact (Rashay from "SM64: Last Impact")

Better Off (M from "sm64.z64") (from FNF Classified)

Thalassophobia (L Is Real Luigi)

EVERY COPY OF SUPER MARIO 64 IS PERSONALISED

Your Copy (Personalised Mario) (from FNF: Classified)

Focused on Fun (Wario Apparition Rematch) (from SMB: Refunked) (Secret Climax Boss)

Secret Songs

Revolution (128 Marios) (from Super Funkin' Galaxy) (Clear the Toad House in Classified Castle and go bang in the middle of the level)

Mario World 6 - Hellish Heights (Modern-Day Mario Horrors)

Normal Songs

Golden Land (GB)

West Path (Multi-Console Zone)

Blinked (Dais-eye) (from MMNM)

No Party (DJ Hallyboo)

Paranoia (Mr. Virtual)

East Path (NES/SNES Horrors Zone)

Verdant (Ink Bowser vs. Mario and Peach)

Relictus (Sophie (Left Behind) vs. Tankman)

Overdue (Mr. L vs. Pico and THE FORGIVEN)

North Path (The Power Star Archives; all from Petrifying Plumbers)

Version Control (Buggy Mario)

Overthrown (Peach_AI vs. Luigi_AI)

Lost Innocence Zone

Power Down (MX vs. Benjamin)

Demise (MX vs. Benjamin and Pico)

Final Reality (MX vs. Lucas)

Secret Songs

Systemized (X.nes vs. Pico) (move before the transition after Overdue)

Pasta Partners (Mr. L and X.nes vs. Pico) (beat Systemized)

Annihilation (Nekoamon) (beat Hellish Heights)

Unbeatable (The Commercial Gang) (beat the game)

Sonic Zone 1 - Dangerous Depths (Sonic CD secrets and official SEGA characters)

Secrets of Sonic CD

Endless (Majin Sonic) (Focus ability from Undying Phoenix is unlocked after this song)

Gotta Go (Batman Sonic)

Kickin' It (MC Sonic)

Alternate Hedgehogs

Waterfall (Ashura vs. Tails)

Chaos (Fleetway Super Sonic)

Phantasm (Fleetway Super Sonic vs. Fleetway Sonic)

Penumbra (Terios vs. Benjamin and Sonic)

Schoolhouse (Schoolhouse Sonic) (from Vs. Speed.GIF)

Revival (Extra Life vs. Fleetway Tails)

Peek-a-Boo (Possessed Amy Rose)

Bigger Threats

Barrel'd (The Annoying Barrel vs. Sonic and Tails) (from Vs. Sonic.EXE - Megadrive Mix)

Syndrome (Surge the Tenrec)

Cast into Doubt (Mimic the Octopus)

Memphis (Mephiles the Dark)

Who will ever feel the sunshine?

Sunshine (Tails Doll)

Soulless (Soulless DX version) (Slasher Tails Doll)

Sonic Zone 2 - Nostalgic Necropolis (Classic EXEs/Sonic Creepypastas)

Retro Pastas Zone

Time Attack (Sonic/Sonic.exe (Ordinary Sonic)) (from RERUN)

Freedom (The SONIC (Chinelin) entities vs. Sonic and Benjamin)

Inside the Walls (Sally Anderson vs. Grace)

Acceptance (Cyber/Genocide City Robotnik)

Last Chance (Zalgo (Sonic2.exe Trilogy) vs. Sonic and Tails)

Bitter Ending (Robotnik vs. Sonic (Sonic 2 Friendship) (This song has two endings depending on the miss count)

Deferment (Blue Pendrive Sonic vs. Skid and Pump) (intended for Legacy)

Retro Killers Zone

God's Will (Bratwurst Sonic.exe)

My New Plaything (Woody.exe / Respiro) (from Toys' Madness Friday)

Nightmare Beginning (Exetior) (from FNF.EXE Trilogy)

God Killer (Exeller (SoH)) (from FNF SoH Round 2)

Phantom Annihilation (Phaton and Talrareth (Shifted Reality))

Retribution (Exruby/Moiraio (The Destiny EXE) vs. Sonic and Benjamin)

EMPTY_ROOM Zone

Petrified (2017 X vs. "Cream")

Assurance (2017 X vs. Benjamin)

Toetality (2017 X vs. "Tails")

Sonic Zone 3 - Safety Savestate (Non-Hostile Characters)

A Zone That Is Fun

Milk (Sunky)

Cereal (Sunky and Silly)

Unusual Rivals

Substantial (X-Terion)

Funni (Sonk vs. Skid and Pump)

REROY (Reroy) (from RERUN)

A Raw Jam (Sonic.RAW)

Friendly Beings

Specialities (Roze)

Quiz'd n' Questioned (Monty the Monitor)

Hedge (Hog)

Warrior (Exester (The Glitch Chaos))

Cutting Room Floor (Unused (Nominal Dingus)) (from Blood Deal)

Make Haste (Hasty)

Sonic Zone 4 - Wacky Whirlwind (New Millennium+ Oddballs and Villains)

Memes and Classics

Personel (Coldsteel)

Too Fest (Sanic) (Executable Entourage version)

Shockwave (XS Sonic) (from Soulless DX: Milk & Cereal DLC)

Sonic Kills You And You Die (Google Maps Sonic.exe) (from RERUN)

Silly Parodies

I AM SEGA (Sonic vs. Tails (Sonic Shorts))

Odd Happenings (Oddshow Sonic)

Chilli Dogs (TerminalMontage Sonic / Chillidogs)

Think Fast (The Hues of Metal)

Adaptational Monsters

Twisted (Secret History Tails vs. Benjamin and SH!Sonic) (from RERUN)

Amnesia (Lost Memory Sonic)

Lost Hero (Miles vs. Sonic) (Where Was My Hero...?)

Unleashed (Nazo)

Strange Twists

Post-Mortem (NES Eggman vs. NES Sonic vs. Vinesauce Joel) (from RERUN UST)

Benjamin's Dilemma (BoomBusterBB Sonic.exe)

Sonic Zone 4.3 - Analog Alpine (Analog Horrors and non-EXE terrors)

Love Crafts Zone

Round-A-Bout (Needlem0use Sarah)

Twin Flames (Speedduo64 Sonics)

Lost Cartridge Zone (@jordangaming101)

Initiation (Goldman)

Ardenti Memorias (Sonath)

Ultima Spe (James/Metal Sonic)

The Grieving Zone

Uh Oh! (Demogri)

Haze (Griatos)

Sonic Zone 4.6 - Legacy Lake (other retro EXEs)

Bloodthirst (Exegod)

Illusion Fusion (Exrath)

Tarlike Screams (Corrupt)

Glitched Trap (Puroto)

(to be expanded)

Sonic Zone 5 - Bloody Base (Modern Terrors)

Normal Threats Zone

Melting (Melthog)

Fatality (Fatal Error)

No Peace (Crimtake)

Spreading Assimilation (The Shifter vs. Darnell) (from SØNIC (UNL))

Below the Depths (Sink)

2sday (Requital vs. Pico) (from Soulless DX: Goalpost DLC)

Impulse (NULL) (from Funkin' is (not) an Option: VS NULL)

Other Threats Zone

Stranger Danger (Stranger vs. Skid and Pump)

Hell Reaper (Outbreak Malware Threat vs. Martha Mearest)

Chromatic (Chromophobiac vs. Senpai)

Intermission (Villains X vs. Nene)

Other non-EXEs Zone

Third Party (Piracy Sonic)

Evergreen (End/Returnal/Green Mountain Sonics)

The False Altar

Blackened Sky (Faker / Black Sun) (Faker/Eclipse)

Deathrun (Eclipse)

Sonic Zone 6 - Harrowing "Home" (SonicPC / Soulless Sonic) (all songs from Lord X Wrath except "Vessel")

The Prelude

Vessel (Lord X vs. Alan)

Castle Exterior

Cycles (Lord X)

Broken (Lord X and Alice)

Torment (Lord X)

Desires v2 (Yokubo, the Guardian of Temptation)

Castle Interior

Gatekeepers (Lord X and the Guardians)

Fate (Lord X and Illusion Grace and Pico)

Trichael (Lord X)

Guardian Arena (bonus area following Lord X's defeat)

Devotion (Kito, Guardian of Prayer)

Resentful (Gekido, Guardian of Anger)

Desperation (Zetsubo, Guardian of Despair)

Joyous (Kofuku, Guardian of Happiness)

Haunting (Kyofu, Guardian of Fear)

Revulsion (Ken’o, Guardian of Disgust)

Sonic Zone 6.5 - Creation Citadel (pre-Sonic.exe horror takes)

Glitcher ("Cyborg" Sonic)

Dark Chains (Darkness Sonic / "2007 X")

Ichor Pilot (Sonic.HTF / "2009 X")

Ego Brawler (Haunted SSBB Sonic)

Countdown (Blue Pendrive Sonic (rematch) vs. Gonzalo)

Ill-Willed (Zodick the Hellhog)

The Grand Finale

Act I: Goalpost in Sight

Ashes to Ashes (Xenophanes vs. Pico)

Like Old Times (?????.??? and Tails Doll vs. Benjamin) (from FNF.EXE Trilogy)

Multi Rounds (SonicClone, MD-X, GenesiX, Corrupthog and FileName0X vs. Grace)

The "Final" Battle

All-Stars (Ultra M, Omega, LG, W4R, Y0SH, WA7X and TO4 vs. Benjamin, Grace and Pico)

fakebaby/RealAdult (No More Innocence vs. Daniel Dearest)

Act II: A Second Chance

(The songs here can be played in any order leading to the Final Egg; however, you MUST beat Blind Love and Facing Yourself at the bare minimum to get inside.)

Station Square

Carnage (King_Ruthless vs. Benjamin and Pico)

Vista (Chaotix vs. Benjamin and Pico) (from Illegal Instruction)

Deception (Requital (Rematch) vs. Benjamin and Pico)

Burning (Genesγs vs. Benjamin)

Mystic Ruins

Gamebreaker (DX vs. Pico) (from Breaker Bundle)

Recalcitrant (PDS!Curse vs. Benjamin)

Sinful Prayer (Hyper-Accurate vs. Benjamin and Pico) (from RERUN)

Lost World Pyramid (the only mandatory area pre-Final Egg)

Enemy Within (The Corruption vs. Benjamin)

Blind Love (Girl vs. Benjamin)

Facing Yourself/Silly Billy (Lookalike vs. Benjamin) (beat Blind Love to access)

Final Egg (you can skip straight here if you wish to after finishing Facing Yourself)

Farming Viper (Caffrin the Gamer Girl vs. Pico and Benjamin)

YOU NEED TO LEAVE

Her World (Luther vs. Benjamin vs. Sarah)

Act III: Benjamin WILL Pass

A Path to Deicide

Tetrabrachial (SL4SH vs. Fatal Error)

Placation (Requital vs. SL4SH and Fatal Error)

Apochronal (Majin Sonic vs. SL4SH and Fatal Error)

The Crystalline Deicide

Omnipresent (Tails Doll, Soul Tails, Exruby/Moiraio, Soul Knuckles, Xenophanes, Soul Eggman, Lord X and Eclipse vs. Benjamin and Pico)

Endgame (Xenophanes, EYX, Devil Tails Doll, Fearful X and Metal.exe vs. Benjamin and Pico (and Grace))

Deicide (Xenophanes and the souls vs. SL4SH, Fatal Error, Requital and Majin Sonic)

Deal... or No MORE Deals?

Cataclysm (Super Horror Mario, Lumpy Touch Mario and Infection Mario vs. Benjamin)

Lost Wonder (Ultra M/Victim #1/Madeline, Comedy, Tragedy and Dolor Luigi vs. Benjamin, Pico, Grace, Caffrin, Skid, Pump, Martha Mearest, Tankman, Darnell and Nene ft. IHY Mario and Beta Luigi)

Act IV: The Final Round

Tua Vera Fata (Xenophanes, IHY Luigi, Scorched and Emperor M vs. Madeline, IHY Mario, Hog and Boyfriend)

Triple Appear V2 (MX, Lord X and Mr. L vs. Benjamin, Grace and Pico)

Final Escape (Xenophanes vs. Benjamin, Madeline and the restored victims)

#sonic exe #sonic the hedgehog #spider verse #sth #sonic #sonic fandom #sth au #sonic au #spider man #friday night funkin #fnf mario's madness #vs sonic.exe #mario mix

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perlen-gold · 11 months ago

Text

A m!Hawke x Fenris Story (finished) ~ WARNING ~

This might not be an easy read. This is not a comfortable story. Neither a sweet one.

This is rough. This is vivid. This is raw.

But if you're brave enough to dare the leap and reach into the darkness, it might be worth the plunge...

Fenris stood on the wind-gushed ledge of the roof, balancing his legs, the toes of his right foot dangling over the edge. The roof poured into a steep slant that bent his left knee in a nigh square angel.

The storm that had ravaged the sky all day had wiped its vault clean like a freshly watered riverbed, all mists and grays gone with its furious and ferocious cries but for a few straggling lithe-luminous wisps. Behind them the horizon gleamed with pale plum and fig purple at the cusp, the day’s rim aglow with a last fierce brim of bright gold as of peaches and grapefruits melting to spill out of a gilded urn.

Slowly, his heart dripping in a steady rhythm borne on his breath, Fenris leant forward. When he looked down the estate’s walls, his eyes could trail the alleyway winding up to the front gate.

Fenris had once been a swift climber, sure-footed, his bare feet seeking crooks, and crevices finding his scraping fingers in secreted hollows. In his mind was no remembrance of attaining this skill – nevertheless, part of him remembered it all the same, in the long hours of aquiver waiting, in the fruitless days waning in Hightown’s labyrinth of grays. High, auburn-tasting branches. A barefooted whiff of mahogany. Beneath his skin, a savor of cedar.

There were no trees worth practicing in Hightown. Around Kirkwall and her dorsal zigzag pattern of serrated shores and haphazard cliffs there were no trees to speak of, really. Fenris did not enjoy pervading the forest near the abandoned Dalish camp either. There, too, he found the woods and its trees inadequate – splinter-twiggy and evergreenish, with needle-clinging roots, puny, mere shrubbery only half alive in comparison to the giants he once had climbed.

Vast crowns. Massive boughs the size of a grown man’s body. Long, wide-fingered leaves in all imaginable shades of green, dripping with moisture and water beads pouring golden sunlight into the shades above slinking roots like mossy-soft mountains behind which a Qunari Karasaad could hide his horns as well as approach.

So, here, Fenris crested Hightown. Her walls were smoothly built, each stone set well-nigh perfectly onto the other. It was magic that had once merged them sans the fallible fingers of an enslaved hand which had trembled placing them beforehand. Fenris’ own hands could feel it as soon as he attempted to start climbing them. But they were old now, these walls. In his skin, the aquamarine blue hummed quietly with both the magic and sweat within them. It was hard work, at first. His elbows, knees and shoulders still sighed with these first attempts.

On the fifth day, a voice coiled up to him.

He did not know how she had found out he was back. Perhaps rumors grew rampant about him still, and faster still than he would have favored. Perhaps, she had simply talked with Aveline or met Donnic.

One morning, a small crown of flowers, daisies, snow-dabbed, had been placed outside the estate’s outer gate. He had stepped on it, then, after a startled glance, picked them slowly from his feet’s skin, blossom for blossom. When he came back at midday there was another coronal of daisies the next day, the flowers twinkling slightly misshapen, blooming exactly where the first had been. Fenris ignored this one, too. Upon his return in the evening on the third day he had found no daisies but the end of a woolen, dandelion yellow yarn. Meanderingly, it sidled away into the dark.

Overshadowed brumal houses and umbrageous faces.

Fenris still disliked the Alienage cowering between Kirkwall’s more important vitals, in spite of the endless times he had wrought through it in the years past. He had not been exactly sure, after striding over ash-old bones, dark-stained rubble on splattered cobble stones, the scars of a city nearly crumbling under the echo of its last war, how or why his bare feet had sought out their way to its steep stairs.

And yet, here Fenris had found himself on the upmost stair, looking down.

Sun-spilling lights illuminated the dusky twilight clustering in the corners like whirring fireflies a blackened wheat field at night.

Fenris could move along with shades and shadows if he wished, shed his conspicuous appearance as a snake its skin, almost entirely, and this was how he watched the elves move about down in the alienage.

Towering in the center like a scarlet-painted sentinel was the broad-chested oak tree. As truly fond of trees Fenris was he favored them reigning and breathing out forests instead of rising surrounded by shabby dwellings. Constantly stretching high, sky-high, empyrean-high for freedom.

The mighty oak tree was encircled by the elves of the Alienage in their dilapidated clothes and innumerable candles in a circle around it they were placing. A gold-glimmering modicum of stars come alive below the cloud-strung sky. The elves, humming softly to themselves. A rippling pond of wavering lights. Old and young, elders and children.

Warily, Fenris watched them and quietly wondered to himself, about such wastefulness when wax and light could come short so easily, these days.

When he stepped out of the pooling darkness less gazes flew at him than he usually expected to. Small twigs and rubble girded creakingly under his naked feet as he walked past them. To Fenris, there was less debris here than that which he had climbed over in the rest of the city. The lights, however, brightened the waking night in a great arch around him.

Inside, he found Merrill situating one single beeswax-yellow candle right in the center of her ragged pine table. He could smell the nigh-forgotten scent of it lingering in her small room.

The table was strewn with a carpet of flowers, dried and fresh alike, in a mosaic of creamy lilies, daffodil suns, violet azures and poppy sunsets. Fenris halted, paused over her threshold.

Then, Merrill looked around. Eyes widening.

She almost winced, supplanted by a little squeal of surprise.

He said, “I am intruding. I will leave again.”

Keep reading on AO3

#fenhawke #fenhawke fanfiction #fenris #hawke #m!hawke #Garrett Hawke #merrill #dragon age #dragon age 2 #dragon age ii #da ii #da2 #da 2 #garrett hawke fenris #dragon age fanfiction #angst #my writing

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fruit-salad-ship · 1 year ago

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Pirate AU, captain Plum getting so angry at Peach, so stupidly furious, maybe she withheld information, maybe she did somethign dangerous and stupid, maybe she chased a ghost and endangered the crew, or just...was so dimissive to her own existence it just finally got to her, maybe she'd spent too long drowning her sorrows and being useless. Whatever caused it, Plum starts to throw her weight around as a leader. Kicks her second in command her sword, Peach doesnt even carry it most days, whats the point? She wont die if she's caught without it. So she sees it being presented, eyeing the captain from where she sits.

"Pick it up." Plums dead serious, Peach ignores her, she says it again, louder, angrier. the second time was not a request at all, so with a sluggish stagger peach gets up, picks her sword up, it is not in the best condition, she'd fix that but cant be bothered. It doesnt matter to her one way or another.

She instinctivley blocks an incoming attack, Plum is so mad, venting her anger at this woman through practice, or...maybe this isnt practice? She's attacking with real intent, perhaps a good fight would knock some sense into Peach. The woman seems only half heartedly bothering to defend, she doesnt fight back in any way, slowly being backed up to a mast, ducking to not get hit in the side, plums blade dinking off the wooden trunk.

This goes on for a while, with each lazy movement Plum becomes more furious, how is she putting so little effort into this and coming out unscathed? It dawns on her that if Peach was to fight back, would she have the clear advantage she thought she originally posessed? Plum thought she was the more refined and skilled fighter but...this womans wasting her potential.

Peach grows bored of the back and forth, instead of dodging, taking the hit. People tended to stop attacking soon after that. In a real fight she'd fake her death and get up after a minute of pretending to get back and protect whoever needs it. Plum however knows this tactic, she cant fake her death, the sword in her shoulder hurts, shes immortal, not immune to pain, grabbign it by the blade and pushing it back out of her, an act that unsettles plum, seeing the womans hand cut as she didnt struggle to remove her sword. No slowing, no time to think, plum takes another quick move to land another hit.

Theyre nose to nose, blade through this womans torso, poking out the other side. Of course Peach cries out from the sting of it, gutteral response, but it subsides, she can ignore it and focus on the captain, glaring up at her with such rage in her eyes.

"You done?" a raised eyebrow and calm demeanour from the old pirate. "Fight back." Plum wanted to see what was lurking on this ship, what she'd hired, irritated still from earlier. "You dont want that, just let me go back to my drink." Peach eyed the bottle stood on a barrel not too far away, just wanting a peaceful watch on deck. "No. You need to care. You need to do more than defend, I need a second in command who'll activley try to live, to survive, not just be a walking pin cushion and hope to die every time you take a hit."

This was stupid, the slight twist of the blade in peach's gut a threat, Plum felt guilt, she shoudlnt have been doing this, knew it hurt her, but would never kill. The irrittion that this idiot, this woman who could do so much, would just simply choose to do nothing instead got to her however.

"I'm not fighting you."

"Why not?!" Plums sword slid out and she took another agile swing, slicing through the womans shoulder, she didn teven try to move away from it.

"Because theres no point. You'll lose, all the skill in the world wont end me, its a fruitless task." And truth be told, Peach wouldnt raise a blade to her, couldnt even, unsure why, just...couldnt bare to fight her properly, fully aware of the horrors she'd enacted on foe in the past, no friend deserves that.

"So you only act when its too late? Only do something when youve already lost." At such close proximity Plum was able to glare at her, and for a brief moment, Peach felt something she'd not had in her for a while. Rage. Not more than four days prior to this she'd mentioned the past, her wife, the way she got revenge for what happened. It felt like...Plum was calling her out for that. For not doing enough then, as if what happened was her fault. While to some degree she agreed, the fact that someone would think she'd not fight tooth and nail to protect what she loved sunk in, a second or two ticking by as the fury started to collect.

Some small fragment of her old self started to surface, instead of pulling her body off the blade, taking one hand and shoving her opponent hard, sword going with her, freeing Peach and giving them a meters grace, space to adjust.

For the first time, Plum felt a little fear because of this woman, watching her straighten up, stop slouching, hold her sword properly, but more than anything, it was her eyes, they looked dark and menacing now, not tired or dismissive like before.

"I need to see that you dont let disaster hit before you do something. The crew need a second in command who cares wether they live or die. I need you to show me you have any real fight in you left, because right now, you look like youve given up." Peach was drunk, her shirt now had some holes in it, a small amount of blood on her person, wounds already healing up, sticthing back together, realising she'd not instilled any faith in anyone here since arriving.

"Fine. Have it your way." That deep seated anger started to rattle around in her, for the first time during this exchange, taking a step forward instead of simply defending. Plum did all she could to stop what happened next. The swing of that chipped old blade was so heavy it broke through her defence, staggering her back quickly, Peach's pace refusing to faulter, closing the gap steadily, as if fully in control, it was daunting, she didnt flinch to block the striked plum threw, eyes set ahead. "This is what you wanted right?" another solid hit had to be dodged, not blocked, there was no way Plum could handle another stagger like that. Their fight was brief. within five hits, the old and in places rusted weapon wrapped itself in such a way around the captains pristeen rapier, a moment where peach flinged the sword across the deck, clattering as she took one strike to threaten.

Plum felt a sting on her cheek, a thin line of red starting to appear, such a controlled strike that it only scratched her, looking up to see the looming threat standing close. "Dont you dare think that I wouldnt act before its too late. Thats...not what happened before."

It was suddenly apparent how this woman gained such a reputation, not once since she'd joined the ship had Plum seen it, never seen her do more than the bare minimum. The sword was sheathed, and Peach turned, grabbing the bottle she'd been forced to leave, leading her way off up the other end of the ship to be alone.

At least the captain knew now just what she was working with, and it frightened her a little.

#pirate au #coffee break rambling #brainrot #fruit salad

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tinyshe · 5 months ago

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Garden Report & Frugal Living 24.06.08

Some of you may have caught the post about Bronte dying (Monday June 3). She had a semi impacted crop (small stiff fruitless plum leaf with grass wrapped around it) which was sour crop issue and since I was down myself, I didn't catch it. It was noted that she wasn't feeling good which wasn't a big concern with the cold & wet one day, hot & dry the next day. The kids were letting the hens out and putting them up at night. We tried to save her but she was too far gone -- she died while we were trying to rescue (her comb had already turned purple and she was drooling which I could see from the back door). I will put a couple of video links at the end of this entry for those that are interested.

It is rather interesting watching the two remaining hens. They are working over their concerns about being without big bossy butt Bronte. They are now bonding as BFFs instead of Rossetti always pecking/charging at Alcott trying to keep a hierarchy. They go everywhere together and if separated it is very temporary with little clucks and songs of concern and encouragement. It took Bronte to die for them to realize that they 'need' and care for each other in their now very small flock. I see them now cuddling during there rest and at night.

Coming back from treatment we did stop and got two hog panels. We will be arching those. Once is for the roses (Joseph's Coat and a white ramble) because I can't get the ramble completely back up the camilla (it came down in a wind storm) and didn't get Joseph pruned back and was not wanting to put holes in the house to keep it upward. This was a quick easy solution to make a rose arch with the stock panel (rebar to anchor the panels in place). The second is for the clematis that is all over the writer's camp and carriage house roofs. Once the nestlings fledged, we can remove all that tangle of magnolia, Jerusalem Rose and clementas to expose the roof again (hoping still to get the settlement money before EOS and new roof).

With all the late rain there is an explosion/ boost to foliage. I can see a jungle again transforming what was my garden into a green lair from my bedroom window. It is taking on a wildness that the birds are delighting in.

So before I close this post, here are those videos:

youtube

#catholic gardener #urban homesteading #permaculture #garden report #frugal living #impacted crop #sour crop #chickens #hens #stock panels #hog panels #stock fencing in the garden #garden arch #roses #rose arch

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your-heart-is-a-treasure · 2 years ago

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Secrets of the Universe

It is the art of the heart to read the meaning and mystery of creation. Allah the Almighty has expressed much wisdom through His creatures, and He has created them in limitless numbers. The universe is a spectacular classroom for those seekers who have insight and with the readiness to learn. Some Friends of Allah have gained Divine wisdom from the mysteries of this universe, and with what they learned, they continue to sprinkle spiritual perfume upon yearning hearts.

Our Lord opened up the whole universe as a book from which all of us may learn.

Our Lord manifests many lessons, in all beings, for hearts that can feel and eyes that can see. His manifestation attracts our attention to the wisdom of giving.

A bee has a life of 45 days, on average. During that time it produces honey, but the amount it makes is perhaps a hundred times more than what it needs. The bee’s life is not for itself, but for others.

A plum tree’s fruit contains the seed by which it keeps its species alive. Plum trees, however, produce many more plums than are necessary for reproduction. The tree fruits so that others may benefit from it.

These are among the wonderful examples of altruism displayed in creation by our Lord.

Our Lord offers us the plane tree to tell us what this worldly life is about. The enormous plane tree loses its leaves in winter; and in doing so, shows us silently that death is real. In spring, it shows us that rising from death is also real. The plane tree bears no fruit, and is useless for timber. When its life is done, it can only be used for firewood. That means its legacy is small. It silently warns us: “Be aware, and understand that you are finite beings. Do not be as fruitless as I am!”

We should try to be like the olive tree, and gain skills that give maximum benefit to others. The olive tree has no mighty trunk, yet it starts bearing fruit within the year it is planted, and it keeps on bearing indefinitely. The rose, too, tells us silently: “I am always smiling with my color and scent, although I endure thorns in my body. I advise the same to you!”

Prosperity without giving to others, health and status or education without gratitude – all this is like being a dead plane tree. It is important for believers to be like fruit trees, and to work to be more fruitful all the time.

People of faith should ask themselves, “How much of my thinking and acting are self-centered? How much do I think about other people in need? How many sacrifices do I make? What might the bee, the rose, the plum tree, and the olive tree mean to me?”

As a human being is more highly honored than a bee or a tree, we should endeavor to be more beneficial to creation than a bee or a tree. The human being is the most highly honored of the creatures of Allah. We ought, therefore, to serve ourselves once, but others a thousand times.

It is said in the Holy Quran:

“The example of those who spend their wealth in Allah’s way is similar to that of a grain which has sprouted seven stalks and in each stalk are a hundred grains; and Allah may increase it still more than this, for whomever He wills; and Allah is Most Capable, All Knowing.”- [2:261]

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studentofetherium · 2 years ago

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you recommended some Chinese yuri in your yuri awards and you said something about there being a lot of good Chinese yuri I think (it's been a few weeks since I read the article haha). Do you have any recommendations for any more Chinese yuri?

i mentioned the highlights there, but i'd also highly recommend Their Story as the gold standard of yuri

Long-Awaited Feelings is also nice, but it failed to make my nominations for a reason. Green Plum Blossom Tea is pretty great and only failed to get nominated because it wasn't really a 2022 manhua (it had like one chapter public in the year). A Fruitless Betrothal is cool but updates a bit slowly (last new chapter was in june) and also i prefer their other series, like share and subscribe (which did get nominated)

#yuri #recommendations #mangaposting

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pegasusknightsonly · 2 years ago

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i know pointing at any part of engages writing and saying "hey that doesnt make any fucking sense" is as fruitless as the plum tree in my garden every other year but . what the fuck does this mean. what is this supposed to mean. its well established that there were three living humans in the mirror world and two of them are in this shot and one is buried under a tonne of rubble. what the fuck does this mean. "every nation's lost its rulers" WHAT DO YOU THINK A RULER IS, ENGAGE? WHAT DO YOU THINK THEY DO?

fe has been eating its own tail for a while but engage is utterly thoughtless about everything and i dont see any value in trying to excuse it. the best engage can come up with is "well rulers are good and powerful because they have power and thats good :-) and um there are rulers even if there arent people for them to rule over because power is" uh , let me check the text here , oh right engage says whole heartedly that power is something you have if you were literally born special and there's no other way to achieve it. Some People Are Just Better Than You. hierarchies are literally embedded in your blood. vile fascist shit

engage doesnt really have a single interpersonal dynamic that makes sense because it is so dedicated to stripping them of all context and meaning so even something like diamant and ivy where all the domino pieces are there lined up for them to have conflict they can overcome goes nowhere and becomes nothing. what makes a good leader in fe engage? i have no fucking clue beyond being Born Special. theres not even a cursory attempt to give alear any kind of tactical insight or competency, everyone they meet just falls over backwards to do whatever they say because clear was born so special and is simply too amazing and you have to pay £50 for this. awesome

#hater moment #FE YOU DID THE FUCKING LEGACY GAME ALREADY. AND IT WAS BETTER #pay £50 + DLC sight unseen for half-baked slop and a forty hour advertisement for fire emblem heroes. no thanks

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mortuarycommunism · 1 year ago

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The US, even in its most eco-friendly and Go-Green regions, is neither bikeable nor forageable.

I live in the Pacific Northwest, and there are some bike paths and greenways, but they’re typically surrounded by roads and fences and construction developments, piled up with litter. Portland, Oregon (not where I live) is considered the most dangerous city in the US for bicyclists because of how much the bike paths intersect with street traffic and car-focused city design.

There are forageable pockets of natural land, but these are typically well-kept secrets that established hobby-foragers don’t want other people to know about, for fear of over-harvesting. Most trees in cities are sterile and fruitless, and even when they’re not, it’s a crime to take from them. Those are the city’s plums, they say, and the right to let them drop and break open and rot to syrup is ours and ours alone. Workers spray wild blackberries with rat poison, paid by the state to prevent the homeless from feeding themselves. They cull edible mushrooms or take them for themselves, and in their place leave only what will make you sick.

We’re getting closer to autumn and when I bike to work I see more and more seemingly abandoned bikes parked on the side of the road, but then I notice a man and a child who’s still wearing their school bag working together to pick apples, or a man still wearing his high visibility work clothes who’s putting raspberries in a wrinkled plastic bag, or an old woman who’s gingerly collecting mushrooms and putting them straight into the basket on her bike because she brought nothing else.

All of these people clearly didn’t plan to go foraging but just happened to spot something on their commute, and it made me wonder what people do in countries that doesn’t have much of a bike culture. Like, I get why Norwegians don’t bike as much as Danes. Taking a stroll in most towns is plenty of work with those mountains (seriously, if you ever wanted proof that fat doesn’t mean out of shape, watch fat Norwegians walk up and down those inner-city mountainsides like it’s nothing)

So my question is just, if you like to forage but don’t bike which means you can’t just stop when you spot something yummy in the bushes, what do you do exactly? Do you make a trip of it and drive to a forest? Because here that’s considered hardcore foraging for nature nerds here, even though most people do casual foraging. Or is foraging mostly done when you go for a walk and randomly spot a berry bush? Because a lot of my casual foraging is done when I walk my dogs.

#it’s uh. bad

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messers-moony · 3 years ago

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Nothing Left | R.B

Paring: Regulus Black X Wife!Gryffindor!Reader

Summary: Everything crashes within seconds and Sirius doesn’t know where to go.

Everything went downhill so fucking fast. How was that even possible? Everything was perfectly fine a year ago, but it seems that within that year, everything had collapsed onto the helpless boy. It was like being beneath a crumbling concrete tower that fell with no warning. Like being slapped in the face unexpectedly. Like getting doused in freezing water on a Sunday morning.

In retrospect, it sucked.

Sirius Black would know first hand. His entire life had been a screw-up from the beginning. It started with his parents, who - at the start - loved him. But when he turned out to be the child they never wanted all that love had vanished. They tortured him, broke him piece by piece, they built up trauma that took years for him to express to his friends. It wasn’t until third year when they heard him crying alone in his four-poster bed and asked what was wrong. He could remember the comforting embrace James Potter had given him.

Nevertheless, it never ended there. The summer going into his sixth year, Sirius decided it was enough after too many Cruciatus Curses and body binding curses; enough was enough. His hands were trembling after enduring just ten minutes of the torture curse, and it was a struggle, but he packed everything he could. His heart broke at inevitably leaving his little brother behind. He could only hope that Regulus would understand.

It took a Knight Bus trip to the Potter residence in Godric’s Hollow. The sky could’ve resembled how Sirius felt. Back at Grimmauld Place Twelve, the sky was always cloudy and rainy. Godric’s Hollow allowed the sun to shine past the fluffy clouds, but tonight was different. The sky was dark and thick, black clouds covered the stars. Rain poured from them, and it pittered on the stone roads. Sirius was instantly drenched when he stepped off the Knight Bus.

Hesitantly he made his way to the door, where he knocked softly. The house was two stories and was a relatively big family home - not bigger than Grimmauld Place - but an average family home. The house was a mixture of grey, dark purples, and brown. It reminded Sirius of Remus’ patched jumpers. Sirius could hear movement from behind the plum door, and it opened to reveal a familiar face. James Potter with his messy hair, hazel eyes, and long limbs. James was muscular, but he was also tall, not Remus tall but taller than Sirius.

James didn’t speak and ushered him inside. The following morning at breakfast, Euphemia - Mrs. Potter - had given Sirius the excellent news of his new forever home. The Potters would never forget the way Sirius lit up and how a smile had taken over his face. Sirius didn’t remember being this happy except for when Regulus was born.

But his forever home was not forever.

In seventh year, James’ parents had died, and nobody had comforted Sirius except one person who attempted. James had Lily, and that was enough for him. Perhaps it was selfish to think that James should be comforting him. It was definitely selfish. Sirius was doing really good at hiding how he felt until he crumbled behind a tapestry near the dungeons.

Sirius didn’t know if it was good or bad luck that Regulus - his prefect Slytherin brother - had found him behind that tapestry. Regulus had pulled back the fabric slowly with his wand lit. His face had softened at his older brother sobbing with his knees to his chest. Regulus allowed his wand light to extinguish before sitting in front of him in the same position, allowing their socks to touch at the tips.

They sat there for a couple of minutes before Regulus moved closer, albeit hesitantly to sit beside Sirius. Regulus had his back against the concrete, and Sirius curled up onto him while the younger Black brother rubbed his older brother's back. Sirius cried harder and harder. It took an hour before he subdued to sniffles and whimpers, but Regulus took it as his time to speak.

“I know they meant a lot to you,” Regulus stated, still rubbing his older brothers back, “And I don’t blame you for grieving them.”

Sirius sniffled, “I ought to be grateful for them, really.” Regulus released a sound that sounded like a chuckle, but it was so foreign to Sirius he couldn’t tell, “They kept you safe. Kept you away from mother and father. They gave you a home where you could finally be you.”

“And no matter how mad I want to be at them for taking you away from me,” Regulus admitted, “I just can’t be because they gave you everything you wanted, and I’ve never seen you happier in my life.”

Regulus didn’t stop talking, “You know… I- I found my own James Potter.”

Sirius looked up at Regulus with flushed cheeks, but his facial expression was baffled, and Regulus presented him with a small smile, “Okay, maybe she isn’t my ‘James Potter’ per se because I don’t see her as a sister but rather she’s my girlfriend.”

“What’s- What’s her name?” Sirius croaked; his throat was so raw from crying.

“Y/n L/n.”

“A- A Gryffindor?”

Regulus made that sound again, “Yeah. A stupidly brave one too. Even worse.”

Sirius smiled, “I know her.”

“Don’t tell me she was one of your conquests.” Regulus grimaced, and Sirius chuckled, snuggling back into Regulus’ chest, “No, she wasn’t. It turns out she has the hots for the other Black brother.”

Regulus smiled, and they allowed the silence of the castle to consume them. It was dark in the corridor on the other side of the tapestry, and Regulus could see the faint moonlight peaking out. He could also imagine the stars glittering beautifully in the midnight sky. He could see the star Sirius shining brighter than ever, and he just wanted his brother to feel the same.

“I plan to marry her.” Regulus said before he could stop the words from falling from his mouth.

“What happens then?”

“What do you mean?”

“Mother and father will never approve.”

Regulus scoffed, “I’m done with their bullshit and have been for quite a while.”

Sirius met his brother's eyes again, “I left right after you. It turns out there is no more heir to the Black family name.”

The older Black brother smiled brightly and tightened his grip on his younger brother. Regulus couldn’t remember feeling this warm since they were little boys running around the backyard. Sirius was practically on top of him, and that was okay. For now, everything seemed okay again. Maybe Euphemia and Fleamont were gone, but even in their deaths, they managed to benefit Sirius’ life.

Now it all seemed fruitless.

Only a couple of months later, Sirius and Regulus had gotten into a huge kerfuffle. It ended with screaming, raw throats, tears, and flushed cheeks. Sirius could remember how Regulus playfully mocked his and Remus’ relationship. He didn’t know exactly what happened, just that he was pouncing for his little brother, and Remus was holding him back. Sirius had yelled some very awful things that he couldn’t take back.

She hadn’t done anything. She didn’t even know that an argument had happened. Y/n had been reading in the common room when the book was flung out of her hand, and she was pushed against the stone wall of the Gryffindor Tower. Y/n met eyes with stormy grey ones, not unlike her lovers, but these weren’t her lovers. These were his elder brother's eyes, and he had lifted her off the floor against the wall until James had pulled Sirius off her.

Y/n hit the floor with a thud and repeatedly coughed, hands on her throat. James had stormed into the boy's dormitory with Sirius with him. She didn’t even understand what was happening not until she met up with Regulus in the prefect dorm, and he saw the marks on her neck. Sirius had taken it too far, and Regulus was furious. They were no longer on speaking terms.

Now Sirius had someone entirely different to grieve.

Sirius had felt like his heart hit the floor when he was forced to move out of James’ house with Lily due to Harry being born. Remus had moved away to take care of his sick mother and asked for privacy. The funds that had previously been in Sirius’ account had been squandered, and now he was paying the price.

He had absolutely nowhere to go. Truthfully, there was one place he could go, but he didn’t think he’d ever be accepted there. He had said unforgivable things, but James had given him enough confidence that it would be okay. Reluctantly, Sirius Black took the Knight Bus to the suburbs in London. The community felt so modern and new. It was different then Godric’s Hollow which had been around for so many years that it began to weather and erode.

The deja vu was hitting him like a brick. Their house was a mixture of grey, black, white, and maybe blue - Sirius couldn’t tell in the darkness if it was white or pale blue. Perhaps he’d find out tomorrow if he was even welcomed inside. Sighing and shivering, Sirius knocked on the door. He could hear little squeals of delight that sounded much like a child. He also heard talking, but he froze when the door opened.

Regulus Black, at the age of twenty-two, looked good. His hair was to his jaw, and it was wavy at the ends, whereas Sirius’ was much more straight. His eyes had turned silver over the years. His cheeks looked much fuller, and he looked a lot better. Regulus was no longer looked underweight, but he was still slim and skinny. Black family genes, Sirius supposed. Sirius couldn’t meet his brother's eyes.

“What do you want, Sirius.”

His name falling from Regulus’ mouth instead of a nickname hurt more than he expected, “I had nowhere else to go…”

Regulus scoffed, “James finally kick you out, eh?”

“Yeah, he did.” Sirius sounded so distant, “Perhaps it was about time, and here I am, at your doorstep.”

“Come on, Sirius.” Regulus motioned for him to come in, and Sirius did.

The house was much cozier inside. The floors were dark wood, almost black. The living room - on Sirius’ left - was a darker turquoise color with grey furniture. The dining room - on Sirius’ right - was a light grey. The furniture was a marble table, white wood chairs with cushions, and a beautiful light fixture. Regulus led him to the kitchen, which was straight ahead in the hallway.

It was a beautiful mint green color with black and white furniture. The appliances were primarily black and the furniture primarily white, but regardless, it was beautiful. They had another table in the kitchen that was a grey wood instead of the shiny marble in the dining room but nevertheless screamed elegance. Sirius sat at one of the barstools at the L of the counter. Regulus slid him a cup of tea.

“Your house is beautiful.” Sirius complimented, and Regulus placed the cup back into the saucer, “Thank you. My wife picked everything out for the most part. I either built it or painted it.” Regulus smiled.

“Your wife?”

Regulus hummed, “Y/n Black. Ring any bells?”

Sirius swallowed, “Yeah.”

They both took a sip of tea, “I have two kids too. Both boys.”

“Two?!“ Sirius nearly spat out the liquid he had just taken a sip of.

“Twins. Fraternal, thankfully.”

He placed the cup down, “What’re their names?“

“Perseus Regulus Black and Leo Alphard Black.”

“Perseus and Leo, huh?“

Regulus blushed, “It wasn’t my idea. It was Y/n’s.”

“I like them,” Regulus looked up at him, “The names. I’m sure they fit them too.”

“Thanks.”

It wasn’t long until footsteps began to echo coming down the steps. Y/n had grown up too. Her face was sharper and her curves more defined. If Sirius was honest, she didn’t look like she had kids at all. To be fair, he wasn’t really staring at Y/n but more so his brother. Regulus had a starstruck expression as his wife walked towards him. He had a dopey smile on his face and stars in his eyes. Regulus really loved her, and Sirius could tell, hell, anyone could.

Y/n stopped in her tracks at seeing Sirius, “What’s he doing here?”

Regulus placed an arm around her waist, “He came looking for a place to stay. While I was waiting for you, I decided to catch up with him for a little.”

Sirius looked guilty, “Ultimately, I’m leaving this decision up to you.”

Y/n sighed and looked at both brothers. She thought of what he did back at Hogwarts. She thought of how Regulus had cried and ached for his brother, wishing for their relationship to be back the way it was. She thought of her two children who always asked about their Uncle Sirius, who was never around.

“Sirius,” Y/n began, and Sirius held his breath, “Where will you go if I were to say no?”

Sirius looked at his lap, “The streets.”

He couldn’t hear the footsteps that approached him until soft hands lifted his head where he met soft e/c eyes, “I’m willing to look past everything that happened at Hogwarts for the sake of my children. They deserve their uncle. But I need you to show me that I can trust you and that you won’t cause trouble.”

“I’ll do anything.” Sirius complied, and Regulus smirked, “Don’t say that. She’ll have you remodel something.”

“You’re an asshole.” Y/n whirled, and Regulus continued to smirk, “I told you to use magic, and you said we should do it the Muggle way.”

He shrugged, “We got good memories out of doing it the Muggle way.”

“If getting paint all over me counts as good memories, then sure.”

“It does.” Regulus smiled, “Your face was priceless.”

“Dickhead.” She muttered.

Sirius grinned, “Well, Sirius. If Y/n lets you stay, then you’re welcome here. What I did back at Hogwarts was uncalled for, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mocked you and Remus.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It is.” Regulus countered solemnly, “Had I not done that; then we could’ve had a better relationship. For that, I’m sorry.”

Sirius stood up and hugged Regulus tight, “New beginnings?”

“New beginnings.” Regulus smiled.

Regulus led Sirius up the wooden stairs up to the second story. It seemed to have had four bedrooms and two bathrooms, one in the master bedroom, one in the hallway, not including the one downstairs. On the end of the left side was a door leading to the master bedroom. On the right end was a cabinet and two doors across from one another. Then in the middle of the back was a door leading to another bedroom which Regulus had opened.

The bedroom was spotless and beautiful. It was painted a grey with purple undertone with a queen-sized bed. Most of the furniture was white, and the bedding was black. Sirius had brought his trunk to its normal size and placed it at the end of the bed. Regulus smiled as Sirius looked around.

“This is yours for as long as you want it.” Regulus stated softly snd Sirius had tears in his eyes, “Thank you.”

Sirius hugged his brother again, “I really mean it, thank you.”

“I love you, Sirius.” Regulus confessed, “You’ll always be my brother. The one who held me during thunderstorms. The one who sewed up my teddy bear when it had gotten ripped. The one who took the blame so I wouldn’t get punished.”

Sirius was gripping the back of his shirt tightly, “That stuff doesn’t just go away.”

They parted, and Regulus smiled, “Get some sleep. I’m sure you’d like to see the boys tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah. I’d like to meet my nephews.” Sirius admitted smiling brightly.

“Get some sleep, Siri.”

“You too, Reggie.”

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