#garbage dump match my beloved

[solcarow]

.

[a-tiny-teez]

Behind the scenes

Yandere Director OC X Fem reader

Part 1

Warning : 18+ content,MDNI, age gap, yandere themes, kidnapping,power imbalance, implied non-con, slight slow burn, reader is in her mid twenties and yandere Director is in his late thirties.

1:34 AM

The sound of the clock ticking away could be heard as you continue to type away on the keyboard.The last few scenes of the work you've been working on are going to be completed and with new inspiration you continue . Pulling all nighters , dumping strong coffee in your system and an unhealthy amount of rest has been your life for the last six months.

The purrs of your beloved cat taking your attention for a slight bit was actually quite good for your eyes as looking at a screen for a long time strained your eyes heavily. You looked at your cat with a smile. “ Just a bit left baby ”.It wasn't that you had a deadline. It's just that you loved your work. Your friends often made jokes about your intense workaholic routine but you just laughed them off.

“ At this point you're gonna have to marry your own character” , your friend Becky said laughing.

“ Wouldn't be bad you know” ,you smirked at her and she shook her head with a smile.

Being a playwright was your dream that you accomplished just a few years ago. Doing part time jobs and studying were most of the things you did during your college days. So although you were completely new to this field of work , you have gained quite a good amount of fame. Some of your work has been appreciated by the audience and the rookie playwright of the year award was a great feat of accomplishment of your whole life.

Now back to present, with the last word typed away you save your work and then send it to your beta to recheck everything. Stretching your arms out you yawned and finally stood up. Going over to your kitchen and opening a cabinet you pulled out a microwave ramen and decided to settle for it tonight. You decided tomorrow you'd go grocery shopping as you shivered watching the sorry state of fridge. After a few minutes you had your ramen while watching the tv . There was nothing much going on the tv at this time so you settled for a documentary show that was being re-broadcasted.

Oh , it's him. You thought as you slurped on the noodles. Spicey just as you liked it. The documentary was about a famous film director. You had seen him a few times during award shows. He was one of the most successful directors of the time and all of his films were successful as he got the best director awards quite a few times. It must be fate now that you came across this because you were just thinking about sending him your work. You doubted it'd be accepted but still it's worth a shot. You gotta keep trying in this field of job.

Hoping you'd at least have your work checked by him you turned off the TV and dumped the trash in the garbage can. Then after cleaning up you went to bed to get the sleep you very much needed.

____________________

“ I've finished rechecking. It's all good to send. Be assured”, said your beta, Alan .

“Alright. Done” you said clicking the send button. Now if it's accepted you'd get to meet the director and it'll be made into a film. Your genre this time matched with the kind of works he worked on so you hoped your work will get at least the recognition.

“ Man I hope I'll get accepted”

“ Don't worry. I have a good feeling about this and you worked really hard on this so don't lose hope” , reassured Alan. You smiled at him and hoped for the best.

“You wanna get lunch ? My treat.” You asked.

“Why not? Can't say no to free food”, he sheepishly smiled.

Alan was like your little brother. He's been with you ever since your first work and over the time you two bonded as if he was family. He was still a student from your alma mater and he looked up to you a lot. You were happy to have him appreciate you cause there were times when you felt despair but he was the one who always helped you get through tough times.

After eating and bidding Alan goodbye you went to the grocery store. Walking towards the aisle you remembered what you needed and put them in the cart. A carton of milk, eggs, vegetables, sausages ,Nutella oh and you were about to run out of coffee so a jar of coffee. Okay , that's all from here . Then you bought some cooking spices and other necessities. Checking everything you went to the cashier. Paying for everything you went out the store and a cold breeze passed by making you shiver. October was ending and it was getting colder. You pulled your coat closer and loaded your car then drove away to home as you planned on making dinner and having hot chocolate later.

_____________________

2 days later

The sound of luminary playing in the background could be heard as you were cleaning out your closet and filling it with warm clothes. It was one of your favourite soundtracks. It was just so beautiful and gave you lots of ideas.

You remember the earlier phone call. You still couldn't believe it. Dominic Albero read your script and he wanted to have a meeting with you. His assistant called and made you aware about the appointment which is tomorrow night. You're so happy right now. You can't believe your work got recognized by THE director everyone wants to work with. You informed Alan about this and boy was he so enthralled with the situation. He wished you best of luck for tomorrow and you decided you'd celebrate with him if your work gets adapted tomorrow.

[laurarolla]

And finally done with the Borderlands: The Pre-Sequel playthrough of the main campaign and Claptastic Voyage. Boy, that was a long one. The remaining Claptastic Voyage video parts will be up a bit later on, they're all recorded though. And oh boy, I get to have possibly controversial opinions on a long-beloved franchise that just got a movie adaptation and definitely has another game on the way. Hooray!

So, Borderlands has a few things going for it, namely really great characters, a solid atmosphere, narratives that manage to actually drift between serious and silly in ways that don't feel jarring, and so many mix and match procedurally generated weapons that you rarely end up with the same drop twice, which can be good or bad based on your perspective on the game's loot and leveling system. Regarding the story, it's good. The only thing that kinda bugs me is that the story wants to be a story about how Jack became the monster he is in Borderlands 2, but it really doesn't show a change in character or personality, but just how he gains the power to be the absolute piece of garbage he always was deep down. I've seen some stuff from BL3 that actually does go into what pushed him into being an evil bastard, but like Moxxi points out, the darkness was always there and he just needed the power and the opportunity to embrace it. If you just ignore the read of it being the "fall of Jack" and instead go in 100% with the idea that this is the story of the "rise of Handsome Jack," I think you get a better overall feeling for the narrative experience.

In terms of gameplay and mechanics, I honestly kinda hate this game. It's not specifically because I think there are wrong decisions being made in most cases (although a mailbox system like in Destiny 2 or WoW would be great for situations like a legendary drop falling through the damn ground or getting something dropped on it). The issue is in the philosophy of the game, and the fact that what I came to the game for was not at all what it wants to deliver. I like the world, the characters, and their stories. I couldn't care less about being asked to sift through piles of loot, most of which is Grinder fodder or something to sell for semi-useful money, only to realize that the weapons I found that were cool and fun to use are practically useless about an hour or two later. I suppose the thing is that I didn't want another MMO, even if this one is vastly superior in terms of long-term survival due to being unshackled to a live service model.

Part of what made Destiny 2 so enjoyable to me as a persistant game was that I didn't have to spend absurd amounts of time farming, and if I got a good weapon, I got to keep using it because I could upgrade the power level without having to go get another one of the same gun at the higher level. But the issue isn't that Destiny 2's loot drop system is inherently better, because for many people, it isn't. For me, the issue is that, when combined with gunplay that isn't nearly as fun as I want it to be, talent trees that remind me of how much WoW improved over the years by dumping the incremental math for the sake of landmark upgrades at specific levels, and certain damage types and weapons feeling damn near necessary in a system where everything you get is absurdly unpredictable, it isn't fun to pick up a bunch of garbage to sell or trade when I found things that were fun to use. I didn't come here for Diablo with guns and a wacky robot buddy. I have the same opinion about Diablo and other loot piñata games. Being neurodivergent in some way definitely doesn't help me with this, either.

The point is, I love the world and story and characters of Borderlands, but I absolutely fucking hate playing Borderlands. However, after playing the game for many hours, I'm now actually pretty decent at Borderlands. Maybe BL2 will be a worthwhile experience when I eventually get around to it, but I'm not expecting much. I mean, it doesn't even have the Oz kits and boost jump system that I actually did like.

[haikyuucollective]

Part 1/? - Why Volume 37 of Haikyuu is Goated

Rereading Volume 37 never gets old. I'm so confident that I could reread it over 1,000 times and still never tire. The amount of anticipated events unfolding during it is definitely one of the two main factors, but of course, it couldn't have been executed as wonderfully as it did without the author himself. Furudate is amazing at his craft, and in my opinion, I think this volume showcases it extremely well; for starters, lets talk battle. Spoilers ahead!

The End of The Battle of The Garbage Dump

Perhaps one of the biggest attributes to this volume was the greatly anticipated ending to Nekoma vs. Karasuno. I can only imagine the excitement going on during the release of this volume; would Nekoma somehow take the last set? Is Karasuno going to lose against them again? Are they going to win? How will both teams react, regardless of the outcome?

With only a few pages left in the battle, each team pushed themselves to their limit, with even the opposed-to-sweat-and-tiredness Kenma giving it his all. While watching this scene in theaters, I was literally at the edge of my seat, gripping my ICEE cup and armrest as if one of them scoring would cause the theater to crumble. My friends and I were so entranced, that we, along with Hinata, didn't realize that the game was truly over until the scoreboard was shown.

I remember feeling my grip slowly release, gasps from both sides of my seat (along with my own), slapping me back into reality.

Turns out that the slight mishap Kenma had with setting the ball due to the sheer amount of sweat accumulated on it lost Nekoma the game.

However, even though they lost, Nekoma was dedicated the entire time. I figure they knew that this was the last set, and as such, every point mattered 110% more than usual. They forewent being passive and instead chose to try and truly embody their schools' motto: connect.

We can see how they did this until the very end, with Nobuyuki and futakuchi rushing, slamming themselves against the floor in order to have a chance at receiving the ball.

Even though they lost, Nekoma lost knowing they had given it their all.

The ending sequence right after, although having zero dialogue, was perfect. Words didn't need to be said; their actions speaking for them all.

In the panels below we see friends from both teams embracing each other, celebrating Karasunos victory and a match well played. Rivals are respected, kouhais are praised, and our beloved seniors in the bottom left corner are seen holding eachother after winning yet another match during their last season.

We also see supporters from both sides, giving both teams their applause at the very end. While rivals, the respect they hold for each other is clear, and no negative responses were shown. Both sides won, and lost, with grace.

Finally, and in my opinion the most heartwarming, the thanking of the mentors. Similar to the supporters, both of the mentors show obvious respect for the other. However, while this scene may seem sweet to those who have not been keeping up with the series, it's even moreso meaningful when you have. This match may had been highly anticipated by the viewers, but it was even higher for the teams themselves. Finally being able to play each other again at nationals was a defining moment for these players, and especially, coaches.

As we see Nekomata shaking hands with Takeda, our eyes scroll to the next page to find Coach Udai, the retired renowned coach of Karasuno and Nekomatas close friend. He had been watching the match closely with his neighborhood team, and seeing Nekomata with Takeda, both congratulating on a game well played, reached out his hand as well.

In spirit, he is with Nekomata, the two of them standing on the court where their teams finally played against one another again. They shake hands; the cat and crow both satisfied.

And there you have it, a game well played. I was planning on going even further with this, however tumblrs 10 image policy politely said "not today". However, with what I have jotted down onto here, I hope your opinion on Volume 37 has been affected at least the teeniest bit. Furudate was able to convey so much with so little, which is inherently a gift most mangakas acquire, however I believe he went above and beyond here. The third years with their backs towards the crowd, facing the future. The players embracing their parallels from the other team, showing friendships and rivalries that continue to stay strong. Nekomata and Udai finally being content, the cat and crow standing passively towards each other, the battle of the garbage dump finally complete. All in all, the ending to The Battle Of The Garbage Dump was one of the key reason why Volume 37 is goated because it wraps up the highly anticipated match in a way that is satisfying and meaningful. I'm sorry I couldn't go into as much detail as I wished to, but I hope you all enjoyed nonetheless.

Thank you for reading! I'll try my best to get the next part out extremely soon.

Citations

Furudate, Haruichi. "Haikyu!!" Shonen Jump, April 4th 2019, vol. 37 chapter 324

[lapinbunwrites]

Title: Honored Memories

Rating: G

Warnings: None

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Relationship: Dorothea/Edelgard

Word Count: 1,972

Ao3 Link

Beta Reader: Kaerra

Edelgard was frustrated. She had watched the preparation of this dish—a chocolate cake with cinnamon frosting—multiple times, and had tasted it more times than that. It was one of her favorites, but more importantly, it was one of her deceased sister’s favorite treats. Her sister had made it often when they were younger, and it always tasted fantastic. Her sister would always wake her up to take her to the kitchen, and when they arrived, the kitchen always smelled like rich chocolate and cinnamon.

But whenever Edelgard prepared it, it always tasted like garbage. Scratch that, garbage tasted better. Edelgard wrinkled her nose when the kitchen started to smell like burnt cattle. Nervously, she took a bite of the cake and started to gag and choke at the burnt metal flavor. She spat the cake into the sink. Edelgard let out an annoyed sigh that reached to the ears of her beloved wife, Dorothea.

“Oh, Edie, what’s with the long sigh?” Dorothea giggled.

Edelgard dumped her cake into the trash and washed her hands before answering. “I’m just a little upset.” She slumped over the counter.

“You always are. What’s new?”

“Dorothea,” she sighed.

Dorothea let out a little chuckle. “I’m only teasing. What’s wrong?”

Edelgard sighed as her eyebrows furrowed. “I can’t seem to make this cake right. I can’t even get to the frosting.”

Dorothea scanned the counter. She could tell this wasn’t the first time she had attempted to make the cake. “Did you follow the instructions?”

“Step by step,” Edelgard said dejectedly.

“Hm.” Dorothea tapped her finger against her chin. “Usually if you follow the instructions perfectly, the food should be fine.”

Edelgard stood up straight, her expression changing to irritation. “Are you suggesting that I’m a terrible baker,” she asked, her eyebrow twitching.

Dorothea let out a little nervous laugh. “No, but you are.”

“Then what do you suggest I do?” Edelgard asked through gritted teeth.

Dorothea thought, then snapped her fingers when she came up with an idea. “How about I watch you make the cake, and see if you’re missing something.”

Edelgard sighed. “Fine.”

Dorothea held the cookbook close as she watched Edelgard put all of the dirty dishes into the sink before grabbing clean ones. Dorothea watched her every move, making an occasional correction. The kitchen was starting to smell a lot less like burnt cattle and a lot more like cocoa. During the baking process, Edelgard became distracted by Dorothea’s singing, forgetting that she was baking something. When the cake was done and cooled, it tasted too sweet, like a block of sugar with a hint of cocoa in it.

“Hm, what went wrong?” Dorothea asked, immediately throwing out the cake. “I was watching your every move.”

“I-I don’t know,” Edelgard responded, her face starting to heat up.

Dorothea looked at her with an eager smile. “If I may ask, why is this cake so important to you?”

Edelgard crossed her arms, tapping her right arm with her index finger, and avoided eye contact. Eventually she sighed, and uncrossed her arms. “It was one of my sister’s favorite sweets. It was actually her favorite food. And every year, one of the cooks would make it for her birthday.” She paused, letting out a sorrowful sigh. “And today is her birthday.”

“Oh Edie,” Dorothea murmured. She pulled Edelgard in for a hug, holding her tightly.

“She would take me into the kitchen and show me how to make it,” Edelgard sniffed, nuzzling her head into Dorothea’s chest.

“I’m sorry Edie,” Dorothea apologized, rubbing her back. “I didn’t mean to bring up sad memories.”

“It’s alright,” Edelgard sniffed.

Dorothea hummed her a little tune to help distract her from the memories. She shifted around to place her thumbs near her eyes to wipe away the tears. “Feeling better?”

“I’m fine,” Edelgard reassured her. “If I were to wallow in my pain, I wouldn’t be honoring my sister’s memory very well.”

“What matters most is you remembered her,” Dorothea said gently.

“Yes, she’d want me to be happy and spend time with my loved ones” Edelgard smiled.

“Hehe, well, we can always go do fun things,” Dorothea said, a grin slowly emerging on her face, “like maybe go to an opera.”

“No opera!” Edelgard said emphatically. “I’m still embarrassed from the last performance.”

Dorothea let out a little chuckle. “Then what would you like to do?”

“Why don’t we go shopping? My sister would always take me to one of the shopping towns after eating cake on her birthday,” Edelgard smiled.

“Oh! That’s a great idea! And we can walk around Enbarr to work up an appetite!” She smiled as she grabbed onto Edelgard’s arm, holding her tightly. “Shall we get going, My Beloved Emperor?”

“Of course, My Empress,” she said softly, placing on top of hers. “But we should sneak out.”

“How scandalous! The Emperor, of all people, with such thoughts,” Dorothea snorted.

Edelgard let out a soft, low chuckle. “Would you like to be caught by Hubert?” she asked in her attempt to tease her.

“Hehe, it’s adorable that you are trying to be sarcastic,” Dorothea said, squishing Edelgard’s face. “But no, no I would not.”

Edelgard laughed a little more as she took Dorothea’s hand. They walked out of the kitchen, walking through the palace halls, avoiding every knight and guard, hiding behind walls, statues, anything. And when they saw Hubert, they ran away from him, laughing as he chased them, demanding their destination. Once they stopped running, and when they caught their breath, they realized they were in one of Enbarr’s shopping towns.

Dorothea once again held onto Edelgard’s arm as they walked through the town. They saw many people dancing, singing, painting, and doing some sort of art. It brought back a flood of memories for Edelgard of when she was with her sister shopping for clothes. When Edelgard watched the dancers, it reminded her that her sister taught her how to dance. She shook her head, now wasn’t the time to keep remembering her sister. There was someone more important to focus on.

Edelgard held out her hand towards Dorothea, who happily accepted it. The two danced to the beat of the singers, whether it be slow or fast. When the singers sang another slow song, Edelgard placed her head on Dorothea’s chest, listening to her rapid heartbeat. Dorothea fiddled with her hair as she sang in a low tune as she looked around the town. If they could stay like this, Edelgard wouldn’t complain. But alas, Dorothea insisted on going shopping. They walked around and Dorothea had a huge smile on her face as she dragged her into a clothing shop. Edelgard hated shopping for clothes, she would rather shop for anything else, shopping for maps would be more appealing.

Edelgard sat in a chair, near the fitting rooms, legs crossed. She placed her chin in her hand, and impatiently tapped her face as she waited for Dorothea to come back with whatever she could find.

Dorothea walked around the shop, pulling any clothing she liked, in her favorite colors like red, purple and pink.

Edelgard let out a sigh when she brought back a plethora of different clothes. “What is the point of all of this?”

“Why would there need to be a point?” Dorothea asked, hiding the truth.

Edelgard raised an eyebrow. “You know I don’t like shopping for clothes, so there must be one.”

“Fine, you caught me,” she said, flailing her arms around. “You only have a few outfits and it’s sad. Her Majesty should have whatever she wants! It gets uninspiring to the people when they see their Emperor wearing the same outfit over and over again.”

“I see. I never thought of it that way,” Edelgard sighed. “You also sounded much like Hubert,” she teased.

Dorothea repeated her words in a deeper voice to mock him. A nice little laugh came out of Edelgard’s mouth that made Dorothea laugh herself. It was a little while before they stopped laughing and before Edelgard tried on some clothes. Edelgard modeled the outfits that Dorothea liked, but she hated first, and then she wore the outfits she liked but Dorothea hated. They bickered back and forth on which outfits they agreed on.

Dorothea sighed, handing her one last dress to try on. Edelgard had struggled to get the dress on and when she went to get help, Dorothea was nowhere to be found. She walked back to the fitting rooms to change back into her clothes and when she walked out, Dorothea appeared out of breath.

“Where were you?” Edelgard asked with a low whisper.

“Uh, nowhere in particular,” Dorothea lied, avoiding eye contact.

“Dorothea,” Edelgard glared.

“Don’t worry about it! It’s my little surprise,” her voice got shakier and higher.

After a stare down, Edelgard dropped the matter.

“Anyway, did you find a dress?” Dorothea asked with a smile.

Edelgard showed her the dress she liked.

Dorothea’s face became red. It was the dress she loved most. “I knew you would love that one!”

“The only problem is that this dress is one size too small,” she sighed.

“Oh, did I accidentally give you the wrong size,” Dorothea giggled.

Edelgard knew that was a lie.

Dorothea took the one Edelgard had and went to go grab the right size.

Edelgard tried the dress on, it was much easier to fit. She slowly walked out of the fitting room, waddling in a circle to show her what she looked like.

Dorothea’s mouth was a gap, she had no words.

“Wha-What,” Edelgard asked nervously.

“No-Nothing,” Dorothea said, standing behind her. “You look absolutely stunning, my love,” she said, showing her how to fix her hair in the mirror.

“I guess this will suffice.” Edelgard smiled.

“It’s more than enough! You can go to a ball in this dress or you can give speeches in it. Or—” Dorothea winked.

“Dorothea,” Edelgard yelled, her face burning up.

All Dorothea could do was laugh uncontrollably. When she was done, she gave her a kiss before taking Edelgard’s arm. They walked around the town, shopping for accessories that would match Edelgard’s new outfits before they went to a bakery. As they drew closer to the building, Edelgard smelled strong, rich chocolate and cinnamon. When they walked inside, and when Edelgard saw the freshly baked cake on the counter, tears rolled down her face. It smelled like the mornings she would spend with her sister on her birthday.

“Edie, is everything okay?” Dorothea asked, her voice shaking.

Edelgard took the palms of her hands to wipe her tears away. “It smells like my sister’s cake. How is this possible?”

Dorothea gave her a small, soft smile. “While we were dancing, I saw this bakery. And when you were trying on clothes, I snuck out to see if they knew anything about it and I was in luck! They did! I asked if they could make it for you!”

Edelgard sighed and gave her a kiss. “Thank you, my love.”

“Hehehehe, you’re welcome! Let’s eat it before it gets cold,” Dorothea said, kissing her back.

They both were given one piece of cake, devouring it in seconds, leaving the bakery soon after. They spent the rest of the night in silence. They shopped around some more, stopping at a flower shop to buy a bouquet of Forget-Me-Nots. When they got back to the Imperial Palace, they went straight to the graveyard to place the bouquet on Edelgard’s sister’s grave. Dorothea broke their long silence to hum them a song before her beloved wife decided it was time to go to bed. Edelgard wrapped her arms around Dorothea’s waist and placed her head on her chest, listening to her steady heartbeat. Dorothea continued to hum a song until they both fell asleep.

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Ahh, I was able to participate in A Brighter Dawn: An Edelthea Zine!! I'm so happy that I was able to! We were given the go ahead to post my full piece! I had so much fun being able to write this piece and for one of my fave FE3H ships!

Leftover sale is going on now: Store

[lizabethstucker]

Dumplin’ by Julie Murphy

Dumplin’ 1

Willowdean Dickson knows she is fat, but has always considered herself confident in what and who she is.  Until her fast food coworker, Bo Larson, a private high school student, reveals his attraction to her while they are dumping the night's garbage.  Suddenly Will is worried about her back fat, finding herself backing away from Bo, especially after he and his younger brother are moved to her public high school.  

Desperate to regain her confidence, refusing to miss out on life like her beloved aunt did before she passed away, possibly from complications from her obesity, Will signs up for the Miss Teen Blue Bonnet pageant.  Her decision starts a revolution, but may also be the last break between she and her best friend.

The premise caught my eye while looking for another Julie Murphy book, to be read next, on my library's datebase.  The Dolly Parton references sold me.  There is no finer role model for everyone, male or female or non-binary, who feels different.  Dolly lives her truth.  She's more than aware of how she appears to certain others with her big hair and bigger boobs on her tiny frame.  Dolly always defused the personal attacks with self-deprecating humor.  She is an incredibly gifted woman, a business genius, and one of the kindest and most generous people who's ever been on this planet.

The characters are beyond relatable.  We will recognize these people.  A few of us ARE these people.  I recognized her confidence as more knowing who and what she was and staying in her lane.  Much as her late Aunt Lucy did.  The difference is that Will has realized that living in that box can limit your life.  While Bo may have lit the spark, discovering more about her aunt as well as about her mother, a former Miss Teen Blue Bonnet herself, who works on the pageant every year.

I'm still torn about who Will should be with.  Bo is okay and much more than just a pretty boy who she assumed was rich.  But I have such a soft spot for Mitch.  I hope he gets his match in a future book.  He deserves love.  Even if he is friends with skanky school bully Patrick.

The ending made sense.  To avoid spoilers, I will say no more, but be assured that it was still satisfyingly and logical.  The message was strong and wonderful.  Be secure in who you are, be the best you can be, reach out to others who might need a helping hand or a shoulder to cry on.  I cannot say enough about how much I enjoyed this book.

I wasn't aware that this had been turned into a Netflix movie until I was searching Booktube for other reviews of the book.  I don't have Netflix, so I won't be able to see it, but the clips appear to show that about 80% of the book is represented in the film.  No Mitch, among other characters who were left out.  Some twists and turns that probably made sense to the writers.  But at least we had a really plus size actress playing Willowdean.  Maybe it was best that Disney didn't make it.  Knowing them, they would've hired a size 10 or 12 actress for the part.  

I highly recommend reading this book, no matter your age.  4.5 out of 5.

[joysbell]

A Mountain of Fire and Blood: Chapter 1

Nesta stood on the plush blue carpet in the formal business room, or whatever Feyre called it, of her sister’s river estate. She held a sac tightly in her arms, waiting for Feyre’s mate to winnow the three of them to the cabin Nesta was being banished to in the Illyrian mountains. The sac held her most important possessions and was rather heavy due to its contents being mostly books. Her nostrils flared. Where the hell was that prick her sister had married—his insufferable high lordness—that she refused to recognize had any control over her. No. Maybe her sister, Feyre, did. But certainly not that ass.

Her sister sat up straight in a nearby ornate chair. Her hands rested on her thighs, and Nesta admitted she looked slightly nervous. Good. Nesta hoped she was questioning her decision to kick her out of Velaris, to stop paying her rent, her tabs. Even if Nesta’s behavior was questionable, at best, her sister had dragged her into this life that she had never wanted to be a part of. Her sister and her damned mate. Nesta shot her sister a look of disgust. “Where is he?”

Feyre sat up a little straighter. “He’s coming.” She smoothed her dress and held her sister’s eyes. “Try to think about this differently, Nesta. It’s not a punishment.”

It wasn’t? Because it certainly felt like one. Her sister held all the power and had decided to press Nesta under her thumb, to move her wherever she pleased because she knew that Nesta had no other choice, no other option. Feyre did not agree with her lifestyle, which was laughable, because Nesta could count on more than one hand the terrible decisions Feyre had made—but she was safe from judgment, she was lucky, she was adored. She was High Lady of the Night Court.

Nesta spun away and remained silent. At least Feyre had shown up to carry out the sentence she had dealt. Elain was nowhere to be seen. Nesta imagined she was baking bread or tending to her gardens. Her beloved little sister had passed judgment on her, too. That hurt so much more than Feyre and her friend’s choice—that fact that Elain had agreed—they had probably held a vote. Nesta had stood by Elain while she had remained mute, lovesick, and utterly horror-shocked.

Perhaps Nesta had not always made the best choices. But did she really deserve this? They were throwing her away like garbage. To a relentlessly cold, unforgiving place. Maybe they thought it was perfect for her.

It was at that moment that Rhysand finally winnowed into the study. He wore his usual attire—black, intricate silver embellishments. He looked hard, void of the gentleness he saved for his circle. No. Absolutely none of that for her. Just repulsion. “Let’s go,” he said. Rhysand held out two hands, expectantly.

Nesta watched her sister rise, instantly more confident in the presence of her mate. Feyre lived well in her decision. “Okay,” Feyre said, grabbing Rhysand’s hand. When Nesta didn’t move, Feyre nudged her with her eyes, looking to her mate’s other hand. “Nesta.”

She could not remember the last time she had touched the High Lord, and did not want to feel that immense power, which she knew he would send through her, it would be ice in her veins. Bastard. She lunged forward, moving her sac to one arm, and roughly grabbed his hand. If he was going to be gruff, she would match him and more. There was nothing but liquid abhorrence behind her blue-gray eyes.

They instantly traveled.

Nesta felt slightly lightheaded, standing in the middle of a cabin. The walls, floors, and furniture were all varying types of wood. It was dark. The only light came from the fire in a nearby hearth, and those sounds immediately flooded her senses—crack, pop, snap. She almost dropped her bag.

The cabin became more illuminated as candles were suddenly lit. Nesta stood in an open space, next to a couch, some chairs, and a low table. The kitchen and front door, she noted, was to her left. There was a strong feeling to run toward the exit, into whatever lay outside. But her wine-stained slip shoes were not made for the snow she imagined she would meet.

Feyre spoke as she moved to the kitchen. “It’s cozy here.”

Nesta might have agreed under different circumstances. She dropped her bag beside her and sat down on the couch, not willing herself to look around any further. The healthy fire still sang a horrific song to her.

“Elain and I were here earlier cleaning up.” Feyre seemed to be making herself busy, adjusting things. “Elain gave you a couple plants,” she said, pointing around the room. “You will have to water them.”

Nesta seethed. She really didn’t care about her sister’s fucking plants. She was here. And she wanted to be left alone.

Rhysand moved to Feyre in the kitchen and muttered quietly, “I’ll tell Cassian to water them.”

Cassian. In the hours leading up to her arrival Nesta had put her thoughts on the Illyrian warrior on the back burner. She had been too busy pacing around her apartment, rushing to pack the items she had not the night before, when instead of preparing for today she had gone out to gamble and seek crooked company.

But yesterday morning Cassian had overseen her journey from apartment to river estate. And told her where she would be going when Feyre declared she no longer wanted Nesta in her precious city. You’re coming with me to the Illyrian Mountains, he’d said.

Cassian was probably here in these same mountains, right now. She couldn’t feel him, though, so he wasn’t in the proximity. His role in this plot was not clear yet, but his presence was going to make it even more agonizing. She did not need that brute checking on her, flashing his cocky grin at her. But she was in his domain.

Done with adjusting, Feyre piped up. “Cassian will come once a day, starting tomorrow.”

“I don’t want him to come, I don’t need him to come,” Nesta spit from her spot on the couch.

Rhysand slowly closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “We need someone to make sure you’re not dead.” Feyre shot him a look and hit him, silently telling him to be quiet.

“Then send someone else” said Nesta.

Feyre moved closer to her sister. “It’s the most practical. He lives here. Otherwise, we’d need someone who could winnow. Rhysand, or Mor—”

Horrible options. Apparently, her sister was not going to leave Nesta alone to slowly decay here. It wasn’t a death sentence, but a prison.

At this moment, all Nesta wanted was for them to leave. She would say anything to make that happen. “Fine, send Cassian.”

Feyre nodded and changed the subject. “There’s food in the icebox, Elain made some bread, and there are books that she bought—”

“Just. Go.” Nesta lifted her head and glared at her sister and her mate. She would say nothing else.

Rhysand was silent and held out his hand. He did not need any more dismissal; but, Feyre seemed to slump. Her frown held more sadness than she had obviously prepared for.

Did she expect this to go any better?

“Okay,” Feyre said, much quieter than she usually spoke. “We’ll see you soon.” And then she grabbed her mate’s hand and they were gone.

Nesta was finally alone. She boiled inside. Left in the woods with no money, no booze, and no men. They had secured her inability to carry out the behavior they disapproved of so much.

Across the living room Nesta got lost for a moment in the fire’s flames. The colors mimicked the white-hot rage inside her. In an abrupt movement, Nesta moved from the couch to the small kitchen. Ripping open the cabinet underneath the sink she found a metal bucket. She filled it, standing at the sink, looking out the window. It was dark outside. A gust made the trees dance and the moon reflected off the snow.

When the bucket was full Nesta lifted it from the sink, moving toward her target. Crack, pop, snap… Swiftly, she dumped the bucket on the fire. It fizzled out with a hiss and smoke drifted across the room.

A/N: Hi. Nessian is my heart right now. I hope you like this :hug:

[beccarooni]

First Smash

(A.N: huge thanks to @woahthisguy for helping me out with this! mild infinity war spoilers, totally ignoring endgame but keeping new Asgard because who needs continuity)

Thor stared out at the ocean from the cliffside, watching it broil and move under the power of the storm that was seething under his skin.

His fists clenched, fingernails pressing red shapes into his palms.

He was angry.

But it was more than that.

It wasn't a bright flash of lightning, a sudden spike in an argument that he was able to yell his way out of. It was a deep coiling thing in his gut, a parasite that gripped his dreams and brought a pounding headache between his eyes.

He didn't want to brag, but he was getting pretty good at the whole 'suppressing your feelings' deal. Hours of his childhood spent waiting for royal portraits to be painted had taught him to take any problems or temper tantrums he had and push them down where no one could see them. Because no one wanted to know. No one needed to know.

He had a job to do. And at the moment, that was more heavy lifting and constructing buildings than sitting and smiling, but it was still a job. Still a facade, albeit one of strength rather than congeniality. New Asgard needed a king. And he had to fill that role, whether he wanted to or not.

But that didn't mean he was good at that. He had the strength to lift, but not exactly the skill. One wrong move, one piece of timber slipping from his hands, and the entire roof of the hut he'd been constructing had collapsed around him. He'd been fine- well, physically he was fine- but something inside of him had just...snapped. The weather wasn't listening to him anymore, and it seemed the more he tried to put things together the more they'd break apart. He was furious at himself, but he'd given up. Resolved to think the matter over once his head had a chance to clear.

If it cleared. And this wasn't just who he was now.

And of course, he didn't tell Bruce, even though he was certain he was curious. He'd felt the scientists eyes on him, sensed the beginning of the dreaded question, 'are you okay' being asked, and he couldn't have that. He couldn't risk snapping at Bruce. The scientist had so much to worry about already, and Thor's anger tended to manifest itself in... particular ways. Ways that Bruce didn't need to be subjected to. Doors got slammed, dishes set down too harshly, and Thor would rather die than make Bruce feel unsafe in their own home.

Maybe he'd avoiding Bruce, a little. But it was for the best. The ocean wasn't going to get scared by a bit of emotional thunder

The cliff tops reminded him of where Odin had died, the place that he'd labelled 'home' before he scattered into dust. It reminded him of Odin in general, really. Cold stone, colder water. Could be unforgiving and cruel or be sunny and welcoming depending on how you looked at it.

He chose the latter. These days, golden tinged nostalgia was in short supply.

It was so quiet, out there. Until the storm had arrived, the storm that he-

"What Thor doing?"

Thor yelped at the deep rumbling tones and the heavy hand that suddenly clamped onto his shoulder. The shock of which conjured a blast of lightning. Which in turn, destroyed the clump of land he'd been standing on.

A few cold, and ever more anger inducing moments later he was climbing out of the water with an awful squishing sound in his boots. Hulk had apparently climbed down some time ago, and was standing on the gravelly beach, green eyes staring at him with an innocent curiosity.

"Thor wet." Hulk grumbled, poking him roughly in the shoulder.

"Oh, is he? Is he wet, Hulk? Because I hadn't noticed!" Thor yanked a strand of seaweed from his hair, throwing it onto the ground, the scowl on his face etching itself further.

Hulk narrowed his eyes, looking over him in a way similar to Bruce. He was connecting dots, linking the burning skies to the dripping demigod in front of him, and it eventually lead him to a conclusion.

"Thor angry."

"Of course I'm angry, I just got dunked in the ocean! In mid September!" Thor shook his head, using his fingers to twist the water out of his hair with little care or comfort. "You can't just sneak up on me like that."

"Not what hulk mean." The green giant moved closer, prodding Thor in the chest, but with a softer gesture than before. More of a careful placement of the finger, hovering over his heart. "Thor angry in here. Before Hulk."

Thor felt the momentary expulsion dying out slightly, although that was more Hulk's fault than his. He couldn't exactly maintain burning fury when Hulk was so clearly just trying to help. To figure out what was wrong with his friend and eventually right the wrongs.

It wasn't that simple. But, Thor had enough sense to keep his manners in check- Hulk deserved respect. Even if it was only a politely phrased way of declining any offers he'd make.

"I'm fine. You just startled me." Thor lifted his own hand, pressing it against Hulk's wrist with a smile that he hoped didn't seem forced. "My apologies, beloved."

Hulk grunted in response, standing still for a moment, watching Thor carefully as Bruce might watch an important experiment. Weighing up pros and cons, equations dancing before his eyes, figuring out a hypothesis. Whatever hypothesis he'd figured out, he seemed pretty eager to put into practise, as soon Thor's wrist was being dwarfed by a large, green hand.

"Hulk take puny god somewhere. Help him be angry." Hulk turned his face towards the roadside, starting to walk before Thor could even let out a response, his ruined boots dragging muddy trails behind where he was being pulled.

"I don't want to go anywhere, Hulk. Honestly, I just want to be left alone for a while." After a great deal of protesting, Thor finally yanked his arm free, taking a few steps backward down the path. "And I'm not angry."

Hulk gave him a look, a slightly arched eyebrow and an unimpressed curl of the lip that said 'we both know I can just pick you up and make you do this, so let's skip all of that nonsense and  go where I want to go'.

After a few seconds of this silent standoff, Thor sighed. He didn't fancy being tossed around like a sack of flour, so he limited his protests to rolling his eyes in what he hoped was a clear gesture that he wasn't going to enjoy this whatsoever, and offered Hulk his arm again. "Might I ask where we're going?"

"No." Hulk bared his teeth in a grin, a small sparkle of excitement dancing behind his eyes that put Thor's protests momentarily on hold, if only to give way to curiosity. "It surprise."

"You've been planning this, then?" Thor glanced up at Hulk as they walked, thankful at least that he was going as a pace that he could match.

"Thor avoiding Banner. Hulk thought of it then."

"Ah." He glanced down at the pavement, feeling the familiar tendrils of guilt begin to wind their way around his chest. "Is he upset?"

Hulk shook his head, large fingers subconsciously tightening their hold around Thor's wrist. "Worried. Both are." He paused in his speech, thick brows furrowing in an expression of intense concentration, carefully picking out the next few words. "But, Hulk think of surprise. Going to make things better."

***

Half an hour of walking, and a great deal of complaining from his part, they arrived at their destination. And Thor had to say, this was not what he was expecting. Or remotely hoped for.

He had imagined maybe a trip to some hot springs, or a nice piece of Nordic scenery.

Instead, Hulk had taken him to a garbage dump.

"Alright, you're going to need to explain this to me. Because I'm not exactly sure how this is going to make me feel better." Thor narrowly avoided tripping over a hunk of metal, wrapping his arms around himself to try and at least keep some of the biting weather at bay.

Hulk snorted, stomping back to where Thor was standing, and pointing to the large piles of wreckage. "When Hulk angry, Hulk smash. Now Thor try."

Thor blinked, turning his eyes back towards the landscape with a slightly raised eyebrow. "Firstly, I'm not angry. Secondly, even if I was angry, which I'm not, I wouldn't want to do...this."

"Thor not know how?"

"What? Of course I know how. I just don't want to do it." A few light spatterings of raindrops pattered onto his face, and he glanced up at the sky momentarily, watching as dark storm clouds loomed in the distance.

This wasn't working.

He ran a hand down his face, trying to find another excuse that maybe Hulk would understand. "Look, I'm freezing. Can we not just talk about this later?"

Hulk seemed to consider this second point, however the conclusion he reached wasn't really what Thor was getting at. Large hands pushed on Thor's shoulders, sitting him down on a fallen log. "Puny God watch Hulk. Learn."

The ground rumbled as Hulk made his way over to one of the larger pieces of wreckage - some kind of industrial metal. He glanced back over his shoulder, searching Thor's face for some kind of affirmation that he was watching.

He brought his fists down onto the scrap with a driving power, the pieces breaking clean in two with the force of it. He smiled, a toothy, wide grin that maybe lifted Thor's heart just a tiny bit, and looked back at Thor expectantly.

"Now Thor turn!"

Hulk said it with so much enthusiasm that Thor couldn't help but smile a bit, even if his answer remained a resolute no. "I'll be your spectator Hulk, but no more than that. You have fun."

"Thor boring! Puny God join in!"

"Hulk-"

"Please?"

Hulk's posture was suddenly unsure, big green eyes pleading at him in a way that he hadn't really seen since Sakaar, when the back of the quinjet was being torn to pieces while Hulk simply asked for his friend to stay. Now, Thor wasn't going anywhere, and that was kind of the problem. He was used to flying through the galaxy, to jumping down to Midgard to destroy the occasional foe. He was used to freedom. In all of that he'd forgotten how to have fun, and Hulk knew it.

So he was resorting to what he knew best. Smashing.

"I suppose it couldn't hurt…" Thor pushed himself to his feet with a small groan, feeling the bruises on his back really start to catch up to him which definitely didn't help his mood improve.

But Hulk was clearly waiting for something, and for once, Thor wanted to provide. He wanted to do the right thing, and if that meant smashing something to see his friend smile?

Then so be it.

His fingers crackled with lightning as he clenched a fist, looking for a suitable target. His eyes landed on the old remains of a vehicle, long since abandoned and stripped of anything worthwhile. And then, he let the anger fly. The arc of electricity spun out of his grasp, charring the metal black and spraying molten fragments out across the dirt, individual pieces still glowing red with heat when they hit the ground.

Hulk whooped, his large hand clapping Thor on the shoulder, teeth bared in a smile even wider than before. And Thor couldn't help but join him, a small laugh escaping his lips before he could stop it.

Because it did feel good. He'd been content to let the pressure inside him sit, to fossilize and whither with time, but this? It might have been wild, untamed, and definitely far from the kingly stoicism he was supposed to show, but this felt right. It felt true.

Hulk roared with the lightning, shoving Thor playfully to the side. "Blondie do the lights again!"

And, really, who was he to deny him?

He let the lightning surge again and again, and at some point the skies had split open and began pelting rain down onto the stone below, but he didn't care. His hair was a mess and his clothes were soaked and he couldn't differentiate between the tears streaming down his face or the rain - but Hulk was laughing, and he was laughing, and for the first time in a long while he felt happy. Like a weight had been yanked off his shoulders and ripped in half by giant hands the colour of emeralds.

Things took a turn for the considerably less serious when the dirt turned to mud, and Hulk decided it was a good idea to deposit a handful of it directly at Thor's back. Thor of course, being the warrior he was, retaliate tenfold. And then Hulk had returned that attack, and within the span of about half an hour things could truly be considered a mess. But a good one. One that harkened back to simpler times. To a sunny afternoon in Asgard, to fake duels in the courtyard with wooden swords and toy wands, to imaginary stories acted out through the looming castle corridors.

The two ended up sitting under a tree, taking shelter from the rain that hurled itself from the skies with such intensity that it looked horizontal. It had slipped out of Thor's control, and into the realm of the natural. The only thing left to do was wait it out, and as such, the adrenaline began to fade.

Hulk had been considered a hero of Asgard for quite some time after his defeat of Fenris, and that had called for those that could to band together and give him gifts of their thanks. One of these had been Asgardian attire, to cement his place among them, roaming from cloaks to full on robes that Hulk had politely accepted, but ended up wearing in completely the wrong way.

It was one of these cloaks that Hulk yanked off his own shoulders now, tucking the blue fabric around Thor's shoulders with an expression of fondness.

"Thor feel better?" He asked, almost nervously, watching Thor's face from the corner of his eyes, lifting his arm in somewhat of an invitation. A question- asking him to stay.

Thor nodded, huddling close into the Hulk's welcoming embrace, resting his head against the comforting warmth of green muscle and savouring the feeling of Hulk's arm around his shoulders, holding him close.

"A lot better, actually." He glanced upwards, twisting his head to press a shy kiss onto Hulk's side. "Thank you."

"Thor welcome. Puny God good at smashing- not as good as Hulk, though." Green features crinkled into a grin, and Thor felt the deep vibrations of his laughter against his cheeks, prompting a tired chuckle of his own.

Thor sighed, partly in contents but partly because of something...more. His brow creased in a small frown as an uncomfortably familiar feeling began to crawl its way back up, with the lightning not around to burn it back anymore.

Hulk's arm tightened around him, and the deep tones of his voice echoed from somewhere above. "Why Thor angry?"

The question was simple, but he knew it was much more than what it appeared. It didn't just mean why was he angry. It meant why the whole act. Why did he hide from Bruce, why didn't he just ask for help, why did he shut himself off from anyone for days on end?

Why didn't he stay?

"It was a year ago." Thor's answer was quiet, mumbled into the expanse of blue cloth that he really just wanted to draw over his head and hide, like a child from a nightmare. But he couldn't hide from this anymore. Hulk deserved to know. But that didn't make telling him any easier. "Heimdall, and...and Loki. They died a year ago. As did half of my people, and some of those from Sakaar."

"Oh." Hulk's voice was muted with understanding, and Thor felt a pair of large lips pressing against the crown his head before the rough voice continued. "Thor not angry. Thor sad."

"I'm both." Thor's throat was really starting to hurt now, but the second he'd started talking the words didn't seem to want to stop, continuing well past the point where he would normally stop. "I felt so useless- I feel so useless. I couldn't save them, couldn't even summon a spark, but the day before I rained thunder down from the skies. I should've done that, but I didn't, and I don't know why. And I never even got to apologise for it. And even now, with the village, I can't do anything and I'm useless and I just-"

Thor reached his limit not long after that, resigning himself to angry tears muffled by his hand. Hulk repositioned himself, holding Thor closer, tighter, with a grip that he was sure would kill a normal man. Fingertips the side of chest plates rubbed his back, puffs of breath hot against his ear.

"Thor not useless." Hulk rested his hands against Thor's shoulders, moving him until he was sitting cross-legged in his lap, making sure that the God was looking at him. "Thor help protect Banner. Help protect earth. Thor better than strong. Thor brave."

A small, bewildered, and tear stained smile found its way across Thor's face. He shakily moved to his feet, cupping Hulk's face in his hands.

"Thank you, Hulk." He pressed a kiss onto his cheek, grinning slightly as a darker green blush spread across the face in front of him.

"Hulk still stronger though. Puny God being soft." He shoved Thor back onto the ground, the God in question landing with a small 'oof' back into the mud they'd just escaped from.

"Oh, of course. How could I forget?" Thor stood up, trying to brush some of the dirt off himself before he realised that that task was going to be entirely impossible. "Now, I think I'm ready to go back home. Coming?"

Hulk grunted his agreement, beginning to step down the beaten path back towards the village, but not before picking Thor up single handedly and placing him over his shoulders.

"Do you mind? I do have a reputation to maintain. Y'know, King of Asgard, and all that."

"Thor being baby. Hulk also have reputation - strongest Avenger."

"I'm never going to live that down, am I?"

"No." Hulk snorted, footsteps shaking the ground around him. "Hulk talk about it forever."

"Aw, you're going to think about me forever?"

"Shut up."

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Dearly Beloved

Summary: Here comes the grooms...grooms? Grooooooms??

Notes: The wedding! FINALLY the wedding. Everything is going just about how Red expected it would. 

Also on AO3

By Any Other Name masterlist

~~*~~

The town hall was the first public building that had been put up in New New Home. At first, it had been necessary for meetings, discussions that were important for their very lives, but gradually it had turned into more of a community building for all kinds of get togethers. Dances, parties, and yeah, weddings.

The decorations were carefully done, not that Red knew much about that but eh, he figured it had been done right. His brother had very specific tastes and that was fine. The kid that had grown up in the garbage dumps was still beneath that and just because he didn’t need to be that kid anymore didn’t mean he’d forgotten how.

Red made sure of that. 

And what of it, anyway? They all had dings in their souls, metaphorically speaking, even Papyrus, who came off as cheerful and maybe a little vacant, until you dug a deeper to see beneath it. They all had dents, wounds that had healed over. Point of fact, Stretch’s soul had been pretty close to broken when they got here. Red had noticed that when they first met; he was pretty good at that, noticing things, and once he’d gotten to know him a little, Asgore had put that knack to good use.

King Fluffybuns came off as a good guy, but he had more than just a way with flowers going for him.

Speaking of, the entire hall was decorated liberally with plenty of flowers in shades of autumn, orange and yellow and deep red. He guessed the flowers were top notch, his bro wouldn’t have accepted anything less. Buncha weeds as far as Red was concerned.

What was really concerning was the hour, ten minutes past the appointed time and so far, they had guests and an officiant, Sans, since Stretch and Edge had both wanted their brothers to stand with them, and Stretch would probably rather get married by an Elvis impersonator than let Asgore do it as he had for Undyne and Alphys.

Sans was keeping the guests entertained with some decently clean jokes, but he caught Red’s eye lights and gestured discreetly. what’s up?

Red signed back, give me five.

If he’d know he was going on a fucking quest today, he would have worn more comfortable shoes. Out past the double doors in the foyer, Antwan was standing, hands in his pockets and looking a lot like he wished he smoked at least something. A little weed right now would probably be helpful, but it was too late for that.

“hey,” Red nodded to him, “so, i can’t help but notice we have a room full of people in fancy clothes in there, sans is up front ready to officiate, and we are shy two grooms.”

“You noticed that, too?” Antwan always had a bone-dry sense of humor. “Where’s Edge?”

Red picked at his gold tooth with a sharp fingertip, “puking in the john.”

Antwan nodded. “Always thought it was weird how you guys can do that.”

“yeah, it's real chuckilicious,” Red agreed. “he’ll be fine, just needs a minute. i tell ya, give him a fight? he’ll step right up. something like this, it’s hurlsville. kid has issues.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Antwan said dryly. Red shrugged; everything couldn’t be his fault.

“welp, that’s one. where’s stretch?”

Antwan jerked a thumb at the outer door. “Outside having a panic attack.”

“uh huh. so it’s going pretty much how we expected,” Red sighed. Why was it always on him to get these fucksticks in line? “tell ya what, you go on in and see if you can keep my bro from yakking up his shoes, and i’ll have a look at the honey bun, sound good?”

“Yeah, go ahead,” Antwan agreed, because at least he knew Red got shit done. He called back over his shoulder. “Good luck.”

“good luck,” Red muttered under his breath and shook his head. In his experience, you made your own fucking luck.

Stretch was sitting on the concrete stairs and he probably looked damn fine in his tuxedo, but it was hard to tell with the way he was hunched over with his skull between his knees. Blue was standing in front of him, both hands on his brother’s shoulders, murmuring to him softly.

“Just breathe, brother, you’re fine,” he crooned. “Everything will be fine, keep breathing slow and easy.”

Slow and easy didn’t seem to be on the agenda because Stretch took a hitching breath and gasped out, “i can’t do this.”

“Of course you can,” Blue said with some asperity, although he stroked his brother’s skull gently.  “You love him.”

That didn’t seem to be the right thing to say. Stretch jerked away from him and glared at his brother. “it’s not about me! of course i fucking love him! so if i love him how can i do this to him?” He let out a slow, shuddery breath and almost staggered to his feet, pacing in a tight circle. “don’t you get it? i’ve been waiting for three years for him to wake up and realize i’m not worth it.”

And there it was, kids, today’s special issue. He knew Edge had bullied Stretch into going to the head shrinker like Sans had, not a bad idea if you knew those two assholes, but seriously, was this the bullshit that had him wigging out the last few weeks?

Stretch wasn’t done with his particular brand of word vomit, still pacing and gesturing wildly. “so now he’s going to stick himself with me forever and i’m supposed to let him? you think i’m dedicated to a promise? how seriously do you think he’s going to take till death do us part?” Stretch slumped down to the stairs again, his head in his hands, and confessed softly, “it was okay before, he could still leave, but this?”

“Brother,” Blue sighed then looked up and caught sight of Red. “Red? you’re supposed to be with your brother.”

“yeah, i was but i could smell the insecurity from inside,” Red shook his head. There wasn’t enough weed in the world to deal with this, so he was going to have to try it cold. He crouched down next to Stretch, careful of his suit pants so he didn’t get Edge bitching at him for wrecking the pictures. “hey, listen up, honey bun. it don’t matter what you think of yourself, what matters is what my brother thinks and he thinks you’re the world. it would probably just about kill him if you pussy out now and you’d hate yourself besides.”

Stretch lifted his head enough to look at him, which was at least a start. Red shifted back on his heels and stood, gesturing down at his clothes. “and let me tell you something, i didn’t put on this getup for you to back out. so, you are gonna get up and get your ass inside where all the flowers and shit are, and you are gonna say ‘i do’ in all the right places and make my bro happy, got me?”

“he deserves better,” Stretch whispered, hoarsely. His sockets were swimming with tears.

“maybe,” Red said ruthlessly, ignoring Blue’s sound of outrage. It would take too long to explain that it wasn’t about who deserved what, it was about what was needed. And what Edge needed was running close to 6’5”, lanky and loud and stinking of cigarettes. He didn’t have the time to make Stretch believe that. It was okay, though, Red was used to taking shortcuts. “but he wants you. and believe you me, i am all about making sure he gets what he wants, you get me?”

The tears were starting to flow and Red sighed, pulling out a handkerchief and roughly wiped them away before they could stain his shirt.

“it’s gonna be fine, bro,” he said softly and Stretch took a slow, shuddery breath and nodded.

“okay.”

As motivational speeches went, the boss would have his ass if he ever heard about it, but fuck it, Stretch would probably keep it zippered and if Blue had an issue, he had his own subtle ways of getting revenge. Red had some respect for that.

Besides, what worked, worked. Stretch was on his feet and walking in, with Blue and Red at his heels. Made it all the way inside and only then did he hesitate, stiffening. The altar was empty except for Sans, who was chatting amicably with the crowd. Red caught Stretch before he could take more than a step back, propelling him forward. “calm your tits, honey bun,” he murmured, “he’s coming.”

By then it was too late; Sans caught sight of Stretch and made a ‘come hither’ gesture with his finger, pointing to a spot in front of him.

At that moment, the door opened on the opposite side and Edge walked in. Red had to admit, his bro cleaned up pretty well and from the stunned expression on Stretch’s face, he was thinking something close to the same thing.

His suit was similar to Stretch’s, same colors and all, but where Stretch’s was simple and straightforward, Edge was wearing a cape, because of course he was, fucking drama queen, the silk lining of it matching his vest and hey, if you were one of the rare people out there who could wear a cape, you should always wear one. His bro could lay claim to the cape-bearing title. No tie, his collar was high like a priest, and across his collarbone was a chain holding the cape in place.

Edge was carrying a single white rose and Red had no idea if Stretch was supposed to have one or not. If so, Edge didn’t seem to care. He didn’t need Sans’s direction, he stepped right up to the front, cape swirling as if he’d spent a year practicing it like the world’s most pretentious Batman, only on Edge it looked natural, like he’d been born with it. There were worse talents, Red supposed.

They probably weren’t supposed to talk and his brother, who’d planned this to death, who probably had fucking excel worksheets and shit, who liked arranging things, who liked order, looked right at Stretch and whispered, “You’re beautiful.”

Orange touched his cheekbones and a quiet murmur of appreciation came from the peanut gallery, along with a few sniffles. Yeah, okay, Red was gonna go stand by his brother now because he’d already given his handkerchief to Stretch. This was gonna get ugly and he wanted a front row seat.

There was a pulpit but if Sans stood behind it, no one was going to see him. Instead, he pulled out a step stool, which had been painted white and liberally decorated with flowers like every other damn thing.

Anyone who didn’t think his bro had a sense of humor wasn’t paying attention.

Sans climbed up it amicably enough, and it put him as high as their shoulders. “well, hey, two grooms” Sans said easily. “good of you two to join us.” A titter of laughter went through the crowd. “now, edge gave me a speech for all this and it’s pretty nice, folks, you’re gonna love it. but before all that, i’d like to say something.” 

“i think almost everyone knows how you all ended up here and i don’t mind saying it was rough going at first. this wasn’t where any of us expected to be,” Sans said, with rare sincerity, his hands clasped loosely in front of him. “i’ve been watching both of you since you got here. it’s kinda what i do. watched you both grow, watched you change. i got to watch you heal, here on the surface with your friends.”

He waved a hand out at the gathered crowd. Monsters, yeah, Undyne and Alphys were sitting with Papyrus, who’d been playing the part of usher while everyone else worked through the issues. Asgore was in the back, alongside Frisk and Toriel, Monsters from the embassy, all their friends and neighbors. There were Humans too, Antwan had slipped into his seat after Edge came out, next to Andy, and with them was a woman Red didn’t know. What he did know was that Edge had fought to get her emergency clearance for the wedding, and that meant Red had spent half a day investigating her.

Why the fuck it was so important that a lady who owned a coffee shop be here, he didn’t know, but his brother had wanted her there, and there she was, wiping her eyes already with a Kleenex. Good mascara.

“they got to watch, too,” Sans went on. “and i watched you find each other, make a bond together, and we are all here today to watch you make that bond a little more permanent. not that I think either of you needed words for that.”

Sans smiled a little, rocking on his feet, and his stepladder creaked. “anyway, what i wanted to tell you two is, while you’re bonding your families together in marriage, i’d be happy to call both of you my brothers, too. we make our own families and you two are part of mine.”

“And mine,” Papyrus chimed in from the chairs, his smile brighter than the flowers sitting next to him.

“That means you’d have to accept my brother, too,” Edge murmured.

Another titter went through the crowd and Stretch grinned outright. Red only shrugged. Yeah, take your laughs, comedians. He’d allow it, today only.

 Sans slanted him a look and an unsubtle wink. Pervert. 

“yeah, well, for better or for worse ain’t just for marriages. so!” He clapped his hands together. “now that we got the opening act out of the way, let’s get this show on the road.” With a flourish, he pulled out a stack of notecards and then promptly tossed them over his shoulder to land behind the pulpit. “don’t worry, i got this. dearly beloved…”

~~*~~ 

Outside the town hall, someone had set up a discreet little smoking area. Not too far off the beaten path, probably since everyone knew that one of the grooms was the most likely to be using it. Stretch pulled a pack of cigarettes out of the inside pocket of his jacket, flicked his lighter, and inhaled pale smoke, relaxing as the nicotine incorporated itself into his magic.

He looked at his hand, a cigarette held between his first two fingers and the weight of the ring on his third finger unfamiliar and heavy. True to his word, he hadn’t seen it until Edge had slipped it on his finger, nor the one he’d been handed to put on Edge’s. It was a fairly plain band, lacking gemstones but there was an intricate design on the platinum surface. Not too surprising; Edge liked the pretties but Stretch was a plain sort of guy, so it looked like he’d compromised. There was some sort of plastic sleeve on the underside, too, holding it in place. Made sense, didn't want it rattling against his bones all the time. He couldn't wear it in the lab, anyway, not around moving parts or chemicals, it was a good way to lose a finger.

With this ring, I thee wed

A door opened behind him, shaking him from the memory, but when Stretch turned to look, it was Red. He stepped up to the ashtray and pulled out one of those nasty little cigars he favored, lighting it with a match and inhaling much the same way Stretch had a minute earlier.

Stretch crushed the butt of his cigarette into the ashtray and lit another, before he said softly, “red?”

“yeah?” Red exhaled a cloud of smoke with the word.

“thanks.”

“no problem, bro.” The door opened again, and this time Edge came out. From the swirl of his cape to the shine on the tips of his shoes, he was gorgeous. And from now on Stretch got to say, ‘my husband, Edge’. From now until forever, whenever that was.

“he’s all yours, honey bun,” red muttered and walked away, still puffing, heedless of no smoking signs.

Edge smiled at him. His own ring caught the light with a mellow gleam. “Are you ready to head to the reception?”

“in a minute.” Stretch tamped out his cigarette only half-smoked and dropped it into the ashtray. Soon they’d be surrounded by people again and likely would the rest of the night, and he had a few things to say first. “i’m sorry i’ve been kinda an asshole the past few weeks.”

“You weren’t…” Edge began. Stretch held up a hand and he subsided, his brow bone furrowed in confusion.

“let me talk for a minute, babe,” Stretch said softly.

“All right.”

His confusion only grew more obvious when Stretch took his hand gently in his own, a mimicry of the ceremony they’d just gone through. He stroked Edge’s ring with his thumb, cool metal on bone.

“you deserve better than this, than me,” Stretch said bluntly. “but as it turns out, i'm too selfish to let you go.”

"Rus--"

 "hush," he said sternly. Tuxedos sort of demanded standing up straight and that meant he was actually looking down at Edge. Looking into his eye lights, deep crimson gazing back up at him. Edge probably thought he knew what Stretch saw when he looked into him, what he saw, probably had no idea of the purity of soul that lay beneath his exterior.

Stretch knew. He knew Edge so very well. 

"so you know something?” Stretch leaned in to whisper, like it was a secret, “i think i'm just going to try to love you the very best that i can for the rest of our lives.”

Edge smiled, a little, the softness in it hinting at deeper secrets, but Stretch already knew them. He knew them all. "I'd like that."

Stretch nodded. That felt better than any other vows he'd said today. "okay. so how about we party?" 

“Oh, before we go in, I do have one more thing for you.” Edge reached into his pocket and pulled out a small jeweler’s box, dropping it into Stretch’s hands. Curiously, he opened it. It was a ring made out of soft, flexible silicon, colored as bright as any rainbow and with a heart imprinted in it.

“I know you can’t wear metal in the lab, so I thought—" 

Stretch was kissing him before he could finish, breathing words into him, “i love you. i love you so, so much.”

Gentle hands cupped his face and Edge kissed him back, catching his words and repeating them back to him. Stretch could smell flowers and cigarettes and Edge, everything mixed together alongside words of love, and he’d never been happier in his life.

“till death do us part, right?” Stretch murmured.

“Not for a long, long time,” Edge assured him.

“yeah, i liked the dearly beloved part better,” Stretch pressed a last kiss to his mouth, his cheek bone, his forehead, “but i didn’t need a ring to know that. okay, time to dance.”

Edge sighed and took Stretch’s hand. “I didn’t forget. Let’s go.”

He could feel Edge’s ring against his own fingers, warmed from his body temperature, and Stretch let his husband lead him inside where their friends and family were waiting.

His husband. Yeah.

He could get used to that.

   -finis-

[newstfionline]

A Missing Prime Minister Is the Antihero of Beirut’s Marathon

By Anne Barnard, NY Times, Nov. 14, 2017

BEIRUT, Lebanon--Every November, I walk downtown with my husband and children through the holiday hush of streets closed for the annual Beirut Marathon. We pass Ottoman-era villas with arched windows, a Versace-branded glass tower and the bullet-pocked hulk that was a Holiday Inn until the Battle of the Hotels in the 1970s. We wave at the soldiers still stationed there, and at the teenage volunteers waiting to pass out water.

As a symbol of Lebanese resilience, the 15-year-old marathon is a bit of a cliché, like the list of Beirut contrasts--war-torn glitz, trauma alongside normalcy--above. The race’s explicit insistence on defying divisions and violence can have a whiff of protesting too much. And yet. When we reach the starting line and crowd into the corral to begin the Family Fun Run, it is impossible not to be moved.

There are balloons and Lebanese flags and people from every religion, class and political faction. The sense of community is literal; in this smallish city, where I have lived for five years with my family as the Beirut bureau chief of The New York Times, we inevitably find ourselves running alongside friends from school and work.

Some clichés are true: Holding a marathon in a place that many outsiders, a generation after Lebanon’s 15-year civil war, still picture as a dangerous wasteland does count as an act of hope. At the starting gun of each race, an announcer shouts in Arabic, English and French: “We run for peace! For unity! For Lebanon!”

Once we start running, the race can be as much a tour of Lebanon’s problems as an antidote to them. Even the truncated 1K route that I jog with my 7-year-old takes us through the downtown that became a shattered no-man’s-land during the civil war.

It was rebuilt, controversially, as a playground for the wealthy, under Rafik Hariri, a former prime minister who symbolized unity to some and corruption to others. The race ends up at Mr. Hariri’s tomb; he was killed in 2005 in a bombing that roughly half the country blames on the powerful militia and political party Hezbollah, and the other half insists was a setup.

Yet at this year’s races, on Sunday, the vision of unity carried new weight. The reason was a surprising one: a call for the return of Prime Minister Saad Hariri--Rafik’s son--from Saudi Arabia. He is no more a universally beloved figure than his father was.

But it was the eighth day since he unexpectedly declared his resignation from the Saudi capital, Riyadh. He remains stranded there, widely seen as a captive, literally or figuratively, of his Saudi patrons, a pawn in their efforts to isolate their regional rival, Iran, and its ally, Hezbollah. (He insisted he was “free” in a televised interview.)

When Lebanese politicians declared the marathon a rally for Mr. Hariri’s return, I expected mass rolling of eyes. An axiom of marathon day is that it is a time to set aside politics. But when young men handed out baseball caps reading, “We want our PM back,” many runners put them on.

Billboards showed Mr. Hariri running in last year’s race with the slogans, “We are all waiting for you” and “Running For You.” People snapped selfies with them. Other signs displayed an Arabic hashtag, #WeAreAllSaad.

It was not that people had forgotten that Mr. Hariri presides over a weak government and has failed to win concessions from Hezbollah through confrontation or compromise. Nor had they abandoned the widespread conviction that he and his rivals play on sectarian divisions to keep power and wealth concentrated in the hands of a tiny, largely hereditary political elite.

It was just that enough was enough. Generations of foreign meddling aside, the belief that another country had effectively kidnapped Lebanon’s prime minister was the last straw, and people wanted to see the move backfire. As one commenter put it on Twitter, Lebanon was tired of outside powers acting like it was “not a real place.”

Somehow, a humiliating moment for Lebanon became an occasion for national unity, even pride.

Lebanon’s most earnest slogans are often their own parodies. A perfect example is the hashtag #LiveLoveLebanon, invented by the Ministry of Tourism.

Lebanese social media users quickly embraced it to comment on the country’s beaches (and their scent of sewage), its ski slopes (and mountainside garbage dumps), its wine industry (and hash factories), its swanky (and overcharging) restaurants and its cedar forests (what’s left of them) dating to the Song of Solomon.

The hashtag is used in posts about the country’s resilience and diversity in the face of efforts to divide it from within and without, and also to tag anecdotes about petty corruption and glacial internet speeds.

#WeAreAllSaad is much the same. By definition, politically divided Lebanon is not all Saad.

Even to his mostly Sunni constituents, Mr. Hariri has never matched his father’s charisma or effectiveness. One telling image, a faded poster on a road in the Bekaa Valley, shows him dwarfed by a translucent likeness of his father, a more imposing figure with a much more regal mustache, looming behind him.

It reminds me of Patrick Swayze’s spirit in the movie “Ghost,” hovering vaporously behind Demi Moore at her potter’s wheel.

Yet the fact that Mr. Hariri’s current predicament is seen by many Lebanese as somehow pathetic has not stopped him from becoming a symbol of Lebanese sovereignty. Even the flood of new jokes at his expense do not contradict the point.

After our race, my daughter and I followed some friends, fellow runners, to a cafe at Zaitounay Bay, a seaside development where dozens of gleaming, rarely used yachts are anchored. It is just the kind of glitzy privatization of public space that gets both celebrated and lampooned with the #LiveLoveLebanon hashtag, and an emblem of angst over the elder Hariri’s redevelopment strategy.

Our friend Imad Shehadi, who grew up watching his father run an emergency room in wartime Beirut and is no fan of politicians, explained over breakfast why the marathon meant more this year.

“It’s a mark of defiance against the forces of evil, against the forces on every side that want to interfere with Lebanon,” he said.

“To me it’s more resilience,” his wife, Carla Huijer Shehadi, said. “The resilience of Lebanon and the Lebanese, who just want to live life, no matter what.”

We strolled home along the boardwalk, their boys and my daughter stopping to admire a lavish boat christened “Thanx Dad 4.” We passed the spot where Rafik Hariri’s motorcade was blown up. We followed the marathon route along the seaside corniche, past snack bars and fishermen and picnicking families, toward the place where the American Embassy stood before it was bombed in 1983.

The racecourse went past several civil war massacre sites and refugee camps and the vibrant neighborhoods that cluster at either end of a city no longer physically divided. Waiters at our favorite cafe, exiles from today’s war in Syria, high-fived passing runners. Near the finish line, a booth offered manicures to a subset of joggers in sequined velour.

The marathon winner set a course record, and a blind man finished the course for the first time. In the end, 47,000 people took part. It was another Beirut record.