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sugar-petals · 4 years ago

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sub!Yuzu | nsfw alphabet

🌹 NOTE ⇢ content for our fave figure skater, the legend himself. mr. yuzuru hanyu is 1000% dom candy and i’m here to honor it at length ⛸

— WORDS. 5k

tags + warnings. dom/sub dynamics, femdom!reader, role reversal hc, smut, kinks, cum play, spanking, sex toys, very freaky yuzu, kitten play, mdlb, crying kink, food play, prostate orgasms, bondage, some deeper stuff & angsty bits, asthma mention, aftercare

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Once the cat ears come off, who is Yuzuru Hanyu not to remain in character for a while. For the shits and giggles, and because it’s cozy. Once a catboy, always a catboy, it’s the law of the land. Curling up, kneading at you for the head pats and massages, you know the programme.

Also: Yuzu is famously soft-spoken and always finds the right thing to say. So, stimulating conversation for the cooldown. This is literally so nice. He’s unafraid to reflect everything in detail, say what he preferred, what you could change up together, what he wants to try next. The afterglow is not just physical, as in you give him something to drink, it’s 70% verbal which is very important to him as a consistent habit.

Of course, not to forget: Always gotta have a Winnie Pooh plushie ready. He embraces it readily and, as we know him, does some roleplay right then and there. Yuzu, professional cutiepie he is, is the kinda sub who treats all plush and pillow stuff as alive and breathing. You as his domme are in on the play and also treat his things as holy as they are to him. That Yuzu lets you into that world is the biggest compliment you can possibly get.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

We all know Yuzu’s godly ass and thighs. Or the staggering waist and beautiful black hair that makes him a total bombshell in his classic comb-back styles. His face is soft and expressive and so damn unique, his legs muscular and long, his back and tummy chiseled, the list goes on and on. Jesus, he has so many great features. All body parts a masterpiece. That are all capable of god-tier contortionism on top of that, gotta mention it in passing. Just so you know if you haven’t seen him bend his every limb into directions you wouldn’t believe are humanly possible.

Interestingly though. If he chooses, Yuzu picks his feet: They are his most important instrument and weak spot. His ankles are where the magic happens. So, you taking care of them a little would mean the world to him, imagine a candle light massage. Not to worry, no-gross-alert. Yuzu has perfect and cute feet. That’s gonna be a Victorian moment, oh my god I saw his ankles. For his partner, short and simple: He likes a shoulder to lean on. He loves being touchy in general, all body parts are amazing to him. Being in a profession that’s all about the physics, Yuzuru knows about the wonders of the body.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Certified king of cumsluts, doesn’t even hesitate. The more, the merrier. If he’s not covered in sticky stuff, Yuzu would be underchallenged. It’s less about the taste, texture or any degradation, for him it’s the playing around with his tongue. Somebody wants his mouth preoccupied. Give the cat his milk. Feed him his own cum mixed with yours. He’s gonna lap at it and swallow.

Since Yuzu’s dream is a mommy domme baking him something, he just loves the smell of dough and hazelnuts and cinnamon and everything — you know what’s coming: Imagine the food play. Nuts indeed. Anything that even remotely looks like a creampie is something he wants to get his lips on. And Yuzu is not the type to be a foodie at all, let that sink in. Sexual-looking food is just too big a temptation, though. And you spoiling him that way... oh my. Surefire way to end up in bed right after.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Has a butt plug collection. Once almost went on the ice with one in. The more you know. Also— this guy is the kinda type fantasizing to get absolutely railed on a bed of plushies. He has troubles suggesting it to you because he doesn’t want them to get actually dirty. But the idea gets the two of you kind of horny. Sometimes, a thought is better as a fantasy than actually executing it. You can use it for riling up’s sake, whispering it to him during dirty talk. How you’ll bounce on him and ruin him and milk him while he’s splayed out so innocently on your bed. I smell corruption kink.

Another secret Yuzu keeps is just how much he changed his mind about wanting his partner to control everything in bed. He grew up with a pre-defined ideal type of a cute, nice skater girl who’d let the reins very loosely around him, who he can speak Japanese to because he had problems with English, who is small and someone he will protect. It wasn’t something based on experience and trying things out: It was simply expected of him. People wanted the domineering Yuzuru on ice to be that way in private, and make use of his power, be a man, savior, boss.

The reality being: He never felt truly as tough on the ice, nor was he gender-conforming in person. In fact, that is what he became famous for, and it reassured Yuzuru very often how people would accept and actually celebrate this side of him. Which is so refreshing, and a sight to see. The side that was dorky, clingy, childish, gorgeous, and cute has always been there, but now he embraces it more as his comfort place. He has to know what he’s doing in his skating programme and show competitive spirit to achieve his dreams, but that’s where it stops.

His former ideals are something people wanted to hear, it was an adaptation of the environment rather than thinking it through on his own. So, years later — oh boy have things changed. Yuzuru no longer defines his ideal type that way, saying whoever he likes is someone he’d be with. What was a fantasy template and filter is now gone and adapted to his newfound, own preferences. Yuzu is comfortably open-minded rather than being a copy to mainstream. He found fun in speaking English, opened up to the world at large, had more girls around him who he could befriend, grew more confident in his stature, and is well aware — turns out he’s the cute one. Who needs to be taken under a wing. He likes strong-minded girls and says if he had a wife, she’d dominate him. Yuzuru secretly wants her to be in charge entirely, she owns his body and soul. Not in daily life where things are just normal and everyone goes about their business. Sexually, where he surrenders instead, and is taken care of.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

The tale of an introvert. What he knows — he hides it well. Has eyefucked a whole lot of people and is the type to lust like mad from a far distance, and nobody will ever know. Crushes harder than peppercorns in a mill. If he loves someone, it lingers in his mind every split second of the day, may god have mercy on him. And if you know him: Yuzu aims too high to keep it light and easy and clumsy. He hates being an amateur, he’s terrified of starting out something. He dreads not knowing what to do, how exactly to behave, talk, touch, breathe, respond, negotiate, prepare. That’s a hundred percent like hell to him.

Ironically, he has a natural feeling for it and he’s literally amazing in bed, has a sense for social interaction is all the way cute with something valuable to say. But what he believes is something way different. Yuzuru is a diehard, nervous perfectionist. He can only think of it as a rated performance since his mind usually has to work that way to skate well. His esteem is on a knife edge depending on how well he thinks he does. So, the inevitable: He will shy away from sex altogether. He draws immense skating passion from staying celibate, in fact it’s his success secret, but it still eats him up from the inside and makes him frustrated beyond measure. Not even for the pleasure, since he’s so ambitious that’s almost forgotten about, but for being told he did well.

That’s how much he believes sex is a drill and capability test. And it’s sad that he thinks it’s like his skating career, racking up points for the impossible things judges want and being in a deadlock when it comes to showing his artistic side. He feels thrown into cold water if he doesn’t know everything beforehand. If he ever works up the courage, which probably won’t happen, he will pay an expert to learn from rather than let something all over the place happen with a random person or even someone he might like.

Yes, you heard that right. He’d rather see a sex worker than ‘mess up’ his first time according to his sky-high standards. So, Yuzu’s experience remains limited since he’s so 100% do or die, and so anxious, and so torn about social interaction, he doesn’t get how his peers can be playboys and get married and flirt with someone they like and all that. He sort of has an easier time with guys, but girls... he can’t approach. To top it off, he also feels like he’d burden his first time one somebody or embarrasses himself, so he will reject and avoid suitors. Those are usually not the people he crushes so hard on to begin with. It’s bound to be one-sided and he knows, so he will abstain and focus on career and use the cheers of his fans as a substitute.

Truth is, he feels helpless and distant from sex sometimes, especially with his practice-heavy lifestyle and hyper-smart mind, Yuzuru has an intelligence that exceeds what most people can grasp. He’s alone on the ice and Brian as a coach is often the only reference person who truly gets him, and leads him well without being controlling. But that’s professional life. Sexually, Yuzuru is metaphorically: coachless. He surely observed it well when Javier (the #1 ladies man, his opposite) was still active and a social butterfly helping him fit in, but Yuzu would always be worried about his extreme fame and spotless image when introduced to someone fangirling over him. He’d rather prefer someone who comes across as a mentor and solid, loyal-to-death person to look up to. So he would do anything to have someone benevolent like that. Most girls would expect him to be the sex god and expert, but he knows that’s only half of the story and based on his characters on the ice. Yuzu crafts these to counterbalance how he really is — withdrawn and indirect.

Yuzu is extremely calculating and selective, he scans suitors well, protects his reputation, and is mortified of failure. So, he’d rather learn it by the book and from someone he’s not emotionally attached to. In a one-night stand that might also be the case, but he doesn’t know what to expect, and he’s absolutely terrified of sudden sexual vulnerability. He himself often says he values his own struggle between feeling so weak and being strong again

Besides: He’d have problems squeezing hookups into his schedule and lifestyle, he’d have to cut down on things and create a double life. Plus, Yuzu is famously inept with social interaction up close, he flees the noise and unpredictability. So, it’s better to have a long-term partner. If he doesn’t know something yet, he has it down in one day like the single axel. Definitely counts on his partner teaching him.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

We know Yuzu’s signature move is the lean-back Ina Bauer. So, whatever position allows for an arch is the real deal (cough, taking the strap — oh my god his ass is made for it). But anyway, he can pull off anything with that stellar flexibility and core strength.

If I think about it. Yuzu might like sitting on your lap very much. I know it’s not a sex position, I mean it can be once his inner lapdancer awakens or you use a strap-on, I rather mean... just for some sweet moments and making out. But yeah: Fathom Yuzu gyrating on your like that. Not in an outright lascivious manner or Chippendales style. The Hanyu way, with embellishments and all the grace. This is gonna be a huge turn-on and perfect foreplay position.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Not much to elaborate here: Yep, Yuzu is true goofball indeed. Really flustered and clumsy when eye-to-eye in missionary, and yet: He’s ultra serious towards the end, there’s gonna be an aggressive staredown before cumming. The feeling gets pretty intense, his duality between silly and ‘yeah, give it to me’ is no joke.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Would probably die from inflammation if he shaved clean under those tight suits and did all these chafe-heavy skating routines. Doesn’t have a lot of body hair to begin with, but for pits and pubes, it’s alive, wild, and decently long. Out of all people, Yuzu cares particularly about aesthetics, but in this case pragmatism will prevail. He doesn’t care too much about it either as long as it doesn’t get in the way of something. Having sex with Yuzu tends to be well um well all about a hundred types of friction so any stubble would be a bad idea.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

You haven’t seen a guy in love like that. It’s a figure skater thing for sure. Since he works to portray these sentiments on the ice daily, hardly anybody can play up feelings so delicately and palpably like Yuzuru. Emotion is what his entire career is built on. He knows how to express himself directly, appropriately, intimately. Couldn’t be any more romantic. Yuzu can’t go without it.

Very passionate, ‘for your eyes only’ kind of atmosphere. Yes, he shows off on the ice, it’s his job (although of course, that word doesn’t really sum up what skating means to him). But private Yuzu is someone you can claim as yours. He will make it clear, he wants to belong to you, he’s yours, dedicated, devotion is the entire point. Less with a slant of what some subs like, very hands-on ownership of a mistress. It’s more emotional. He’s really attached and all smitten. Your private little haven is everything to him.

Talking about little: Yuzu can be quite a pillow prince sometimes. At least when the initiative doesn’t go back and forth as it frequently does, you often alternate with suggestions and ways of tweaking an ongoing play session. You blindfold him or tie his wrists, He might be standard tired from practice or just fascinated to watch you work your magic on him.

He also likes music to set the tone for intimacy, who’s surprised. Prepare: Yuzu likes dramatic classical music all the way. He’s probably one of the few people who can make it more than ‘classy’ and definitely more than cringe. He selects pieces very well. This is gonna be a practice template to cum together when the music reaches its peak. Makes the whole thing full of adrenaline.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Lots of fun to him. Would beat it 24/7 if the ice wasn’t calling him. Drowns himself in lube. This guy’s me-time is so rated R, Cardi B would be inspired to remix WAP to wet ass penis as an anthem just for him. A dry dick is a ruined day for Yuzuru, as is a session without teasing his prostate in whatever way he currently fancies. Once he tried it, he never went back. The intensity knocking him out is something that Yuzu thinks about all the time. Strokes like a pro, does all these little moans, can do it forever, loves the feeling, chases the high. Adrenaline junkie on the ice? No different with his hand around his cock.

Will masturbate everywhere in the house and has to really get his head in the game to make sure he won’t ruin any carpets. So, he always has at least two towels with him. In the kitchen, in front of the TV, in the shower, the bed. Watches his fair share of eclectic porn, he gets really desperate. Especially before you started dating, Yuzu would shut himself in until the lotion ran out. Can jack off to something romantic (he starts crying) or something extreme (he loves shocking himself and ).

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Very curious about sadomasochism. Googles a lot of things that make him hard during the day. Often jawdropped by his research, but once he tries things out with you, nothing can really shock him anymore. Absolutely wants to be collared, it’s his biggest fantasy. Another little secret he has, Yuzu is decked out in skating gloves, right. He wishes he could feel you wearing them, or he keeps them on for sex himself, the lacey transparent ones. Looks especially pretty when his wrists are tied so, major photograpy material. Oh yes, Yuzu likes the camera, he can work it. The guy is photogenic in any position and can strike any angle you want. Your phone background is a new Yuzu snapshot every week already, imagine your gallery, 5800 kinky pictures.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

I’m gonna say it. The frozen lake out of town, late at night, condoms and lube with you. A quickie that will leave your genitals frozen. Yuzu might get stuck inside you because it’s -15 Celsius. Call that fantasy on ice. Jokes aside: Come on, Yuzu is the biggest ever hermit homebody. The couch will have a bunch of indents after your week-long fucking sessions after he comes home training. Also, at his desk while he does work for university. You ride him, Yuzu studies. Double the ambition. His dick is completely sore. The lake out of town thing might go down, but without sex. Just skating together under the stars, Yuzu doing amazing spins and spirals around you, very very romantic.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Yuzu is a crazed Sagittarius. Have you seen these men? They just want it all. Must be the influence of Jupiter. Zeus was definitely vibing that way. And yes, Yuzu has borderline unhealthy gold medal thinking in bed. He wants to be not just good but damn good with pleasing you. If you don’t have a good time and head home without an orgasm, he’ll consider himself a failure. Yuzu won’t cut himself any slack there. You’d have a hard time changing his ways into something more chill and moderate. Instead, you will see the benefits of rolling with it once you see how improvement fuels him and does make sex really mindblowing.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Couldn’t do things like slapping you, spanking. Yuzu makes for a terrible daddy dom, it’d not suit him.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Cum-dripping oral mess, Yuzu is the brave kind. Totally into it, and can’t resist a good blowjob. Will act different afterwards, there’s a lot of erotic tension. “This evening again?” is what those eyes are saying.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Outstanding kinesthetic intelligence. Every inch of his body follows his intent, and yours if you have him take on certain ways of kneeling. Yuzu can do it all, whatever you want. Tantalizing, moderato, overwhelmingly fast. He can take it, he can portray it. And knows the value of a pause like a true connoisseur. Not just when he wants to prevent cumming early, also just because the moment is right. That’s why cockwarming is a staple, as well as you having him wait patiently for kisses. To top it off: If you give him a blowjob, building up the tension by doing nothing is damn effective. The ruined orgasms you’re gonna give him... delicious.

Everything’s gonna have nice transitions as well, no awkward climbing and rolling and tangling limbs. If he gets something from another room that you need, no slouching. The university course as good as the extracurricular activities. Being inconsistent with any subsidiary details? Not in the Hanyu household, he’s keeping it classy. Yuzu feels like if he makes the bridges to new positions even remotely messy, the feeling is killed and it’s as if he’d break character mid-skate. Although he’ll have to practice and refine and test a lot of things because he’s not super experienced and adapting to your own movements is an individualized thing to do, he’s a masterclass of quality, period.

Even when things get fast and heated, nothing feels off. Having that kind of body smartness also means: Yuzu learns by touch, whatever you do. He knows by the way you pull his hair what comes next. How much saliva drips off your tongue when you suck at his neck, he knows how hard you’ll to ravage him in five minutes. This guy observes things you aren’t even conscious of because his physical understanding is just so fine-tuned.

The sense of rhythm, and every skating programme of him will showcase that, unbeatable. Unless his mood is really impacted by something severe, your guy feels it in every bone. He’s an artist, after all, he listens to music all the time. Dissecting rhythms to turn them into movement is what his line of work is all about. The pace will always fit the mood. Everything is precise, but never crude. Instead, the way he moves is dictated by an inherent flow. With little accents that match right with any thrust, like putting his hands on your sides when you’re on top of him.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Hit it Shakira: Whenever, wherever! He seemingly carries an entire condom factory with him. Or, to be more exact: At least three of them.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

This one’s a complicated case. Yuzu being reckless on the ice may or may not mirror in your private life. He might need some downtime, so bring out the soft domme stuff. No trial and error stuff, just going through a routine of things you love the most. On the other hand, he always gives it all. This guy’s endurance at your hands is amazing. Advanced kinds of BDSM he will not feel deterred from at all. Rough toys, anal hooks, sounding, whips, why not is Yuzu’s motto. But then again. He has such a confusing mix of innocence and feeling like he’s completely hardcore. You might end up experimenting a lot, but also not daring the leap sometimes because the mood is different. And then rather go for softer hours, where Yuzu will be all shy shy and more bursting with excitement than ever. A good, interesting mix is what I’m saying.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Yuzuru, once he gets a bit of practice to gauge the situation... Viagra on two legs, absolute unexpected powerhouse. You might end up pondering to work out a little and go for a run because this guy is in a consistently outstanding shape to say the least. Olympic athletes are literally hard to fuck with. And since Yuzu is starfishing sometimes (which is very adorable), or he’s in bondage for some time, that presents a further problem: For a second round, he’s full of energy, while you already spent energy. So, you alternate with who’s active, and the other leans back entirely. He has to remind himself since his body is programmed for it: This is no contest — the point is feeling good.

You might ride him reverse cowgirl all the way while you watch TV, and after the overstimulation fades he will eat you out ad nauseam, full course slobbering, sweeping the whole menu. That way, it’s less about keeping up with him, which would be hard for most people not doing sports at his galactic level. He understands, Yuzu knows he’s not normal in that regard, you don’t have to worry. Some exercise still doesn’t hurt, just to further increase the quality of sex anyway.

Then again: Why go jogging and do some laps wasting valuable together time when Yuzu’s lap is the best workout? And running doesn’t guarantee your stamina in bed is perfect even if it does help. You rather wanna manage how to draw out the arousal. It’s a self-control thing, with the goal of having you match up in every aspect as good as you can. In which case, you can count on him to pull it off: Have you seen Yuzu doing jumps side by side with a bunch of female skaters? Copy paste. This guy knows how to synchronize with the ladies.

Something that has to be mentioned beside that, though. Yuzu has asthma since 2 years old, and it’s often a mind thing to him still these days. He doesn’t let it stop him from sleeping with you because as always, he’s not letting anything get in his way. He has learned to live and thrive with it. But you both have to mind the possibility of an attack, he prevents it with inhalers, and the mood plays a crucial role. Yuzu being comfortable and confident is so important to his breathing, and keeping a good rhythm rather than being chaotic in bed. So, you will plan most of your sexual activities rather than improvising.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Would stuff an entire sex shop into his every available orifice. Yuzu is a toy freak, he wants to try everything. Motto: a new one every day. Well, almost. But he can afford it. Buys stuff he uses solely on himself, things you use on him, things he uses solo and you use on him, and as the cherry on top, every possible high end vibrator on the market for you. Any size, too. This bitch will browse through the latest innovations, prepare to get off. He’s obsessed with seeing you use it on yourself. Yuzu owns a separate phone just for videos of you buzzing your clit, and him fingering you for minutes and minutes.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Extremely so. Loves to be a total brat only to get put into his place. He does it so you’ll pull the chin grab on him. He likes getting choked out as a punishment as well. Yuzu also tends to be very around the corner if you will when it comes to soft subbing, he lays over expecting cuddles but doesn’t say so. Buds his head against your chest, nuzzles, and so on. Lighter forms of teasing come to him very easily. Loves to prompt. Roughhousing, banter, favorite thing.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Moderately loud because his voice is very very light, but unsurprisingly — he’s just beautiful. What a nice tone. Gorgeous whimpering sounds. And when you go hard on him, voice cracks! And really heavy breathing. What’s gonna be the most striking though is his expressiveness. We know it from the ice and interviews, and he can really amp it up even further. No need for screaming, that face will speak the volumes.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

You’ll be blessed with him if you have a huge crying kink. Yuzu definitely opens the waterworks every other week in bed. Happy tears, horny tears, relief tears, aftercare tears, orgasm tears, masochist tears, romantic tears, subspace tears, he has it all. He also begs for the type of pain that makes it stream down his face for minutes. He’s touchy-feely all the way and feels like he can really connect with you that way.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

His ass twitching is kind of a spectacle, but I don’t have to tell you, do I. Yuzu has muscles for the gods in there. So voluptuous, you can’t call it any other way. Big booty boyfriend, Jesus you can show him off, he loves it. Around the house, he will flaunt them big ole athlete buns in particular, acting like it’s unintended. Um, Yuzu, those are joggings. Smack it, he is sure to moan.

And may I respectfully mention as well — this guy has some major big ass balls figuratively and literally. How else would someone be motivated to jump a triple axel like it’s nothing. Not kidding, they’re big and round and ugh. His love for tight pants doesn’t help. He knows what your eyes like and dresses just to flex the goods. Screams for more spanking and pinching if you ask me. Yuzu is definitely serving it. Well-endowed, you lucky girl.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Mega horny, ready when you are. On a scale from zero to hundred? Breaching into the 90 percent right there. Yuzu’s hormones are literally insane. On paper he’s 26, but his dick wants the 18th birthday party. Jesus is he gonna be clingy when he’s in the mood. All wrapped around you in a backhug in the kitchen or when you iron a costume of his, and that’s sexy of him. He’s not gonna hide what’s filling out those sweatpants. He’ll desperately grind up against you like it’s Christmas.

Paired with his puppy eyes and little “Do you have some time... I’ll iron this tomorrow” — instant pounce. He’s admittedly a bit hard to keep up with sometimes, though. The reason: With that level of exercise, he has major pent-up energy. That machine is definitely running. Heavy sports changes your hormones, nervous system, and especially blood flow. Now take that to the scale of his performances and regimens? That equals a firework of horny. No wonder he masturbates all the time.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Takes some time. He cools down, sweats it out, chugs water. However, don’t underestimate how tired Yuzu can already be. His daily routines and competitions have a toll on him. Ironically, he’s not a deep sleeper, however. Yuzu might toss and turn and have sudden energy bursts, or ideas, or gets hungry. So, he needs his plushies, he needs a weighted blanket, warm pajamas, a hot cup of his favorite warm drink, a light snack, and you by his side. Spooning him excessively and sometimes even humming to him. Yuzu looks like a certified angel on his pillow, his well-deserved rest from everything is so important, too.

NOTE - hope i could indulge you, thank you for reading!

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pippytmi · 3 years ago

Note

Howdy! For the little au trope prompt ask. 2, 2, 39. Supercorp please. Thank you! (Hope it helps your writer's block!)

Everyone knows that when the Quidditch season starts, rivalries begin.

As a general rule, Lena doesn’t mind the Gryffindors. If she had to pick a house she hated, the Slytherins would be the unfortunate lot; Veronica Sinclair and Andrea Rojas alone give the group a bad name. (That could be Lena’s own personal bias, given the fact that both girls have broken her heart, but she maintains it goes far deeper than that). But the point stands—Lena isn’t a hateful person. Generally.

There is just something about Kara Danvers that brings it out of her. The one and only Gryffindor that Lena despises is that moronic, reckless Chaser who scores nearly every single goal she takes. The Ravenclaw team is nothing to sneeze at either, but Lena hates that of all people to throw her off her game, it is a girl who blew up her broom when attempting to fly on it during her first year. Seven years that she has known Kara, and still Lena is annoyed at the mere sight of those perpetually-askew glasses, those untucked robes, that undone tie; Kara Danvers is never expected to be poised and perfect, even with all the expectations on her shoulders. She’s just so...blasé. People talk about Kara like she is destined to join a Quidditch team straight out of Hogwarts and all Kara does is stroll into the Great Hall on game day with her head in the clouds.

So far up the clouds that she apparently can’t watch where she is going, either. Lena throws Kara the nastiest glare she can muster when they just about knock each other’s heads together, but all Kara does at the sight of it is grin. She always grins, not in a way that is arrogant or snide, but stupidly amused. Stupidly amused, as if everything Lena says or does is a bloody laugh, like Lena’s simmering hatred is nothing more than an inside joke.

“Hey, Luthor,” Kara says cheerfully, and there she goes, pushing those crooked glasses up her nose. There is a scratch on one lens, and Kara has either not noticed or not bothered to repair it. “Trying to take out the competition a little early, even for you.”

“You were the one in my way, Danvers,” Lena replies tightly.

“Was I?” And here is the kicker, that golden girl charm that fools everyone: bright blue eyes peeking out beneath those eyelashes, hand rubbing at the back of her neck, undone tie slipping an inch further. Kara tilts her head unassumingly as if that is even an actual question.

It makes Lena furious. “Here’s a tip,” she says, “for here and the Quidditch field. Maybe if you got your head out of your ass, you could actually see where you’re headed.”

Kara has the audacity to look affronted. “Is this because of the Brainy incident during training? Because he and I agreed that it was a joint effort. Joint…blame. Whatever you call it.”

Lena rolls her eyes. “Just keep your aggression to yourself, Danvers,” she mutters, and then she resolutely brushes past. She has no time for blank, witty banter, especially when this is the year’s first game and she has a team to rally.

“My—? Hey,” Kara’s voice rings out, louder than necessary, and that idiot is actually following her. “Hey, wait. Lena. Do you seriously think I’m aggressive? It was an accident! Both times!” A beat. “I mean both the Brainy thing and right now. I didn’t knock into Brainy twice. I did knock James off his broom once, but you probably don’t care about that since he’s not from your house, so…well anyway, just so you know, that was also an accident.”

“I have zero interest in your training squabbles,” Lena says exasperatedly, “and you’d do well to keep that in mind.”

“Oh so this is about the Brainy incident,” Kara says. “How many times do I have to say that the training pitch was ours?”

“According to you,” Lena counters. With that she whirls around, nearly colliding into Kara’s chest, but she still manages to lift her head up high and stare down that egotistical jackass. “I know you might think you’re entitled to any space you waltz into, but some of us mere mortals actually schedule training sessions. You know, like we’re supposed to.”

“I did schedule the—!” Kara has a tendency to become flustered mid-argument, it seems, because her mouth opens but no words come blustering out. Finally she settles on scowling when she declares, “You are a piece of work, you know that? Would it kill you to apologize to me once in a while?”

“That would imply that you have apologized to me at some point,” Lena scoffs. “Which you haven’t, for the record.”

“Yes I have,” Kara is quick to disagree.

Lena crosses her arms; it’s a challenge, and Kara immediately stands a little straighter when she notices. “Oh?” Lena prompts. “Like when?”

“Like…when I knocked into Brainy.”

“I fail to see how I fit in that scenario,” Lena says, “since you didn’t break my nose.”

Kara gives a little huff, as if this back and forth is all so inconvenient right now; as if she hasn’t instigated it. “Okay, but I apologized for disrupting your practice, remember? I took complete responsibility even though it was your fault you couldn’t keep track of when your team was scheduled—”

“That was not an apology. You literally said ‘Sorry Luthor, we need this more than you do’ and then refused to leave for the next half hour!”

“But I said sorry in there, ergo, it is an apology.”

“Well then, when my team beats yours to dust I’ll be sure to apologize properly for that in that exact same sympathetic manner,” Lena sneers.

Somehow, trash talk only makes that dumb, signature Kara Danvers grin come back, completely wiping away any sign of vexation. “Oh yeah? Tell me more, wise old Ravenclaw—”

Before Lena can even begin to dissect that childish comeback (and stupid sing-songy imitation of the Sorting Hat), other students come filtering down the hall and they are practically swept up in the masses. One kid completely shoulders Lena before she even realizes what’s happening; she stumbles to the left, nearly collides with the wall, and opens her mouth to shout, but then:

“Hey!” Kara is already brandishing her wand with one hand and catching the boy’s collar with the other. “Ten points from Hufflepuff! You could’ve hurt someone, walking around without looking where you’re going.”

Lena bites her tongue to stop from making a quip on how ironic that statement is, because Kara is engrossed in a stare-off with the pimply sixth year who is demanding to see her prefect badge to prove Kara can even take points. She would normally side with the kid—anything to knock Kara Danvers down a peg—but, well. For once, Lena can’t be bothered to actively hate someone getting into a heated argument on her behalf.

Two minutes later and the boy stomps off with ten points gone from his house and a detention to boot. Kara, meanwhile, is still frowning as he leaves. “Are you okay?” she asks absentmindedly, still tracking the kid’s every movement with her eyes. “I swear, if there weren’t so many witnesses I would’ve hexed him.”

“Winning move for a prefect, I’m sure,” Lena says dryly, and Kara turns towards her with that slow-growing buffoonish smile and another sheepish nudge of her glasses. Her next words kind of just fall out, almost as if she’d never formed them in her mouth but in the deep recesses of her subconscious alone: “You know, you confuse me.”

“Huh?” Another nudge. The smile slips a fraction, but just enough to show Kara is slightly confused by the change in subject.

You confuse me, Lena wants to repeat. You are the opposite of self-aware. You are messy, and reckless, and selfless whenever it counts and it’s confusing because all I can really hate you for is being able to get away with being imperfect and still be adored by everyone.

But none of those words, thankfully, leave her head. All she says is, “Your approach to discipline confuses me. It’s not like he purposely tried to run into me—ten points might have been too harsh.”

“This coming from the girl who once threatened to curse me into oblivion for tripping her when we were twelve?” Kara’s eyebrows shoot up. “Who are you and what have you done to Lena Luthor? No, hold on, I know. You’re really Jess in disguise, right?”

“Hilarious, Danvers. I wouldn’t quit Quidditch, it might be the only place you’re suited for,” Lena mocks, but all Kara does is laugh.

“Nope, definitely Lena,” Kara says, and the way she says it is almost…fond. Come to think of it, Lena can’t remember a time where Kara actually called her Lena. It’s always Luthor and Danvers and stop breaking the faces of my best players and never—never anything else.

Lena clears her throat and looks away; she can’t take another second of those warm, bright eyes. “Whatever,” she says. “I…guess I’ll see you on the pitch.”

“Sure thing,” Kara says, and she takes a step back, tucking her wand into her pocket. “I’ll be the one rocking the winning team uniform.”

Slowly, Lena begins to feel the corner of her mouth twitch. Completely unbidden, completely unpredictable. “Dream on, Danvers.” She allows the space between them to grow, but their eyes remain locked, and the air feels heavy—thick—and the weight of their shared gaze holds a meaning Lena can’t possibly unpack right now.

But Kara’s tongue pokes out between her teeth cheerfully, and she doesn’t appear half as bothered by this development. “Always, if you’re in them,” she says, twists a little on her heel to walk away, but she pauses while she is still in earshot. “You know—next time you can just thank me for defending you.”

“You mean abusing your power as a prefect,” Lena replies automatically even as her head is running a mile a minute; even as Kara is getting farther and farther away and the scratch on her glasses lens catches the light.

“That too!” Kara shouts as she gets lost in the crowd, and damn her, Lena has to put her hand over her mouth to hide the absolute idiotic smile that has formed on her own face.

(Joint blame indeed, Lena muses, and she figures that she might as well form a rivalry with the Slytherins instead of the Gryffindors after all).

#this is both a threat and a reminder that im still working on these #😌😌😌#supercorp #supergirl #bisexualgoof #i need a fic tag #disclaimer that i still do not know anything about hp #im doing more research on harry potter than i do writing smh

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mcfreakin-bxtch · 4 years ago

Text

Playing with Fire

Part Five of the Just this Once Series

Warnings: Smut (no actual smut tho guys sorry), Masturbation (f), Teasing, Language, Dirty talk, Terrible Star Wars knowledge

Word Count: 2.3K+

Summary: A tease through the links and a bet fulfilled.

A/N: This chapter is a little short, but I hope you all enjoy! This may seem a little anti climatic and messy but that’s on me guys, that’s my bad. Also this may seem different in tone if that makes sense? The next one will be more smutty goodness but with some injuries (and yes i used another random star wars planet don’t kill mee)

You’ve finally figured it out.

After about a week of travelling to your next destination, it finally occurs to you to just play at his own game. You know—fingering you in a crowded cantina, smirking to himself while you struggled to stay quiet in that fucking booth...

But first, you must say that Edis is a strange place. Rain falling at every hour with apparently no signs of ever letting up, and the humidity is unforgiving—how Mando is handling it in all that armor and padding, you’re almost too afraid to ask, because there’s just no way that he’s comfortable, and an uncomfortable Mando can lead to a grumpy one.

Maker you’re grumpy yourself if you’re being honest. The Child has been restless lately, like the heat is getting to him as well, and that’s been taking a toll on your (already) poor sleep schedule; Mando tries to help, but there’s only so much he can do. However, it has given you the chance to think of the perfect payback for your little deal—or bet is a better word—and you gotta say, you’re a little proud of yourself for coming up with this evil—and small—tryst in the first place.

If it’ll work the way you want it to, time will tell.

“Were you even listening?”

The modulated crackle startles you from your thoughts. You turn in the pilot’s seat, making contact with the visor and the stiffness of his posture confirms your suspicions—he’s hot and grumpy.

“Sorry,” you mumble. “Lost in my thoughts.”

He doesn’t acknowledge it. “I’m leaving. They should be nearby, and everything should work out as long as you and the ship stay hidden.”

Like anyone could. Mando isn’t messing around on this one—well, the man doesn’t mess around with anything, actually—and he’s made damn sure that not only are you available with a few weapons nearby (some hidden, of course, just in case), but that the Razor Crest is shadowed by towering trees a bushes in this small part of the rainforest; it’s nearly impossible to even see the gunk through the one of the thickest part of the forest. If anything finds you, they most likely won’t come back alive.

“Okay. Good luck.”

He gives you one nod and the cape whips as he turns around, strutting towards the ladder as you follow behind. Mando checks on the kid—sitting up in the middle of the haul with a few little toys surrounding him—and gives him a gentle caress of his floppy ear before using his vambrace to open the ramp. He doesn’t give you a glance back, and that’s okay with you, but you can’t deny the slight stinging in your chest when he disappears into the foreign planet.

“Alright little guy,” you say with a grunt as you plop down on the floor next to the Child. “Let’s figure out what to do.”

***

Ten days.

Mando has been gone longer on bounties like this, believe or not, but that still doesn’t ease your increasing anxiety when the com link stays silent; you suppose you’re used to the quickness of his updates.

Today, after hours of entertaining the baby the best you could, you can finally settle comfortably in the pilot’s chair… but now what?

Sleep, your body says, because what else is there really to do? Don’t, your mind tells you, because you have the baby here alone on an unfamiliar planet and anything could happen. A part of you wants to go out and check the foreign terrain. One look shouldn’t hurt—

“Hey,” his voice speaks through in statics.

You quickly fumble with the com, feeling like a clumsy mess when you almost drop it in your haste; he’s caught you by surprise, for about the hundredth time.

“Y-yeah. Yeah I’m here,” you stammer.

“Not so close,” he tells you, annoyed and tired.

You wince and pull your hand back from your mouth. “Sorry. Good news, I hope?”

“Yes. And no. It’ll be at least a few days before we’re out of here.”

That sucks.

You suspect that the quarry is indeed with him by the short words, and that’s okay, because with your plan now in the front of your brain, fresh anew like the first time you cococked it in the wake of sleep, washing your quick irritation away, your chance is finally here.

“Mando,” you say as sweetly as you can—your heart skips a beat when there’s a moment of silence. “They can’t hear me, right?” you continue before you can find out if the com is dead or not.

This is incredibly risky. Even a little unfair of sorts, given that he’s technically working right now, and that leaves no room for games or distractions—the moment is just too good to pass up.

Another minute goes by. You sink in your chair in disappointment, ready to admit defeat.

“Not now.”

Yes.

“This was part of the deal, Mando,” you remind him. “And I’m already starting to get wet.”

That isn’t a lie. The slickness of your arousal is starting to seep from your core—fourteen days (counting the week it took to get here) is a long time, and as long as you can get him to keep talking, this will work beautifully for you.

A pause. “I can’t…”

“I’ll do all the talking,” you lick your lips and slink down comfortably, sliding your hand along the length of your neck, imagining it’s his hand wrapping around your throat. “You just listen. You can do that, can’t you?”

You wait, and for a split second you’re afraid that, yet again, you’ve done something wrong. You really have to start working on that.

“You don’t—”

“Okay.”

Maker. Maker okay.

“I uh—” what were you going to say to him when you thought of this in the first place? “I… you know what I think about when you’re gone?” You know he can’t answer much, not without giving himself away, but you pause anyway for dramatic effect. “First, I imagine you stalking towards me like you always do… like I’m one of your bounties.”

Your pussy quivers in excitement as you close your eyes and picture him doing just that, sliding your hand down to your chest, groping your covered breast and trying to mimic the same amount of pressure he applies to them—you really wish it was his hand instead.

“Then you cage me in, leaving me with nowhere to go. There’s a specific type of exceleration to it. One that makes things even more… exciting.” You pinch your nipple and whine, loud enough to give him a good show—Stars you hope that quarry can’t hear you through the baskar bucket of his. “You like to drag it out, to watch me shiver in anticipation, and fuck if I don’t like it either.”

You can hear the light breathing through the comlink. A spark of victory, early victory, runs through your body and straight to your pussy, neglected and hungry for any type of friction.

“And then,” your hand slides further down to the waistline of your pants, fumbling with the buttons. “You touch me. Softly, at first, because you love to tease—” a barely audible sigh interrupts, bringing a cheeky grin to your lips. “—and I think you’re an ass man, because you never miss a chance to lay your hands on mine.” Your fingers slither their way under your panties; your inner thighs twitch at the first brush of your finger against your aching clit, and more slickness escapes your cunt. “And you ghost your fingers over my breasts, down my stomach, over my hips where you like to grip them tight, to my dripping pussy…”

Not a peep from the com. You’re surprised he’s kept his composure. You shouldn’t be, yet a part of you is.

“And,” you go on with a moan. “When I feel your thick fingers paw at me, rip my clothes off and fuck my pussy deep, getting me ready for your big cock while your teeth scrapes against my neck—oh fuck…” The curse slips from your lips without warrant; your fingers buried in your pussy like you’re explaining to him. “My fingers are not the same—” you bite down on your lip as you curve your fingers, delicately trying to find the spot Mando finds with precision. “They don’t make me feel as full as yours do. But I’m still fucking myself with them, Mando. While you’re out there, and I’m in here… it sucks, doesn’t it. Having to stay quiet when all’s you want to do is fuck me until I can feel you for days and day after, your cum leaking from me, and who knows, maybe I won’t even let you cum.”

“You will,” he nearly growls, and that’s an early sign you’re in a world of trouble when he does get back. “That’s part of the deal.”

“...What...deal…”

The faint voice cuts in annoyingly, and Mando shoots back with a decent threat that’d make you terrified for your life; again, it’s probably wrong that it does nothing to deteriorate the fluttering of your wet muscles.

“Keep going,” his tone leaves no room for argument.

Your fingers move faster. “I think you should be a little nicer to me,” you sigh dramatically. “You’ve been gone for so long, leaving me all by lonesome… you like to do this a lot I’ve realized, leave me high and dry. But you might have a chance to fuck my face if you’re a good boy.”

You have to stifle your giggle at the last bit.

“Yeah, you’d like that,” you coo. “And I’d swallow every drop.”

A barely audible exhale filters through the link. You’re right there with him, your face scrunched in concentration.

“I’m happy as long as you’re inside me,” you continue on with delight. “You’re an asshole sometimes, but you can fuck.”

Mando sighs again, this time feigned with theatorical frustration—well in his case, it may be truthful, but it sounds more for the quarry’s (and yours) benefit than the latter.

This is more of an ego boost for him more than anything as well, if you think about it, but as long as you get him riled up and you cum, that’s enough for you. So you curve your fingers the best you can given the compromised position and flick your thumb against your clit, images of his gloves sliding down your pants in the cantina playing through on repeat. This time you moan louder for your own amusement, imagining him struggle; it’s sweet, sweet revenge.

“And?” He asks suddenly—calm and steady.

His voice, even modulated like that, makes your muscles twitch as the coil in your lower stomach boils to a tight flame, and the sloshes of your fingers slinking in and out of you adds to the euphoria clawing through your core.

“Your cock,” you whimper. “Stretches me out so good every time. You’re so big, Mando, so thick in every way and it feels amazing. I bet you miss the way my sweet cunt clenches around you.” You bite down on your lip to hide a groan, wanting to hear his response as your fingers move even faster, scratching against the itch. “Don’t you?”

Your pussy flutters around your fingers at the first scrape against your sweet spot (finally!), and—well fuck, you’ve never seen much of him to actually picture what his cock looks like driving in and out of you at the verioucious pace he usually chooses, so this is a little bit difficult than you thought it’d be; as long as you keep fucking yourself like this…

“Yes.”

Your breath shakes as you exhale. “Shit I wish you were here right now,” you rub your clit harder. “I-I want you to fuck me so hard when you get back, Mando. Want you to—hmm—to grab me so hard that I have bruises the next day. Use me. And you’d come right in my tight little pussy, isn’t that right?”

You don’t expect him to answer this time. Not when you’re so gone in your little cheraid and your pussy clenches harder and harder until there’s nothing but white noise tying you down to this moment.

“Fuck. Fuck I’m so close.”

You try to conjure the feelings Mando gives you—the feel of his hands, pressing down all over you, fingers leaving indents in your skin, his mouth on your neck, biting down on the sensitive flesh until you’re marked; the drag of his cock along your slick walls until there’s tears in your eyes and you can feel him all the way to your cervix.

“Mando,” you whine, then bite down on your lip again; the Child certainly doesn’t need to hear this. “I… I need to hear you. Say something, anything.”

“Go ahead,” gruffer, close to a grunt—your pussy gushes at that. “Now.”

The command is clear, and it’s not going to take you that much to ride the waves of your orgasm starting to crash down over you. Your moans and whimpers trapped behind tight closed lips and your fingers covered in your juices, it takes a few more curves of your fingers and tight circles on your clit to feel the hard and delectable clench of your inner muscles.

“Yes,” your body trembles. “Oh Ma—” You hide the rest of the plea behind a muffled scream as short bursts of pleasure sparks through your entire body, your fingers trapped in the squeeze of your cunt as more juices flood down the slope of your ass, milking every drop of your orgasm.

After a few long moments your tense muscles relax and deflate, relieved and satisfied. Though, the only problem is that it is short lived, an orgasm small enough to hold you over until the real deal comes back. Speaking of…

“Mando?” You breathe. “Still with me?”

“I’ll be there soon. Be ready.” And then nothing.

Chuckling to yourself, you wince as you slowly pull your fingers out, wiping your slick covered fingers on your pants.

And now you wait.

For however long that’ll fucking be.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #fanfic #the mandalorian imagines #pedro pascal

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chemicalpink · 4 years ago

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Hii I think it would be really interesting if you could tell about Jungkook soulmate. Like why are they so popular aside from being his soulmate, what makes them special spiritual wise. Because a lot of ppl say this person is super strong and have a pure type of energy. Please share more on that.

Okay, so I actually did more research for this than my actual undergrad thesis.

So first off I wanna say, this is the way * I * see it, from my 15 years of spiritual experience, there is obviously much more to it since astrological aspects and divination in no way defines a multidimensional human being and their connections to people, if you’d like to know something else feel free to ask, I’ll do my best to answer (with my own ethical limits and respectful of the privacy from the ones involved)

OKAY so, a crash course on soulmates, there are a lot of types and they may not present themselves as romantic partners, most of them, especially if karmic, will leave your side once they’ve helped you through something.

It’s kinda tricky to know if someone is your soulmate unless you can do an in-depth synastry analysis, which means knowing exactly the two charts, of course, on a personal level, if you are in tune with your own energy, you can come across people and tell they’re part of your soul family.

So really, what has surprised me the most about the whole “JK’s soulmate” is just exactly *how* it came to be, did someone did a synastry with their own chart, saw karmic aspects and was like yeah I’m his soulmate, then transformed it into an oh he has a soulmate, or are we starting from this man having no filter and saying that he’s waiting for *the one*?

I really REALLY wanted to trace back to the first-ever post of him having a soulmate, couldn’t find it so all we can go from are tarot readings and really him saying he knows there’s someone out there for him.

Astrologically speaking many people analyze his Juno, but I’d say it’s in general… what he likes in a partner in terms of marriage.

Apart from that, as I’ve said before, all the info on his soulmate derives from tarot readings/predictions and some people that say they channel his higher self.

From my experience, yes, Jeon Jungkook is sure that he has a soulmate, that they are somewhere out there and that he’ll meet them sometime, he’s a big softie (we’ve talked about how he likes to always remind me in my readings that there’s a past-life partner, his true love, his soulmate)

Now, I hate to bring up couple’s therapy but a relationship is between two people, which means that as much as he is longing for this soulmate, this other person is on their own life path, we don’t have a chart for them obviously, so all we got left are general divinations, asking questions, getting answers from either tarot, charms, rods, pendulum, whatever, it is always us asking questions, plus, divination does not provide an accurate answer, they just read between the lines of present energy and provide a most likely outcome to situations.

As I said before, there’s a lot of *in between* information, like, do they know who their soulmate is, are they looking for each other, how is it likely to play out and out there, many people seem to talk about it, especially about this person being a ‘runner’ in the connection, saying that they will make Jungkook wait and a lot of stuff that to me, sounds like they are antagonizing this potential soulmate because let’s get real, Jungkook is a very sought after celebrity, so of course it makes sense to antagonize a potential partner of his.

The thing is, this man has no filter whatsoever, whatever awakening he’s through, he now knows that voicing his opinions on *finding the one* have come to bite him in the ass because there’s a lot of energy shifts, people manifesting him, self inserting themselves on the narrative that they are potential soulmates for whatever reason. I think there’s a blurred line between you know, doing a synastry reading with a celebrity and actually acting upon the astrological aspects, astrology is contextual, a big *most of the time* that is not a rule, so having karmic aspects with someone might mean you’ll get to know them, or it could simply mean that you came across them on their path as artists and they helped a lot through their art. Who knows. The universe knows, so if it’s meant to be, it will be.

Now, my take on the whole info that’s out there on Jungkook’s soulmate, (if they are the one appearing on the readings and not another partner) from my experience reading for him.

People saying that they are older, mmmm yeah I kinda get where they’re coming from, if you are an intuitive reader, you get the ‘old soul’ vibe from reaching out to the connection, but as always, the universe doesn’t provide the ultimate truth, so I’d stick with *old soul* not older, they could be more mature, could be older, can even go as far as to say they’re more traditional. We don’t have a way to accurately tell.

People saying that they are a foreigner, I honestly- don’t know where this comes from, as I’ve said before, we don’t have an accurate way to confirm, just short term divination which means that whatever outcome people see is most likely from his soon to be partner or current partner, if his soulmate is indeed a soon-to-be partner and foreigner shows up, I mean yeah, could be, he’s an international artist, would make sense for him to fall for a foreigner as much as it makes sense for us foreigners to find him cute (?

That they see each other in astral/ through dreams. Well, I don’t know, I guess they could if they have the right mental space and a lot of spiritual work (? Soulmates are usually hard to reach honestly, cause what’s the point of getting to know them before they can be able to fulfil their earthly deed with you. I’d say that it’s more like the universe giving hints to the connection and not a one-on-one type of thing. Then again, why would you even go as far as to invade their astral privacy and get an answer about it (? Also, I need receipts on how exactly people got this info.

That his soulmate is a runner. Okay first off, don’t go and rummage into other people’s trauma and present it on the internet. A runner is supposed to be one part of the soulmate that is running away from the connection, while fully aware of it for whatever reason. Then again, how could someone possibly reach for some specific higher self if you don’t know who they are (? Entities are tricky, could be some other energy saying they are JK’s soulmate or another person that is manifesting them. There’s no clear way to know that any type of personal/spiritual info is 100% true.

His soulmate is someone spiritual. Probably, soulmates tend to have similar timings to their spiritual journeys, and while we don’t know who they are, we can see Jungkook being attracted to the spiritual so it’s only fair to asume they are too. I’d like to add on a personal note that I would say yeah, they are, and a strong one at that. Not because of any type of divination but because whenever I try to get info on them (by supposing they are a soon-to-be partner, reaching via Jungkook) it is very VERY hard to get an answer.

So in conclusion, please don’t forget that just as there is much more to Jeon Jungkook other than him being part of BTS, there is so much more to him than what the tarot or his chart says about him. It’s always fun to spill some tea on him and any other celebrity, but please remember that neither of those spiritual tools resonate fully with who he is, his preferences, his interpersonal connections or any other matter. They just see what’s there and are the *most likely to be true* answer, no one knows better than ourselves when it comes to personal info. Aside from that sure, perhaps there are ways to tell some deep deep answers about him and his soulmate via very hard concentration and connection processes but really- in this economy (? Why would you do that to yourself, we’re in the middle of a panini why would you sacrifice your mental health like that. Jungkook and his soulmate that he is so much as longing for is a personal connection between the two and sooner or later (ahem I’d say later) they’ll find each other.

With that being said and back on my silly self, all of this doesn’t mean I’ll stop doing love readings for him, I love roasting Jeon Jungkook (within boundaries) because he likes to piss me off constantly reminding me that I’m a lonely potato that has had (and lost) three soulmates.

#bts astrology #bts tarot #jungkook soulmate

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thebibliosphere · 4 years ago

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if you have the time and capacity I would greatly appreciate some chronic health advice! I'm also someone who deals with the clusterfuck of problems that is MCAS (and POTS and EDS and immune deficiency...) and I'm wondering what drew you to an organic diet to treat MCAS? its really hard for me to find reliable information on if and why it works, but I've seen several mentions within the MCAS community about it.

I've been Struggling to keep my MCAS symptoms in check, and they keep escalating (severe asthma flares, burning in my mouth while consuming things, and bleeding sores suddenly appearing in my mouth and taking forever to heal, along with all the typical MCAS symptoms just short of anaphylaxis) so at this point I'm willing to try anything that might help 😭 I do have an allergy/immunology doctor, but a lot of their focus lately has been trying to treat my immune deficiency, so I haven't gotten much info on how to handle this. any advice or info you can point me towards would be greatly appreciated.

So, I was prescribed an all organic diet by my allergist before we new I had MCAS because during a bout of testing to try and figure out what the hell was going on, I had two different skin reactions to corn. One was organic corn, and my body was completely fine. The other was regular corn and my body broke out in hives. I wasn’t told which was which, or even what they were testing, in order to prevent any possible psycho symptomatic reactions. My then allergist, who I honestly miss cause he was way more competent and 💯% less of an ass than the one I have now, looked at that, looked at all my other problems and went “well that’s weird”, and summarily prescribed me an all organic diet to see if it would help.

It did, and it was concluded that my body was reacting to the minute trace amounts of synthetic pesticide (probably glysophate) found in non-organic foods. I emphasize synthetic, because organic foods still use organic pesticides, which are also not that great for the environment or people due to lack of FDA regulation, but when your choices are death now or potential cancer in 40 years, you take what you can get. He also hypothesized that because I grew up in the UK/Europe where pesticide use in general is more heavily regulated, as are preservatives, that that was also what was making me ill.

Some five years later and we fast forward to now, and we do indeed know that pesticides and preservatives can be mast cell disorder triggers. Even more natural ways of preserving foods (like fermenting) can be a mast cell dysfunction trigger due to histamine intolerance. The more you know 🌈 ⭐️

Which is also something to consider. Not everyone with MCAS has histamine intolerance, just like how not everyone with HIT has MCAS, but the two often go hand in hand. If you haven’t tried a low histamine elimination diet, it might be worthwhile to see if it helps. I do urge caution though, as a low histamine diet is extremely dangerous long term due to lack of nutrients, and it should ideally be done under the guidance of a doctor for no more than 4 weeks. I was left on a low histamine diet for almost two years by a negligent doctor, and almost starved to death. Also with things like MCAS and HIT the goal is to gradually build your list of tolerated foods back up, not to keep eliminating them, as that is the only way to heal. You need to get your body to a good baseline for healing, then try to get as much nutrients back into your diet as possible. And before anyone jumps in to recommend feeding tubes as they’ve done in the past: feeding tubes should be an absolute last resort when all other options have been exhausted. They are also no guarantee against anaphylaxis and have other complications that can be fatal, so it is imperative to try and avoid them at all costs.

With an HIT diet and competent medical supervision, I’ve gone from being able to eat 2 things to 21 in the last year. Still not a huge amount, but it’s huge progress for me, considering my body was reacting to tap water at one point. Still does sometimes, so I recommend looking into filters that remove trace amounts of chlorine from the water, for both drinking and bathing. You can get shower filters that attach to the head for like $30 and it can help with skin reactions/eczema like symptoms. I do not recommend full house systems that filter via the pipes, as the treatments used in water are actually essential for preventing things like pipe corosion or mold build up, but filtering from the faucets/shower heads is a good idea.

Which brings me onto things like skin products and household items. With MCAS, there can be any number of things that trigger us that in turn make our bodies primed to react to everything and anything we put into it. A lot of household cleaners, especially scented things, are mast cell dysfunction triggers. Tide washing detergent, for example, absolutely murders my throat if I breathe the scent in. We had friends come to stay recently to help with our basement demolition, and the smell of their laundry detergent made my throat swell and my eyes burn. It also helped me realize that yeah, actually, switching to all free and clear products for all of our household needs has Substantially reduced my overall reactions, including to foods. I now avoid anything scented, yes including essential oils, because essential oils can be triggers for anyone, not just folks with mast cell issues. Natural doesn’t mean safe. Nor does it mean shit to MCAS where some people can eat potato chips just fine, but can’t eat healthier things like fruit or veg because our mast cells have gone wonky and mistake certain proteins for allergies, whether we have a true IgE allergy or not.

Unfortunately, this does mean we end up incredibly deficient in many vitamins and nutrients, and supplements are necessary for our survival and recovery. Re: the mouth sores and bleeding, if no one has tested your b12 levels along with a homocysteine test, get that done asap. I had mouth sores for up to six months before we found out I had severe pernicious anemia and was on the verge of death. Low folate and low iron can also cause tongue/mouth burning, and those things go hand in hand with b12 deficiency. (And most foods that are high in b12 are often off-limits to people with HIT/MCAS. EDS also means we don’t absorb them as well from the gut, so it’s a good thing to check regardless) if it's not that, try looking at things like your toothpaste/mouthwash. Try avoiding toothpaste with SLS in them; see if that helps. Sensodyne is a good brand that makes an effort to avoid SLS but double-check the ingredients. I can't use any mouthwashes, so I make a point of doing salt water rinses when I remember. Some people also use oil pulling as an alternative to conventional mouthwash.

Unfortunately, MCAS is one size fits no one disorder, so the only way to get a handle on it is to find out what works for you. It makes things very overwhelming, but I hope some of the above is helpful and proves useful to you. Best of luck, and if you've got any more questions hmu, I'll try to help where I can 💖

#chronic health tag #mcas #long post #eds #pots #histamine intolerance

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scandeniall · 4 years ago

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no face no case

pairing suna x reader

summary/warnings: yeah suna is a PRO at the no face no case type shit. 18+ talks about sex, the devils lettuce (for like 2 seconds and uses the word “maybe” this was also written before that weird hyperfixation with him being a stoner which i have thoughts of annoyance towards but w/e), hes annoying

note: this was supposed to be a short drabble but ended up being over 1k words. brevity is not my strong suit.

update: i did bf texts based off this

Suna is a pro at no face no case. Like this man will hide your relationship for months (if you’re ok bc he’s not a dick). Part of it is because he’d had shitty experiences in relationships before and the other part is just bc as a pro player he didn’t need ppl in his private life. It’d be somewhere between 8-10 months until your face is ever posted even on snap and even then the pic is mad blurry. But the caption would be something like “kinda hot or whatever” or “Alexa play nasty by DaBaby to where you literally have to force him to change the caption bc SIR”. He’d definitely go post that same pic with that caption on finsta and add like 🥵💦to it.

Anyways, he’s really good at the whole deal. Like during the time before you two were a couple and kinda just hanging and dating around casually he’d talk about other people he found hot with his bros and maybe go on the occasional failed date (it failed bc he didn’t even put in the effort to get to know the person. Just “uh uh” “yeah that’s cool or whatever” and he’s super dry with it)

Anyways once you’re actually a couple whenever someone would show him a picture of someone he thought was hot he’d just shrug like no comment. After practices they guys would be like “yo you wanna go get drinks or hop on the game,” and he’d just say he was busy. Anyways that same night on his priv story he’d post some black and white filtered video of him kissing up and down your neck. And it was obvious that this mystery person was straddling him too.

Washio swipes up like: 🤨

Komori: did you mean to post that

He just leaves it on read and goes back to enjoying his night. After it was obvious to everyone on his priv/finsta that he was indeed in a relationship his story almost always has a flick of his hand on your ass. No caption, just his hand gripping through your jeans/sweats/ his boxers you name it.

Suna might smoke on occasion. Only during the off season though bc he is not dumb now. (sometimes osamu comes through but you’re never around). Anyways he’s the type to have some led strip lights in his room lining the ceilings and whether you smoked or not he’d invite you over. The room is all hazy and it’s like damn bitch are you tryna hot box. Anyways during those nights he’s so high and is slightly less intentional with keeping your identity hidden. Thankfully the lights and smoked out room does a pretty good job for him. Bc he kinda just sets up his phone has you on his lap and just likes make out real nice and slow. (he accidentally posts a part of it while high. He thinks it’s on video but he recorded on Snapchat. Be thankful it snap only records so much before cutting off)

Other times y’all would just be lounging on the couch passing a joint back and forth and he’d be like “put your legs on my lap so I cant take a pic” after he gets it he pushes your legs off and puts his on you instead lol.

He likes just vibing in the house to music with him playing his game and you just doing you. He’s not paying any type of attention to you but whenever you get up to go get some food or to pee he’d post some shit like “my date really left me? Can’t trust anyone can you.” Will record certain parts in songs (it be the dumbest parts too) and be like “I dedicate this to the 1 who left me to eat”

He’s also SO annoying that his lock screen is a pic of you both. One you had taken with self timer. You’re sitting in his lap smiling and he’s kinda just looking at you like “wow I rly like you”. But anyways back to him being annoying— he has emojis covering both of your faces. The clown emoji to be exact. To go along with that sometimes he’d post more couple-y picks on his priv but again there’s an emoji. Once he even used the Snapchat paint feat to draw you on an outfit over the one he had and captioned “mine knows how to dress 🥵”

Whenever he did want to maybe post some cute pic without all the jokes it’d be something like you’re holding hands or if he fell asleep in your lap he’d post the pic of him in your lap and your hand is visible in his hair

Yeah he also never even mentions your name around his friends. It’s either some nickname like “loser” or he’s just like my s/o. His contact name for you is “im dating?” (Even once your identity isn’t a secret he doesn’t change it to your name it just kinda changes to “I’m engaged?” To “im married?”)

Ok so even once he posts that blurry pic on his public verified account all those months ago he doesn’t really do much more than that. Like folks want an HD pic of you and him? Yeah good luck. He’d occasionally post a ig story of y’all meal together if it was looking extra tasty but that’s about it. People would kinda forget he’s even in the relationship until like your anniversary and he STILL doesn’t feed into the mystery. He got you a gold chain with a charms of his initials. He’d post another dumb black and white filtered pic with his hand resting on the crook of your neck and his thumb near the letters with some caption like “365? That’s wild” at some point after that he’d actually post a real pic with you two bc while it was fun and cool for a while sometimes he does want to actually be a good bf and share some of the dumb shit you two do together (like the time he made a PowerPoint of all the reasons you should buy him a ps5. He recorded all your bored and unamused reactions too. “Because I’m hot and dick game kinda decent,” is not enough of a reason to drop $500+ on you sir esp because hes the type to sometimes just stop mid stroke like “whew yeah ima need you to top now” like the audacity)

#haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #suna rintaro x reader #suna x reader #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu imagines #suna imagines #hq imagines #hq imagine

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slasherfilth · 4 years ago

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You Are What You Eat – Chapter Three (Thomas Hewitt x Reader)

Luda Mae was a simple woman. She wanted simple things. Food on her table. A nice cup of tea with (y/n) every now and again. And for her baby boy to be happy. And she had quickly come to the desertion that two of those simple needs were far more entwined than she had first anticipated. The day she had sent Thomas to the bakery had been a blessing in ways she hadn't fathomed before. Tommy had come home with the basket of goodies and a difference in his demeanour. He was never an angry man, but he did have an air of annoyance around him every time he was sent out to the shops. She didn't blame him of course and made sure to only send him when she had no other choice. She knew how people treated her boy. She would get weird looks, but with her own quick wit, people were quick to shut their mouths around her, she made sure of it. But Thomas was different. Thomas genuinely didn't want to hurt people physically, it would only cause more issues. And the second issue is that he couldn't verbally do it, like Luda Mae. So, he had to deal with very verbal threats and ridicule against himself. Despite being a very large man, people had learnt that he wouldn't retaliate and their awful behaviours grew bolder and bolder.

That being said, whenever he did return from town, he would generally be in quite a foul mood. One he would rid himself of in the basement alone, working. Because Holt never did appreciate a moody Thomas. However, today was different. She had been expecting him to be short, give her the basket with a huff and make a beeline for his work. But he didn't. Instead, he walked into the house at a leisurely pace. Holding a cookie in his hand while he gazed ahead, lost in his own thoughts. It wasn't an odd thing for Thomas to do, with nothing to say one would imagine you would spend quite some time in your own head. But Luda couldn't fathom what had brought on such a difference to his usual arrive-from-town demeanour. Maybe someone had said something that really affected him? But he wasn't angry or even frustrated. He was his usual calm self, perhaps even gentler than usual as he rested the basket on the counter, nodding in her direction absentmindedly.

"Thank you Darlin', did you meet (y/n)? Lovely girl, ain't she?" Luda watched on curiously as Thomas nodded, more enthusiastic than she was anticipating. Usually, she would receive a shrug as he never really cared too much for other people outside the family, they would usually make a comment about him or something, and Thomas had just learnt to ignore everyone. So this was more than a little surprising, but she couldn't help the grin that stretched from ear to ear.

"Yeah, she's a real sweet thing, that one. No family left though; the poor girl is probably lonely over in that big house by herself." Luda's keen eyes taking in every furrow and huff that Thomas made, his interest clearly displayed as he stayed and listened to her, his head tilting at her words. She felt like dancing inside.

"Maybe you could go over and keep her company. She keeps saying that big house feels lonely all the time. She also mentioned needing a few things fixed around the place. I'll tell her you can help." Luda shooed him away with her hands, appearing lost in thought as she began to unpack the basket. Thomas left immediately, but she could see he was still partly in a daze. Oh, her little boy was growing up! She hadn't seen Thomas react to anyone in a blatantly positive way since he was a child. Oh, how she would milk this. Maybe she would finally be able to cross off another dying wish of hers. Grandchildren!

-X-X-

You had been so busy with the bakery lately you barely felt like you had time for yourself or your thoughts. But ever time you did seem to get lost in your own mind, it would always travel back to Luda's son. God, you had been stupid to think that he was a teenager or something. You tried to convince yourself it was because you were unprepared for the very masculine man that walked into your shop. That was the reason you couldn't get him out of your head. Yes. You were just shocked. Sighing, you continued to make the new pie recipe with chicken meat. All the alternative meats you tried were okay, but they just weren't exactly what you were hoping for.

You just wanted a well-cut, well-fed red piece of meat for your pies. You didn't need very much with all the extra gravies and sauces, but it annoyed you that you couldn't find any, anywhere in town. The only place that stocked some red meat was the little store at the end of the road, and it was ridiculously overpriced for the pathetic amount you received, and it was god awful. Full of fat and grainy in texture. You wondered where he even managed to get something so terrible. You sighed and wondered if it would be worth perusing Luda Mae. Thomas was a butcher, wasn't he? Indeed, he would be working with red meat? And as if hearing her name filter through your head, you listened to a jingle of the shop bells. You looked up to see one of your favourite visitors standing in the doorway with a fresh basket of goodies.

"Darling! It's been far too long. I'm sorry I wasn't able to come out sooner, busy with the farm and all. Charlie can be a real slave driver when he's not busy boozing." You giggled as the lady rolled her eyes and took a seat in her usual spot. You absentmindedly began making her regular order and grabbing today's cake special.

"That’s okay! I understand I’ve been quite busy myself. I’ve been trying to find a nice meat pie with alternative meats, but it just isn’t what I want it to be sadly. A bakery without meat pies. I’m a fraud.” You sighed dramatically as you began to walk towards Luda with your drinks and plates. Setting them down, you took a seat with her, admiring her new basket. Oddly enough, you noticed a few drops of blood on the handtowel that covered the ingredients. You shrugged it off. It happens sometimes. Especially on farms, you would know.

“Ah, don’t beat yourself up. Everyone has the same issue here. I’m sure you will find something. Besides, you have a wonderful collection of desserts the town dies for. I’ve seen all those empty cabinets when I walk in.” Luda winked at you, and you flush mumbling to yourself.

“I’m just glad people like them at all.” You laugh half joking and half serious as you move for the food in front of you. Luda stops sipping her drink for a moment and nods, pushing the gift towards you more.

“Oh, yes, yes. Go ahead, dear. It’s not much, but I made a few things I knew you would like and also left a few recipes in the bottom for you.” You smiled wide; you really did love her recipes. They were so homely it reminded you of your mother on rougher nights when everything felt too much and too big for you. It was comforting. Although you assumed everything about Luda was motherly and comforting. Grabbing the basket, you pulled up the towel and smiled as you first saw the bouquet of flowers, you quickly grabbed them and got up to put them in a vase, to place front and centre in your bakery.

“I assume the gardening had been going well then, Luda? These are beautiful! And smell absolutely lovely. I don’t know how you do it in this heat. All mine would wither up and die.” You finished arranging the flowers to your liking as you heard the older woman chuckled.

Time and patients, my dear. And lots of water. Thomas goes and fetches me water form the lake almost every mornin’ for my flowers.” You flushed as you were once again reminded about the man that barely left your mind lately. And oh god, you had forgotten about all the little deeds he did for his mothers to make her happy. You were doomed. However, you kept walking back to your seat, unaware if Luda had noticed your sudden silence.

“That reminds me, Thomas came back in a mighty fine mood yesterday, which is different than he usually does when returning from town. Given his looks and all. Would you happen to know anything?” You froze for a moment, thinking back to yesterday—your surprise and anger at how people treated him and his mother so openly. God, you were still confused. Thomas looked like he could break your neck with one hand and yet people were so casually rude to him. You would be terrified to do that to someone so intimidating.

“A-Ah, yes. He -um- had a bit of a run-in with the locals…” You looked down, saddened that you were unaware of what would happen when he arrived. You wish you had stepped in sooner. “Some people in the bakery were saying some mighty rude things to him, but I shut them up with a warning. Ain’t no one gonna be rude to you guys in here, or they can find their asses on the curb.” You frowned and narrowed your eyes slightly.

“If anyone ever tries to tell me you aren’t a little angel, I’ll slap them upside the head, I tell ya.” You looked back to Luda, who was wearing her own little smile. You were confused. Wasn’t it wrong that people said things to Thomas? Luda laughed at your confusion.

“Thomas is quite used to the comments, but he’s not a violent man. He’ll just let it slide and come back in a huff of annoyance. But he was in a good mood yesterday. Not many people stand up for him. In fact, Charlie and I are probably the only ones who do. So, thank you (y/n). You’ve been nothing but an angel to our little family since you arrived.” You once again blushed a bright red. You began to wonder if you had any blood anywhere else in your body by this time. You mumbled out a thank you and continued to look through the basket. Not used to praise and certainly not accustomed to responding to it. Your finger grazed against something cold. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you wrapped your fingers around cold plastic. Usually, Luda would make you dry things so they wouldn’t go out of date quickly.

Looking down as you pulled out the packet, your eyebrows sudden disappeared into your hairline as you looked at the slightly bloody package of red meat. The packet was only so big, but it was more than enough meat to make at least a dozen small meat pies. You looked up at Luda questioningly. Wondering if maybe she had accidentally placed it in the wrong basket at home.

“Oh. Would you look at that? Thomas must have had some leftovers.” The way she said it was almost nonchalant, but you could see the surprise in her eyes too before it dissolved into happiness with a bright smile to match.

“Maybe, it’s a small thank you as well.” You hummed and turned back to the meat, deciding you would make a small batch of meat pies and give the Hewitts some to try as a thank you as well.

“Thank you so much, Ma’am. And be sure to tell Thomas thank you as well. Oh, you have no idea how happy this makes me. I’ll give you some pies to take home next time you come around! I’d love for you to try them and tell me what you think!” You excitedly stood up and made your way to the back, placing the meat straight into the cooler so it wouldn’t spoil. You moved back to Luda and gave her a big hug from behind, muttering your thanks a few more times.

“Oh, it’s nothing, dear. Like I said, you’ve been nothing but an angel to us. You deserve it. That being said, I did mention for Thomas to go visit your house at some point, you mentioned you wanted some help fixing the furniture and pipes, well Thomas is a bit of a handyman as well. And he seemed happy to come to help ya out.” You bit your lip and flushed a bright red before nodding. Oh god. Would you be able to handle the sight of him fixing things in your house? Using your tools? Maybe even shirtless since that’s how most men seem to fix things when it was this hot out. You tried to stop your cheeks for burning too brightly at the thoughts before shaking your head. No, bad (y/n). You only just met him, behave.

“T-That would be fantastic. He’s more than welcome to come at any time passed six.” Your breath out, hoping you don’t sound as stiff as you felt. You watched as Luda stood up and nodded.

“Alright, then I’ll send him over at six sharp tomorrow.” You could have sworn you seen a mischievous smirk curl on the older ladies’ lips. But you shook your head and gave her a hug before she left. Surely you just imagined it. She was just trying to be helpful is all. Yes. Helpful.

-X-X-

Hello! Sorry, this has taken a bit longer to be published. This chapter is a bit shorter as the next will be a bit more on the longer side and lots of you and Thomas getting close and friendly. And I can’t wait!

#thomas hewitt x reader #thomas hewitt #thomas brown hewitt #luda mae hewitt #charlie hewitt #tcm 2003

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cant-blink · 4 years ago

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Gigan’s Insecurities

Yes, you read that right. For all his moxie, Gigan has insecurities! And it all comes down to his natural organic appearance.

Gigan’s species, known here as Space-Ducks until further notice, start out as extremely floofy little chicks that peep and cuddle. I already drew a babu Gigan, seen here :D

The adults look pretty much like Showa Gigan for the most part, with green skin, golden display feathers, and three golden sails on their back. But there is no belly buzz-saw, and they possess a single eye without the visor nor the beam aperture on their foreheads. The claws, neck-and-tail spines, the small stinger at the end of the tail, beak and mandibles are made of bone and keratin.

They are incapable of flight, and are land-based predators. They also have no beam attacks, and like getting up close and personal to kill their prey. Even with his added ranged weaponry, Gigan still prefers his natural “hand-to-hand” combat-style.

When he was captured, Gigan was given the ability to fly through an anti-gravity propulsion system. He is also able to turn into a diamond at will, though he only uses it for space-travel. His organic eye has been replaced with a superior cybernetic one and is protected behind a visor. An aperture on his forehead allows him to not only shoot lasers, but gather external information about his surroundings and opponents.

He was given a flamethrower to use from his mouth, as well as the ability to teleport. A powerful alien alloy was used to coat his claws, beak, mandibles, and spines.

And don’t forget the signature buzzsaw, of course. Gigan loves his buzzsaw.

Of course, internal changes to his body and brain was also made. He has filters in his lungs and stomach, allowing for toxins to be neutralized more effectively. His brain is modified as well, with memory banks able to download new information very fast (his cockroach Masters used this primarily to install the image of his baby-pictures so it’ll live in his mind forever!!!), as well as access whatever information his Masters had to use at his disposal.

Ghidorah’s mind-control chip was VERY interesting to learn about, and oh, look at that, he can use that chip to track the dragon anywhere in the cosmos. Very useful indeed.

No need to bring up the fact that Gigan too, has a mind-control chip buried deeper in his brain. It’s likely he’s not even aware of it, because as much as Gigan uses "I wasn’t in control” as an excuse whenever Ghidorah brings up their past, he was only mildly influenced by his Masters and was fully aware of what he was doing. Tis why when his Master’s control broke, he was pretty much unaffected and continued on beating Godzilla’s ass whilst Ghidorah largely stood back and watched.

Overall, Gigan wasn’t too bothered by the modifications done to his body. At least, when he was his Showa design. His natural appearance in all its glory and beauty remained largely intact, and what’s been added only increased his bad-assery, so win-win!

Unfortunately, this space assassin-turned-pirate was eventually captured again and modified even further into his Final Wars form. He now only vaguely resembled his natural form, his sails weren’t even gold anymore! And his feathers, all gone and replaced with armor plating. That especially was quite a blow to him, considering how important these display structures were among his kind, to advertise status and fitness. Now it’s all ruined!

His hook claws were turned into scythes, with grappling hooks attached to them. His stinger, largely left untouched in his Showa design, was now enhanced with bladed claspers. Though to be fair, he enjoyed this change, as it allowed him to easily manipulate objects he otherwise couldn’t before (like glasses of alcohol!).

Gigan hides his insecurity about this new change quite well; he tries taking it in cheerful stride and showing off as if the change was intentional. He tried showing off to Ghidorah, only for the dragon to reject him. His pride is hurt because of that, and he occasionally wonders if Ghidorah’s increased aggression towards him was because he now looked like a FREAK.

And no, Kamata-Kun, he doesn’t care to hear what you have to say!

But his worst insecurity of all, is that this newest change leaned the cyborg even more towards being a machine than an actual organic being.

The “Half-Life” comment Ghidorah continues to label him as really does get to him, until he couldn’t take it anymore and violently demanded Ghidorah never to utter those words again.

That scene where Gigan examines Ghidorah’s crests when they arrived at the bar? And Ghidorah was assuming Gigan was jealous that those life-detecting crests didn’t glow as brightly for him as it does for other lifeforms? He was right; Gigan knows the glow isn’t something Ghidorah can control, so seeing them so dim shows the “half-life” comment isn’t just done out of spite. It really is how Ghidorah sees him. Those crests only served to remind him that he really is a “half-life”.

Tis why he changed his mind about killing the patrons at the bar. Their life-force made those crests glow bright, and maybe, just maybe, he can pretend that bright glow was for him.

#gigan #ghidorah #king ghidorah #godzilla #gigadorah

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illustraice · 5 years ago

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lead me out (on the moonlight floor)

rating: T word count: 7526 multiple chapters: 1/?

[ read on AO3 <3 ]

Chloe Bourgeois’ Capri Sun has a sheen to it. It probably reflects light on some poor freshman kid trying to navigate the hallways filtered with the fall breeze and the faint scent of student panic. She stays seated between the legs of the unbothered figure behind her and thinks that getting to class in time is, like, overrated and Alya Cesaire’s arms have to be comfortably occupied, thank you very much. If she had any time, Marinette would think it was moderately cute and a true testament to battling against The Wall of Heterosexuality, but because she doesn’t have any time between pushing her way through The Wave of Student Flesh and desperately clinging to her multiple binders, she starts to think it’s a bit of an inconvenience.

The Cesaire-Bourgeois Package Deal block a generous portion of the stair path; if the freshmen had any opposition to Françoise Dupont University’s ‘It’ Couple’s (of 5 months and 16 days, Chloe had announced in a lecture once) location of choice, they didn’t comment. Marinette scans the frantic narrow hallway and appraises her options; she’d very much like to get to Economics on time but there’s probably bad, weirdly homophobic, undertones to telling the Package Deal to please, get off the stairs and get to class. The two are glued to their spot, class time a weak thing to nudge their unwavering dedication to listen to whatever pop-indie playlist Cesaire has curated on her phone as they share the singular string of earpods. Marinette shuts her eyes for a few seconds, wishing Nino were here to pick up her courage off the ground to hand back to her so she can say something to the two about not blocking the stair path and making out in the next 5--or maybe 2?--minutes.

A trio of younger students scampers to the stairs, too careful to not bother the couple like if they were to make contact with even an inch of Cesaire’s varsity jacket, they would suffer a force of an electrical shock or something equally dangerous to the medical bill. Marinette wills herself to roll her eyes, hopes that whatever exasperation she has rolled with it. She’s near the duo enough to share a few words (maybe testimonies from other students about how much they want to get to class on time?), and slowly inhales preparing to speak when a smooth voice calls out behind her.

“Can you two get any more cliche?”

Somehow, through the blaring indie mess of a song--Hozier? A band Marinette doesn’t know?--Alya acknowledges the comment and offers a smile in the direction of the voice.

“Relaxation is key, Agreste.” she hums lazily. Between the confines of Alya’s arms, her girlfriend grunts intelligently.

By the time Marinette realises her conversational sacrifice is better off unrealised and makes her way farther up the stairs hurriedly, Chloe has put her earbud to the side and points a meticulously manicured finger accusingly.

“Find true love before you judge true love.” she preaches.

“What is that? Aristotle?” Adrien quips. “I think true love can find a way to stop blocking the stairs and scaring the freshmen.”

Chloe scrunches her nose. “Find true love on your own first to prove it.”

Adrien sighs and for the short time being, curses his previous determination 5 months ago to force his best friends on a date. Instead of resulting in moderate disaster material he’d hoped would happen to use as some kind of funny leverage they could all laugh at one day, they’d turn out to be ridiculously compatible despite their exteriors and made out after a mere 45 minutes of the date. They’d laugh in the face of his ulterior motives, howling at him when he’d found them in each other's arms sickeningly in love later. He’d yelled profanities that it wasn’t fair that it actually worked (“It was supposed to be a joke! God, come on!”) as they snickered, all three clustered on his bedroom floor drinking his dad’s whiskey from the inviting and playfully restricted liquor cabinet (they’d been careful to pick an unenticing bottle stored all the way back). But truthfully he was happy for them, earnestly and annoyingly so.

Even so, their habits needed to die; like getting caught in embarrassing places making out or purposefully making out in front of teachers with Homophobic Tendencies (Adrien was more than supportive of that one but he’d also run several arguments on why it may risk them not graduating. Alya had just shrugged and said yolo) and now, blocking crucial stairways in their ferocious display of PDA. He quickly glances up above the stairs and thinks about telepathically apologizing to everyone who has had to wade their way through the duo. A figure with pitch black hair almost stumbles up in a hurry. Adrien wonders how he could send along the message that he grants them a pass to yell at his friends as a sincere apology.

“Can you two just get up and go to class.” he finalises. He looks down at Chloe’s cheer uniform and muses to himself that the near neon yellow in it is the colour of Chloe’s life.

Students still scatter around the area but they’re beginning to disappear to their classes. He makes way for a row of students running to the stairs and they thank him, eyes wild communicating some kind of cryptic message he thinks he can decipher as ‘save us’. He takes several steps up and flicks at Alya’s bun, strays of her hair bouncing. She doesn’t protest and instead takes some form of an effort to take his advice but it’s quickly halted by a suave kiss to her lips.

‘5 more minutes.’ Alya’s lips barely mutter against her girlfriend’s. The proposed time frame seems to be unnegotiated.

Adrien jerks his head up to the ceiling and groans.

When three chattering students noisily stumble their way through her Economics class, Marinette takes no note of it. She’s a little too caught up in what pretentious shade of red the bodice of the dress she desperately trying--failing?--to design in her Studio Arts class is supposed to be so that it passes off as something Dior would create. A deep, lusting flame colour or perhaps, maroon? Maybe? Frighteningly so? She flicks her head up momentarily to glance at a wave of varsity jackets and a singular cheer uniform. The chatter of the room increases exponentially. Alya Cesaire makes a joke or two to the professor that somehow saves her and her friends’ asses. The professor rolls their eyes but they turn kind and indifferently forgiving like they always are to Cesaire’s charm. A row of girls in front of Marinette swoon a little and it takes a moment for her to realise it’s directed at Adrien Agreste’s smooth greeting, the smile on his face so easy it reminds Marinette of toothpaste commercials. Chloe takes a claim beside Alya’s seat, a Capri Sun in hand and a look of undiluted boredom in another. She crosses her legs, pouts a little at her girlfriend, a form of formally beckoning her over to sit down already.

Seats are taken. Because Marinette has a brain and two whole eyes, it has always registered to her that the three are easy--a pleasure perhaps--to look at. Agreste’s a model even; his status of that is as clear as day as it is as cemented on the school’s Wikipedia and his flashy Instagram bio. But the force of all three was indeed a ridiculously attractive sight and Marinette would take her time to appreciate it all (really, she would!) if the stress of completing her portfolio hadn’t kept her occupied every ticking minute of her time in school.

She sighs and eases her eyes on Adrien Agreste who practically swaggers his way to his seat, playfully bickering with Chloe the whole time without either caring for volume much to the class’ entertainment. His soft, somewhat curled, bundle of hair practically bounces like it just has its own individualistic way with gravity. A hand tucked in his varsity jacket pocket and another loosely on the strap of his bag, he laughs at one thing or another said by Alya and Marinette thinks it’s a nice sound. A casually beautiful entity, she concludes.

Marinette’s eyes wander aimlessly at the board but she feels a pair of eyes on her anyway. Adrien’s eyebrows furrow for a moment, a hint of recognition on his eyes as he takes the steps above like he’s willing a vision to be painted in his head. Before she can look to him, his head turns away and he quips at whatever incoming remark from Chloe he had his way. Huh.

By the time the chatter dies down enough, Marinette has already decided the brief moment had been a mere daydream, a wander of aimless eyes at her in coincidence just like her own. She picks up her pen and writes her notes, stifling a yawn. Maroon, she thinks, is an easier colour.

Chloe’s bedroom floor looks a little like what Adrien envisions as an entire Sephora store. He’s not all that sure what that actually looks like but between Chloe yelling out to find fifteen different shades of lipstick and Alya lazily stacking more than forty eyeshadows on each other in some cosmetic version of Jenga, he thinks he’s right. His wooden chopsticks point to the takeaway stir fry in his hand and he’s debating whether to try out that powder thing, see if it does something or other. The view beyond Chloe’s perfectly oversized balcony is easy to look at, sunset views and all, and he thinks he’d like it a lot if he could stay there instead of the proposed agenda of the upcoming night.

Alya is sprawled out in her girlfriend’s bed, amusing herself with a meme or two on her phone. That doesn’t really satisfy Chloe who whines a little when she steps out of her closet, a yellow high neck dress tight on her waist. Adrien scrunches his nose and thinks the other dress--whatever he remembers of it--was probably better.

“Why don’t I look hot?” Chloe mourns. She slumps on a chair nearby, glum and decidedly not hot.

“I liked the other dress better.” Adrien offers, staring at the ceiling. He doesn’t think he likes the stir fry either. God, they should’ve just gotten pizza but Adrien’s stomach had made some last minute ditch to stir fry just as they entered the pizza shop and he should’ve listened to Alya saying his stomach is probably making a mistake but it just seemed so good of an idea at the time.

Alya glances up from her phone and makes some kind of protesting sound. “You always look hot babe!”

“Yes, true.” Chloe agrees momentarily, ‘But I don’t look hot in any dresses tonight.”

“Just don’t wear a dress.” Adrien offers again. They should really be taking his advice, he thinks. He knows he’s not paying that much attention but they should!

“Adrien, get up,” Chloe says.

“No.”

Alya looks at him from the bed, targets his face to throw a pillow. It lands on the desired location perfectly and he thinks it’s probably a warning. “What are you not hungry for?” he hears Alya ask.

He shoves the pillow away, eyes still greeting the ceiling. “The stir fry is not good.”

“You know, where was this energy an hour ego before you dragged us to an extra twenty minute walk to get it?”

“I’d really like my stomach’s intuition not be insulted during these trying times.”

Chloe scoffs, “Yeah, yeah. But really, what’s wrong?”

Her voice had shifted to the softer tone Adrien knows she categorises as the tone only given when Chloe’s actually worried. Adrien almost thinks about lying, then thinks better of it. Chloe and Alya could probably perfectly retrace every single step he's taken in his life. It’s useless and his stir fry has probably gone cold. He sits up this time, the warmth of the carpet off his back. He contemplates first and realises he does not want to ruin the night, not even for himself.

“Don’t worry,” he says finally, quietly. Quiet enough for it to be a clear lie.

Alya and Chloe exchange looks. A brief silence passes, the type Adrien knows is a mutual agreement between all three to wait. It doesn’t have to be said now, the silence says. A beat later, Chloe continues mourning her temporary lack of hotness, whining to herself again as she re-enters the closet. Alya maintains her lazy protests against the statement, grabbing the stir fry away from Adrien for herself (“God, it doesn’t even taste that bad.”). Adrien grins, wills himself to look forward to his own party, thinking it’s better that way.

Marinette stares almost menacingly at the computer screen. Photoshop and her design glare back at her like it’s a contest that it’s winning. It’s only a sketch but Marinette starting to think that if she stares at it long enough, the dress itself will appear magically before her, having chosen for itself confidently what colour it’d like its own bodice to be.

Instead, it only leads to her wondering if her eyes are actually threatening to bulge out.

“Why are you having a staring contest with your own computer?”

Marinette doesn’t turn around. Nino’s voice is not enough to keep her from trying this whole make-the-dress-magically-appear concept she’s got going on. He will not distract her from this goal. He places a plate with pepperoni pizza on her desk, a likely and tempting distraction. She takes it anyway.

“Is maroon, like, a good colour?” she asks, taking a bite. Nino lands himself on her bed, his headphones dangling on his neck the way it’s practically glued to him. He chews a bit of his pizza in some kind of contemplation before he answers.

“Depends who’s asking.”

“The bodice of my design is asking.”

“Then no,” he answers.

Marinette does not like this answer. But she’s pretty sure she doesn’t like any of the answers. She’s also sure Nino’s just talking out of his ass, but she appreciates the input.

“Man, have you even went out of your room since school?” he asks. It’s a genuine question, Marinette knows there’s no trace of judgement on his lips. But she’s also feeling a little jaded from the hours she’s spent on the design like it’s her lifeline enough that she musters some kind of look of feigned offense.

“I take that as a no,” he says.

Instead of answering, Marinette dumps her face flat softly against the desk. She realises all too quickly that this action in of itself is an answer.

“Okay.” Nino pulls himself up swiftly, hands clasped together the way it always is when he has a plan, “You look like you’re in the middle of a mid-life crisis at 21 and it’s just way too early for that. Get up, get dressed, put your hair up or whatever. We’re going to a party.”

Marinette grumbles. The idea, like every Nino idea, is perfectly acceptable, logical and has more than enough, the right intentions. It’s the execution, Marinette knows, that falters. Like how in kindergarten, he’d tell his best friend as their mothers shopped in IKEA that it was cool--yes, very cool!--to play hide and seek beyond the safety of the children’s play area, hiding away from the watch of the employees. It was practically genius to 6-year-old Marinette. Running away from boring IKEA-themed adults? Acceptable! Hide-and-Seek, the most thrilling game of century in a big area with lots of spaces to hide? Logical! Marinette and Nino had been bored out of their minds, un-enticed by the disgrace of a ball pit? The right intentions! It had been 15 IKEA employees yelling out the two children’s names for an hour later as they giggled away that had caused the fiasco to turn out to seem like Not Such a Genius Idea. The aftermath of their mothers’ disapproving faces had been another reminder.

‘Nino.” Marinette begins, “There’s a pros and cons list already made for that idea and I hate to tell you this, but there’s not a lot of pros.”

Nino considers this for a moment like he hasn’t already made up his mind. “There’s not a lot of cons either.”

The list is empty, Marinette says in their comfortable silence. Just like my head right now.

“Stop this.” Nino urges, “You need to get out. My best friend needs to come to this stupid rich kid party with me, eat a bunch of rich kid snacks and drink rich kids’ booze and live in the moment instead of looking like she’s about to go MMA on her computer”

Marinette doesn’t hate the idea of a party. She isn’t even opposed to them at all. Even art kids like her need their fair share of big gulps of gross alcohol and badly executed dances. But she also knows the only party of actual prominence tonight is Adrien Agreste’s, the golden boy of the Golden Trio. She thinks she might not like to throw up in his mansion or take up any form of social interaction when the exciting topic of Maroon vs. Not Maroon is the only thing on her mind.

In the time she took to contemplate this, Nina had dug out a pair of her black jeans and a halter top. He throws the clothing at her and she knows he has hit his target when she feels the material on the back of her head.

Marinette sighs the heaviest of sighs and Nino rolls his eyes. “Mari, you’re not dying.”

“Sure am.”

Like some kind of protest, he blasts some random 90s hit over the speakers from his phone. Marinette looks up, eyes already hazy and takes another bite of the pizza. Sixpence None the Richer blares like it’s trying to actually etch itself to Marinette’s ears. Nino joins in the verse but he’s kind of shrieking the way Marinette knows he does when he’s purposely trying to piss off the Choir teachers. Marinette stifles a laugh, then immediately groans.

God, rich booze really better be good.

His party is Very Good, Adrien intelligently evaluates this to himself. He’s in the middle of the dancefloor that’s really just his oversized living room, red solo cup to his lips. He’s not exactly sure what he’s drinking but he is sure it’s primarily responsible for the bubble of misplaced happiness to his body. He’s just a little hazy and deliriously warm and what the fuck is he drinking again? He dances between great friends, good friends, friends and not-friends-but-will-be-friends. Many eyes light up to his face in recognition, he happily recalls. The joys of being the host, he sighs in what he hopes is content.

The mansion is packed the way Adrien likes it when it’s a party--his party. It’s to blare out the loneliness inside these walls, the thought trespasses his mind. He frowns at it and systematically tucks it away in the space of gulping down all of his whatever-it-is drink and chatting to whoever is on his right. The wide-eyed girl smiles at him, polite and yet eager. He recognises her as part of Chloe’s cheer squad and she looks quite pretty tucking her hair behind her ears. Yes, very pretty! Is that pink eyeshadow on her? Adrien thinks it might be purple. They talk for a spare few minutes, slowing their movements a little. Adrien’s not entirely following whatever it is they’re supposed to be talking about it, but he knows he’s flashing his Good Smile and she’s flashing her Good Smile. And they look very nice, even! Yes! Wait, he halts, wait what?

“Agreste, you dumbass.” Adrien registers the voice as one Alya Cesaire but he’s not as quick to register the pull from the back of his jacket.

He’s dragged without grace across the other side of the room where the bar is set up, the crowd had parted like the knowing red sea with people laughing at his demise. Adrien’s arms flail in some kind of attempt to pull away from Alya’s force but he quickly becomes aware it makes him look like he’s drowning horizontally on dry land.

“Hang on there Adrien!” he hears Rose squeak but he can tell she’s grinning.

When Alya arrives at her destination, he finds Chloe perched on the barstool, chuckling at him. “What are you doing flirting with one of my girls?”

He feels a little caught in some kind of invisible lie. “Am not!”

Unfortunately, his voice squeaks the way it always does when he’s in a (drunk!) childish fit of defense. His knees wobble and Adrien wonders when jelly became a substitute for his knees? Did he authorise that? Alya and Chloe’s laughs almost thunder throughout the room, probably threatening to break walls.

“You sound like a 3-year-old caught in a lie.” Chloe snorts. Almost as if embracing this proposed age, Adrien pouts and sticks out his tongue. It’s stained red from his whatever-it-is drink. Has he been drinking wine? God, what is he? Above thirty?

“Yeah, yeah. Not all of us wanna make out with our true love every 5 minutes.” he places his cup to the bar, motioning for the bartender to refill a drink. The man raises an eyebrow, asking what he’d like before Adrien says whatever is alright. In fact, he has been drinking whatever the whole night so he might as well continue. “Not all of us have found it either.”

“Don’t be so poetic in your own party.” Alya feigns disgust, “Call Aristotle or whatever. Make him do the labour. Your stuff is terrible.

“My stuff,” Adrien tries not to slur, “is very, very, very good.”

“He sounds very convincing.” Juleka nods as she approaches. She takes a sip of her drink and in an act Adrien can only recall as an angelic move, she places a hand on his shoulder to stop him from the very bad consequences of his Knee Wobbling Fiasco. “Hold on there, buddy. The night has barely started.”

“You’d think Adrien would make it as a good act for the Debate Club?” Rose giggles beside her.

Chloe smirks, ‘You should register him now whilst he thinks his material is very, very, very good.”

The warm round of laughter from the circle erupts from this and Adrien delivers several glares to Chloe that they both know are just empty threats. He likes that everyone is having a good time, likes the obnoxious blare of music over the speakers and the familiar touch of everyone around the room he’s known.

“Adrien!” a voice bellows from the crowd. Adrien’s reflexes are painfully slow thanks to his whatever booze but he turns his head to spot the familiar figure, headphones on his neck. Nino always makes it easy to recognise Nino that way.

“My man!” Adrien drunkenly skips towards Nino, lunges his body weight at him. Nino somehow manages to handle the force of his bear hug and laughs, his body vibrating with it.

“How have you been?”

Adrien does not answer this question. Instead, he cries, “Nino, what the hell! Where have you been, man! It’s been, like, days! Without you, man! Without you!”

The group behind them laugh at Adrien’s speech, but Adrien is having trouble comprehending why. It’s been 2 days without his good friend! 2 whole days! He hopes the misery seeps out of him so they can understand his pain. 2 whole days!

“Okay, I don’t know what you’re drinking but it’s either that good, or you’ve overestimated how much you can handle. Again.” Nino grins, tries to position Adrien to stand. Adrien falls back to his arms like his body is lifeless. Was it? It sorta felt like it was.

“I am very good.” Adrien announces. He’s not sure who at.

“Don’t listen to his dumb ass.” Chloe laughs, “Have a seat with us, Lahiffe.”

She motions at an open seat near the bar. Nino smiles but his eyes flicker back to the crowd. He glances to Adrien, pulls a look like he’s going to say something mildly serious.

Nino slows his speech as if to consider Adrien’s quickly deteriorating brain cells. Adrien’s honestly grateful for it. ‘Hey, I’ve actually got a friend I’ve dragged along I’d like you guys to meet. Hope you don’t mind the plus-one, Adrien.”

No, Adrien doesn’t mind at all! Absolutely not! He wishes he could say something intelligent like ‘Of course I don’t mind! I’m happy for my huge ass hollow mansion to be filled up to suppress a bad ache of my loneliness!’. Or maybe he shouldn’t. So Adrien just shakes his head violently.

Nino smiles as if it completes his resolve. He leans Adrien’s body back to Juleka’s sturdy arms.

“Great. I’ll be back!” he wades his way into the crowd, the heap of bodies like some kind of transcendent disco-themed sea. Adrien takes a sip of his new--and hopefully improved?--whatever-it-is drink, hates it, then takes another sip.

Marinette remembers the order. Stay here for a sec, Nino had said, I need to talk to someone. What she’s not as diligent about is following through with it. Like a bad juxtaposition, she thinks, sipping through this party’s Rich Beer in her hand. It’s warm and fuzzy despite the unorthodox taste it leaves, maybe that’s the intended effect of Rich Kid Expensive Beer? But anyway, this bad juxtaposition weighs in on her. She’s hit with a weird pang of guilt over Not Following through with Nino’s orders. It’s not Acceptable (she’s broken an order), nor Logical (why is she wandering around in the gigantic space of this mansion where she can easily get lost amongst its weird sea of too many bathrooms?), nor does it have good intentions (she’s only helplessly so interested in the paintings surrounding the quieter hallways in this half drunken state).

Well, it’s not bad intentions, she debates, but it’s not Great Intentions. Marinette settles to herself that it’s Marinette Intentions, like that’ll help her explain this very reason of wandering around so clearly tomorrow. Nino will probably say something like what the fuck and then he’ll Not Get Mad at her because he knows pretty paintings are pretty paintings and anyway, why the fuck does Adrien Agreste have so many paintings? He doesn’t even paint! Never even been to a Studio Arts class! Never even suffered over Colour Theory or Composition or bad oil paint stains that go on perfectly good shirts that never come off even after, like, years of the laundry! Never even contemplated the deep distinction between maroon and not maroon! Marinette huffs and she thinks it’s one of her angry huffs.

Marinette thinks she’s okay with maybe swimming back into the sea of bodies, finding a pretty thing to flirt with and make out with for no particular reason for the night before she’ll slink back home. She’ll call an Uber and drunkenly recall the events to an indifferent and kind therapist of an Uber driver. She thinks it’s okay, yes it’s okay. She looks sufficient tonight, her lips are very glossy, very kissable, very capable of speaking to her future Uber driver. Her eyelids are heaped with a mauve shade, and Nino’s choice combination of clothing turned out well because he’s spent 19 years enough with her to recall whatever she says is ugly and not ugly.

But Marinette stares a little listlessly at the near blank hallways of the mansion. It nearly amazes her that despite it feeling like the world’s population was at Agreste’ front door, his mansion still seemed to have room. She waits for the wave of resolution to settle to her body, ending at the tips of her toes as to signal her feet to start moving in the desired direction. But it never does. Marinette sips the weird beer and takes this as a sign to stay in the dim of the hallways. Her eyes linger back on the painting in front of her, encased in a golden frame like it was a cliche. The acrylic sea stares back at her like the challenge her computer screen had once presented only a few hours ago.

Okay, Adrien Agreste’s house paintings, two can play that game.

Adrien’s footsteps carry the weight of the world. He’s pretty sure that’s not how gravity is supposed to feel like but in this state, he doesn’t really think physics is a concept he can grasp altogether. He had thought mindless dancing would ease his mind, make his body feel light as he tiptoes through the crowd. He sways along with the heat of bodies and he thinks maybe next time he’d like to hire a live weatherman in one of these parties to announce the approximate amount of degrees which he thinks right about now is nearing a million?

He’s dizzy, blissed-out like it hasn’t only been two hours into the party. His mouth feels like it’s on fire and drier than a desert at the same time. He’d chat to anyone who’d even so much as give him half a second of eye contact. He compliments something of anyone’s outfit and they’d say something like great party or Adrien get some damn water and then he’d flash his big megawatt smile reserved for nights like this or in daylight walking in the halls of the university like he’s shooting a never-ending commercial. If Chloe and Alya were concerned, they’d decided to voice their concerns for a later date and let him have his drunken fun.

For some ungodly reason, his mind rewinds to today’s events. Find true love to judge true love. Chloe’s voice strikes thunders in the thick of his cluttered haze. He grimaces, a little fondly. It’s one of those lines Chloe says without any real depth to it but he’s pretty sure the true love part has some weight on her part. Adrien sweats a little (or a lot?), thinks about Kagami for what feels like only a quarter of a second and then suddenly, several million years. He hadn’t let the ground beneath them turn solid, she hadn’t done the same either. So they’d just float in midair, aware they had nothing to land back on just like how he wants to feel weightless in this bulk of a crowd.

He’d kiss her once, in something like one of these parties. She’d return the favour back and it’d seem like such a comfortable tangle of lips at the time. His hand on her hip seemed fair, chivalrous, one of those moments of obvious destiny like how princes in Disney movies had no hesitation once they’d found their princesses. Once their lips parted, it was only then that he could hear the good-natured rumble of cheers surrounding them. Chloe had rolled her eyes, muttered something like I can’t believe you took that long, Adrien and Adrien had agreed on the statement. He’d grin so wide, the muscles on his mouth were a little tired of him. But Kagami’s eyes had been wide and curious and her teeth showed in her loosened smile so Adrien concluded that it had been so very worth it.

But then Kagami had sat down on his couch weeks later, shifting like she was not so sure of the space. As if the air inside was slightly suffocating despite the huge expanse of his second living room. Before her lips had open to speak, her eyes had already performed flutters of apology. Adrien thinks its almost pity but he’d shoved that feeling deep into the back of his mind before it could pose itself as a hazard to his psyche. She says what Adrien recalls as a blur of words. Sentences Adrien had heard loud and clear because Kagami’s voice was fit for presidential speeches or whatever, but were awfully disjointed like an awkward farrago. She hadn’t been sure, hadn’t thought it out, didn’t think it could work out in the midst of their schedules and oh Adrien, it’s not your fault but mine.

Adrien hadn’t processed anything, instead, he’d just theorised that the walls inside had somehow shrunk to the size of his body, squeezing the air out of his lungs. But he’d say things like it’s okay (it wasn’t), he’d thought the same (he hadn’t) and that he hopes they’d remain good friends. They did, in fact, remain good friends. Threateningly so. Then before he could blink twice, she’d jetted off to some lucrative fencing championship for the next 6 months like her life had been strictly scheduled to break his heart for one minute and be whisked away the next. The news of the breakup had circled ruthlessly throughout the entire student body within a matter of hours and Chloe had taken it upon herself to act as his publicist, telling everyone to leave him alone and yes, he’s going through a breakup-themed Spotify playlist, yes, he’d really like his privacy respected at the moment and no Nathaniel, he can’t share his Spotify playlist publicly go make your own

Alya, Chloe and him had raided the liquor cabinet that night like they would die the next day. Alya had ordered an obscene amount of pizza and Chinese takeaway. He wasn’t sure what the end goal was but between giant gulps of noodles, ice cream and diet coke (kind of disgusting), he concluded his friends had hoped he could also gulp away the sadness along with it. Well, he succeeded nonetheless. The next day he’d skipped along a path after classes, looked up to fervour of the orange-tinted sky and hadn’t thought back to Kagami’s eyes like he had been doing for weeks.

Kagami had been stored in the attic of Adrien’s mind, dusted and intentionally forgotten for some nice 4 months. But now she’s being unceremoniously summoned from the attic, in the midst of his dance floor and onto the pits of his mind’s living room. He holds a breath, a little more than worried that if he thinks about her any longer, she might also physically manifest in his actual living room which he honestly doesn’t think is a very good idea at the moment because he might involuntarily throw up on her.

Adrien thinks he can hear Alya’s voice faintly calling his name which is a miracle amongst the thunder of Ariana Grande over the speakers and fifty billion voices all at once. Without much thought to it, his lips linger back to his drink. The liquid burns down his throat like its matching the heat of the room. Ah yes, a billion degrees and perhaps more. He’d like to not think about Kagami at the moment, or any moments really. But once she’s out Adrien’s psychological attic, he finds it hard to stuff her back somewhere else. So he ignores Alya’s siren calls, twists his body the opposite direction and allows his feet to lead him to the better comforts of his bedroom. He stumbles on his way and knows he looks a bit like an idiot but he thinks his destination will make it worth it. Yes, well, it has to.

This room was too big. Much, much too big. Marinette doesn’t like being all too judgemental of anything. She likes to think that’s a result of her and Nino’s friendship and how Nino's face doesn’t really alter to the news of Marinette not sleeping for 48 hours doing designs. Instead, he’ll do something like quietly pull a blanket to her soulless body sprawled on her couch and confiscate the coffee away for three days. She likes to return the favour of understanding, not just to Nino but everyone else. But this room, she thinks, is far beyond the reach of her understanding. Marinette stares at the glass chandelier perched along with the high ceiling and doesn’t think she’d like to calculate if it alone could pay her entire school tuition.

She’d wandered aimlessly throughout the endless hallways, the voices of the crowd echoing behind her now mere whispers in the face of her indifference. She blames the alcohol but then again, she always does and really that wasn’t fair to the paintings which were the real cause of her spiralling away. If Marinette were sober, she thinks she might not enter strangers’ bedroom and judge them for their ridiculous size. But she wasn’t and now she freely saunters around like this room and her are more than familiar with each other. The king-sized bed, she notes, looks like something straight from a home decor magazine. Office space is set up opposite to the bed and it must undeniably have been occupying someone’s stress because papers cover the whole of the area without arrangement. Marinette can hear the faint boom of Top 40 music from outside and she thinks the sound resonates with the thunder of ocean tides crashing and falling much like the rise and fall of her own breath when she spots the easel perched near the bedroom balcony. Curious, Marinette strides like her body is actually co-operating with her. Placing her bottle on a table nearby, she inspects like she’s meant to be doing it.

The canvas is blank but the supplies were neatly arranged along the table. The space feels frozen in time, like someone had paused just as they were to begin and never quite gotten to resume. Clumsily left on the paint tray are different shades of oil paints, untouched and lonely. Cleaned brushes are nearby like they’re new and upon closer inspection, Marinette realises they are. Marinette inhales, breaths in the familiar scent of turpentine she’d recognised from years of sitting in a Studio Arts classroom next to Nathaniel. She’s no painter, not like she was before, but she’s more than proficient in traditional painting because of the required classes. Marinette sits on the stool and feels invited in it despite the clear lack of welcome of the entire room.

And because of the sudden invitation, in some swift movement she doesn’t at all recall, she picks up a brush, ruthlessly dabs it into the bright flush of a red and smears it across it the innocent canvas without regal.

“Fuck.” she says out loud as soon as the paint meets the canvas. Oh shit.

Oh shit, shit, shit. The mournful scarlet streak is right in front of her, bright as day in evidence and though its a colour, Marinette can’t help but think it’s screaming. The panic bubbles like champagne in her stomach but suddenly, just as champagne does, it settles into a fuzzy ease. Marinette laughs loud to herself. Fuck it.

Marinette ditches her reflex to set the brush down and instead dabs a little of the red back into the canvas, marks the colour again in another direction like it has a purpose. The more the hair of the brush streaks the colour along, the more the colour sings to Marinette’s face instead of its shrill screech. Over time, the colours bloom until Marinette hears the canvas perform a complete melody enough that it rivals the roar of waves outside.

The thud is enough to knock Marinette out of her paint splatter of a state, she turns her head to the direction of the door and hears a muffle or two of a deep voice. The panic settles back into her body and unfortunately, she realises, it’s panic alone and there’s no champagne mixed in. Several thuds ensue by the time Marinette has scrambled to her feet; brush, paint and melody are long forgotten as she drops it to the table.

An escape route, yes, she needs an escape route. Yes, now. What about her drink? Oh God, her booze. Marinette furrows an eyebrow, seizes her bottle from the table and mindlessly gulps down the rest of the bottle’s content. Yes! Beer! Alcohol! Wait? No! She doesn’t have time for this shit! Marinette looks again to the enormous chandelier, sincerely wishing the billion carat diamond form of it all would just fall on her head, knocking her out. Instead, she scans the ground, grimaces as she ducks down low undignified and crawls to the bottom of the Instyle-looking king-sized bed. She’s thinking if the chandelier does actually plan on killing her, the bed might just be her salvation.

The door opens wide and the volume from outside adjusts to something loud and obnoxious. Marinette spots the Nike shoes thudding its way across the room and simultaneously calculates the price of the medical bill she’ll have to face if her heart doesn’t stop drumming violently against her chest. The figure paces around the room like it’s just as curious as she once was. A moment passes before the sound of the creak from the bottom of the bed rings in Marinette’s ears as the person lands on top. Her throat threatens to squeak out a sound in surprise before she suppresses it.

Marinette thinks if she wasn’t the one in her position, she might find all of this awfully funny. But because she’s the one in her position, Marinette eyes the opened door. She wonders if maybe, just maybe, she could just crawl, go into some kind of lizard mode that her 3-year-old self had prepared her for anyway. The fact that she’s drunk is making the plan sound a lot like a Nino Plan and the fact that it sounds like a Nino Plan has Marinette itching to execute it as not badly as possible. She waits for a prolonged five minutes before she dares to move a muscle. Four minutes later, she hears the faint sound of snoring and is fucking grateful for it.

She executes the plan, wills herself to crawl her way through the spotless carpet in silence. Arms extending out as she slithers her way, the noise outside gets louder with every inch closer to the door. By the time she reaches it, her body moves at the pace of a ghost as she heaves herself up in excruciating slow motion. Marinette doesn’t take a chance, doesn’t turn her head in the case she might make some unintended noise. Instead, she takes a slow breath in, treads lightly back outside and hears the echo of the waves from the narrow hallways.

Nino reprimands her in the Uber. He also kind of does it in the dancefloor when he’d found her and nearly knocked several bottles over as he trudged his way over her drunken ass screaming the lyrics to Selena Gomez. He’d said something like what the fuck Marinette and she’d wailed out the second verse of Selena Gomez’ song in response. It’s a bad Selena Gomez themed haze from then on and Marinette does not remember anything beyond the audible thump of her own body in the back of the Uber whilst she makes out Nino apologising profusely to the driver. She bawls a little at this.

“No!” she hiccups, once or twice, “Wheeeere are we goiiiing?”

Nino turns his head from the passenger seat and Marinette thinks he’s going to say something disapproving again but he just chuckles. “We’re going home.”

Marinette thinks she does not like to be laughed at. “Nooooooo.”

God! She hadn’t even been kissed! Hadn’t even made out with anyone! Marinette places a light finger to her lips and mourns the lack of a kiss to her lips. That was so illegal! “I am very kissable!”

Nino just laughs again, “Find anyone to be very kissable with?”

Marinette narrows her eyebrows. Huh. Did she? She doesn’t recall a single kissable lip on her. A goddamned shame. God, what had she been doing? She was very kissable, damnit! What the hell was she doing not being kissed?

Marinette’s mind wanders to important things like puff pastries and croissants. She was over this night, she hadn’t been kissed and if she had been, it must've have been so bland her mind just threw the damn memory away. So Marinette hums a tune in blissful peace, wonders what she might do tomorrow about her maroon vs. re-

“Stop the car, I’m going to throw up.” Marinette chokes out. From the rearview mirror, the Uber driver just sort of sighs like he might throw up too.

The flash of red lingers its way back into Marinette’s mind at the speed of lightning or thunder or motorcycles or something dangerous and clearly over the speed limit. A Lamborghini probably. The blank canvas and how not very blank it was in its state in Adrien Agreste’s house. In the midst of her alcohol scented mist, the image of the painting taunts her. The hour of painting had seemed so far away like it was months ago and oh God, Marinette was going to go to prison for trespassing or something. She’ll go to prison and wear a bad shade of orange like it’s some kind of sick punishment for the array of colours she’d slashed mercilessly across the canvas.

“Oh my god.” she whispers to herself. “Shit.”

The car reluctantly stops near the side of the road. Marinette yanks open the car door, ducks her head down low and does, indeed, throw up.

#miraculous ladybug #adrienette #cholya #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #mlb #ml fic #illuarts #hey !! i wrote after like not writing for 239483 years #i'll continue this probs #cholya...........yah #illuwrites #man nino is done with everyone's shit

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intothestarkerverse · 5 years ago

Text

Welcome to My Dark Side (1)

Sequel to ‘Time of Our Lives’

Tony Stark has done his best to fit into the 21st century by embracing his new role, new family, and even his new nicknames. Determined to become a hero worthy of calling Peter Parker his life partner, everything seems to be going better than he could have hoped…until Tony’s efforts to help Peter uncover the truth behind his parents’ death put everything he knows and loves in terrible danger. In the face of absolute darkness, how can love and life survive?

(STORY CONTAINS ENDGAME SPOILERS)

Read on AO3

Eyes that once held love were empty now. There was nothing there beyond his own reflection in their familiar hues. He could do nothing but stare into those eyes, feeling as if he was drowning in the absence of emotion, in the loss that reverberated through every piece of his soul.

He wanted to cry out, to scream, to plead, to curse, but no words would come.

He wanted to cling to the one in front of him, grab fist-fulls of shirt in his hands and drag him closer. He wanted to wrap his hands around that throat and squeeze the life from that alabaster flesh to somehow quench the fury scorching through his very soul.

He could do none of this, though.

He could only stand, motionless, staring at the figure in front of him, powerless to do anything.

Perhaps it was a blessing.

As long as he was forced to stare at the one in front of him, he couldn’t be made to look at the lifeless body that lay beyond them and once more face the implications of it.

Everything.

He’d lost everything.

Tony didn’t know how, he didn’t know when, but he wasn’t going to let that death go unavenged.

Peter Parker had to die for what he’d done, and Tony would be the one to kill him...gladly.

~ ~ ~

Much Earlier…

~ ~ ~

“How long do you think we can hide here before someone realizes we’re missing?” Peter’s lips against his ear made the billionaire shiver. Thinking about all of the things he’d rather have Peter doing with those lips…that was doing other things to entirely different areas of his body.

“Oh, I don’t know, Beautiful, depends on if anyone saw us disappear into our hiding place or not.” He certainly hoped that no one had witnessed their escape. If Tony had his way, he’d have Peter all to himself for the rest of the evening.

“May was busy with Happy…”

“And Pepper was talking to some old guy from the Board. Long as the OG Avengers weren’t paying us any mind, I think we’re safe.”

“Good.” Peter snuggled in closer to him and Tony was only too happy to wrap an arm around the younger man. Cuddled together in the muted darkness with the only light that which was filtering through the white silk all around them, they were both eager to forget the world they’d left behind in favor of the one they’d created for themselves. Maybe it was irresponsible. It was a fundraiser for May’s charity for the ‘Blip’ displaced, sponsored by Stark Industries because Tony would do anything to make Peter smile…and also to make May like him better than she’d liked the Old Man. But there was really only so much a guy could kiss ass and sip champagne and make eyes at Peter in his tux before it all became unbearable. Not that their new activity was any better, really. It wasn’t what he wanted to be doing, but Tony could make the best of a dull situation.

So, the seat was far from comfortable. Hard really. Cold too. The body next to him was warm and pretty and smelled like that inexpensive drug store cologne that Peter always wore…the one that Tony had gone to a big box store to find and purchase just so he could spray it on his sheets and pretend he still had Peter on the bed next to him. Worst part about the future, for sure, that Peter was still living at home with his aunt and wasn’t able to share Tony’s bed like he had for six months in 1992. It was hard to get used to sleeping without him. Tony hadn’t had any idea just how much Peter had weaseled his way into his mind, body, and soul, until he was laying in an empty bed acutely aware of the boy’s absence from his arms.

Tony shifted his grip on the phone in his free hand, making the projected holographic image of ‘Reno 911’ jump slightly. Peter whimpered and Tony could only laugh. He wouldn’t have heard the small sound of dismay at all if they weren’t forced to share a pair of wireless earbuds. One for each of them. It seemed that only Tony had come prepared to entertain himself during the fundraiser…though, he could never disappear to enjoy binge-watching the decades of movies and television he’d missed out on without Peter at his side. Next time, he’d remember to bring two full sets of earbuds so they could both enjoy stereo quality sound.

The soft ambient light of the ballroom was obscured by a looming, dark shadow. A moment later, the white silk in front of them shifted to reveal a very annoyed strawberry blonde kneeling on the floor in an expensive designer gown and scowling at them in a way that was sure to cause frown lines. “Are you two seriously hiding under a banquet table watching Netflix?”

Tony cocked an eyebrow, looking from Pepper to their surroundings and back again. They had, indeed, both crawled under a banquet table to watch television in lieu of mingling with guests that were old and boring. “I mean…as much as I want to come up with a better explanation for what we’re doing, I got nothing. Peter?”

Peter shrugged with a stifled giggle. “Sorry, Tony, if you can’t think of anything…we’re doomed.”

“You’re worse than Morgan. Both of you.” Pepper looked to be at the end of her patience, though Tony was completely unperturbed.

“Now that you mention it, Pep, I notice you didn’t make Morgan come to this…”

“She’s six.”

“And I have the emotional maturity of a six-year-old according to a lot of therapists..” Tony pointed this out with a broad grin and a quick glance at his boyfriend.

“That’s true, he does.” And Peter would know.

“Peter…don’t help him. I really expect better from you. You’re supposed to be a good influence on TJ, he is not supposed to be a bad influence on you.”

“Hey,” Tony’s smile was gone, as was his good humor. “Peter is a good influence. I wanted to sneak off into an empty office and re-enact some dirty movies. Peter convinced me to keep it PG and stay close to home in case we were missed. You can snipe at me all you want, Ms. Potts, but don’t even think about dragging Peter down because you’re pissed at me. Not gonna fly. He’s a literal angel...”

Peter let out a melodramatic sigh, “Tony, it’s really okay…”

“It’s not. It’s really not. Pepper owes you an apology.”

“Tony…”

“Well…” He cocked his head at the older woman, unafraid to meet her gaze without flinching. He didn’t care if the Old Man had married her, or if as far as Pepper was concerned…she was his stepmother. He was a twenty-one year old man, and he’d had a perfectly good mother of his own. Pepper’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he was confident that she saw something in his gaze that made her reconsider her current tactic, because she turned her gaze to Peter.

“I’m sorry, Peter. TJ is right, I’m sure if you weren’t here he would have done something worthy of a Stark that would have required a press conference tomorrow to explain the TMZ video. Now, I’d really appreciate it if you could convince him to be responsible and come out of here for the remainder of the fundraiser though. He’s not going to do it for me…but he will for you.”

Peter was blushing when Tony cast a sidelong glance in his direction. “No, Peter…” He could not be falling for it, could he?

“C’mon, she’s right.”

Fuck. He was.

“It’s May’s fundraiser. We shouldn’t be down here.” Ugh. He loved his beautiful, goody-two shoes boyfriend, but there were times Tony really wished Peter would get in touch with his inner dark side.

“You win this round, Pep.” Tony was already thumbing the holographic screen off and sliding his earbuds back into his tuxedo jacket pocket. Just as he was bracing to crawl from beneath the table and rejoin the party, if that’s really what they wanted to call it, (Tony thought party was severely mislabeling it), when he felt the watch on his wrist begin buzzing frantically. Their newest AI had been named in honor of a fallen Avenger; the Newly Analogued Technological Avengers’ Sentinel Hazard Alarm or N.A.T.A.S.H.A. was proving to be a very valuable asset, too. The AI monitored CCTV footage, news media, social media, and cell phone chatter to locate and categorize threats that required Avenger intervention and then immediately contacted the closest Avengers when any such threat was discovered. So far, she’d done her job with only a few minor hiccups. The buzzing coming from both Tony and then Peter’s smartwatches meant they were among the closest Avengers to something that could prove to be very dangerous.

Pepper let out an annoyed groan. “Of course. Of course this would happen now.”

“Nothing we can do, Pep, duty calls.” If Tony looked a little too smug, well, there was nothing he could do about that really.

“And what am I supposed to tell people Peter is doing while Iron Lad and Spider-Man are off saving the city?” From Pepper’s expression, Tony knew she thought she’d stumped him...but honestly, she should know better. Tony could not hide his self-satisfied smirk as he typed something into his watch. “Peter’s going to be in the conference room watching his boyfriend save New York. He’ll pace. He’ll worry. He’ll even react to the fight in ways that Friday deems to be appropriate. Just make sure that no one but you, Happy, or May goes in to ‘check’ on him…that way, no one will know he’s just a bit of BARF re-purposed to save my boyfriend’s secret identity.”

“He thinks of everything.” And the pride in Peter’s voice at that bit of praise was somehow Tony Stark’s only reason for living in that particular moment.

God, he could die happy with that being the last thing to ever grace his ears. Not that he didn’t have a hell of a lot to live for…

~ ~ ~ What. The. Actual. Fuck.

“You know, Spidey, when you told me all those stories about you and Iron Man saving the world from threats both alien and domestic....I somehow did not imagine that I would one day join you and find myself facing a man who calls himself ‘Unicorn.’” Despite the gravity of the fight in which the New Avengers currently found themselves embroiled, the crimson and golden figure of Iron Man could be seen (though not heard) by anxious bystanders canting his head in the direction of an otherwise engaged arachnid crime fighter.

“To be fair, as weird as my bad guys are...this one is weird even for me.” Spider-Man flipped backwards, finding purchase on the side of skyscraper upside down as he avoided the laser beam that slashed dangerously through the air...a laser beam that had originated from the forehead of the villain’s unfortunate green helmet. The beam arced, slashing a clean and gaping line in the mirrored glass facade of the office windows just below Spider-Man causing the young man to edge backwards on fingers and toes as he glanced from his boyfriend to the villain and back again.

Tony really wished that Peter could see him rolling his eyes. “I mean, at least he’s comitted to his concept, I guess. The unicorn on his leotard is a great touch but the orange and green color scheme...”

“As if it is not bad enough that we are fighting a grown man committing crimes as a Unicorn, is it really necessary for you two to make us listen to you flirting the whole damn time, too.” The irritated words were accompanied by the soft whoosh of metallic wings as another hero joined the fray and attracted the Unicorn’s attention only to be rewarded with a concussive force that blasted the hero backwards several feet before he was able to escape the current of the blast and circle back for a return attack.

Tony really, really wished that Sam could see him rolling his eyes. At least he could see the bird that Iron Lad was now flipping in the direction of the newest Captain America. The face of the Iron Man suit was not expressive, but Tony was more than capable of getting his point across with body language.

“Real mature, there are going to be kids watching this, Stark.”

“If you all insist on calling me Iron Lad, I might as well live up to the name. Tell me, Cap, do you have to have a stick up your ass to carry the shield or is being a total prude just a star-spangled side effect?”

“A little of both, actually.” A new voice echoed across the coms, causing Tony to glance away from Spider-Man as the young man took a gracefully web-anchored leap in the direction of the Unicorn, planted a successful kick, and sent the man careening towards a waiting, very perturbed Captain America.

The Winter Soldier wasn’t hard to spot, and really...Tony had been expecting him. After all, you rarely saw Sam without Bucky. “You know, I really didn’t want to like you, Winny, was all set to hate your guts...but I think next to my sexy Spiderling, you’re definitely my favorite Avenger.”

Bucky’s eyebrows rose but he chose not to comment as the Unicorn used his helmet to erect a force field that blocked Sam’s attack and sent him skidding backwards.

In the end, it wasn’t much of a fight. Once the quartet had goaded the man into showing all of his cards...or at least, in this case, showing them all of the abilities his helmet possessed, it was easy enough for them to coordinate and overpower the man. Of course, their success did not come without a good bit of destruction to several of the neighboring buildings, a few light posts, and a Sky Blue Vespa.

As Sam and Bucky dealt with the responding law enforcement, Tony had taken to the streets with his helmet retracted to address the adoring public. “Relax guys, I can spare a few minutes to give you some sound bites.” He held up a placating hand and leaned back against one of the badly disfigured lamp posts. This one had been bent in a shape that looked suspiciously like the outline of Cap with wings fully unfurled. It was no accident Tony had chosen that one. “You.” Tony gestured with his head to vaguely familiar blonde he’d seen at a few of the press conferences for SI. If he remembered right, she’d seemed friendly enough with Pepper that he could afford to throw her a bone.

She didn’t waste any time with pleasantries today. “This is the third time in as many weeks that a number of Avengers have responded to an emergency in the city. Does this mean the you’ve ‘re-assembled’ the Avengers and are acting with authority of the government again?”

Tony’s laughter startled several of the other reporters. It was true that up until he’d made his grand entrance in the present that the Avengers had failed to live up to the messianic promise of the Old Man’s death, but he could hardly take complete credit for their new re-unification. Of course, in order for his current plan to work, that was precisely what he was going to have to do.... “Oh yeah, we’re back and better than ever. Turns out all they were missing was a little young blood to give the Avengers some real initiative. Spiderling and I were exactly what the doctor ordered. But it’s cute that you think we need the authority of the government.

“Look. We tried the whole government oversight thing and it didn’t work. When heroes have to answer to bureaucrats, the universe has a fifty percent survival rate. Push comes to shove, there’s a reason that we’re the heroes and they’re the politicians. When the bad guys can literally dust our loved ones with a snap of their fingers, no one has time to cut their way through a mile of red tape. The Old Man would probably still be alive if the UN had trusted us to do our thing in the first place. So, yeah...no...we’re not officially acting on behalf of the government and we probably won’t ever do that shit again. We’re also not ‘the Avengers’. We’re the New Avengers. Remixed. Improved. We’re younger, smarter, better looking...with a hell of a lot more initiative and righteous fury than the OG crew. They might have slept with one eye open, but we don’t intend to sleep on the job at all.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the red and blue clad figure of his boyfriend facepalming in the shadows. The kid really had to have more faith in him. Tony was doing it all for him anyway. Not that he knew that. Not yet. It would spoil the surprise.

~ ~ ~

“Why aren’t we going back to the party again? It better not be for sex. I mean...I like sex. I love sex. But Ms. Potts and May are going to know that we’re done with the bad guy and one of them is bound to come looking for us in your penthouse...May is already convinced that we’re ‘too serious’ for our age without us dipping out on her party to do it. Tony, she made me promise I wasn’t going to marry you until after I got my college degree. Do you know how embarrassing that conversation was?” It was horrible, Peter had actually preferred the literal sex talk from May to the dinner he’d spent listening to her bemoan the fact that he and TJ seemed to be so wrapped up in each other so young. Never mind that she and Ben had been high school sweethearts... Tony paused on the helipad of the re-acquired Avengers Tower and cast a weary glance in Peter’s direction. “Wait, you actually promised her we weren’t going to get married until you got your degree? That’s a thing you said? I hope you don’t intend to keep that promise because I don’t know how willing I am to wait four years to get you back in my bed full time...”

Peter felt his heart stall out in his chest. “Wait.” He froze in place, jaw opening and closing several times without making a sound while he floundered for the words. “Does that mean you’re planning to propose...Tony...You want to get married? To me? I mean...okay so sometime in the next four years but still. Wow. Wow. Wow wow wow.”

Peter’s expression looked like a mixture of horror and elation. Tony shook his head at the younger man and started walking to the door again, forcing Peter to rush to catch up. “But May...I promised because I didn’t think you’d want to get married for a long time anyway because Mr. Stark was never really big on commitment and you’re still kind of like even if you’re different and...were you going to ask...like soon? Did I spoil a surprise? Just because I promised not to get married doesn’t mean we can’t get engaged...or live together...or both. Preferably both...” His voice trailed off abruptly as he brows drew into a quick, alarmed ‘v’. “Wait!” Peter grabbed for Tony’s arm abruptly before he opened the roof access door. “There’s something wrong...”

“There’s nothing wrong, Beautiful. At least...nothing I didn’t see coming even before your impressive Peter Tingle went off. Relax. We have a guest. He probably thinks he’s surprising us...but I’ve been goading the son of a bitch into a private meeting for the last month. About damn time he took the bait.”

“Who...”

“Come with me, you’ll see.” Tony rested a hand on Peter’s lower back, gently pushing him through the door and towards the elevator to the penthouse. Although he was concerned, Peter trusted his boyfriend implicitly.

The moment the elevator doors opened, it was easy for Peter to ascertain what he’d meant. The comments about ‘initiative’ and the government and the things about ‘one eye’. He was trying to piss of Nick Fury, and apparently he succeeded because the former head of S.H.I.E.L.D. was sitting on Tony’s sofa with a bottle of Scotch sitting on the table in front of him. His feet were kicked up on the coffee table and he looked far too comfortable for an intruder.

“Glad to see you’re making yourself at home, Fury.”

“Since you’re AI watchdog didn’t stop me at the front door, I assumed I was welcome.” He didn’t look up from his tumblr of scotch, instead swishing it around the glass idly before emptying it and reaching out for the bottle to refill it.

“True enough, if I didn’t want you to be here...you wouldn’t be.” Tony guided Peter around the coffee table, gesturing for him to take a seat in a large overstuffed chair while Tony himself perched languidly on the arm. “I won’t insult you by pretending that I don’t know why you’re here.”

“And I won’t pretend that I didn’t know those insults you’ve been letting fly in your little press bites aren’t intentional. If you wanted to talk, you could have just reached out.”

“I don’t like to do things the easy way, Fury. Never have.”

“So I’ve noticed.”

Peter looked back and forth between the two men, one eye narrowed questioningly, lips thinned out in concentration. What was going on here?

“There’s a little something we need to know that only you can help us with. I thought we had a better chance of getting you alone over the New Avengers than the Parkers.”

Peter let out a little gasp of surprise, swiveling in his seat to look at Tony in disbelief. This was about his parents? Tony had gone to all of this trouble for Peter, to help him solve the mystery of what had happened to them. If Peter hadn’t already been head over heals in love with the man, that would have surely done him in.

Fury did not appear to be quite so touched, not if the scowl he was shooting Tony was any indication. “I was afraid of that. Sadly, Stark, you’ve wasted your time. I don’t know now anything about...”

“I call bullshit.” Tony had risen from his seat in one fluid movement, confiscating the bottle of scotch from within Fury’s reach and invading the man’s personal space all at the same time. “I’ve seen the personnel reports, Fury. You recruited Richard Parker. No way you don’t know what happened to a guy you brought into your agency. You’re a prick, but you’re not an irresponsible one.”

Fury let out a long sigh, scrubbing a hand over his face as he sat forward on the couch, his forearms resting on his knees. “The information in classified. Way beyond your clearance.”

“Not gonna fly, Blackbeard. Peter’s got all the security clearance you’ll ever need because he’s their god damn son. And me? I’m the man he loves, the man who will do literally anything to make him happy. I’m not taking no for an answer here and you know it.”

“Knowing may not make it better, Stark...”

“With all due respect, Mr. Fury, Sir, I think...I think that should be my decision, shouldn’t it?” Peter reached out to take Tony’s free hand and tug him back to the chair as he met Fury’s gaze with more bravado than he felt.

“And I want to know. I need to know, Sir.”

Fury stared at the kid for a long time, his drawn expression relaxing into a grimace as he rolled his eye and shook his head. “Fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you, though, Kid.

“You know your parents were Agents. Damn good ones, too. Mary Parker was the best scientist we had on board at the time. Hand picked by Howard Stark right out of college. We still use some of her inventions and her breakthroughs have saved more Agents’ lives than I can count. Richard...he was a field Agent and a damn fine one at that. Fearless. He ran into fights that would have terrified most. Honorable, too. He was a good man, just a ridiculously good man. If the Super Soldier program had continued beyond Cap, I have no doubt that Richard Parker would have been offered a dose. He was just that kind of guy.”

Peter felt Tony give his hand a squeeze. Through a veil of gathering tears, Peter glanced over at his boyfriend and could only blush over the intensity of emotion he saw in those deep brown eyes. “Wow, Pete, reminds me of someone...”

“Shut up,” Peter’s cheeks burst into an embarrassing flame of crimson as he tore his gaze away from Tony to once again focus on Fury. “Go on.”

“There was an incident at a lab in upstate New York. One owned by Oscorp.”

“Norman fucking Osborn...” Fury continued to speak over Tony’s angry growl.

“Anyway, we sent our best scientist. And where Mary Parker went, Richard followed. The event was...it was bad. Worse than we expected. Norman Osborn had been playing with dangerous forces. There was talk of Multi-Verses and gateways and the shit we saw in that lab...gave me nightmares for years. We tried to close the gateway but...we couldn’t and the stuff coming through was...it was bad. We tried to evacuate everyone before we sealed the place but Mary and Richard refused to leave until the very last minute because they thought they could still get the gateway to close.”

“You gotta understand, Kid, it’s not S.H.I.E.L.D.’s proudest moment. If I could have done anything I would have but I wasn’t in charge then and...they sealed the place with them inside.”

Peter didn’t move, didn’t breathe, just let the words reverberate inside his skull for the longest time. It was several long minutes before he finally felt Tony stroking the back of his hand and the meaning of Fury’s words finally settled into his conscious mind. “So...what you’re saying is that they could still be alive?”

Fury’s nostrils flared. “No, no that’s not...”

“But they could be. Best scientist in Shield and a top Agent and a gateway to a Multi-verse. They’re lost but they’re not dead. We just...we just have to find them. Tony...we just have to find them.” He snatched up Tony’s hand in both of his own, staring up at him hopefully. “Mr. Stark invented Time Travel to get me back from Thanos, so you can definitely invent Multi-dimensional travel to get back my parents, right? Right?”

Tony nodded slowly, bringing Peter’s hands to his lips to kiss. “Baby, I’d do anything for you, you know that. If you want to cross the Multi-Verse to find your parents, that’s what we’ll do...”

Peter was crying now, fat tears streaming for his eyes as he nodded repeatedly, utterly convinced that he and Tony were going to be able to do this. They’d accomplished much worse.

“You ever pay for those handcuffs you borrowed from S.H.I.E.L.D., Parker?” Fury’s question brought Peter screeching back into the present with a choking gasp. He couldn’t possibly mean... “Wha...Bu...But you weren’t supposed to remember, Mr. Fury.”

“Funny thing about the Infinity Stones, I guess. They did a damn good job of erasing my memory in 1992, but when they brought me back after the Blip...they didn’t make sure those memories were still gone. I remember everything about you and the Boy Wonder. I’ve seen some pretty crazy shit in my time, too, so my only other question is for Stark. Just what the fuck are you? You’re not a Skrull. So what? Life Model Decoy? Clone? AI? Did Stark save his brain in a computer so he’d never die? One thing I know is you sure as hell aren’t his kid Stark.”

Tony just gave a nonchalant shrug, once more rising from his seat, hands now stuffed into his pockets as he paced the living room. “Oh, you’re right there. I’m Tony Stark but so was the Old Man. It’s complicated, Fury. And if you weren’t trying to distract us and change the subject, I’d take the time to explain it to you. But, since I can tell that Peter is a little too close to something you had no intentions of telling us...I think I’m just going to leave it at that and instead I’m going to ask you what they fuck you’re hiding. See...I know it’s not proof that the Parkers are dead. If it was, you’d produce it and that would be that. Peter would give up. You’d go home, we’d go back to our party...but you’re trying so hard to get us onto another subject that it has to be the opposite. You have proof that Mary and Richard Parker are alive and you don’t want us to know about it...but here’s the thing, Fury. I meant what I said to my sexy little spider. I’ll do anything for him. There’s no firewall, no encryption in this world strong enough to keep me out...not when I’ve set my mind on hacking it, not when I’m willing to create a whole damn AI whose sole job is to hack into ever piece of electronic intelligence in the god damn world and find me that one piece of information about the Parkers that you don’t want me to know. It’d be a lot easier if you just told me, Fury, but if you want me to do it the hard way I sure as fuck will...and I’ll do irreparable damage to your networks in the process.”

“Are you threatening me, Stark?”

“I mean, I thought I was being really fucking obvious about it but fine, you want me to spell it out for you, Fury. Tell us what you know about the Parkers, all of it, or I’ll make it my personal mission to destroy any alphabet agency you can dream up to replace S.H.I.E.L.D. now and for the rest of my young life because we’re the fucking heroes, the ones who save the god damn world day in and day out. Peter asks for nothing out of it. Nothing. All he wants is to know what happened to his parents and you fucking owe him that you one-eyed, self righteous, superhero wannabe. You knew the Old Man, so you know that I’m not bluffing. Spill it or get the fuck out of my house.”

Tony Stark had never looked so resplendently sexy to Peter a day in his life. The teenager really wanted to rip off that tuxedo and drag him into the bedroom to test their endurance for the rest of the night based on that speech alone, but his desires were quickly squelched by Nick Fury’s next words.

“We’ve been picking up a distress beacon emanating from the old Oscorp laboratory facility. We think it’s coming from the open gateway. It...appears to be Mary and Richard Parker...but they’re not radioing us for rescue, Stark. They’re radioing us to tells us to close the gateway...because something very bad is coming...”

#starker

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rhowena · 4 years ago

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Pile of stuff concerning what happened to Loki between Thor and The Avengers

Originally posted on r/FanTheories

https://inforapid.org/webapp/webapp.php?shareddb=IAxUFHnwkGJSYMj9OFbT8mRl5goHm9SC2qHbWw4knO1cng5qI5Wrg48nP1MdgbWlJmHj6UpwbN343IqnstQUwxIIO01M5Rvb

As it does not escape my notice that I’ve created a digital version of this meme, some navigation help for anyone who needs it:

Mouse over/tap an item or relation to view its description

For items with the yellow ‘Note’ label, select the node and then 'Notes on Item’ in the side menu to view an additional notes page

If an item has a globe icon it the top-left corner, click it to open a webpage

'Adjust View’ in the side menu has controls to zoom in/out, increase/decrease the distance between items, and filter items or relations by category

Relations (and items) are color-coded by type: solid green lines are for in-universe evidence (light green connects evidence to the theory it supports, while dark green connects pieces of evidence that should be looked at together), purple dotted lines denote parallels, and dark red lines mark cases of “one of these things is not like the other”

And an overview of the theories contained therein:

First, the central piece of tinfoil around which all other tinfoil is arrayed: remember how, at the end of the first Thor, Loki was pathologically obsessed with gaining his father’s approval? And how, when he next showed up after vanishing for an entire year, he’d gotten mixed up with a guy who keeps a menagerie of adopted children? And how, during his argument with Thor on the mountaintop, he said this?

Loki: Did you mourn? Thor: We all did. Our father– Loki: Your father. He did tell you my true parentage, did he not?

Loki: I’ve seen worlds you’ve never known about! I have grown, Odinson, in my exile. I have seen the true power of the Tesseract and when I wield it—

Tom Hiddleston: There’s a bit where Thor says, “We all mourned! Our father…” and Loki interrupts him and says, “YOUR father.” And it’s that sense of 'don’t include me in this anymore. I have no relation or connection to you.’ It’s his way of saying 'I’ve let go, I’m gone, I’m on the outside of the fence, I’m happy here, I don’t want to come back in.’

If I may take a minute to get out some of my extremely complicated feelings on this, while there’s a bunch more evidence in favor of Loki having been another of Thanos’s children that can be viewed on the mind map, I want to highlight this pair of quotes because it’s everything implied by the words “Your father” that makes it into a devastating punch in the stomach which draws on both halves of Loki’s Woobie, Destroyer of Worlds characterization: his genuine love for his family is his primary redeeming quality and that he forswore it like this puts the terrible moment when he first knelt before Thanos and pledged himself to the Mad Titan’s service firmly into archetypal Faustian sell-your-soul territory, but when you consider the straits he was in at the time and the implication that Thanos initially ensnared him not through promises of power but by preying on him emotionally, it’s a very human kind of tragic mistake.

youtube

The other mitigating factor is that based on everything we’ve heard from Thanos’s other children, it’s a safe bet that he did in fact do unspeakably horrible things to Loki too – indeed, noticing the resemblance between the existing theories about Loki having been tortured/brainwashed and Gamora’s “He took me, tortured me, turned me into a weapon” was what prompted the above realization in the first place. (It’s reminiscent of Theon’s storyline in ASOIAF/GOT: yeah, he betrayed his adoptive family and did some generally awful stuff, but no one deserves what happened to him.) It also bears emphasizing that accountability cuts both ways: one of the key takeaways from the previous bullet point is that the suffering Loki went through doesn’t absolve him of responsibility for his villainous actions, but the other side of the coin is that Loki’s partial complicity doesn’t absolve Thanos of responsibility for the choice he made to take a broken, desperate young man who’d just lost everything and turn him into the rabid animal we saw during The Avengers, and I dearly hope that exploring the rich font of psychological horror that is that time period will erase any remaining doubt that Thanos’s claims of acting For The Greater Good are nothing but empty, egotistical, self-righteous posturing and everyone in the audience who insists on taking them at face value is being duped just as Loki was.

Stephen: No. I mean, come on. Look at your face. Dormammu made you a murderer. Just how good can his kingdom be?

As for where this is all going, I believe there’s a good chance that the Loki Disney+ series will be where they finally address this as a. the split timeline Loki the series will be following is still fresh from his time with Thanos and it will therefore have to explain what happened if we’re to understand the kind of headspace that he’s in at that moment and b. Tom Hiddleston has revealed that the series will also clarify whether or not Loki really is dead in the main timeline, and everything I have so far indicates that understanding the nature of his original pact with Thanos is essential to understanding both Loki’s choice to die and Thanos’s choice to kill him (see the 'Pledge of fidelity’ and 'Limited use’ notes pages on the mind map). Character-wise, I think one of the points of emphasis will be that Loki’s death in Infinity War doesn’t wrap up his story as neatly as it may appear to on the surface; truly completing his redemption arc will require him to confront this part of his past in full, and with it his guilt over everything he’s done and his fear that he’s wrecked his life and relationship with his family so thoroughly that he can never, ever fix them.

Loki: Can you? Can you wipe out that much red? […] Your ledger is dripping, it’s gushing red, and you think saving a man no more virtuous than yourself will change anything? This is the basest sentimentality. This is a child at prayer… PATHETIC! You lie and kill in the service of liars and killers. You pretend to be separate, to have your own code. Something that makes up for the horrors. But they are a part of you, and they will *never* go away!

An additional giant red flag indicating we really should be asking more questions about that time gap is a group of lines in The Avengers which reveal that Thanos taught Loki how to use the Tesseract.

The Other: The Tesseract has awakened. It is on a little world. A human world. They would wield its power, but our ally knows its workings as they never will.

The Other: You question us? You question HIM? He, who put the Scepter in your hand? Who gave you ancient knowledge and new purpose when you were cast out, defeated?

Loki: I’ve seen worlds you’ve never known about! I have grown, Odinson, in my exile. I have seen the true power of the Tesseract and when I wield it— Thor: Who showed you this power? Who controls the would-be king?

Sharing that kind of knowledge and power with someone as volatile as Loki strikes me as an monumentally terrible idea (and as much as I don’t want to be the person who throws a tantrum because their fanfic didn’t come true, I’m kinda salty that Thanos was defeated without it coming back to bite him in the ass), which leaves me wondering what Thanos hoped to gain that he believed would be worth the risks. My thoughts on that particular sub-puzzle are still somewhat hazy, but my basic sense is that there’s something weird going on between Loki and the Tesseract and wanting to exploit that connection is one of the reasons Thanos went to all the trouble of breaking him into submission.

Loki: So I am no more than another stolen relic, locked up here until you might have use of me?

The other reason for Thanos’s interest in Loki ties back to all that emotional twistiness I talked about earlier: he planned to leverage Loki’s anger and resentment towards his family in a bid to destroy Odin and Asgard from the inside.

Zemo: An empire toppled by its enemies can rise again. But one which crumbles from within? That’s dead… forever.

As a prelude to this, during The Avengers Thanos had additionally tasked Loki with killing Thor as a way to prove his loyalty and destroy the last remaining shreds of his own humanity, a test Loki failed because he still loved his brother too much.

Coulson: You’re going to lose. It’s in your nature. […] You lack conviction.

What’s more, Thanos anticipated this, and the Scepter’s influence over Loki was aimed at forcing him to go through with it if he refused.

Loki: I won’t touch Barton, not until I make him kill you! Slowly, intimately, in every way he knows you fear! And then he’ll wake, just long enough to see his good work, and when he screams, I’ll split his skull!

Lastly, even with Infinity War having established that Thanos simply gets off on emotional torture, that he would go out of his way to fuck with Odin personally by turning his second son against him leads me to believe there was a special hatred there stemming from some as-yet unrevealed history between the two. I mean, when I picture the alternate universe where Thanos shows up to attack Asgard with a corrupted Loki in tow like “You screwed up so badly that he chose me as a father figure over you” …that isn’t something you say to a complete stranger.

GRRM on writing villain POVs: That’s a comic book kind of thing, where the Red Skull gets up in the morning [and asks] “What evil can I do today?” Real people don’t think that way. We all think we’re heroes, we all think we’re good guys. We have our rationalizations when we do bad things. “Well, I had no choice,” or “It’s the best of several bad alternatives,” or “No it was actually good because God told me so,” or “I had to do it for my family.” We all have rationalizations for why we do shitty things or selfish things or cruel things. So when I’m writing from the viewpoint of one of my characters who has done these things, I try to have that in my head.

#mcu #loki #thor #thanos #odin #loki's missing year #theory #analysis #mind map #i swear i will turn this into an actual essay one of these days

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mrneighbourlove · 5 years ago

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Into the Darkness and Unknown: Ch 7. The Burden of Knowledge

‘My dear Revan. Are you well? I know you are still learning to read, but I do this for your future. Either you read this when I return, or if something unexpected happens to claim my life. Need not worry. Your father is mighty, but more so, he is careful. Omisha has been a vast and colourful country. The air is hot, and the jungles vast. I think someone with your imagination will come to like it if you ever explore its land yourself. However, to be honest, it is difficult to judge in the present if that is a possibility. The people of this land are opposed to humans, as of now. I hope to change that with time, and I know that it will be your generation who will no longer know of prejudice. I’m sorry I’ve been away for so long, but the work I do is important. It is for your future as well as everyone else. This does not mean I don’t miss you. I hope to be home soon. I love you son.

- Your father Malik.’

A month and a half. A whole month and a half Leere and Malik found themselves in Omisha. Due to the attack, and unfortunately only three days into the trip, no communication could be sent to Hyrule due to Mother being paranoid information being intercepted by additional enemies. Bonegrinder needed time to recover, but neither had any idea it would take such a strenuous recovery.

Malik spent his time learning combative history of Omisha, sharing stories of Ganondorf and Link throughout the ages. Leere made herself getting comfortable knowing every villager she could. As a tease, she decided not to have sex with Blue and White’s younger sister, being catty that the doctor could wait. The poor woman couldn’t get Leere alone with her. Currently, she was playing with Solani, climbing up a tree. It seemed that her mother slowly eased up on letting Leere get closer.

“Solani, the secret to climbing tree’s for humans is balance.” The princess was carefully reaching for a piece of fruit near the top. “Steady your feet, reach up, aaaaand... got ya.”

Leere indeed snatched the fruit off the tree, but with a snap under her, the branch she was standing on broke, sending the princess plummeting to the ground. Other branches broke most of her fall, but she still hit the ground hard, having the wind knocked out her, the back of her skull ringing as loud as two brass cymbals smashing loudly in the coffins of her brain.

"SQUAWWWK!!!" Solani rushed over to the princess and looked slightly panicked. "You okay?!" Thanks to a spell that Mother had allowed her children to use, there was easy communication with the two visiting humans. "I told you that I could get it! I have wings! You are bound to fall and fall you did!"

"Why are humans so clumsy?" Sneha, her sister, rolled her eyes. "Trip, fall, repeat."

“Simple my dear girls, I wanted to show you the strength of tiny humans. Ow my fffuuu-reaking head.” Even in a dazed state, the woman was noble enough to not swear around kids. Leere felt the back of her head, frowning at the feel of blood. “Darn it. You kids ever see human blood before? Feels so gooey.”

"Only the ones that tried to kidnap us when we were chicks." Sneha spoke without filter, earning a jab from her sister. "Ow! What?! She asked!"

“I’m sure they got torn up good eh?” Leere cracked a smile, trying to stand. “Oh man. Doc might get her wish to have me alone in her office. Woooo, the earth is spinning.” The princess immediately fell on her ass. Appeared she was losing balance in her legs as much as she was losing balance in her filter. “Don’t suppose one of you wants to get some help while the other stays close?”

"I'll go get Nomusa, I'm faster than you." Sneha took to the sky while Solani waited with Leere. "I'll be sure to tell her that you got hurt being stupid."

"Don't call her stupid!" Solani huffed as her sister flew away. "Just because she hatched two minutes ahead of me, she thinks she knows everything."

Leere felt close enough to pull Solani close enough for an arm around the shoulder. Pretty sure after a month her mother wouldn’t treat her like Prometheus. “Well not stupid, but maybe climbing up the tree without a harness was a little dumb.”

"... well... a little, perhaps so." Solani agreed. "You humans don't have a defense against gravity like we do."

“Oh boy, that’s the truth right there. Lucky I didn’t go splat like a raspberry pie.”

"Next time, please leave the task of picking fruit to me." Solani asked Leere as an afterthought. "Are you going to go check on Bonegrinder today?"

“Yeah. Probably after I get myself checked out.” Leere sighed, giving the girl a half-hearted smile. “If things go well for him, I’ll probably be leaving.”

"Aww, you're not staying? It's been fun learning from you." Solani pouted a little. "Mama said to be careful. But you're not too bad. I think."

“You’re a pretty great kid Solani. But I got a home of my own to go back to. I’m sure my own mama is a bit worried how I’ve been doing all this time.” Leere gave the bird a light ruffle on the head. “How about this? Ask me anything on your mind.”

"It's not good to make your mom worry." Solani had to agree with Leere's reasoning. Her own mother worried enough. So, it was logical that human mother would worry too. "I guess... why aren't you with the other Mortuus? Why aren't you like... a bad guy? Why do you wanna be a good guy? ... I mean girl. Not guy."

“Well, I don’t remember them too much, but my birth parents were bad guys. They escaped to Hyrule with me when I was a young little thing. After being adopted by my new family, I wanted to help people like you Solani. I wanted to use my gifts to save lives, help other people feel safe.” Leere looked to the sun in the sky and smiled. “Maybe there are other good Mortuus, trapped in Malus. Maybe I’m the only one. Regardless, I’m going to do my best living a life where people can look into the shadows and still feel safe.”

"There's been a lot of bad Mortuus..." Solani said quietly, "A lot of bad humans too. Mama wonders if Mother is doing the right thing sometimes. Though, everyone knows that Bonegrinder's visions are never wrong. We have to have a little faith... but it's hard."

Leere silently nodded along to Solani. Maybe it was the dazed head and leaking blood, but the princess asked in an almost worrisome tone, “Do you think I’m a good human?”

"Yeah, I do." Solani nodded. "It's just... hard to think that there are some good ones out there when all we've ever known is bad."

“That’s called hope Solani. And if I can be the start to your list of good humans, that’s honour enough for me.” Leere grinned, giving the girl a light tickle on the stomach to get a laugh before her sister came back. The princess wondered if she really did make a difference to these people. She certainly hoped so. There was so much mistrust, so much secrecy in Omisha she had yet to crack.

Kiume broke the princess’ thoughts when he approached Leere and Solani. "I have news." The father of White and Blue told the princess. "Bonegrinder is awake."

“He is?!” Leere was so excited, that, when she tried to move, she forget her own injuries. She was quick to stumble back onto her but with Solani in hand. “Ow.”

"... Sneha also sent me to tell you to stay out of trees." Kiume then bent his eight legs to lean down to inspect Leere's head.

“I just reopened an old head wound. Not a great big deal.”

"You let me decide what is 'a great big deal' or not." Kiume was not the best healer, but he could mend an open wound. "There... might be a little tender for a few days."

“I’ve been knocked around by worse.”

"Would you like to go see Bonegrinder now? Or fetch Malik first?" Kiume informed the princess. "He's still a little woozy, so he's resting in Mother's nest. Though, she will allow you to see him. As long as he can slither and eat by the end of the day, he should be able to return with the two of you to Hyrule tomorrow."

“I’m sure Malik won’t mind continuing his journal on his own if seeing Bonegrinder doesn’t guarantee our departure. You don’t want to keep me in your care for a while first?”

"I'm quite confident you'll be all right. There's no brain matter leaking from your head." Kiume then arched his eyebrow. "Unless you're referring to the 'other' type of company, which should not be discussed in front of a chick."

"Hey! I'm almost ten! I'm practically grown up." Solani squawked with a huff and puff of her cheeks.

"Sure, sure."

“You’re the one who can’t stop batting those pretty eyes at me.” Leere patted Solani’s head. Her head was still woozy because she didn’t notice the obvious as of yet… “Advice kid. When a boy or girl does that to you, that means they like you. Bonus points if they stutter around you.”

"... boys? Ew." Solani was not exactly at that age where she thought of romance. "Boys are yuck. Why would I want a boy to like me?"

"You keep thinking that until you're about two hundred years old, kid”, the old spider chuckled.

"I'm not a kid!"

“Nomusa? Aren’t you a teenager hopelessly in love yourself?” Leere grinned mischievously towards to who she still believed was the young doctor. “Besides, what is a kid anyway? Who are we to judge? Solani can fly after all. That’s a pretty grown up thing for birds to do.”

"A 'kid' is someone who isn't old enough yet to learn how reproduction takes place."

"How what takes place?"

"See what I mean?"

“Ok. Point proven.” Leere paused when she saw Solani’s mother fly down with her sister. In her current position, she couldn’t exactly hide the fact she had an arm around her daughter getting heart to heart with her. “Oh. Hello there!”

"... it's time for lunch." Solani's mother, Syndia, was not exactly comfortable around humans. It was still taking a bit of getting used to since Mother decreed these two visitors were not to be harmed. She did not like it that her child wanted to hang around a... a Mortuus of all types of humans, but would not dare go against Mother. "Come, you need to eat, and you're still growing feathers."

"Mooooom, five more minutes?"

"No, it's ready now. Come along."

"Aww... okay, I'll see you later, Leere."

“Hey, it was good to hang out. In case we don’t get to say goodbye again before I leave... you’re a good kid. It was awesome to met you.” Leere gave Solani a warm hug. “I’ll be back for more than on visit to Omisha. Now go eat and do as your mother says.”

"Before you walk, I think you require a clear head." Kiume placed his large hand on top of Leere's skull and used his magic to clear her senses. "You have quite a knot there."

Leere waved goodbye before stretching out her limbs. Her head suddenly felt all the clearer. “Thanks, Nomusa. Don’t know what you missed the first time. Maybe I can-!!!” A deep sense of confusion rose up to her chest from her gut. “You’re not Nomusa.”

"... no. I am Kiume. My daughter is Nomusa." The elder healer crossed his arms. "Maybe we should wait until you got a little more clearer head."

“Oh wow. Did I make a move at you in her place?”

"Yes."

“…”

“…..”

Leere took a deep gulp to swallow a sense of embarrassment wanting to crawl out. “Sorry about that. I’ll go see Bonegrinder now. Oh... maybe it’d be best to not tell Nomusa.”

"I figured you were not in your right mind since you prefer females instead of males, but I will take it as a compliment." Kiume gestured toward the Temple of Ruin. "Mother is waiting. You best go."

“Well, your daughters had to get their beauty from somewhere.” Leere took a few deep breaths before entering the temple. Since her emotional epilogue a month ago, Leere saw Mother only a few select times for check ins. In her time, Leere tried to study Echidnan language, explore the territory of the country, as well as grow a stronger relationship with as many monsters that felt safe around her. Seeing Mother at her throne, she bowed respectfully. “Greetings Mother. I was told Bonegrinder is finally feeling well?”

"Modoc is well enough to talk and move." Mother told Leere, looking rather tired. She had researched text after text to find a way to ensure that the deity inside the Anagari remained stable. The Echidnan leader had spent a majority of her magic and resources and was in dire need of rest herself. Yet, she could not slumber until she was sure everything was all right once more. "He is still... out of sorts. Do not be surprised if he says things which make no sense."

“I will be careful around him. Mother, are you well? You look fatigued.”

"I am simply tired, Leere. It is not easy using magic when you have none to spare." Mother admitted to the princess. "Yet, I have seen worse. Go visit with Modoc. Even if he is still confused, it will do him good to see a familiar face."

“Please take care not to strain yourself.” Leere gave her a kind glance before leaving to journey deeper into the temple.

Mother had constructed a new nest for Bonegrinder on the ground level. It was too difficult to carry his body up to the higher levels of the temple. So there he rested, on pillows and silk. His body had mended well, with a few new scars to boot, but his mind was still threading itself together after the strain.

Leere carefully journeyed close, placing a hand upon his chest to feel a heartbeat. “Bonegrinder? Are you awake?”

"Faces, faces, everywhere in places... hrm... another face..." Bonegrinder was murmuring to himself and his eyes were glazed. "When are you?"

“I’m Leere Dragmire. In my 40’s.” Leere looked down into those glazed, dazed eyes. “Who am I talking to?”

"He does not know if he's... Modoc... no, Bonegrinder... what about Prama? He barely knows, barely knows himself, but knows all..." The Anagari's tail flicked back and forth. "Who do you want to talk to, princess who desires answers? Part of him keeps you from knowledge, the other part thinks you should know."

Leere’s fists squeezed tightly, feeling so much older than she appeared. There were indeed answers she needed to have unearthed. “Can you tell me what is so important about the markings about my back? And do you believe Malus is truly dammed to hell?”

"Ah, curious little one..." The Anagari even sounded different than his usual self. "Malus used to be prosperous until their downfall. A downfall due to promises of power. You know power is so seductive, but can be so corruptible." He then elaborated. "I was there, I saw them turn from using their gifts to transport the souls to the afterlife, but then decided to manipulate them for their own purposes. Such was a cause for their damnation." His head then turned to look at her. "And you would be part of their plans, princess. Modoc wanted to ensure you were kept ignorant. Bonegrinder agreed. But I know you wish to have that knowledge. The knowledge that you are a piece of their ritual to bring back the entity of Chaos, incarnated as pure Tyranny. To bring forth corruption." He asked Leere. "Another reason why the Temple of Time scares you, beckons you and torments you... to show you what is a possibility to come."

Leere looked down at him, unsure what to say at first. It was one burden replaced by the next. She always knew that she was a failed sacrifice, yet now she knew what for. More so, there was always a danger of her forced purpose being fulfilled. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

"Modoc, Bonegrinder, your friend didn't want you to hurt further than you've already been hurt." He mused. "Figured it would be best to keep you in the dark so you would live the remainder of your days in normalcy... humans always want the usual. So boring... but it keeps the balance."

“I wanted the truth. Why couldn’t he- why couldn’t you give me that Modoc? I... what else are you hiding from me?” Leere’s voice fizzled to a whisper, her muscles relaxing from a sense of defeat.

"He would not tell you for he feared you would hate him. He is already facing blame from his creations," The Anagari's hazy eyes blinked slowly and then he said. "He earned your friendship and did not wish to lose it. One of the victims of Chaos' terrors, if he could spare even one, it would be a good deed done..."

“I don’t need secrets. I don’t need to be kept in the dark. I’m afraid of the dark after all.” A sad chuckle escaped her, her head falling down into her arms. “I need friends who can be honest with me. I need a light to rely on. If not you... than someone else.”

"Would you hate him for trying to protect you? He is, simply, a host." The Anagari then had a bit of a maniacal giggle. "Darkness and shadows bring nothing but dread, two can keep a secret if one is dead..."

Leere tilted her head, unimpressed by whatever was talking through Bonegrinder. “I am shadow. Now how about whatever entity you may be, take leave of Modoc’s body?”

"He cannot until Kaska comes to fetch him, princess. Just as does Dhakk and Chaos with their bodies, he has his. Surely you know the tales, Mother should have taught you well." He then asked with a tilted head. "Should he teach you the rhyme?"

“Wait. Dhakk? You speaking in third person like Bonegrinder, or the first? Which god does that make you?”

"Which do you think, princess? Snakes have a very bad reputation for having part in the end of the world..." He chuckled, partly rising from the bed. Bonegrinder's eyes were no longer hazy but now solid white. He was very clear that there were two souls within one body. The Anagari's eyes were usually redder than blood, but now, were the color of fallen snow. "Very clever of Kaska to manipulate the circumstances so my host would be just that. Somewhere no one would look for him. Someone who would be avoided due to fear to keep him safe. Until it is time for the final battle until Chaos, he will be unable to leave his host."

“I see a lot of destruction from your host...”

"He is a formidable creature and deadly shaman... what he does is not me. I am not him and he is not me."

“Cryptic. Like most higher beings I know.” Leere gripped his hand, looking deep into those white eyes. “I want my friend back please.”

"Why? So you can torment him further?" The deity was curious. "I still do not understand what draws you to him. My host is by no means a saint, but serves his purpose well. He has accepted his fate, yet still tries in his own way to benefit others. What has he ever done to benefit you? Didn't you say he brings forth much destruction? Hasn't he brought you misery? Why stay by his side?"

“He was a friend to me when I needed one. The destruction he brings is chosen by those who seek it. He saved my life. The misery I felt was inflicted on myself and by monsters in the dark. Now, tell me, exactly, what do you mean I torment him?” She aggressively grabbed him by the thin beard dangling from his chin. Leere didn’t know if she could truly intimidate a god, but she didn’t care.

"You truly do not know? He wants to save you from your impending fate," The deity then paused. "But knows he may not be able to do so. He lost his family and does not want to lose anyone else."

"That's not torment you sniveling being. That's concern. How dare you make me believe I'm a burden on him." Leere let go of his beard, patting down her pockets for chalk. Soon as she found an old broken piece, she started to get to work on drawing a circle around Bonegrinder.

"If you are trying to exorcise me, it won't work." The deity told the princess. "In time, you will see what I mean. For now, I will allow you your friend back. If you have more questions, I will be waiting... or you could ask Kasdeya. The mother of many will elaborate more so than I." He then told her. "Be grateful this snake cares for you, Leere. He took a hit for you, and we have been repairing ourselves for a long while."

Then he retreated to the recesses of the Anagari's body.

Leere paused her attempted exorcism. Throwing the chalk away, she sat down next to Bonegrinder until she heard his presence stir next to her. "Modoc?"

Once the deity had retreated into the recesses of Bonegrinder's mind, the Anagari squirmed. He was in agony. The pain would not subside. For all Mother's magic, she could not cure all that ailed him. Dark magic had its price and while light tried to battle it, he had to suffer the consequences. He looked so frail. "Tiny princess..." He tried to mask the discomfort from his voice. "He would have thought... you'd be home by now."

"Malik and I wanted to wait for you. We're a team." Although she smiled, and her hands were soft and kind as she held his, there was a sense of unease in her voice.

"Don't jest, tiny princess, you know that Malik hates this snake's guts." The Anagari said dryly, being a bit of a brat. "Still sore since he lost a fight and knows he would lose again and again."

"He has honour Modoc. He respects you enough to not abandon. He hasn't had any contact with his family for over a month now. Stop acting like a child." There was something about his brattish behaviour that seriously got under Leere's skin now.

"He is not Modoc!" Bonegrinder shouted so loud that dust shook from the stones. He jerked on the bedding and held his head so tightly, that his claws made it start to bleed. "He is not him! He is... he is... he doesn't know who he is!" He groaned and closed his eyes. "When is he! The visions, the memories, what is what, who is who, when is when, he can't stand it anymore! Let him forget! He wants to forget the screams, the bodies, the failure, the absolute failure! All this power and he can't save one fucking soul!" Sparks of magic filled the air. "Why did you tell her?! She had to know! She didn't, she doesn't, she won't---"

Mother quickly skittered around the corner and approached the nest. She held tightly to the Anagari, trying to ensure he would not have another outburst of celestial magic. It could harm everyone within the Temple or even outside of it if he was too agitated.

"Don't laugh as death passes you by, for you might be the next to die," Mother repeated the age old rhyme, trying to bring some sense of clarity back to the snake. "The grim reaper walks beside of thee, she comes for all, for you and me. What's next? Tell me what is next."

"Darkness and shadow bring nothing but dread, two can keep a secret if one is dead..."

"She... the grim reaper walks beside of thee..."

"Answer me!" Mother nearly shook him. "Don't let your mind crack again! You're here! You're with me! With your friend, Leere! You don't want to hurt her, right? Keep control!"

"He is... I am... who am I?"

"You are the shaman once known as Modoc, you call yourself Bonegrinder now. Why? Why do you call yourself that?"

"Because... because..." His eyes nearly rolled back into his head. "The bones of his enemies will be ground into dust... nothing left..."

"Good, good... tell me of your family..."

"Ngh... Kaksa... no... Akihara..."

"Your children."

"Osage and Ponca..."

"Your friends."

"Blue, White, Red, Black, Silver... such pretty colors."

"And the kid in the maze?"

"Hrm... tiny princess... so small.... so... so lost..." Bonegrinder emphasized the last word, looking heartbroken. "Mother, how can he help her if he cannot even save her?"

"It's okay, it's okay, she's right here... she's still alive."

"Alive... still alive..."

"That's right... sleep now. She's all right."

"Hrm-hmm..." Bonegrinder started to doze in Mother's arms. "So... tired..."

"Then sleep."

Once Bonegrinder had dozed off into sleep again, Mother's tense body relaxed with a deep sigh. "Oh thank Kaska..."

Leere watched the whole ordeal with dread, watching two massive slithering monsters shake back and forth all so one could keep the others emotions calm and in control. The temple stone shook for a few moments there. Finally feeling like she could take a breath, Leere leaned back against a stone pillar. "I don't even know what to think of that."

"I doubt he will recall any of this when he wakes again." Mother kept as still as a mouse while holding Bonegrinder. "When he's in pain, he barely remembers what happened or what he says. It's all like... a dream to him. That's as close as I can describe it." She looked so tired herself, but held strong. "Destroyer and Chaos are out there... Prama is here." She stroked Bonegrinder's long hair. "Prama is bitter for what has happened to him and has been separated from Kaksa for what feels like an eternity. Yet, he still protects us through Bonegrinder's eyes. While sullen and crass, Prama still looks for Kaksa and to us..." She then said, "Despite what you may believe or anyone else, he does have our interests at heart. At least that is one objective they both agree upon."

"What now? Is he going to sleep for another month?"

"The last time he was attacked by Chaos, he was asleep for nearly an entire year." Mother told Leere. "It would not be fair to keep you or Malik from your families any longer. When he is well, I will send him there. For now, if you wish to return to Hyrule, I will open a portal for you."

"What about his family within the Hive?"

"We will send word that he is in recovery still. They have faith in him." Mother then told Leere. "This is great a burden to know, Leere... if you wish to rid yourself of this knowledge, there are ways."

"... this." Mother held up her hand, magic forming in her palm. Yet, it aged her skin prematurely. "Pure life force. Prama is the Maker. His host can accept nothing else."

"Modoc complained about too much light in him."

"It hurts him sometimes, but I know naught of what else to do. This is the only solution which works." Mother's magic returned to her body. "I have tried many other ways. Perhaps he will wake sooner, perhaps not. For now, tell Malik that Bonegrinder is still unstable. The last thing your kingdom needs is the chance of a deity wiping it off the map."

"His body holds darkness within him... with all due respect Mother, I think you aid the spirit of the god inside him, but not Modoc himself. On that note, perhaps I can be of true assistance."

"I cannot allow you to use your magic upon him, Leere." Mother told the princess with a small shake of her head. "I am ancient and will live until you and yours are long gone. You are mortal with a select number of years left. Any unknown move could result in transference of your life energy... willing or not." She sighed and carefully laid Bonegrinder's head back on the pillows. "I aid the deity to save us all. I aid Modoc because he is my friend. Prama require light. Modoc uses darkness. Hence, he can use either type of magic. Yet, too much of one... and the scales are tipped."

"Two things you should know about me Mother. Most of the life I have has been taken other mortals to fuel my own youth. Stolen from criminals and murders. And I am all but willing." She placed a hand on Bonegrinder's chest, taking a deep breath. "You're right. He does need balance. But I can also see in those beautiful eyes of yours, despite proclaiming your superiority over mortals, there is fear in your mirrors to the soul. I believe you haven't been giving him that balance he needs due to your own fears. My own mother and father taught me that every source of light casts a shadow. Both must be embraced as they can't be separated. Please... trust me." Slowly, Leere channeled her stolen abundance of life energy, laced with shadow magic to fill the darkness Bonegrinder was missing.

Bonegrinder started to stir, grumbling curses, and Mother calmly removed Leere's hand from the Anagari. She was holding her breath. The Anagari then settled and returned to slumber. "We cannot have another outburst, for I have not the energy to contain him." Mother then told the princess. "And I never said I was superior. Just that I live much, much longer."

"Most people don't like being called mortals. Makes them feel like they are being talked down to someone with a god complex." Leere was very tired herself suddenly. She must have given him 5 years of life within the span of ten seconds; the Anagari was like a sponge. "I thought that would wake him... I'll go fetch Malik, and we will leave. Taken up enough of your time and hospitality as is."

"While you do wish to help, you cannot know everything for sure, Leere. Please be more cautious in the future." Mother covered Bonegrinder with a thick fur pelt before rising. "I will escort you to the exit."

"I know..."

________________________________________________________________

Previous Ch. https://mrneighbourlove.tumblr.com/post/190828059731/into-the-darkness-and-unknown-ch-6-poking-the

Next Ch. https://mrneighbourlove.tumblr.com/post/190959464556/into-the-darkness-and-unknown-ch-8-connection-to

#crossover #old gods #Leere #Malik #Bonegrinder #Mother #Echidnans #Omisha #Malus #ridersoftheapocalypse

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gothlokid · 5 years ago

Text

How They Met

(unofficial tittle, I don’t know if I’m ever gonna use it in a real fic but this is just a little snippet that came out)

Steve/Tony - 5k - college au (no mature/explicit content)

Tony’s vision is somehow bleary and his legs don’t feel like they are strong enough to support himself at the moment. Yet, he abandons the stool he had been sat at the bar, trying to stand up – because one minute he was sure he was talking to Rhodey and in the other there were three empty tequila shots glasses right beside him and no Rhodey.

Looking around himself, Tony notices the bar is packed and a little dark, there’s loud music spilling from the speakers and loud chatter amongst the tables around him. It makes his head spin a little.

Where the fuck is Rhodey?

He said he would stay with Tony, keep an eye on him, make sure no one found out the fake ID he had once again forged. Pff, as if. Computer genius Tony is, no one would ever tell the ID is fake. He hasn’t graduated in Computer Science (and Engineer, not that he likes to brag) for nothing (obviously he didn’t graduate from MIT only for that. But it has its perks). And so, what difference does it make that he’s one year younger than what his ID says? It’s not like he hasn’t been living in a University campus since he was fifteen. It’s not like Tony had never had an illegal drink in his life.

“Not outside campus, you dickhead. For a genius, you can be a bit thick sometimes, Tones,” Rhodey had said just as Tony had shown him the laminated card, begging Rhodey to go out with him for his birthday.

“Nobody will know. Nobody outside will know me, c’mon.”

“Yeah, no one will know Tony Fucking Stark.”

Tony had rolled his eyes and grabbed his leather jacket that was lying on his bed, putting it on anyway. “I’m going out either way. You can come with me and make sure no one finds out, or you can leave me be, can leave me all unsupervised, just turned twenty and illegally drunk, to hear an earful from father dearly that you didn’t keep an eye on me. Still want that internship, James?” He quirked a brow at him.

“I’m your roommate, not your nanny, for fuck’s sake, contrary to what your father’s thought of me for the past 5 years,” Rhodey had groaned, as he also grabbed his jacket and shoved Tony across from their dorm towards the door. “But fine, if you as much puke near me tonight, I’ll leave you alone to deal with your father, then. And the internship is a low blow, shut up.”

Tony had smirked, knowing that Rhodey would never leave him alone. He knew how to persuade his best friend, even if it was with empty threats (or light banter. The Internship was Rhodey’s anyway. Not that Tony had any say in who his father took inside his own company, but even though Howard barely cared for what Tony was doing, his academic and professional paths were guaranteed, and so was Rhodey’s).

Contrary to what had happened a couple of hours before and what Rhodey had told him, Rhodey had indeed left Tony alone, fucked off to God knows where with God knows who as Tony’s pissed drunk all by himself trying to make his legs work.

“Where’s my Rhodey?” He slurs, whining out loud. He doesn’t even know why he’s calling Rhodey his. He isn’t his. Well, he is his best friend, his roommate, his partner in crime… but not his. No, ew. Not Rhodey.

Tony turns his head around, trying to catch a glimpse of the tall back guy he calls his best friend around the place. That should be enough to find him, goddamnit. Rhodey is over 6 feet tall, what is all that height for if not for Tony to try and find him in crowded bars as he’s drunk? Rhodey is fucking useless, that’s what he is. He is Tony’s useless friend and Tony can’t even walk two feet in front of him without feeling like he’s gonna fall face first and Rhodey is not there to pick him up.

Instead, there are arms securing Tony just as he was almost certain he was gonna trip over his own feet. There are strong arms embracing him and Tony finally looks up to see that those are certainly not Rhodey’s arms.

“You’re not my Rhodey,” he hiccups as he tries to focus on the face that’s very close to him.

Blue eyes blink at him with a soft and concerned gleam. “No, I’m not. I see you’re looking for him, but for that, you need to make sure you’re in one piece.” His voice is soothing and Tony is somehow still trying to figure out why there is an angel – a beefy angel by the way his arms feel around Tony – holding him, who also sees to be worried about him.

“My savior,” Tony laughs, tries to smile at Beefy Blue-eyed Angel, but he’s not sure he can feel his face. “At least someone in this damn bar cares about me. One point for Angel, zero for Rhodey, boo hoo.”

There’s a chuckle from blue-eyed angel and Tony thinks he has never heard a sound so soft in his whole life. “No angel. Just Steve.”

“Still better than a Rhodey.” Tony feels Steve leading him back to the stool he had just tried to walk away from.

He sits back on it again and takes a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment, trying to make his head stop being all woozy. “Thanks, though. I’m sure I’d have fallen very ungracefully if it weren’t for you.”

“Yeah, that wouldn’t have been a pretty fall.” Steve takes the seat beside Tony and Tony opens his eyes to finally take a look at the man in front of him, finally able to see the full picture.

And wow. Just. Wow.

He knows this face. He has been staring at this face for the past four months and–

“You’re pretty.”

That’s his drunk sluggish brain talking because in four months Tony hadn’t been able to produce one word towards Steve. And yet right now, his mouth has no filter, is simply spilling something he had thought since the first day he saw Steve in the same class as him.

It might also be the alcohol, but Tony sees Steve’s face getting a flush that wasn’t there before.

“I, hm…” Steve clears his throat.

“Oh, sorry, I–” Tony shakes his head, aware that he must’ve said something stupid.

Of course, that was stupid. He doesn’t know Steve and Steve doesn’t know him, even though they’ve been classmates for quite a while.

Well, but he does know Steve, that’s the thing. He knows Steve is somewhat recluse, on the verge of shy, keeping it mostly quiet in class, taking notes on his notebook on a desk in the corner of the room, sometimes doodling pretty things Tony can’t make out from where he’s sitting (but that he knows that are pretty). He knows Steve plays for MIT’s soccer team as he sometimes goes to class in jerseys and sweats with his name on the back. He also knows Steve must be studying something in Architecture or Planning since he always runs off after class to that department building (leaving Tony to sadly trail back to his classes in Mechanics). He also has a very good hunch that Steve is a few years older than him – who isn’t in this goddamn University anyway? – but not that doesn’t actually matter.

He knows plenty about Steve if his stalking (“It’s more of an observatory skill, Rhodey, fuck off.”) is anything to go by. But the thing also is, Steve doesn’t know Tony and doesn’t know that Tony has been having a full-on crush (“again, I just like to observe things and things that are beautiful deserve to be admired, Rhodey, I don’t have a crush.”) on him since the semester started and Tony found himself doing an elective class, in which this God Entity with the name of Steve Rogers also happened to be taking part of.

And that’s where Tony should’ve drawn the line. Because that’s all he knows about Steve. He doesn’t know Steve outside of their class together and just because he’s drunk off his ass, it doesn’t make calling Steve pretty at all alright.

“No, don’t be sorry.” Steve is calm and if Tony can say, he seems endeared, even. “I, well. Thanks.” There’s that chuckle again and Tony takes the opportunity to see Steve smiling, shyly, with his eyes downcast and, fucking hell, he never had the opportunity to look at Steve from this up close, and God forbid his drunken state, but all he wants is to kiss that tiny cute smile on his lips, because it’s the most beautiful and endearing thing Tony has ever seen in his life. “It’s just, being called an angel and pretty on the same night? That’s quite a lot if I’m being honest. I’m flattered.”

Tony can see how bashful Steve is and as much as he doesn’t want to embarrass him even more, God, what he wouldn’t give to keep seeing that face, that sweet pretty face and keep it only for himself.

“Right, I’ll try to tone it down, save some other compliments for some other time.” Tony tries to wink, he’s pretty sure he doesn’t succeed because Steve is trying to keep himself from laughing out loud.

“Anytime. I know you’re busy still trying to find your Rhodey now, aren’t you?”

And if Tony were a decent and sober person, he wouldn’t take the tone of Steve’s voice as an indication that he sounds jealous. Is he jealous? Of Tony? Does he even know Tony? If he knows Tony, then he knows that Rhodey is not his-whatever he’s thinking right now. And if he doesn’t know Tony, then well, it’s only Tony’s duty to make sure Steve has no doubt that there isn’t anything that’s his and that he isn’t anyone’s either.

“Not mine.” Tony waves his hand in front of his face. “Not that I’d like him to be mine.” He knows he sounds like every other drunk person, but he swears he’s making sense in his head. “Not that I want to be his either.” Oh, God, no. He doesn’t sound coherent even if he tried. “There’s no Rhodey. And no one else, that’s what I’m trying to say.”

Steve is looking skeptically at him, but slightly biting his bottom lip, trying to suppress a smile. “Right, ‘cause that’s very relevant. So you’re looking for a Rhodey that’s not yours.”

Tony can hear the teasing tone in Steve’s voice and as much as he is appealed by the fact that they are bantering (and maybe flirting, Tony doesn’t even know at this point), he really wants to make his point across. “He is my friend. That’s what he is. But no Rhodey, because he’s not here right now, and we’re not– he’s not my-whatever, he’s not mine if you’re wondering.”

“I wasn’t, but thanks for clearing it up.” Steve shrugs, running a hand through his light and well-trimmed locks.

“Just making sure you understand that I really meant that I’m saving up more compliments for you for next time.”

If Tony thought he had sobered up at least a little, now he’s pretty sure he hasn’t and that he’s still a drunk with no filter in his mouth because he wasn’t even planning to say that.

“You’re pretty drunk, pal.” Steve shakes his head, but the tiny smile is still lingering on his lips.

“No pal, just Tony. And thanks.”

“Thanks for what?”

“Calling me pretty even when I’m drunk.”

Tony prides himself with how clever and witty he still is while drunk because the laughter he earns from Steve after that is too precious and it has made the whole semester of observing (yeah, he’s gonna stick with that, thank you very much) the other man completely worth it.

“Only returning the compliment.” Tony sees it must’ve taken all the willpower in Steve to say that because he’s not even looking at Tony when he ducks his head and plays with a loose piece of wood from the bar counter. And that only goes to show how Steve’s a braver person than Tony, who had been dumbly paying attention to Steve for months on end and didn’t find the courage to say anything to him while Steve, on the first chance he got, not only managed to save Tony for an ungraceful fall but also flatter him.

“That’s cheating,” Tony rolls his eyes, trying not to show how affected he is by Steve light flirting (because keeping the goddamn butterflies in his stomach still is a really hard task – or maybe that’s his empty stomach talking, who knows).

At that Steve perks up his head, confused. “What?”

Tony laughs slightly, moving the stool a bit closer to Steve, trying to balance himself as so not to fall. “You’ve started ahead of me. I said I had a few other compliments for you, but here you are, already trying to make me think of other things to say to you. I wanted to save it, can’t use all my ammo only in one night.”

If Tony’s coming out strong, he doesn’t even care because Steve licking his lips nervously and running his hand again through his soft hair is a sight for his sore and bleary eyes.

“I’ll tell you what,” he starts before Steve can say anything again, but making the other man catch his full attention, “the only way to outrank you now, is by buying you a drink.”

Steve leans against the counter, head resting on his palm, intrigued. “Didn’t know this was a contest.”

“Of course it is. You already came out too strong, wooing me with your angel face and knight in shining armor attitude and all that. I have to up my game.”

“Wasn’t trying to woo you. Just wanted to help, that’s all.” Steve clears his throat and Tony has a hard time believing what comes out of his mouth when the blush is back on his face, making his blue eyes glint brighter.

Tony smirks because even in his drunk state he knows when someone’s trying to approach him and he doesn’t know how that happened that it’s Steve of all people who is trying to make a move on him, even as shy as he seems, even as uncertain as this all looks.

“Right,” Tony slaps one hand on the counter and straightens himself on the stool, trying to feel more confident than he’s ever been regarding his unsolicited – and not deep – feelings for Steve. He’s just turned twenty and he has the boy of his dreams’ attention all on him. He couldn’t have asked for anything better tonight, the only thing left for him is to go for it. “But I am.”

He sends what he thinks is a glaring smile at Steve and turns to the bar, ordering a beer bottle for each one of them. It’s not like he can get any drunker than he already is and if he can buy Steve one drink and keep him in his company a little longer, then that’s what tonight’s all about.

Turns out, Tony can get more drunk as he and Steve share not only that one beer. Tony doesn’t even know how many others he has drunk as the night goes on as he and Steve keep on talking. He doesn’t even know what he and Steve talk about. All he knows is that those blue eyes are too soft for that strong body, and they keep looking at Tony as if he’s the most interesting thing Steve has ever looked at. He gets lost in them and in Steve and in the time and doesn’t even see the night going away, too entertained by Steve’s smile and shy but interesting personality.

He would like to remember what they talked about because he’s pretty sure at some time Steve must’ve told him a joke about their professor and Tony had never laughed so hard in his life and he wants to remember every bit of every word Steve has told him. All he knows is that he wishes he remembered Steve telling him that they’ve probably had enough, that Tony wasn’t even making any sense anymore but still laughing along with him, and putting his hand on Tony’s shoulder and squeezing him tight. Tony wishes he could remember when they thought it was reasonable to leave the bar, with Steve holding Tony by his waist and dragging him back to campus, telling Tony that he wanted to make sure he wasn’t going to end up in a dumpster in the morning. Moreover, Tony regrets not remembering what Steve told him as they stood by his dorm door as Tony probably lingered longer than acceptable staring at Steve’s well-carved face and probably told him something stupid about how his cheekbones were to die for and that he wanted to kiss him. He regrets with all his being not remembering if Steve had indeed kissed him.

All Tony remembers, actually, is a blur of a night as he wakes up to Rhodey shoving a pillow to his face.

“What’s that for?” He mumbles, trying to open his eyes, only to realize that had been the worst decision of his life as the sunlight reaches him and his head starts pounding.

“For not telling me you let your fucking crush escort you back to your dorm?”

Rhodey is standing by Tony’s bed, arms crossed over his chest with a dark brow arched at him.

“What are you on about?” Tony shakes his head trying to soothe his headache and finally focus on what’s going on. He pushes himself up on his bed in a sitting position, rubbing his hand over his eyes and scratching on his still growing beard.

“I leave you for a minute and you manage to throw yourself on his arms, apparently.” Rhodey rolls his eyes and reaches for the nightstand, fetching a glass of water and handing it over to Tony. He also shoves a couple of pills into his hand.

Tony is too sleepy and hungover to deal with whatever his best friend is saying and doing, but he accepts the water and the pills without protest, taking a moment to drink from it and have another liquid in his body that isn’t alcohol. When he finally chugs the glass empty with the pills, he feels his head clear a bit and he processes Rhodey’s words.

“First, you didn’t leave me for a minute, you wanker.” He places the glass back on the nightstand. “You were gone and didn’t tell me. I looked around and you weren’t there! And… that’s all I remember, really.” Tony frowns, forcing his brain to remember what had happened just after that.

“I went to the bathroom, I told you!” Rhodey rubs one hand against his wrinkled forehead. “When I came back, you were engulfed by no other than the dude you’ve been drooling over the past months.”

There’s a short-circuit in Tony’s brain. “Stop fucking with me,” he says sternly.

“Ain’t fucking with you, Tones. Why would I?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because I’m drunk? You want to pull one on me, take advantage of my poorly state. Mock me, as you always do. May–”

“You’re stalling, Stark,” Rhodey laughs sarcastically. “Don’t be in denial. You were hanging out, some might say flirting with Steve Rogers last night, I saw it with my own eyes. I wouldn’t fuck around with that.”

Tony’s pretty sure his eyes are about to leave his face as he fixes Rhodey with an intimidating look. “Then why didn’t you do something about it?”

Rhodey snorts. “What would you have wanted me to do? More importantly, would you have wanted me to do something about it? You looked very smitten with Steve’s eyes only on you.”

“Stop it, James!” The pillow Rhodey had attacked Tony with flies back at him as Tony tries to find something to wipe the smirk off his friend’s face. “If you’re messing with me…”

Rhodey catches the pillow and throws it back on the bed and walks over to sit beside Tony. “Dude, why would I mess with you?”

“Because you’d never let me talk to Steve if I was that drunk, so drunk that I can’t remember talking to him myself. So drunk I must’ve said something stupid and you’ve let me do it!” Tony punches Rhodey on the arm.

“Tones,” he slaps Tony’s hand away as he chuckles, “I only let you keep talking to him because I’ve never seen you with a smile as big plastered on your face as you had, and only because I saw he was smiling back at you the same way. I thought it wouldn’t hurt to let you have that after sulking for him for months.”

“I wasn’t sulki–”

“Oh my fucking God.” It was Rhodey’s time to punch Tony back. “You were, Tony. So hard. God only knows what I’ve had to endure listening to you talking about ‘his arms, buddy, his fucking arms could rip me apart’. Yeah. That was sulking and pining and sexual frustration,” he explains with a pointed look as Tony rolls his eyes.

Okay, yeah, maybe he was.

“Right, fair enough. Thank you for that then, apparently. But you’ve–,” he shakes his head, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, trying to make his brain remember something, anything about last night. “You said you’d be there with me, and you’ve let me with him and I don’t even know what we talked about. I– Rhodey, what the hell did I do?” He pinches the bridge of his nose, not daring to imagine what kind of an ass he must’ve made himself in front of Steve.

Rhodey’s hand come to rest on Tony’s shoulder, making him look at his best friend again. “Honestly? Dunno, man. I figured you’d be okay with him, that something would come out of it. I came back to the dorm and you didn’t return for a few hours later. I heard you in the hallway and you were loud and talking, but I couldn’t make out what it was. When you came inside, you didn’t even say anything. I asked if you had a great night and you said ‘marvelous’ and lie down and fell asleep like this,” he gestures to Tony’s body, making him look down at himself to notice he’s still wearing last night’s clothes.

“I–” Tony tries to make sense of what James is saying, tries to piece together the night but still comes flat with nothing. No memory whatsoever of spending a few hours with Steve. His brain can be a very big let down sometimes. What does it matter if he’s only twenty and already on his way to graduating on his Master in Mechanical Engineering if he can’t even remember flirting with the boy he’s head over heels? “Fuck.”

“Well, yeah, that’s precisely what you didn’t do last night.”

“Fuck off.” He pushes Rhodey away playfully. “No seriously, Rhodey, fucking hell. What am I supposed to do now? I apparently had the night I’ve been dreaming of for months, and I can’t even remember it. Happy fucking birthday to me, thank you universe.”

“I get off on how smart you are for some things and how dumb you are for others,” Rhodey says, pulling Tony into a half hug. “It’s not like you can’t just go after him? Meet him again? Think, Tones, just think, use that big brain of yours for the matters of the heart too instead of only creating useless computer interfaces and dumb robots.”

“Stop saying my robot is dumb.” Tony tries to wriggle himself away from Rhodey, pouting stubbornly.

“You realize you named it Dum-E.”

“He’s a prototype!” Tony uses all his strength to kick James and let him fall off the bed. “He’s dumb now, sure, but he’ll get better.”

“That also goes for you if you don’t fucking do something about you and your big ass crush on Steve.”

Tony inhales deeply as Rhodey stares at him with those big brown eyes as if he has the answers to all of Tony’s problem. Sometimes he does and Tony hates that his best friend is always right.

Honestly, he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t have survived for as long at MIT if he didn’t have Rhodey beside him and now, there he is again, making sure Tony doesn’t make another mistake, one he’s taken too long to solve (why he still doesn’t know. He’s never been one to be shy around people he fancied. In fact, he always got what and who he wanted easily. Why Steve Rogers has been the first one to have that effect on him, Tony would yet figure out).

What follows then is that Tony puts his big brain to use and tries to come up with a plan to get to talk to Steve again. Thing is, there aren’t a lot of opportunities. In fact, when he thinks about it, there’s truly only one.

Crammed by final projects and tests and essays to hand in, Tony can’t find the time to look for Steve around campus. His stalking/observatory skills don’t come in handy because Tony hadn’t allowed himself to actually find out where Steve lives, (that’d be too creepy, even he has to admit it) and so, the only chance to see him would be at their joint class. But that problem with that there lays in the fact that their Professor had given them two weeks to complete their final assignment, resuming class on the day of their deadline only for the students to hand it in.

It seems the universe’s not working on Tony’s side lately and so he has to rely on this sole opportunity, hoping that Steve shows up to hand in his final paper at the same time as him, otherwise planting himself at the front of the classroom waiting for him will have to be the only other option (“too creepy, Tones, if you still don’t want to be called a stalker”). He doesn’t let himself think over his plan too thoroughly. If it’s meant to be, then it will, because letting his heart take over his brain at this point in the semester won’t do for him. He has a Masters to focus on and if he gets to have even if it’s just a little bit of Steve, then that’s just his luck.

Two weeks is a long time though and Tony tries to pretend he’s not apprehensive about this whole Steve deal. He feigns his anxiety for the number of things he has to work on, but in reality, he knows he’s a ball of nerves because of Steve because he couldn‘t stop thinking about him. When it comes to the exact science, nailing his studies or doing rational things, Tony doesn’t even have any problems, but when it comes to things he can’t have control over, that’s when he starts to doubt himself.

Folder in hand with an essay on the evolution of technology and its effects in modern times revised over and over and only finished two hours ago, Tony walks towards his classroom, aware of his surroundings and the people around him, trying not to look so obvious that he’s looking for a specific pair of blue eyes, broad shoulders and light golden locks. He feels himself walking as slow as he can, taking his time, giving Steve his time to just fucking show up so Tony can– well, can say anything, he hasn’t even thought about what he’s gonna talk about to him, but he knows he will. If only he shows up, that’s it.

There’s no reason for him not to. Steve’s been a very participatory student in class, Tony has noticed, even as shy as he is. He’s attended every class, has given presentations and handed in other assignments. Why would he not hand in their final paper and fail an elective class? He has to show up, Tony prays to whatever God that there is above him.

But for the long minutes Tony stretches on as he makes his way down the front of the class, chats a bit with the professor after handing in his essay, stalls him by making up questions and doubts he doesn’t even have or bringing up facts he knows the teacher is not even interested in, Steve hasn’t showed up yet.

Tony sighs deeply, holding his satchel bag tightly over his shoulder and making his way out of the classroom with his head held down. He feels defeated by destiny and he doesn’t even believe in it, but that’s only because he thought he had a shot at speaking and seeing Steve one last time because apparently, he blew the one he already had with him by not remembering a single thing that happened. There it goes two weeks of overthinking if he would ever have a chance with Steve again by feeling like a complete failure and utterly disappointed in himself (even if all his exams grades showed that Tony still continued to be the genius that everyone took him for).

His self-deprecating thoughts are washed away from his mind just as he’s about to open the door to leave the classroom, only to have it almost slammed against his face.

“Fucking hell!” He stumbles backwards, sure he’s gonna fall on his ass with all the other students looking at him when he feels a hand holding him by the arm.

“Second time’s a charm, Stark.”

When Tony looks up, he pretends he doesn’t feel his stomach lurching, that he doesn’t feel like his whole face is gonna split open by how hard he wants to smile.

He scolds his expression, but still smirks as he balances himself up again with Steve’s help.

“Was counting on that.”

He isn’t even sure what he’s talking about, but as Steve keeps his hand on Tony’s arm, looking at him with those piercing blue eyes, Tony remembers how Steve had held him back that night, preventing him from falling for the first time.

Little did he know it hadn’t been the first time Tony had fallen. For Steve, he’s sure he’s been falling for the past four months.

“Took you long enough.”

If Tony had been nervous that Steve wouldn’t respond to whatever flirting or mention of their time together, he now leaves a sigh of relief because the uncertainty he remembers feeling from Steve that night, that has completely vanished with the way Steve is smiling at him – with confidence, with as much relief as Tony’s feeling.

“Nothing like the last minute,” Tony jokes as he lets go of Steve and fixes his bag. “Could say the same to you,” he gestures to Steve’s folder in his other hand and then looks back to the front of the class as the professor is already gathering his stuff to leave, “don’t wanna keep you from handing in your paper, sorry.”

“No, you’re not– Sorry I slammed you with the door.” He scratches the back of his neck.

“No problem, big guy,” Tony smiles. “I should be saying sorry for standing on your way. Even now. Go on, or else Mr Durant will be on his merry way.”

Steve nods and smiles faintly at Tony, taking one step away and making to move towards the professor but then abruptly stops, turning back to Tony again. “I– Hm, do you want to– I mean, could you wai–”

Tony doesn’t even have to let Steve finish what he’s about to say to understand what he means to ask. He knows and he wants and–

“Yes, of course. I’ll be outside,” he winks at him before opening the door and stepping outside, leaving Steve to turn around, but not before seeing a big and lovely and hopeful smile on his face.

#i don't even know what this is but i like it very much #kind of a birthday fic?#this is unbeta'ed so yeah any mistakes are my own #i might delete this later lol #stevetony #stony #stony fic #stevetonyfic #fanfic #no explict / mature content #my writing #steph talks

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