#i love my mentally ill clock tower man

[hamburglar-yeahyeahwoooo]

epic mickey brainrot is happening and its this stupid clock mans fault 🙁

[bartxnhood]

you’re not her. | p.p

| andrew!peter x gn!reader

summary: after losing you best friend, gwen, you learn how to deal with your emotions and help your mutual friend, peter. that is, until he breaks down.

warnings: a lot of angst, possible language, mentions of injuries.

authors note: this is a very common prompt in the spider-man fanfic universe but again, id like to share my take on this. enjoy.

Copyright © 2022 bartxnhood. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format.

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pain.

is what peter felt, after recovering gwen’s body in that clock tower. he was never the same. his eyes became dull, he lost all motivation to do anything. he didn’t want to face you. he knew how much you loved gwen like a sister. when he saw you at the funeral he felt so guilty. he was losing a piece of him every day, he held on to that guilt. gwen’s death will forever haunt him.

it was only after gwen’s funeral you had confronted peter about her death. a part of you wanted to put all of the blame on him for losing your best friend. but, you also knew how stubborn she was. she wanted to help her boyfriend. but, it cost her, her life. it was unbelievable actually. you never expected her to die..so..suddenly. it had taken a huge toll on your mental health and it was starting to get the best of you.

you saw it in peter too, he lost his gleam. his laughter, his personality. of course, you cared for him, he was a friend. nothing more. you had to be there for him, even if he didn’t want you. you knew he needed a support system but you didn’t know if you could be a good one, considering your differences.

“peter!” you waved him over in the courtyard of the school. he looked up, probably lost in thought, he took out his earbuds. “yeah?” he asked leaning against the pillar looking at you. “my mom invited you to dinner tonight, and i have a bit of homework i need some help with” he nodded, “uh sure. what time?”

you shrugged, “around six? we can still have some time for homework after.” he nodded, looking around the campus then back at you. “yeah, ill be there. see ya later, y/n.” he waved goodbye and stuck his earbud back into his ear. you waved and sighed watching him walk away. you saw it in his eyes, it was killing him. you never thought he was showing his face on college grounds again, but he did. you didn't know how to help him, hell, you were still trying to cope all these months later. you stood up from the bench and went about your day. you didn't know if peter even thought of you as a close friend, but you didn't want him having no one. even superheroes needed a shoulder to cry on sometimes. with a huff, you turned in your heels and made your way to the other side of campus.

you just wanted to know what was going on inside of his mind. you knew what was in yours, but what was in his? you knew he blamed himself every day. you didn’t see him for the rest of the day, even during your shared class. nothing.

at home, you sat on your bed with a book wide open to chapters you were studying. you were a good student in most of your classes, but when it came down to anything with numbers or science you felt like an idiot. that was your biggest problem in school and your parents often got on to you about that. so, you would stay up late hours just to try and comprehend what was written in the books.

knock, knock

you looked up from the book, across your room to your door. typical peter. not using the door. you sighed getting up from your bed and waking to your window and opened it for him. “you know i have a front door, peter” you laughed, he responded with a lousy smile and crawled inside. he dropped his bag down by your desk. “what’s for dinner?” he asked, looking around your room.

“filet mignon, moms cooking this time. dads on a business trip” you answered while closing your window. “sounds good.” he shrugged, you looked at him. “cmon, let’s go” you said, patting his back and leaving your room.

“so, peter. how have you been these days?” your mom asked, taking a sip of her drink. “i’m uh..doing okay, ma’am. just got some stuff going on” he answered, looking up from his plate. it was one of the first times he’s said anything since arriving. you just wish you could help him cope. but, this was all you could do.

you and peter helped your mom clean up after dinner and then you two were off to work on homework. you sat in the middle of your bed, where you had just left everything open and peter was grabbing his books coming to sit next to you on your bed. you sat in silence for a while.

meanwhile, peter kept having flashes of when he visited gwen through her window. he couldn’t get her out of his mind, he was thinking about her every day. so many things reminded him of her. you even reminded peter of gwen.

“peter?” your voice quickly pulled him from his thoughts. he stared at you with no expression, only blinking. “i’ve been asking you about this question for like three minutes. are you okay?” he shrugged, looking away and messing with his pencil. immediately, you knew. you closed your books and pushed them to the side. “what’s going on, parker? you need to talk to someone.” he shook his head, “i can't. it’s too much” you sighed, rubbing your temple. “i just want to help..”

he scoffed, “yeah. i know. but you just don’t get it y/n. if i hadn’t had brought her with me, if i hadn’t fallen in love with her she’d still be alive. she would be here right now.” he stood up, closing his books and grabbing his back and stuffing everything in. “you just don’t get it, at all. you’ll never know what i had to deal with every day.” he opened your window and stepped out, turning to look at you once more. “tell your mom i said thanks for dinner.”

oh god, what did he just do? he never stormed out like that on you before. all of his bottled-up emotions were getting the best of him. he was never home, he rarely got any sleep. he didn’t talk to you anymore on the off occasion he would lose you too. but he knew how stubborn you were. you watched him disappear in the night, you laughed dryly staring at the new empty fire escape. you got up and walked over slamming your window.

for the next two weeks, you barely heard from him, you had seen him a few times in your classes with him but he only ever said a “hey” or “hi”. but eventually, you got a “sorry” from him but that’s all. no explanation. of course, it hurt, you knew he was suffering and he didn’t want any help. that’s what killed you.

by the end of the second week you had gone out with some other friends to get your mind off everything. one night, you were out pretty late and your friend had left you. thankfully, you weren’t drunk. you started on your way home.

within fifteen minutes you started hearing a loud commotion, when walking around a corner you saw the one and only spiderman fighting some..monster? you didn’t know what your next approach was seeing as you had to go through the street to get home. you lingered, watching behind that corner to see if your friend could take down the monster. you watched as peter was now being pinned on the brick wall, followed by a loud bang as he fell to the ground below him.

in a panic you quickly yelled, “hey!! over here!!” you knew it was a bad idea, very bad actually. but you couldn’t let peter get beat to a pulp.

the monster turned around, revealing his skeleton-looking face. you didn’t know exactly what you were going to accomplish by doing that, but you did. the creature began moving closer to you until someone swooped bringing you into his arms to the other side, clear of the monster.

“what the hell, y/n?!” he yelled, putting you on the ground standing in front of you but also on high alert that the creature would come crawling for him. “i was just trying to help!” you answered back, he shook his head. “no, you were being an idiot” his words stung. “peter, you were getting hurt!” “i can handle myself!” you stepped back, you only stared at his red and blue suit and mask, hiding his identity.

“peter..” you started but he cut you off. “you’re not gwen! okay?! you don’t know how to help!” he yelled, ripping his mask off which fully revealed his bruising and dry blood. “just go home. this isn’t something you need to mess with” and then he put his mask back on and swung away. you watched him leave, you took a deep breath in, processing what he just said. you turned around and started home.

when peter got home, he only had time then to fully realize what he had just told you. he sat on the edge of his bed, covered in bruises and blood. he held his mask in his hands. “how much will i lose?” he muttered then threw the mask down and stood up taking the infamous suit off.

he had to apologize. you were only trying to help, but he didn’t want to relive his past mistake with you. you were there for him this entire time and he was too blinded by anger and sadness. he couldn’t lose you like he lost gwen.

it wasn’t long until he was knocking on your window again like weeks before. he didn’t see you until you stepped back into your room, he guessed you had just got out of the bathroom because your makeup was off. but, it also gave him the hint that you’ve been crying. your eyes were bloodshot.

when you opened the door, you wiped your eyes and sniffled. “what, peter?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“y/n..i’m sorry” he started picking at his nails. “i’m sorry for what i said. i was being harsh and it was in the moment..” he admitted, looking up at you. you sighed standing to the side, “come in, it’s cold out there”. you didn’t want him to freeze but you also didn’t want to lose the hot air.

“i know you were trying to help, i know you’ve been struggling to and though you’ve tried being there for me, i was too blinded to even think of being there for you. and i’m sorry, y/n.” his voice started breaking, with tears brimming his eyes when he talked about gwen. he sat down next to you on the bed, “i didn’t mean what i said, i know we have our differences but you’ve been such a good friend to me..”

“you really loved her..huh?” you asked, putting your hand on his shoulder trying to comfort his crying. he nodded, “i loved her more than anything in this world, and now she’s dead because of me” he covered his eyes and sobbed. you bit the inside of your cheek and hugged him. “i know..she loved you too, peter. she wouldn’t want you like this. you don’t need to blame yourself. just promise me, you’ll talk to me, or someone else. if you keep all of this inside it will kill you”

you pulled away, making eye contact. “i promise, y/n. you aren’t gonna lose me either”

[rons-hermiones]

Come Find Me

Come Find Me

by rons-hermiones

Summary: Unplanned, Hermione is forced to spend Christmas at the Burrow due to her grandmother falling very ill. After being ignored by Hermione for weeks, Ron is determined to show her how much she means to him. Just before he gets the chance to tell her, Bellatrix Lestrange shows up with other plans for Hermione. Can Ron get to her before it's too late? (Ron/Hermione Half-Blood Prince AU)

Rating: M for language & dark themes in later chapters.

Chapter Thirty 

“Come on mate, if we don’t leave now, we’re gonna be late.” Harry told his friend from the door. 

Ron couldn’t help himself, he did another once over in the mirror. 

The Chosen One groaned, “You look fine, let’s go!” 

And he did look fine, better than fine actually. The dress robes he had on were new. They were tailored perfectly to him and were a lovely navy blue that brought out his eyes. 

However, being Ron Weasley, his insecurities still were shining through. He really hoped he had cleaned up well enough. 

“Alright, I’m coming.” He sighed, quickly smoothing his hair one more time before bolting to the door, making sure to grab the flowers on his way out. 

By the time he actually made it, Harry was halfway down the steps, he had to jog to catch up. 

“Oi, slow down, will ya?” Ron teased. 

“I just don’t want to be late, I have to walk to Ravenclaw tower to get Luna.” He commented, “Anyway, you should be worrying more than I should.” He said airily. 

“Me?” Ron squeaked nervously. What had he done now?

Matching socks? Check. 

Shirt tucked in? Check. 

Teeth brushed? Check. 

Flowers? Check. 

Sensing his friend's anxiety, Harry jumped in, “Well, you know how she is. Punctual and all. I reckon you’ll get a harder time than I would with Luna.” 

Ron’s eyes flicked to the clock above the stairs, noting he was running on schedule, “lay off Harry.” He said, half joking. 

When they reached the bottom, Ron suddenly didn’t know what to do. “Do we sit?” he asked his friend stupidly. 

Harry chuckled at his nerves, he knew what this meant to Ron, “I don’t see why not.” He shrugged. 

Breathing a sigh of relief, the pair of them flopped back onto the couch in silence. Harry drummed his fingers against his thighs, whilst Ron nervously fiddled with a button on his robes. 

It wasn’t until about ten minutes later something drew the pair from their stupor. 

Heels clicking against the stone steps. 

At the sound, they jumped up, Ron first. Harry followed too, but stepped back, knowing this was his best mate's moment to shine. 

Weasley noticed, only increasing his already erratic nerves. 

Don’t bugger this up. Don’t bugger this up. Don’t- 

As the figure reached the bottom, he could only manage one coherent word. 

“Merlin.”

“Hi.” Hermione said shyly, hand’s smoothing over the skirt of her dress. 

Ron was still too enchanted by her to speak.

She was absolutely stunning.

Seeing her come down the girls dormitory steps rivaled when she entered the Great Hall fourth year. 

She wore a long gown that was funny enough, the same blue as his dress robes. The top was tighter, the entire thing adorned with little navy flowers sewn into it. The flowers cascade down into a belt of sorts, then trickled off into the tulle skirt that just floated above the floor. 

Her hair had obviously been given a light amount of sleakesys, just enough to tame the frizz. It seemed to be in a bun of sorts, but only halfway, a good front of the pieces falling around her face. Some tucked behind her ear. 

Her eyelashes looked longer and darker. Her pink lips glistsend under the flickering fire. Her cheeks were tinged pink, but it wasn’t from blush. He swore he could smell the perfume he gifted her last Christmas. 

And her eyes. Well, if this was the last look he ever saw. He’d die a happy man. 

“Hi.” Ron manages breathlessly. 

At the tone of his voice, the brunette smiles, insticilvey pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, smearing the small amount of lip gloss she put on. 

“You look,” he couldn’t find the words, there didn’t seem to be a singular one that could describe it, “beautiful.” Angelic. Irresistible. Breathtaking. Lovely. Bewitching. Heavenly. Gorgeous… 

Her cheeks darkened, “you look quite nice yourself.” Hermione responded sheepishly. 

“These are for you.” He fumbles with the small bouquet a little before handing them over to her. 

She smiled gratefully as she took a small sniff, before looking at him again, “they’re lovely.” Hermione told him truthfully, “I’ll be sure to display them properly on my table upstairs.” With that, she flicked her wand, sending the bouquet exactly to that spot. 

“Brilliant.” He breathed at her wand work, a grin plastered on his face in admiration. 

Harry, watching the scene from a small distance, knew this could go on all night. This awkward dance of pauses and daring compliments. But he didn’t have all night, he had to get to Ravenclaw tower. 

Clearing his throat, the pair jumped, “you look lovely Hermione, but could we please be on our way? I have to get Luna.” 

A little embarrassed she didn’t notice him before, the brunette offered a flustered nod. Harry didn't spare a moment rushing over to the portrait hole. 

Just as Hermione went to take the final stair down, she stumbled a bit. Almost instantly, Ron caught her arm. 

“Oh, you’ll have to excuse me, I’m not used to these shoes.” She told him sheepishly as his eyes flicked to the small heels on her feet. 

Thinking quickly, he offered his arm to her, “I’ll help you.” Ron told her. 

Both pleased and surprised, she wrapped her arm around his extended one. 

“Thank you.” The witch said as they traveled across the common room. 

“Of course Mione.” The red-haired boy answered without a second thought, “I won’t let you fall.”

After that, they lapsed into a comfortable silence as they followed Harry through the corridors. Not that Ron could speak anyway, he was way too buzzed off the feeling of her being so close. 

It wasn’t until after Luna’s barmy greeting about how the moon was in perfect alignment for tonight did they break the streak. 

“Thank you again for coming with me.” Hermione said in a low voice, Ron thinks so Harry and Luna wouldn’t hear.

It makes him feel warm knowing the words are just for him. 

He dares to give her a small squeeze, “Hey, there’s where else I’d rather be tonight than here.” With you, he adds silently. 

“Me too. I can’t imagine coming here with anyone else if I’m being honest.” She admits shyly, eyes trained on the decorations above. 

“Really?” He asks, surprised, looking down at her. 

Finally, her brilliant brown eyes meet his. She simply nods in confirmation. 

“Wicked.” He breathes. 

She giggles. 

It’s the best fucking sound he’s evr had the pleasure of hearing.

“I will admit, I’m a bit surprised you agreed. I know Slughorn isn’t your favorite.” Hermione tells with a small smile. 

“Well, I didn’t come for Slughorn.” Ron states confidently, “besides, if I wanted to get to know the bloke I reckon I’d get a detention or something.” He adds teasingly. 

She laughs again.

His chest squeezes at the sound. 

“Come on!” Harry calls from the doorway. 

Ron didn’t even realize they had stopped until now. 

“Git.” he mumbles. 

Gently, he places his much larger hand on the small of Hermione’s back to lead her into the source of the music and chatter floating through the corridor. 

Her eyes snap to his at the action, but he just gives her a lopsided grin, which she returns with her own dazzling smile. 

Carefully, he nudges her on and they’re soon meant by all sorts of things. Floating trays of foods and beverages. Drapes cascading the room. Lanterns lighting the scene. A mass of even more Christmas decorations. An even larger mass of people, students and staff alike. 

“Ah Miss Granger!” Slughorn immediately noticed the new presence in the room. 

“Good evening professor.” Hermione said, voice heightening a little over the music. 

“Ah, Rupert, have some mead my boy!” Ron heard’s Slughorn say, though his voice sounded far off. Surely that wasn’t what he said. 

Shaking away whatever the hell that was, he tuned back in. 

“So happy to have you! Whose this young man?” He asked, eyeing Ron funnily, seeming to have noticed his dazed look. 

He suppressed a groan. He’s had Sluggy for potions all year and there’s not exactly a mass of red headed sixth year Gryfindors. You’d think he’d take a little notice. 

“This is Ron Weasley,” she stated produly before pausing for a moment, “he’s my date.”

Never, in his entire life does he think’s heard more brilliant words leave someone’s mouth. 

He can’t help but smile so wide you’d think the Cannons won the World Cup. 

“Yes sir, that’s me,” he holds out his hand as the old professor shakes it. Soon, he averts his gaze to the girl next to him, eyes twinkling as he does, “I’m Hermione’s date.”

Ignorant to the moment, Slughorn releases his hand and smiles, “Lovely! There are some people I’d love for you to meet Miss Granger, I think-” his eyes find the door, “Oh! Excuse me, will you? We can catch up later.” He’s gone before she can answer. 

After Slughorn leaves, he still can’t help but stare at her with pure amazement and adortion. 

She flushes under his gaze before speaking, “I’m sure you’re dying for something to eat, come on.” Hermione grabs his hand and leads him to a table. 

He never wants to let go. 

They soon find themselves at a table with Harry, Luna, and Ginny. Neville comes around and serves food and Ron even takes notice of his manners, as means to impress Hermione. 

Having polished off his plate and noticing everyone else has too, the friends fall into comfortable chatter. 

However, they’re soon interrupted when a fifth year Hufflepuff, who also seems to have gone alone, asks Ginny to dance. It’s only after she agrees did Ron notice the couples swaying in the center of the room. 

Come on you tosser, just ask her. Ask her dammit! He mentally scolds as he watches Hermione pick at the table cloth. 

Just as he opens his mouth to ask, a wispy voice cuts him off, “Oh Harry, I love this song, would you care to dance?” Luna asks softly. 

Harry, whose mind seems to have been elsewhere all night, agrees as he extends a hand to the blonde. Despite the notion, Ron still notices his green eyes scanning the room for someone else. Malfoy no doubt. 

Speaking of Malfoy, I wonder if Fred and George ever did owl back about- 

“I’m happy Harry brought Luna. Much better than someone like Romilda Vane.” Hermione noted from next to him. 

Romilda Vane? Why did that sound so familiar? Sure, she and Dean went to the Yule Ball, but there was something else he couldn't quiet place. 

Ignoring his thoughts he shakes his head, “yeah.” he agrees, still working up the courage to ask her to dance. 

At his words, she offers a small smile, seemingly sensing his nerves. 

At the gesture, he melts. It feels like ages since he’s given her that look. He hasn’t seen it since before Lavender. 

Wait! Lavender? No. He’s here with Hermione. He hasn’t spoken to Lavender about more than homework, right?  

Thinking his flustered nature is causing all these barmy thoughts, Ron jumps to his feet and extends a hand, taking them both by surprise. 

“Would you like to dance?” He asked shakily, any confidence soon leaving. 

Her brown eyes softened, “I’d love to.” Her much smaller hand slipped into his large one as they walked to the dance floor. 

Tentatively, he pulls her to him, reveling in her body’s warmth. He cups her waist with one large hand, letting his long fingers skim the small of her back as he places his other one in hers. She responds adequately, placing one hand on his shoulder and responding in kind by grabbing his larger hand back. 

Ron isn’t sure if it's him or her who initiated it, not that he cares, but suddenly they're closer. Her body is flush against his as she places her head on his chest and he drops his own on top of hers. Resting his chin against the smooth brown curls. 

They sway like this for a while. Neither one said anything. Just enjoying being so close. 

“Come find me.” He hears Hermione whimper, breaking the silence. 

Instinctively, he jumps back a little, “what did you say?” Those words, they were so familiar. 

Hurt washed over her features, “I said, I’m having a nice time, but if-” she began sadly. 

“No!” He assured, confidently pulling her back into their former position. “I’m sorry, I thought you- I heard-” He sighed, “I’m having a really nice time too.”

At the proclamation she visibly eased in his arms, tension leaving her body as she burrowed closer. Instinctively he wrapped his arm tighter around her, peering mometraily over her head. 

For a second he thought he saw a witch donned in black robes with wild curly hair grinning right at them, unmistakably Bellatrix ruddy Lestrange. But when he blinked, she was gone. 

Merlin, what the hell was in that Butterbeer? 

“Oh look Harry, mistletoe.” Luna’s voice broke his thoughts. 

Quickly, his eyes found hers, needing to see the uncomfortable interaction that would ensure between his best mate and the Ravenclaw. However, upon further observation, the sprig wasn’t above them. Not at all. 

It was above him and Hermione. 

“My father says if you ignore the tradition of mistletoe then your crop of dirigible plums will be spoiled by spring.” The blonde told the pair. 

“We can’t have that.” Harry commented with a shit eating grin. 

“No I suppose we can’t…” He was shocked when he realized it was Hermione who had agreed. 

Apparently his look of surprise was evident on his face as she soon looked away, “but we don’t have to, it’s just some silly tradition. It’s not like-” she began to justify, embarrassed. 

“Hermione, there is nothing I’d like more than anything to fulfill this tradition with you.” He promised softly. 

She blinked, “Really?” 

He nodded, “like you said, we can’t be ruining the plums before winter.” 

“No I suppose-” 

Whatever she was about to say was cut off as a pair of smooth lips found themselves over hers. Though taken off guard, she soon eases into it, responding with just enough passion. 

“Mm.” He moans softly against her. 

At this she pulls away for air, pupils blown, lips swollen. 

When he opens his eyes to take her in, he soon realizes they’re no longer at Slughorn’s Christmas Party. 

Instead, his hand is clamped over her mouth as she trembles in fear under the old oak tree at the Burrow. 

Living this night many times, he refuses to let it take over, not again. Not this time. 

Blinking again, he's grateful to have some sort of control as he finds himself back where he needs to be. Her in her navy blue dress. Him in his robes. Under the mistletoe. 

Perfect. 

Knowing he couldn’t have much longer, he practically whimpers her name before diving in for another kiss, “Mione.” He grumbles. 

When she catches her breath a second time he can’t help but speak again, “It’s just you and me.” 

No Bellatrix. No Greyback. No Death Eaters. 

“You and me.” She confirms breathless, before leaning in for the third time. 

He can only utter one thing before his world goes dark again, “Ermyknee.”

… 

“He’ll be alright?” Harry asked for the umpteenth time since being allowed in, making Madame Pomfrey sigh in annoyance. 

“He’ll be fine. He needs his rest.” She fussed over his blankets before turning to face the dark haired boy, “did he hit his knee when he fell?” 

Potter thought about it, Ron fell on his bum. 

“No, why?” He said after a moment. 

“He keeps groaning about his knee.” She shrugs, “I”ll mix a pain potion just in case. I’ll be right back.” Madame Pomfrey says before rushing away. 

As she goes, Harry takes a moment to observe Ron. He looks so serene, so calm. It’s the first time in months. 

His face is usually screwed up as he yells in agony for them to take him instead of her. Night after night Ron begs to be killed so they won’t touch her. 

The weight of the fact he easily could’ve lost him becomes overbearing, too much. That along with losing Hermione, Harry thinks he’d just crumble. 

He feels a tear on his cheek before he knows it, as he moves his hand to wipe it away. 

He quickly removes it from his face when he hears a groan from the bed next to him. 

“Mm,” Ron grumbles, head swaying a bit. 

“Mione.” It’s barely audible, but Harry knows what he’s saying. 

“Ermyknee.” He groans again sleepily.

He can’t help the small smile that grazes his lips at Ron’s words, it must be a pleasant dream. 

And for whatever reason, at this very moment, Harry knows Ron really does love Hermione. 

However, he can’t revel in it for long, because soon enough, Neville comes barreling into the Hospital Wing, parchment clutched in his hand. 

The door benags loudly againstg the wall, causing Ron to stir slightly. 

“Neville! Keep it-” He doesn’t finish, Neville cuts him off. 

“They’re dead.”

[sasserenitysykingcollector]

Moon Child :Namjin: Chapter One

A/N hello! im going to start posting my fanfictions here! a lot of them were written a year or so ago so they are short and maybe a bit confusing! but im planning to start working on them! please stick around!

Chapter one:

Chapter word count: 1596

It was a rather cloudy day in central Seoul, the rising sun covered by a thin layer of grey clouds that foreshadowed rain. But for the students of the most prestigious college in the country, life continued on as normal. The clock tower rang out eight times, echoing off the many buildings that comprised the campus of Seoul National University. Slowly, the walkways and roads came to life. Students walking to breakfast with friends, teachers making their way to class to prepare for the day, and café workers opening the doors for the breakfast rush.

One café, in particular, was already full of customers, most of whom were women wanting to see the attractive co-owner of the establishment. Kim Seokjin, A fine arts and literature student at the university, often dreaded all the attention he received from the ogling guests. But he smiled and greeted each one the same, “Good morning miss, what may I make for you?” sometimes the customers would slide him a napkin with the money that had their name and phone number, to which he smiled politely and threw away once they walked away.

His male classmates called him the “Woman Magnet” to which he smiled, even though he knew he was the last person who should attract women. When he was fifteen, he had the biggest crush on his classmate Yoongi, it was a defining moment in his life. He had never felt any kind of attraction to women, sure some were cute, but he never thought about them as a potential partner. He wanted to tell his parents but could never bring himself to do it before he left for college. So whenever his mother calls asking about his love life, he always responds with “I’m in a committed relationship” and he never elaborates.

Luckily, his Fine arts class is mostly men, so he doesn’t have to worry about turning down women then, but it’s a double-edged sword. Some of the men in his class are attractive, and Seokjin often catches himself staring, mentally scolding himself every time. Being openly gay in Korea is risky, while there are no laws against it. The idea of loving the same-sex had only started to spread a few years ago. And Seokjin being a respected student at his college had decided to keep his sexual preference to himself.

The library became his safe place, specifically the mythological section. Mostly because no one ever goes there. But he had grown attached to the books and their contents. He liked to get lost in the worlds the books built for the reader. Sometimes, he would be there for hours at a time. Once he had to be told by the librarian that he had to leave because it was time to close.

His favorite book to read was called “Guardian of the moon children” it depicted a being who had no set species. It came in many forms, to young children it often appeared as a white or grey dog who guided them to eternal rest. When as for adults it appeared as a youthful young man who was described as having a deep but soft voice and soft skin. Not only did the being guide human souls to eternal rest, but it also was seen during the birth of someone who would do important things in their life. While Seokjin knew this was just fiction, he wanted it to be true.

At the end of his morning shift, Seokjin would head back to his apartment to shower and change his clothes. After which he would prepare a clean uniform for work and put it in his bag, before sitting at his desk for an hour to study before he had class. He only had four hours’ worth of classes a day, except for Fridays when he had six. So he always finished right before lunch. He would rush back to the café and change into his uniform before eating a quick snack. Normally, he would have ten to fifteen minutes to relax before the lunch rush began. Much like in the morning, women would stare and attempt to hit on Seokjin. It was something he never looked forward to. Part of him thought that if people knew why he worked three shifts a day, they would feel much differently about him. Seokjin had a loan to pay off, a hefty one at that. He had taken the loan out when he moved to attend the university. He had to pay for a place to sleep and the fees that were a result of schooling. At the rate he was making money, it would still be more than two years before he would have the loan completely paid off.

Something Seokjin s parents had told him since he was young was the reason he worked so hard, “if you do something, take responsibility. No matter how big or small the consequences are, never lie about something you did” those words were engraved on his mind, always haunting him, a reminder that the debt will never go away unless paid off. But he accepted it. After the lunch rush. He would make his way home. Working on the pile of homework he was assigned from the day’s classes. If he was able to finish before six, he would go to the library and read before his dinner shift. This was the way he lived.

//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\

“Morning Seokjin, did you have another late night?”

Seokjin bowed slightly out of habit to the café owner, Minseok. Quickly standing straight, Minseok had told Seokjin to treat him as a friend, meaning he should call him by his name and not treat him as he normally would someone older than him.

“Yah!” Minseok exclaimed in exasperation, “I told you not to bow!” Seokjin smiled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. Making his way behind the counter, Seokjin grabs his apron, tying in with ease. “Do you want me to open today?” he asked. “Go ahead” Minseok replied.

As usual, a line of people had already formed outside the door following Seokjin's arrival to the café. He smiled and waved politely before flipping the switch that then lit up a “yes! We are open!” sign.

As the line slowly shrunk and the smell of coffee and fresh pastries faded from the display that hosted an array of freshly baked goods, a deep voice greeted Seokjin

“Good morning sir” Seokjin squeaked out, surprised that he was able to keep his voice steady, albeit slightly higher pitched. “What can I get for you?”

“Ah, I’m new to this area but I saw the long line so I assumed it must be worth the wait, and I can assure you is was.” The man responded looking Seokjin over with his eyes, before meeting them directly.

Seokjin stared for longer than he probably should have, the man's eyes had stars in them, literal stars that floated and shone throughout his pupils, small specks that hypnotized him.

The clearing of a throat snapped him out of his trance, “s-sorry!” he apologize slightly louder than he needed to, causing a few heads to turn in his direction. “W-we are fairly well known for our crumble scones” he spoke nervously, gesturing to the half empty bake-case. “We have a f-few left”

“How perfect, I just so happen to love scones” the man replied running his fingers back through his hair. “And I’ll also have a (joon coffee) with that scone” Seokjin nodded and put the order into the register. Silently, Seokjin hoped the man would pay with his card so he could get his name.

“That will be 7100 Won please” When he looked up he spotted the exact amount in cash on the counter as the man tucked his wallet back into the inside pocket on his suit jacket. “Can I have a name for the order?” He asked. Even Though normally the café went off a number system he thought he would ask.

The man paused in thought “φεγγάρι” (Pronounced fen-gar-e) Seokjin jotted down the name, quickly realizing the name was the Greek word for Moon. He had taken Greek for his language the year before. Though, he never thought it would come in handy.

“You have a Greek name?” Jin asked as he sat the cup to his side and went to get the scone from the display case. “You know Greek?” the man asked. “Uh, y-yeah” Jin said shyly. His cheeks going red when he looked up only to realize that the eyes of the customer were glued onto his own.

“Oh!” Jin exclaimed as he stumbled and dropped the scone that slid on the floor.

Gasps filled the café as the man had caught Jin from falling, “w-wait how?? You were- now you're here?!” he spoke to himself as the man helped him stand up. “I'm going to have to cancel my order for now” he said as he walked towards the entrance, Jin stood in shock along with the other people in line.

Whispers continued throughout the day as Seokjin apologized and cleaned up the mess, he ended up dropping more drinks throughout the day as his mind was trying to deduce how the man made it to his side of the counter when the door to the back was locked, he couldn't remember if he saw the man jump the counter, but that would be impossible. Not a thing was out of place.

Seokjin had one thing in mind all day long, “where can I meet him again”

A/N: Hope you liked it! ill try and update regularly!

[i-watch-too-many-movies]

Favorite First Viewings of August 2020

The 5,000 Fingers of Dr. T (1953) (dir. Roy Rowland)

A bright, bold, surreal musical about a boy who wakes to find himself trapped in a bizarre dystopia where he and a bunch of other kids are forced to play the piano for a dictator. The set design is creative, the characters are weird, and Dr. Seuss’ script is delightful, showcasing humanity’s fear of tyranny post-World War II all while being as playful and childlike as it could be. 

All About Eve (1950) (dir. Joseph L. Mankiewickz)

“Fasten your seatbelts, it’s going to be a bumpy night.” Bette Davis is a pure movie star, and she owns it in All About Eve as Margo Channing, a Broadway actress trapped in a sexist industry that decides it’s done with its leading ladies when they turn 40, and forces them to compete with younger stars, like Eve Harrington. A hilarious, catty, and yet dark look at the entertainment world. 

Born in Flames (1983) (dir. Lizzie Borden)

An Afrofuturist film, a look at a future that shows that a revolution did happen, but morphed into neoliberalism. It successfully showcases the rage that Black queer women had felt, how they were ignored, and how they plan to revolt again for true equality. I love how the documentary-style filmmaking intersects news footage telling people how great everything is with the injustices of America, particularly that through bosses and police officers.

Elephant (2003) (dir. Gus van Sant)

A cold, minimalist film, one that’s about a school shooting in Portland, Oregon, based off of the tragic Columbine massacre. The violence and the shootings are not romanticized by any stretch of the imagination, as the kids are shown as the uncool, Nazi sympathizing dumbasses with guns that they are. I like to believe that the tracking shots on the kids who are eating lunch, walking from place to place, and developing photographs are Van Sant and cinematographer Harris Savdies’ tribute to the kids who lost their lives. 

Losing Ground (1982) (dir. Kathleen Collins)

Kathleen Collins’ semi-autobiographical film, one that shows the struggles that people can go through anytime they date self-important male artists. How they are not treated with respect and are seen as getting in the way of the man’s art, and when they manage to get away from that toxic environment, they become happier. The costume design and color palettes are to die for. 

Millennium Actress (2001) (dir. Satoshi Kon)

Another film to add to my favorite genre, “Falling in love in a short amount of time.” Gorgeously animated, and full of ache and longing. It perfectly showcases that quest to feel that same brief moment of bliss and love that you felt as a young person. The work you put into your art stems from the desire to be loved again, as well as from the heartbreak you experienced. Much like Kon’s previous film Perfect Blue, the lines between reality and fantasy are blurred, but the emotion that is felt is the viewer’s guide to understanding where Chiyoko is in her life.

Night Moves (2013) (dir. Kelly Reichardt) 

What starts as a thriller about three environmentalists and their plan to blow up a dam turns into a crushing study about the nature of guilt and how it affects the human body and mind. One of Jesse Eisenberg’s best performances, as he perfectly plays a character who tries to remain calm and collected yet constantly lets his own negative emotions and dark impulses get the best of him, and Reichardt’s direction and Christopher Brauvelt’s cinematography showcases a lonely, cold world for the characters of Josh and Dena. 

Rafiki (2018) (dir. Wanuri Kahu)

A sweet, lovely Kenyan romance between two women, and much like Gus van Sant’s My Own Private Idaho, it deals with the choice of being able to truly express yourself and conforming in a town that hates you but you must conform to in order to survive comfortably. The colors and lighting pop, and the last conversation between Kena and Ziwi is just beyond heartbreaking.

Safety Last! (1923) (dir. Sam Taylor & Fred C. Newmeyer)

An iconic silent comedy, with Harold Lloyd’s innocent charm and cute glasses and hat making him one of the greatest figures of classic Hollywood. Best remembered for its climb up the clock tower, which is still one of the most thrilling moments in film history.

Sherlock Jr. (1924) (dir. Buster Keaton)

Another silent classic, with Buster Keaton arguably being the greatest stuntman of all time. Silent films are some of the greatest uses of the visual medium, as Keaton’s timing as a comic actor is pitch-perfect, and his direction allows him to perfectly sync up his stunts to the score. I love how heroic he tries to be in this one, imagining himself as the world’s greatest detective so he can finally impress the woman he loves and clear his name. 

Shirley (2020) (dir. Josephine Decker)

One of my favorite films of the year so far. A surreal, swampy, sweaty look into the life of Shirley Jackson as seen through two friends of hers that move into her house. I love the way it explores mental illness and isolation. Even though Jackson was a writer worth taking seriously, her husband’s need to control her and her colleagues’ way of shutting her out because her depression is too much for them to handle is heartbreaking. Shirley and her roommate Rose’s relationship is complex and showcases a mutual bond born out of their frustration with their spouses. 

Sun Don’t Shine (2012) (dir. Amy Seimetz)

There are no logos or opening titles in Sun Don’t Shine, the film puts you immediately in the violent and worst parts of Crystal and Leo's relationship. Seimetz's direction and use of close-ups on Crystal and Leo's face show an abusive relationship you can't look away from. And yet, those same close-ups show an intimacy that is there, showing how Crystal can fall for Leo's abuse, as his face is full of faux innocence and false love. Now that we know what a garbage human being ex-partner Shane Carruth turned out to be, this movie only becomes scarier as a result. A strong feature debut from director Amy Seimetz, I'm even more excited for She Dies Tomorrow. 

Synecdoche, New York (2008) (dir. Charlie Kaufman)

A film about a crushing loneliness that follows theater director Caden Cotard. He can’t maintain a loving relationship with his wife, his daughter, or even close friends because all he can think about how he can use these moments shared with them in his art. If we ever met Caden, we could see him as an asshole, but Philip Seymour Hoffman brings such tenderness and vulnerability to this character, making it one of his greatest performances. A surreal, saddening film, with a final shot and line that will be burned into my brain forever,

Totally Fucked Up (1993) (dir. Gregg Araki)

Gregg Araki’s follow-up to The Living End shows a group of disillusioned gay teenagers, their loneliness and sadness. A beautiful lo-fi aesthetic and a script that perfectly captures the real-life angst these Gen X queer teens had went through, as well as the violence and hatred that was inflicted upon them. One of the saddest endings I can remember. 

[age-of-shadows]

yet another Avantasia theory by yours truly on how all the albums are connected

*ahem* OKAY, fellow avantasian brothers, sisters, siblings... We’re all reunited here in this post because I had a big brain moment about a couple of hours ago and somehow managed to connect all of the Avantasia albums as well as uncover what the actual Avantasia world is apart from Tobi’s definition of it.

This post is probably going to be really long and I already would like to apologise if there’s anything you don’t understand because I didn’t phrase it right (english ain’t my first language so... there might be a lot of mistakes), plus, I’m not Tobias so I can be completely wrong about this but HEY, THEORIES. I don’t even know if anyone’s even thought about this but I’ve literlaly never read about it and trust me, I’ve done a lot of Avantasia research in this year. And I’m aware it’s very, VERY hard to get the album plots right (man... I’ve spent months trying to figure out The Wicked Trilogy and Mystery of Time/Ghostlights, and even if I now think I have a clearer idea of what they’re about, whenever I listen to them I discover new things about them); but I do know reading other theories help people understand the lore and I hope this helps in some way.

Here we go: what is Avantasia? Apart from it obviously being the name of the project, Tobias describes it as a “world beyond human imagination”. At first, this definition is actually very clear and direct, isn’t it? Specially in The Metal Opera since all the story is well written down, and besides, the lyrics are clearer. Anyway, I have just finished reading the story from the booklets (I have to look up the one from part one because I only own part two for now... whoops) and I can do a summary of it: 

"Many ways lead to Rome. Seven times one way for all that leads to a world beyond our inagination."

This is said in one of the seven books that is part of the seven books and seven seals. What are these seals and books even? Well, if you’re only able to listen to the music and don’t have access to the booklets like I did just now, you for sure have noticed the seals do have a big part in the plot. These seven seals were made to be able to enter the spiritual world in flesh and blood. And yes, you guessed it: the spiritual world is Avantasia. They were made by three magicians of the universe thousands of years ago because they knew mankind would be born and they would need this spiritual world for themselves to find peace, and they should also take care of it.

Now: the famous Avantasia Tower, what even is it? Well, some higher entity that can be concieved as a God, maybe not much of a good one, though, is sealed in this Tower. If the seven seals were brought to the Tower, Avantasia would be locked and this God would break free, bringing chaos to mankind. And what would happen if Avantasia is locked? Humans would lose this spiritual world, and when things get tough, they wouldn’t be able to turn anywhere to save themselves, and who knows if that would lead to their destruction.

So, Avantasia has to be kept alive and passed on to the newer generations. 

Also, one is also able to reach Avantasia with their spirit only (this is what Gabriel does), but it’s dangerous since it’s as if their soul trascends and so their body is left in our flesh and blood world. Could this also mean that, if a soul dies in Avantasia, it will never return to its material body? Who knows? Definitely not me, but anyway! Let’s keep going!

Now that we know what Avantasia is, how is it connected to the other three stories if it’s never really mentioned at all? How could we know? Again, this is just a theory and I’m probably wrong.

Let’s go into The Wicked Trilogy then, which is probably the most abstract album and also the hardest to understand, maybe. I already talked about my headcanons about Scarecrow in a post, but I definitely think he’s got some sort of mental illness and that’s why he does the things he does. Anyway... the setting is kind of confusing, but to get a clear starting point: Roy Khan’s character is named Psychiatrist, and he’s the first one that appears in the album along with Scarecrow. There’s a theory going around that this story happens in a hospital, or maybe a psychiatric, so we can guess Scarecrow is hospitalised because of this illness. However... does the rest of the story happen in the hospital physically? This is when Avantasia comes in:

I don’t believe Scarecrow’s journey takes place in the hospital... but in Avantasia. Taking into account almost all of the characters are his own feelings or just parts of him (aka, Bob Catley being Conscience, Jorn Lande being Mephistopheles as a form of temptation...) except for Amanda Somerville’s character, who definitely exists in real life as Scarecrow’s real love interest; it makes a lot of sense. But, oh, how can that world be Avantasia if none of the elements described in The Metal Opera aren’t there? Well, I won’t write the conclusion just yet, but the Avantasia world in The Wicked Trilogy really looks like how we can perceive Scarecrow himself: empty, cold, fucked up... Can you see where this is going?

And now, getting into The Mystery of Time and Ghostlights, there is a very, VERY clear reference to the Avantasia world we see in The Metal Opera, in Savior in the Clockwork. Our protagonist Aaron Blackwell is working non stop in a mantlepiece clock whose hands don’t move for some reason, he overworks himself to the point he loses conscience... or as he says in the booklet notes, he loses the conscience “he had been used to”; in anyway, he passes out on the table. This is kind of similar to how Gabriel gets into Avantasia, isn’t it? Plus, the lyrics of this song are very, very interesting...

“Now am I half asleep or half unconscious, Half 'adream'? I can't move as I am stuck in bright lucidity I can feel and hear and see But I won't comprehend I see fire that I won't decipher I see giant evil tower to a blackened sky I feel blessed with evidence of what I can't define Swinging blade of the lowering perpendicular I see clarity I won't remember Do I dream Is it only fantasy and matter just a thought I see And time is all they need to seal away eternity”

“Giant evil tower”, “seal away eternity”... Yes, that is definitely Avantasia, a version that’s more close to the The Metal Opera’s Avantasia than the one in The Wicked Trilogy. Aaron accidentally gets into Avantasia... the real Avantasia... and this, my friends, is why the Scientists and Magician go to Aaron and ask him for help: they somehow know he has seen the real thing.

This mystery of time... it has something to do with Avantasia, this is why they’re keeping it as a secret, just like the three clerics in The Metal Opera.

Now... Ghostlights, which is more symbolic than this previous album... and I think you can now guess why: it mainly takes part in Avantasia, during Let The Storm Descend Upon you is when it happens, precisely. I have no idea if the Mystery of a Blood Red Rose video can serve as a clue, but Aaron falls unconscious in the end so... perhaps he entered the Avantasia world in the spiritual form, however... that’s not the same Avantasia world he had been to previously, this is more like Scarecrow’s Avantasia in a way.

In this Avantasia world, it’s where Aaron finds these Ghostlights, as well as some of his Scientists mates, did they get in all together? Perhaps it was the Magician who let them into this sort of spiritual world. This whole album really does seem to happen in another dimension, I already talked about the final tracks in my Aaron-Entity theory post, but they make it seem as if Aaron trascends to another plane completely. And the voices calling Aaron? Very much similar to Gabriel’s inner voices in The Metal Opera.

Last but not least, my favorite: Moonglow. We’ve got this Misplaced Entity, who’s thrown into a world they have no place in. They seek shelter in the night, the only place they’re comfortable in, until, when we reach the time the album is set in, they run to never come back to that one place, hiding from the dawn.

Now... How does Entity enter Avantasia? Easy: They enter in Ghost in the Moon, pretty quickly I must say. Let’s say... the glow of the moon is they gateway to Avantasia. Realized how they start talking about turning into a different being? That happens when you enter the spiritual world through your actual spirit, just like what happened to Gabriel (his appearance changes to fit the world). All the night, mysterious, eerie world in Moonglow is Avantasia.

I think all of this is enough to reach a conclusion:

There’s not only one Avantasia... there’s thousands, millions, even. Though, there is one real Avantasia, which is the core: that’s the Avantasia that appears in The Metal Opera, and the one Aaron sees when he passes out. Then, what are the other Avantasias? Easy: the connection each human has to the core, which means each human has a unique way of experiencing that connection; that is how the core of Avantasia is kept alive, even without letting every human into this core (let’s remember, it could be dangerous if the core of Avantasia was locked by humans).

This way, we can deduce how each of the protagonists experiences Avantasia: Gabriel goes to the core; Scarecrow and Entity experience Avantasia as a gateaway from their real, tormented lives and try to find happiness there instead of in the flesh and blood world; Aaron gets into the core by accident but, later on in Ghostlights, he explores his own connection, related to his thirst for knowledge... Remember?

"Many ways lead to Rome. Seven times one way for all that leads to a world beyond our inagination."

I think this is it for now... It is now 1am and trust me, I’ve tried my best to explain myself, so I hope you can understand this!

[deadmandairyland]

I’m watching reviews of the Resident Evil 3 remake. From what I’ve seen so far, general consensus seems to be that it’s good, but not as good as the RE2 remake, and probably not worth buying at full price. One common criticism was that they left out a bunch of stuff the original had. From what I heard, they pretty much cut out puzzles from the game (and to be fair it’s kinda silly that an entire city would require solving the soup cans to get through), which I think might be the reason why iconic locations like the clock tower were cut. But that’s still a shame because while I haven’t played the game myself yet I cannot imagine this game without the clock tower. But I’ll reserve my judgment for when I play the game myself, which I probably will eventually, if only because I have a big collection of RE games on my PS4 that is distinctively missing a 3 and it’s bugging the hell out of me.

But since I’ve already seen comments about this remake possibly being a step backward compared to the RE2 remake, I feel like now is a good time to make a post that I wanted to make for a while but didn’t really have the motivation to make until now. Because while I wasn’t as hyped about an RE3 remake as everyone else was, I couldn’t deny that I wanted it to happen... because then it would mean that there might even be a Code: Veronica remake, which was an idea I was actually more excited for.

Though I do love RE3, Code: Veronica holds a special place in my heart. It is what first got me interested in the horror genre as a whole. At the time I was--and, let’s face it, I still am--a bit squeamish, so horror didn’t really interest me until I--not even joking--looked up the IMDB page of one of the voice actors from a cartoon I was into at the time and found out he had a role in a Resident Evil game, and I looked up clips from it, and I saw this cutscene and I was like “Wow, I really like this.” ...And no, not because of the naked woman, I promise you.

But enough about all that. This post is already getting long and I haven’t even gotten to what this post is about: I want to share what I would like to see in a Code: Veronica remake.

(I’ll try to keep this brief)

First off, one thing that the RE2 remake was highly praised for was how streamlined everything was. The layout of the police station made a bit more logical sense (adding stairs in the main hall helped) and placement of items was done in such a way that backtracking didn’t feel like as much of a chore. I feel like this last bit is especially important because if there’s one thing Code: Veronica is criticized for, it’s how ridiculous the backtracking is... and I have to agree. Now, granted, I do like some of the ideas CV threw around--the metal detector and the optional stuff like running back to the solitary cell to give Rodrigo medicine come to mind--but there were times where the mandatory backtracking got in the way of the story being told and I think that’s the main reason why I want to see a remake of this game.

Because think about it. In the first RE game, what is everything leading up to? What do all the files and backstory of the game lead you toward? The laboratory under the mansion, right? Same with RE2: everything in the game leads up to the laboratory. Now to be fair these are endgame areas, so backtracking out of them would be kinda silly anyway, but I’m not bringing them up because they’re endgame areas. These locations are built up to through the plot and the files you find throughout the game. Imagine if after you reached the laboratory in RE1, you found a key that you needed to unlock a door all the way back in the guardhouse, and you had to do all sorts of other shit before you could finish the laboratory. Even if it wasn’t the final area of the game, having to backtrack out of it when there’s so much build up for it would ruin the flow of the game, right? So let it be clear that this is not an endgame issue, but rather a story flow issue:

Once you reach the private residence, you should never have to backtrack to another location on Rockfort Island.

Now, granted, the developers had enough foresight to realize that once you reach a certain area in the Ashfords’ mansion and hear this song, you are no longer required to go anywhere else on the island until it’s about to explode, because they knew that going back to bumfuck elsewhere at this point would have really killed the downward spiral Claire has become unfortunate enough to get caught up in. However, I feel like they didn’t go far enough with it. I personally feel that as soon as you walk through the front doors and hear THIS song, you should never have to go back to the prison or unlock anymore rooms in the palace! That should all be over and done with by this point! Because like the laboratories in previous games, every file, every cutscene, every fucked up thing you see in the prison, literally everything up until that point in the game is building up to this fucking house and the secrets within. It should be a point of no return up until the place starts to fucking explode.

Second, either make Chris’s segment of the game shorter or give him someone to interact with. That’s the unfortunate thing about Chris’s portion of Code: Veronica. Say what you will about Steve and Alfred, but at least Claire is interacting with them regularly throughout her portion of the game. Cutscenes can do wonders with breaking up monotony; without them, the game’s basically just all fetch quests. Honestly, while I do think it’s a shame that Chris only got one chapter in Darkside Chronicles, I understand why he was only give the one chapter: the meat of the story happens in Claire’s segment of the game. That being said, I do hope they would consider going with the second option before the first. There are characters Chris interacts with in the game; he just doesn’t interact with them enough. Wesker is more of a behind-the-scenes villain than Alfred, and Alexia sadly doesn’t really do much. Giving both villains more to do would greatly enhance Chris’s part of the story.

Now that the gameplay stuff is out of the way, it’s time to address the elephant in the room: Alfred. Honestly, I have no idea how they would portray Alfred in today’s political climate. I don’t really want them to hold back with him, because he’s basically a walking homage to classic horror villain tropes and he has the potential to be a very serious and dangerous villain, but I get the feeling that no matter what Capcom decides to do with him, either they’ll get a lot of backlash for transphobia or making the mentally ill look like Hitler, or they’ll get a lot of backlash for pandering to SJWs and making light of prison camps by pulling back their punches with the original Korekiyo Shinguji. I don’t know, maybe I’m overthinking things, but I’ve been on Tumblr for a long time and I’ve seen some crazy shit on here (and Twitter... and YouTube... and 4chan... especially 4chan) over the years, so I can see literally any of these scenarios happening. Personally, though, I do hope their portrayal of him (including how the other characters view him) is closer to the Darkside Chronicles version than the Code: Veronica version, if only because I’d rather the protagonists feel bad for him than be like “Man, I know you’ve murdered a ton of people and might have a thing for your sister, but God forbid you crossdress, I mean that shit’s just fucking weird.” Yeah, that was pretty bad, not gonna lie.

Well, so much for keeping it brief. But that’s basically all I can think of off the top of my head for what I would like to see in a Code: Veronica remake. That and being able to see Rockfort Island in all its fucked up glory in fabulous HD and with a free camera, that’s be sweet.

[lets-talk-appella]

It’s Legal in Munich

Chapter 2

Summary: Lonely in Munich, Germany, Chloe hires an escort to pass the night. AU in which Chloe quit the Bellas before Beca’s freshman year, so they didn’t meet at Barden.

Word Count: 7k

Rating: T

Chapter 1

AO3 and FFN

Beca’s never done this before.

She isn’t usually the kind of person who would do this.

Still, Chloe is the only client she’s had who has ever shown an interest in more than just her body. And maybe it’s crazy, whatever it is that’s happening, because she probably runs a better chance of getting robbed by this girl than actually forming a relationship of any kind.

Because who hires an escort to... just talk? Who even does that?

Apparently, Chloe does. Apparently, Chloe would rather pay for a game of 20 Questions than pay for sex. Which, Beca hadn’t accepted the money, so technically she hadn’t paid, but she’d been willing to. That has to be some kind of sign of mental illness, right? Or at least, chronic loneliness.

And yet, Beca finds herself standing outside the same hotel room door she’d knocked on two nights previously.

Chloe had been nothing but friendly, kind, and sincere. She loves music. And—a little miraculously—it doesn’t seem to bother her that Beca works as an escort. That’s a nice change. Beca can’t remember the last time a client had seen her as her own person.

It’s weird. Beca’s kind of waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Beca takes a deep breath, unused to the butterflies she feels in her stomach, and raises a fist to knock on the door. She’d texted Chloe that she’d be there at seven, and doesn’t want to be late, even if she’s nervous.

The sound of her knock barely fades before the door swings open to reveal Chloe, the smile already growing on her face as she stands there in a simple but nice blue patterned dress and heels. A ripple of surprise runs through Beca, and she realizes that she’d half-expected Chloe to not be there anymore.

“Hi Bec!” Chloe chirps immediately, the new nickname falling from her lips with familiarity.

“Hey,” Beca replies. “You look great!”

She’s not just saying that because that’s what you’re supposed to say on a date. Chloe really does look stunning, but it’s more than just what she’s wearing. Beca realizes that there’s something different about the way Chloe’s holding herself tonight compared to when they’d first met. This version of Chloe is more confident and comfortable. This version of Chloe is probably how she is most of the time.

She’s insanely attractive.

“So do you,” smiles Chloe, her eyes roving down over Beca’s frame, taking in her choice of dark jeans and simple top under her leather jacket.

“Thanks,” Beca mutters, lifting a hand to rub at the back of her neck carefully. She’d never been the best at accepting compliments.

“So…” Chloe starts, her lips curling up. “Should I start by inviting you in, or...?”

Beca’s shoulders relax as she grins. “Nah, I was thinking that this time we could go out.”

“Ooh, where to?” Chloe asks, plucking her purse up from the floor and stepping into the hallway, pulling the door closed behind her and giving it a push to test the lock.

“You’ll see. Just a place I’ve started to like around here.” Beca hopes she sounds coy instead of weird or vague, and Chloe shrugs.

“I trust you,” she smiles.

“Alright then,” Beca gestures for Chloe to walk ahead of her. “After you.”

Instead of starting down the hallway, however, Chloe’s eyes flick down and she reaches forward to link her fingers with Beca’s. Surprise rises in Beca’s chest, but she returns the grip; Chloe’s hand feels nice in her own.

They start down the hallway toward the elevator. Chloe’s room is only on the fourth floor, but Beca isn’t about to make her walk down the stairs in heels. “So, how was your night?” she asks as they walk. “Hire anyone else to talk to you for a few hours?”

“Yeah, actually, she’s gonna be joining us tonight. Hope that’s okay?”

Beca glances over sharply, opening her mouth to say—something. Probably.

Before she can, though, Chloe laughs gently and squeezes her hand. “I’m kidding. All I did last night was wander around the neighborhood and hit up a couple museums.”

“Right. Anything you like?”

“Eh, I guess. Like yeah, there’s a lot here, but I prefer having some company.”

Chloe says it so matter-of-factly that it makes Beca’s chest twinge. It’s probably inappropriate and definitely too soon, but she realizes that she wants to be there for Chloe if she needs someone to spend time with.

They reach the elevator and Beca presses the call button. The doors open, and they step inside the brightly lit elevator. As the doors slide closed, she has to fight back the image—memory, really—of pressing a client (she doesn’t even remember the woman’s name) to the wall of that same elevator weeks before. She drags her mind back to the present, listening to the bland elevator Muzak as they descend. The elevator dings and they step out into the lobby, making their way around small groups of people either mingling or checking in.

As soon as they’re out of the hotel, Beca veers to the left, headed for the nearest underground station.

“You’ve used the S-Bahn?” she checks with Chloe, making sure she has her underground station pass.

“Totes,” Chloe nods, and then asks as they start down the stairs to the station, “And how was your night? You had a client, right?”

Beca almost misses the last step but manages to catch herself at the last second. Chloe doesn’t seem annoyed or defensive; nothing in her expression sets off any alarm bells.

“I… did, yeah,” Beca acknowledges a little absently as she leads Chloe down another level to the correct platform, their hands still joined.

“What was she like?”

“Oh, um. I’m not really supposed to talk about it. Client privilege and all.”

“Right, sorry,” Chloe apologizes.

Which only makes Beca feel like an idiot because what she’d said hadn’t been entirely true. While she definitely isn’t allowed to give the names of her clients, she can still describe the encounters or try to make some sort of joke out of it.

But until she’s positive Chloe is completely comfortable with her job, talking about her previous night’s experience doesn’t seem like the best idea for date conversation.

“No, it’s okay,” she says, not wanting Chloe to feel bad. “I get being curious.”

“Well, either way,” smiles Chloe, “I’m glad we could make tonight work.”

Beca nods. “Me too. And, uh, we should catch this S2,” she adds, gesturing to the approaching train. It clatters toward them loudly, brakes screeching as it slows and finally stops. The doors slide open with the now-familiar whoosh—thud combination that promises access to all corners of Munich. They step on board along with most of the other people on the platform and find standing room only in their section.

“Wish we had these in the U.S.,” Chloe muses out loud as they find a corner and grasp onto the handholds, the doors sliding closed.

“No kidding,” mutters Beca as the train begins to move. “They’re nice. Usually.”

Their car is crowded and the noise of it on the tracks is enough that they’d have to shout to one another to be heard, so they can’t talk much for the rest of the ride. Instead, Beca finds herself both attempting to calm her residual nerves and trying not to stare too openly at a man across the aisle who is picking his nose with great interest, apparently not caring about the disgusted reactions of the people around him.

Thankfully, the ride is short, and they’re at Beca’s chosen destination in only a few stops. She tightens her grip on Chloe’s hand—Chloe only squeezes back—and they exit the train. Chloe looks around, surprise and recognition filling her expression.

“You’ve been here already?” Beca asks, watching the way Chloe’s eyes flick around the station as they walk toward the exit.

“I think… yeah, I stopped here once, but I’m really happy to be back,” Chloe promises. “Marienplatz, right?”

“Yep,” confirms Beca, and they start up the escalator to the street level. “I don’t know, I think it’s a pretty cool place, lots to do, lots to eat.”

“And it’ll be my treat,” Chloe is quick to add as they reach the street.

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to. Besides, I think I owe you some money from the other night.”

Beca shrugs uncomfortably, unused to someone taking care of her like this. “I—if you’re sure. Thanks.”

“Woah,” Chloe breathes, dropping Beca’s hand, and Beca glances over to see her staring around them with wide eyes.

They’d walked up from the station, which had deposited them directly into the center of Marienplatz. It’s a central, old city square; the Glockenspiel clock tower is on their left, cutting across the skyline and filling the view. Countless stores and restaurants line the other sides of the square, broken only by alleys and pathways deeper into the city. A street performer belts out covers of pop songs in operatic style near one of the main square fountains as people watch on, some dropping coins into the case in front of her. The square is crowded, but Beca has seen it much busier during times the Glockenspiel chimes and goes off. Because it’s nearing darkness, lamps and lights have begun turning on, illuminating the area in a soft glow.

“What do you think?” she asks, hearing the smile in her own voice.

“Beca, this is… it’s so cool!” Chloe nearly squeals it, tearing her eyes from the performer to look back at Beca. “You must come here all the time. I mean, I was here before, but it was during the day and there wasn’t all this…” Chloe trails off, waving her arm in a grand gesture over the area.

“Yeah, it’s nice,” Beca agrees, pointing toward the clock tower. “We can climb up it, if you want, after dinner.”

“No way.”

“Mhm. It’s got a great view of the city.”

“Is it open that late?” Chloe asks, craning her neck to stare up it.

“Not usually,” Beca shakes her head. “But I made a call and explained, so we have special permission.”

“Just like that?” Chloe stares.

“I mean,” Beca shifts her weight, “my job kinda… the company is pretty influential.”

“That’s awesome,” breathes Chloe, looking impressed.

“It’s a perk,” Beca nods. “Um, should we keep going to the restaurant, then?”

Chloe steps closer, slipping her hand into Beca’s once again. “Definitely.”

With that, Beca leads Chloe to one of the main alleys away from the square, weaving around tourists and locals alike. They pass several bakeries and other restaurants, whose delicious smells waft out and threaten to ensnare Beca, but she knows their eventual destination will be even better. She takes Chloe past a bronze statue of a woman with one breast left gold and shiny from tourists’ hands, past an outdoor market, and by a large church, in front of which sits a performer playing an accordion. There, Beca’s is dragged to a stop by a sudden pressure on her hand.

“Wait,” Chloe says softly. “Is he—are they playing… headless?”

Beca spins on the spot to search out the accordion player; sure enough, the performer sits, his or her head hidden completely away in their oversized costume, with a curved sort of hook holding up their hat over the “invisible” head space.

“Hmm. Look at that,” Beca replies. “I guess they are.”

The look Chloe sends her is one of surprised delight, her lips lifted at the corners and eyebrows raised; they watch they performer for a moment, watch as kids approach with coins and the performer half bows with each tip, the accordion never stopping.

“So, I have a rule,” Chloe starts, “that if a street performer makes me stop walking, I have to give some change.”

“Good rule,” Beca says approvingly, and digs in her pants pocket for a few Euros of her own. “Wanna give them this, too, please?”

Chloe nods and lets go of Beca’s hand to take the coins. She fishes out some coins of her own and makes her way over to the performer, placing the coins in the basket on the ground in front of them. She smiles sincerely at the place where the head should be, and the performer bends in their chair, bowing to her. Beca feels her own lips lift into a smile at the sight.

“What?” Chloe asks her when she returns, rejoining their hands.

“Nothing,” Beca replies, lifting a single shoulder casually. “That was just cute.”

Chloe purses her lips as if trying not to laugh, but she doesn’t comment and they continue on their way to the restaurant Beca had chosen. She waves down alleys, past various restaurants and bars and souvenir shops, until their destination is in sight. And in clear earshot.

“The... Hofbräuhaus?” Chloe asks, either recognizing the famous tourist trap or reading the curving letters on the building.

“Actually,” Beca starts, “if it’s okay with you, I thought we’d go somewhere quieter and less touristy. And I know the owners and, trust me, the food is better.”

“That sounds good. I don’t want to shout at you to be heard,” Chloe grins, and Beca knows she’d made the right decision. So instead of the loud, exuberant, and somewhat aromatic Hofbräuhaus, Beca crosses the street and shows Chloe into a much smaller, quieter, and far better-smelling biergarten restaurant. The second they walk in, the man behind the bar recognizes Beca and waves in greeting.

Chloe shoots her a look, a single eyebrow raised.

“What?” Beca asks, a little self-conscious.

“Nothing,” Chloe grins teasingly. “That was just cute.”

Beca snorts and rolls her eyes, ignoring the warmth creeping up her neck. She spots a table quickly and they sit down, Beca signaling to the waitress, who smiles.

“You know what you want to drink?” Beca asks Chloe as the waitress approaches.

“Of course,” says Chloe, and after greeting the waitress, immediately orders a wheat beer.

Beca orders the same, and the waitress moves to the bar, leaving behind dinner menus for them to examine.

“When in Germany, right?” Chloe asks, her eyes flicking to where the waitress is collecting their beers.

“Right,” Beca agrees, then leans forward. “You know, don’t tell anyone, but I really prefer wine.”

Chloe looks scandalized. “No!”

“I know, I know.”

“I don’t think this date can continue,” Chloe says with fake seriousness, her eyes sparkling and giving her away. “Not liking beer while in Germany…”

“I am a disappointment, so I’d understand.”

“Pretty far from a disappointment so far, Bec,” Chloe winks, and then says, “You could probably order some. Wine, that is.”

“Nah, that’s okay. Beer is fine, and like you said, when in Germany…”

With perfect timing, their waitress reappears with two large, foamy beers in hand. “Are you ready?” she asks with only a slight accent, gesturing to the menus in front of them.

“Oh, um—”

“Can I choose for us?” Beca asks Chloe. “I think I have a good idea.”

Chloe nods quickly. “Yeah, go for it.”

“Um, so…” Beca turns to the waitress, and says in her best (and still rather broken) German, “Wir möchten den... Probenteller und zwei… um, Käse, bitte.”

The waitress’ eyebrows draw together slightly, but she says “Danke,” and moves to the kitchen to place the order.

As soon as she’s gone, Chloe leans forward, her expression partly impressed, partly amused. “What did you order?”

Beca shifts in her chair. “Well, I think it was the sampler platter, because that’s good and we can easily share. And I asked for some Black Forest Cake, too, I think, but I’m not sure that one went through.”

Chloe’s lips twitch. “I guess we’ll find out.”

“Yeah, I…” Beca trails off, glancing in the direction the waitress had disappeared. “Maybe I should find her and order again in English, just in case.”

“Nah, it’ll be okay,” Chloe says with a wave of her hand. “Part of the adventure, right? Plus, watching you order like that was kinda hot.”

“Really?”

“Well… you made a lot of kind of angry noises, but it was cool,” Chloe grins, making Beca roll her eyes.

“Thanks,” she replies as dryly as she can manage. “That’s German.”

It only makes Chloe’s smile widen. “Do you always try to speak the language when you visit a country?” she asks, taking a sip of her beer. It leaves behind a foam mustache on her upper lip, one that Beca has to resist the impulse to reach forward and wipe off with her own thumb.

“Um, I guess, yeah,” she says as Chloe dabs her lip with a napkin, removing the foam. “People seem to appreciate it.”

Chloe leans forward, resting her elbows on the table and propping her chin on her joined fists. “Where else have you been?”

Beca starts to reply, only for a huge wooden block covered in food to appear in her line of vision; their waitress had returned without her noticing. “The sample platter,” the waitress says simply, then also sets down two large blocks of dense-looking cheese. “And the… cheese.”

Beca blinks. “The… cheese.”

“Yes.”

“Okay, thanks!” Chloe chirps happily, and the waitress turns away to help other customers.

Beca leans forward. “Cheese?”

Chloe has already started examining the sampler block. “Yes.”

“Chloe. I ordered cheese instead of chocolate cake.”

“Yes.”

“Cheese!”

“You’re awfully hung up on that,” Chloe states, starting to transfer some of the food from the wooden block onto a separate plate for herself.

“My German isn’t as good as I thought,” Beca mumbles as she also starts on the sample plate. She chose it for the variety; traditional meats, deli slices, sausages, cheeses, a pretzel, and different breads. There’s more than enough, especially considering the chunk of cheese they were both given as well.

“You mean your German isn’t as gouda as you thought?” Chloe asks without missing a beat. She looks up, her expression blank.

“Oh my god,” Beca groans, partially covering her face with her hands as Chloe’s impassive mask breaks into giggles at her own pun. “That was… horrible.”

“Thanks,” Chloe beams, then tries some of the sausage. “Oh wow, this is good.”

Beca nods, reaching for some of the pretzel. “That’s the thing about Europe—everything tastes so much better here.”

Chloe covers her mouth with her hand as she speaks. “God, I know. I just want to eat everything. And, okay, you were about to tell me where else you’ve been?”

“Oh, right,” says Beca, leaning back in her chair slightly. “Um, well, I went to New Zealand, then Sydney, then Rome, Barcelona, Prague, and now I’m here.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah, um. I’ve been here the longest for sure, everywhere else was like a week or two. I started running low on money fast and needed a job, and, well.” Beca rubs her back of her hand over the end of her nose absently. “After this, I’m not sure. Maybe Poland, maybe Ireland.”

Chloe glances down at her plate. “How much longer do you think you’ll be here?”

“I… haven’t really thought about it,” Beca says slowly, an unexpected heaviness settling into her stomach at that. She shifts uneasily, then asks, “How long do you plan on staying?”

Chloe grimaces. “Um, not—not too long. I don’t really have a set schedule, but, um, I was only thinking another two weeks or so. Maybe less.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Beca stares down at her food without really seeing it. She wonders anew if this is crazy, going on dates like this with a stranger. She’s seized with the urge to get up and leave the restaurant, to never look back or contact Chloe again. It would be a lot easier than… whatever it is they’re doing. Beca doesn’t know how this is going to end, doesn’t know when she’s going to leave, doesn’t know if she’s ever going to see Chloe again after these few weeks.

She does know that she can’t stand missing people. It takes too much out of her.

She glances at the door, mentally counting the number of steps it would take to reach it.

“Beca.”

Chloe’s voice is soft and cautious. It reminds Beca of the other night, how Chloe had seemed to sense her thoughts and had put her worries at ease.

“Bec, it’s okay. It’ll… we can figure that out later. We still barely know each other,” Chloe says. “I mean, I could turn out to be a serial killer, luring young, beautiful women to their untimely demises.”

Almost against her will, Beca’s muscles relax and she sits back. “Are you a serial killer? Do I need my official BU rape whistle?”

For some reason, the question seems to delight Chloe. “Oh, you got one of those, too? I thought they’d stopped handing them out after people’s parents complained.”

“Nope, I got one. I think it’s somewhere in a landfill, though.”

Chloe’s expression turns reproachful. “Beca, those are very important self-defense devices. Especially for young women traveling alone.”

Beca snorts and returns to eating. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

Chloe doesn’t say anything, but resumes tucking into her own food. Beca watches her for a moment, thinking about what Chloe had said; she’s right. They barely know one another. She’d been too quick to assume that Chloe would turn out to be anything more than a fling.

“Tell me more about a cappella?” she finds herself asking, genuinely curious. “What did you guys, like… do?”

Immediately, Chloe’s eyes brighten. “Oh my god, Bec, it was so fun. We sang covers of songs, all by women, like Mariah Carey and The Bangles and Ace of Base and—”

Beca almost chokes on her beer, taking a poorly timed sip. “Ace of Base?” she sputters. “You’re not serious.”

“Of course I am,” Chloe blinks back. “‘I Saw the Sign’ was the tits.”

“The tits.”

“Yes, Beca, try to keep up. We also performed backup for Prince once. His butt is so tiny that—”

“Hold on, I’m still—” Beca cuts herself off, searching for the right words. “Um, so, go back to Ace of Base. Did you guys sing anything from this century?”

Chloe shrugs, looking thoughtful. “I mean, we stuck with the classics. Aubrey didn’t mind.”

“But did you?”

“I—” Chloe stops abruptly, as if the thought had never occurred to her. “I guess,” she starts slowly, “it might have been… nice… to branch out.”

“Hmm.”

“But we still had fun! Like, once we went to Denver and performed at a massive outdoor event.”

“Okay, um, tell me about that, and about your top favorite performances, and why,” Beca suggests, selecting a piece of bread. A cappella might not be her thing (she still thinks it’s pretty lame), but it makes her happy to see how excited Chloe gets over it.

Several minutes later, however, after hearing all about confetti cannons in Kansas and about someone named Alice who, frankly, sounds like a total bitch, Beca might have to admit (the teeniest, tiniest admission ever) that a cappella actually doesn’t seem totally lame. Like, she’d never do it herself, obviously, but the idea of it as an institution no longer makes her cringe in secondhand embarrassment. She kind of wants to hear more about it, actually, and so when their waitress returns not with the check but instead with two slices of Black Forest Cake and a wink, Beca only keeps asking questions. (The blocks of cheese sit forgotten.)

“You guys had actual initiations? No way.”

Chloe nods emphatically, taking a bite of her cake. “Oh, totes. Aca-initiations, where we lit up a ton of candles and had the recruits swear not to mess around with Trebles and they drank the blood of the sisters.”

Beca almost spits out her cake. She needs to stop eating and drinking when Chloe talks. “Dude, no, that’s—”

“It was Boones Farm,” Chloe waves a hand dismissively.

“Right,” Beca says faintly, then something occurs to her. “So you guys would have had to kick me out anyway.”

“What? Why?”

“That guy? Jesse? He was a Treble, remember?”

“Oh,” Chloe says, deflating slightly for some reason. “I mean, maybe not. I’m sure we could have made an exception.”

Beca purses her lips, purposefully trying to look as skeptical as she can.

Chloe is quick to expand. “Well I’d have been co-captains with Aubrey, and I wouldn’t have let her kick you out. She’d have liked you, anyway, I’m sure.”

“Maybe,” Beca allows, finishing the last bite of her cake. She isn’t sure what gives her the courage to ask, but she says, “Um, do you… I mean, are you sure you two can’t… like, work something out?”

Chloe’s expression turns unreadable.

“I mean, like,” Beca is quick to add, “the way you talk about her, I just—you were obviously close, and I think that maybe—”

“Maybe,” Chloe cuts her off. “Maybe one day, but…” she trails off with a shrug, and Beca wants to kick herself for rambling. It wasn’t any of her business in the first place.

“Right,” she mumbles faintly.

“I’m really glad we got the cake,” Chloe says, bluntly changing the subject. Beca glances up, but she doesn’t seem angry, only done talking about Aubrey. “It was nice of the waitress.”

Beca nods, somewhat relieved. “Yeah, that’s a perk of knowing the owner, I guess,” she says. “Um, we kind of have to signal if we’re ready to pay. It’s different here.”

“Got it,” Chloe says confidently, catching the waitress’ eye and giving a little wave. As the waitress starts over, Chloe digs in her purse and pulls out a familiar looking envelope, resting it on the table.

Beca’s hand twitches and she almost reaches for the envelope instinctively—she’s just so used to being paid out of plain white envelopes—but she manages to stop herself just in time. To cover if Chloe had noticed anything strange, she quickly asks, “You didn’t take it out of the envelope?”

Chloe blinks. “Nah. Didn’t really need to.”

Then the waitress is there and accepting the money for the meal. If she thinks anything is strange about the form of payment, she doesn’t say. Instead, they’re thanked for their service, and they rise from the table to leave the restaurant. Almost instantly, Chloe’s hand is in Beca’s, though she isn’t sure who reached for whom first.

“Well, um, thanks again for dinner,” Beca says a little awkwardly as they exit the restaurant. She lifts her free hand to the side of her neck, rubbing it absently. “I really appreciate it.”

“Oh, it’s totally—” Chloe cuts off abruptly, her gaze zeroed in on where Beca’s hand meets her neck. Her lips tighten and her eyes immediately flick away. It’s quick, but Beca catches it, and confusion clouds her mind. “It’s no problem at all,” Chloe finishes a little brusquely.

And that’s when it hits Beca, like a brick sliding down her throat. She examines her hand and, sure enough, the concealer she’d used on her neck is now smeared across her fingertips.

“Um, I’m sorry,” she says, because that’s the only thing she can think to say. “Shit, that’s—”

“Looks like you left with some souvenirs?” Chloe asks, her voice light.

Beca’s face twists with annoyance. “I told her she shouldn’t do that. I mean, I have a ‘no marks’ policy, but—”

“Tough client?” Chloe asks, but she her tone of voice is back to normal. She’s still holding tight to Beca’s hand as they walk, and Beca notices with some relief that she doesn’t seem angry. At least, she looks as Beca like she always does, and though her eyebrows are slightly drawn together, it seems more in concern than anything.

“Um, no,” Beca replies after a moment. “She was just—uh, she liked it a little rougher.”

Which is also partially the reason Beca chose to wear a regular shirt and jacket instead of anything backless. But Chloe doesn’t need to know that much detail.

Chloe’s eyes flash with mirth and she winks. “Your client and I have that in common.”

The air rushes from Beca’s lungs. “Oh?”

Chloe’s smile widens and she squeezes Beca’s hand gently. Which, not helpful, because Beca still isn’t sure if she’s kidding or not, and she kind of thinks she might actually get whiplash from spending time with Chloe. It hits her all over again how much more confident this version of Chloe is compared to the one she’d initially met.

“So, uh,” Chloe starts as they draw nearer to Marienplatz once again, “can I ask you more about your job, actually? Not like specific clients, just more about it,” she adds quickly.

“Sure,” Beca agrees quickly, not wanting it to seem like she’s hiding that part of her life. “Fire away,” she says, then cringes at herself.

“What’s it like?” Chloe asks. “Like, what’s the experience like?”

Beca hesitates. “For me or for my clients?”

“Either. Both.”

Beca blows out a stream of air, trying to collect her thoughts. They’re walking slowly, but already almost halfway to Marienplatz. Around them, the streets have quieted as evening falls, many of the tourists already at their hotels for the night.

“Well, for me,” Beca begins, “it’s really… I mean, it’s a business transaction. At first, it was… well, um. Jesse and I, well, we never… I lost my virginity to my first client,” she admits, looking quickly at Chloe.

Chloe’s eyebrows lift, but she doesn’t say anything.

“Yeah, so,” Beca barrels on, “that was kind of awkward because I’d lied about that to the company, and to my client, obviously. Because that isn’t usually… yeah. But, you know, I’d looked things up online and, um, I made sure my client had a good time, and she paid me well, so, it was fine.”

“Was she careful?” Chloe’s question surprises Beca.

“Oh. Well, she didn’t know, so.”

“Okay,” Chloe breathes, giving Beca’s hand another squeeze, the pressure from which seems to travel up into Beca’s chest.

“Um, so, for me,” Beca continues quickly, “it really is just business, because I kinda… well, to do what I do, you really have to… close off a bit and focus on the fact that it literally is just money. And, you know, I do some, um, role play and—well, I can make it feel like it’s more than just sex, you know?” Beca risks another glance at Chloe, but her expression is neutral. “But really, I’ve gotten to the point where it’s just—like, it’s still fun, but it doesn’t mean anything beyond money.”

Chloe nods slowly, her lower lip drawn between her teeth. “And for your clients?”

Beca takes a deep breath. “Well, it’s like I said to you the other night. They can really customize the experience, depending on what they want and what they pay for. They all understand that it’s just for money, though.”

A corner of Chloe’s mouth quirks up. “I do distinctly remember an optional bag of toys.”

It startles a little huff from Beca. “Yeah, that. Some clients want those, some don’t.”

“What do different women like?” Chloe asks next, tilting her head to the side.

“Oh, different things,” Beca says, relaxing into the conversation more. “Some just want touching without, uh”—she glances around, lowering her voice—“penetration. Some are really into penetration, and like toys a lot. Some just want, you know, uh, my mouth. It depends, but everyone likes things a little differently.”

“Makes sense,” Chloe says, right as they re-enter the square, Marienplatz. It’s quieter now, only a few people milling around and a lone violinist having taken the place of the singer from earlier. They continue to walk around the edge of the square, speaking softly.

“What’s the weirdest thing you’ve had to do?”

“Um… oh,” Beca has to stifle a laugh at the memory. “Once, a client asked me to speak in a SpongeBob voice.”

Chloe stops dead in her tracks, eyes popping. “No! You’re kidding, right?”

“I wish,” Beca laughs, shaking her head. “That totally happened. It was… weird.”

“Sounds like it,” Chloe mutters and resumes their walk. “Um, do people ever hire more than one escort at a time?”

“Like a three-way?”

“Yeah, or to just… watch?”

Beca shrugs. “Um, it gets a little complicated with that, but as long as the client is willing to pay both escorts well, then yeah. The escorts agree to it, though, like I’ve never done it because that isn’t on my list.”

“Do all escorts only have female clients at your company?”

“Definitely not,” Beca answers, noticing they’re getting close to the clock tower she’d promised they could visit earlier. “That was just my personal preference. A lot of my co-workers have even more, uh... interesting stories than I do because they work with men.”

Chloe wrinkles her nose slightly. “I’m glad you don’t have to deal with that.”

“Me too,” Beca agrees, then gestures to the clock tower. “Um, it is getting kinda late, should we go up? You can keep asking me things,” she adds, and Chloe nods happily.

“Definitely, let’s go up!” she says, rocking up to her tiptoes before dropping back down. “I want to see the view.”

“Cool.” Beca leads Chloe by the hand to the foot of the tower, where a sign indicates that the elevator to the top of the glockenspiel is through the closed, locked door in front of them.

“Um, Bec? Are you sure…” Chloe’s voice trails off into nothingness when Beca crouches to the ground. She reaches forward, spying the key taped to the stone wall, and plucks it up.

“They said they’d leave it for us,” she says, inserting the key into the lock on the door, opening it and gesturing for Chloe to go first. “We just have to put it in the same spot on the way out.”

The impressed look Chloe gives her makes the hassle worth it; it hadn’t been easy to convince the employees to let her do this, company name or not.

She follows Chloe inside, making sure to close the door behind them, and they take the few steps required to get to the elevator. Beca presses the call button, and with a chime and a creaking noise, the doors slide open. They step inside and Chloe presses the button to go up.

“Do you have a boss?” Chloe’s abrupt question takes Beca by surprise.

“Like a pimp?” she asks, having to raise her voice to be heard over the clattering of machinery.

Chloe cringes a little, but nods.

Beca shuffles her feet. “Just the head of the company. She oversees the website, helps us with the legality forms, that stuff. She makes sure we’re safe.”

If Chloe is surprised that the owner of the company is a ‘she,’ she doesn’t give any sign. Instead, she draws her lower lip between her teeth and looks at Beca out of the corner of her eye. “Yeah, um… so, the safety…”

“Yeah?” Beca thinks she knows where this is headed.

Chloe takes a breath. “I mean, how often—like, do you have to worry about, you know, catching anything?”

“Like an STI?”

“Yeah,” Chloe exhales, looking awkward.

The elevator dings again and shudders to a halt; they’ve reached the top of the tower. The doors slide open, and they step out onto the top of the clock tower.

“Not really,” Beca answers with a shrug. “I get checked every so often, but with women, it’s less likely. And also clients have to be screened for that. You should have done the process, actually,” she adds, looking at Chloe curiously. She’s fairly sure clients have to fill out a form disclosing that information.

Chloe blinks. “Oh. I just signed those forms without reading, ‘cuz, you know. I didn’t actually want to sleep with anyone. Sorry.”

Affection bursts in Beca’s chest. “No, you’re good,” she says, then gestures to the view. “And look.”

Chloe turns her head and gasps sharply; Beca watches the way her eyes move, scanning the horizon, drinking in Munich’s evening skyline. Beca knows it’s a beautiful sight. She’s seen it many times before, can clearly picture how the low buildings seem to stack on one another as far as the eye can see. By now, lights will be glimmering from building exteriors and from windows, silhouettes of the people of Munich cutting across them, interrupting their path to Chloe’s eye. The night sky will be an inky blue, with just the faintest pinpricks of stars visible in the middle of the city. For a sprawling city, Munich seems small, and the homey feel of it will resonate with Chloe even at the late hour.

Beca knows exactly what the view looks like. She’s seen it before. She hasn’t seen Chloe’s reaction to it, though, and that is far more important.

Chloe stares over the city, her lips parted and eyes wide, hair moving and twisting gently in the slight breeze. The breath catches in Beca’s chest; Chloe puts the view of the city to shame.

“This is amazing,” Chloe breathes, taking a step forward. The elevator had dropped them on a sort of platform that goes around the outside of the Glockenspiel, fenced in for their safety. Chloe walks along this platform slowly, seemingly unable to tear her eyes away from the sight. Beca follows her, trying to map every shift in her expression.

Chloe takes another step forward, and her foot hits an uneven patch; Beca realizes she’s not watching her step and reaches out even as Chloe starts to stumble. She catches Chloe’s waist and holds her steady even as Chloe’s hands fly to Beca’s shoulders, holding her for support.

“Woah, careful!” Beca laughs, and stops, the laughter caught in her throat when she notices how close together they are. She swallows, hard.

Steadied, Chloe meets her eyes. “Are escorts allowed to be in relationships?” she whispers, her face suddenly much, much too close.

Beca’s stomach flips, twirls, flutters. “As long as both the escort and their partner is okay with it, yeah,” she manages, hearing the rasp in her own voice.

“Cool.”

“Very.”

Beca doesn’t know who closes the distance, but it hardly matters when the only thing in the world she cares about is the way Chloe’s lips feel on hers. Chloe kisses like she’s losing herself and the only thing keeping her tethered is Beca. She kisses like she’s trying to make Beca forget her own name.

Again, Beca doesn’t know who sighs first, who parts their lips, who changes the angle; she just knows that nothing has ever felt quite the way Chloe’s tongue feels sliding over her own. She tightens her hold on Chloe’s waist, hyper-aware of the soft feel of the fabric of Chloe’s dress beneath her hands. Chloe makes a small sound, somewhere between a whimper and a groan, that only makes Beca press closer, closer, wanting to draw every single one of those sounds out of her.

When Chloe’s back meets the wall of the clock tower, her hands slide into Beca’s hair, causing Beca to make her own sound of pleasure, pressing still closer. Chloe seems to smile against her lips as they keep kissing, neither of them wanting to be the first to pull away.

Beca might not usually be the kind of person who does this. But so far, she’s glad she did.

[caps-lockdown]

Operation: Man Flu

Alright guys here it is the first part of my new series! I thought of this awhile ago but my life has been absolutely bonkers lately and I didn’t have a chance to get started on it til now! I hope ya’ll enjoy this insane and (hopefully funny) romp I’ve come up with.

Tagging @kaytizzle and @cuffski for now, let me know in the comments if you would like to be tagged for future parts!

Summary: As a hacker nobody agent of S.H.I.E.L.D you get roped into what might possibly be your worst nightmare come to life. Will you survive the long weekend? Will you have a chance to get closer to a certain reserved Captain during this extremely stressful (and hilarious) situation?

Pairings: Steve x Shield Agent Female Reader!

Words: 3,397

Ratings/Warnings: I’m going to put hard R here for the whole thing because there’s going to be cussing, mentions of sickness, alcohol consumption, physical fights, mental breakdowns. Jealousy, love triangles (sort of), angst, drama, and lots of crude humor. Just strap in.

Also no Beta so my mistakes are my only thing to claim, I don’t own any characters either, with the exception of the reader, a doctor, and some random characters here and there.

It is in Y/N (Your Name) L/N (Last Name) format. Enjoy!

 Part One

“Y/N I need more water!”

“Y/N my eyes hurt!”

“Y/N can you tell Bucky and Tony to shut the hell up? I’m trying to sleep off this headache!”

“Shut up Wilson!”

Pinching the bridge of your nose, nostrils flaring, you released a slow and irritated breath. The shouting was coming from the makeshift quarantine section in the Tower. Never in a million years would you be able to guess that this was going to be your job at some point. In fact, you would have laughed in anyone’s face if they told you that at some point in your life you would be stuck in Stark Tower taking care of a bunch of sick and over dramatic man children. This was supposed to be your weekend in. You were supposed to be comfy and cozy surrounded by happy things, not a bunch of sick cry babies. You were so getting a raise when all of this was over.

You looked to the ceiling praying to anyone upstairs for just a small moment of peace. The moment of peace could come in the form of a giant mallet to knock all of the whiny men in the next room unconscious. Perhaps a dart gun with Nyquil loaded ammunition? Anything to help you cope with being stuck with this lot of ill idiots for the next 48 hours. Why of all people did it have to be you? You were not someone that saw The Avengers in close quarters, you were sort of work friends, but you never thought your friendship would be put to the test quite like this. Who were they to ask this of you anyway? It’s not like you have any medical experience. Hell you get squeamish just thinking about blood. You rarely got sick. You cried watching Grey’s anatomy for cripes’ sake! You must have been cursed by some otherworldly power. Loki was messing with you. That had to be it. You were sure that had to be the reason behind this cruel and unusual punishment.

“Y/N BUCKY KEEPS STARING AT ME!”

“Well you keep sounding like you’re gonna puke Stark! And if you puke I puke! So don’t puke!”

“Damn I need a drink.” You uttered before squaring your shoulders and heading back into the fray. When did it all go to hell in a hand basket?

~~Friday Morning~~

0600

The crisp early autumn air made its way into your room from your half opened window. The birds chirping slowly woke you from your slumber as your eyes opened to take in the leaves changing colors on the trees outside. The smell of coffee starting to brew at your small desk invaded your senses and you smiled out to the rising sun in a good mood.

Your alarm clock went off which caused you to scream and nearly throw it out the window, groaning as you heard the rumble of the Quinjet touching down a few floors up. So much for a quiet, easy day. They were back early.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you hastily threw on your uniform and secured your hair up, reaching for your travel mug to hold your life juice as you sloshed it into the container and headed out the door.

Life hadn’t always been this fast paced for you. You were never a morning person, and even though it had been years that you have been with S.H.I.E.L.D, these caffeine fuelled mornings were something that never got easier with time. Being an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D just wasn’t a picnic for you most days, but you certainly had it better than some of the others in your line of work. You weren’t one of the people willing to put their life on the line out in the field. In fact it was the complete opposite. You were behind the scenes, knee deep in technology. Hacking files, constantly bypassing security, you name it. You never had to leave the comfort of your own country. It was hard work, but it was also your calling. It had been since you were a teenager in high school. It was a habit that got you caught several times breaking into the school security systems, changing when the bell would ring so you and your friends could get out a few minutes early. Especially during Geometry with Miss. Wilkins.

You had been given a scholarship to New York City College of Technology after you graduated high school and you packed your bags and moved from your small town in Ohio to the beautiful state of New York. After graduating in record time with high marks you were recruited by Agent Coulson to join S.H.I.E.L.D. You accepted without any hesitation (Along with constant reassurance to your always worried mother that you would not actually be in the field. Ever.)

After a few years, and more importantly the battle of New York, Nick Fury created a small unit specifically trained to work alongside The Avengers. It was truly amazing getting to move into the Tower, always being there in case of emergencies. Which there often were plenty of. You were under the command of Agent Keaton, your unit possessing a mere ten agents total. No one knew who you were, or what you did, except The Avengers and a small number of others. You were shadows, able to breach the toughest security, get what you needed, and get out without a trace. Or in most cases, get Earth’s Mightiest Heroes into places they previously didn’t have access to. Everyone called you “The Ghosts of Stark Tower”. The hours were sometimes long, missions often stressful, but it suited you just fine. One of the many upsides was knowing that you were making a difference in this messed up world.

The down side was these way too early mornings. At least it was Friday and you could look forward to the three day holiday weekend ahead of you. It was Labor Day weekend which meant that after today you wouldn’t have to return to work until the following Tuesday, unless an earth shattering catastrophe happened. Trudging your way down the hallways your mind drifted to the future that awaited you at 1800 hours. All you had planned was a giant fort of blankets and pillows to call sanctuary as you caught up on the six books that sat unloved in a box by your bed. They were feeling extremely neglected since you had gotten most of them as birthday gifts, which had been some time ago now.

Stepping into the elevator you let out a wistful sigh as it began to climb the few floors leading to the floor that held the landing pad for the Quinjet. Smiling to yourself as you day dreamed about being nestled in a blanket cocoon and not seeing a soul for 72 hours, you couldn’t stop in time and ran smack into Sam Wilson as you exited the elevator and took a sharp turn. His back of toned muscles acted as a wall as it threw you backwards and onto the floor with a loud and ungraceful oomfph.

“Shit. Sorry Y/N. My head isn’t on straight today.” He offered a hand to help you up which you gladly took, pulling yourself up and pretending to brush yourself off.

“It’s fine Sam. Ya miss Bucky that much?”

“Ha. Ha. Ya I missed him like a hole in the head.” You snickered as the two of you made your way down the hall together.

Sam Wilson and you went way back. Back to before you were working (usually) with the Avengers. Back when you were just starting out and he wasn’t cleared for all the “fun” missions, as he called it. Those were the days when you trained together, ate together. Hell you even shared a bed together. It was only once, and nothing romantic happened, but you two only got closer because of it. You didn’t know where you would be without him in your life. He always seemed to know what to say to make you feel better after a hard day, and he always had you laughing. It usually bummed you out when he went along for missions, so you were extra thankful he opted to stay behind this past week when they announced a new mission would take place. It had been nice spending time with each other outside of work hours, catching up, shooting the breeze.

He was one of the only people here that seemed to see you for everything that you were. With the exception of today of course.

“Any issues with the mission? Why are they back two days early?”

Sam raised an eyebrow as you reached the double doors that lead outside to the landing pad.

“Now how did you know they were supposed to be back in two days? That was classified information L/N.” You quickly shot your eyes to the ground, releasing a heavy sigh.

“I…I may have hacked into the mission details…”

The look Sam gave you made you bite your lower lip in embarrassment before he merely shook his head in response.

“Damn Y/N, you should have come with a warning label. If you missed Steve that much you could have just called him.” You swatted his arm as he pushed the door open for you, the fresh air hitting you in the face and causing your eyes to water.

Sam had known about your small crush on Steve Rogers, otherwise known to many as Captain America, since the first time you had met the larger than life super soldier. He pegged you as a giddy school girl from the gate and you found yourself threatening his life on a weekly basis to keep his mouth shut about the whole thing. Steve and you had a professional work related friendship, nothing more. It’s not like what you and Sam had, and you had come to accept that it never would be that. Or more, no matter how often you caught yourself thinking about it.

“Why would I miss Steve Rogers when Sam Wilson has been here to keep me company?” You batted your eyelashes at him, causing the man to chuckle as you neared the group of fellow agents that were gathered around the jet.

“Nice try slick, but I’m still telling Tony you broke into the mission files. Again.”

You pouted at him but he only clicked his tongue at you.

“I swear Tony just needs to give you a raise already and put you in charge of that tech stuff here. His old ass mind is clearly slipping.”

“You suck Wilson. I was only worried.”

“Worried ol’ Blue eyes was gonna take a dirt nap? Come on Y/N,  he’s stronger than that.”

“Actually I was worried for Tony and his,” you made air quotations “Old ass mind”

You and Sam’s laughter was quickly silenced as the jet ramp lowered and you watched Steve Rogers exit, a deathly pale Tony leaning on him as they disembarked.

“Shit. He looks worse than normal. Pepper is gonna pitch a fit when she sees him.” Sam remarked, the team headed towards you.

Your eyes couldn’t help but dance across the Team’s faces. They all looked beat. Thor and Bruce seemed deep in conversation, their hushed voices angrily biting at each other. Clint kept quiet, focusing his vision forward and not looking at anyone. You noticed Nat and Wanda were missing, only for a moment before you realized they were on a separate mission elsewhere. They were slated to come back sometime next week.

Your vision drifted over to Tony, taking in his sickly appearance. The color was drained from his face, the area around his eyes dark and his body too weak to walk very far. Bucky walked to his left, his worried expression evident as they neared you and Sam through the crowd.

You quickly snapped your line of sight to Captain Rogers, your pulse picking up just a little at the sight of him. His uniform was still in really good shape considering how ragged he was looking. Apparently he had forgotten his razor or something because his facial hair had grown a considerable amount since they had been gone. His strong jaw was set tightly, his lips in a thin line while his large intimidating frame effortlessly helped the injured billionaire along.

“Why do I have a feeling my weekend plans just got cancelled?” You grumbled, clearing a path for the Captain as the rest of the team followed behind him, none of them sparing you a look. You were used to it by now.

“Wilson, debrief. Now.” Rogers’ voice boomed with authority and you couldn’t help but grimace in Wilson’s direction.

“Sorry Sam, tough luck.”

“L/N you too.”

Jumping at the acknowledgement you cast a worried glance to Sam who merely shrugged before picking up his pace to catch up to the group headed into the building. That could not be good at all. You followed after him, struggling to keep your mind calm with all the questions currently swimming in it. It didn’t take you long to reach the small conference room, paramedics cutting off your journey about halfway to take Tony into the medical bay to run tests.

You quickly took a seat next to Sam, everyone at the table looking to Steve for answers you were fairly certain he didn’t have. It didn’t mean you couldn’t admire his tall, gorgeous body though as he stood in front of all of you. Nope, you’d drink in the sight of him any day and any time you could. It wasn’t illegal to look after all, even if most of the time he saw right through you. Just like a ghost.

“Look L/N, I’m going to give you the extremely short version,” Steve started, blue eyes staring into yours and you could only bring yourself to nod. His voice was hard, short, he was clearly on edge with worry.

“Might as well shorten it even more Rogers, L/N here already hacked the mission files. She knows the mission.”

You could only give Sam a “What the hell?” look, trying not to let the disappointed sigh that came from Steve’s lips sink into your stomach like a boulder of guilt.

“As much as I want to be angry with you L/N, I need to know how much you know. It might help speed things up so we can get to work faster.”

All eyes seemed to shift to you as you began to fidget with the edge of the table, training your eyes to stay focused on the smooth wood surface as you recalled the details you briefly scanned last week.

“You were all sent to Tal-q’eiek to retrieve an energy source for another planet…Mon…mon something..who’s current environmental health is unstable. The planet’s self defense measures made most of the planet toxic to keep predators from other neighboring worlds away.” You started, looking up at the people around the table as they all nodded in agreement.

“ You were made special suits and would split up into teams to search the planet for the energy source. You were sent out of your element considering Danvers was unavailable to join you, as well as Quill and his team being currently MIA as well.” Taking a deep breath you couldn’t help but notice the smallest of smiles on Steve’s face as you finished divulging what you knew.

“Correct L/W, I’m always impressed by your sharp memory.” Steve complimented you and you had to grasp the chair to make sure you wouldn’t fall out of it. It was the first and so far only time Captain Rogers had made a positive comment in your direction. Usually he was far too busy to pay you or any of the other Ghosts of Stark Tower any mind. Not that you could blame him. If you were being honest, you didn’t even think he knew your first name for the first two years you worked together.

“So based on your knowledge, what conclusion can you come to on your own?” Thor pried, your gaze moving to catch his.

“ My assumption is that Tony was simply  in the wrong place at the wrong time and managed to inhale some of the toxic air of the planet, and that’s why you had to come back early. Because he’s showing symptoms of a sickness and you didn’t know what to do.”

“Two for two L/W, well done.”You felt a swell of undeserving pride at Steve’s words, wondering if this was to be your Christmas gift or something. Two compliments in one day? Within minutes of each other? You most certainly weren’t complaining but it did make you a bit nervous, especially when those beautiful blue eyes weren’t leaving yours.

“So now what? We just wait for the doctors to come back and tell us Tony is going to be ok?” Sam’s voice broke you out of your trance, Steve clearing his throat and Thor nodding in agreement.

“Unfortunate, but until we know more there isn’t anything to be done.” The other blonde’s deep voice boomed and you couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of dread.

“I don’t understand why I was needed here…” You trailed off, Bruce chuckling at your statement causing you to blush with embarrassment.

“You never know when we may need a Ghost on our side Y/N.” Bucky smiled at you, giving you a small wink.

“Yea besides,” Clint continued, “We actually like you. You’re not some stuck up, loud mouthed, cocky know it all like some of the others.”

“You shouldn’t talk about Tony like that, after all he’s the one sick right now.”

Your comment earned you a chorus of laughter.

“I’m gonna put that in Stark’s Christmas card this year.” Sam got out in between laughs, patting you on the back.

“That’s my Y/N, always one with the fast quips.”

His statement caused you to beam in response, allowing yourself to be grabbed in a small side hug. The expression on Steve’s face was a bit puzzling to you as you looked at him, but no sooner had it appeared, it was gone.

What seemed to be hours passed, but your eyes shot up at the sound of one of the doctors on standby walking into the conference room, her HASMAT suit creating a hideous scratching noise against the floor as she moved. You recognized her as Doctor Kelly Hooper, she had been working for Stark for years. She was a short and stout woman, with dark blonde hair that was always up in a tight bun on top of her head.

“What’s the diagnosis Doctor?” Clint tried, his voice humorless despite the poor attempt at a joke.

“Firstly, you should know that Mister Stark is going to be alright.”

The entire table collectively sighed in relief at the Doctor’s news, a huge weight seemingly being lifted off of everyone’s shoulders. You and Tony didn’t always see eye to eye on things, but you still respected the hell out him, and definitely didn’t want him dying anytime soon.

“However, there is some bad news.” The older woman continued, turning her attention to Steve.

“He’s going to be sick the next forty eight to seventy two hours, and will need constant care. He’s going to experience the worst equivalent of the flu we’ve seen in years. Fever, vomiting, dehydration, chills, extreme pain, and maybe even hallucinations. What’s also troublesome is we don’t have the proper staff to take care of him, as most of the day and night crew have left for holiday, and we can’t risk taking him to a hospital where it might spread.”

“Got it, can it get any worse than babysitting a sick Tony?” Bucky groaned out, his head hitting the table.

“Actually it can Mister Barnes. I’m afraid the illness he has contracted from the foreign planet is very peculiar in the fact that it only seems to attack beings with the combination of XY chromosomes.”

“Doc, are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Bucky suddenly looked up at Doctor Hooper, who had now locked eyes with the winter solider before nodding her head.

“That’s right Mister Barnes, any male who has come within contact with Mister Stark within the last twenty four hours has a seventy five to eighty five percent chance of falling ill as well.”

[cuthian]

Dancing in the Rain Chapter Four

Hi everyone!

Hope you're all still safe and healthy :)

Longer chapter this week, since it'll have to last you two weeks. I won't be able to post again next week due to my busy and hectic exam and work schedule now that everything is opening again here in Belgium. As always, but especially from hereon out, PLEASE mind the tags (canon-typical violence, kidnapping, angst) and if you have any concerns, please feel free to contact me (@cuthian on Tumblr).

Or yell at me in the comments.

As always, much thanks to @juulna for putting up with me and helping me whip this thing into shape.

Lots of love, Annaelle

Chapter Four

28 CELEBRITIES WHO HAVE OPENED UP ABOUT THEIR STRUGGLES WITH MENTAL ILLNESS

-        Research shows that stereotypes about mental illness often prevent people from seeking treatment or speaking out about their struggles.

-        In recent years, stars like Sophie Turner, Chrissy Teigen, Demi Lovato and Prince Harry have spoken candidly about their struggles with mental illness.

Despite the prevalence and global impact of mental health conditions, it’s still hard to open up and ask for help when you most need it. Research shows that harmful stereotypes about mental illness often prevent people from seeking treatment or speaking out at all.

Luckily, in recent years, we’ve seen a shift in the way people view and talk about mental health conversations about depression, anxiety, addiction and more have moved from the private to the public sphere. That’s not only important, but effective, according to mental health experts. In fact, when public figures open up about their own mental health struggles, it can help break down stigma, spark important discussions and even inspire people to seek out treatment.

Below, we’ve rounded up 28 celebrities who’ve spoken candidly about their own battles with everything from postpartum depression to anorexia and PTSD.

[…]

Prince Harry spoke to a therapist about his mental health after two years of "total chaos" in his late twenties.

[…] recently revealed he felt very close to a complete breakdown all the time, and faced anxiety during royal engagements before he finally began to see a professional to address his grief. Now “in a good place”, Harry has encouraged others to open up about their own struggles.

[…] started the Heads Together campaign with Prince William and Kate Middleton to help “end the stigma around mental health issues.” […] "The experience that I have is that once you start talking about it, you suddenly realize that actually, you're part of quite a big club," he told The Telegraph.

[…]

An outspoken advocate for mental health awareness, Demi Lovato is open about her battles with bipolar disorder, bulimia, and addiction.

[…] recently released a documentary about her own struggles, shared powerful side-by-side photos of her recovery from bulimia and entered rehab to address her substance abuse issues. "It's very important we create conversations, we take away the stigma, and that we stand up for ourselves if we're dealing with the symptoms of a mental illness," Lovato told Variety in February.

The singer continued: "It is possible to live well and thrive with a mental illness."

Steve Rogers, or Captain America, who struggles with social anxiety, depression and PTSD, once said he suffers from "a noisy brain."

[…] interview with Ellen earlier this year, the former Army Captain and Avenger revealed how his anxiety often kicks in when he is asked to speak for causes he cares about, or during press conferences. […] Rogers, who has tried everything from meditation with fellow-Avenger Bruce Banner to learning several new fighting styles with close friend Natasha Romanoff, said he’s “getting better”, but still has moments of self-doubt.

[…] Avenger also opened up about his struggles with depression shortly after he was woken from the ice. “The kindness that was shown to me by my friends—my team—as well as my family and my therapists saved my life,” he told Ellen. […] also shared an emotional letter about his PTSD following his experiences during World War II and during the several battles he has fought in the 21st century.

"There is a lot of shame attached to mental illness, but it's important that you know that there is hope and a chance for recovery," he wrote.

—Evan Agostini, Axelle Bauer-Griffin, “28 Celebrities Who Opened Up About Their Struggles with Mental Illness”, Insider.com, March 2016

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

Avengers Tower, New York, Manhattan, New York State, United States of America

10:36 p.m., 2 April 2016

Tony

Tony was shaking a little, fidgeting, his heart beating unsteadily in his chest as he paced the floor again. He’d been hiding in his lab since this morning, because while he loved Pepper to pieces, and he was elated—re: terrified—that she was pregnant and that they were going to be parents, she was driving him fucking nuts.

At least while he was in his lab, he wouldn’t be shouted at for eating the last Oreo’s.

Pepper didn’t even like Oreos.

She didn’t even want to eat them.

Tony didn’t understand pregnancy brain, but he’d been informed by Google, J.A.R.V.I.S., Rhodey, and Cap that it was best to just not question it.

He also wasn’t sure why he was thinking about Oreos when Becca was potentially in very big trouble, and Steve had left the dubious honour of telling Thor to him. “J.A.R.V.I.S.,” he said, a little desperately, voice shaking. “You heard the man. Call everyone in.”

“I have sent an Alert to all of the Avengers’ personal phones,” J.A.R.V.I.S. replied readily, and Tony exhaled a little in relief. Someone had clearly planned this, had gone through the effort of setting half a building on fire to keep Steve distracted and get to Becca without drawing attention to what they were doing, and Tony was a little afraid to think of who they might be—of what they wanted with Becca.

He was going to do as Steve asked, though, because he would never forgive himself if something happened to Becca and he could have done something to help, to stop whatever it was.

The way Steve had sounded on the phone had kind of… scared Tony too.

He’d not heard Steve fall back to that dull, lifeless, monotone tone of voice very often, and when he had… well… it had never meant very good things for any of them.

The last time he’d heard Steve sound like that… the last time Steve had called Tony sounding like that, Tony had had to rush Natasha to Steve and Becca’s tiny Brooklyn apartment to keep Steve from doing something drastically stupid—she’d found the war hero crumpled in a heap on the floor with tears running down his cheeks and a gun to his head, begging her to just let him pull the trigger…

To let Steve stop the nightmares permanently.

He shuddered.

Yeah… Hearing that tone coming from Steve meant something.

Tony was barely holding himself back from rushing down to the lab and throwing himself into a suit, hurtling off to… to nothing. Nowhere.

He didn’t know anything yet.

Steve didn’t know anything yet.

He’d asked Tony to assemble but had left him with no other instructions and Tony knew, okay, he knew there was nothing he could do until he had more information.

And fuck if that didn’t frustrate him more.

He was stuck, wandering his Tower while his stomach twisted at the many implications his mind was set on conjuring up, each more gruesome than the other.

The elevator let out a bright ping and Tony jumped, eyeing the sliding door nervously until it slid open to reveal Natasha, dressed in a tight tank top and leotard, her hair coiled up into a tight bun and ballet slippers dangling from her left hand.

“What was so urgent, Stark?” She demanded, crossing her arms over her chest with a frown.

He waved his hands dramatically, because he was Tony Stark and if ever there were a time he were  allowed to be fucking dramatic, it would be when Captain goddamn America called him in a panic because he’d lost Tony’s little Baby-Becs, and then giving Tony a heart attack when her tracker wouldn’t work.

“Gotta get to the others first,” he said impatiently, snatching her wrist and pulling her along when he started walking again.

He led the Spider through the silent, unlit hallway, but didn’t bother asking J.A.R.V.I.S. to turn on the lights; he’d designed these hallways, he’d walked them so many times he could probably do it in his sleep—which he had a few times, when Pepper had dragged him to board meetings before he’d had coffee. The twins would likely already be waiting for them in the boardroom anyway, and after all of Thor’s dramatic appearances in the past few years—all of which had cost Tony more than a few light bulbs—he didn’t want to bother anymore.

He ignored the Widow’s cool, silent surprise and dragged her through the door, entirely unsurprised to find Wanda seated at the table in her pyjamas, spinning a thread of red light between her fingertips as she sat cross-legged in her seat, her brother next to her, lounged back in his own seat, boots propped up on his table.

“You know,” he drawled impatiently, glaring—okay maybe mock-glaring—at the silver-haired boy impatiently. “You live here for free. You could at least pretend to take care of my furniture.”

Natasha snorted a laugh and pushed past him, settling in the seat to Little Red’s left. Before the Red fucking Menace could do anything but smirk at him though, the door swung open again to reveal Bruce, dressed in an old band shirt and threadbare sweatpants, his lab coat halfway up his shoulders and his glasses crooked, almost as though he’d just rolled out of bed.

There was a single clock on the wall—for Pepper’s decorative purposes, Tony presumed—and he couldn’t quite stop himself from frowning as he eyed the clock’s hands.

10:45 P.M.

Bruce probably had just rolled out of bed then.

The other scientist had a disgustingly strict sleeping schedule.

“Why are we assembling?” Bruce groaned, rubbing his hand through his—surprisingly curly—hair, and Tony unexpectedly found his thoughts derailed from Becca and Steve to Bruce in much more pleasurable territory, fingers itching to tug on those curls and to press into Bruce’s arms, because the other scientist gave really good hugs, okay?

He’d always been a little sweet on Bruce, even if nothing was ever going to come of it.

He had chosen Rhodey and Pepper years ago, and he was pretty sure Bruce had been dating that astrophysicist girl that Thor had introduced them to a while ago anyway, but… There was a part of him that’d always be kind of weak for the way Bruce looked all adorably sleep-rumbled and soft, and the way he was one of the only people in the world that could keep up with him, one of the only intellectual equals Tony had ever met in his life.

He wasn’t going to do anything about it though.

It was a harmless crush—he was even pretty sure Bruce knew about it. Bruce was, objectively, handsome, and really fucking smart.

He hit all buttons for Tony—except that, you know, he wasn’t Rhodey or Pepper.

He shook himself, chancing one more furtive glance towards Bruce’s sleep-rumpled form before he sighed and shook his head. “Something happened at the gala,” he said. “Steve’s gonna tell us more when they get here.”

He pushed his hands into the pouch on his hoodie and contemplated waking up Pepper, but he knew well enough not to disturb her once she’d managed to get comfortable and fall sleep unless it was super urgent, and he didn’t know what this was.

What if Becca had just wandered away?

He ignored, for the moment, that her subdermal tracker—the tracker he had designed for her, for all of them, that he made sure couldn’tbe taken out unless completely smashed to bits—wasn’t working. The comms hadn’t worked in the building either; some of those older buildings were practically Faraday cages, even his tech wasn’t always good enough to get through that—for all they knew, Becca’s tracker had also been jammed.

It wasn’t worth risking Pepper’s wrath for, he thought. Not yet.

He couldn’t even call Rhodey, because he was off in Europe for the week, doing… military stuff.

Which was fine.

Tony didn’t need both of them around all the time.

He wasn’t pouting.

He wasn’t.

Romanoff snorted at him and eyed him carefully. She raised a perfectly arched eyebrow at him, but he didn’t budge—Romanoff always liked to pretend she knew everything—she probably hated that she knew no more than the others did, right now.

“You know more,” she stated simply after a few seconds. “Is everyone alright?”

Tony opened his mouth to say “yes”, to nod reassuringly, but the word wouldn’t fall from his lips. “I don’t know,” he admitted. The atmosphere in the room abruptly went from sleepy yawns to rapt attention, and Tony fidgeted a little. “The building caught fire during the gala,” he explained. “Everyone was evacuated, but Steve lost Becca in the chaos, and now… we kind of can’t… find her…”

“What do you mean, you can’t find her?” Natasha demanded hotly, sitting up straight and glaring at him. “Activate her tracker. She can’t be far.”

Tony winced and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Her tracker… isn’t working,” he admitted, looking up at the Widow defiantly. “Steve and Clint are canvassing the building and then getting back here. For all we know, she got taken onto one of the ambulances, or the building interfered with the signal. The comms were spotty too; it’s why Clint went inside with them.”

Natasha hissed, almost like an angry cat, and stood, stalking up to the large holographic screen present in almost every room in the Tower and began pulling up… documents? Tony wasn’t sure what she was doing, but she seemed intent on doing it, and far be it from him to discourage the Black fucking Widow from doing what she thought needed doing.

“Have you told Thor yet?” Pietro said, glancing between Tony and Natasha nervously.

Almost like the man was summoned by the mere mention of his name, a loud clap of thunder shook them all and the giant blond god bounded inside, his smile wide and infectious.

“Greetings, friends!” The tall god beamed, and Jesus, Tony was not in the mood to deal with Thor’s sunny personality. Christ. “I apologize for the delay in my arrival,” the god boomed excitedly, thumping down his hammer on the conference table. “Heimdall did not inform me of your request until I had finished the duties the All-Father assigned to me.”

Tony half-watched as Bruce stood to shake Thor’s hand, only to be brought into a tight bear hug, a startled squeak falling from his lips before he patted Thor’s shoulder awkwardly until the taller man set him down again and repeated the hug with Wanda and Pietro, who basically threw himself in Thor’s arms—Tony didn’t miss the pointed look Wanda shot Pietro at that.

He almost jumped right out of his seat when Bruce’s knee bumped against his, his eyes drawn to the other scientist’s immediately, because obviously Tony was a glutton for punishment and he really needed to get a fucking hold of himself.

Bruce looked a little tired, but not nearly as anxious and unsteady as Tony felt, and of course he didn’t, he didn’t know what was going on, none of them did, really—

“Thor,” he exclaimed suddenly, yanking himself away from Bruce abruptly. “We gotta… Steve called, about the gala—something’s happened.”  He ignored the way the rest of the team eyed him nervously and settled back in his seat with minimal fidgeting.

Thor’s smile abruptly disappeared and he sat, heavily, on the nearest chair. “Rebecca,” he said hoarsely. “The baby, are they—are they alright? Is Steven?”

“I don’t know,” Tony admitted, his leg bouncing erratically underneath the table. This was… he was doing something, even if it was just telling Thor, even if it wasn’t much, and that was better than nothing. Doing nothing drove him absolutely and entirely mad—and that wasn’t good for anyone.

“I don’t know a lot yet,” he continued. “The building… there was a fire, and everyone was evacuated, but…” He stalled Thor’s words before he’d even said them, holding up a hand as though to ward off the questions that were sure to come. “…Steve said they got separated during the evacuation. He can’t find her. Her tracker’s offline. She… She might still be in the building or somewhere around there, but…” He swallowed. “Well, it’s not like our trackers can be disabled accidentally.”  

Thor looked gutted, but the expression was swiftly replaced by one of utter rage.

“Who?” he demanded. “Who would dare take her from me? From us?”

Tony’s eyes widened when lightning sparked between Thor’s fingers and thunder rumbled loudly above them. “I don’t know, big guy,” he said in his calmest voice, although it didn’t seem to be doing much to assuage Thor. The crackle of electricity hung heavy in the air and made Tony’s skin prickle and thrum—the raw power rolling off Thor was… fucking intimidating, a reminder that the man wasn’t human, and that he could likely squash them all like bugs if given proper motivation—

The door swung open again and Steve and Clint walked in, and Tony nearly choked on his own tongue, because he’d seen Steve look pretty terrible over the years—in the throes of depression, bruised and beaten after battle, but…

He’d never seen Steve look like this.

There were dark circles beneath Steve’s eyes and several cuts and bruises were in various stages of healing, but Steve’s dark bespoke suit was riddled with bullet holes and splashed with so much ash and blood and Tony really hoped it wasn’t all his.

“Steven!” Thor bellowed, leaping from his seat and crossing the space between him and Steve in a few short strides. “You wear battle upon your skin, yet Tony informed me there was none. Where is Rebecca? Have you found her?”

Tony’s eyes flicked to the door again, then to Clint, who shook his head, and his stomach sank.  

“I—the—she wasn’t anywhere,” Steve finally said, his expression stony, but Tony heard the barely perceptible waver in his voice regardless, and he felt abruptly sick, keeping his eyes fastened on the door, begging for Becca to walk through at any moment, to just be there, to be okay—

Please, please, don’t let her be dead.

“Hydra took Becca,” Steve continued, and Tony’s entire world screeched to a halt for a long, tense moment, his breath punching from his lungs in a startled breath—

“Are you sure?”

“Hydra took Becca,” Steve repeated, but Tony could again hear the waver in his voice that matched the sudden nausea that crawled up the back of Tony’s throat. “Her tracker’s offline, and we came across some stragglers when we canvassed the building and the rest of the block,” Steve went on, turning his attention from Thor to the others. Tony wanted to do something, to say anything, but he wasn’t quite sure what words were for a moment there, because he couldn’t think past ‘Hydra took Becca’. “They had cyanide capsules,” Steve said. “Spitting Hail Hydra before they died.”

He took a harsh breath and looked up at Wanda. “You were right. They’re back.”

Tony’s legs gave out from beneath him as he fell backwards onto his seat. He had not even realised he had risen from his seat in the first place. “Why would they—”

“It was a trap,” Steve interrupted harshly, anger infused in his every word, but Tony could see him fraying around the edges in the way his hands trembled before Steve pressed his palms flat against the table. “It was specifically set to draw me—or us—in,” he continued tensely. “I don’t know how they knew Becca and I would be there or why they took Becca instead, but I don’t intend to let them keep her long enough to find out.”

Thunder rumbled loudly above their heads and lightning flashed through Thor’s eyes at the same time as it lit up the night outside, and everyone jumped again, turning to the God of Thunder with wide eyes. Thor looked livid, and Tony suddenly realised he had never seen Thor really angry before, not truly, not even during their most intense battles, and the sight of it was… surprisingly terrifying.

Outside, a storm unlike anything Tony had ever seen before raged, and Tony wasn’t sure what to do to calm the god down.

He was, honestly, not sure he wanted to.

Let Thor unleash his anger on the bastards who’d dared kidnap Becca.

“J,” he said briskly. “Pull up everything you can find on the gala tonight. I don’t care how many firewalls you have to bypass or how many people will know we’re looking. Just get the info.” He barely waited for J.A.R.V.I.S.’s murmured affirmation before he jumped out of his chair, pulling up a large holoscreen above the table.

“Tell us everything,” he ordered Steve as soon as he had the screen set up, whirling around to find Steve looking at him with the same kind of desperation that was burning in his own veins.

“Now, Steve,” he ordered sharply, knowing it would get through to him the quickest.

Steve faltered for another moment—which Tony guessed he could forgive him for, since he was pretty sure Steve had been up since yesterday morning—before he launched into a detailed explanation of his and Becca’s strategic plans for the gala, all the way down to the color of her dress.

Tony watched, a little lightheaded and in dire need of caffeine—or like… six 5-hour energy shots—as Steve’s plans were laid out on the holographic screen, in clear and direct terms. Clint and Thor were leaning forward, eyes flitting between Steve and the screen, and even Natasha sat, tensed, on the edge of her seat, staring intently at the screen.

His hands trembled when he swiped a picture of one of the targets to the side, and he was very much not thinking about how triggeringthe situation had to be for Becca. She’d been doing so good, and he knew, he knew his Becs was stronger than any of them, but there were limits even to what she could take. He was also very deliberately not thinking of his own issues with being kidnapped—even though he was basically an expert at it now, having been kidnapped like six times before he was even eighteen—or the way he’d found Becca in Iraq, pale and beaten on the floor in a filthy little cell.

She was important to him, always had been, even though he’d been annoyed as fuck at fifteen to be saddled with the baby at family gatherings. She was his Baby Becs and he hated the thought of someone getting their hands on her and hurting her.

He’d promised himself, the day he found her, after he’d led the Army to where she was being held, and the day he’d spent sitting by her bed after the Battle of New York, that he’d find a way to keep her safe.

It’s a pledge he felt truly shamed to have failed at.

“Wait, wait.” Bruce waved his hand slowly, pulling his glasses down his nose and pinching the bridge between thumb and forefinger and completely interrupting Tony’s train of thought. “We have good contacts in S.H.I.E.L.D. Why are we not calling them in? If we can legitimize the mission through them… Making this an official S.H.I.E.L.D. mission would make it easier, wouldn’t it? We’d have all of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s resources.”

“Because revealing that S.H.I.E.L.D. or the Avengers purposefully put active agents in that gala would have meant treading on some very powerful toes,” Fury boomed from behind them, causing Tony to nearly jump out of his skin, knocking his knee painfully into the underside of the table. “We cannot afford that right now.”

Tony swivelled around, because how the fuck did that asshole keep getting into his Tower without his goddamned permission, how did he even know—and then froze, his mind screeching to a stop as he watched Fury approach with Agent Hill—he remembered her, very pretty, badass, had a brief fling with Becca after the fiasco with Romanoff—and…

Coulson?

“Bruce, am I drunk?” he choked out, feebly patting around until his fingers found the fabric of Bruce’s shirt to clutch and hang onto. “I’m seeing dead people.” He was vaguely aware of the sound of Clint dropping his mug onto the table, but no one else said anything, and he couldn’t—

What the fuck.

“This is a whole new level of madness.” Tony shook his head dramatically. “J, call my therapist. Wait.” He frowned. “I don’t have a therapist. Damn it, call a therapist. If they’ll take me. Will they take me? Fuck. What the absolute fuck, Fury?!”

“Tony, shut up!” Steve shouted empathically, and Tony would yell back, but just then, he caught sight of Clint’s expression and oh.

Yeah.

Tony cringed. He’d only heard of Clint’s relationship with Coulson after the man had died on the Helicarrier—although not so much, apparently—but he’d witnessed Clint’s intense grief first hand. So… realising Coulson wasn’t dead after all?

Not cool.

Not cool at all.

Everyone watched, tensely, as Coulson tentatively moved  towards Clint, before Natasha suddenly stepped into his path—

That wasn’t going to end well.

“Don’t you dare talk to him,” she hissed, and if Tony had been on the receiving end of that look, he swore he would have just shrivelled up and died because damn, that woman and her icy glares.

“Nat, I—” Coulson began, falling silent immediately beneath the weight of the Black Widow’s lethal glare.

“Enough,” Fury cut in, and Tony almost wanted to pout—this was dramatic as fuck and it didn’t even involve him, for once—before he remembered why they were there and promptly felt sick, because how could he—or any of them, except for maybe Clint—have forgotten, even for a second, that Becca was missing and in danger?

“Yes,” Steve boomed, face stoic but hands clenched into fists nonetheless before he lifted one hand to point at Coulson. “Enough. You… I’m glad you’re not dead. Head’s up would’ve been nice.” He turned to Fury, and Tony was impressed by the way his expression actually grew icier. “And you… when I’ve got Becca back safe and sound, you and I are gonna have a conversation you’re not going to enjoy.”

It struck Tony then, in a moment of dizzying clarity, how much Steve was struggling to hold onto the Captain America mind set, in a way he hadn’t seen him struggle in…

God, in months.

Tony hadn’t understood, initially, that Captain America was Steve’s shield just as much as his vibranium shield was. He hadn’t understood that, to deal with the expectations people put on Steve from the moment they laid eyes on him, Steve hid behind Captain America.

He showed people what they wanted to see.

Tony could tell that, in the light of Coulson’s reappearance, in the light of Becca being kidnapped on his watch and the botched mission—Jesus fucking Christ—that Steve was on the verge of losing it though.

Tony caught Steve’s eye, and the exhausted desperation in the younger man’s eye nearly made him wince. Nearly. Tony was worried about Becca too, the frantic energy humming beneath his skin nearly electric the longer he sat still, but he was willing to concede—just this once—that Steve’s nerves might be slightly more frayed than Tony’s.

Slightly.

To be fair, neither of them was quite as badly off as Thor obviously was, vibrating where he stood, lightning continually sparking between his fingers and his eyes flashing white with each clap of thunder and flash of lightning outside. But then again, it wasn’t Tony’s girlfriend and child on the line, now was it?

God, he didn’t even want to think about Pepper and the baby being in this kind of danger.

Tony could be a good teammate and take the focus off of Cap and Thor for a bit, though.

Let it never be said Tony Stark didn’t play well with others.

Tony cleared his throat loudly, effectively drawing all attention back to him.

“Not that this isn’t fun,” he drawled sarcastically, rolling his eyes at Fury’s annoyed huff. “But I’d prefer to get back to why we’re actuallyhere.” He gestured back to the large screen, his heart clenching a little at the sight of the photo J.A.R.V.I.S. had pulled up—a picture Pepper had taken during one of the Team Movie NightsTony had insisted upon, catching Becca in the middle of a peal of laughter at something silly Thor had said to Steve—before he glanced back to Steve and Thor and steeled himself.

One of them had to keep it together.

Just figured it’d be him again. Tony never thought he’d be the stable one, but then…

Here he was.

Again.

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

BREAKING: NEW YORK CITY HIT BY UNEXPECTED THUNDERSTORM

The torrential rains that have been ravaging New York City for the past few hours hit unexpectedly and, reportedly, entirely out of nowhere around 10:30 p.m. today. The rains and repeated strikes of lightning have yet to cause any real, lasting damage, but it is only a matter of time if it continues, according to experts.

[…] at least 46 people were caught entirely by surprise by the heavy rainfall and needed to be extracted by firefighters from a partially flooded subway tunnel. “[…] situation is, for now, under control, and we’re trying to help those that have been caught up in the storm, but the streets are flooding, and we recommend everyone to remain at home,” said Anahera Taumata, a senior official at the New York City mayor’s office.

[…] Military units have been deployed to assist emergency workers as they search for [missing] people and clear the streets for emergency vehicles. […] storm unlike any in living memory, according to local authorities. New York’s weather agency has reported up to 6 inches of rain fell within four hours, triggering several flash floods in various subway tunnels, and 4 reported lightning strikes to various buildings.

Amusingly, several New Yorkers have taken to Twitter to ask Thor Odinson, New York’s resident God of Thunder, to take the lightning and rain elsewhere. Interestingly, several weather experts have agreed that such a sudden change in the weather can only be attributed to the God of Thunder. […] no response from Thor or the Avengers yet, although the storm rages on.

[…] no reports of deaths or serious injuries yet.

—Pedro Isaac, “New York City Hit By Unexpected Thunderstorm”, DW.com, 2 April 2016

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

Avengers Tower, New York, Manhattan, New York State, United States of America

11:57 p.m., 2 April 2016

Steve

“This has to be a trap.”

“It’s a one-way video feed,” Tony said scathingly, glaring at Fury. “It can’t be a trap.”

The tension in the room was so palpable that it thickened the air surrounding them, making Steve feel almost like he was choking. The others were spread haphazardly throughout the room, eyeing the video feed J.A.R.V.I.S. had pulled up after receiving an anonymous email with varying expressions.

“Is there any way to trace the signal?” Bruce asked reasonably, looking between Tony and Natasha with a furrowed brow. Natasha had taken control over one of Tony’s holographic screens and had, in the past hour and a half, managed to collect a mildly terrifying amount of evidence of Hydra’s continued existence. The things she had found and was currently investigating were so immensely complicated and implicated so many people that it gave Steve a minor headache at just the thought of considering it all.

She’d managed to uncover a terrifying amount of documents, video footage, photos and other evidence, which was mildly terrifying, considering how hard it had been to find even the slightest scrap of evidence before. When Steve had asked why she was finding so much now, Nat had only muttered, “It’s easy to find things when you know what you’re looking for,” before refocusing her attention on the screen.

And yet, nothing she’d found—nothing pointed towards there having been plans to take Becca.

Except… Except that there had clearly been a plan.

The security cameras in and around the building had been masterfully and methodically rerouted to replay previously recorded footage starting three minutes and forty-three seconds before the fire alarm had been triggered until seven and a half minutes after the alarm had been triggered.

In addition to that, whoever had hacked the feed had done so at the scene—which meant they couldn’t be traced through an I.P. address.

The kidnapping clearly was premeditated, but whoever had done said premeditating had not left a paper trail for them to find. They’d not left anything for them to find, other than Becca’s glaring absence and the three trigger happy goons Steve and Clint had run into when they’d canvassed the area.

And now this dark video feed.

“I don’t care what it is,” Thor thundered, eyes flashing with barely suppressed rage. “Will it help us find Becca?” A particularly loud clap of thunder punctuated his words, making his feelings on the matter abundantly clear. Of course, the thunderstorm outside had been gaining in strength since Thor had learned of the kidnapping.

Steve winced.

After their initial explanation of what had happened at the gala, Thor had simply stood, walked out, and—according to J.A.R.V.I.S.—disappeared through the Bifrost. He’d returned not ten minutes later in full armour and with his friends, who had all immediately spread out into the city to track down whatever leads they could find.

Thor had, after they’d spent a tense few minutes watching him talk to his friends, re-joined the team in the board room, although he’d barely said three words since his return, and most of those words had been used to inform them Heimdall was also searching for Becca with his all-seeing gaze.

He hadn’t spoken to Steve directly since he’d walked in.

And Steve hated it.

He hated that he’d failed Thor and Becca so badly. He’d promised Thor that Becca would be safe, that he’d be by her side the entire time—and because he hadn’t been, because he’d decided trying to dance with the target’s date was a good idea, Hydra had been able to get to Becca.

He wouldn’t be surprised if Thor wanted to throw him from the Tower.

Steve kind of wanted to throw himself from the Tower too.  

“As soon as it activates,” Tony said fervently, nodding at Thor. “I don’t care what they’ve done to erase their digital footprints, as soon as they give us an inch, I’m gonna take a fucking mile.”

Thor nodded curtly. “Very well.” He crossed his arms over his chest and looked away, staring silently out the window into the dark storm.

Steve wondered, not for the first time, whether the sight of the storm soothed Thor, or if it made his anger and fear all the worse. It was, after all, a physical manifestation of Thor’s emotions—a blatant and palpable demonstration of everything Thor felt for anyone who cared to look.

Steve had seen Thor’s control over his lightning slip a few times over the years, but every single one of those instances had been… different.

With the exception of the two-week long thunderstorm that had followed Thor’s return to Earth after his mother and Loki had been killed, every other instance of Thor accidentally letting his lightning loose had been… if not outright funny, then certainly amusing.

It’d happened once after his and Becca’s second anniversary, when Becca had apparently done something very well—although Steve preferred not to think about what exactly she’d done so well, for his own sanity—and once after Clint and the twins had teamed up to play a prank on Thor, and the god had startled so bad he’d electrocuted the entire Tower.

Both instances had been hilarious.

There wasn’t anything funny about Thor’s lack of control now.

Steve eyed the raging storm—if it even was due to a lack of control on Thor’s part. He didn’t doubt that his friend was terrified, because Steve was too, and it wasn’t even his girlfriend, his child on the line. He wouldn’t be surprised if there was a reason Thor had decided to unleash the thunderstorm to end all thunderstorms on New York.

Maybe he was hoping to flush out whoever had taken Becca—quite literally.

Steve would be more concerned about the consequences of letting this storm rage—people could get hurt, there could be floods due to the unrelenting rain—but most of his higher brain function was too occupied with Becca to care.

While Tony, Bruce and J.A.R.V.I.S. bickered over how they were going to trace the video feed, Steve took his chance. Natasha, Clint and Wanda had their heads bent together to try to figure out why there was a video feed in the first place, and thankfully weren’t paying attention to him either.

Steve approached Thor, feeling simultaneously nervous and like he was going to get whatever horrible fate he deserved.

“Hey,” he said quietly once he’d reached his friend, leaning against the wall beside Thor.

Thor barely even glanced up at him, but nodded in acknowledgement nonetheless.

“I—” Steve tried, but his voice rebelled, and the words died in his throat. “I’m sorry,” he finally managed. “I promised you she’d be safe, and… I didn’t—I should’ve stayed with her. I’m sorry.”

Thor heaved a sigh beside him.

“Steven,” he said wearily. “My friend. I love you very dearly, and I want you to know that the only people I blame are the people that tookBecca from me, but…” He sighed again and looked at Steve with dark, haunted eyes. “I do not have it in me to reassure you right now.”

He turned away from Steve again and stared back out the window.

Steve opened his mouth, changed his mind, and then closed it again, feeling distinctly nauseated.

He wasn’t sure how long he and Thor stood there, backs against the wall in silence, before Natasha suddenly announced, “We got something.”

At the same time, Tony exclaimed, “The feed’s going live!”

Steve’s stomach dropped away and he felt distinctly nauseous as he eyed the video footage Tony had pulled up on the largest screen in the room. He pushed away from the wall and joined the rest of the team as they gathered around the screen in a tight half circle, each set of shoulders bumping into the next one over.

And there, right in front of them and yet completely out of their reach, was Becca.

The camera hardly shook at all, and the quality of the video was exceptionally high—whoever this was, Steve would bet anything they were using a professional camera, which spoke volumes about the level of preparedness of the kidnappers, at least in his opinion.

When he voiced said thoughts aloud, Natasha nodded in agreement and Tony insisted he had spotted the same thing immediately. Steve didn’t really pay attention to them, trying to focus his gaze on the details of the scene, on anything that might betray where the footage was being filmed or who was filming it—anything that might tell him where Becca was, but the backdrop was a simple, infuriatingly, undoubtedly purposefully white sheet.

He carefully refrained from looking at Becca, who sat tied to a wooden chair in the middle of the image, because he needed time to steel himself for what he was sure he’d see.

He remembered what Hydra did to the people they took.

He remembered what Bucky had looked like right after Steve had pulled him from that concrete slab in Azzano—remembered the blank stare in his best friend’s eye that never really left after.

Steve wasn’t sure he could stand to see another friend tortured by Hydra.

When he did finally look at her, she looked relatively unharmed, although she’d clearly not been handled carefully, either. Her hair had fallen from the elegant mess of braids and curls Nat had done for her earlier, and there was an ugly scrape on her forehead. She was paler than Steve thought was healthy, but when she looked up at the camera, he could recognize the defiant anger in her gaze.

“This is live, yes?” Thor demanded, glancing towards Tony, and Steve wondered if anyone else could tell just how badly Thor’s hands were shaking.

“Yeah,” Tony nodded. “Yeah. J.A.R.V.I.S. is recording and tracing the feed right now.”

He looked stricken, and though Steve felt a wave of sympathy for him.

“Well, smile for the camera, Barnes,” someone drawled on the feed, voice smug and self-satisfied even though it was clearly distorted by some kind of voice modulator.

When Becca continued to scowl at the person behind the camera, someone heaved an impatient sigh and stomped forward, roughly grabbing Becca’s chin with a gloved hand and forcing her to look directly into the camera. “Come on then,” the man—because it was a man, dressed from head to toe in black, a dark ski mask covering his face—in their field of vision spat. “Smile for your friends, bitch. Gotta say goodbye.”

Lightning sparked between Thor’s clenched fingers and jumped up his arm, and the thunder outside roared deafeningly loud.

Steve winced in perfect tandem with the others, and barely resisted the urge to grasp Thor’s shoulder in comfort. The gesture wouldn’t be appreciated right now, he was sure, and he wasn’t very sure he wouldn’t be electrocuted if he touched Thor right now, in any case. Thor certainly didn’t seem entirely aware of the light current of electricity that was dancing from his clenched fists up to his shoulders and the white that crept across his eyes—

It was, admittedly, slightly terrifying.

He returned his attention back to the screen, where Becca had bared her teeth in a bloody grin.

Steve fumed, because it was obvious she’d been slapped hard enough that her upper lip had split, which meant one of those sick sons of bitches had had the gall to hit a pregnant woman hard enough to make her bleed.

“You gonna scream real’ nice and loud for us, baby?” the male, though still unidentifiable voice taunted on the screen, shaking Becca’s chin roughly while several other voices jeered and the man in the frame cupped his crotch suggestively. Becca winced—a small, minute thing, but Steve had known her long enough to recognize her expression of pain—before she spat at the hand that was holding her.

“You and your pathetic little needle dick couldn’t make me scream if you tried,” she spat, voice strong and clear, glaring up at him.

Steve snorted a laugh despite himself, and even Thor smiled.

Unfortunately the kidnappers were not quite as amused by Becca’s innate inability to stop sassing people, and the man who stood next to Becca in the frame, who’d cupped his crotch to taunt her, slapped Becca hard. Her head whipped to the side and Thor growled as the thunder above them roared, and—miraculously, thankfully—the sound echoed on the video.

They could hear Thor’s thunder on the video.

They could hear it.

She was still in the city—whoever had taken her hadn’t taken her out of the city. And thunder had a limited sound range, at that.

Amateurs, he thought contemptuously.

Becca slowly swung her head back towards the camera, grinning that same bloody grin. “Oh, you’re fucked now,” she chuckled. “Thor. Babe. There’s only five of them. Fucking annihilate them.”

“Someone calculate how far that was,” Clint shouted. “How long was the delay?”

“Couple of seconds tops,” Tony said absently, hands moving feverishly across the keyboard.

“You insolent bitch,” the man behind the camera spat, lurching forward in a blurred movement to backhand Becca across the face once more, and Thor’s thunder howled so loudly everyone reflexively covered their ears. A massive bolt of lightning struck the nearest building and the city went dark beneath and around them.

The Tower, mercifully, seemed mostly unaffected, although there were quite a few red alerts popping up at the bottom of the screen. The video feed, too, seemed unaffected, although the lights shining down on Becca had dimmed considerably, and everyone except Becca seemed a little spooked by Thor’s outburst.

“Well,” the man chuckled, although his voice was just a little shakier than it had been before. “We know they’re watching, then. Good.” He disappeared from the frame again and ordered, “Go get the Soldier.”

Becca swayed a little against her bonds, clearly dazed by the last blow—though still with a slight smile on her face from the proof of Thor’s wrath—and Steve bit his lip nervously. Even though they knew they were in the city, that they couldn’t be far, he didn’t like that they couldn’t get to her right away, that they couldn’t bring her to the medical floor to have her checked out—

“Captain America,” the man on the video said, and Steve’s head snapped up. “You’ve been a thorn in Hydra’s side for far too long. Consider this a warning of what’ll happen to everyone you love if you continue to cross us—we know where your friends live, know that certain elderly friends of yours are particularly vulnerable. I hope you’ve enjoyed your time with Barnes while it lasted, because it comes to an end now. Hail Hydra.”

“What,” Tony said, baffled, and Steve’s stomach roiled—he might throw up; something he’d done maybe thrice since waking from the ice.

Becca had been shaking her head the entire time the man was speaking, but when she opened her mouth to say something, she seemed to spot something behind the camera and her eyes went wide, her jaw going slack. “Wh—Uncle Bucky?”

Steve, who’d been reaching for the nearest trashcan—just in case his rebellious stomach decided to stage a full-scale riot—abruptly jerked back towards the screen, wide-eyed and confused, and Becca blinked owlishly at whoever was behind the camera.

But then, suddenly, before she could gather herself, there was a commotion from the same direction she was staring into as if she’d seen a ghost. It devolved rapidly into unintelligible shouting, and before any of them had any chance to figure out what the hell was happening—

The camera toppled on its side with a loud crash, and for a second, through blurred, jagged footage, Becca’s feet were visible, before a loud bang startled them all, and the video abruptly cut out.

“J.A.R.V.I.S.,” Tony inquired shakily, “tell me you have something.”

“Why would she say that?” Steve whispered, staring at the blank screen without really seeing it, without really… without really thinking.

Why would Becca say Bucky’s name?

No one replied to him.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” J.A.R.V.I.S. responded apologetically, speaking over Steve’s whisper, and Steve felt sick. “The signal was heavily encrypted and was being bounced off servers on every continent. Even with the knowledge they were still in the city, I was not able to narrow down the location. Based on the delay before we heard the echo of Thor’s thunder, however, I estimate that they are no more than five miles away from the Tower.”

“We have to do something,” Natasha exclaimed a little desperately. “There has to be something—they’re in the city, we know they are in the city—you have to be able to find something.”

“Their lights weren’t off,” Wanda remarked from next to a quivering Thor, wringing her hands nervously, anxiously. “It was darker, but not fully dark, and I think there was a hum in the background after. They must have an emergency generator. Doesn’t that help?”

“Why would she say Bucky’s name?” Steve repeated, a little louder, ignoring the slight hysteria in his own voice, choosing to focus on that rather than the gunshot they’d heard at the end of the video, because… because…

Because she’d said Bucky’s name.

Steve was unable to ignore it or chalk it up to coincidence—he couldn’t.

He knew Becca would have known that too.

“I don’t know, Steve!” Natasha shouted suddenly, startling them all into silence. Steve stared at her with wide eyes—he had never seen Natasha lose her cool like this, and that more than anything shocked him into immediate silence and stillness. She exhaled shakily and continued in a—slightly—calmer voice, “It doesn’t matter why she said Bucky’s name. I’m sorry, but it doesn’t. What we need to focus on right now is where she is and who has her. Once we have her safely back we can look into anything she said and why she said it, but not now.”

Steve blinked at her. “Okay,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

He’d forgotten, for a moment, that he wasn’t the only one that loved Becca—that he wasn’t the only one that was going out of his mind with worry.

Natasha glared at him for another tense, drawn-out moment before she sighed. “It’s fine.” She looked to Thor, who was still glaring at the screen where Becca had been projected just minutes before, almost like he hadn’t even registered the commotion erupting around him.

“Thor,” she said, switching gears, her voice softening into something more comforting. “We’re going to find her. Can you meet up with your friends, see if they’ve found something? In the meantime, we can work out a search grid and work in pairs, search more efficiently—they can’t be far, so we have to make sure we get there before they move again. Maybe start on the outer perimeter of a five mile radius and work your way inwards; that’s what I’d do, and you can do it in a snap compared to most of the rest of us.”

“I’ll go with,” Steve said immediately, because his skin was crawling and he couldn’t stand sitting here and doing nothing any longer, because he knew his brain would drive him mad if he did.

Natasha nodded. “I’m going with you. Thor, with your friends—there’s four of them, yes?”

When Thor nodded, Nat smiled tightly. “Split up into groups of two. Tony, I need a map.”

Tony jerked into movement, blinking blearily but pulling up a map of the city obediently. Natasha walked up to it and indicated a ten-block radius. “You and your friend search this grid. Steve and I,” she indicated another ten-block grid, “will be searching this area. Your other two friends can search here.” She pointed again and Thor nodded sharply.

“We can search too,” Pietro piped in. “I’m fast, and Wanda can fly; give each of us ten blocks. Wanda and I can clear more than you can and faster, and that safely frees up Thor for the perimeter.”

Natasha nodded grimly.

“Be careful,” she told them after she’d indicated a good portion of the city. “Hydra will probably be looking to take you two back as well.”

Wanda bared her teeth in a snarl. “I’d like to see them try.”

With that, she slung her arm around her brother’s neck, and they blurred out of sight. Thor looked at the map intently for another few moments before he too, without words, stomped out of the room.

“Tony,” Nat said sternly, “Keep trying to hack the signal. If you find anything, any clue to narrow our search down, let us know.”

Tony nodded.

Clint settled in a corner, dragging several laptops, Starkpads and phones with him—staunchly ignoring Coulson and Fury, who were both pacing in the corridor, barking orders on their phones—and told Nat, “I’ll contact everyone I know—someone’ll know something.”

Nat nodded again before she turned to Steve. “Well,” she said, eyeing him up and down. “Suit up.”

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

Start from the beginning:

In Hell We Stand By You:

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8)

Never Feel Alone:

(1) (2)

Decisions:  (1)

Dancing with a Limp:

(1) (2)

Chances:

(1)

Starting Over:

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8)

Dancing in the Rain:

(1) (2) (3) 

Or read it HERE on AO3 :D Find the next chapter HERE on Tumblr :)

[woolishlygrim]

Winter Weebwatch #3

I feel a little bad for giving out so many two and three star scores, so I should probably clarify that three stars is meant to be ‘generally pretty good’ and two stars is meant to be ‘watchable but very flawed.’ We’re not working on IGN metrics here.

Also, this week is the week I finally drop a show! What could it be, what could it -- it’s Plunderer. Of course it’s Plunderer. I couldn’t get all the way through this week’s episode and life’s too short to bother watching any more of it.

Also also, while In/Spectre hasn’t been dropped, it gets subbed so late that I’m skipping it this week and rolling this week’s episode over to next week’s post.

ID: Invaded.

★★★★☆

God, why was this show relegated to the Death Season, Where Anime Goes To Die? For three weeks running now, ID: Invaded has stood head and shoulders over all of its competitors, and while there’s always the possibility it could collapse in under its own weight, it so far seems to be going pretty strong.

So episode four (again, see remarks about how one and two aired in the same week) sees Sakaido and the team in a race against the clock to catch the Gravedigger, a serial killer who traps people into enclosed spaces with just a few oxygen canisters and livestreams their struggles, showing the world their final moments and even continuing the livestreams to show their bodies decaying. The Gravedigger has kidnapped a new victim, and for the first time left enough cognition particles behind for Sakaido to dive into his mental world.

Whereas previous episodes have focused heavily on the mystery angle, this episode largely focuses on the stress the case puts on Sakaido and the team. The Gravedigger’s world is a uniquely dangerous mess of fire, explosions, and shifting architecture, and Sakaido dies again and again as he struggles to find any evidence of the Gravedigger’s identity.

Much like the last episode, this would sit at a solid three stars, being a fairly engaging and somewhat harrowing story of Sakaido and the team putting themselves under immense stress to save a victim. What boosts it up to four stars is the moment where the writers pull the rug out from under the characters and the audience: The Gravedigger they’re hunting is only a copycat of the real Gravedigger, and his victim has been dead for days, the ‘livestream’ actually a recording.

The episode also hints at a bigger role for the Perforator in future, as the team attempts to use him as a back-up detective, Akaido, only to find out he’s ill-suited for the role.

Pet.

★★★☆☆

Pet was so close to a four star rating this week. So close. 

So, this week’s episode continues an unclear amount of time after the last week’s episode, with Hiroki and Tsubasa having bought a fish store (as in a pet store that sells live fish and naught else, not a fishmonger’s), which Hiroki believes means they can stop doing work for the shady Committee -- only for Tsubasa to inform him that the Committee paid for the store in the first place, but not to worry, he’ll do all their jobs, and Hiroki doesn’t have to do any of them.

So this episode is … moderately upsetting, actually. Intentionally so.

The bulk of the storyline, in which Tsubasa alters a bodyguard’s memory so that he’s compelled to murder one of his boss’ friends, isn’t what’s upsetting about it, although it does deal with some sensitive subjects, namely domestic abuse and the objectification of vulnerable people. No, what’s upsetting is that, like with last week’s story about Hiroki and Tsubasa altering the memories of a couple, this one also harks back to Hiroki and Tsubasa’s relationship -- specifically, that Tsubasa is emotionally abusing Hiroki.

We get hints of this early on, when Tsubasa is deliberately vague about whether he’ll psychically synchronise with Satoru, another character who, at least in Hiroki’s mind (although evidently not in Satoru’s), is something of a romantic rival. As the episode wears on, Tsubasa goes about his work, while Hiroki, left alone at the fish store, begins showing his immaturity by acting out with his powers before eventually becoming sullen and unresponsive. All of that wouldn’t be enough to indict Tsubasa as being abusive, except in the final scene, as Katsuragi snidely remarks that their new store will never be successful and Hiroki will have to return to a life of crime, Tsubasa mildly returns that he knows it won’t be successful, and he knows it will hurt Hiroki, but that’s just part of ‘taking care of a pet.’

Aaaand we get our title, with all of the unpleasant implications of how Tsubasa views the much more immature and emotionally vulnerable Hiroki.

This episode would have scraped a four star score, but the early parts of the story are a bit too fast paced and a bit incoherent. That really was the only thing holding this absolute gutpunch of an episode back.

Bonus points to the episode that the thing that prompts Hiroki to act out with his powers is seeing a woman’s domineering and callous boyfriend, implying that he is at least somewhat aware of what Tsubasa is like.

Honestly, when this show started I was not expecting a meditation on the subject of abusive relationships, but here we are, and I’m down for it.

Darwin’s Game.

★☆☆☆☆

Oh my god, I just watched it. I just watched it, guys, and I don’t remember even the tiniest bit of it. Am I crazy? Is this what crazy feels like? It’s like I’m blotting the show out of my memory.

I remember something to do with plants and that’s … that’s actually the only thing I remember about this episode.

I don’t even think Darwin’s Game is bad (although let’s be honest, how would I know), it’s just not really anything. It has somehow hit that sweet spot between good and bad where it just fails to make any kind of impact at all, and my brain just interprets it as background noise and proceeds to flush all data pertaining to it.

I might drop it just because this has got to be getting boring for anyone reading these reviews by now. Watching this show is like a sneak peek of suffering from dementia. 

And yet, I still know for a fact it’s better than Plunderer, so it gets one star.

Plunderer.

☆☆☆☆☆ (DROPPED)

Aaand I’m out.

Look, after the shitshow that was the first episode, I should have dropped it straight away. I gave it a chance, and the second episode convinced me that, hey, maybe this wouldn’t be so terrible, maybe the first episode was just an outlier.

The first episode was not an outlier. Episode three isn’t entirely sexual assault and sexual harassment, but about twelve minutes in it does segue into an extended sequence of exactly those things, getting worse with each passing minute. I got up to fourteen minutes, the point at which a supporting character was cheering on the protagonist to sexually assault someone, before I just couldn’t stomach watching anymore.

This show could be the most interesting, engaging, thought-provoking thing on television, and the constant sexual assault would still make me drop it. Luckily, even if you take out all the sex crimes, all you’d get is a show that was basically okay at best.

So zero stars for Plunderer, and I’m dropping the show. To be perfectly honest, I should have dropped it after episode one. 

Sorcerous Stabber Orphen.

★★★☆☆

Onto more pleasant news, man, I just don’t know what’s up with Sorcerous Stabber Orphen’s pacing. Having proceeded at a truly glacial pace for the first two episodes, this episode caps off the entire current story arc, bringing it to an abrupt close.

Now in the company of his old mentor Childman and a task force of sorcerers, Orphen tracks down the dragon-ified Azalie, attempting to reason with her, only for Childman to stab him and eviscerate Azalie. In the aftermath, however, Orphen realises that he’s been played: The dragon he thought was Azalie was actually Childman, and the person he’s been thinking of as Childman is actually Azalie.

So, that was a weird twist. It’s not, in fact, completely out of the left field. The episode sets up early on that Azalie was skilled not only in elemental Black Sorcery, but also in telepathic White Sorcery, and that she should have access to those spells even as a dragon, something which is cause for concern because nobody in the task force has White Sorcery, including Childman. Later on, the confrontation with Dragon-Azalie (Drazalie, if you will), has a character call attention to how she hasn’t used any White Sorcery since the battle started. So when it’s eventually revealed that Azalie did, in fact, use White Sorcery, secretly swapping her mind with Childman’s and letting him die in her place, it actually fits together in quite a neat fashion. 

The episode ends without any real hint as to where the story is going to go next: Azalie escapes in Childman’s body, and Orphen is still an exile from the Tower of Fangs, and there aren’t any other pressing story threads, so I guess we’ll see.

Infinite Dendrogram.

★★☆☆☆

This is the second week in a row that I’m giving Infinite Dendrogram two stars, and it actually physically pains me to do so, because I really like this series. I think apart from ID: Invaded, it’s my favourite anime this season, by quite a significant margin.

But nothing at all happens in this episode.

Okay, that’s only half true. The episode opens with the Player-Killers roaming around Altar having all been killed, which journalist (that’s literally her character class, which I kind of love as a concept) Marie Adler says was the work of just the four ranked players. One by one, she shows the main cast a video of each one taking out a clan of Player-Killers in their own unique way: Arena gladiator Figaro takes his targets out one by one, sadistically toying with them before striking the killing blow; cult priestess Tsukuyo uses magic to immobilise her targets, before letting her cult skewer them one by one; martial artist Lei Lei takes them out in a surprisingly friendly and sporting fashion; and the King of Destruction, whose identity is unknown and definitely not Ray’s big brother, definitely, absolutely, just levels the entire forest his targets are hiding in.

I … do see the necessity of introducing them. The Superiors are basically this show’s Gotei 13, or Gold Saints, or Hashira, or <Insert Group Of Loosely Allied Big Tough People That Are In Every Post-Saint Seiya Shounen Anime> here. There are, however, more interesting ways this could have been done than having the characters watching four videos of fights they already know the outcome to.

For example, what if, instead, you had an episode setting up the characters all getting trapped in different areas, pursued by higher level Player Killers, only for them each to be saved by a Superior. That would actually have some tension and dramatic stakes, and it’d be a much more dynamic way of introducing them. 

[slytherinknowitall]

Potion Fumes and Cauldron Leaks

Chapter 12: A Friend For The Lonely Beast At Last

(Click here for chapter 11!)

(Click here to start from the beginning!)

Disclaimer: I don’t own the “Harry Potter” book series. The story of “Harry Potter” is the property of J. K. Rowling, it is not my intellectual property. There is no financial gain made from this nor will any be sought. This is for entertainment purposes only.

The following days went by way too fast, and the weekend was over before Severus knew it.

He had spent the two chilly autumn days locked away in his quarters, not leaving the cold confines of the dungeons even once. While he would normally spend his free days hunting for rare potion ingredients and interesting literature or working on improving his already impeccable brewing technique, he had passed the past 48 hours buried beneath countless pillows and thick blankets in his large four-poster bed. The only contact to the outside world had been provided by the school’s ever-diligent house elves, who had both kept the Potions Master’s rooms clean and delivered warm meals three times a day – not that the man had touched much of the food.

On Monday morning, Severus woke up with a throbbing headache. A quick look at his watch told him that breakfast was probably already in full swing, but he didn’t feel like eating. Most of all, however, he didn’t feel like facing a certain brunette before he absolutely had to. So instead, he got up and moved to the bathroom with sagging shoulders.

As he was standing in the shower a few minutes later, letting the icy cold water pour over his lithe body, he tried hard to ignore the intrusive thoughts that had been plaguing him all throughout the past days. They all had something to do with some newly discovered and rather confusing feelings for a little know-it-all, of course.

While he had dismissed his earlier impure thoughts about Granger as the simple result of prolonged abstinence, these confounding emotions were of a whole new calibre. Physical attraction was one thing; he could deal with that. But fancying one of his own students – let alone maybe falling in love with them – was simply too much. It made him feel almost physically ill.

Severus had never been one to handle his own feelings well, and his relative inexperience when it came to the opposite sex – especially in the romantic sense – only added to his confusion and uncertainty. The only woman he had ever been interested in, the only one he had ever loved, was Lily. And he had always thought that she was the love of his life. Even almost two decades after her violent death, her mental image was still looming over his scarred heart. The redhead had been the one thing that had kept him going throughout the war; she had been the only reason he had tried so desperately to keep that stupid Potter boy alive – and the only reason he had continued to live.

But now, he was slowly but surely starting to question all that. Whatever it was that he was beginning to feel towards Granger was so different and so much more intense than anything he had ever experienced before. Somehow, it even felt more powerful than his love for Lily had ever been to begin with. And over the weekend, the wizard had come to the shocking conclusion that the only reason he had ever been that obsessed with his childhood sweetheart was because she had been one of the few people to ever show a genuine interest in him as a person. Whether Severus liked it or not, he had always been someone who craved the attention and acceptance of others. That had been the main reason he had joined the ranks of the Dark Lord in the first place. Lily had been his friend, she had treated him with respect; and teenage-him had mistaken that for love. Looking back, he realised that it had never been her that he’d been craving; it had been her kindness towards him. The fact that his personal archenemy had also quickly started to show an interest in her had only made Snape more determined to make her his, of course.

His feelings towards Granger were of a different nature. She had never been his friend; in fact, Severus was pretty much sure that she hated him just as much as the rest of the student body – even if she never really showed it. So it wasn’t her continued affection he desired. No, he wanted her. He wanted to run his calloused fingers through her voluminous curls, he wanted to listen to her babble on for hours about some random boring topic, he wanted to hold her and sleep next to her like they had done in his office. For the first time in his life, he wasn’t striving to possess a woman but rather to give himself to her – and it was driving him absolutely insane. Even forgetting the fact that she was his pupil and personal apprentice, those feelings still managed to make him feel vulnerable and weak.

The half-blood sighed before stepping out of the shower and drying himself off with a towel. He took his time with the rest of his morning routine, but it didn’t take long before he found himself in the Potions classroom, surrounded by an annoying, hyperactive flock of second-years. And unfortunately, it seemed to only take a blink of an eye before those young students were then soon replaced by the seventh-years – with Hermione Granger being on time for the first time in weeks.

Severus noticed her presence instantly. She looked the same as always – her brown mane was pulled back into a classic Dutch braid, and her spick and span uniform was topped off with her polished Head Girl badge – yet somehow, the sight of her gave him an armada of butterflies in his stomach. She must have noticed his intense gaze, too; as she gave him a quick but radiant smile before hurrying to her usual seat in the front row. He would have lied if he had said that that small gesture didn’t make his dark heart jump a little.

Staggered by his inner turmoil, the professor frowned as he waited for the class to settle down. As soon as the last chitchat faded away, he briskly made his way towards the front of the classroom. Lightly tapping his wand against the black board, a dozen or so rows of brewing instructions appeared.

“Today –“

He let out a small cough, trying to get rid of that sudden lump in his throat.

“Today, you will be brewing Doxycide. Now, as you all surely are aware, this specific potion has the purpose of temporarily stunning Doxies. These fairy-like creatures are common household pests, so this remedy will likely prove useful to each and every one of you at some point. As anyone with even just a handful of braincells would know, these beasts are –“

The Gryffindor’s eyes were following his every move, and he was uncomfortably aware of that. They seemed to burn through his skin right into his soul.

“Um … bad.”

The little slip-up had an instant impact. There was immediate commotion, with loud chatter practically bouncing between the heads of shocked teenagers, and Severus’ eyes grew big as he unsuccessfully tried to mask his own surprise – never in his entire career as a teacher had he ever tripped over his own tongue like this before!

Not having the slightest clue how to handle this most unprecedented situation, he simply muttered a quick “The required ingredients can be found in the supply cupboard. You may get started.” before disappearing into his office, his long black robes whirling up around him as he did so.

*************** *************** ***************

Snape waited an extra ten minutes following the chime of the old Clock Tower before finally emerging from his hiding place, making certain to give the students enough time to finish up their potions, clean their workspaces and leave.

As he re-entered the dark teaching lab, he scrunched up his large nose at the foul smell of Doxycide; while he’d become inured to most unpleasant smells over the years, he for some reason still could barely stand the solution’s disgusting stench. Nonetheless, he marched to his desk and was just about to sit down and organise the countless parchment rolls spread across the table when a soft voice suddenly caressed his ears.

“Professor Snape?”

Startled, he spun around. Standing on the doorstep, there was Granger. Her heavy book bag swinging from her delicate shoulders, she was holding another three or four books in her arms. Over the course of the lesson, some of her locks had become undone and were now framing her freckled face nicely.

“Oh, I’m sorry, sir! I didn’t mean to take you by surprise!” Biting her bottom lip, she gave him a quick grin.

“Miss Granger, I …” Severus was at a loss for words. Trying hard to ignore his beating heart, he was frantically searching for something, anything to say. Never before had he struggled for words like this in front of a student.

When he didn’t continue, Granger stepped into the room and said, “Oh, well, I apologise for ambushing you like this, but after what happened last Friday, I really feel like we should talk.”

“Fuck!” Severus thought panicked. “Now she will accuse me of being a bloody pervert! What kind of teacher falls asleep hugging a student, anyways?! You really should have known better, Severus! She has probably already reported you to that duffer of a headmaster and demanded to switch apprenticeships! Hell, the whole school likely already knows about that little slumber party, what were you –“

“Thank you.”

Snape was completely taken aback. “Wh-what?”

Her rosy cheeks became even redder. “I would like to thank you, sir. What you did for me was more than kind. The way you defended and comforted me … I cannot express my appreciation enough.” She flashed him another shy smile. “Oh, and also thank you for sending that house elf up to my rooms with my belongings after I ran off. That was very thoughtful of you.”

Severus could only stare at her, his mouth slightly agape. “So … you are not going to switch to another professor?” he asked meekly, the disbelief in his voice clearly audible.

Granger laughed nervously. “No, of course not,” she answered as she fiddled with the cuticle of her right middle finger. Furling her eyebrows, her gaze then wandered to the floor. “If anything, I’m here to apologise for my behaviour over the past couple of weeks. I just … overreacted, I guess.”

There was an awkward silence for a few seconds, during which the flustered wizard did not allow himself to breathe. Could it really be that she was grateful for his actions? Perhaps she didn’t dislike him after all? While he would never – could never – permit himself to give into his irrational emotions, Severus let himself believe for just a split second that maybe, just maybe, the two of them could become something like friends instead.

Don’t be stupid! She may not hate you, but she still thinks of you as nothing more than an old, crusty codger.

Or did she? Helplessly overwhelmed by his inner conflict, he simply had to know the witch’s true feelings. Meeting her hazel eyes with his, Severus silently and effortlessly delved into Granger’s smart mind. As soon as he entered, he was amazed – he had never encountered such an extraordinary brain before. He didn’t have time to marvel at it, however, as he was in a hurry to search for any thoughts concerning his person before the Muggle-born would notice his presence inside her head.

Once he found them, however, he was stunned – there was not the least bit of hatred or disgust. Instead, Severus was rushing through a vortex of muddled memories.

First, he found himself in his own classroom more than six years ago, watching a slightly younger version of himself hold his typical introductory speech in front of a bunch of bright-faced 11-year-old Slytherins and Gryffindors. Looking around, he soon spotted a familiar bushy-haired, buck-toothed girl. Concentrating on her, he was able to feel the astonishment and admiration radiating from her.

The next memory seemed to be a couple of years younger, located yet again in the dungeon classroom. He saw himself aiding to a hurt Neville Longbottom lying on the ground after what seemed to have been another botched brewing attempt. Standing amongst the crowd of students gathered around the scene, a fourth-year Hermione Granger was looking at the two of them with both worry and fondness in her eyes. To Severus’ surprise, the latter seemed to be directed at both of them equally. He didn’t have a lot of time to process this, however, as the image promptly vanished before his own eyes.

The last distinct memory was only a few months old, taking place in a little suburban town somewhere in Muggle England. A casually dressed Granger was sitting on a small twin bed situated in what he suspected to be her bedroom. He raised an eyebrow at the various shades of green that the room was arranged in before stepping closer to the young woman. She was presently bend over a piece of parchment paper, and upon closer inspection, he realised that it was a letter from Hogwarts – an application for the apprenticeship programme, to be more exact. He watched as she used a small beige-coloured quill to fill in Professor Severus Snape next to the words Desired Tutor. Looking at her bare, makeup-free face, his breath was taken away when he saw her grin broadly, seemingly filled with excitement. Astonished, Severus slipped back into reality.

“Is everything okay, sir?” Granger asked with obvious concern in her voice, blissfully unaware that her privacy had just been invaded.

Snape gulped. “Yes, Miss Granger. Everything is quite all right.”

And when the girl smiled at him this time, he couldn’t help but smirk back at her. Perhaps they could become friends, after all.

(Click here for chapter 13!)

[pleasurextreasure]

❜cutlass (14/?)

genre: Aristocrat!reader x Pirate!Jeno, ft. NCT Dream

warnings: all nct Dream members are above 18+, multi-chapter, swear words here and there throughout fic

word count: 1.2k

prompts: in which Jeno is cursed to live for three more years and only loving someone and expecting nothing in return can break it

a/n: hi how are you ➵admin kiki

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | Current

Ξ r e q u e s t Ξ

“How unmannered have you become over the mere months you were with those criminals?” he sneers, watching your handmaiden broom the shattered pieces of your mirror into a pile. “How rebellious will you continue to act?”

“Until my days of living come to an end,” you mumble, purposely allowing your voice to carry over to his ears.

“That can be arranged if you are to continue with this behavior.” Your father snarls in return. He eyes the ragged tears and fallen cloths of your dress, “Prepare yourself for guests this afternoon.”

You make no indication of replying back to him, and instead watch the maid continue her endeavor of carefully picking up the glass. You glance down towards your hands, paying no mind to the scattered, shallow cuts that marked your skin. Upon ripping your dress, you had been careless when handling the sharp pieces and nicked yourself one too many times.

“Despicable.” Your father mutters, shaking his head. “God knows how much I wanted a son, but instead, he’s gifted me a devil-child and a wife who is incapable of producing anymore children.” The maid finishes her duty and cautiously exits the room, your father following behind. He swiftly shuts the door and demands your attendance in the living room no later than one.

You fall onto your bed, gingerly bringing your thighs up and against your chest. You stifle a whimper against your clothed knees, squeezing your eyes shut. “Jeno, you selfish man.”

⚓⚓

The living area felt stiff, and the silence was nearly deafening to be surrounded in. Your parents were intentionally leaving you out of their conversation as they went over the news of some politician’s re-election. It wasn’t as though you’d participate in it, anyway.

Your focus was on the grandfather clock that was stowed to the side of the room, watching its hands move at a steady pace, switching the time to 1:04.

“It is nothing but disrespectful to be this tardy,” your father claims, also checking the time. “How do they expect us to allow their son to wed our only daughter if they are unable to maintain a proper sense of time?”

“Maybe the family had second thoughts, after finding out what kind of a man you are.” You whisper, unaware that his attention shifted towards you.

“Dare you repeat yourself?” he threatened, rising from his seat to tower over your seated figure. His hand was raised, and you flinched at the action he was intending to do. “Your mouth is so smart, that it should easily find its way of repeating your words.”

“Darling, please…” your mother calls out softly, trying to ease her husband outrage.

Your breathing hitches when his hand comes down, your cheek being its target. You involuntarily close your eyes, awaiting his impact. Yet, it never comes. Instead, the knocking of your visitors’ is your saving grace, and you relax in your chair over the pardoning act.

“We will discuss another means of punishment once we establish this deal.” Your father strides out of the room.

Your mother stands from her spot on the loveseat, and you hesitantly follow suit. You smoothen out the wrinkles in your dress - a soft, pink one was your mother’s choice of today - and fold your hands over your waist, an act you’ve been taught all your life. You allowed yourself to ease your lips into a smile, preparing yourself for your visitors.

It was one thing to disrespect your father, but to do so in front of another gentleman could call for the Navy guards whisking you away to house for the mentally-illed. You had no choice but to act as refined as they fibbed you to be.

“Right this way, if you will.” Your father is the first to enter the room, guiding the Nakamotos who were trailing behind him.

“Ah, is this the fine, young lady we’ve heard so much of?” The older gentleman questions, offering you a polite grin.

Your attention was not on him, but on his son instead. Your parents did not lie about their son’s handsome features, you had to admit. But as much as you willed yourself not to think of it, he didn’t compare to Jeno. No one ever could, you found yourself thinking. Your smile turns rueful due to the pang in your chest and you distract yourself by the introductions going around.

“I hope you have been relieved of your illness.” Mr. Nakamoto says with concern.

“Yes, I apologize for the delay in our meetings because of this.” You softly reply.

“It’s well worth the wait,” he nods, earning an agreement from his wife. He turns to your father, “Shall we discuss matters in another room?”

“Certainly.” The smile on your father’s face churns your stomach in an uncomfortable bellyache. It was so fake, you wondered how it was able to pass. “Yuta, please do us the honor of socializing with our daughter as we occupy ourselves in the dining room.”

With that, the adults make a swift exit, leaving behind the two main attractions of the afternoon.

“Lady Y/N, was it?” Yuta asks, trying to start a conversation you were surely going to let die down soon enough. You simply smile in response. He sits down on the loveseat, motioning for you to do the same. “Please, sit with me, won’t you?”

“Of course.”

He leans back, fingers stroking against the pattern of the fabric. “You can drop the act, you know.” You’re surprised by his words but he offers a closed-lip smile in response. “I am no willing participant in this as much as you are.”

“I apologize if my actions make you think this way.” You respond.

“They don’t. This is of my own avail. You’re as lovely as they say, yes. But I cannot bring myself to marry a woman who is unwilling to do. I want a bride, not a prisoner.”

You couldn’t help but feel reassured by his words. You were hearing something that finally made sense around here, and it was from him, of all people.

“I’m able to call the engagement off, if you so much as wish it.” He continues on, your interest reaching its peak. “But in exchange for something else, of course.”

You should have known such a thing would come with a cost. “What would that be?”

“Your happiness.”

“Huh?”

“You see, you are not the first woman my parents have dragged me out to be. The ones before you were in similar situations, not wanting to be whisked away by a stranger. I sympathize with you, understanding how wronged you must be for such a thing to be beared upon your shoulders with no say to the matter.”

You’re lost for words, unable to comprehend that such a thing was happening. You wondered if you actually woke up this morning, or if you were trapped in a cruel dream.

“Yuta, I-”

Your sentence halts when another round of knocking echoes throughout the house. From your knowledge, there wasn’t any other guests who were to come by other than the Nakamoto’s. Maybe a relative or peer of theirs?

You step out into the hallway, curiously looking towards the main entrance as your father’s head servant opens the door. You’re thrown into disbelief and your breathing halts as the door reveals the unexpected visitor.

“Good afternoon, sir. Is this the residence of a Miss Y/N Y/L/N?”

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[rtcessays]

essay 2

Its only a paper moon Tick Tick Time there is love in your body (you can't hold it in) The sun no longer shines (on your side) Q’s for Lise

How did you find writing Tony Stark? Remarkably enough, for a character I often find myself frustrated by, I really enjoy writing Tony. He’s fun - his glib way of talking, often using more words than necessary to talk around whatever he’s trying to get at, and at the same time terrifically blunt - is in a weird way kind of adjacent to Loki. They both tend to circumlocute, but in very different ways.At this point in the series it’s especially fun - developing Tony’s relationship with the idea of Steve/Loki from here to...where it is at the current point was something I enjoyed doing, even if it largely happened “off screen.”But this iteration of Tony has a better sense of what’s going on (in some ways) than Steve does, because from an outside perspective he’s not dealing with the level of denial that Steve feels.  What was your motivation for the ending of The sun no longer shines (on your side)? At this point I was coming to (what I planned to be) the end of the main series. I’d been having Loki and Steve circle each other, Loki moving in and out as he pleased and walking a fine line without ever committing to anything, even as he and Steve get more and more tangled together. I actually knew that once I introduced Doom in “Tick Tick Time” that I was going to use him for...this, basically. When Loki is scared - when Loki is freaking out especially about the prospect of emotions - he tends to run in the other direction. If I wanted to get them somewhere, I needed to force Loki to stop running.In retrospect, there’s a kind of neatness to the fact that Loki and Steve’s relationship started with Loki crash landing in the Tower, and here it comes to a crossroads in the same way. Why I chose to end the fic there - I think it had to do with the fact that this fic was a specific arc and I knew that I had a whole other arc that it was moving onto. “The sun no longer shines (on your side)” was about bringing them together and forcing both of them to confront that this Thing they’ve been doing isn’t just a passing fad. The next fic (that I wrote, not chronologically), “with an untrained voice” (and here I am looking ahead), was about closing the circle. I do this a lot throughout the series - writing a specific story and then, rather than adding another chapter, having a separate fic that deals with the aftermath and repercussions. For some reason, I feel a need to separate those things. - Here at the beginning of ‘its only a paper moon’, we find ourselves with a face full of Tony Stark; how else can one describe the man? Tony’s...Tony-ness is often difficult to pin down but the author has enough of his cadence and flavor for succinct verbosity that you can hear Downey’s voice when you actively read the first scene of ‘its only a paper moon’. A treat, to be sure, and its Tony who asks the questions that’s been on the readers’ minds, namely, “What’s the deal with you and Loki?”. Its something of a thesis statement. “He raised a hand and crooked a finger, beckoning Steve. He didn’t really think about taking a step forward, but he took two toward Loki before he stopped, maybe a foot between them. He laughed, a little nervously.” 

Loki’s bordering on erotic pear eating might be on Steve’s mind, calling back to the first time he thought of Loki in a romantic light. Here, the tension ramps up despite Steve’s nerves. Loki offers his hand, and Steve takes it, marking the beginning of whatever the hell its is that Steve and Loki become at this point, at least in Steve’s mind.

“He pushed the rest of the way down, smashing his lips to Loki’s with enthusiasm if not skill, and it felt right.” 

Here’s Steve’s instincts again, which he’s relied on heavily in regards to his interactions with Loki up to this point. Tony discerned it before it happened, but now there is no turning back. He kisses Loki and is ensnared, whether he likes it or not. “Dangerous, whispered a faint voice at the back of Steve’s mind, but most of him thrilled to it, his heart pounding against his ribs.” Steve’s mind is full of what Loki can be, can do, his fantasies of a trust in him that Steve’s instincts nearly begged for. Of course, everything isn’t as it seems. “He reached down, fingers wrapping around Steve’s cock, and squeezed so Steve arched up with a shout-And lurched into consciousness with his cock rock hard and his pulse pounding, for a moment still groping after a dream before he registered what was going on. Dreaming. He’d been dreaming, but it’d been so vivid-” Not a truth, then, just a fiction. A dream. But what an incredible way to set up Steve’s attractions, to make clear just what it is his mind and body wants with Loki. Writing it off as a product of Tony’s words, Steve gives in anyways, surely thinking of Loki the whole way through his release.Tick Tick Time is the longest installment thus far, clocking in at almost 12k words. We get straight to it; the team has found out about Loki. This dates back to the installment before ‘its only a paper moon’, which was ‘the fog won’t lift in your town’. We find ourselves in the middle of an Avengers meeting, which definitely doesn’t go great, but could certainly be worse, at least from Steve’s point of view. Someone like Clint, on the other hand, might think this is more disastrous than any other present.   Onto Steve, alone in his room, pondering over everything from Loki’s nature, to his likeness spilled out over his sketching paper. He’s turned around by Loki having saved him. The implication of the thing trails into his dreams...or is Loki truly visiting him in his dreams? The reader wonders, and hopes. Loki is getting under Steve’s skin in such a way that he is left fretting over where Loki might be, if he is alright. For a month, this happens, and even someone of peak physical and mental stability (though the latter could be argued) might be driven in circles worrying. Of course, Loki appears again. Steve immediately asks where he’s been. The previous month of mixed up emotions has clearly gotten to him, and Loki, in his way, is surprised. The slow burn continues. Each sentence leaves little bread crumbs, little markers of subtle increases of care and concern they have for one another. The characters themselves are completely oblivious, but a well minded reader who’s in it for the romance will certainly pick up on it. Again, however, the conversation comes back around to whether or not Loki might change his ways, change his modus operandi and make up for his ill made decisions. It's a common theme, to be sure, but in this context it is electric: ‘“They didn’t like it,” he said, “But yes, they accepted it.” He took a deep breath and then added, slowly, “If you gave them a chance to…” “To what,” Loki said, unmistakably amused. “To glimpse my better nature?” Steve pressed his lips together, feeling a prickle of frustration at the note in Loki’s voice. “You don’t need to make it sound as though the idea is so absurd. You’ve proven to me-” “What have I proven to you?” Loki’s voice was suddenly quite sharp and he sat straight up. “What, other than my ability to carry on a civilized conversation? You attribute too much to a whim born of simple boredom.” “Why are you so quick to tell me that I’m wrong?” Steve asked, the twinge of irritation becoming more definite. “It’s like you want me to assume the worst.” Loki’s laugh was bright and sharp. “Hardly! I merely have little interest in hearing you grasp at straws to maintain your absurd hope that I will someday realize my sins and repent, casting myself on the mercy of such heroes as yourself.”’

The topic dies down, but the heat doesn’t. It’s becoming more clear that there is an underlying thread here. ‘Loki raised his eyebrows and cocked his head to the side. “You don’t like me turning up in your bed unannounced?”Steve had spent enough time with Tony to catch that one, and refused to acknowledge the warm flush he could feel spreading on his face.’ They set up a coffee date, and the ensuing conversation to get Loki to stay is met with that epithet again, ‘my good captain’. Steve seems somewhat taken with it, but he seems somewhat taken with Loki in general, so no surprise there. Loki proposes a half an hour, where Steve can ask what he wishes and he’ll get an answer. Its a kind of trope that’s found throughout literature. And, it’s a means to maybe suss out some things about Loki. It goes on not quite as expected, as Steve asks more mundane questions than exciting ones, at least in Loki’s estimation. Natasha is the chosen envoy, or seems to be, the next day. The Avengers will tolerate Loki’s interactions with Steve “for now”. As Steve and Loki meet for their coffee ‘date’, the nuances of their responses to one another are clear in the narrative. And, all the more intriguing. Loki was present, again, at another Avengers battle and while Steve is initially irritated, Loki points out what a disaster it would be had Loki revealed himself. Steve’s preoccupation with...well, rehabilitating Loki is as endearing as it is maddening. Likely, Loki would agree. Nevertheless, it is a hope Steve can’t help but hold out for, at least at this stage in the game. Remember, the series at this point was meant to be winding down. Such a huge shift in characterization would require more time, and so this joint coffee excursion halts Steve’s thoughts of turning Loki at least less morally questionable.The trust has built up enough to allow Steve to be more comfortable opening up. He admits he wants to talk to Loki, and goes on to talk about himself in pre-serum terms. Loki makes it about himself, missing the fact (or choosing to ignore, maybe) that Steve was not proselytizing and talks entirely too much about how is is what he is. It’s almost a tell, this penchant for driving home the base opinion of him.

A story for a story, Loki says, and offers one of retribution, again going back to what a terrible creature he must be. Is he pushing Steve’s buttons? Is he genuinely trying to make a point, here? The sympathetic reader might feel their heart twist in their chest, but ultimately its likely a test. How long until the good captain breaks character and gives up on him?Steve is awfully upset by the story, but he sidesteps his initial reactions to ask himself a very important question; Why tell me this? Steve sees through Loki straight away, seems to know Loki must’ve been baiting him. After a silence, Loki clearly marvels at Steve, and not for the first time either. It’s a wistful thought for him, the idea that Steve may have done some good on Asgard had he been Aesir, and Steve is understandably thoughtful at the notion. Our final scene in Tick Tick Time cuts right to the chase. Loki has come to warn Steve of literal impending Doom. The argument that follows is a back and forth and ups the ante emotionally. Steve, being Steve, can’t understand why Loki would take up with Doom, come to tell him of Doom’s plans, and still not think of himself positively. In short order the argument provides us with some glimpses into what Loki has been doing, which will start to further unfold for us soon. Steve is left with a sense of failure, and we are left to wonder where this twist will take us next.

The next stop is an interlude, a look into Loki’s side of things. The summary for this installment is succinct; “Loki needs to get rid of this inconvenient Captain America Problem”. Loki picks up a man named William at a bar of some sort who has passing similarity to Steve. It’s not an uncommon scene in fanfiction, but it is infused with Loki’s internal ponderings which the audience has been hopeful for. Even in this simple way, we can see where Loki is emotionally fraying around the edges. “He will exorcise this need from himself, Loki thinks. This mad obsession.” Note this quotation says ‘exorcise’, a darker, deeper mindset than the alternative you might initially misread, ‘exercise’. This is a big step for Loki. It ends in his belated realization that Steve is in his bones, now, and there’s nothing for it. Perhaps his plan backfired, or maybe it simply revealed a truth, but it is a satisfying read. We know where Loki’s head is, where his heart is, and everything else. This is more than just a curiosity for him, this is more than a game. In this temporary moment, Loki’s hunger for Steve is established. Now that that is settled, we continue forward in ‘The sun no longer shines (on your side)’ with the backdrop of Doom’s attack. After the fact, Loki shows up unexpectedly, as he is wont to do, and Steve is somewhat exasperated. Lise’s ability to keep the same premise (Loki’s popping in and out of Steve’s life) in nearly every installment fresh is impressive, and part of what makes the read so good. With every meeting, there is another underlying layer of basically every tension between them, and with every meeting, we are hooked again and again to see what might be uncovered or divulged. The theme is generally the same; Loki’s sneakiness, his trickery, to Steve’s nobleness and stoutheartedness. One expects them to hate each other before the end of it but on the contrary, they seem even more drawn to one another. Their philosophical see-sawing gives way to Loki asking if he’s seeing anyone. Given the segment before this particular fic, your heart breaks for Loki. Why would he ask such a thing? Steve’s sure confused by it. He asks if this is a test, which implies a certain kind of paranoia. He wants to trust Loki, but he can’t quite get there. And honestly, who can blame him? “He found himself almost glad of that, that he got to have this private, special (bizarre) thing, whatever it was.” Steve’s affection for Loki is clear later on. His thoughts are constantly turning towards Loki, and it appears maybe Loki isn’t the only one with a fascination here. When he makes his appearance, Loki seems lighthearted to Steve, perhaps just in contrast. Quickly the reason for his visit is revealed; he asks Steve to dinner. Visibly anxious when Steve goes on the defense, your heart breaks for the Loki we saw in the previous installment. Steve agrees, and Loki suggests that it was a hard won dinner, an important nugget for later on.Tony shows up, apparently still working on figuring his way through how Loki’s magic works. It’s a nice segue into Steve asking after a classier outfit, and Tony noodles out what’s really going on. A date, it seems, and the scene turns to Steve waiting for Loki. The lead in is perfect. One gets the sense that Loki is obviously up to something, but experiencing it from Steve’s bashful confusion makes the scene. ““Never fear.” Loki’s eyes glittered slightly in the dim light. “I shall look after you with the most tender of care.” A bizarre, tingly feeling trailed down his spine as Steve blinked.” It’s another one of those pear moments, Steve responding to something Loki has done or said with pleasure.The ‘date’ seems to go well, except for the whole topic of Doom of course. At a later point, Loki reappears and nearly gets a skillet to the face for his trouble. The banter is familiar, until Loki remarks on how honestly good Steve is. Where he expected a certain corruptible center, Loki has found the opposite with Steve. ““I told myself it was but curiosity,” Loki said, and took a strangely prowling step in Steve’s direction, and then another. “What strangeness, after all. Surely beneath your shining exterior was a rotten core that I could bring to the surface. Why not? There always is.”” Loki sees Steve for who and what he is, beyond just the visage of Captain America, and its someone he craves. ““I would have you,” Loki said, his voice lower still. “And seldom do I fail in getting what I want.”” They kiss, at long last, and it’s a natural thing. The build up is minimal, you see it coming, presumably so the thing stays natural. It is a heated few minutes, cut short by...something. What, precisely, we don’t know, and Steve is left uncomfortably aroused. Loki promises to return and pick up where he left off, steals another kiss, and is gone. This time, it was real. The kisses were real, Loki’s intentions seem to be pure as he insists he’s not meaning to toy with Steve.Weeks pass, and the next that Steve hears from Loki is via JARVIS. Loki’s in the tower, unconscious. The team doesn’t argue (that much), and Steve is greeted to a gruesome sight and scent; blood. Excessive amounts of blood. Loki wakes and there’s some relief in the fact that he is himself, spiteful and full of sardonic laughter. Steve races to help, and we’re left with a cliffhanger of uncomfortable proportions.

[dansphlevels]

Fic Masterpost

All of the links to my fics!

^^^Will be added to with each new fic^^^

(The starred* fics are my personal favorites!)

Chaptered Fics

*But Love Is Overrated Anyways- Masterlist, Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6, Ch 7, Ch 8, Ch 9, Ch 10, Ch 11, Ch 12, Ch 13, Ch 14, Ch 15, Ch 16, Ch 17, Ch 18, Ch 19, Ch 20, Ch 21, Ch 22, Ch 23, Ch 24, Ch 25, ao3, wattpad, Sequel (on ao3)

Dan is an angry mutant with ability to control the cold. He shares a tent with a man Phil, who has powers over fire, but refuses to use it for evil. Dan has no such moral qualms.

Themes: superpowers, mutants, dystopian

Yellow Roses- Pt 1, Pt 2, Pt 3, Pt 4, Pt 5, Pt 6, ao3 (completed)

Dan has a wife who just loves the bouquets of flowers he keeps getting for her. Unfortunately, she doesn’t know about the attractive florist who sends hidden messages with each bouquet that her husband might just be falling for. 

Themes: language of flowers, forbidden love, historial, angst and fluff and something that almost resembles smut

Smelling of Smoke (and Hearing Voices Not There)- Pt 1, Pt 2, Pt 3, Pt 4, Pt 5, Pt 6, Epilogue, ao3 (completed)

Phil was a quiet type of crazy. Dan’s eyes were so loud that they made everyone take a step back from his madness- everyone but Phil, who instead, stepped forwards.

TW: mental asylum, mentions of suicide attempts, mental illness, abuse

Themes: mental asylum, trigger warning, schitzophrenia, pyromania, insanity, dark

Wires- Ch 1, Ch 2,  Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ao3 (completed)

Arranged marriage AU where you are paired with a partner based on a test, and commitment is more vital in the relationship than love is. The story of Dan’s arranged marriage to Phil Lester, a man seven years his superior who postponed taking the test to work in the military.

Ebony is 17 years old and terrified to take the test and be arranged with someone. So it’s her father Dan’s duty to tell her the story of his marriage, from the initial fear and hatred that came with his obedience, to the feelings that followed .Inspired and named after the song ‘Wires’ by The Neighborhood.

TW: the very mildest mention of dubious consent, age gap (both 18+)

Themes: Arranged marriage, au, strangers to lovers, angst, fluff, romance, Phil being a sneaky snek and seducing Dan

Tomato Blush- Ch 1 (uncomplete)

Summary: HS!Au in which Dan has a rather unfortunate crush on someone who is probably way out of his league: Phil Lester. And, while Dan really doesn’t know what he’s doing, he’s willing to try to figure it out along the way, which would work out great, if Dan wasn’t the most awkward person to ever exist. 

A humorous story with at also deals with some of the hard truths of longing, accepting yourself, and putting yourself out there for the first time.

Short Oneshots (1-3k words)

(Oldest to Newest)

Despite the Curse 1k

Dan and Phil had been given a curse that would ultimately kill them. They have to find a way to live despite it.

Themes: curses, magic, secrets, established relationship, angst, suspense

*What the Audience Can’t See 1k

Phil is a circus performer on the joint aerial hoop and he is hopelessly in love with his partner.

TW: Mentions of vomiting

Themes: pining, circus, acrobatics, strength, unrequited love

Señor, Not Señorita 2k

Despite the flowy skirts and high heels, Dan Howell was definitely a man. Unfortunately, the waiters at the resort in Mexico they were staying at didn't always get that, leading to endless teasing from Phil, his fiancé.

Or, the one where Dan wears skirts and Phil wears a shirt covered in birds, and they decide to take an unexpected dip in the pool.

Themes: established relationship, engaged!Phan, fem!Dan, rule breaking, fluff

Backseat Bad Behavior 1k 

It’s Anthony’s driving test, and he was stuck with his friends being sat in the backseat, which he’d thought would have been nice- except they weren’t as interested in the actual driving as they were with each other.

Themes: fluff, driving test, friends with benefits, fondling, fluff with like a teeny bit of something that almost resembles smut, high school au

I Won’t Help You Unless You Stop 1k

TW: mentions of self harm, relapses, scars

It wasn’t the first time Dan came into his shop, and it wouldn’t be the last. But this time, it was different. Because this time, the scars were fresh. 

Themes: self harm, recovery, tattoo artist!Phil, scar coverup

*Satisfied <1k

“Ever since acting school, Dan had mastered the ability of giving people what they wanted, but never leaving them satisfied.”

Themes: Fluff, domestic, established!relationship, lil angst

*Baby 1k

TW: mentions of blood, death, violence

“You’re soft too,” Dan announced, almost too quietly to hear. “You just pretend like you’re not. But I know the truth.”

Phil snorted. “You know all my secrets, Baby.”

Dan laughed aloud. “Please. You’re in a fucking gang, I don’t think I want to know all your secrets. I don’t have that kind of time.”

Themes: gangleader!Phil, pastel!Dan, pastel but still really badass!Dan

What We Do For The Ones We Love 1k

TW: mentions of sickness, sexual immorality

Dan and Phil live in a dystopian world, with few survivors and fewer resources. When Phil needs life-saving medicine, Dan has to find a way to get it.

Bliss <1k

Day 1 of 12 Days Of Prompts (2017)

Fluffy!Phan cuddling in bed with absolutely no desire to get up.

Beautiful Browns 1.2k

Day 2 of 12 Days Of Prompts (2017)

Themes: fluff, artist!pastel!dan, artist!caring!Phil, crappy high school dating dynamics

Words Aren’t Always Needed 2.5k

Day 6 of 12 Days Of Prompts (2017)

TW: For light (but semi-frequent) cussing

Summary: After a bad reaction to painkillers administered by his dentist, Dan loses the ability to speak for a few days. Which wouldn’t be that big of a deal if they didn’t have plans, including an important business meeting and going to the Star Wars premiere. 

Or, the one where Dan loses his voice and Phil has to interpret for him like an extended, inappropriately timed game of charades.

*Turquoise Stains <1k

Day 7 of 12 Days Of Prompts (2017)

Prompt: color schemes

Themes: Fluff, colors, a lil bit of fantasy

Red Nails And Chapped Lips 1.8k

Day 8 of 12 Days Of Prompts

Summary: After Dan goes and gets his nails painted at a professional salon, he and Phil embark on a quest to Target for last minute Christmas shopping, and together they must decide whether having painted nails is gay or just hipster. Includes Dan and Phil style bantering, questioning of gender stereotypes, chapped lips, and a clerk at Target who horribly misunderstands what Dan needs vaseline for.

Themes: nail painting, Christmas shopping, domestic!Phan, humor, innuendoes.

Six Months And Ten Seconds 1k

Summary: The story of how long it took for two boys to fall.

Themes: falling in lust/love, drug usage (marijuana), dropout

Aced It 2.5k

Day 10 of 12 Days Of Prompts

Summary: Dan and Phil are in the process of pursuing a relationship. There’s only one issue: Dan’s asexual and doesn’t want to get physical with Phil but has no idea how to tell him.

Christmas With Colin (And The Rest Of Dan’s Family) 1k

Day 12 of 12 Days Of Prompts

Summary: Dan and Phil go to meet Dan’s family for the first time, and things go better than accepted, especially considering that Dan’s parents hadn’t always been accepting of his sexuality. They’re more interested in questioning him on other things- like, for example, when Dan’s planning on giving them some grandchildren.

Themes: fluff, meeting the family, Colin the Good Boy (Dan’s family dog)

The Rulers Of All That Is Cold™ 1.2k

Summary: Based on this art post by @alinaazac, a short oneshot of Dan and Phil as co-Kings of all that is cold, bantering, arguing with each other, and correcting the peasants who come to seek their help because it’s ‘my kings’ or ‘your highnesses’, not ‘my lieges’.

Themes: kings/royalty!Phan, ice kings, humor

Two Bros Sittin’ In A Bathtub... 1.6k

Summary: Dan and Phil getting ready for 2018 in the only way that makes sense: with a joint bubble bath, bad vine references, face masks, banter, and completely unnecessary amounts of fondness.

Themes: Fluff, humor

Tanqueray 2k

Summary: Au based on “Fools” by Troye Sivan, with my own special twist on it. Dan and Phil live in the middle of nowhere, and all they’ve ever known is the wheat fields and pastures, water towers and barns, and the strangers that are basically family and family that are practically strangers.

TW: Abuse

White Moon, Blue Alarm Clock 2k

Summary: Dan can’t agree to let his boyfriend move in because then he’d find out just how sick Dan really is. Loosely based on “Blue Moon” by Troye Sivan.

TW: insomnia, mental illness 

Redemption 1.6k

Summary: Dan came out of the war with a broken mentality, the guilt of an assassin, and one less arm, but he never lost his fight. Heavily inspired by Marvel’s Winter Soldier, but completely independent of it. 

Medium Oneshots (3-10k words)

(Oldest to Newest)

Paper Cranes 3.2k

Summary: Dan and Phil, who have been dating and completely open about their relationship for two years now, find themselves in a strict week-long church camp where they might need to keep their relationship a secret.

TW: Low-key religion and potential homophobia

Themes: fluff, religion (Christianity), potential homophobia, closeted relationship, au, camp, established relationship

*Hungry 4.5k

Summary: You can still suffer from eating disorders even if you’re a boy, even if you’re an adult, even if you’re married and in love and even if you have a daughter. TW: eating disorder, body image issues Themes: fluff, light angst, parent!phan, established relationship, eating disorders

*Torture 3.7k 

Summary: Phil’s skin is impenetrable, and Dan wants to be the one to make him bleed.

Themes: TW, torture, stockholm syndrome, no gore, knives, mental illness, mentions of suicide/suicide attempts, dark

Caudal 8k

Ao3

Day 3 of 12 Days Of Prompts (2017)

Summary: The cave has two exits. One, a hole in the ceiling, wide enough that Phil could see the stars glitter at night. The other exit was through the pool in the middle of the cave, where they’d come from. The siren leaned against the cave wall a few meters away, tending to his wound. It wasn’t bleeding anymore, but the damage was done. Sharks circled in the pool, desperate for a taste of the merman. The hole in the ceiling was too high up, the walls too steep to climb. The sharks circled in the pool of water, ready to eat whatever comes their way. No way out. Phil was stuck, with no food, no fresh water, no hope to escape, and a siren who had tried to drown him not hours before. 

Themes: merman/mermaid/siren!au, sharks, survival, enemies to ? 

Nothing And Everything 3.5k

Prompt: Dan realized he has feelings for Phil during the making of tatinof so he just straight out asks Phil on a date and they share a milkshake with 2 straws

Themes: tatinof, friends to lovers, ‘friendly kissing’, cereal stealing, milkshakes with two straws 

*6:30 Special 8.6k

Epilogue, Bonus Scene

Summary: In a world where you and your soulmate both have constellations of dark blue freckles that glow when you’re together, Dan has been waiting for his whole life for it to finally glow. And when it does, he is stood face to face with a man Phil, who looks back in confusion, his own constellation unlit.

Includes: Dan, the workaholic who accidentally ended up managing a small convenience store and spends most of his life there; Phil, the nocturnal painter who believes that art can only properly be made at night and buys a coffee every morning at 6:30 on the dot; and the story of a man who falls hard for someone who could surely never return his feelings.

Themes: unrequited love, soulmates, au, strangers to friends to ?

Shakespeare And Coffee 5k

Summary: Teacher!Phan au where Dan Howell is the new Language and Composition teacher at the high school where Phil Lester teaches English to a bunch of public schooled kids who want nothing to do with it. Includes lots of very un-subtle flirting, a minor caffeine addiction, and a shared love for Shakespeare. 

Themes: fluff, teacher!phan, au, slow burn

The Subject Series 8k

Summary: Tensions have been rising in Phil’s hometown at the rise in gun violence and string of robberies. However, Phil has bigger things to worry about me, like his newest art assignment to paint a series of portraits showing the true character of a person you know. Phil has his subject, the only problem is, he doesn’t actually know Dan, though he’s more than willing to rememdy that. 

Highschool!phan au with artist!Phil and newkid!Dan, including the growth of a friendship, Phil being a little stalker-y, and Dan not understanding the concept of stranger danger. Was heavily inspired by my Drabble series ‘Artists’ and recent events involving gun violence.

Long Oneshots (10k+)

(Oldest to Newest)

*Jackets 10k

read on ao3

Summary: Phil Lester, bad boy who wears the same leather jacket to school every day and makes a hobby out of scaring people. Dan Howell, future valedictorian who prefers a varsity jacket, and refuses to be shaken by anyone, bad boy or otherwise. And how they come together through a high school track, an English class, and a failing videography program.

TW: language, use of homophobic slurs Themes: highschool!phan, badboy!Phil, valedictorian!Dan, enemies to friends to lovers

A Sword, A Little Bit Of Magic, And A Whole Lot Of Pizza 15k

read on ao3

Part of the Phandom Reverse Bang 2017, inspired by this art

Summary: When Dan and Phil are following strange dark creatures that appeared out of nowhere in London, things go wrong and they end up being sucked into an alternate dimension, where magic exists and they must find a way to use it in order to contain the creatures before they completely overrun this new world. Warning: contains the use of ‘spork’ as an insult, the destruction of a perfectly good library book, and questionable pizza physics.

Themes: alternate universe (literally), magic, alternate dimension, prophecy, two dorks trying to survive in an alternate dimension, fluff, light pining

*Libertadores (Liberators) 20k

read on ao3

Part of the Phandom Reverse Bang 2017, inspired by this art

Summary: The current conflict in Venezuela told through the eyes of two boys who are not supposed to be in love, not supposed to protest, and not supposed to fight. But they do anyways.

TW: weight loss, cannon real life violence, non-graphic descriptions of injuries, light homophobic language

Themes: The Venezuela crisis, au where Dan and Phil were born in Venezuela, real life canon violence, protesting, closeted relationship, angst with fluff

The Odyssey 12k

Day 11 of 12 Days of Prompts

TW: bullying, homophobic slurs, language, drinking

Summary: High school au where Phil is bullied for being gay and Dan thinks he should have just stayed in the closet. But it just so happens Phil has a big family and can’t get any studying done, and Dan’s house is the perfect place to study.

Themes: highschool au, enemies to friends to lovers, bullying, boxer!dan, studious!phan, Homophobia, family/sibling drama

Drabbles/Drabble Series’

*Artists Drabble Series-

The Writer, The Painter, The Poet, The Performer

Inspired by this post

Please Don’t Let Me Drown

A short drabble on Dan’s Depression from first person pov.

Masterlists / Mini Masterlists

‘But Love Is Overrated Anyways’ Masterlist 

Chaptered Fic with fire!Phil and ice!Dan, mutants au

12 Days Of Prompts (2017) Masterlist

12 days of prompts/oneshots leading up to Christmas 2017

My Ao3 and Tumblr ask

*Starred fics are my favorite ones

[bushlaboo]

DotN: Chapter 4

Note: Just a quick FYI. Real life has decided to kick my ass -- I stressed baked Monday and Tuesday and being low on flour I resorted to roasting last night  -- I hope to be able to maintain my bi-weekly posting schedule but I can't make any promises right now.

Thanks again to the lovely @nvwhovian for being such an all-star beta and cheerleader.

Enter Macbeth (AO3)

18 Months Ago

He had lived an egregiously long time, cursed by the Witches Three and tied to the demon who’d destroyed his world. Tired did not even begin to encapsulate how he felt. The marvels of an ever advancing world, which had managed to capture his imagination even when his heart beat cold and emotionless, no longer held any appeal. Once upon a time he’d been the son of Doada and Findlaech, High Steward of Moray, grandson of Maol Chalvim II of Scotland; a man with royal ties who had no want for the throne and only desired to marry his flamed haired love Gruoch. That man was ghost, barely a recollection in his own mind. He’d witnessed too much, done too much -- no one should have to live with that much history between their birth and death. His only longing now was to be done, but magic had him trapped. Bound him to his own demon, Helena, their lives knotted together; if she lived, he lived … no matter how many centuries accumulated upon them. Macbeth had determined that there was only one way to escape the prison of endless life: he had to kill Helena and in doing so, kill himself.

No easy feat. He’d lost track of her over two hundred years ago and the devious gargoyle remained hidden, never getting close enough for him to share her physical pain. That was until a few months ago when whispers of gargoyles in Starling City had spread far enough to reach his ears. It had taken the resolve that only a millennia could carve into a man to keep him from taking immediate action. He knew of surviving clans in England, Japan, and Guatemala -- none of them with ties to Helena. Though he desired Helena’s end, Macbeth harbored no ill will towards gargoyles as a whole. They’d been his allies once and unlike his counterpart, he did not hold a whole species responsible for the actions of a few.

His research led him to Thomas Merlyn and a small clan of gargoyles with ties back to Scotland. For the first time in two centuries Macbeth felt hope. He finally had a line on Helena. This clan meant something to her, which meant that he could use them to get to her; though currently she was believed to be dead following the skirmish that left the billionaire tycoon in jail. Macbeth knew better, Helena would survive the impossible, as he had, because of magic. Which meant his nemesis was in hiding licking her wounds; he merely needed to draw her out.

Offering his unique extrication services directly to Thomas Merlyn was a roundabout way of making contact with the Starling City clan. Knowing gargoyles as he did, Macbeth fully expected them to turn down his proposal of a new home. Having to fight both the clan and Merlyn’s security would be tiresome, but if he was welcomed into the castle -- that would ease his efforts. That’s why he bided his time setting up a up a booby-trapped mansion to lure the gargoyles to, one way or another, and waited to approach Merlyn when he was just a week away from release. Macbeth doubted the man wanted to return home to a band of hostiles responsible for his imprisonment.

Seeing an unfamiliar face, the young mogul paused upon entering the visitation room. Macbeth felt the weight of his appraising gaze and supposed most would be intimidated by a man who’d risen so far, so fast. Not him though, it took much for a mortal to impress him after all his long years. Merlyn had a leg up on most, but he was still just a man, one who had been bested by those he’d planned on exploiting.

Macbeth imagined in a few years, once Merlyn was seasoned more, such mistakes would no longer occur. He’d be impressive then, but he had no intention of living to see it.

Merlyn kept his face neutral as he approached. There was barely a noticeable tell to him being on edge. “You’re not my lawyer,” he greeted, his tone affable as he continued to try and take Macbeth’s measure.

“Indeed I am not,” Macbeth drawled, the Scottish bur in voice still prevalent over a thousand years after his birth. “I’m here to talk to you about your infestation problem.”

“I can assure you, my home is vermin free.”

“Pests come in different shapes and sizes Mr. Merlyn,” he all but tsked, “and yours are fairly remarkable.” Grey eyes narrowed in on him, clouding with suspicion; his cue to be direct. “I’ve dealt with gargoyles before and I can see to it that your castle is your own again.”

Big, stubborn ridiculous gargoyle, Felicity grumbled mentally as she hobbled after Oliver. She was annoyed at him for eluding their on-going argument by turning and walking away from her. It was a dirty move as far as Felicity was concern. Oliver was a perfect specimen of health, his long stride difficult for her to keep up with under normal circumstances; and she would never subscribe normalcy to the single crutch she still needed to use three months after her shooting. It could have been worse, Felicity knew that. She was reminded of it every time Barry looked at her, guilt flooding his green eyes, even though she felt her own sense of culpability because she had not properly stowed her weapon that night. She’d said as much to Barry, but Felicity understood that sometimes it was easier to forgive others than yourself.

Oliver, however, was trying her patience as she struggled to follow him through the castle. His storming off, refusing yet again to discuss the very real problem that Merlyn’s imminent release posed was doing them no good. She was frustrated enough that Merlyn had managed to game the system and get himself an early release for quote good behavior unquote. Witnessing him circumvent justice was bad enough, knowing he’d found a way to pervert it had her all but tugging her hair out. To top it all off she was still trapped behind a desk and would be until she got a clear bill of health. Her fuse was at its shortest and Oliver chose now to leave her in his wake when he damn well knew that following him was all but impossible.

Officially pushed past her limit, Felicity stopped her pursuit and used her fiercest personal armament. Her Loud Voice, as Roy termed it, which for some reason all her gargoyle friends seemed to fear. “OLIVER!” she shouted, her tone laced with every bit of frustration she felt. Felicity noted the wince of his wings as he came to an abrupt halt. Longbow, who’d been keeping pace beside her let out a low whine as he shuffled a few feet back.

“I’m not mad at you boy,” she whispered, her voice soft as she looked back at the massive lug. Tension left his shoulders and his tongue lolled as he inched back towards her. He nuzzled her good leg gently before turning disdainful eyes upon Oliver for upsetting her.

Oliver let out an irritated huff as he turned. “How many times do you need me to tell you that we’re not leaving?” he ground out.

“As many times as I have to remind you that Merlyn is getting out and will be coming back here.” Oliver merely shrugged at her words, refusing to understand what they meant and the dangers Merlyn presented to the clan. It wasn’t the 10th century anymore, claiming a victory over Merlyn did not mean they’d won the spoils of war. Whether Oliver liked it not, Tommy Merlyn owned Wyvern Castle, it was his domain and Felicity’s biggest fear was that peace the clan had been able to live in with him in prison would end the moment he returned. She had no way to protecting them during the day, of preventing Merlyn from smashing them while they slept.

“Oliver,” Felicity sighed, just as tired of this fight as he was, but  knowing it was one she couldn’t afford to lose she pressed on, “you can’t stay here.”

His face contorted at her words and Oliver roared at her: “We have lost our clan, our world, even our time Felicity! This castle,” he threw his arms out drawing both their gazes to the stone walls that surround them before blue met blue again, “is all we have left and we will not abandon it.” He was breathing heavily as his outburst came to an end. He looked as stricken as she felt and Oliver must have seen that because his erect stance hunched. In a quieter tone with his eyes downcast he said, “I know you do not approve, but you won’t change my mind.”

“Oliver—”

“For the sake of our friendship,” he cut off her instinctive protest, his eyes lifting to meet hers again, pleading with her, “please stop trying to.”

"It's not you I'm after; you're just a pawn. I want your queen, Helena." The man, Macbeth, his earlier words sat uncomfortably in Oliver’s mind. The conviction he held that Helena was alive, that she had somehow managed to survive the fall – Oliver didn’t know whether to hope for that possibility or fear it. His Angel of the Night was not the gargoyle he’d believed her to be. There was a possibility that Oliver would be able to come to terms with reality of who she truly was, but he would never be able to forgive her for endangering their clan. If she was alive, and honestly the sense of being observed by someone other than Cisco Ramon led him to believe that she was; he’d never be able to trust that his brothers would be safe in her presence.

Perhaps it was better Diggle and Felicity had forced the move he’d been fighting. It would take Helena awhile to find their new home; the clock tower above the 23rd precinct - Felicity’s station - provided them a snug place to call home. Diggle had pilfered his favorite recliner from the castle along with the Grimorum Arcanorum and Felicity had furnished the space with a colorful throw rug, a desk and chair combo, bookshelf and the electronics his brothers had come to rely on: a television (one much smaller than Diggle was accustomed), a laptop, and small kitchen setup of a mini-fridge and microwave. For all the space and luxury they’d lost, the move had one added benefit; there would be no sticky questions about why Felicity would be visiting the building.

Still Oliver hated forfeiting the castle. He’d been hatched within its rookery, raised within its walls and on quiet nights he could hear the echoing voices of his parents along with all the others they’d lost. He’d no longer be able to turn a corner and easily remember a conversation he had with them, making keeping their memories alive inside him all the more difficult. In losing the castle it felt as if he failed them again.  

The two battles he fought that night with Macbeth, first at the castle and then at the man’s so called home, which was nothing but an elaborately staged trap, had finally made Oliver realize that he had to choose between the past and present. He was responsible for the clan, ghosts and all, but his priority had to be its living members. For their good Oliver had finally relented, but not before promising Merlyn’s proxy that, "We'll be back to claim that which is ours." It was selfish pledge, one made for himself and not his brothers. A vow Oliver was uncertain he’d be able to live up to, but he would try and in the end it would be the effort that mattered and not the result.

He was pulled from his thoughts by Felicity calling to him. “Your turn big guy.” Though it was barely an hour to dawn she waved him over to the desk, the laptop he knew she provided for Curtis was closed and pushed to the side so that the rations of their first aid kit could be laid out across it. Even though Felicity knew full well that their daytime sleep could cure even the worst of injuries, if there was time she would always see to their wounds. People like Merlyn would see it as a waste of resources, but it was the act that mattered. A sign of affection, as friends soothed hurts – both physical and emotional.

There were slashes and burns from his earlier bouts, bruises that had time to form, but none of them would last through his sleep. Oliver felt the sting of them as he moved towards Felicity without argument. He knew she’d seen to the others first so that he could have his “brooding time” as she termed it. Longbow was curled up next to the chair in which she sat, Barry was at the microwave making popcorn, while Curtis has taken a spot on the floor next to Diggle in his recliner - their attention seemingly on the television though Oliver knew they watched him, just as Roy did from the rafters with a book he was clearly not reading.

They were all aware he was unhappy about the move. One that Diggle and Felicity had engineered after Macbeth’s initial attack on them at the castle. Since Diggle had been injured, Oliver left him in Barry’s hands while he went on a solo search for the abducted Curtis, Roy, and Longbow. Curtis had used his ever growing knowledge of modern day technology and the brute strength of Roy and Longbow to circumvent the electrified cage Macbeth locked them in enough to allow the latter to escape. Flying over the city, Oliver had caught sight of their pet disturbing the evening traffic. He’d used a low whistle to gain his attention and once Longbow knew Oliver had eyes on him, he began leading him back to where the others were being held.

His second battle with Macbeth had been about as successful as his first. They’d both gotten their licks in, but neither could be said to have prevailed. Honestly, Oliver had never encountered a warrior who knew how to anticipate him so well. Not even Helena, who he’d trained and fought beside, had been able to match him. Things would have turned out differently that fateful night atop the Merlyn Global building if she had. And that didn’t even touch upon the traps Macbeth had arranged throughout the house. They’d all been designed to throw him off balance, feed his frustration and turn his strengths into weaknesses.

He hadn’t defeated Macbeth. In fact, he’d only managed to fight the man to a stalemate, though it was enough of a distraction to allow Longbow to free Roy and Curtis. It had only been Macbeth’s realization that he could not use the clan to get to Helena, along with a blaze Oliver had started, that ended their fray. They escaped, neither of them the victor, and Oliver had returned to the castle to find Diggle the single soul waiting for him.

Livid barely described the ire Oliver felt when he learned Diggle had sent the others on to their new home. He’d believed the argument ended the night before, but his mentor picked up where Felicity left off, insisting, “The lass is right. This is just a place of stone and wood. Home is more than that. Home is the six of us, whenever we can be together and safe ... that's our home.”

Both Diggle and his father had drummed the well-being of the clan into him. The first rule, the one that governed all the others, the question always asked when it came to making a decision – was it in the clan’s best interest. Staying left them at risk. The reality was they’d been at risk even while Merlyn hadn’t inhabited the castle. Cisco had let them be, but Macbeth’s intrusion had been a clear message that the uneasy peace they’d been living in would not continue. The clan could not be left vulnerable during the day in a hostile environment, even if was a place well known to them.

He could no longer pretend that staying in the castle was in their best interest, so he growled his promise to Cisco and followed Diggle to the clock tower – to his brothers, to Felicity, to home. Diggle had been right, then again he usually was, and he’d declared, “As long as we're together, we’re home,” before Barry had given him the ‘grand’ tour while Felicity saw to the others injuries.

Unlike Curtis who Felicity had just finished bandaging up, he was not small enough for Felicity to see to him from the chair. Because of her own injury Oliver didn’t want Felicity standing while seeing to him, she would have had to strain anyway given his height, so he knelt when he reached her, wincing only slightly.

Her hand immediately went to his cheek to offer comfort. Oliver leaned into the touch for a few seconds, before straightening and assuring her that he was fine. “You always say that,” she huffed with a roll of her eyes. In this case his assessment was more or less right. None of the wounds were overly deep and by the time he landed on the ledge of the clock tower he’d stopped bleeding. That left Felicity’s ministrations to the clean-up variety, though she did wrap a bandage around the nasty slash he took to his right bicep because it had started to ooze again.

When she deemed her work complete she patted him just above the dressing gently and said, “All done.” Their eyes met as he offered her his thanks. The prolonged contact of their eyes had her cheeks flushing and he smiled at her reaction which caused Felicity to start babbling as she looked away from him and began packing up the unused supplies.

Tagging: @almondblossomme​