#like a woman who finally snaps and just goes apeshit

[teenagecriminalmastermind]

who's afraid of little old me makes me want to claw my skin off my face as the blood drips down my fingers and past my wrists

[thetriggeredhappy]

If you’re still doing requests, what about if Scout never came back to life after Spy tells him he’s his dad? I’m interested to see bc 1) Spy seemed like he was about to go Apeshit on the enemy team and 2) Miss Pauling, Soldier and Zhanna were literally JUST with him a while ago. That’s got to be disorienting. and 3) I like angst

i really do write one fic abt That Scene From The Comics and everyone goes bananas huh

(warnings for severe injury, major character death, canon-typical violence, the works)

-

“Spy, you’re back!” Miss Pauling called, hurrying over and continuing to shield her eyes from the views both Soldier and Sniper had decided to present to the team. “Good, we’ve just about wrapped up everything around here. Did you—“

“Scout’s dead,” Spy said, continuing to limp past her, expression stony.

“I’m sorry, what?” she asked, blinking and moving to follow after him.

“Scout’s dead,” Spy repeated.

“What?” she demanded. “What do you mean, Scout’s dead?”

“Scout is dead, Miss Pauling,” Spy suddenly snapped, spinning around to hiss it at her, expression contorted with a series of emotions. “And if you don’t terribly mind it I would rather not stand here all day with a shattered kneecap just repeating myself over and over again until you can understand me. Scout is dead.”

She raised a hand to cover her mouth, eyes widening. “Spy, oh my God, I’m so sorry,” she said quietly, enough that nobody else would hear.

Spy’s expression settled into anger for a few moments, then he managed to simmer it down into mere frustration, although she could still see the emotion locked there behind his eyes. “You aren’t the one who killed him, what are you apologizing for?” he asked, voice a mumble, looking off to one side.

She sighed softly. “You know why,” she murmured, and earned the barest glance before he was looking away again.

“What a shame,” Spy said, changing the subject abruptly as he glanced around them. “I’m afraid there may not be any robots remaining for me to work my frustration out on. I would rather not go anywhere near the Soldier or Saxton Hale when either of them are on a killing spree. Unfortunate, I was looking forward to it.”

She was sure ‘frustration’ wasn’t the correct word, but she let it go. “Like you can even walk,” she pointed out, looking down over the wound in his knee. “Take a seat on... that rubble, I guess. Let me see if I can patch that up at all.”

“If you think you’re going to bait me into sitting still long enough to psychoanalyze me, you’ll need to think again, Miss Pauling,” Spy scoffed.

“If you think you can make it another ten minutes without treating that, you’ll need to think again,” she scoffed right back. “C’mon.”

He sighed, glanced at the pile of rubble, and ultimately caved, only somewhat because his body couldn’t really hold up its own weight anymore.

And she kept her commentary and questions to herself. For a while, at least. “It’s almost over, we’re in the final stretch. Now we just hunt down the other Heavy and we’re home free, we can rebuild.” She smiled at him, although it was a tight one. “What will you do in the meantime?”

“Well, I believe I have a woman in Boston who I need to call regarding her youngest son, and then I expect I’ll be living on the run for the few months it takes her to find and kill me,” Spy said dryly. “So unfortunately, I may not be available if this is meant to be a smooth segue into another job offer.”

“That’s a shame. I was really looking forward to continuing to work with you,” she said, tone almost joking. “Dying really puts a damper on the workflow, on the, uh...”

“Synergy,” Spy supplied.

“Synergy, exactly. Terrible work environment, being dead and all,” she continued, trying to give him an out, a distraction.

Instead, she watched as he drew a hand down his face, taking a deep breath that had little to do with the pressure she was trying to apply to the wound.

“You’re sure?” she asked after a bit of that silence.

“He had a hole in his stomach the size of a cannonball and started going cold almost immediately,” Spy said with a huff of laughter, expression hidden behind his hand. “I’ve been less sure about the deaths of people I’ve stabbed through the heart.”

“He wasn’t dead when you got there?” she asked, surprised.

“Not quite. Barely lucid, though. The Sniper was kind enough to give me a moment to talk to him.”

“What did you say?”

“Exactly what he wanted to hear. A lie.” Spy’s eyes turned out towards the horizon line. “He was already nearly gone, there was no time for the truth. He died mid-sentence, I’m not even entirely sure he understood all of what I said. I’m pathetic.”

“I think it’s brave of you, actually. Or kind, at least. Make him happy there, give him some closure.”

“At least one of us could get it,” Spy agreed, and sighed hard, squeezing his eyes shut. “Then why do I feel so horrible?”

“Well, first of all, your son is dead,” she pointed out. “That’s not a great way for your Thursday to go.”

Spy snorted a laugh, but it petered off a bit too quickly to stick. “It’s not as though I even really knew him,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, but there was always the chance. Always this idea in the back of your head, like... you’d figure it out. Like one day you’d get there with him.”

He shot her a look. “How do you know that?”

“How many years do we have to work together before I can figure out some things about how your brain works?” she asked, ripping the fabric she was using as gauze with her teeth. “Also, quit losing blood.”

“I suppose I’ll try,” he deadpanned. A beat of silence before he inhaled, exhaled. “And that’s not entirely wrong, but not entirely correct either.”

She gestured for him to go on with the hand not applying pressure.

“We spent several months in the same jail cell. Almost every single day, I was faced with the opportunity to come clean to him. To say something, anything. And every day I failed.” He tugged restlessly at his mask. “And then we were no longer in jail, and I told myself I would tell him, and I didn’t. How many nails do I drive into the coffin before the final one is meaningless? When I continue to place straws on the camel’s back, does it really matter which one was the last?”

“Yeah. It does,” she said, finally starting to wrap the wound, glancing over their surroundings for a piece of shrapnel to use as a brace. “I think you still get to be sad. You still get to regret it. It’s just... harder to look at it once it’s all over. Harsher in hindsight.”

“Harsher in hindsight,” he repeated, voice quiet. He paused for a long moment. “Maybe it’s better this way. Simple, happy emotions there at the end instead of deep, complicated ones. Let him feel like the hero of his own story, at least for a little while.”

“It’s Scout, didn’t he always?” she scoffed.

“If he was anything at all like his father? No,” Spy murmured, and that was the last the two of them ever said on the matter. At least, out loud.

[percontaion-points]

Raven King chapter 6

Click to see the rest of the snark & image descriptions.

Chapter 6

Nicky was bringing Jim from his improv class...

I thought Nicky had a long-term boyfriend?

Well, if he did, he probably doesn't anymore. Not with all of Nicky's jokes about cheating and him taking some rando to the big dinner.

Blackwell was slow to appear in the distance, but it didn't take long to spot the two stadiums. The football and Exy stadium were on opposite sides of the campus like massive bookends.

I'm still having a really difficult time swallowing that society completely shifted because of a sport invented some 30 years earlier.

Like I'm willing to overlook a lot for the sake of a story. But for society to just go completely and utterly apeshit over a 30 year old sport makes zero sense. AND I READ THE STORY WHERE THE LADY HAD SEX WITH THE LITERAL BULL.

Wymack pulled a bottle of vodka out of the bag and put it down beside Kevin. "You have ten seconds to inhale as much of this as you can. I'm timing you. Go."

It was alarming how much a man could drink when he needed an emotional crutch.

WOW THAT'S SUPER FUCKING HEALTHY.

Like I get that his foster-father and brother abused the shit out of him. But therapy is much better than alcoholism.

Madison was using the home locker room to change right now, so the Foxes had to go all the way around to the away side.

I really love how there's this big fancy banquet dinner where they invite all of the college exy teams, and they literally have to change in the locker room.

My high school did this band banquet, too. But we didn't have to fucking eat dinner out on the football field with our parents... We had the school cafeteria for the evening.

Out of touch author can't even think of a world where these idiots would want to rent a banquet hall. Oh no... it's got to be at the fucking stadium, for some unholy reason.

Judging by Neil's quick headcount, the Ravens hadn't brought dates. They hadn't brought any color along, either. All twenty-two of them were dressed head-to-toe in black. The twenty men wore the same shirts and slacks, and the two women wore identical dresses. They even sat the exact same way, all with their right elbows on the table, all of them with their chins in their hands. Another team might look foolish going so far, but somehow the Ravens looked imposing.

I joke about the fox characters outside of Neil, Kevin, and Andrew being cardboard cut-outs... but this ain't got nothing on those cardboard cutouts.

"I know who you are," Riko said. "Who here doesn't? You're the woman who captains a Class I team. You've done admittedly well despite your disadvantages."

CASUAL SEXISM.

The man to Riko's right stood up as soon as the Foxes were settled and walked behind the Ravens until he was across from Neil. Two fingers to the woman's shoulder got her out of her chair and she moved to the newly-emptied seat. The stranger sat across from Neil. As he did the Ravens fell out of their frozen poses, but they did so only to lean back as one in their chairs.

Did they practice this ahead of time?

The black three tattooed on his left cheekbone meant he could be no one but Jean Moreau.

Imagine getting a tattoo of a college sports number. Of which you would only get to play for a few years before being forced out.

It took him only a few seconds to realize the Ravens were coming. The entire team was crossing the court toward Kevin, walking in V formation like a flock of birds going south.

I can't with her descriptions of the Ravens. Like one team's colors are orange and white, and the other is black and red. ONE OF THEM IS GUD AND THE OTHER IS EBUL. THE RAVENS ARE EBUL, AND THEY'RE ALL HENCHMEN ROBOTS.

"We're sure it is," the Raven striker said, "seeing how you're dating a prostitute."

"Stripper," Dan corrected...

[…]

Neil tried not to stare at her. He would have dismissed the Raven's insult as an outright lie if not for Dan's easy response. Too late he remembered her telling him she'd worked an overnight job during high school to make ends meet.

THE AUTHOR DOES REALIZE THAT YOU HAVE TO BE 18 TO WORK JOBS LIKE THAT... RIGHT?! Like please tell me that the author didn't write about a 15 year old getting a job as a stripper.

This series is bad enough without needing to drag child strippers into the mix.

The others fell asleep within a few miles, but Neil spent the entire ride thinking about Riko and his father.

Chapter 6 summary: So it's time for the banquet. They do a random lottery draw where they decide which school will host the banquet this year. The school picked is only about four hours away. The banquet itself lasts for two days, in order to justify some of the travel time for those further away. However, the foxes are of the opinion “fuck that; we're not staying the entire two days”.

As they get closer to the school, Kevin starts to have a panic attack. As the others leave the bus, David gives Kevin some alcohol, and tells him to chug it. Which... yeah, that sounds fucking healthy. They have to change out in the locker room, which is fucking weird if you ask me. And then they go into the stadium, which has been turned into a banquet hall. The sight makes Neil angry, and mood. Rent a fucking banquet hall for this, assholes.

They're upset to see that the foxes are randomly supposed to be sitting across from the ravens. And the ravens are all dressed like evil henchmen, and are even randomly acting in unison. Talk about zero personality. David warned the others not to pick a fight, but obviously wasn't counting on Riko bringing his planet-sized ego with him. A rando Raven player named Jean-- who is the embodiment of every French stereotype you can think of-- starts to antagonize Neil, and calls him by a bunch of Neil's former names. He then moves on and starts insulting everybody else.

Their little pissing match goes on for a long while. But hey, it's not like anything else is going on, so this might as well happen, I guess. Finally, Riko antagonizes Neil into speaking, and Neil calls Riko out on his shit, saying that he's a whiny, entitled little brat who doesn't have anything going for him. Then, Jean and Riko start to act like they “own” Neil, which has fucking creepy slavery undertones to what they're saying.

David finally shows up to say that they're trying to move the foxes to another table. As they get up to leave, Jean can't help but name-drop Neil's father. The others rally around Kevin and Neil once they're away. Kevin is sent back to the bus to drink some more liquor, and Neil thinks about following. Not only that, but just fucking leaving. But he doesn't, because then this series would be put out of its misery.

After dinner, then they put all of the tables away and everybody starts socializing and networking. The ravens come over, act like they've never met the foxes before, but then continue to insult them. I'm really fucking over this. Riko's uncle and the raven coach comes over. The two teams awkwardly stare at one another, and the only thing this scene needs is some dramatic finger snapping. Tetsuji says that he ran fingerprint test off of a glass Neil drank out of back during that dumb morning talk show, and knows who he is. He yells at Neil about crimes that Neil's dad committed against The Family©, as if Neil himself personally did all of that. However, Neil stands his ground and refuses to be bullied by these assholes.

Matt finally drags Neil away, and threatens to tell the exy board about Riko's shit behavior and have him benched for the rest of the season. They all go back to the bus finally, and start to head home.

[visionsofus]

Regarding Scarletvision prompts.....I’m such a sucker for the trope where one member of a couple goes apeshit and all protective/NO TOUCH when they think the other member is grievously hurt, maybe something like that with Vision instead of Wanda? With potential fluff/comfort once things are fine. Your fics are wonderful!!

anon you are totally speaking my language with this prompt!! I absolutely love this trope so much too (and was actually halfway through writing one where Wanda loses her shit). Decided to go with Vision for this because we don’t often see him lose his cool in canon. Thanks for this request!

Really hope you enjoy! 

| read on AO3 here | send me a scarlet vision prompt |

Wanda and Vision’s Mixtape Track #17: Can You Feel My Heart

One year into being a fugitive Wanda gets cornered, Vision sees the news in real time and runs to her aid. Aka Vision going apeshit when he thinks Wanda is dead.

Warnings: angst, references to guns and blood. 

“Vision, look at me,” Tony said waving a hand in front of Vision’s eyes in an attempt to get his attention. “You can’t go. You understand that right?”

Vision dipped his chin in acknowledgement even as his brain ran furious probability equations through and through again. But they came back low again, and again, and again. There was only going to be one option.  

“Yeah, I don’t know about that,” Rhodey said from his seat before the flatscreen occupying half the wall of the strategy room they had gathered in. “Tony, this looks pretty bad.”

Vision turned his head and his gaze to the lights flashing across the screen, a live news report of everything that was going down in New York.

Tony swore at the sight before them, and Vision put a pause to his maths in shock. The camera was tracking a hooded redhead through a crowded street, suddenly zooming in on the individual’s face as she turned her head to look over her shoulder.

“Wanda Maximoff has been a fugitive since 2016 when she was decreed an international criminal by the United Nations,” the news reporter said over more footage of Wanda blending in as best she could with the crowds of the city. “While Maximoff has evaded capture for over a year, authorities now believe they are close to apprehending her.”

At this Vision had to quickly let go of the chair he was sitting in, lest he split the arm rests in two.

“We go live now to New York. Please be aware the next clip could be distressing to some viewers”

Tony scrambled to turn the news off even as Vision overrode his authority, ordering the compound AI to keep the report running.

The scene changed once more, and Vision watched as the crowd parted around Wanda as she engaged in a close combat fight with a man clad all in black. Her red magic had him restrained immediately as she spun around, a clear attempt to identify her best exit route. From that moment Vision knew her chances of getting out unharmed were dismal. In those precious seconds another agent was at her back, smartly keeping his distance and instead engaging her with his taser. Wanda’s head snapped up as her body jerked, but she somehow managed to twist around and send the man flying away. All around her agents emerged from the throngs of people trying to get off the main street. They began to close in like a pack of predators.

“Vision—” Tony said reaching out, but he was too late. Vision had risen without thinking when he saw the first taser, his legs moving of their own accord so that he had phased through the wall and was flying out away from the compound in moments. He’d never pushed himself to see how fast he could really travel and now he’d need every ounce of power to get to Wanda’s side in time.

The world was a blur, even to him. The only thing that kept his worries at bay was her in his head, the closer he got the louder her cries grew. He didn’t know how she was doing it; she’d always needed direct physical contact for her voice to be this loud in his head. He reached the streets of New York with her voice as his guiding light.  

‘I need you.’ She was weaker now. ‘Hurry.’

He was close now, all she had to do was keep talking.

‘I hear you, I’m coming for you,’Vision thought back, but he couldn’t say for certain if his voice reached her.

It didn’t matter though, he had arrived.

Vision managed to slow himself down enough to land, though his feet shredded the asphalt beneath him. Bullets flew his way immediately but he sidestepped easily and used the mind stone to blast two agent’s guns to pieces in their hands. The few bystanders left at the edge of the arena now before them, realised this was their indication to leave. They were quickly replaced by what must have been a hundred soldiers.  

Another agent took a run at Vision, electrified baton raised but all it took was a well-placed foot to send him to the ground. Vision continued walking forward, reading for the next onslaught even as Wanda’s voice echoed in his head again. ‘You shouldn’t have come’.

That made him angrier. He didn’t blink as he took out the next three agents before disarming two soldiers who’d mistakenly decided to try their luck against his inhuman body and the power inlaid in his forehead. They’d had enough difficulty restraining Wanda with carefully directed electrified pulses that had her incapacitated, on her knees in pain. They tried the same, turning the pulsing weapons his way but the energy passed harmlessly over him as he phased, carefully avoiding it. He was almost at her now, if he could just get to her side and get her out of the square, away, safe, alive. It was all he could think about.

Someone must have figured that out because next thing Vision knew, all weapons were trained on Wanda.

“Stay right where you are,” a voice crackled over a loudspeaker from a waiting cop car.

Vision didn’t stop until someone took a carefully aimed warning shot and he heard Wanda cry out in pain as she was hit by something. He didn’t know if it was just another pulse or if it was something more final.

The loudspeaker crackled again. “You take one more step and we won’t be taking her into custody, she’ll be going somewhere much more final.”

Vision had been learning a lot about feelings in the last year with Wanda. He’d experienced joy, love, lust, longing. He’d discovered these were warm emotions. Now he knew what rage tasted like.

Rage was cold, so cold. Rage made him irrational. And he was about to discover what happened when he turned that rage against others.

Wanda was on the ground again, clutching at her knee. So, it had been a bullet then. Vision’s shoulders trembled with unrestrained rage as she locked eyes with him, and a bloody, desperate hand reaching out.

And Vision exploded.

Eye-witness accounts would later say it was like the street had come to life. Others would say they thought a Chitarui ship had broken free from beneath the city, that the street had risen from the ground like a huge snake. Others still, would describe the red man, who had supposedly faced down two hundred members of the defence force, as impossibly fast, the yellow energy crackling around him like lighting. They’d say it felt dangerous, it was an ancient power that made the hairs at the back of your neck rise and your gut scream at you to run in the opposite direction. Those testimonies would never reach the news because no one could believe them.

Vision himself couldn’t be entirely sure what happened. He only recalled that he acted without thinking, his movements entirely guided by the immensity of rage crackling through his blood, calling to the stone at his forehead.

The stone, which so often sat dormant at his forehead, acted without his control. The power spread throughout his body and in his anger, he raised his hands, the golden light phasing and crackling about his arms, and thrust them towards the ground with a cry.

The soldiers didn’t have time to use Wanda as bargaining tool as he did this. As the power hit the tarmac the street shuddered and cracked. It didn’t reach the surrounding buildings, restrained only to the street and those who tried to weaponize Vision’s lover. She’d already been used that way once; he’d never let her be trapped again.

With the armed forces in varying levels of disarray, some injured while others just stunned at what they had seen, Vision darted towards Wanda.

The news would later say that an unidentified man and woman arrived on the scene some point into the chaos, but they would never be able to identify the individuals. Something about their cameras conveniently cutting out just in time.

Steve and Natasha raced for Wanda, lying prone and vulnerable in the middle of the street. They’d sent her out for the regular grocery run but hadn’t anticipated her getting caught. Afterall, they’d been in New York often in the last year and had never had problems like this. Vision was quicker and again it was as though the stone acted on his emotions. It took him a moment to recognise Nat and Steve past the caps pulled low over their heads and the masks taking up lower half of their faces, but by then the stone had already done what he must have deemed necessary, at least subconsciously.

As he reached Wanda’s side, throwing himself to his knees beside her and desperately surveying her body for injuries, a barrier appeared crackling in the air around them. Whatever irrational part of him that had seen his old teammates as a risk, wasn’t going to quieten down until he was sure Wanda was safe.

Steve didn’t manage to stop in time and went flying off the barrier. Nat helped him to his feet even as they both hesitated behind the crackling ring of gold energy. Vision didn’t know how to lower the barrier, but at that moment it was the least of his concerns.

“Wanda,” he whispered lifting her carefully and drawing her into his lap. He supported her shoulders and laid a hand against her cheek even as her eyes cracked open. Her lip trembled even as she winced, trying to sit up.

“You weren’t supposed to come,” she said, coughing slightly. “I had it covered.”

“Evidently,” he murmured absentmindedly looking over her knee, glad it had only been grazed by the bullet. The rest of her was fairly scratched up from hitting the ground so many times, but she was remarkably okay. “You know I couldn’t stay away.”

“We promised,” she said, and Vision saw the tears welling in her eyes. “We promised we wouldn’t put each other at risk.”

Vision sighed, if she had the time to worry about him in her state then she really had to be okay. His relief was immeasurable as he dropped his shoulders and pressed his forehead to hers lightly, taking comfort in their shared breaths, evidence they were both still alive. He had thought the worst for a moment.

As he closed his eyes the barrier around them dropped and Steve and Nat were finally able to get to the pair.

“We need to leave, now,” Steve said with all the authority of the leader he had once been. “They’ve called for reinforcements and with the guns their bringing in, we won’t stand a chance like this.”

Vision helped Wanda stand but when she staggered on her injured knee, he immediately scooped her up.

“You understand the decision you’re making her, Vision,” Nat said as they started away from the scene they had caused. “There’s no going back now, are you staying or coming?”

“Staying is not an option anymore,” Vision said without hesitation. His decision had been made the moment he left the compound.

Wanda sighed sadly but rested her head against the crook of his neck in defeat. “You’ll lose everything.”

“As long as I never have to lose you.”

[knybits]

THE HATING GAME — 1

PAIRINGS —

↳ kochou shinobu x reader 

SUMMARY —

↳ Geniuses within the same field yet rivals within each other’s eyes, your colleagues wonder when the sexual tension will break so that you two will become the department’s powerhouse couple so that they can enter you two into the couples contest against the other departments. Some things might have to be done by force.

WARNINGS —

↳ cursing, alcohol, smut  

AUTHOR NOTE —

↳ look bros,,, i KNOW that it’s supposed to be last name first then first name,,, but the setting here is like idk fucking harvard or oxford lets get crazy. basically youre not in japan and youre a big brain bitch youre welcome. also,,, please drink responsibly and ask for consent. stay safe :,)

[ Navigation ] 

—

It’s not like you always hated the genius that is Shinobu Kochou. 

Besides yourself, she’s the other shining diamond within the chemistry department. The transfer student from Japan that doesn’t let her language barrier hold her back. In fact, she might even be more fluent in English than you (which is dumb because it’s your mother tongue but hey, she’s the genius here remember?) 

Lilac painted nails with no chips and red glossed lips is Shinobu Kochou. Wrinkless lab coat and a face free of goggle imprints after an experiment is Shinobu Kochou. She’s pristine and a league above you (she might even be super rich but you could never find out.) 

Sometimes she would slip out Japanese phrases or mumble in Japanese under her breath, so you know that her voice sounds the exact same no matter which language she speaks. It’s sweet like honey- a complete trap- and it intoxicates those around her to do her bidding (she’s a witch and you’d be damned to be proven wrong because this bit of information will go down with you.) 

You’ve never spoken to her so you know that your dislike is misplaced. A mature adult would admit that this hate is more so envy, but fuck that. 

Shinobu Kochou is perfect, flawless, an angel, and you hate it. 

It doesn’t help that she would smile in your direction at times and wave a hand at you with nothing but kindness. You ignore her, of course, and your colleagues can’t fathom why you would walk past the princess without even acknowledging her. 

And yet, for some reason, you find half of your department on their knees in front of you. 

“Please date Shinobu! You’re our last hope!!” Your friend cries out, shoving a crummy “free beer on me” coupon she literally wrote up on a bright pink sticky note on her way over to you with 16 other people in tow. 

“You want me to do what?” 

Someone else steps forward to produce a flyer that another random department pasted up around the school. When you snatch the paper from them, the first thing you read is “department couple” and immediately decide to crumple the paper up. 

“Wait! You didn’t even read it!” 

“I’ve read enough,” you seethe, steam pour from your mouth as everyone cowers in fear of your sleep deprived self. 

“C’mon (F/n)!” Your friend whines, draping herself over you and grovelling at your feet. “All the other departments are taking part in it! Each department pitches in $500 per couple and then they compete! Whichever couple wins receives the whole pool of money for their department!” 

“Does everyone here even have enough money to pitch in $500??” 

Someone else pipes in, “For a chance at over $6,000? We’re willing to take it.” There’s a low murmur of agreement from everyone and you roll your eyes. Everyone begins to throw empty promises at you (about as worthless as the crappy pink sticky note in your hand) before you narrow your eyes into a deathly glare at the crowd. 

“There’s no way in hell you idiots will get me to date Shinobu Kochou. I’d rather an experiment blow up in my face than date her,” with those final words you storm away, lab coat fluttering the least bit for stupid dramatic effect and everyone is left speechless. 

—

You’re in the middle of heating up your cup ramen when your roommate (the one that “gifted” you a free beer coupon) comes home, shuffling in. She has a guilty look on her face that bleeds “this is just for show.”  

Araceli drapes herself across the counter for your attention but you decide not to pay her any mind, instead taking your cup ramen- fork stuck through the lid to keep the hot steam in- to the couch and turning the TV on. 

You have three minutes to find a show to watch, but that plan goes to shit when Araceli groans aloud for your attention. 

“What,” you snap and Araceli comes crawling over from the counter and into your side on the couch, her arms wrapped around your waist. 

“I feel bad-” 

“No you don’t.” 

She keeps going despite your rude interruption, “But everyone in the department decided to go to the club tonight. I owe you more than just one drink, so pleaaaassseee,” she bats her eyelashes at you (they’re incredibly long and you’re envious them.) 

Araceli’s puppy dog face always gets you to cave and you find yourself angrily shoving some half cooked noodles into your mouth. That response is enough for her to cheer, squeezing you even harder than she already is. 

“Your wallet better be prepared,” you quip as you resume a show you desperately need to catch up on. You don’t catch the mischievous glint in her eyes, yourself already pinned to the plot of your show as it does its job to empty your head. 

—

Clubs aren’t really your scene. 

You used to go to them often when you started out as a freshman in college, but it lost its charm by your junior year. Now you prefer drinking in your apartment, every month or so slipping back onto campus to conduct some random experiments to allow Araceli her time with whoever she brought home. 

There’s something about a club that lets you (loosely) compare it to a masquerade ball (loosely.) Music plays and alcohol burns so strongly within everyone’s systems that they can’t see the face of the person they’re grinding on. Oh, and within their respective timelines, you have to dress up for both a ball and a club. 

In one of your more scandalous outfits, you can’t help but check yourself out in the mirror before dipping because damn do you look HOT and everybody better take some fucking notes. You confidence shoots up when Araceli whistles the second you step out of your room, and the two of you drive to the club a couple blocks from the college. 

Before you two step into the booming building, Araceli waves wildly at her boyfriend with a bright smile. They give each other a quick kiss in greeting and a sudden thought crosses your mind. 

“Why don’t you two enter the contest?” 

Araceli tuts at you, wagging a finger in disappointment before saying, “See? This is why you have to read the whole poster dear roomie. The couple has to be two people from the same department.” Unfortunately, her boyfriend is from the modern literature department (how they met, you have no clue.) 

The three of you make your grand entrance and everyone within your department (making up most of the club right now) scream with delight before ushering you over. A shot of tequila is pushed into your hands and you smile before downing your first drink of the night.

With a never ending stream of alcohol being passed into your hands and some good fucking music (the club on the other side of town has some down right god awful music that the math department and social science department likes) you finally let your hair down. Every once in a while, some sad drunk would cry to you, apologizing for asking you to do something you don’t want to do. When they hear your laugh over the loudspeaker they laugh with you, and another drink is passed into your hands. 

The bass shakes the room and you jump to the beat, cheering and whooping during every drinking game. Araceli hangs off your shoulders when you both take a shot at the same time, and her boyfriend leads her onto the dance floor. 

You’re sober enough- barely-  to watch your best friend with fond eyes, her boyfriend and she dancing like idiots to the music and laughing as if they’re little kids. They’re horribly off beat when they jump but watching Araceli have the time of her life is enough to make you happy, and you’re glad you went to the club. 

Araceli catches your eye from across the room and she stumbles towards you, taking ahold of your hand before handing you one last shot. 

“Down it and let’s dance!!!” She yells and you do as told, throat burning and ears barely picking up her cheers as she drags you onto the dance floor. 

By this time you’re actually honest to god shitfaced, but that’s fine. The music shifts and people that recognize the song go apeshit, yelling and jumping all at once at the bass drop. Araceli dances with her boyfriend, but the second you blink she’s gone with the rest of the crowd and you’re left alone to dance on your own. 

When a song that you recognize starts to play you begin to sing along, but your voice gets caught when someone backs up into you. What was an innocent bump quickly turns into something more and now you’re one of the blackout drunk idiots that isn’t aware of who is grinding on them. 

You can tell it’s a female when your hands move to grip her waist, and her back presses up against your chest. She smells of lavender and sweat, and her jet black hair tickles your nose. You can’t help but smile at this new feeling, and she makes a daring move to take one of your hands and lift it to grope her left breast. 

With a hum of delight, you loop your finger around a belt band and twirl her around to face you. All you can see is big amethyst eyes, half lidded and staring pointedly at your lips. 

“Can I kiss-!” You try to yell over the music, but that’s enough of an ‘okay’ to this mystery woman before her lips are greedily pressed to your’s. 

There’s instant tongue, and you don’t expect anything less from someone so bold. She’s somehow slipped a hand under your shirt, feeling her way up your chest and you move a hand to grip her ass. 

That’s the last thing you remember before your mind blanks from the ecstasy that is this mystery woman. There’s the brief flash of stumbling into an Uber, a soft and breathy voice giving directions as you suck on her neck like some teenager. 

Then there’s the feeling of silk bed sheets, your fingers dripping wet after fucking her senseless and the look of excitement in her eyes as you lick up all her juices, tongue gliding up your digits. 

At some point you have her slammed up against the walls and at another point your tongue explores her pretty little cunt. The constant sound of moaning, pleading, begging and you calling her a “good girl” circles through your head (though the latter is something you find yourself embarrassed about.) 

Your eyes open to bright sunlight and a royal bitch of a headache. A low groan rumbles from the back of your throat and you bury your head into the pillows, but the scent throws you off because this is not your pillow. 

When you look over the edge of your side of whoever’s bed you’re in, you catch sight of condom wrappers and your clothes scattered across the room. You also see a blindfold, but you decide not to think too hard back on that memory. 

Warm arms slide its way around your waist and you freeze in surprise. A sickly sweet giggle fills your ears and when you turn to face the person you spent the night with your face pales considerably. 

Shinobu Kochou, the witch herself, smiles at you peacefully. Her lipstick is smeared and there are a plethora of hickies scattered across her neck (you can only assume that there are more under the covers) but the sunlight bounces off her cheekbones so nicely it irritates you. 

“Good morning (F/n). Did you sleep well?” Shinobu coos, and your life spirals into hell. 

—

[ Next Chapter ]

[cumulativechaos]

The Lanternfly Effect

Martin’s lost his mind.

In his ten years working at the Magnus Institute, Martin’s encountered many unexplainable things. Books that cause horrible things to happen to the people who read them. Artifacts that cause horrible things to happen to the people who touch them. A woman whose body consists almost entirely of worms. Said woman lurking outside his flat for two weeks. He’s seen things that defied nature, logic, and reason. He’s seen nightmare fuel horrible enough to cause him lasting psychological trauma.

None of these things have made Martin question his sanity.

Until now.

Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist at the Magnus Institute, swearing. The stream of profanities flying loudly from his mouth is colorful enough to send Martin’s mother to an early grave. And it’s not just the swearing; Jon is also running around like a madman, head turned towards the ground and feet stomping erratically. He seems to be completely oblivious of the world around him, even when that world stares at him in confusion on their way into the Institute. He’s in the middle of the sidewalk, for heaven’s sake, and he’s cursing like a sailor and running in circles.

“Piece of shit bug,” Jon hisses, voice dripping with malice. “Goddamn fucking shithead worm I’ll fucking kill you you son of a bitch–”

Finally, it gets to be too much for Martin. He has to interact with this strange apparition. He clears his throat, loudly, but Jon pays him no mind.

“Jon,” Martin says. When Jon still doesn’t look up, Martin tries again. “Jon!”

Jon glances up for a moment. “Ah, hello, Martin,” he says, as if it’s a normal morning and what little remains of Martin’s life isn’t falling apart before him. Then Jon goes right back to stomping on the ground and swearing.

“Jon,” Martin tries again. This time, when Jon looks up, Martin doesn’t give him time to say anything. “I think the worm is dead.”

Jon looks down at his feet, where a silvery stain is slowly spreading across the sidewalk. “You can never be too sure,” Jon says. He doesn’t sound even remotely embarrassed.

“Right,” Martin says. “Well, you’ve been stomping on it for a few minutes now, I think you can leave it alone.”

“Hm,” is all Jon says. He stares at the stain for a few moments more, as if daring the worm to reconstruct itself, then nods and heads into the building.

Martin lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He glances down at the worm stain. Part of him, the part that lets spiders loose outside instead of killing them, feels bad for the worm. The memory of those two weeks trapped in his flat reconsiders that pity.

---

The next time it happens, Martin isn’t there. He sees it, though, on the small screen of Tim’s cell phone. The camera is shaky with Tim’s laughter.

“Fuck! Off! You stupid! Shitty! Bug!”

“This is the greatest thing I’ve ever seen,” Sasha says, peering over Tim’s shoulder.

“Right?” Tim says. “He goes on for ten minutes.”

“Guys, come on, we should get back to work,” Martin says, but he’s still peering, wide-eyed, over Tim’s other shoulder. He makes no move to follow his own suggestion. There’s something captivating about watching Jon go apeshit on a couple of tiny, seemingly harmless worms. (Martin knows they’re not harmless, though. Doesn’t stop the video from being utterly hilarious and completely earth-shattering.)

“What are you watching?” says a familiar stern voice, and Martin yelps, leaping away from Tim’s desk with a red face. Sasha hops away as well, but with far less panic then Martin. Tim, on the other hand, swipes a few times on his camera roll and turns to face Jon with an easy grin.

“A video of my mum’s cat,” Tim says. “Do you want to see?”

It’s so brief Martin almost misses it, but for a moment he could swear Jon considers it. “Later, perhaps,” he says. “Get back to work, everyone.”

---

The third time it happens, Martin is there. In fact, Martin is the catalyst.

It’s the early morning, far too early for people to be arriving at the Institute, and Martin is taking a walk. It’s rare he gets to see the outside world, these days. The inside of the Archive is all he ever looks at. It’s a risk, stepping out, but one Martin is willing to make for the sake of what little remains of his own sanity.

It’s on his return back that he’s attacked.

Later, when he breathlessly tells the story to Tim and Sasha, there will be dozens of worms. Dozens of worms, and all of them were suddenly surrounding him, cornering him. In his retelling, they all pounce at once, only to be effortlessly brushed away by his savior, Jonathan Sims.

The truth is that it’s one worm. It does jump at him, though, scaring the living daylights out of him and causing him to shriek loudly, alerting a certain workaholic archivist who is coming in to work at an ungodly hour of the morning. Said workaholic archivist does come running to Martin’s rescue. And said workaholic does deal with the worm in the way Martin is becoming familiar with.

“Die you fucking asshole!” Jon exclaims, stomping firmly on the worm. Its silvery guts gush across the pavement, and Jon stomps on those bits, too. “Threatening my assistants? I’ll fucking eviscerate you and burn you to ash! Tell Jane Prentiss to meet me behind the Institute for a one on one deathmatch, I’ll fucking murder her!”

So, like, the same kind of stuff, really.

Martin can’t get over the bit about “threatening my assistants,” though. Before, he thought Jon’s colorful language was simply due to his unending hatred for the silvery creatures, but it seems as though some of it has to do with protectiveness.

“Martin,” Jon says, snapping Martin out of his thoughts. “Martin, are you alright? Were there any others? Did it get you?”

“I-no, no, I’m fine,” Martin says. “It was just the one, and, er…” Martin glances at the smear on the ground. “I think you took care of it.”

Jon breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness,” he says. “I don’t know what I would have done if–”

Jon cuts off, ears turning red. He clears this throat and turns away. “Anyway,” he says. “Shall we head inside?”

Martin can’t help the giddy smile that spreads across his face. “Lead the way, Jon.”

[themanicgalaxy]

SPN 4X14 Sex and Violence

I love watching this in Quiet and Dark with my sister in the same room because we're in the middle of "Nowhere"

hey look thematic

listen Bad Reaction to vaccine, so silently watching it is the way to go

I love the game of "which of these is gonna be the bloody bloody way of Death in the beginning

these fuckers r NOT making it

he just fucking....goes apeshit on his wife

I do not like

the title gives me bad vibes

also lol remember the two episodes ago plot I don't

heh before Gen and Jared were married, her last name's still Cortese

gank his wife wheee

boy the subtitles are just...in the worst place possible

huh not possession

he was hiding purchases from his wife?

a stripper...whee

"you pay enough, anyone will be anything" boy I like that line, and u can tell whoever wrote it liked it too

like you can tell when an author REALLY likes a line, and wanted it In There

like it Looks like a pat on the back, yknow?

So like...making men believe they deserve death is like...objectively bad. But if the lesson is "this was Never your fault, it was the Woman"...that's also bad

doctor, interesting , and I missed the explanation other than she has another job

heh she doesn't trust him

aw the flirting

AGENT MURDOCK

Dean u just got hardcore rejected oof

I love how Sam gives her hangover advice, that's fun

...does it end up being the doctor

...siren...OH MY GOD SIREN WAIT NO I FIGURED IT OUT SIREN

Let me have this

...gratuitous....stripper scene

hey they're named after Disney princesses

Also worth noting Jensen Ackles's eyebags are always just a Bit more prominent than Sam's, is it cuz Sam is protagonist boi?

to mention: writers like Dean more, but Sam is main character thing

HA SIREN I KNEW IT let me have this

ODYSEEY NAME DROP NO THAT DOESN'T HURT ME

the singing Dean says welcome to the jungle and cherry pie and yes both good songs

...what you want most wuhoh

Belle

takes care of his mom, huh

well I mean predictably that is a very pretty lady

the pan to the jesus and the mom is....

OH GOD THE SIREN TRUEFORM IS OH GOD

boy that's fucked

no please don't tell me he kills his mom because of this

ah she plants the seed, but what is benefit? what is?benefit?

jeez his poor mother, that's so fucked

does she leave? do they not remember her?

oho the phone thing

boy Dean's gotta have a Thing with phones at this point

ha he figures out it's Ruby boy that didn't take long

woman he was closest to oop

BOBBYYYYYYY

huh manchurian candidate, second Manly thing to mention it

ah war movie ok that makes sense

it's the Actual FBI uh oh

Stiles and Murdock are references to "Route 66" heh

BOBBYYY IS THE ONE THAT THEY MESS UP THE FBI WITH AND HE'S COOKING I LOVE BOBBY SO MUCH

HIS LIKE 700 phones, all labeled I LOVE BOBBY

Lone Wolves

"no complaining about the tunes" pfftttttt

...if this is the siren...I...

if this is Dean's siren

and he just met Castiel

what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck

I- they're bonding about music...I-

WHAT DID THEY THINK WOULD BE READ INTO THIS

ok so Sam's flirting with Doctor Lady

something something she split up from her husband

ok tuning out the weird makeup thing, tuning out, tune Out

yadayada sex scene OH SHE HAS THE WEIRD FLOWER OOOP

ah the hyacinths

guys please I don't have time to google the references today

Dean don't shame your brother for being a monsterfucker

why are both of you so angry all the time

I really hate that "I'm with you on this one" is like...the only thing this guy had to hear, Dean please get therapy

aHAHAHA THE REVEAL HIS FACE AHAHAHAH

AHAHAAH WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU THINK WAS GOING TO HAPPEN

"you can't trust your brother" ope

lookI understand the basic idea of they needed the brother confrontation, but...but they...they accidentally queer coded Dean...I..how

I gave him a little brother

look I get that w*nc*esties might like this episode, but it's...it's also someone who emotionally connects with him and Sam's not that it's [gunshot]

at least they FINALLY talk about their feelings, and it took a literal double mind whammy

he just watches things explode

"you're holding me back" oh god "I'm a better hunter than you are" ah boy

Sam did you go to Literal Hell for forty years did you??

ah jeez Sam you validated like All of his Issues

BOBBY! BOBBYBOBBY! FUCK YEAH

and then they Never Talk About it Again

the fucking beers at the end of the episode

HE GIVES THEM SODA GOD I LOVE BOBBY

Dean's wearing the jacket again oh god

Bobby: listen we all take L's, it's fine guys

Sam+Dean: we're going to take this personally

god fuckingDAMN YOU BOTH JUST FUCKING COMMUNICATE FOR ONCE IN YOUR GODDAMN LIVES

ok well. Wrap up:

1. Bobby. I love Bobby. We got more world building into how he runs his life, and other than the like. Metric Ton of research he does, he has the labeled phones(for hunters to use as a resource), comes snaps the boys out of it(and gives them soda to make them drink responsibly, that was fucking adorable), and tries to reassure them that it'll be ok. I love him, he's so good, best Dad, GoodGOOD!

2. Dean. Look I get the whole thing was "He wants someone who he can trust by his side, and that should be his brother" but based on Siren Lore, Siren's are romantic(even if the connection they're trying to break isn't)(and they set this up with the goddamn mother). And..siren presents to Dean as a man. Like maybe it would have gone for Sam, but I don't think it would have worked because Dean wants connection(and apparently with a man??) and it's also the same season they introduce Cas, and he's in the next episode and-

I think this was unintentional. I think here, in this case, they did it on accident to try and force a brother confrontation. But BOY did it BACKFIRE how are we supposed to READ THAT??

3. Sam Protagonist but Dean tho. Ok so I feel like I can kinda tell that(at least now) that the writers figure out that Dean's more fun to write with. Not just stories, but he gets to say the cool lines, he gets to make the references more. Basically, he's whatever the writers are projecting onto him. Dean's Made of projection, and it makes him complex. But Sam's the main protagonist(and I have this whole thing about how you can see Dean's eyebags every now and then, Sam's are invisible, and Castiel's are Super Prominent, and like maybe I'm reading into this too much but) and they have to write stuff for him to do and just. Damn.

4. their Sad Boi issues. Look. They have a point? I think Sam ends up shaking into a better hunter than Dean(or at least that's his trajectory) but that's because Dean never really wanted this in the first place, and never got to be-

I'm getting off topic here. The point is that Sam has more Power than Dean, and Dean just wants his family to stay together and to trust them. And like. Idk it was messed up and they REFUSE TO TALK ABOUT IT

I feel like maybe it's because Family Confrontations didn't go well before(thanks John) but just..guys just because you talk about it doesn't mean people will hate you what the fuck.

idk

[defaultjane]

"jealousy isn't cute on you" cleon

Ask and ye shall receive! …no guarantees about the quality tho (I think Leon’s out of character but so he was during the entire Vendetta-movie and I don’t know how to write Claire to save my life and neither did the guys who wrote Revelations 2 ,but here goes!)

”For the last time, Leon, I’m not your lawyer, you shouldstop calling me when you’re thrown in jail,” Hunnigan said as she waited forhim to collect his things so that they could exit the jailhouse.

“I’m sure your cat will forgive you for leaving him alonefor twenty minutes despite it being a Friday night,” Leon remarked a littlemore venomously than he’d intended to. Hunnigan stopped in her tracks andturned to look at him and he sighed, meaning to apologize but she spoke beforehe had a chance.

“You are the worst thing that has ever happened to me,” Hunnigansaid before crossing the parking lot with long agitated strides.“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean..!” he called out after her, butshe was already gone, driving away and leaving him to find his own way home.

“Ah, shit,” Leon exhaled and stuck his hands into hispockets, beginning the long walk home. His drunken state was wearing off and hewas slipping from impervious to becoming painfully aware of how much hisknuckles hurt. They rarely showed that side of this situation in movies. The lack of the massive punch-sound effect inreal life was also disappointing.

When Leon finally got home, he was surprised to see thatClaire was not already packing histhings into suitcases, or frantically throwing everything out into the yard andpouring gasoline on it. Instead, she sat on the couch in the living room andwhen she saw him, she turned the TV off and slowly crossed her arms over herabdomen while narrowing her eyes at him. It was a feminine but an oddlythreatening gesture.

“You’ll be glad to know that Neil decided not to presscharges,” Claire told him.

“Well, remind me to send him a thank you-card,” Leon said, spreadhis hands to the side a little and took a series of tiny “I’m not worthy”-bowsbefore going to the kitchen to grab a beer.

“Stop it, Leon, this is serious!” Claire said, got up andfollowed him. She grabbed the beer from his hand while he was in the middle oftaking a sip. Some of it spilled onto his chin and dripped to the floor as thecontents of the bottle foamed over as she yanked the bottle suddenly, but shedidn’t care.

“What the hell?” Leon frowned as Claire tossed the bottleinto the sink and leaned in closer to him, her finger pointing into his chest.

“Do you even understand what the hell you did?” she snappedat him.“Yes, and that dipshit had it coming!”

“Why? What did he do? Did he remark on my tits or ass? Makelewd comment about what he’d like to do to me? What?” she demanded.

“Well, yes, to all of it, basically!”

“Well, welcome to my world, I hear shit like that every day,it’s called being a woman. But I don’t go apeshit and beat up every idiot whomakes remarks like that.”

“I bet you’d want to though.”

“Yes, but that isn’t the point!” Claire yelled in exasperationand shoved at him, turning to face away with her hands on her hips, shaking herhead in disbelief.

“Then tell me what is the point,” Leon said, rubbing hispalm over the spot on his chest where she’d poked him.

“The point is that I don’t need nor do I want you toturn up and pretend to be some white knight who rescues me from the  lewd remarks someone makes, I don’t wantthat! If I need to, I can stand up for myself, and most of the time, I’d ratherjust ignore them,” she scoffed.

“Or, maybe you don’t mind the comments since they came fromhim.”“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m just saying that it’s usually called sexual harassmentonly when the guy making the remarks is unattractive, but bring out a douchebagin a chinstrap and suddenly it’s called flirting,” Leon said, his tone of voicethe typical tone you’d hear from a child making the common “nya-nya”-taunt.Claire blinked slowly, her mouth slightly open as she tried to comprehend thatLeon out of all people was behaving the way he was right now.

“Jealousy isn’t cute on you.”“Good, because I’m not trying to be cute!”

“Seriously, do you hear yourself… like… right now…when you’re talking… do you hear the words coming out of your mouth, do youunderstand how ridiculous you sound?” Claire asked, speaking intentionallyslowly as if indeed talking to a child.

“Mock all you want, but you know I’m right.”“I am not getting into this argument with you,” Clairesighed in exasperation.

“There is no argument because I’m right!”

“Sure. Fine. Whatever. Go take a shower and try to sleep itoff. On the couch,” Claire said in an icy tone over her shoulder as she leftthe kitchen and headed upstairs, slamming the bedroom door shut behind her sohard the glasses in the kitchen cupboard clinked.

Leon grabbed another beer now that Claire wasn’t there tothrow it out, and then proceeded to the living room, slumping onto the couch. Whyshould he be the one sleeping on the couch, it was his house too, damn it.

Yeah, but then again,I’m the jerk who beat up Claire’s boss… but for a good reason… even if shedenies it…

He wasn’t sure what part of him thought this could possiblybe a good idea, but he was already doing before even realizing; he dialedHunnigan’s number. He had a question he wanted her to answer.

“Oh, my God, what!” she yelled at him as she accepted thevideo call.“I’m sorry.”“You should be. For various reasons.”

“Your towels are so fluffy! Why can’t I get mine— oh, sorry,who you talkin’ to?” a woman wearing nothing but a towel and a green necklaceinquired as she walked across the frame, Leon getting  a decent view of her figure but not her facebefore Hunnigan turned the phone so that he could see nothing but the ceiling.

“The reason I had to run out in the middle of dinner,”Hunnigan responded.

“Tell him he’s a dick,” the other female voice said.“You’re a dick,” Hunnigan dutifully relayed the message.

“That was actually all I needed to hear because the reason Icalled was to ask you if I’m a dick,” Leon said.

“I’m amazed you thought there would be any other answer tothat question. Good night,” Hunnigan retorted and ended the call.

“Well, whaddaya know, she did have a date,” he chuckled atthe dial tone.

“Aw, fuck,” he then sighed and leaned back on the couch. Hefinished his beer in a few long gulps before heading into the bathroom to takethat shower Claire had told him to take. Instead of feeling relaxed as the hotwater washed away his mood, he was fuming.

I am not sleeping on the couch.

Once drying off, he went upstairs and slowly pushed thebedroom door open. He waited for a moment for his eyes to adjust to the deepblue darkness in the room and was half expecting to find Claire sitting on thebed with a shotgun aimed at him. Instead, she lay down, the covers pulled toher shoulder, hugging his pillow to her chest. Once upon a time she’d told himshe’d begun to playfully refer to the pillow as Scott since she had a habit ofcuddling it while he was away because it smelled of him.

You are so adorable itmakes my chest ache, he thought, a small rueful smile on his lips. He gotinto bed and lay on his side, resting his weight on his forearm as he leaned alittle closer to her.

“Claire… can I have my pillow back, please?” he whispered.

“You’re not even supposed to be here,” she humphed andpulled as far from him as she possibly could without falling off the bed.

“Look, I’m sorry. I overreacted, and you’re right, you don’tneed me to rescue you, I know that… but at the same time, there’s a part ofme that thinks… that you’re my girl and that I should beat the living shitout of anyone who disrespects you. I know it’s not as charming in real life asit is in movies, but…”

“Oh, so you were just defending my honor. Well, that makesit all better.”

“I’m not saying it does, I’m just saying that’s whathappened. Hearing him talk that way about you made me go a little a crazy.”

“What did he even say?” Claire then asked, finally turningto face Leon and he cleared his throat awkwardly.

“I’m not sure I feel comfortable repeating that.”

“In other words he didn’t say anything that bad, you just blew it out of proportion,” Claire said,quirking an eyebrow and Leon inhaled and exhaled deeply.

“He was staring at your ass and said ‘Damn, I’d like to cutthat cake’.”

“That’s it?” Claire scoffed and Leon shrugged one shoulder.Hell, she’d heard worse in third grade.

“You are such a… I don’t even know what you are,” sheshook her head and smacked him with the pillow.

“I know, I know… I’m sorry. I really am,” he saidsincerely and put the pillow aside as she settled to lay on her back and sigheddeeply as if trying to decide what to do with him.

“You’re a good man, Leon, but sometimes you do the dumbestthings for the stupidest little reasons. I really need you to work on that or Idon’t see how we’re ever gonna make this work,” she muttered.

“I understand, and I promise to work on it.”

“…all right,” Claire said quietly, a hint of disbelief inher voice, clearly she wasn’t going to believe it until she’d see it. Leon felta bit hurt by the obvious mistrust, but at the same time he took it as anincentive to prove to her that he could and woulddo it.

“All right,” he said as well and finally lay down as well. Theyremained silent in the dim room for a long while and Leon was sure Claire hadalready fallen asleep when she finally reached over and put her arm over hismidsection, pushing herself tightly against him. He raised his arm a little andput it around her shoulders, pulling her closer in the sweetheart’s cradle andpressed a long soft kiss onto her forehead before resting his cheek against thetop of her head. He closed his eyes and exhaled happily when he felt her breathon the side of his neck.

“Hey, Claire?”“Yes, Leon?”

“Hunnigan’s girlfriend called me a dick.”“Oh, poor you. Do you need me to go kick her ass?”

“No, but am I dick?”“Yeah, but you’re my dick.”

“…I can live with that.”