#like no this is coming from mr ‘i forget if ive told this story before’

[nebulaedaniel]

my favorite phannie thing is when people decide that dan and phil are doing something small on purpose to fuck with us (like the hoodie strings rn) as if dnp don’t tell us the same anecdotes a billion times

[waywardcrow]

Timeless.

Chapter IV.

Summary: 1943. 1975. 2024. Three different decades, three different lives, three different times your life and Bucky's interwined; he lost you twice, will he do it again?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader.

TW: It can change each chapter but themes of Bucky as soldier and as the Winter Soldier in general, flashbacks and dreams in italics like this, lots of feels, reader's being a little anxious, some stalking lol, a brief sex scene (p in v), very bad written smut, implied domestic violence (not from Bucky), murder mentioned, past lives, past 40'sreader is mentioned to be named Beth but that changes for 2024 version of her so I nicknamed her little bird for Bucky, Ace for everybody else, this will be a +18 story so minors dni.

Disclaimer: Please remember english is not my first language so if I make a mistake or forget something let me know.

Pictures from pinterest and graphic and dividers by the amazing @ firefly-graphics so all credits to the creators.

Previous chapter <;<<

You were fired, that wasn’t a surprise.

Mia Alexander didn’t sue you for every penny you had, that was shocking.

But getting a call from Pepper Potts herself, that was the real main event of your whole life.

She asked you to go and pay her a visit at her office in the Avengers tower, like if that didn’t send you in a spiral of bliss and terror, what will you wear? What could a woman like her want to talk with someone like you? Even if Sergeant Barnes –Bucky, you reminded yourself- told her what had happened in the gala, she might be mad at you.

Your head begun to think in the possibilities all the way there, considering that this was the reason why Mia didn’t sued you, maybe Pepper Potts would do it.

When you finally arrived to the tower your stomach was in knots, not even your lucky outfit made you feel better but like every other day in your life you sucked it up and walked to the front desk.

“Hi, I’m here to see Miss Potts?” you said, making it sound more like a question and the receptionist stared at your vintage midi skirt and blouse like he understood your hesitation. You offered him a smile before telling him your name so he looked for it in the screen in front of him and gave you a visitant pass.

“Third floor, follow the hall, last door in your right” he said and then went back to his screen.

“Oh, ok, thanks” your neck was hot with embarrassment when you reached the elevators and just became more evident when you got in and someone else did too.

“Good morning, third floor too?” Scott Lang, THE Scott Lang, asked you and you could only nod like an idiot. He did a double take on your face and smiled “hey, I know you; you are the girl who throws champagne at evil bosses.”

You were turning purple, it was a sure thing.

“What?” it was all you said.

“Yeah, the other night you did an incredible stunt, Sam told us everything” so Captain America knew too, great. Scott must saw something in your expression because his changed “is ok, seriously, when we hear what she did no one blamed you for it, I was sure Hope was about to kick her ass and don’t let me start with Yelena” your head was spinning “I think it was brave and more subtle than ruining your boss company and driving a car to his pool”

That earned a strangled laugh from you.

“Are you going to see Miss Potts too, Mr. Lang?” you asked when the elevator doors opened again and you walked with him.

“Actually I’m going to see Maria Hill but I’ll see you later” he smiled at you with such honesty that you relaxed for the first time in all day, making your way to your destiny you noticed the front desk for Miss Potts assistant was empty and you were just on time which was as good as being late.

Without not knowing what to do, you knocked at her door.

“Come in”.

Taking a deep breath, you did it squaring your shoulders and trying to tell yourself everything would be fine.

“Good morning, Miss Potts, I hope is ok I called, there was no one and-“

“It’s completely fine” she said gesturing for you to sit in front of her and went to address your formally even if contradicted her next words “Please call me Pepper, everyone does.

There was something about her, a professionalism that was inspiring but also made her approachable and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Only if you call me by my first name too”

“It’s what you like to be called? Because Sam told me about your friend calling you Ace when he went with Sergeant Barnes to the hospital, I think it fits you” at her words it was impossible not to blush again; first of all because of the mention of Bucky, the recurrent thought of your head the last days and then because of the nickname Harper gave you.

“I mean, yeah, my friends call me that” it was an exaggeration, you only had one friend.

“Maybe we should stick to it, between me and you Pepper is not even my name but I think is perfect for me” there was something like nostalgia in her eyes but she didn’t let you think too much about it “and I like that my employees feel comfortable when we talk.”

“Excuse me, what?” it was really embarrassing how you couldn’t form a decent sentence in front of her.

“I would like you to be my assistant, Ace” she said and then your life really changed.

Bucky still could tasted you, the other you, the one who reincarnated and was born in a rich Italian family in 1950, the one that somehow found him when he was The Winter Soldier.

He wasn’t supposed to fuck you in your fiancée’s car, well ex fiancée, you couldn’t marry a dead asshole. His mind couldn’t know why he needed you that bad but his body did, Bucky was sure it was the conditioning what made him be such a caveman with you but the truth was, you were his mirror back then.

You wanted him since Lucas bragged about his connections to Hydra and how they lend him their best asset to protect the arsenal his father’s company will provided for them. Your whole attention was in the silent assassin who looked at you like you were everything he could ever want.

Lucas wasn’t great with you, his little bird, that’s why he snapped his neck and took you away, sometimes his nightmares will let him breath and remember you surrounding him, riding his cock, high in pleasure, telling him that you loved him before you both were found and he was dragged back to Hell.

As a small blessing, he didn’t remembered that while dreaming, Bucky was too lost on you, in the salty taste of your skin against his tongue when he traced the valley of your naked breasts with it.

“Give me one more, little bird” he ordered, thrusting in and out of you with an incredible skill considering the small space “drench my cock again.”

His english was perfect with you, no sign of hesitation, not remembering he wasn’t supposed to speak it so naturally when it wasn’t necessary; the Brooklyn accent showing up without effort.

“I- I can’t” you sobbed, drunk on him, your body asking for more.

“You will” his metal hand let go your neck to play with your clit, the cold metal sending you to your climax once again, taking him with you.

The softness of your skin against his was the last thing he remembered before waking up.

Harper called you when you got back home and screamed when you tell her the news; she made a joke about coming to work with you so she could see Sam Wilson every day, making you feel better. Since you convinced your parents go and have the retirement they deserved, Harper was the only one you had and she was more than what you deserved but sometimes you wished for more, for someone to go home to.

Like a fool, your mind went to Sergeant Barnes; you needed to thank him for what he did for you.

If not for him, you would have be ruined but how could someone put that in a thank you card?

Maybe you could bake something for him.

Bucky likes apple pie.

The thought came out of nowhere with an intense hint of pain between your eyebrows, what was that?

Maybe a nap would help, your new job waited for you and this was the chance you dreamed of, ruining it wasn’t an option.

When Bucky went to check on you that night, you were already sleeping in your couch, making very difficult for him to let you there. Of course he could break in and carry you to your room without waking you up but it would make you feel unsafe.

It was hard for him to go back to a civilian life, or the closest he could have, his actions needed to be careful, especially around you. It was also torture he remembered almost everything and you nothing at all, that he couldn’t tell you about that night on your porch in 1943 or your breakfast with him, Steve and the Howlies when your unit was sent to Europe and destiny brought you both together again, he couldn't tell you about that time in Italy.

Bucky wanted you to know everything but you will never believe him, in the best case you'd believe it was a joke or a proof of him losing his mind but you could also believe him dangerous –which he was- and get away from him where Bucky would not be able protect you.

Sited there in your fire escape, he started to memorize every part of you he could see through the darkness, if that was all he could have from you, he would make it be enough.

Tag list: @cjand10 @bunnyforhim @cookingdancingchick

Next chapter >>>

Hello lovelies! Sorry for bringing this short chapter, I tried to start going through their past lives but witout giving so much details so this don't gets very confusing, if it still is please tell me so I can work on it, what de you think? I'll love to read about it in the comments!

Love, Lily.

[maximura]

Ad Astra: The Theory Of Relativity | An Interstellar Ateez story Part I | Part II | Part III | Park IV | Part V | Part VI (Words 1442, Warnings: swearing)

It’s dusk by the time most of Yunho’s friends have wished him a ‘Happy Birthday’ and headed off home. It left two figures alone near the corn fields, drinking what’s left of Hongjoong’s maize beer stash. 

Wooyoung is watching them through the back window, neither subtle or as hidden as he thinks he is. 

“Hongjoong, it’s The Guy!” 

“What guy?”

“The tall one Yunho has a crush on! The one who rides the motorbike!” Wooyoung hisses, beckoning his older brother over to spy on the scene unfolding in their backyard. “They’re talking!”

Hongjoong puts the rest of the dishes away before coming over to peer out the window. 

Sure enough, there was Yunho, sitting on one of the fence posts that surrounds the corn fields. He’s smiling and laughing at something a tall guy is saying. He looks happy. They’re a bit too far away to hear the whole conversation but even if they could, Hongjoong knows he should probably give his brother some privacy at a time like this. 

“Come on, leave him alone.” He says, dragging Wooyoung away by the scruff of his sweater. “Help me tidy the rest of this stuff.”

“What? No, wait!” Wooyoung protests, resisting the request by ducking out of his sweater entirely until Hongjoong is just holding the limp piece of clothing in his hand. 

“Wooyoung, stop watching them-“

“Oh no……he’s frowning, he looks sad, Hongjoong something’s wrong….”

It’s then that Hongjoong leans to look out the window again, curiosity getting the better of him. There’s a wide distance between Yunho and the other Guy now, and judging from the way Yunho is frowning and staring at the ground while the other Guy is awkwardly shuffling his feet, it wasn’t going well at all. 

“Do you think he got rejected?” Wooyoung asks, “Who does that? On a birthday?!”

Before Hongjoong can form an answer, the Guy is turning around to walk back into the house, no doubt to say his goodbyes. Wooyoung is yanked away from the window at the last minute and they both pretend to clean the kitchen table when the Guy shuffles in. 

“Um, thanks for inviting me, um Mr Kim, I’ll get going now.”

Hongjoong ignores the overly formal address and does his best to put on a polite civil face and ask if this punk ass kid who just broke his brother’s fragile heart would be okay to ride home. 

“Yeah, I’ll be okay. My new girlfriend would kill me if I drank too much anyway.”

Oh. 

It’s a pointed remark, too specific to be casual, but casual enough to masquerade as some kind of explanation without having to do any of the hard work. 

They wish him goodnight and thank him for coming to what would be a day that Yunho probably just wants to forget. 

As soon as the front door closes and they can hear a bike tear down the dirt track of their driveway, Wooyoung throws his tea towel down in defeat. 

“He’s going to hate us for throwing this party isn’t he?” The teenager asks miserably. “He didn’t even want to have it and now he’s sad. Should I go out there and cheer him up or something?”

Hongjoong shakes his head, planning to go comfort his brother himself, but before either of them could move, they notice there was still one more kid here. 

***

“Hey, you okay?”

Yunho is relieved when he recognises the voice and knows it isn’t attached to any harm but he just doesn’t want to talk. The heavy silence stretches on for too long and it's only out of courtesy that he finally makes a noise to acknowledge the question, stopping short of elaborating with an actual answer because he doesn’t have one. 

Wooyoung and Hongjoong had insisted on throwing him a small 18th birthday party at the house and spent the day rigging up fairy lights near the back cornfields. They told Yunho to invite his classmates and friends, and he did so obediently, but now he wishes he just said no like he had wanted to.

It wasn’t all bad, he got some cool gifts and it was nice to see his friends before they all parted ways on their journey into adulthood. Hongjoong had somehow gotten a crate of maize beer and their Uncles sent over vintage snacks that nobody had seen in about five years. 

As the sun set rusty orange and the music slowed down into something more comfortable, the initially chaos faded away into a mellow buzz. Or maybe that was just because most of the maize beer was gone by then. 

His place in the world was beautiful at that exact moment; warm and sugar cozy, surrounded by familiar friends, comfortable in his familiar environment with the reassuring rustle of corn stalks in the background. He could see his two brothers inside the kitchen, no doubt bickering about whether or not Wooyoung was allowed to drink any maize beer when it wasn’t even his birthday. 

Yunho could be forgiven for feeling optimistic and hopeful. 

A fool’s hope, it turned out to be. 

He had never been friends with Yugyeom. They weren’t even that close. But the tall classmate had helped Yunho in woodworking and home economics class enough times for a deep-seated-one-sided crush to develop. In hindsight the friendliness was just a misinterpretation after all. 

When all the other boys and girls started going on dates, he had wondered why he wasn’t doing the same. Rumours and gossip of who-was-dating-who barely registered on his radar, partly because he was busy grieving his parents, but mostly because he ate lunch with Mingi and Wooyoung most days, and those two nerds were always talking about anime and video games. 

Maybe if he had paid some attention, he’d have known that Yugyeom had a new girlfriend and maybe he would’ve stopped himself from asking and maybe he wouldn’t have completely humiliated himself at his own birthday party. 

But he did. 

It was small mercy by the grace of the Universe that no-one else was around to see it. 

But here he was again, in the exact same place with the same people. Somehow always feeling like an outsider looking at other people living the life he wishes he could live too. 

There’s a slight creak on the wooden fence post as another body sits down next to him, facing the other way, towards the vastness of the cornfield that seemed to stretch on forever in the evening dusk.

The sky was a deep blue now, it was still too hazy to see many stars yet and the thought makes Yunho feel lonelier than ever but at least the fairy lights were still on and provided just enough to illuminate the familiar angles of the presence beside him.

“You want to talk about it?”

Yunho shakes his head. “How much did you see?”

“Not much. I just came out to say goodnight but he was already talking to you and the next thing I know, he left and you’re still out here.”

“I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t tell anyone.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“Okay.”

There’s a long pause where they just sit in silence. It's not completely uncomfortable but Yunho wishes the day would just end already.

“Since you’re already depressed, it won't matter if I make it worse right?”

“I guess...”

“Okay, so I found that limited edition Batman comic you wanted-“

"What-"

“-but your brother opened it by accident. So he already read it. Sorry.”

Maybe because his thoughts were shaken up so violently inside him, maybe because he was so confused by the emotional whiplash, maybe because he just doesn’t really give a shit anymore, maybe Wooyoung being a menace was so reassuring in its predictability that Yunho lets the laughter bubble out of him all ugly and loud and cathartic. 

The release felt good. 

“That little shit.”

“At least he had a good birthday, even if it was meant to be yours.” 

Yunho chuckles sadly. “One of us should have a good one I guess.”

There’s hesitation before he hears the clink of glass. “Well, you can still have a good one if you want. Do you know how hard it was to smuggle this past your brother?”

‘This’ turns out to be a small bottle of maize whiskey. Yunho stares at it in disbelief. 

“How the hell did you get this?”

“You really don’t wanna know.”

A gentle breeze ruffles by them and when Yunho finally looks up, for the first time since they started talking, Mingi is grinning mischievously at him, so bright and sparkling in energy, despite the blue darkness that surrounds them, that Yunho can’t help but smile back. 

"...thanks."

“Happy birthday, loser.”

[moemammon]

Hi there! I finally snapped and walked out of my shitty job after being there for almost 3 years, so could I please request the brothers reacting to the MC finally quitting their horrible job that they've been encouraging them to for months? Thank you!!! <3

Congrats on Quitting! (Feat. the Demon Bros)

(There's nothing like the sweet sweet release of leaving a shitty job, but it ain't an easy task. Good for you! 😤💪)

Lucifer

He's seen the way your job has been affecting you. The weary look in your eyes, the way your joints constantly ache, the dread on your face when you'd soon have to go into work. Trust him, he knows the feeling all too well.

Naturally he tried giving you that push to leave, but he knew he couldn't make the decision for you (as much as he wanted to). He’d just have to wait until you made the move yourself.

So when you DID? Oh, he was so relieved. He never doubted that you had it in you. Extremely proud of you for taking that leap of faith, and he won't let you regret it.

You're 👏 getting 👏 spoiled 👏

"Where would you like to have dinner? I'll make reservations at once." "...Why are you giving me that look? Obviously this calls for celebration. I won't be taking no for an answer."

Mammon

Even Mr. Money Bags himself knows that no amount of money is worth suffering over (uh, at least not suffering for three years straight)

He's been bugging you to quit for forever now. "If it's money ya need, I can introduce ya to way better jobs! There's this guy I know that can set ya up with something real nice-"

When you announce you've finally quit, he literally sweeps you off your feet and shouts for joy. Fucking FINALLY! He was getting worried, always seeing that gloomy look on your face.

And now? You're not gonna be spending much money. He's spending for you, buying whatever you need (and everything you don't need). You're unemployed, so let him spoil you!

"Nuh uh! Don't even THINK about bringin' your wallet with ya! Didn't I say I'd be payin' today?? Just worry about relaxing a little, and let The Great Mammon take care of everything' else!"

Levi

Working irl was never something that interested Levi, unless he was doing volunteer stuff at concerts and conventions. But seeing what you're going through? Yeah, that's exactly why he stays home.

He's tried to ease your nerves by inviting you over for games and tv, but there's only so much that Ruri-chan can do for an overworked human.

So the moment you announced leaving your dead-end job, he was over the moon! This obviously calls for a movie marathon night! He's got plenty of recommendations, but it's probably best if you pick, right?

Trying his best not to overwhelm you with his excitement, but he can't wait to start spending more time with you!

"Seriously? You finally quit?! That's... that's great! That means you'll be home all the time, and-! Er... if you wanna come over, my door's always open for you!"

Satan

Literally told you right away that you should quit. He's not so oblivious that he doesn't notice how you're being exploited.

You're a hard worker, and your worth was being taken advantage of. Why would he want to sit around and watch you wither away? It annoyed him to no end.

So he did all he could to convince you to leave, suggesting alternative career paths, mentioning he could help you find something, but only you could make that important decision.

And BOY was he thrilled when you decided to leave. He congratulated you immediately, then proceeded to let out every insult aimed toward your job that he’d been holding in this entire time.

"They weren't good enough for you, so I'm glad you've finally realized that. If you want, I could leave them with a 'parting gift' to show them just how much you loved your job? I can even whip up something special for your boss."

Asmo

All the days you had to suffer working at a place like that.. You always looked HAGGARD coming home, and he hated it!

But now that you've quit working at that terrible place? Asmo's gonna make up ever single day that you could've spent pampering yourself. Also tried convincing you to start an OnlyFans-

He'll make sure you're so relaxed and cared for, you'll completely forget about all the grief your job put you through. Work? Who's she??

Massages your shoulders while you tell him stories of all the shitty customers and coworkers you've had to deal with. Spill the tea, hun. Speaking of tea, do you want him to top off your glass for you?

"Ive been worried sick about you, you know! Instead of working, you ought to just stay home with me instead! I know plenty of ways to make money without having to leave the house, after all~"

Beel

He always tried making sure you ate well before you left for work, but it didn't seem to be enough to keep you from being worn out when you got back.

He even tried suggesting that you workout with him to relieve stress. But after a hard day at work, it's understandable that you didn't want to move much.

Beel wasn't the type to outright urge you to quit, since it's nice to have a way to earn money, but after seeing the metal toll it was taking....

He couldn't have been happier when you announced you'd finally quit. Like Lucifer, he immediately wants to celebrate! This calls for eating until you're about to burst! Do you want Madam Scream's? He'll get you a lifetime supply of blackberry cheesecake, too!

"Since you're finally free from that place, we'll be able to spend more time together. It's been lonely, not seeing you as often. The food tastes better when I enjoy it with you, so let's eat together from now on, okay?"

Belphie

Sometimes, you were such a hard worker that it exhausted Belphie to even look at you. But he knew you were only human, and your stamina wasn't as limitless as you tried to make it out to be.

You were growing weary, both physically and mentally, and he could tell from a mile away. Was it really worth all this hassle just to make a buck or two?

He certainly didn't think so, and tried to get you to see it from his point of view. Just find something easier to do that wouldn't wear you out, you know? Or be unemployed. You know his brothers won't let you stay broke-

You tell him that you've finally quit, and Belphie can't help but smile. He won't admit that he was getting worried for your health, but you can tell from the way his expression relaxes.

"The hard worker had finally joined the lazy side, huh? That means you'll be able to make up for all the lost sleep, and I think we should get started right away. No objections, no objections. Come here." ".....I missed holding you like this."

[giorno-plays-piano]

Vicious

Part VII

Pairing: Steve x reader, Bucky x reader, Thor x reader, Loki x reader, Peter x reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, stalking, possessiveness, theft, mention of blackmail, all characters are adults.

Words: 1864.

Summary: Transferring to Stark Academy that has only allowed to take in female students last semester, you realize you are just one of three young women among hundreds of students. Your things are constantly being stolen, and soon you begin fearing for your safety.

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Part V

Part VI

________

You wanted to slap yourself. What the hell was wrong with you today? Why did you tell Peter that?!

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean...” Completely baffled with you behavior, you were deeply ashamed, unable to look the guy in the eyes and wanting nothing but fall into the earth.

“Ah, I got it. It’s Steve, isn’t it?” All of a sudden, Peter let out an irritated sigh, rolling his eyes skywards and rubbing his neck. “Of course, who else would say such nonsense. Blackmail, really? Funny he didn’t call me a stalker or anything.”

“Listen, I didn’t mean it, I’m really-”

“It’s ok.” He closed the locker, slamming its door loudly and making you jump. “It’s not your fault. If I heard that from somebody, I’d be scared too.”

He spent a couple of seconds staring into the wall until he rubbed his neck again tiredly and huffed. It took him less than a minute to regain his composure, and you heard him murmuring, “What a freak.”

He didn't return to the corridor, heading to the sports hall for his PE class, instead moving to the bench in the locker room and motioning you to sit. Feeling terribly awkward, you hoped he wasn't going to do anything out of anger, even though he had every right to be upset at your stupid behavior.

"About what he said," Peter took a deep breath, "it's nothing like that. I don't dig up some nasty stuff in the web to blackmail people. I've never done it. The reason why Mr. I-am-better-than-you said that is because I've made him take me into his little bodyguard group when I heard him talking to Loki. You're nice, and I wanted to help. Of course, Steve started acting like I was some creep, so he refused, and I had to remind him that, technically, he had to report your issue to the administration, not play a hero. I said that if I go and tell the whole story to the dean, Steve's gonna be in trouble because he knew who thieves were and didn't report them."

It was a loud off your mind. Goodness. Rogers called this a blackmail? Really? Just because Peter pushed Steve into taking him into their group?

You were less and less sure Rogers was sane. You definitely had to be careful around him.

"I can't believe he called it a blackmail." You admitted quietly, and the guy sent you a tired smile. "Peter, I'm so, so sorry. It was so stupid of me."

"Nah, don't worry. I'd freak out too if I didn't know the whole story."

You knew your apologies weren't enough, but you hoped Peter didn't take it to heart - if you can take such an accusation easily, that is. Shit, shit, shit, why did you believe everything these guys were saying? You didn't even know them in the first place! Why on Earth did you go asking them their opinions on others if all of them were biased, and every guy could twist the truth the way he liked? You shouldn't have let their words affect you that much.

"Whatever. At least now you know what Rogers is like." Peter sent you a grim smile and got up, picking his bright yellow sackpack from the floor. "Shit, I gotta go if I don't wanna be late. Let's meet in a library later, alright?"

"O-of course." You hurriedly stood up and left the lockers room after him, turning to the library: your Lit class was cancelled, so you decided to go study right away. At this time, the library was usually full, and you felt safe there.

Your thoughts were all about the guys again even when you were staring at your laptop, trying to focus on Excel numbers. Why did you feel like the atmosphere between them was so dense? If they were at such terms with each other, why did they group together to help you? What, because all of them loved you so much? It was ridiculous. There was something else to it, and you didn't know. You had a feeling no one was going to tell you the truth until you figured it all out by yourself.

Weird. It was all so weird. Steve's plan, their behavior, the relationships between them, and your nagging feeling they all were hiding something. Was it them who were actually following you?

The thought scared you to the point you started shivering. Oh shit.

"Hi there," the guy appeared behind your back so suddenly you almost jumped, looking at him wide-eyed, "sorry, did I startle you?"

"H-hi Jake! No, it's ok, I was just... studying." Both of you were talking in hushed voices, knowing the librarian would kick you out immediately if she heard some noise. "How are you?"

"I'm great, how're you?" You could hear concern in his voice: he was one of Thor's friends you met yesterday, and although you spoke briefly, Thor definitely told him more about you. "You look a bit worried."

"Oh, it's Math, I didn't really understand the topic, and we're having an exam on Monday... guess I'll be studying the whole weekend." You gave him your best smile to reassure you were totally ok, and the guy relaxed a little, smiling at you, too.

"I'm sure you'll pass. Thor said you're very smart."

What, he said that to all of them? Was he simply boasting about his girlfriend to his friends or was there something more to it?

"You're too kind. Thank you."

His smile grew wider, and he landed on the next seat to yours, resting his hands on the table. Apparently, there was something he wanted to talk to you about, and you grew uneasy.

"Listen, about these incidents... Thor told us all about it, so if you see any freaks following you around, you can message any of us, and we'll come right away." Looking at his serious expression, his bushy brows furrowed, you hoped he eas being sincere with you: you had enough with people you could no longer trust. "And also... that kid, if he's giving you troubles or anything, just let me know, and I'll tell him to keep his hands to himself"

Oh, he was talking about Peter, wasn't he? He had probably seen that silly photo. Wow, you though, Peter was totally right about Instagram: it was the best news source in the academy.

Thanking him for his concern, you laughed a little, convincing him there was nothing serious except for the theft and promising to tell him if anything weird would be going on. While it should have made you feel safer, in fact, you only grew more frustrated with this situation. You wanted to forget about these freaks and just spend you day like any normal student would, but everywhere you went people were staring at you as if you had a horn; one boyfriend or the other was always close to protect you from some unknown danger, and although you believed they tried to help, you hated the feeling they were hiding something from you. Why did you have to be going through all this? Wasn't it really better to drop off school, spend a year working and then apply to a better place?

Thinking of the faces your parents would make once you returned home, you realized it wasn't. This school with all those creeps wasn't worse than home that never felt like a safe place you wanted to come back to. Besides, all money you saved up until now were only good for buying food and things like that: you'd never afford to rent a decent place unless you found a well-paid job. It meant staying with your parents, and it wouldn't be much better than here, just different. If you wanted to drop off, you had to find a good place to stay.

Well, you could at least try, right?

When Peter met you in the library, the two of you no longer talked about anything important, simply studying together to prepare for the exams next week. It didn't feel off: from time to time you met his gaze, and the both of you smiled. You were thankful he didn’t talk about Steve or other guys or that weirdo in the lockers room.

Once you returned home, you went straight to bed, completely exhausted. Luckily, you did much more than yesterday, so you could rest now, but then you thought of Thor kissing you and bit down the pillow, angry at yourself. Why did you keep thinking of him right now?

______________

When you woke up the next morning, you felt like something was off: your body ached, your throat hurt, and your headache was only making it worse. Dammit, you caught a cold, probably. And that’s when it was finally the day to meet Steve, the guy you thought was a mastermind behind all these manipulations that were making you sick to the core. 

Anyway, it’s not like a mere cold would prevent you from doing everything you had planned. You left your bed and went to the bathroom, moving the dresser before again. 

Honestly, it felt terrible. It was definitely because of that flimsy dress you wore to school yesterday when the weather was becoming chilly. Argh. Watching your puffy eyes and swollen nose, you sneezed. Today you had to apply way more makeup to look decently.

Steve showed up earlier than either Thor or Peter: you had to skip your breakfast, hoping to buy something cheap in the cafeteria.

“Good morning.” He said with his everyday polite expression that soon shifted into a concerned one. “Are you alright?”

What, was it that bad? You did your absolute best to apply enough makeup and do your hair. Did you still look so sick?

“Good morning. Yes, I’m ok, just feeling a little sleepy.” You yawned on purpose, covering your mouth with your hand, and Steve’s face softened.

“Did you study all night?”

“Yep, exams are driving me a little crazy.”

“I understand. I also stayed late last night.”

Of course, the student council president studying all days long to be number one student in the academy. If you didn’t know of his twisted nature, you’d think he was the most typical nerd.

You spent most of the time either in silence or talking about studies, the academy, and everything related to it. Steve acted like a gentleman and a scholar, albeit a little too demonstratively. Walking with you as if he were a king of the place, he constantly replied to greetings of others, waved to his acquaintances and smiled. You felt so off you wanted to find Loki and walk with him: unlike Steve, he was considered unpleasant by the prevailing majority of students.

“Are you sure you’re going to be alright?” America golden boy asked you for the last time, and you forced yourself to smile.

“Of course. Thanks for coming, see you later, Steve.”

As he finally left you in peace, you almost fell down into your chair, your fever only getting worse despite the fact you took some painkillers. It was going to be a long day.

_________

Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki   ​@helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin ​@inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @navegandoaciegas @rosalynshields @brattycherub @sllooney @angrythingstarlight @lookiamtrying @buckysbunny @stargazingfangirl18 @dillybuggg @literate-lamb @cosicas-cuquis @sarge-barnes-sir @buckybarnesplumwhore @jaysayey @megzdoodle @gotnofucks @lux-ravenwolf @ximebebx @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @sourpatchspinster @biiskuitx @stupendouslovegardener @iheartsebandchris @lovelydarkdaydream @soleil-dor @illyrianprincess @vampirestrawberries @goodgodimaweirdperson @frontmanash @freya-heya @yandematic @mariatietacapitu @d3monslust @maybesandohnos @ibeatuptwinks @mangobangi @nectav @whatever-happened-to-the-ducks

[trini-trin-trin]

Sharing this from a FB group that I am in. I was very moved by the article and felt affinity with the experiences shared. A really sweet read.

Here is the article if you don't want to click on the link (I know it is a little long, but well worth your time to read!):

The letter I received ten years ago was unsigned and bore no return address. Clearly its author did not expect, much less want, a reply. A message in a bottle, from no one to no one, that letter still remains the most bizarre form of communication. It asks nothing but to be read, promises nothing but to share a few facts and feelings, and, seeing that it must have been dashed off on a lined yellow sheet that seemed hastily torn out of a pad of paper, the author would not be surprised if, after skimming through it, the recipient decided to crumple and lob it into the closest dust bin.

The letter is one page long. One page is enough. The handwriting is uneven, perhaps because the author had lost the habit of writing in longhand and preferred the keyboard. But his grammar is perfect. The man knew what he was doing. I assume he was writing the note by hand because he didn’t want traces of it on his laptop, or because he knew he was never going to send it as an email and risk a reply. Now that I think of it, he probably didn’t care if it even reached its recipient, a local Bay Area reporter who had mentioned my novel about two young men who fall in love one summer in Italy in the mid-1980s. The reporter eventually forwarded it to me, minus its envelope with the postmark. It took no time to see that all the author of the letter was looking for was a chance to blurt out the words he couldn’t dare breathe elsewhere.

My book had spoken to him. His letter spoke to me.

So here it is: dated April 16, 2008.

I came upon Mr. Aciman’s book while on a business trip back East. Not the type of book I am normally able to read, so I bought a copy for the flight home. I think I’m glad I did.

You see, I was Elio. I was 18 and my Oliver was 22. Though the time and place were different, the feelings were remarkably the same. From believing that you are the only person who has these feelings, to the whole “he loves me – he loves me not” scenario, Mr. Aciman got it right. I was particularly impressed with the attention he gave to the morning after Elio’s and Oliver’s first encounter. The guilt, the loathing, the fear. I felt it too much. I had to put the book down for a while.

But in the end I was able to finish the book before we landed at SFO. Which was good, because I couldn’t take the book home. Unlike Elio it was I who married and had children. My Oliver died from AIDS in 1995. I’m still living a parallel life. My name is not important. His name was Dwight.

Instead, I kept the letter. I kept it for ten years.

What moved me was not just its sobering matter-of-factness or its hint of downplayed sorrow, but the associations it provoked in my mind. It reminded me of those short, clipped messages to loved ones, written by people about to be shipped off to the death camps who knew they’d never be heard from again. There is a chilling immediacy about their hurriedly scribbled notes that say everything there is to say in the fewest possible words — there wasn’t enough time for more, no smarmy pieties, no hand-wringing, no treacly hugs and kisses before the tragic end. It also made me think of the moving phone messages left by those who finally realized they were not going to make it out alive from the Twin Towers and that only their family’s answering machine was going to take their call.

“My name is not important,” he writes, almost as an apology for remaining anonymous; yet the author drops quite a number of hints about himself — hints he likely knows will stir his reader’s wistful curiosity to know what made him write the letter in the first place, what he hoped to accomplish, and if writing did indeed help. The letter itself allows us to see that he travels for business. We also sense that he probably lives in the Bay Area and that he travels not infrequently to the East Coast, since, as he writes, he is “back” in the East. And we know one thing more: that he simply needed to come out and tell someone that a man called Dwight had been his lover when the two were young. The rest is a cloud. We’ll never know more. Writing has served its purpose. We write, it seems, to reach out to others. Whether we know them or not doesn’t matter. We write to put out into the real world something extremely private within us, to make real what often feels unreal and ever so elusive about ourselves. We write to give a shape to what would otherwise remain amorphous. This is as true about authors as about those who want to correspond with them. Over the years, many have written to me either after reading or seeing Call Me by Your Name. Some tried to meet me; others confided things they’d never told anyone; and some even managed to call me at the office and, on speaking about my novel, would eventually apologize before bursting out crying. Some were in jail; some were barely adolescents, others old enough to look back at loves seven decades past; and some were priests locked in silence and secrecy. Many were closeted, others totally out; some were widows who felt a resurgence of hope if only by reading about the loves of two young men called Elio and Oliver in Italy; some were very young girls eager to meet their long-awaited Oliver; and some recalled former gay lovers whom they’d occasionally bump into years later but who’d never acknowledge what they’d once shared and done together when both were schoolmates and neither was married. All were keenly aware of living a parallel life. In that parallel life things are as they perhaps should be. Elio and Oliver still live together. And no one has secrets there.

Unlike Dwight’s lover, everyone who took the time to write to me did not withhold their names, but all had, at one point or another, withheld something very primal. They withheld it from themselves, from a relative, from a friend, a classmate, or colleague, or from a beloved who would never have guessed what troubled longings seethed below their averted gaze whenever they crossed paths.

Some readers wrote to tell me they felt that my novel had changed them, and given them new insights into themselves; some felt it was urging them finally to turn a new leaf in their lives. But some couldn’t go so far and, despite their perfect command of language, confessed lacking the words to explain why they were so moved by my novel or why they felt an unresolved longing for things they’d never considered or desired before. They were experiencing an upwell of emotions and of ungraspable might-have-beens that were asking to be reckoned with because they seemed more real than life itself, a sense of themselves that beckoned from an opposite bank they’d never known was there and whose potential loss now was a source of inconsolable grief. Hence their tears, their regrets, and the overpowering sense of being lost in their own lives.

And yet, they said, theirs were not tears of sorrow. They were tears of recognition, as though the novel itself were a mirror for readers to watch their own emotions laid bare before them. These responses made me aware that Call Me by Your Name does not call attention to anything readers didn’t already know, nor does it bring new truths or revelations; all it does is shed new light on things that were long familiar but that they never took the time to consider. It would be so tempting to say that they are reminded of their forgotten first loves; the truth is that all loves, even those that occur late in life, are first loves. There is always fear, shame, reluctance, and not a tiny dose of spite. Desire is agony.

Everyone who’s read Call Me by Your Name understands not only the struggle both to speak and hold back their truth but also the shame that comes whenever we want something from someone. Desire is always cagey, always secretive — we’ll tell everyone we know about the person we crave to hold naked in our arms, but the very last one to know this will be the person we crave. Same-sex desire is even more guarded and watchful, especially in those who are just discovering their sexuality. Awkwardness and desire are strange bedfellows at a young age, but shame and inexperience are just as paralyzing as fear when we watch them tussling with the urge to be bold. You’re torn between the raw horniness that makes you dream scenes you hope to forget as soon as you’re up and the scenes you pray you’ll dream again and again — if dreams are all you’ll have. Silence and solitude exact a cost that leaves us emotionally wrecked. At some point we need to speak.

So “is it better to speak or die?” asks Elio, the narrator of Call Me by Your Name, quoting words penned by the sixteenth-century Marguerite de Navarre in her collection of tales known as The Heptameron. Marguerite was the sister of King Francis I and the grandmother of Henry IV, himself the grandfather of Louis XIV, hence she was plenty familiar with court intrigue, gossip, and the risks of opening up to someone who may not welcome what’s in our heart and could easily make us pay for it. Not everyone who has written to me has dared to speak their hearts to those they loved. Some have sought silence — slow, lingering droplets of quiet desperation taken every night before bedtime until they realize they’ve been dead and didn’t even know it. Many have written to me with the feeling of having missed their chance when someone tethered his rowboat to their jetty and simply asked them to jump in. “Some sentence or thought on almost every page,” writes a reader, “triggers tears and knots my throat and chest. Tears well up in my eyes on the subway, at my computer at work, walking down the street. Perhaps I am weeping in part because I know that at my age there is virtually no possibility of experiencing anything remotely comparable to what Elio experiences with Oliver.” Someone else writes, “Reading Call Me by Your Name made me feel a love I never had.” A happily married 50-plus colleague took me aside and said, “I don’t think I’ve ever been this much in love in my whole life.” “I'm 23,” tweeted someone else, “and have never felt such love, until I read Call Me by Your Name. I feel like I lived it.” “Elio and I are essentially the same age,” writes a teenage girl. “I have never really experienced his environment of the Italian summer…My experiences have only taken place halfway between nature and smog, however I have felt the same tension, fear, guilt and overwhelming love that you express perfectly through both Elio and Oliver…Finding myself in Elio was something I never expected and I’m positive that I won’t experience anything quite like it ever again. The first girl I ever loved remains…the only girl I have ever loved and though everything she and I shared…lives now as a secret between two friends.” “I finished reading Call Me by Your Name a couple of days ago,” writes someone else, “and wanted to let you know how much it affected me. It felt like a narration of my thoughts that I had systematically buried long ago.” And finally this from a 72-year-old: “I was fascinated by the idea of parallel lives where would I have been if I had gone with him, where would I be if I traveled alone? Maybe the point is just what do I do with the gift you have given me during the remainder of my life.”

There are at least 500 more such letters and emails.

Some find themselves weeping at the end of the film or the novel, not for what happened long ago or for what did not and might never happen in their own lives but for what has yet to happen, for the terrifying moment when they too will soon have to decide whether to speak or die. This from an 18-year-old: “[Your novel] gives me hope that one day I will meet someone whom I desire so badly that I’ll actually find it in me to make a move, the way Oliver is that someone for Elio. Maybe my Oliver will also turn out to be someone that I realize I love as well as desire.” She was crying for a week, as was this 15-year-old young man: “I stopped reading…because I didn’t want [the book] to end, didn’t want the wounds that you caused me to close, I didn’t want to overcome, for some reason that I have yet to find out. I wanted to stay a wreck, emotionally and mentally fragile….My mother handed me tissues because she had never seen me cry like this. I had finished your book and ‘moved’ is too weak a word to express what your book had done to me. Here a week later and it is literally all I can think about, not my midterms coming up, but…Elio and Oliver and if it is better to speak or die. You answered questions I didn’t even think I had.”

Indeed, the whole novel seems to enable the outing of all manner of feelings, feelings from Elio’s relentless inward journey and obsessive self-examination that readers are invited to identify with. Through Elio’s unfettered introspection they too feel exposed and sliced open like a crustacean without a slough, now forced to look at itself in the mirror. No wonder they are moved. The mask that is torn off their faces is not just the mask that conceals same-sex desires from themselves and from others. Rather, it is the realization, through Elio’s voice, of what they truly feel, who they truly are, what they fear, what bears their signature, and what coy little shenanigans they go through to read others and hope to reach them. Some identified with some effusive sentences in my novel so much that they had them tattooed on their bodies. They even attach photos of these tattoos. People have also tattooed peaches on themselves!

But what moves most people — and this is as true now as it was when the novel first came out — is the father’s speech. Here he not only tells his son to nurse the flame and “don’t snuff it out” after his son’s lover has left Italy, but that he too, the father, envies his son’s relationship with a male lover. This speech tears away the last vestige of a veil between reader and truth and is a moving tribute to the irreducible honesty between father and son.

Most readers have written to me about the scene because the father’s speech rekindles the very difficult moment when they decided to come out to their parents — or, as is often the case with people 60, or 70 or older, it reminds them of the conversation they wished they’d had but never did have with their parents. This is the loss no one forgets and from which no one recovers after seeing Call Me by Your Name. It bears the very essence of that precious and life-defining might-have-been moment that never happened and never will.

Here is the speech:

“Look…[y]ou had a beautiful friendship. Maybe more than a friendship. And I envy you. In my place, most parents would hope the whole thing goes away, or pray that their sons land on their feet soon enough. But I am not such a parent. In your place, if there is pain, nurse it, and if there is a flame, don’t snuff it out, don’t be brutal with it. Withdrawal can be a terrible thing when it keeps us awake at night, and watching others forget us sooner than we’d want to be forgotten is no better. We rip out so much of ourselves to be cured of things faster than we should that we go bankrupt by the age of thirty and have less to offer each time we start with someone new. But to feel nothing so as not to feel anything — what a waste!...

“… {L]et me say one more thing. It will clear the air. I may have come close, but I never had what you had. Something always held me back or stood in the way. How you live your life is your business. But remember, our hearts and our bodies are given to us only once. Most of us can’t help but live as though we’ve got two lives to live, one is the mockup, the other the finished version, and then all those versions in between. But there’s only one, and before you know it, your heart is worn out, and, as for your body, there comes a point when no one looks at it, much less wants to come near it. Right now there’s sorrow. I don’t envy the pain. But I envy you the pain.”

I received the anonymous letter sometime in early May 2008. At the time, I was staying at my parents’, because my father was suffering from throat and mouth cancer and was already in hospice care. He had refused radiation and chemotherapy, so I knew his days were numbered; though morphine was clouding his mind, he was still lucid enough to bandy a few quips about a host of subjects. He had stopped eating and drinking water because swallowing had become very painful. One afternoon while I was stealing a nap, the phone rang. A reporter I’d met in California had just received a letter, which she wanted to share with me. I told her to read it over the phone. After she’d read it I asked if she felt she could mail it to me. I wanted to show it to my father, I said, and explained he was dying. She felt for me. We talked about my father for a while. I told her I was trying to make it up to him these days, and that he too had been exceptionally easy to be with. How was it growing up with him? she asked. Tense, I replied. Always is, she added. Then the conversation ended, and she promised to mail the letter soon.

After hanging up, I got out of bed and went in to see him. Over the past few days, I had made a point of reading to him, which he liked a great deal, especially now that he was having difficulty focusing. But rather than read to him the memoirs of Chateaubriand, one of his favorite authors, and feeling buoyed by the letter I’d been read on the phone, I asked if he’d like me to read from the French translation of Call Me by Your Name, the galleys of which I had just received from Paris that very morning. Why not, since you wrote it, he said. He was proud of me. So I began to read from the very beginning, and soon enough I knew I was opening up a subject neither he nor I had ever broached before. But I knew he knew what I was reading and why I was reading it to him. This made me happy. Perhaps it made him happy as well. I’ll never know.

That evening, after the rest of us had dinner, he asked if I could continue reading from my novel. I was nervous about arriving at the father’s speech because I didn’t know how he’d react to it, though he was the kind of father who would have given that very same speech himself. But the speech was two hundred pages away still, and that would have taken many, many days. Perhaps I should skip some parts, I thought. But no, I wanted to read him the whole book. My father didn’t last long enough to hear the father’s speech. And when the letter finally arrived from California, he was already gone. His name was Henri, he was 93 years old, and he inspired everything I’ve written.

[teabooksandsweets]

A City of Bells

Chapter IV — Part II

When he wanted to go home the children would not come. Their awe had evaporated under the influence of spillikins and they had discovered that the house was an enchanted Chinese palace and that Mrs. Jameson was a child like themselves. When Jocelyn went upstairs to fetch them he found Henrietta telling Mrs. Jameson one of Ferranti’s fairy stories. She was listening in open-mouthed delight while the parrots, whom Hugh Anthony was feeding with sugar, said, “Oh, my!” at intervals. When requested by Jocelyn to come home they refused point-blank and with regrettable rudeness.

“Leave them,” whispered Felicity. “It’s so lovely for Aunt Adelaide to have someone of her own sort to talk to … I’ll see they get home in time for their baths … I’m so glad you’ve given in about that shop.”

“But I don’t think I have, have I?” said Jocelyn, and went downstairs in such a whirl of bewilderment that he put his hand on the banisters and pricked himself severely.

And when he got home things were no better.

Grandfather and Grandmother were both out on the lawn, Grandfather walking up and down and saying evensong and Grandmother sitting under the mulberry-tree and knitting for the heathen.

“Well, Jocelyn!” she said in tones of severe reproach, “I don’t think you should have left me to hear of your arrangements from my own parlour-maid. I may be old-fashioned, I dare say I am, but in my young days elders were not so treated by the young.”

Grandfather paused in the middle of the psalms to beam. “What does it matter whom we hear it from, dear Jane? I think the course Jocelyn has decided on is most sensible. Dear me, yes … Thou visitest the earth and blessest it, Thou makest it very plenteous. The river of God is full of water. Thou preparest their corn, for so Thou providest for the earth … We all need to have our minds broadened, especially the Dean.”

“What exactly has Sarah told you, Grandmother?” inquired Jocelyn.

“I have never heard anything so ridiculous in all my life,” said Grandmother. “I can’t imagine what your poor mother will say. Or your father either, for that matter. I will say for Thomas that he knows what employment is suited to a gentleman and what not.”

“All employment that is compatible with his religion is suited to a gentleman,” announced Grandfather. “Do not forget, dear Jane, that the Apostles themselves were in trade … Fish.”

“What’s that got to do with it?” asked Grandmother. “The Apostles were not my grandsons.”

“Thou waterest her furrows,” said Grandfather, continuing his perambulations. “Thou sendest rain into the little valleys thereof, Thou makest it soft with the drops of rain, and blessest the increase of it … My dear Jane, just as God sends corn to feed our bodies so He sends books to feed our minds, and the farmer and the bookseller who act as intermediaries are the most blessed among men.”

“We’ve never yet had a shopkeeper in the family,” said Grandmother to Jocelyn. “And there are no drains in that house. And who’s to provide the capital? Your poor Grandfather, I suppose.”

“Who told Sarah I was going to open a shop?” demanded Jocelyn.

“The grocer, who had it from Martha Carroway at the sweet-shop.”

“And how did she know?”

“That’s neither here nor there, Jocelyn. The point is that you did not inform your Grandmother of your intentions, as you should have done, before informing the whole town.”

“But, Grandmother, I haven’t the slightest intention of keeping a bookshop. The whole thing is a canard. They abound in Torminster, Felicity Summers tells me.”

“What’s that?” said Grandmother.

Jocelyn said it again.

“I never heard of such a thing in all my life,” said Grandmother when she understood the situation. “And who, I should like to know, is responsible for spreading these lies about my grandson? I’m going in now, Theobald, to talk to Sarah. This is not the first time I have had to reprimand her for listening to idle gossip.”

Jocelyn gave Grandmother his arm across the lawn and then came back to Grandfather.

“Thou crownest the year with Thy goodness and the clouds drop fatness,” said Grandfather, but he said it very sadly.

“Grandfather!” exclaimed Jocelyn. “Did you want me to open that bookshop?”

“Yes, Jocelyn, I did. Nothing could have given me greater pleasure. Dear me, yes. Just the thing.”

“But why, Grandfather?”

“I thought you so suited to the vocation of a bookseller, Jocelyn. You have sympathy and tact. You would have understood the individual needs of your customers … And then I should have liked you to live in Ferranti’s house.”

“But why?”

“You might have been able to discover what has happened to him.”

“But how?”

“A man always leaves the print of his personality on his dwelling-place. I thought that living there you might have got to understand what manner of man he was and then, aided by your knowledge, you might have been able to think what we ought to do to find out what has become of him.”

“Grandfather, aren’t you being rather fantastic?”

“I dare say,” said Grandfather forlornly. “I’m old.”

“I’m so sorry to disappoint you,” murmured Jocelyn.

“Yes, it’s a disappointment,” said Grandfather. “The moment I heard about it I felt you had been guided. It would have been a joy to me to find the little capital that would have been needed to start you.” He sneezed sadly. “It’s getting chilly. I think I’ll go indoors. Have you any idea, dear boy, where I had got to in evensong?”

“You were somewhere in the psalms.”

“Thank you. I shall have to go back to the beginning again now for fear I missed any out.”

He walked sadly away, his shoulders a little bowed. His attitude seemed to beseech Jocelyn like Felicity’s, “Please! Please!”

“I’ll think about it, Grandfather,” he said suddenly.

Grandfather swung round, beaming. “That’s right, dear boy, that’s right. But mind you do think. Don’t just take out your feelings and look at them, which is what passes for thought with most of us pitiful, self-centred creatures. Look at the question from everyone’s point of view, not forgetting that of this illiterate city.”

He went indoors, leaving Jocelyn to pace backwards and forwards on the lawn. He was under the impression that he was thinking things out, but in reality he was only reiterating the one idea that was uppermost in his mind … His pride would not allow Grandfather to finance him … The old man was not wealthy. He would have to take up capital that would be needed later on for Henrietta and Hugh Anthony. The whole idea was preposterous.

The garden door flew open and Henrietta burst in. Her hat had as usual slipped off backwards and dangled by its elastic, her face was flushed and her eyes shining. She looked so lovely that Jocelyn stopped dead with astonishment and allowed his one idea to evaporate.

She careered straight through Grandmother’s best flower-bed and flung herself upon him. “I’m so glad! I’m so glad!” she panted.

“What about, Henrietta?” he asked, holding her by her thin elbows and looking down at her transfigured face.

“That you are to live in that little house.”

“Who told you I was to live in that little house?”

“Felicity … Now it won’t be lonely any more and I shall help you sell in the shop.”

Jocelyn let go of her elbows and thrust his hands ruefully into his pockets. “Et tu, Brute!” he remarked.

His tone chilled Henrietta and fright seized her. “But you are? You are?” she asked wildly.

“But why should you care so much, Henrietta?”

“I do! You must! I want to sell in the shop!” she cried, and began hammering him with her fists. All the joy had left her face and she looked like one of the furies in infancy.

“You will? You will?” she demanded.

He could not endure to see that look on her face and he took hold of her pummelling fists reassuringly.

“Yes, Henrietta, I will,” he said.

[waitimcomingtoo]

The Cup

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Synopsis: a monogrammed mug might be the thing that exposes your relationship with Peter to the Avengers when there’s a strict “no dating” rule being enforced

Warnings: I’m sorry if your first, middle, or last name begins with a “p”. Also this gif is a total spoiler with no context for this story

Masterlist

There was a rule in the Avengers tower: Avengers were absolutely not allowed to date each other. It was a stupid but reasonable rule, considering Nat and Bruce’s relationship had caused fights, tears, and chaos until dating among Avengers was inevitably banned, exactly three years before you and Peter joined the team.

Peter had been an Avenger for eight months before you came along. In that time, he'd become good friends with the other Avengers, or at least that’s what he told Ned. Peter was regarded as more of a son among the Avengers, never really seen as an equal. Before you, Peter was teased daily for his intelligence and bad habit of spewing out scientific facts no body asked for. Whenever he started going off on the theory of momentum or how a star was formed, a collective groan could be heard from Earths mightiest heroes. He would laugh it off and stop telling his fact, but it stung a little more each time it happened. But keep in mind, that was before you. 

You took a breath and entered the elevator. You smoothed your shirt with your hands and folded your lips into your mouth. You were surprisingly nervous, expecting the other Avengers to look down on you for being younger. Just as the elevator doors were about to close, you heard a voice call out.

"Hold the door please." The voice said. They sounded frantic so you quickly stuck your hand in the door so it wouldn't close. To your surprise, a dark haired boy around your age got onto the elevator with you. He was slightly out of breath from running and his curls were going in every direction. You could feel your face heat up and smiled shyly at him. He smiled back.

"Thanks for holding the door." He said once the elevator started going up.

"No problem." You answered. You already had butterflies in your tummy from your new job, and the adorable guy riding in the elevator with you didn't help.

"How come I've never seen you before?" He asked. You were pleasantly surprised that he had kept the conversation going.

"Today's my first day. I'm the newest Avenger.” You explained and he nodded.

"Well it's nice to meet you, newest Avenger." The boy said, extending his hand for you to shake. You prayed your palms weren't sweaty and firmly shook his hand.

"Thanks. And it's Y/n.” You told him. He smiled upon hearing your name as he realized it’s was his new favorite name.

“I’m Peter.” Peter told you. “I’m really glad to see you joining the Avengers. You have no idea how desperately we need more girls on the team. Last week, Nat wasn’t here and Bucky and Sam got tied in a knot. No one could pull them apart until she got back.” Peter blew out a breath as he remembered the incident. “Plus, it’s nice to have someone my age.” He added shyly.

From then on, you loved Peter.

“I’m actually really glad to see you too. I thought all the Avengers were gonna be older than me.” You said with relief. “I’m glad I got to talk to you, Peter. It's nice to have a friend on my first day." You said as you walked out of the elevator together.

"Yeah. Friends." Peter smiled widely.

You did not stay friends long.

The day you joined the team, the Avengers were getting ready to go on a mission involving a creature who liked to hop between earths and cause chaos. You sat quietly in the corner of the quintet and watched everyone interact. You didn’t add anything to the conversation, but laughed and smiled where necessary. You felt pretty invisible but you were okay with that for the time being. It was your first day and you didn’t want to step on anyone’s toes. You were perfectly content with staying silent until Peter started going on about a multiverse.

“I can’t believe there’s actually a multiverse. Ive always read about them, but I never imagined it being real. This means there’s a universe out there where I’m stronger than Captain America.” Peter said excitedly.

“Doubtful.” Steve cut in.

“I mean, can you guys believe this? This creature can just hop to different universes as it pleases.” Peter went on. “I thought that was just theoretical. I mean, that completely changes how we understand the initial singularity. We’re talking about an eternal inflation system. And how does that even work-“

“Peter, you’re doing it again.” Sam sighed.

“Sorry.” Peter shrunk down in his seat, a look of hurt appearing on his face when he noticed the annoyed look on the Avengers faces. You noticed the look too and frowned.

“He does this a lot. You’ll learn to tune it out.” Bucky said to you.

“It’s just really cool. We’re talking about an eternal inflation system. And how does that even work-“ Peter said sheepishly before Sam cut him off.

“Peter! I’m sorry, he’s-“ Sam began the explain.

“Wait.” You cut him off and looked at Peter. “Let him finish.”

“What?” Sam asked.

“What?” Peter asked in confusion, as no one had ever taken interest in him before.

“I want to hear the rest.” You said seriously. “What were you saying Peter?”

“I was just wondering how the multiverse worked with all the quantum realms. This has got to affect the space-time continuum in some way. That’s all.”

“That’s really cool, Peter. You’re really smart.” You said sincerely. You didn’t like the way his intelligence was treated as a nuisance with the other Avengers. You definitely isn’t like the sad look that crossed his face when they told him to stop. You just wanted to make him feel good.

“Thank you.” Peter said, in a little disbelief that you actually cared.

“No problem, Peter.” You smiled.

You ignored the shocked looks from the rest of the Avengers, or maybe you just didn’t see them. You and Peter looked at each other from across the jet and you winked at him.

You found Peter the next day sparing with a hologram. The hologram was much larger than Peter, but Peter was clearly winning the fight. You noticed Peters eyes darting around as he looked like he was figuring something out in his head. You didn’t want to interrupt, but you were too curious not to ask.

“What are you doing, Peter?” You asked him.

“I’m figuring out the momentum of his swings so I can match his force and overpower him even though he’s bigger than me. My mask usually does it but I’m practicing doing it myself incase my mask breaks during a battle.” Peter explained as he continued fighting.

“So you’re doing all that math in your head?” You asked in admiration.

“Yeah. It’s not that hard once you get the hang of it.” Peter shrugged, watching you carefully to see if you were actually interested or just teasing him. “But sometimes I forget to carry the one.”

“And all the Avengers just watch you do this and see it as normal? No one says “wow Peter, that’s the coolest thing I’ve ever seen” or anything?” You wondered.

“Uh, no. Not really.” Peter said.

“Well, Peter.” You laughed. “That’s the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.”

From then on, Peter loved you.

Three weeks later, Peter kissed you in the training room when no one else was around. He tasted like Gatorade and mint and heaven.

Six months later, you were in love. You were spending every waking moment together, and by default, loving every waking moment together. There was never a time when he was more than 10 feet away, and that was how you liked it. From sparring to movie dates in Mr. Starks home theater to making burnt cookies for the rest of the Avengers, you were inseparable. The only problem was, you couldn't tell anyone that they were together.

The rule still stood and you worried if anyone found out, you’d be kicked off the team. This lead to secret hand holding under the table and quick kisses when no one was looking. It was an okay system, but it wasn’t great. Peter was dying to tell the other Avengers that he was dating you. All the men on the team had taken quite a liking to you. They were never disrespectful, but your beauty and abilities often came up when you weren’t around and the telling smiles that crossed their faces made Peter a little angry. He knew it wasn't their fault, but he couldn’t shake the jealousy. You were stunning and they had no idea you were taken. If the guys knew you were his girlfriend, they'd back off immediately. But, no one was allowed to know.

One hectic morning, your alarm didn't wake you up. You’d never actually set your alarm, because you’d fallen asleep in Peters bed while watching a movie together. You were still at his apartment at 7:13 when you had to be at the tower at 7:30 for a meeting. Peter was nowhere to be found, and you assumed he let you sleep because he thought your alarm was set. You rushed to get ready, grabbing whatever shirt you could find, which happened to be one of Peters button downs, and threw on some pants. Rushing into the kitchen, you found Peter with two cups of coffee already made and a small smile on his face. You sighed in relief that he was all ready to go and gave him a kiss, longer than you were accustomed too since no one was around. You grabbed your cup of coffee and headed out.

Once in the tower, you sat at the conference table and took a deep breath. You had gotten to the meeting on time, walking in a few minutes after each other so it wouldn't be suspicious. You took a big sip of your coffee when something caught your eye. Specifically, the giant red "P” on the front on the cup.

Luckily, Peter was sitting directly across from you. You snapped your fingers harshly to get his attention. Peter looked up at you and smiled, his smile quickly fading when he saw your angry expression.

"What's wrong?" He asked. You said nothing, instead, just held up your cup. Peter grimaced when he realized his mistake.

“Oops. Just trade cups with me. It's fine." He assured you. You quickly switched cups and you relaxed as the other Avengers walked in.

"Did you hear from Bruce? I think he said he was gonna be late.” Peter asked you to look like you were having a normal, platonic, conversation.

"I don’t think so. I’ll check if he texted- Oh God you freaking idiot." You deadpanned the last part as you stared at your cup.

"What? What's wrong now?" Peter asked, confused by your seemingly uncalled for insult. You again said nothing, but just held up your cup. This time, there was an even bigger, purple "P” on the front. Peter bit his lip.

"Oops." He repeated. “Nice shirt, by the way.” He smirked. You looked down and realized you were wearing his shirt in addition to drinking from his cup. Your day could not get any worse.

"Oops? Is that all you have to say?" You asked in a harsh whisper.

“Y/n, its fine. No ones gonna notice." Peter said calmly.

"You think they won't notice the giant purple "P” on my cup? My name is Y/n L/n. There's no "P” in that!" You exclaimed. You continuously checked to see if anyone was listening as you scolded Peter.

"You can say the “P” is for your middle name." Peter suggested as he took a sip of his coffee from your matching cups.

"My middle name is Y/m/n.” You whined, knowing his plan wouldn’t work.

"Really? That's so pretty." Peter said with delighted surprise.

"That's not the point, Peter.” You groaned. “The point is, if I'm caught drinking from a cup that has an initial other than my own, namely your initial, people are gonna get suspicious."

“Or, consider this. Close your eyes, manifest with me.” Peter said as he shut his eyes. “No one will care."

"I'm already wearing your shirt, which means I smell like your cologne. Now, I have a cup with your initial on it. Someone is gonna put two and two together." You panicked.

"Or, consider this, really manifest with me this time. I didn’t see you manifest before, no one will care." He said again with an innocent smile.

"Why couldn't you given me any other cup? And why do you own so many monogrammed cups?" You inquired.

"You're blowing this out of proportion. It's no big deal. No one will even notice." Peter repeated. You wondered how he was so calm when your jobs were at stake.

"Hey, Y/n. What's that “P” stand for on your cup?" Tony asked as soon as he entered the room. You shot Peter a look that made him shrink into his seat.

"Who cares? No one will notice! It’s just a cup! No need to get jazzed up about it.” You said sarcastically, catching the attention of the other Avengers.

"Oh, I'm the one who's jazzed? You're freaking out over a cup." Peter retorted, in full volume now.

"Speaking of the cup, why is there a “P” on it?" Sam asked, pointing the cup out so everyone could see it. You couldn’t help the loud groan that escaped your mouth.

"It stands for panda.” Peter blurted. “Y/n loves pandas.” You looked at Peter with a lethal glare.

"Why wouldn't you just buy a cup with a panda on it?” Bucky chimed in. You shrugged and looked at Peter.

"That's a great question, James. Peter, why don't you answer?" You said with a fake smile.

"Because Y/n likes to be unique." Peter explained meekly.

"Does the "P” on your cup also stand for panda?” Sam asked Peter. Peter looked down at his cup and sighed.

"It sure does". He said weakly.

"Interesting. I would've guessed the "P” stood for “Peter” or “Parker”, since you two are clearly dating. But I guess I was wrong." Sam shrugged casually as you and Peter froze.

"You know that we're dating?" You asked in shock.

"The whole team knows.” Steve cut in as if it were obvious. You looked around the room and everyone just shrugged as of to confirm Steve’s words.

"But what about the rule?" Peter asked, dumbfounded.

"That rule hasn't been effective for months. I stopped enforcing it last January.” Tony laughed as he took his seat at the head of the table.

"What? How come no one told us?" You asked.

"Because if you knew, there'd be non-stop PDA and none of us wanted that." Nat answered.

“So you let us think we were keeping it a secret for six months?” Peter demanded.

“Secret? Did you think none of us noticed that Peter became left handed six months ago so he could hold your hand with his right one under the table?” Tony pointed out.

“We all knew, we just didn’t care. We’re happy for you guys.” Steve smiled again you.

“Oh.” You said. “Thanks guys.”

“You’re welcome.” Tony answered. “Just keep the PDA to a minimum. I don’t want any spider babies around running here.”

Seven years later, you and Peter were married just a few miles from the Avengers tower.

After the ceremony, you sat in the kitchen while Peter finished bringing in the wedding gifts.

“I have one last gift for you, Mrs. Parker.” Peter came from behind you and kissed your cheek, setting a small gift box down on the table in front of you. You opened it up, finding a mug with a script “P” on the front. You laughed at the sight, remembering the incident in the conference room all those years ago.

“There. Now you do have a “P” initial. You can use this with no questions asked.” Peter said with pride.

“I love it.” You told him honestly. You smiled and made some coffee, just so you could use your new cup.

Tag List 🏷

@maybemona​ @foreverxholland​ @writing-for-hours-on-end​ @lavender-writer​ @captainmandeestudent17​ @whatareyouhidingpeter​ @takenbyheartstrings​ @ultrunning​ @imyourliquor-youremypoison​ @theolwebshooter​ @andreasworlsboring101​ @guksmyfav​ @waiting-to-be-myself​ @letsloveimagines​  @peterparkoure​ @a-villain-vying-for-attention​ @justcallmehitgirl​ @averyfosterthoughts​ @jackiehollanderr​ @tiny-friggin-human​ @celestial-skylines​ @loveat2am​ @mara-twins​ @iamaunicorn4704​ @delicately-important-trash​ @mjspxrker @spideygirl2003​ @the-crazy-fanfictionist​ @kii-mii​ @maryjanee23​ @spacebitch2​ @vgiselle​ @geeksareunique​

[medusinestories]

Black Sails, IV (S1, ep 04)

- Silver's horrified face when he finds out he's going to have to roast pigs is a Journey, starting with shock, then fake smiling, and then this horrified shuddery expression. It's just as interesting when they drop the dead pig at his feet and he clearly doesn't know what to do with it and also finds it disgusting. I can absolutely see where all the Jewish John Silver headcanons come from, especially since it's unlikely that a London urchin has never seen a dead pig and raw meat in general before.

- Here we have the first performance of Cassandra DeGroot: he knows that the bay they'd chosen to do the careening was too dangerous, and warns the crew. He's immediately countered by Flint, who has much more persuasive arguments to get the careening done fast but in a risky manner. (this whole thing reminds me of our current COVID/climate situation, where scientists get talked over by politicians, and people prefer listening to the latter because they seem to offer much better prospects than the “catastrophist” former)

- In this episode Billy is now quartermaster and he shows himself to actually be really good at disciplining the crew, something Gates, DeGroot and even Flint recognise. However, he also agreed to do the careening only because he's afraid to say no to Flint and allowed the men to have a fuck tent, which he feared would distract them - and it did, the two men who placed the rope on the wrong tree decided not to follow his orders and go fuck instead. This all weighs on him enormously after the disaster with Randall and Morley, who accuses him minutes before his death of already being in Flint's pocket. It's pretty clear that more responsibility doesn't do Billy's mental state any good.

- Morley's story about the Maria Aleyne gives some idea of a timeline, albeit a faint one. The incident took place "a number of years back", before Billy joined. This means that Billy is a somewhat new addition to the crew. We know that Randall was bosun when Billy joined. This also establishes that Lord Hamilton has been dead for several years, which now begs the question: who is the Lord Proprietor that Richard Guthrie is now in touch with? Did Thomas have a younger brother who inherited the Bahamas? Was someone new appointed? Was there a gap between Proprietors that allowed the pirates to establish themselves even more after Lord Alfred's death?

- I just adore the fact that Miranda actually went to stinking, violent Nassau because she was just too impatient to wait at home and wanted to be there when the Walrus came in and immediately hear the news of Lord Alfred's death. She is that vengeful and angry and I love her <3

- Speaking of which, this episode gives us the Passive-Agressive Sex Scene which makes so many people doubt of Flint's attraction to Miranda. Just look at Flint’s face: this man isn't uncomfortable or sad he is PISSED. He plays starfish and glares at Miranda all through it (while maintaining an erection all the same!). Miranda must be hella frustrated (or determined) because she manages to get off in spite of all of this (also, how uncommon is it for a sex scene to end when the woman climaxes rather than the man?) It's only when it ends that both Flint and Miranda are both shown as vulnerable and sad and reflective, with Flint reaching up to touch her but not quite getting there - imo because he's still angry but knows that she (and he) needs comfort.

- This leads into the argument over Meditations, and Miranda explicitly talking about Thomas and not wanting to forget him. The book hasn't been touched in a long time, confirming the idea that Miranda shared it with Richard Guthrie because Flint refuses to touch it. Her grief, her loneliness, are incredibly poignant in this scene, and we see Flint shift from bristling and stonily glaring at her, to absolutely melting (Toby's facial expression shifts here are just *chef's kiss*) and finally being gentle and tender with her. However, even though he promises to make things better, Miranda clearly doesn't believe him anymore.

- This brings in a big theme in the episode: betrayal from people you care for/trust. Mr Scott asks Eleanor not to do anything rash in order to get the Andromache’s guns, only to discover her Plan B: to kill Bryson if he didn't comply. In the meantime, Richard Guthrie tells (a very sceptical) Miranda that he can only support Eleanor and Flint, because he pretty much has no choice in the matter. He then proceeds to betray his daughter by making a deal with Bryson and with Mr Scott, who’s still smarting from Eleanor’s betrayal and who Guthrie tries to convince by saying that Eleanor's endeavour will lead to her death and Nassau’s destruction (considering what we later find out about Mr Scott, Eleanor’s safety is probably not be the argument that actually compels Mr Scott - but he certainly doesn't want the Navy searching the area and finding Maroon Island, and needs a stable Nassau to continue supplying his island).

- The Undercooked Pig scene and Silver's attempts at communicating with Flint will never not be funny. Silver looks so small when Flint glares him down, but that doesn't last all that long: once Flint has taught him how to cook the pork, Silver seems much more bold, asking Flint how he learned to glaze the pig, insisting that Flint should trust him and not Billy. This is also a moment where Silver shows that, unlike Flint, he is incredibly perceptive: he noticed that Billy is "straining at the seams" because of the lie he told. And while Flint spits a "there is no we" and calls Silver a rodent, it's obvious that Silver's words still have an impact on him. Their collaboration is sealed when Silver hands him the cleaver so that he can save Randall (and himself). When Flint returns the cleaver to Silver, he's ready to accept that Silver is actually on his side (albeit for selfish reasons) and listens to him for the first time.

- Max believed that she could charm Vane's remaining crew into being kind to her - and overall it seems to have worked. While again I hate this plot, it does give an interesting insight into how even the worst pirate crew is portrayed: most of the men are happy to comply with Max and get sexual rewards "for gentle obedience". Most of them, basically, aren't violent monsters deep down. However there's always one, in this case That Big Bastard (I'm sure he has a name, I just can't be bothered to google it), who clearly gets a kick out of torturing/raping people and hates the idea of a woman taking the lead.

- Fuck You Jack is another theme of this episode. Vane is high on opium and booze and has basically lost the will to do anything. Anne has been courted by several other crews, but Jack hasn't received any offers (note there's no loyalty to Vane here, Jack’s ready to leave, but nobody will have him) and nobody is willing to help him after the pearl cock-up. Then Noonan wants Max back, which Jack refuses because she's the only thing keeping the few members of his crew loyal - and Anne isn't on board with that, leading to her telling him to fuck himself. This, btw, might have crossed Jack’s mind considering the position she was in when he found her. I think it’s easy to forget that Jack is portrayed as pretty callous and happily willing to treat people like pawns too.

- When Richard Guthrie talks about Nassau, he describes it as a place "a place where she [Eleanor] matters, a place where you [Mr Scott] matter", and adds that a place like this isn't meant to last. Nassau, then, is currently an utopia where women and black people can have some semblance of power - and he doesn't believe that this will ever be allowed to exist because this kind of story never has a happy ending in their current society. But when Flint talks to Eleanor about their project, he's of the opposite view: people don't believe that it's possible, but when they succeed, they'll say it was inevitable. It seems Flint is firmly in the camp of "winners get to tell the story", and that the story will influence how the rest of the world sees them.

- When the Walrus tilts and squashes Randall, Flint stops Billy from intervening and rushes to rescue Randall himself - even though he knows the ship will be cut loose at any moment. He puts himself into incredible danger in this moment. Why? Theoretically, it could be for a manipulative purpose: to look good to the crew, or to get rid of Morley. But Flint seems genuinely involved in the struggle to save Randall, and he barely had time to think before he ran off. I feel that this is a rare spontaneous moment for Flint, where instead of thinking about his plans or his position as Captain, he just thinks like a person in an emergency who wants to rescue someone else. He absolutely could have died out there. And while Billy seems to suspect him of having killed Morley, I don't find that reading compatible with what we're shown of Flint trying to save Randall. True, he may have kicked/pushed Morley at the very last second, but we’ll never know that for sure.

- Back to the theme of people betraying their loved ones, we have Richard Guthrie getting back to Miranda, telling her he knows who she is and revealing the "Thomas went mad because Miranda and Flint cheated" story which he heard from Lord Alfred himself. So now Miranda knows that her identity has been revealed and that Richard could spread the story to, say, Pastor Lambrick (let's not pretend this didn't cross her mind, she keeps her identity secret for a reason). And then Guthrie offers her a way back to civilisation. This, right after a kid threw a stone at her, calling her a witch. This, after Flint has promised to make things better, even as he goes deeper into reckless/utopian plans of fortifying Nassau. Backed into a corner, was Miranda ever going to refuse, if she could be safe and have him be safe? And obviously, Richard Guthrie isn't doing this out of the kindness of his heart. He apparently figured out that Miranda was a way to get in touch with Pastor Lambrick and that ridding New Providence of Flint and winning over the “good”, normal inhabitants would be a perfect beginning to buying back his influence on the Island - the end goal being named Governor, of course.

- If there was any doubt that Vane’s tough guy thing is part of an act, his opium hallucination of Eleanor makes it crystal clear: "you're alone, you don't have to pretend with me". That is, pretend that he's not afraid and that he's not vulnerable. The hallucination also offers Vane an explanation for why Eleanor is how she is: like him she's afraid of appearing weak. He's actually spot on, a big problem in their relationship is that they're too alike and are struggling for dominance. Which is probably why Vane wants to overcome his fear and weakness, and regain power by confronting his old slave master (btw, nice parallel with Flint haunted by Miranda in S3). The scene where Vane kills Noonan also shows him in a very animalistic light - at first he's cornered and somewhat pathetic, beaten, throwing up, only saved by the fact that a gun misfires. Then he turns violent: quick, instinctive and relentless, deaf to Noonan's plea to leave him alive, even if theoretically it could have been profitable for him.

- I have to say, I snickered quite a bit when Pastor Lambrick sees Richard Guthrie and tells him "God teaches us not to cheer when someone stumbles, in your case I may ask his forgiveness". I mean, I really see his point. He leads a group of Puritans who are trying to make a life for themselves on this island. Historically, people who lived and farmed in New Providence were constant targets for errant pirates, who robbed, raped and killed a lot of them. This is what the Pastor is trying to protect his congregation from (and Miranda, since he doesn't understand why she's with Flint and is likely terrified that a pirate lives so close to his congregation, hence the spies he sends out). There's a bit of a parallel with Billy, where both Lambrick and Billy are presented as being very preoccupied with the well-being of the group they're responsible for, and both are presented as, well, Goody-Two-Shoes - (self-)righteous, loyal, honest, caring. Except they're both human, and sooner or later they falter.

[actuallyintro]

Could you write a story where Lorraine faints on a case?

Hi anon! I'm so glad to be back and to have this written for you. When I first started this fic, it started one direction before quickly turning in a completely opposite one. It also ended up being a topic I haven't had the chance to write about much, even though it's pretty popular in this fandom. I hope you enjoy it!

Summary: While on a case one day, Lorraine suddenly faints and ends up waking up in the hospital. Once there, with her husband by her side, they both get some pretty unexpected.. but exciting news.

Wordcount: 1730 words (yes, this was definitely longer than I had originally planned)

Two Is Better Than One

For the past few days, Ed couldn’t help but be worried about his wife. He knew they’d recently started taking on more cases then they had been, but something seemed different. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

They were in the middle of a local case this time, a poltergeist that didn’t seem to want to leave, no matter what they tried. With a family caught in the middle, Ed knew Lorraine wouldn’t stop till she knew all of them were safe.

He often worried that she’d run herself ragged, always worrying about everyone else in her life, forgetting that sometimes she needed to put herself first. He knew it was her nature, being caring and selfless, but Ed just wanted to make sure she never forgot to take care of herself as well.

From the time they started dating, to before they got married, and especially after, he often tried to set aside time just for the two of them. A time with no dangers, no worries, but the chance to just be together. To take care of each other.

While he was worried about Lorraine, he also knew he trusted her judgement. Trusted that she knew her limits, and just how hard she could push herself. He never wanted to undermine that, to show he didn’t. Their relationship was built on trust, it was one of the most important things to both of them. They trusted each other with their lives, at times, it seemed like they trusted each other more than they trusted themselves.

“Ed, can you hand me a flashlight?” He vaguely heard, snapping out of his daydream, refocusing on the current task at hand.

Nodding quickly, he grabbed the extra flashlight, handing it over to her. She looked up at him, concern evident before asking, “Are you alright?”

“Sorry yeah, I’m alright.” He said quickly, Lorraine glancing him up and down, before turning the flashlight on, going back to the task at hand.

She swallowed lightly, as she crawled into one of the crawl-spaces of the house, not quite sure what she was looking for, just hoping she would know once she found it. Lorraine had felt slightly nauseous the last few days, chalking it up to a random bug going around or not drinking enough water. Being in the type of situations she often was, it wasn’t unlikely to catch a cold or to feel under the weather. It came with the job, even if the job was.. unusual.

As she crawled around, she found nothing to help them solve the case they were working on, nothing that helped answer the questions they were trying to solve.

“Find anything Lorraine?” She heard Ed call from above ground.

“No, nothing. But I’m coming back up.” Lorraine said, crawling back the same way she did, when she’d entered the crawl-space. She crawled until she finally saw light peaking through the cracks of the basement, standing up a little too quickly as she made it outside.

She swallowed again as she stood up, suddenly not feeling well. The world seemed like it was spinning, a type of motion she couldn’t control.

Suddenly, before she knew it, the world went dark. Ed’s voice calling for her, being the last thing she heard, before she heard complete silence.

--

Lorraine awoke a few hours later to a faint beeping noise and the feeling of someone else’s hand in her own. Blinking a few times, she looked around the room, connecting that she was currently in a hospital bed, her husband sat next to her.

He had his eyes closed, and she could see a faint tear-track down his face. Frowning slightly, trying to remember exactly what happened, she squeezed his hand as she looked over at him.

Ed quickly opened his eyes, swallowing lightly as he let out a small sigh of relief, looking back at Lorraine, grateful to see her eyes open again.

Neither one of them knew what to say right-away, Ed was still slightly shaken up from watching her faint, knowing that he couldn’t do anything. Lorraine, knowing something wasn’t right, that she shouldn’t have passed out just from standing up too fast.

“Have.. the doctors said anything?” She finally asked quietly, looking down at the IV still in her arm.

Ed shook his head, “They stopped by once when you were still asleep.. mentioning they ran a few tests but they haven’t been back since.” He told her, still feeling nervous about her test results, lightly blaming himself inside for not taking better care of her. Not telling her to rest more or to drink more water.

As if she could hear what he was thinking, she said seriously, “Ed, you know this wasn’t your fault. Please don’t blame yourself.” If it had been under any other circumstances, Ed might have let out a small chuckle, her always knowing what he was thinking. The way neither of them had ever been able to keep things to themselves.

Before he could respond, they both heard a knock at the door, turning to find the doctor on call. They both turned their attention to the door as the doctor walked in. She seemed young but determined, a small nametag on her lab coat, “Dr. Novak.”

“Mrs. Warren, we’re glad you’re awake. How do you feel?” The doctor asked, flipping open Lorraine’s chart, as she made a few notes of her vitals.

“I feel alright… as one does when they accidentally faint.” She started, the doctor letting out a small chuckle under her breath, nodding in understanding.

“But did my test results come back?” Lorraine finished, looking up at the doctor. She just wanted to make sure everything was fine, that she wasn’t sick.. or hurt.

“That’s actually why I stopped in. First to check on you now that you’re awake, making sure you weren’t in too much pain. And to discuss your test results.” Pulling a chair up to both of them, she flipped open her lab results, giving them a glance over once more.

She looked back up at both of them before she started explaining, “To start, all of your basic results came back normal. Your labs looked great, and you seem to be very healthy. That’s very good news.” The doctor told both of them, immediately noticing the look of relief on both of their faces.

“But why did she faint?” Ed asked curiously, relieved his wife was healthy, but still curious what caused this to happen. Especially if her labs came back normal.

Flipping to the next page of her notes, “That’s the second thing I wanted to talk to you about. Once those results came back, we ran one more just to make sure, a suspicion if you will.” She began, a small smile on her face.

Lorraine squeezed Ed’s hand tightly as they waited for the doctor to finish speaking, finding comfort in her husband just being there, being next to her.

“Mrs. Warren, with the last test we ran, we found that your hormone levels were slightly elevated. This alone wouldn’t cause you to faint, but as we tested further, we found the cause. Congratulations Mrs. Warren, you’re expecting.” She told them both, giving them time to process.

Lorraine looked over at Ed, before looking back at the doctor, “I’m pregnant?” She questioned quietly, wanting to make sure she didn’t misunderstand.

“You are. We don’t know exactly how far along you are, but I’d suspect somewhere around 7 weeks. That’s why you’ve been feeling nauseous and dizzy recently. I’d recommend making an appointment with an obgyn, a specialist as soon as possible but based on what I can tell, both you and the baby are perfectly healthy.” The doctor finished, before saying,

“Now I’ll leave you both alone for a few minutes, before I'll send a nurse in with some information for both of you and discharge paperwork to get all three of you home.” She finished, shaking both of their hands lightly as she excused herself from the hospital room, letting the hospital door shut behind her.

Leaving the two of them, Lorraine looked over at her husband, a few tears in her eyes. They weren’t sad tears, she could never be sad over news like this, but rather tears of happiness and the promise of new beginnings.

“Oh Lorraine..” Ed started quietly, getting up and carefully sitting at the edge of her bed, just wanting.. needing to be near her.

She moved over as far as she could, not wanting to tangle the wires still connected to her, but wanting him to lay by her. She wanted to be in his arms, knowing that was the place she felt the safest.

Sitting in silence for a few minutes, Lorraine finally spoke, “I can’t believe… we’re going to be parents.” She said quietly, looking over at him.

“I can’t believe it either, but I know you’re going to make the most excellent mother. And I love you.. and our baby very much.” He told her sincerely, leaning down to kiss her lightly, not wanting her to strain too much after what happened. She grabbed his hand and rested it on-top of hers.

“I love you too. Both of you.” Lorraine said sleepily, before letting out a small yawn. Ed chuckled quietly at her reaction, knowing she was still exhausted from today’s events.

“Why don’t you get some sleep before we get to go home. You and the baby need rest now more than ever.” Even though they’d only found out they were expecting barely a few minutes, he couldn’t help but be slightly excited about this news. Of course, he was terrified as all first-time parents were, but he’d always wanted a family, especially with Lorraine.

Lorraine nodded before asking quietly, “Stay with us?” Not wanting him to move away from her.

“Always, I’ll always stay with both of you.” He said quietly, moving as close to her as could, being mindful of her IV as she let her head fall into the curve of his neck. “And once you’re awake, we can discuss you taking it easy, resting more.” He teased, knowing she couldn’t hear him.

But that was a conversation for a different time. For now, he’d let her sleep, enjoying the quiet of all of them together, especially the one they just found out about.

[quazartranslates]

Welcome to the Nightmare Game II - CH4

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

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Chapter 4: Resurrection Overture (IV)

The man who had made Chen Baiqi feel depressed for so long yet suddenly had come back from the dead abruptly opened his eyes and grabbed her, asking eagerly, "It's a long story. I'll elaborate later. Where's Ning Zhou? Is he back yet? I want to see him! Right now!"

Chen Baiqi's face changed. Ning Zhou had come back, but he’d left again. First, he went to the Holy See in Neverland. Now I'm afraid he’s gone to Purgatory...

The sound of an aircraft came overhead. The two people looked up and watched the small aircraft land beside them. Before landing, the hatch was opened. Al, an executive officer of the Court who was familiar with Qi Leren, jumped out of the aircraft and landed firmly beside the Qi Leren: "Why are you here? Are you not dead?"

"Dead, affected by a special-magic-resurrection-tool, and alive again." With this, Qi Leren remembered Maria's entrustment and asked Al, "Is the Prophet in the Courthouse? Ms. Maria asked me to give him something."

Al and Chen Baiqi looked at each other in disbelief. Chen Baiqi pondered and asked, "Ms. Maria?"

"I saw her... soul? Or the remaining consciousness? I don't know what it was... but it should be her," Qi Leren said.

Al looked solemn. "I'll take you back to the Courthouse first."

Qi Leren nodded, followed Al on the aircraft, and then turned back and told Chen Baiqi: "I’ll be back soon. You tell Ning Zhou that I’m fine… I, I have something to tell him."

The hatch was closed, and the aircraft carrying Qi Leren took off from the beach. Just now, the huge movement had attracted the nearby pedestrians. Fortunately, this area was relatively remote, and the Court issued martial law in the area before the onlookers gathered. Chen Baiqi was also politely asked to leave. She was familiar with the executives of the Court and left the beach while talking about the situation just now.

Looking at aircraft flying farther and farther, Chen Baiqi gave a long sigh. Until Ning Zhou wrote back, she really couldn't contact him.

After many days, Qi Leren once again came to the Court. After the aircraft landed, he was directly brought in front of Si Ling, and Qi Leren was deeply impressed by the Court’s acting chief executive—mainly because he was flamboyant looking and had long hair, and his eyes were still those unsettling snake eyes. Although Si Ling had always been very polite to him, Qi Leren always felt that this was for Ning Zhou's face and that Si Ling didn't really like him.

It should be said that Si Ling didn't seem to like anyone.

After seeing Si Ling, Qi Leren told him about Maria's entrustment but did not say what it was.

"The Master Prophet is sleeping. When there’s no major business, we try not to disturb him." Si Ling said, "You can give us the item and when the Prophet wakes up, we will give it to him."

On the way back to the Village of Dusk, Qi Leren had almost been robbed by an unknown great god. He flatly refused: "I can't violate Ms. Maria's trust. This thing is very important. I must give it to him personally."

Si Ling smiled—let's just call it a laugh. In Qi Leren’s eyes, none of his facial features moved, only his mouth raised: "I'm afraid you don't understand what kind of existence the Prophet is. I’ll give you a simple example: Remember when you went undercover with the Slaughter Secret Society? At the last minute, when the Lord of Slaughter’s believers fled everywhere we sealed off the whole enchantment of the Village of Dawn, but it was still too late and we let two believers escape. Why was it so late? Because even if it was such a thing, we had not awakened the Prophet but had indirectly borrowed his strength. Otherwise, no fish would have slipped through the net.

"If you want me to wake up the Prophet in advance, you have to prove to me the importance of that thing," Si Ling said.

Qi Leren fell into hesitation. Should he tell Si Ling? In fact, he was very clear: if even the boss responsible for guarding order in the Twilight Township couldn't be trusted, there was no one to trust in the whole Twilight Township, or in other words, this human camp had been completely finished. Although he didn't like Si Ling's attitude, intellectually speaking, he understood Si Ling's actions.

"Okay, but I can only tell you alone. The less people who know, the better," Qi Leren said.

Si Ling thought for a moment and agreed to his request. Al shrugged aside and went out, closing the door for them.

There was only Qi Leren and Si Ling left in the office.

"Now you can say it." Si Ling folded his hands on the table, as if he would listen carefully.

Qi Leren looked at the "Scepter of Hell" in his item bar. It didn't even have a description. The description that should have followed the name was three question marks.

Qi Leren said, "Maybe you haven't heard of this thing, but it's very important. On the way here, I met an unidentified person who tried to cheat it from me. This thing is called the 'Scepter of Hell'..."

"...Fuck!" Si Ling jumped up from his chair, one hundred thousand percent surprised, "Say that again?!”

Si Ling’s reaction was too big; the teacups on the table were overturned and the hot water flowed all over the table, but he didn't feel a thing at all, staring straight at Qi Leren as if he meant to take it from his item bar personally.

Qi Leren was shocked and said, "The Scepter of Hell."

Si Ling took a deep breath and covered his forehead: "This thing is in your hands..."

"To be precise, it’s in Ms. Maria’s hands, I’m only responsible for the transfer," Qi Leren corrected.

Si Ling called Al in: "Convene all the deliberation members immediately and hold a meeting in 20 minutes. I’m initiating an urgent agenda requesting to awaken the Prophet."

Al looked at Si Ling with a face of confusion, then at Qi Leren’s face of innocence, nodded, and turned away.

"You wait here, I'll take you to the Prophet in half an hour." Si Ling seems to be sure that this proposal would be passed. He picked up his coat from the back of the seat and strode to the door.

Once again, Qi Leren looked at his item bar. So, this was really something very important? Si Ling had walked so fast that he didn't even have time to ask... Forget it, knowing too much wasn’t a good thing.

Fifteen minutes passed and people came one after another to the huge conference room. Most of them were wearing the uniforms of the Courthouse. One of them smiled at Si Ling: "Boss suddenly called an urgent meeting. Is it because of the holy light that arrived just now?"

A blindfolded woman handling cards said faintly, "The light came from the direction of the Holy City, and the breath should be the Holy Nun."

"Hasn't her Lady the Holy Nun already fallen?"

"It’s normal for field-level master’s consciousnesses to remain in the world."

"That’s true. Is it related to the sudden collapse of the Holy City’s field a few days ago?"

"Ah, I feel certain that something big is going to happen..."

The people in the conference room talked quietly.

Five minutes passed and only one seat remained empty. Si Ling impatiently knocked on the tabletop with a pen: "Where is the Illusionist?"

The middle-aged man sitting next to him said, "I entrusted him to perform a task, I'm afraid he won't be back until tomorrow."

Si Ling said strangely, "How can the work of the heresy-judgment section be handed over to someone of his discipline?"

The middle-aged man replied: "The people who believe in this Utopia are very special, very good at illusions, and they are suspected to have been demonized. Several executives who had dealt with it before couldn't cope with it. Let him be a visionary."

Si Ling nodded: "Let's have the meeting now. The urgent agenda should be attended by the special envoy of the Holy See. However, since Mr. Ning Zhou has left the Holy See, the Holy See has not yet decided on a new special envoy, so everything is simple. I will submit the meeting to the Holy See later.

"Just now, someone brought a message from the Holy Nun back from the Holy City, which is of great importance. It is necessary to inform the Prophet immediately. The specific content is not convenient to disclose. Now vote." Si Ling’s slender vertical pupils passed over everyone's face.

……

……

……

After the meeting, Qi Leren was led by Si Ling, who looked solemn and resigned, and walked towards the Court’s underground. He didn't expect it to be so big here, and there was snow and ice everywhere. Even the elevators were made of ice, carrying them to the endless abyss.

The elevator stopped, the translucent ice door opened, and there was deep darkness ahead, but with their arrival the bottomless and chilly darkness lit up, and a dazzling white light lit the underground ice palace like an invisible sun. Right in front of it was an empty corridor with ice pillars that would need four or five people to reach around them on each side. They were tens of meters high, making one feel that this wasn’t underground but rather as if they were on a planet of ice and snow.

In this cold silence, Si Ling walked forward with Qi Leren.

It should be very cold here, Qi Leren thought, because the air he exhaled quickly condensed into a cloud of white gas. It was strange that his body didn't feel cold, making him wonder whether there was something wrong with the temperature here or with his body.

At the end of the corridor an underground church, which was as tall and majestic as a castle of ice and snow, suddenly appeared in front of him, which was more magnificent than the church on the site of the Vatican. Perhaps it was due to the material. It looked like a giant cathedral. Standing in front of the door, Qi Leren and Si Ling were even less than a quarter of its height.

"Is this a church?" Qi Leren asked.

"No, this is a tomb," Si Ling answered.

Qi Leren eyed him with puzzlement, and Si Ling looked intently at the church door. The vertical pupils like those of cold-blooded animals showed obvious respect and an indescribable helplessness.

"You will meet the Master Prophet in a moment. No matter what he says, you don't have to be surprised," Si Ling said.

"I’ll try my best." As Qi Leren spoke, he couldn't help wondering if the Prophet had the ability to see the future, or else why he was called a "prophet"?

The door of the church opened slowly in front of the two. The people who opened the door were two tall ice sculptures. They opened the huge door silently, and then went back to the sides and stood quietly. If Qi Leren hadn't seen them move with his own eyes, he wouldn't be able to see the difference between them and the other ice sculptures.

Behind the door was the inside of a cathedral, just like an ordinary church with rows of pews, but there was no statue of any religious figure at the forefront, but rather a frozen pool. In front of the pool was a wall as tall as a mountain, with a relief of the Vatican mark on it. Qi Leren had seen this pattern on Ning Zhou's collar, symbolizing that God's authority would suppress demons in hell forever.

No matter how you’d look at it, it was a church. Why did Si Ling say it was a tomb?

Just when he was about to ask, Si Ling led him to the middle of the pool. The thick ice could completely withstand the weight of two people. Qi Leren even suspected that the whole pool had frozen into a large piece of ice.

Si Ling drew a cross on his chest and a faint light came out from him. Suddenly there was the sound of ice cracking at his feet. Qi Leren got a fright and quickly lowered his head—the ice at his feet had already cracked, revealing the blue water under the ice! Before Qi Leren could react, they fell into the freezing cold water together!

With a bang, Qi Leren felt that he had fallen into water, but when he hurriedly inhaled he found that he didn't choke on water, but instead smoothly sucked in a mouthful of air. The water was not as cold as he had imagined, and he had no discomfort except the feeling of floating with his feet unable to touch the ground.

The bottom of the water was faint blue. Somehow there was an ice lotus floating with light blue light, which made this mysterious water seem like a dream. At the bottom of the pool, there was an ice coffin that had sunk to the bottom of the water, and a figure could be seen vaguely through the ice.

Was it the Prophet? Qi Leren felt an “alarm” in his heart when he saw the Master Prophet who had been "sleeping" for a long time. Suddenly there was a bad feeling...

The ice coffin never opened, but there were countless silvery white spots in the water which condensed into an illusory figure. He was dressed in a white holy robe and his appearance was that of a young teenager, just like an inexperienced youth, but when one looked into his eyes, they would suddenly forget their own judgment—because he was like a "God" who had come down from religious murals, not a person with joys and sorrows.

"I didn't expect to meet you again so soon, Qi Leren." The Prophet did not speak, but his "voice" echoed in the waters, ethereal and otherworldly.

"We’ve met?" Qi Leren asked, puzzled.

The Prophet suddenly showed a sly smile—at this moment, his holy and alien temperament was swept away and the part that belonged to divinity was hidden, leaving the part that belonged to humans, which made him come alive in Qi Leren’s eyes for a moment.

He said in a lively and cheerful tone: "Of course, we lived together for seven whole days. You were very shy about taking off your clothes and showing me. We also discussed makeup techniques with each other. Although your mouth was reluctant, your body honestly painted me very beautifully with makeup. In fact, I really want to wear women's clothes and walk around the Courthouse, but for the sake of everyone’s hearts, I still only show my students a reserved appearance..."

"Master Prophet, please try to keep your mouth shut for the sake of the Courthouse and your personal image, okay?" The last two words are almost squeezed out of Si Ling's teeth.

The Prophet, who had revealed himself as soon as he opened his mouth, resumed his divine smile: "No."

-----

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[tearsofgrace]

Don’t Forget Me, I Beg

read on archive!

Cas

“Cas?! Thank god, you’re awake. Look, the doctors said you wouldn’t remember anything… but I figured, well, since you’re an angel, ya know?”

Cas blinked and looked around him, trying to get his bearings. He had an IV connected to his arm, and a heart rate monitor taped to his finger. There was a slight stinging on his chest, but besides that he felt fine. Then he froze. What had the man said? Angel?

“Yeah, of course,” he muttered, looking into those earnest green eyes. 

Looking back on it, he would have no idea why he said it. Why he lied. Why he pretended to know what was going on when he knew a total of three things about himself. That his name was Castiel (seriously, what kind of a name was that?), that he was in Longmont, Colorado, and that he was in love with a man named Dean Winchester. 

He had no idea where Longmont was in relation to anything else, and he had no idea where to find this Dean Winchester. But his mind clung to those facts desperately, trying to block out the swirling confusion that threatened to overwhelm him. 

“So, your grace blocked whatever spell that was?” Cas nodded and busied himself counting the freckles on the man’s face. He had a lot of them. 

“You scared us, man. You were out for four days. They said you were in a coma, and you probably wouldn’t wake up. But Sam and I figured that your grace would heal you faster.” 

There was that word again, grace. Every time he heard it something inside him seemed to glow, to buzz with a fiery heat. 

“I’m sure you need your rest. I’ll go find Sam. He was finishing up the hunt.” The man looked him up and down one more time then walked from the room. 

A hunt. Okay, so he’d been hurt in a hunting accident. Though that didn’t seem right. He didn’t feel like a hunter. And what was that about a spell anyway? And had the guy seriously called him an angel?

Angel must be a nickname. Or maybe it was his last name. He wasn’t sure if he had one. 

A nurse walked in and smiled warmly at him. 

“Mr. Dougherty said you remember. That’s really good news, Simon. We should be able to get you out of here in just a few days.”

“My name is Castiel,” he said automatically, squinting at her. 

She nodded with a smile and glanced pointedly at the IV drip connected to his arm. Great. So she thought he was delusional. 

Which really, might be better for him. He had no idea why he’d pretended to remember--what had she said?--Mr. Dougherty. But now that he had, it seemed he would need to play the part. 

“I need to find Dean Winchester,” Cas said as the nurse turned to leave the room. 

“I’m sorry, but I only know the two men that brought you in.” 

“Did I have a phone?” She shook her head and glanced quickly at her clipboard, clearly anxious to get back to her rounds. 

“What happened? I only remember leaving the house and then it all goes black.” He wasn’t sure if he even had a house. But it seemed like a plausible story, and he needed at least a few answers. 

“You were in a hunting accident. They said you hit your head, but we can’t find any bruises. To tell you the truth, Simon, you have us puzzled. The cuts on your chest… well, it’s not important now. You’re doing okay, and that’s what’s important.” She smiled again, tight and close-lipped, and then hurried from the room. 

Cas ran a hand through his hair and rubbed his eyes. He needed to find Dean. Dean would help him. He shifted in the bed and lifted the collar of the loose hospital gown. He nearly cried out when his eyes found his chest. 

Pure white light was shining through the deep, blood red cuts. They were meticulous, almost like they were forming some symbol. And they were disappearing. Where the light touched, the skin knit back together and left light pink scar tissue. 

Cas watched mutely, then dropped the hospital gown and leaned back in his bed. His tired eyes found the IV and he shook his head slowly. He wasn’t thinking right, and he didn’t know what he had seen. 

He needed to find Dean. 

Cas ripped the IV roughly from his arm and pulled the heart rate monitor from his finger. Then he stumbled to his feet, surprised when he didn’t feel woozy. In his experience (as far as he knew it to be), coma patients generally were very disoriented when they woke up. And he’d only been awake for an hour and thirty-six minutes. Cas frowned at the number--it was oddly specific--but shrugged it off and walked to the cabinet in the corner of the room. 

He found a trenchcoat and a wrinkled suit and started dressing under his gown. 

Then he slid the thin fabric over his head and looked at his chest. The barest outline of a scar remained, and he closed his eyes, determined to ignore it. It must have been an old scar anyway. An old scar he was turning into something more than it needed to be. 

His fingers struggled on the buttons of his shirt, and he guessed he didn’t get dressed in a suit often. After he’d shrugged the trenchcoat over his shoulders, he turned to the window. His reflection was faintly visible, and he looked right. He felt like himself again, whoever that was. 

With detached interest, he noted that his hair was black and his eyes were blue. Not what he would have guessed, but that didn’t matter. He smoothed his hair carefully, trying to stop it from sticking up at odd angles, but it didn’t work so he gave up. Something in his pocket hit against his hip and he pulled out an old flip phone. 

He quickly flipped it open and opened the contacts. There were only six. Sam, Bobby, Rowena, 666 (that had to be a joke), Jack and Dean. His breath quickened as he clicked on the name, finger hovering over the call button. 

But he didn’t click it. When he’d woken up, he told himself he knew three things about his life. That had been a lie. He remembered four. His name was Castiel, he was in Longmont, Colorado, he loved Dean Winchester, and Dean Winchester did not love him back. 

So he didn’t call, but he figured a text wouldn’t hurt. His fingers felt unpracticed on the keys, but he managed to type, Where should I meet you? 

He frowned at the message. It didn’t make sense, really. Not if Dean had no idea where he was. Then he clicked send anyway. 

For a minute, he stood staring at the dirty window with his reflection faintly visible on the dirty glass. Then he walked from the room, glancing around to make sure no one was paying attention before leaving the hospital. He pulled his phone from his pocket again and clicked on the notification.

We’ll pick you up at the hospital. Sam killed the witch, so we’re leaving town. 

Witch. Alright. That was normal. 

Dean

“He remembers, Sam.” His brother stood and shrugged, gathering the last of their things from the room. 

“Really? Because that witch seemed pretty sure he didn’t. She cast a spell designed for angels, Dean.” Dean frowned and threw the room key on the table, leading the way to the car. 

“That’s weird. I thought she didn’t know what Cas was. And it’s the same spell she cast on all the other vics, right? They were all human.”

“Right, they were. But she got wind we were in town and used a different one that would work on him. She told me herself, right before I killed her.” Dean rolled his eyes and got in the car. 

“So you believe her? You were about to kill her, Sammy. She was just trying to freak you out.”

Sam snorted but stayed silent. 

They got to the hospital a few minutes later, and Cas was standing outside, back in his trenchcoat and suit. Dean couldn’t help but smile a little. The angel looked so lost. The nurses had probably given him a bitch of a time.

When the car pulled up to the curb, the angel stood there, just looking at the street. Dean sighed and rolled down his window. 

“Hey, Cas. We kinda need to roll, what’s the hold up?” 

“Dougherty?” His voice was a little higher than normal, more like Jimmy Novak’s had been. Dean frowned but raised his eyebrows.

“Dude, that’s the name on the insurance. Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, sorry. I have to wait for-- I can’t go with you.” His stomach was starting to sink and he took a deep breath.

“See, Dean? I told you.” He was tempted to tell Sam to shut up, but Cas spoke first. 

“Dean? Wait, Dean Winchester?” 

“Yeah, that’s me. You really don’t remember anything, huh?” Cas was staring at him like he was back from the dead. Well, back from the dead again. 

“If you remember me, or at least my name, get in the car. We’re here to help, okay? I promise.” The angel gulped, his eyes never leaving Dean’s. Then he nodded and got in the backseat. 

Dean drove away from the hospital with the pedal almost flat against the floor, hands gripping the wheel. Cas didn’t remember anything. Didn’t even know who he was. 

“Call her.” 

“Calm down, Dean. I’m working on it.” Sam dialed slowly and raised the phone to his ear, holding up a finger for silence. 

“Hey, Rowena… yeah, I know we’re sorry about that… listen, we need your help.” Dean glanced at him, ignoring the road.

“Put her on speaker.” Sam rolled his eyes but lowered the phone. 

“Rowena, you have to help us fix Cas.”

“Dean, always with the pleasantries. I wish I could say it’s good to hear your voice.” 

“Cut the crap, Rowena.” Her sigh blew through the speakers, and her accent managed to seep into it.

“Fine. What seems to be the trouble with the angel?” Cas perked up in the back seat and leaned forward. 

“A witch. Some sort of memory spell.”

“That worked on an angel?” She sounded mildly impressed. If she’d been in the car, Dean might have strangled her. 

“I’ll come to you, boys. I know of two spells that could do this, and the cure is very different for the both. Although, I must admit I hope it’s the second of the two.” Dean pulled the phone from Sam’s hand and held it to his mouth. 

“Why? What’s the second?”

“Now now, Dean. We mustn’t spoil the surprise. Now where are you?” Dean opened his mouth to spit something back at her but Sam grabbed the phone. 

“Mead, Colorado.” 

“I’ll be there in two hours. Bye, boys.” Sam hung up before Dean could take the phone again and Dean rolled his eyes, slamming a palm into the wheel. 

“I’m… an angel?” Cas’ voice had started to drop in register, and he was sounding more like himself. 

“Yeah. One of God’s finest. Well, not really. But you’re one of the not-dick angels, so that’s good.” When Cas didn’t answer he looked in the rearview mirror. The angel was staring out the window with a thoughtful look on his face. 

They pulled into the nearest motel and waited in tense silence for Rowena to get there. Dean didn’t really see a point in trying to explain to Cas who he was. He meant too much. To him, to the world. 

Everytime he looked at the angel, he found him staring. He would look away as soon as he saw Dean’s eyes on him, but by the fourth time Dean stopped trying to convince himself he was imagining things. 

He couldn’t place the emotion on Cas’ face, but it was far different than how he looked at Sam. And it hadn’t been Sam’s name he knew. 

Dean was almost glad when Rowena knocked on the door. 

“Hello, boys.” The minute the words left her mouth, he decided he wasn’t glad. She was a pain in the ass. 

When Dean didn’t reply, she sighed and walked over to Cas.

“I drop everything for you bloody Winchesters and when I get here, I’m greeted with cold silence. Are you sure Cassie wants his memories back?” Sam stood up and took her bag, setting it on the bed.

“Thanks for coming, Rowena.” She sighed again, more dramatically if that was possible, and put a hand on Cas’ head. 

Her laughter rang through the room and she took her hand back, folding over. 

“What?” Dean growled. 

“It’s a very interesting spell, one I’ve only used once myself. It’s designed for fallen angels. Well, angel’s who’ve fallen.” Dean squinted at her and instinctively reached a hand to the gun in his waistband, so she hurried to go on. 

“Fallen in love, that is. It leaves the angel with the memory of the name of the one they’ve fallen for, and a few other details. The best part,” she laughed again and then went on, wiping her eyes, “Is that it can only be undone by a kiss from that person.” 

“A fucking true love’s kiss. Are you fucking kidding me?” She raised her eyebrows but laughed again. 

“Well, this shouldn’t be too hard for you, boys. I would be on my way, but I’m afraid I’ll have to stay for this.” 

“Whatever, we’ll just find the girl and get her here,” Dean said, the blood in his veins running cold. Cas was in love with someone. That didn’t bother him at all. 

He could feel heat rising in his cheeks and he tried desperately to calm down. Rowena was laughing again. 

“Oh, you poor, sweet thing.” She turned to Cas, who was watching the whole exchange with wide eyes. 

“It’s okay, Castiel. You can say who it is. He won’t be mad I promise.” She said it softly, especially for a witch, but Cas still stared back at her with wide eyes before dropping his gaze. Dean looked over at Sam, his heart pounding. His brother seemed to be hiding a smile, and not very successfully. 

Then he looked back to Cas. The angel’s eyes were fixed on the floor and his ears were tinted pink. Dean could see his shoulders rising and falling in deep, controlled breaths, like he was trying to calm down. 

“It won’t matter,” the angel finally said. 

“Cas, he feels the same,” Sam said, crossing the room to stand next to Rowena. 

“What the hell is going on?” Dean glanced between the two of them, trying to read their faces. Besides laughter, he found nothing.

“I know he doesn’t. I can’t remember why I know. Or anything else about who I am. I know that though.” Sam nodded slowly and looked at Rowena, who was staring at Cas with an incredulous smirk.

“Okay, this has been fun, but I really need to get going. I left a very… interesting party for this. Cas, say the name. You want to remember who you are, don’t you?” He nodded and looked up, finally meeting Dean’s eyes.

“I’m in love with Dean Winchester.” Dean froze. At least his face wasn’t bright red anymore. It was now white as a sheet. He ran a hand nervously through his hair and looked at Sam and Rowena. They weren’t laughing anymore. 

Then he walked to Cas and cupped his face gently, pulling him up so they were chest to chest.

He looked scared, but Dean didn’t blame him. He had no idea who he was, just one name and the knowledge that he wasn’t loved back. At least Dean could do something about it. He ran a thumb over the angel’s cheek down to his lip, grazing it softly. 

Then he gently threaded his hand into the angel’s hair and pulled him into a kiss. Their lips met gently, barely touching, and then he pulled back. 

The angel’s eyes glowed white, and then widened. 

“Dean?”

“Hey, Cas.”

“You didn’t have to--” Dean pulled his hand from his hair and set it gently on the angel’s waist, pressing their bodies together. Sam cleared his throat and Dean raised his middle finger, smiling as he pressed his forehead into Cas’. Sam sighed (Dean could almost hear the eye roll) and quickly left the room, followed closely by Rowena. 

“I love you too, Cas.” The angel smiled softly and leaned in for another kiss. 

[bee-thee-writer]

Field Trip to SI - IV

Peter Parker x Reader Stark

<-- 𝒫𝓇𝑒𝓋𝒾𝑜𝓊𝓈  𝒩𝑒𝓍𝓉 -->

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Clint was pissed, to say the least. Spying on people in the vents had it's ups and downs but today was definitely an up as he watched his nephew get degraded by his teacher, not to mention the dirty look his classmates were giving him.

"Hey Penis, you must be pretty stupid, thinking people will believe you have an Alpha level badge. How much cock did you need to suck to get people to pretend to know you. I mean, your poor and can't pay people so it must have been used as 'pleasure'. God knows you had to suck a lot to get someone to hack the AI. Your not smart enough for that. Me on the other hand, easy peasy. I just don't want to do anything illegal." Clint heard Flash pull Peter aside to say that and He. Was. Furious. "FRI, did you get that on tape?" he whispered to the AI. Yes Sir. "Good, create a new folder and name it Someone's gonna die. Save it to that please. I will probably be adding more videos throughout his tour. Please also save the video of Peter's teacher." he didn't get a response but knew F.R.I.D.A.Y was on it.

"Alright everybody! We are now going to head up to the R&D labs (A/N I've read a lot of stories and they always have people in the comments asking what R&D is. So just in case anyone was wondering, It means Research and development.) So into the elevator we hop." Ella says, trying to hide her hatred towards the boy known as Eugene 'Flash' Thompson. If they run into any of the Avengers or Mr Stark, she will be informing them of the situation. "Can I press the button?" Abraham asks. Ella only laughs. "Sorry, F.R.I.D.A.Y, please take us to level 15. There are no buttons as F.R.I.D.A.Y is everywhere." The ride up to level 15 was quiet, as no one knew what to say. Level 15. "Alright, everyone out. Now, going over some rules. No running, no touching or licking anything without permission from a worker or Peter. Is that clear?" A lot of 'yes ma'ams rang throughout the crowd. "Why do we need permission from Pen- Peter?" "Because he works down here sometimes and has some prototypes laying around. now, in we..." But she is stopped mid sentence from a loud creak in the vent. "Oh no" Peter said to Ned and MJ. All of a sudden someone falls from the vent and lands with a loud thud on the floor. Almost all the girls scream and some crouch down. The boys look scared but don't do anything. "Sorry about that. missed my footing." An all to familiar voice to Peter states.

"Holy crap! Your Hawkeye!" Flash states with an open mouth. Clint's gaze lingers on Flash before settling on Peter. "Hey Pete! Look what I brought. Buck made cookies and I wanted to bring you, Ned and MJ some before they went cold. They are his infamous cookies and cream flavour. Oh and you might want to look out for an angry Y/N. She already yelled at Tony this morning for not sleeping, she's pissed." Just great, Peter thought. "Ok! Thank you for the cookies and the warning and you can be on your way now. Bye bye Un- Cli- Hawkeye." Clint frowns at not being called 'Uncle Clint', but masks it knowing his class is there, standing in shock as Peter just basically told THE Hawkeye to Piss off. "Alright, i'm going. Don't forget dinner tonight at 6:30. We're ordering Pizza. No ones bothered to cook." Everyone watches in more shock at the interaction and watch as Clint jumps back up into the vent. "Alright everyone, please follow me. remember the rules!" Flash Hangs back with Peter. "What the hell Penis? How much did you have do do to get Hawkeye to act like he knows you? You'll get what's coming for you, trust me, you will regret this." Peter hears a faint 'saved to file' and sighs. Uncle Clint had seen the whole thing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Word count: 682

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Just a reminder, The king Stan Lee owns all the characters except for Ella and Mr Warren. Thanks for reading!

[dxliriumx]

┊  A PROMISE TO NEVER FORGET.  ┊        ❄       DRABBLE.​​

️

   SHE HELD HER FATHER’S HAND TIGHTLY, finding it sweaty and clammy as always and yet holding onto it nonetheless. with the way he trembled every time they crossed the doors of st. mungo’s hospital, ivy was sure he hated it here. still, he greeted everyone with an awkward smile or a nod their way, as they walked the familiar, grand entrance. she would hear the whispers of his name, his doings, as they passed witches and wizards, ‘ that’s neville longbottom, that is! ‘ some would point, or whisper to their companions, ‘ he slayed the snake! ’ another would say, with a sigh of wonder. there were, of course, those who treated him like a normal person. ivy quite liked those people best, and she thought her father did too. the gap-toothed nurse with the kindest and biggest eyes she’d ever seen was one of them. ‘ mr longbottom! how you’ve grown. ’ she would always say, despite her father being a big adult. or. . . at least he had been a BIG ADULT for as long as ivy had known him.

  ‘ AT THIS AGE, THAT’S JUST CALLED GAINING WEIGHT, MIRIAM. ’ and they laughed, as if a great big joke had been told and not a truth. nurse miriam ushered them towards that familiar corridor that always made ivy’s heart skip a beat, a hand landing on her shoulder comfortingly. before long, they were through the familiar door that housed her grandmother ──────── the one she now knew had long been this way. ALICE LONGBOTTOM was laid down in her bed and staring to her left, eyes open and unseeing, not turning towards the noise. there was a scarf wrapped around her head neatly, and empty candy-wrappers all over the bed and floor. ‘ hey mum, ’ her father greeted, sitting down on the empty chair beside the bed. he brought ivy alone this time, which was weird since she NEVER spoke. ivy very much thought that was okay, since her grandma never answered either. eventually, alice moved her gaze, but her eyes only wandered, never settled. ‘ i brought ivy along to see you. ’

   SHE HAD COME TWICE A YEAR SINCE SHE COULD REMEMBER, and yet she had only found out the real story the last time they’d been here. frank had whispered it to her, in hopes of scaring her, and it had SUCCEEDED. whilst ivory had spent a whole month waking up with nightmares of death eaters, sneaking out to sleep in her parent’s bed every night, frank had been grounded for twice that long. although, he was right to tell her. she’d thought horrible things about grandma alice before. even if the fear was there now, she at least now knew she laid on this bed because she was a HERO ──────── like her late grandfather had been, too. frank had explained that grandpa frank had been even more hurt than grandma alice was. ivy couldn’t imagine it. ‘ daddy? ’ she said eventually, interrupting his story about his frog, trevor the IV, and august almost eating it. ‘ can’t grandma come to my birthday party? ’ it would be at hogwarts, since ivy was a FIRST YEAR now.

   KAIRI WOULD LIKE HER. KAIRI LIKED OLD LADIES. as her father’s gaze warmed, she knew the answer. ‘ she can’t leave here, ivy. but maybe you can tell her all about it? she might like to know. ’ talk to her? ivy stared in fear, especially since her grandma’s pale hands seemed to search for something as she patted down the bed. she patted and patted, and ivy found one that wasn’t just a wrapper, placing it where she expected her hand to land. alice’s frail fingers caught it, and even though she shook and trembled, taking a long time, eventually the candy wrapper fell towards the bed; and her grandma ate the sweet. it very much reminded her of august as a baby, when he couldn’t speak or do much, but she loved him anyway. she sat on the arm of her father’s chair. ‘ well, leona, xander and lorcan are all going, and they get me gifts. well, aunt luna does, and she’s the best at gifts. ’ she began hesitantly. her father leaned his head on her arm. ‘ . . .and kairi, too. kairi is my best friend. ’

           . . .she told her more and more stories, until it was time to go. ‘ I’LL BE BACK. ’                      ivy whispered, taking a wrapper from her hand like her dad. ‘ I PROMISE. ’

[thegeekerynj]

All Death Metal Review (And nothing from Sweden!)

Death Metal: Trinity Crisis One Shot 

Writer: Scott Snyder   Artist: Francis Manapul

‘And who are YOU supposed to be? I’ve faced enough Dark Knights that no Batman scares me anymore!

Ha! Then it’s a good thing I’m not a Batman! I’m his MOTHER!’

———————————————————————————————————

Sweet Christmas! That took me by surprise!

Harley kissing Jonah Hex, that was really sweet, and gods awful creepy, and kinda gross,  after the exchange, and some thought…

This is it, Gentle Readers… the Beginning of the End of the Beginning of… Oh, crap, now I’m lost… This is where the story starts rockin’!

The Gang’s all together, and the Black Lantern Bat has determined what they need to do.

The plan? Split up, naturally. That AL-ways works…

When we left them in DM #3, the Lanterns are protecting the Home Base, and taking out the Crisis Energy Antennae on the Earths left in the known Universes, The Flashes are off and running through the Speed Force, trying to find Metron, and stay ahead of the Bathattan who Laughs, while the Trinity (Superman / Antilife, Black Lantern Batman and  Warden Wonder Woman) along with Swamp Thing, Harley, Hex and Jarro, head for Castle Bat, to gain access to the Crisis Earths, where the Crisis Energy is being harvested for Perpetua.

**WHEW!**

Getting into the Castle involves getting past an army of Dark Knights… and we have a bunch of real winners here! 

Bat Monday - Salomon Grundy in Bat ears, I could have busted a gut laughing, until I thought about what kind of weapon a zombie with Batman’s training could be, and shivered…

Kull, the daughter of Batman and Wonder Woman, corrupted by the Dark Universe…

Ark, the living embodiment of Arkham, with all of the knowledge and abilities of ALL her worst inmates…

Chiroptor, the amalgam of Batman and Chemo (Great Elder Gods!!)… 

And the Pearl, Martha Wayne, in the equivalent of HellBat Armor, complete with her iconic pearl necklace.

This is a real mindscrew for Batman, and the panels depict it, most intently.

One nice thing about Scott Snyder… he is consistent about tying up loose ends. Once we are in Castle Bat, we find out what happened to Barbatos, the Big Bad from Dark Nights: Metal. Not that we were actually wondering, since we got Perpetual, and the Batman Who Laughs, but, like I said, it ties up the package nicely.

Then, we are introduced to the character I have been most happily waiting for… the Robin King, and his Utility Belt of Death!

Gentle Readers, this is the story we have been waiting for, the chapter which tells us what the Heroes Plan of Action is, and where the story has been going, for over 40 years. You see, the opening page of this book tells us where this story began… with Marv Wolfman and George Perez, and Crisis on Infinite Earths!

Not to spoil too much, but Crisis, Infinite Crisis, and Final Crisis, ]well… they have all played a part in getting us to this story. It seems, the “Crisis Energy’ has fed Perpetua while she was trapped within the Source Wall, and, now, she wants it all, so she can recreate the Universes in her image.

Great job, if you can get it…

I can’t say enough good things about this story and artwork, as Snyder and Manapul have put together a really tight, hard hitting bottle / lead story, bringing us to the next step in the saga… 

Jeebus on a popsicle stick, I hope no one lets me down… that will hurt!

Out of 5🌶        🌶🌶🌶🌶.5

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Death Metal: Multiverse’s End #1

Writer: James Tynion IV   Artist: Juan Gedeon

‘Mr. Rabbit?

Yes, Young Lady?

Thank you for saving me.

What a kind thing to say! It was so scary out there, and you stayed so brave. I don’t think I could have done it without your courage.

You’re really, really soft.

I use a special carrot shampoo.

———————————————————————————————————

Once upon a time, about a million, bazillion years ago in cranky fat man years, somewhere around 1982, Roy Thomas and Scott Shaw! brought Earth-C into the DC Multiverse, the earth of anthropomorphic animals… yes, they brought Super-Hero Cartoon Animals to the Super Hero Universe.

Our introduction to this Earth was Rodney Rabbit, a comics writing and drawing hare, who created the Just’a Lotta Animals comic by day, and was Captain Carrot, a Superman-esque rabbit, who got his powers from super charged carrots, when danger struck.

But, I digress… because I got really excited!

So, we have teams on the 6 Earths, each Earth holding a tuning fork, focusing the psychic pain energy of the population to Perpetual, powering her attempts to recreate the Multiverse in her image. The Earths in play, Earth - 3 (Crime Syndicate), Earth - X (Nazi Earth), Earth - 29 (Bizarroworld), Earth - 43 (Blood League World) and Earth - 50 (Justice Lords Earth) are all worlds of pain and suffering.

Their energy is the right flavor for destroying, and creating.

The heroes, organized and led by the Green Lanterns of Sector 2814 (Hal Jordan, Guy Gardner, John Stewart, Kyle Rayner, Jessica Cruz, Simon Baz), are working to take down the Antennae before the energy can be fed to Perpetual to power her Cosmic Undoing. 

So, teamed with the Lanterns, we have Hawkgirl, Kid Flash (Earth-22), President Superman (Earth-23), Wonder Woman (Earth-6) and Captain Carrot, all hellbent on stopping the respective Antennae.

The problem… Each Earth’s inhabitants have been laced into the antennae, to directly feed the psychic energy to it..since the energy is effectively terror, well, what better way to induce some? Of course, this isn’t the only problem to be contended with…

Leave it to James Tynion IV to come up with a way to make a villain creepier than the Batman Who Laughs… How, you ask? Well, take the true polar opposite of Batman, and make him realize HE IS what Giggles says he is, and you have an interesting new ballgame.

You see, while the Batman who Laughs is the Ultimate CORRUPTED Batman, Owlman is the Anthesis of Batman, the purest EVIL to the Batman’s GOOD. And he plans to make sure that he continues to be the True Opposite…

Gedeon’s artwork is rough, but considering the story being told, and the pain portrayed by the characters, it fits, perfectly. Some times, I see Joe Staton and Nic Cuti in these pages, a little cartoony, but that’s not a complaint… The story concentrates a bunch on Guy Gardner and Cap, so, it seems to fit (and the art is reminiscent of the ‘A Guy and his G’Nort’ storyline from 1991). 

All in all, a very good story, and a fantastic use of a truly underused treasure.

Out of 5🌶        🌶🌶🌶🌶

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Speed Metal #1

Writer: Joshua Williamson   Pencils: Eddy Barrow   Inks: Eber Ferreira

‘Hey, Flash Family, Is it true a Flash has to die in every Crisis?!’

———————————————————————————————————

And the levels of snark from the Darkest Knight have reached Epic Levels!

The first three pages of this issue give us a rehash of everything  having to do with Wally West, since the beginning of the Rebirth Era, from Barry pulling Wally out of the Speed Force, to Barry and Batman finding the Comedian’s Smiley Face button embedded in the Batcave wall, to the events of Heroes in Crisis and Flash Forward.

The action picks up as Barry, Wally, Wallace and Jay leave the Batman’s Vault, in search of Metron’s Chair, with the Darkest Knight hot on their trails. 

In the Speed Force.

With the Darkest Knight’s presence corrupting the Speed Force, Barry and Wally bickering the entire time, I’m reminded of why I hated the post Crisis Flash… Wally wasn’t mature enough to wear the mantle of Barry’s fame.

Sure, he had the speed, he was even faster than Barry, but he was still the same jealous little kid inside, the one who needed to be patted on the head, the one who couldn’t get on with the Titans, even though he was probably the most powerful of them. 

He was just an immature kid, and here, Williamson dragged that all into the foreground once again.

All so Wally West, the King of the Redemption Arc, could have another Redemption Arc…

Sorry, that did me in. 

The rest of the story is pretty good… the art is wonderful, the Jay / Barry / Wallace interplay is really kinda neat, and all the Black Flashes… well, I’m a sucker for Death icons, so a mass of Death Speedsters, well that’s fun with a CAPITAL F!

But, did we need another Wally gets to whine story?

Sorry, this wasn’t the finest arc of the Death Metal Saga.

Out of 5🌶        🌶🌶🌶

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Death Metal #4 ‘Shot In The Dark’

Writer: Scott ‘Scream King’ Snyder   Artist: Greg ‘The Muscle’ Capullo  Inks: Jonathan ‘Bloodied’ Glapion

“So, ever wonder why you never see A Harley Who Laughs’?’

———————————————————————————————————

And, that Gentle Readers, is the crux of one of those puzzles about this series… Why don’t we ever see more twisted versions of the Villains who infest Earth Prime?

The Robin King (this is the character who rates SECOND on my memorable Characters list, especially with his own One-Shot—— Who’s First?? Time, Gentle Ones in time…) puts the explanation out there, and it is very simple.

And worth the read… But, I digress.

So, Issue 4 picks up with Sergeant Rock describing what has been happening on Earth - Prime, and we finally get to see who has been carrying him around… AMBUSH BUG! Yes, the character that made the Fourth Wall more transparent than an open Anderson window has been carrying Rock around as his own personal narrator…

Which, if you know the Bug, is a joke unto itself.

So, here we go, the ride is picking up steam, and we are now following 6, count’em SIX, separate story lines. A guy could get whiplash, or Bullwhip or some other third rate character… But, I digress.

We have the Trinity storyline, the SpeedMetal storyline, Multiverse’s End, and the Lantern Storyline from the last issue, the Justice League / Legion of Doom story… am I forgetting anything? 

Oh, and of course, the Robin King.

Where to start with this… I guess the simplest place to start is the artwork.

Greg Capullo’s pencils are absolutely wonderful. For anybody who it's to watch the process of drawing I want to watch so he's got a really wonderful touch I recommend Greg Capullo’s Instagram site. As he's drawing pages for these books, he posts the pencils as he finishes pieces of the process . Normally, he has six or seven photo panels showing exactly what he's been doing.  In man cases, this involves crowd scenes, with extensive detail. His work is beautiful, it’s easy to see why he is such a sought after talent.

Jonathan Glapion’s inks on Capullo’s pencils are comparable to Austin on Byrne, and Janson over Miller, Janson over Colan… Enhancing, and not hiding the intricate detail rendered in the pencils, adding that last flash of lightning to bring it all together. The balance struck between them is almost organic, a constant growth between the two, bringing them to levels bordering on the true Classic Art teams of the last 50 years.

I do not make these comparisons lightly

Now, to the story. Scott Snyder is powering a roller coaster with a rocket sled. The coordination between the different aspects of these stories is both intricate and daring. With all the different aspects of this story spinning like plates on sticks, Snyder juggles the plot lines, and what is left to him by the myriad of writers as Emmet Kelly did in the heyday of Ringling Brothers.

His deft touch, and subtle influences are balanced by lace covered sledgehammer blows, leaving the reader reeling, and wanting so very much more.

Scott Snyder, much like Tom Taylor, has pulled out all the stops, cut the brake lines, kicked out the jams, insert favorite euphemism for creating a high speed, non-stop mad ride to Hell!

And, much to my wallet’s chagrin, I am very happy about it.

Now, as it crosses to other books, and other writers pick up the reins, I am sure Snyder will still be the whip hand driving the story, not allowing some of these writers to go too far astray (unless it’s Tom King… then, well Woo Hoooo!)

I can’t say enough good things about this story, or the team creating it. I’m beginning t feel a little biased, but, what the heck.

Out of 5🌶        🌶🌶🌶🌶.5

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Death Metal: Robin King #1 ‘The Robin Who Would Be King’

Writer: Peter J. Tomasi   Artist: Riley Rossmo

‘Aw! Come on, this is the fun part!

Get up and let’s FIGHT!’

———————————————————————————————————

Games, within games, within games…

So, the Batman who Laughs wasn’t infallible.

And the Robin King is going to be the bigger threat to the Darkest Knight than any combination of the Trinity, Flashes or their cohorts.

At least, that’s my takeaway from this issue.

We continue the story of the Robin King, as started in the Tales of the Dark Universe one shot.  Bruce has grown up, and grown into his sociopathy, and genius. He has used the family fortune to get all the training necessary, and to accumulate all the tools, to begin his reign as the true Evil Overlord of Gotham.

Utilizing his accumulated weapons, he has taken out Commissioner Gordon, Firestorm, Animal Man, Adam Strange Blue Beetle (Ted Kord), and the Red Tornado, all in truly spectacular and extraordinarily grisly fashion.

While the Black Hole Implosion for Firestorm was a particularly well thought out death, I think, so far, the ‘Mortal Coil’ Death, for the Red Tornado was the most imaginative… making his powers totally uncontrollable, while moving him closer to his ultimate dream, to be a real person, before his form totally destroys itself from the stresses of his own speed.

Marvelous! Fantastic! Gross!

Enter the Batman who Laughs, with the proposition to make the Robin King special, one of his own…

But, he’s a Robin, so, off to the Groblin Pit he goes!

Hence, his mistake, and possibly another chink in the boiler plate of his plans… since Bruce Wayne is NO Robin!

Peter Tomasi’s scripting for this issue is simply remarkable. The creep factor he brings to this iteration of Bruce Wayne is almost eviscerating. Reading this was painful to my eyes and psyche, feeling the levels of insanity drip off the page, and scratch across my mind like a little bird’s unnaturally sharp talons.

He really hit all the horror factors.

Then, there was the artwork for this story. Riley Rossmo’s artwork set the mood for this story. His shattered pencil / inks style, which can be distracting, was integral to telling this story. It allowed the Reader to view this story as if it were playing out in Bruce’s mind, its all the fracturing being how he is viewing the world.

For me, this story has been the highlight of the series… thus far. I am anticipating this, which is near the midpoint of things, is setting up the Wednesday Night Episode…so, - 

Tune In, Gentle Readers! 

Same Bat-Time

Same Bat Channel!

The Best Is Yet To Come!

Did I neglect there is a B-story, with Signal, Spoiler, Orphan and Red Robin taking on Quietus, the amalgam of Batman Ras’ al Ghul and Duke Thimas, from another Dark Universe, written by Tony Patrick and drawn by Daniel Sampere?

This story brings in a plot line for ‘What’s happening for the Other Bat-Family Elements’, as they try to find their way through Castle Bat’s myriad streets… 

I am guessing we will start to see more of these stories.

I am completely fine with this, rather than having to recap things later…

Out of 5🌶        🌶🌶🌶🌶.5

[autumn-foxfire]

The thing i noticed when i look at dabihawks fanart n read through your expiriences with the meta part of the fandom is that a lot of people seem to lean on dabi side of the dabihawks conflict. Like its hawks who has to make changes to earn dabi. Its hawks whos turned it a villain, its hawks who forgives or even thanks dabi for what he did. Actually i dont think ive ever seen art ro read a fic (but to be fair im extremly selective in fic reading) where dabi is the one to apologise and try to earn hawks

N i think this sorta makes sense because for a lot of dabihawks shippers, dabi is probably their favorite out of the two. That also makes sense cuz hes been around longer n has appealing design so it makes sense that people would try and fit hawks around dabis narrative instead of vice versa. They find dabi more likable n more interesting so its his side they want to explore.

I feel that this is completely different for me because hawks is my no 1 best boy. Like before hawks bnha was the kind of show where i would say 'oh i like the characters but none of them are mine fav' like id say shouto, shinsou or jirou were my favs mostly based on aesthetics or recognizing pieces i usually like in characters in them, but those pieces never being strong enough for me to say this is my fav bnha character like id say izaya is my favorite durarara character or ranpo is my favorite bungo stray dogs character. And then bam. Bird Time. Like when i first saw hawks i think the most i thought was 'damn thats a cool design' but as we got more of him he very quickly became the character i loved most and wanted to see more off.

Dabi on the other hand i was never really interested in. Like he was cool n all but overall i didnt really care for him until the touya theory dropped and until dabihawks. For me hes perfectly fine, i dont dislike him or anything but i like him most when hes involved with other characters i like, like Todorokis n Hawks. Like even now after a good while on Dabihawks juice id still stay hes not my fav villain. That would probably be Toga, Geten (as little as we get of him) and honestly mr compress just for being an evil magician i need more mr compress

So the fact that hawks is my fav means that unlike ppl whos fav is dabi i focus more on how can dabi earn hawks. How can dabi get better, would he ask for help, would he quit villainy, would he apologize. And most importantly would hawks accept him back.

Makes me feel like amongst dabihawks shippers theres simply two different streams that would probably get annoyed by each others content n feel like the other is spoiling their fav character.

Like i sure as fuck get annoyed when artists i follow for dabihawks start talking about how hawks should have been a villain n how hawks is actually an evil murderer while the league has a point n is poiting out that the heroes will save only those who dont fight back. No really thats a take i heard, lets just forget muscular, mustard, moonfish, gentle, the yakuza and ALL FOR FUCKING ONE who were all arrested perfectly fine without fighting back. But of course these people dont mean saved as in arrested, forced to rexamin their own behavior and work to be better people, they mean saved as in i want my favs to be coddled and patted on the back and instantly forgiven and even told they were right all along and they are the most special a good. Geeze

I fuckin went off subject so hard this is less of an ask n more of a rant now. The only good thing about seeing all those bad takes is that every time i see one my motivation to write a dabihawks story where dabi faces concequences, and they actually have to hash the whole villain hero ideologies thing out, grows stronger

...I’m sorry, I wanted to answer this sooner but wanted to get the smaller asks out of the way first T-T

But yes! That’s been my experience when it comes to Dabihawks as well. Not many people focus on Hawks side of the conflict and instead tend to make him the agressor in the relationship when they want conflict (it always tends to be Hawks who upsets Dabi for example, or Hawks will say something insensitive towards Dabi or do something that upsets Dabi). Not many people treat them as a pair, they just tend to focus on the Dabi angst more then the Hawks angst or angst experienced by the both of them (I like to call that the Dabias and many people suffer from it in the Dabihawks shipping fandom I’ve found).

I like reading stories like this too, from time to time, but I’m just tired of all the stories or comics or fan art being Hawks the bad person in the relationship with him having to apologise and make it up to Dabi. Especially when in canon it’s Dabi that has treated Hawks pretty terribly (he almost got him killed by lying to him about when he was going to release High End and he almost killed him during the raid, meanwhile Hawks hasn’t anything as horrible towards Dabi except hold him at knife point but that was more for his own protection then to threaten Dabi).

I feel like I’m just bitching because people don’t wrote fanfiction to my specifications but you’d be grumpy too if your favourite character always gets the short end of the stick in work that is supposed to be about the pair of them being a couple.

Also don’t get me started on the stories that make Hawks “see the light” and join Dabi’s side after he maimed him, some even going far as to have him thank Dabi for what he did. It just reeks of the Dabias and I absolutely hate. Let Hawks experience trauma you cowards, especially trauma that we know was caused by the hands of dear old Dabi.

I wish more work would try to reform Dabi as a person instead of having Hawks become a villain (especially because works that usually have Hawks become a villain tend to ignore the horrifying plans the League want to commit or acknowledged them but fool themselves into thinking Hawks would actually be down for all the BS). I think it’s more interesting to see a bad person try to change, it’s why I’ve enjoyed Endeavor’s character arc despite not liking him as a character. Like sure, I don’t mind bastardization arcs too but they have to be done with character I can see it happening too and Hawks isn’t that type of person.

(In fact it’s such an interesting source of conflict that Dabi and Hawks are very resolved people. They’re not likely to change their ways for anything but I don’t really see people explore that even though it’s the perfect source for angst).

I’m so tired of villain stans who wanted Hawks to become evil (and then wanted him to validate their murder favs). I want more stories where Hawks puts his foot down and Dabi realises he wants to be a better person for him (it’s in those stories I could actually see him bonding with his family again too because right now Dabi is a man with no qualms with breaking his family apart for his revenge).

I just wished more people would let Dabi face the consequences of his actions too. Like if you’re going to make Hawks suffer for what he did (even though I roll my eyes at the thought) then Dabi who has done much worse should be suffering ten times over.

Make it make sense.