#like sorry i just wanted to have a nice day at the renaissance fair

[blood-loving-leech]

“he made fun of me for having an ed”

no bitch

you got laxatives

i said don’t abuse the laxatives

you abused the fucking laxatives

you constantly complained about the consequences of abusing the laxatives

i got tired of it and said you shouldn’t be abusing the fucking laxatives

and then you got mad

[nevertheless-moving]

been catching snatches of your stormlight posting. never enough to actually understand anything. should i read it

I really liked it! However it was on my reading list for many years before I finally was in the right headspace to dive in. It's a lot.

The Stormlight Archive consists of four fairly long high fantasy novels and two tie in novellas. It takes place on an alternate fantasy world called Roshar, which is part of a larger fantasy universe called the Cosmere. If you like high fantasy epics, or if you're interested in giving them a shot, then yes, definitely try out the Cosmere!

High fantasy, as I define it — sorry if you know this already anon also sorry if my definition differs from other's reading this — is...bigger than life. High fantasy is two main things. First, the setting— magic creatures and fantastical architecture and folks with super cool magic powers. Second, High Fantasy is the way people behave, which verges into Mythology and Fairy Tale. I'll explain.

Don't get me wrong, when well written, and Cosmere is very well written, the people still feel real. I mean the glowing guys wearing vaguely renaissance faire clothing who are fighting the giant rock monsters still have complex relationships with their fathers. But it's also an idealization — people saying the right words at the right time, people being their noblest version of themselves. Read and/or Watch the Lord of The Rings and take notes on Aragorn's speech at the Black Gate. It's the fantasy of people at their best, noble in all the ways we want the word to mean.

Low fantasy, by contrast, is a bit more grounded, both in the setting and the people. The places in low fantasy look more like your day to day on earth — dive bars with bouncers and crude jokes on bathroom doors. The dive bar bouncer in low fantasy is just a massive rock troll and the graffiti has penises of many different fantasy races. The people are a bit more like some guy you know. It can still be a good some guy you know. Just if they have to fight a nightmare monster they're probably ugly crying and maybe peeing themselves a little. People can still be good and bad, they just maybe have a bit less polish.

There's obviously lots of grey area — Game of Thrones has a lot of high fantasy setting elements, being a vaugely mideval europe pastiche with dragons, but the way it focuses on brothels and people trudging through mud is a bit more low, the reality of a world without indoor plumbing, as opposed to the dream of a world without cellphones. It has epic speeches and larger than life figures, but they get bogged down by stuff like taxes and dehydration, which high fantasy doesn't generally linger on. I'd argue some of the worst behavior fits right in with high fantasy — the red wedding is just a much graphic version than we're used to of the ol' scheming advisor trope, but still fits into the archetypes. Anyway.

Discworld by Terry Pratchett is an excellent low fantasy series, and if you're looking for a fantasy book recommendation and haven't read/watched/ didn't really enjoy lord of the rings, or if you did and want to read my favorite series, then read these 100%. If you've read them already — nice.

(I think having some more familiar touchstones makes fantasy novels more enjoyable for folks who aren't into their recreational reading being Very Unlike real life . Discworld is incredibly funny, while also being full of heart. The turns of phrase are adult without being crazy dense. I'm not a personally big grimdark person; I prefer my stories with a core belief that people who are good deep down, which is at the heart of Pratchett's writing. I laughed, I cried. I recommend Guards, Guards as a first book but you can start lots of places.)

To get back a little closer to your initial question — I started reading the Cosmere with Mistborn, which consists of three novels, a several hundred year time gap, and then four more, slightly shorter but still pretty long novels. It takes place on a completely different world from Stormlight. The planets are only tentatively connected, but there the very solid promise that they will interact a lot more soon.

By soon I mean in the next decade as far as book publishing goes, because the author, Brandon Sanderson, is a madman. And by madman I mean he fucking writes like a machine. I checked his website and he posts things like "23% percent through my next book." "45% through" "82% through" who writes like that??? He's also a massive prude, which is hilarious. I love him in a non parasocial way. He's got the next 20 years of book releases mapped out. Whom the fuck??

Anyway if you like high fantasy epics, or want to try one, then yes, definitely try out the Cosmere! It's funny, I've always had a hard time listening to audiobooks, but either things clicked in my head or the narrators, Michael Kremer and Kate Reading, are just that good.

I...actually liked Mistborn more than Stormlight. The first Stormlight book I found a little hard to get through at the start, because the main characters seriously go through it, but I had trust in the author at that point and things DID get better. Mistborn hooked me start to finish and every plot twist felt perfectly executed in a way that Stormlight didn't completely nail for me. I mean, Stormlight Archive is still a great series, with compelling characters and well structured romances and interesting world building and super, super rad fight scenes.

I'm posting obsessively about Stormlight partially because I'm scrambling for more cosmere content (I didn't actually expect to reach the end) and partially because there are things in the books that weren't 100% satisfying, and those spaces are where fandom lives. Again, it's still really, really good. Just long, and sometimes fairly heavy in how much the main characters struggle with mental illness while fighting crab monsters.

In the stormlight archive, your personal fight with depression and PTSD and drug addiction is actually inextricably linked to your super rad glowing magic power fight with rock monsters and crab people. The crab people who also have a lot of trauma and mental illness.

Honestly, I'm not sure how Sanderson is going to resolve that.

But fuck it, TLDR, Stormlight is good but long, and the next book is supposed to resolve a bunch of stuff and it comes out this December, and the way he wrapped up things in his other books was really satisfying! So this is a pretty good time to get into the series!

[jelliezellie]

A Sweet Escape - Levi Ackerman x Reader

The moon glowed softly on you as the cold air revealed your breaths. Beyond the beaming lanterns and loud conversations in the bar, you sat alone on the steps. Nobody kicked you out, or anything; you just needed to be alone. Or, at least, away from the crowd. 

Muffled steps made their way toward you, but you didn’t bother looking at who it was. Only one person could have walked so quietly. ��Going somewhere, Captain?” You called out. 

He sat down next to you, somehow managing to keep his grace. “Actually, I was searching for you.”

“Why?” Your head swiveled in his direction, but his focus remained forward. The stars shimmered in the reflection of his silver eyes. 

“You don’t normally skip out on a party. You and Hange like to be around people,” his gaze met yours, “or am I wrong?”

You shrugged. “People are strange. They’re a touchy subject.”

“No, they’re a stupid subject. My point was, you shouldn’t be alone,” he grumbled. 

You smiled and leaned your head on his shoulder. “Thanks.”

“Don’t get clingy now,” he scoffed but didn’t push you away. You looked up at the sky, but his eyes were on you. “Do you want to get a better view?” 

“What?”

“The sky—do you want to see it from a better angle?”

You nodded and without hesitation, he stood, taking you with him. The two of you strolled through the empty streets of the night, a comfortable silence surrounding you. He didn’t want anyone to notice, but when Levi wasn’t tearing his hair out from stress, it was usually because you were near. 

You and Levi stood on a wooden platform that connected to the top of the walls by strong ropes. He pulled the rope, scaling the two of you up the walls slowly. You stared down at the town underneath. Everything and everyone looked so small when you were reaching for the heavens. 

Levi secured the rope and helped you step onto the ground. He followed you as you sat on the edge of the wall, his sunken eyes ever so slightly widened as your legs dangled off the wall. He sat next to you, a little further away from the edge since he had seen his fair share of soldiers fall from the walls. The only difference was that they had ODM gear equipped. You did not. 

“The sky is beautiful,” you commented, your expression glimmering with awe. The moon cast a gentle light on your features, one that he could only describe as something he’d see in a renaissance painting. 

When you turned to him, he swiftly looked down at the titans pawing at the walls. “It is,” was all he could muster out. 

“Hey,” you called softly, “did you know you have moons in your eyes?”

He turned to you. “Did you know you have stars in yours?” He hadn’t realized what he said until the words left his chapped lips. “I’m sorry.”

“For what? It’s a nice compliment.”

“It sounded too cheesy. Too gross.”

“I love cheesy; you’ve seen me in the mess hall, Captain,” you teased. 

Levi shook his head, his baggy eyes lifting up to the sky as he balled his hands into fists on the tough pavement. He wondered if he deserved to see such a beautiful canvas, one that the heavens were sweet enough to let him enjoy. Did he do enough to make up for the lost soldiers? The people he could have saved? They called it the “Levi Curse” for a reason—every soldier working under his name would soon die, no matter what.

You placed your hand on top of his. “You think too much, Captain.”

He stared at you, his expression hardening. “What else is there to do when I’m not fighting?”

“You’re always fighting, I think,” you murmured, “you just don’t realize it. This thick skull of yours,” —You flicked the side of his head— “wages civil wars against itself every day. ‘Regret versus Reason’, ‘Loss versus Logic’. When will you ever think of anything other than your failures, Captain?”

He tsked, swatting your hand away, but the words got to him. There was something about you that always just knew. You always knew what he was thinking. You always knew what he was going to tell you before the words could manufacture in his brain. “I don’t always think about my failures.”

You tilted your head. “What are you thinking about right now, then,?” 

He turned his entire body towards you and studied. He studied the way the breeze ran through your hair. The way your lashes fell into each other every time you blinked. The way your posture was god awful, no matter how many times he told you to fix it. The way you were looking into his eyes with a smile. 

“I’m thinking about you.”

The words caught you off guard, but you positioned yourself to face him. “What about me?”

“How you should’ve combed your hair. How you still call me ‘Captain’ even though we are equal. How you should fix your posture,” he paused, his gaze captivated by yours. “And… how your smile is contagious. How your eyes are captivating. How your eyelashes suit you, as strange as it sounds.” Before you could speak, his tired eyes flicked down to your lips, then back to your eyes. “But more than anything, I’m thinking of how much I want to kiss you.”

His calloused hand cupped the side of your face and he leaned in close, his lips softly brushing up against yours. Your hand found its way to the back of his head, where the fuzzy hair of his undercut grew out. His lips tasted like tea and you nearly had to stifle a laugh—was he drinking tea in the bar? 

His other hand tucked your hair behind your ear as he pulled away slowly, his thumb rubbing your bottom lip. “God,” he breathed, “you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that.”

[mid0khan]

Dreamling Week 2024, day 5

Thanks again to @mr-sadman for the prompts!

Prompt: Midsummer

Title: I'll Follow Thee and Make a Heaven of Hell

Summary: Hob would do anything to see Dream happy. Yes, even going to one of Shakespeare's plays. (1,254 words, no TW, also Human!AU)

Read on AO3:

Dream was practically vibrating out of his skin with excitement as he crossed the literature department to reach the history teachers offices. It sucked that Hob’s office was literally on the other side of campus from his. Or maybe it was a blessing, there probably wouldn’t be much work done if they were next to each other at all time.

But it meant that now the literature professor had to keep himself from running as he walked through the whole university to join his husband.

He barged in Hob’s office without knocking, causing the history professor to startle badly.

“Jesus Christ, Dream!” he exclaimed frightfully. “What is it? Is something wrong?”

“You will never believe what Lucienne just told me!” Dream exclaimed, doing his best to refrain from screaming. His jaws were starting to hurt from smiling.

Hob chuckled fondly, standing from his desk to kiss his lover.

“It must be really extraordinary, I haven’t seen you so happy since our wedding!” he teased.

“Don’t be stupid, it doesn’t even come close.” Dream rolled his eyes, still bouncing on his feet.

Hob hummed, pretending to think. “Did your sibling break their leg during their last fashion show?”

“Stop it, you make me look bad,” the literature professor chastised, laughing all the same. “No, it’s far better than that!”

“Now I’m really curious! What is it?”

“A Midsummer Night’s Dream will be performed at the Globe in two weeks-” Hob must have made a face because Dream hastily added: “and it’s staged by Kay Culverton Stranger himself!” Hob really tried to look excited, but he must have done a bad job at it considering that his husband’s enthusiasm deflated quickly. “I’m sure you would like it!” the literature professor pleaded. “Stranger has such a deep understanding of Shakespeare’s work, his stagings truly are the bests when it comes to Shakespeare, they always highlight the emotional and political depths of the plays in such amazing ways…”

“I’m sorry darling. You know what I think about Shakespeare…” Dream seemed about to cry, his eyes fixed on the ground. Hob gently tilted his head up, forcing his lover to look at him. “But I would gladly go with you anyway.”

“But you hate Shakespeare.”

“I don’t hate him; I think he is overrated and I don’t like his plays. But I knew what I was signing up for when I married a Shakespeare specialist.”

“I don’t want you to have a horrible time just for my sake,” Dream sulked.

“I won’t, I’ll be able to watch my amazing husband be excited about something he loves for a whole evening!” His lover still didn’t seem convinced so Hob changed his strategy “Let’s make a deal. We go see A Midsummer Night’s Dream in two weeks, and in exchange you let me drag you to the exhibit about the evolution of the guild system during the Renaissance that starts next month at the British Museum. What do you say?”

“It seems like a fair trade,” Dream admitted, a smile growing back on his face. “I accept your proposition.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” Hob declared with a mock curtsey, which earned him a playful swat and some delighted giggles. “Now, shall we go back to our mansion for the eventide?” he continued with the poshest accent he could muster.

“Our flat hardly count as a mansion, dearest,” Dream chuckled fondly. “But yes, we shall, if you are done with your work here.”

It was a nice day, and they decided to walk back to their flat. Dream genuinely tried not to talk Hob’s ears off, but he was far too excited about the play, and soon he was passionately info-dumping, hands flapping with enthusiasm. Hob didn’t mind. He basked in it; he remembered, when he had met Dream, how the literature teacher had been distant and silent, barely letting show any interest in anything. Now, after years together (and after going no-contact with Dream’s parents), he could talk for hours about his special interests, eager to share them with his husband. He still struggled around strangers, and he often appeared aloof and cold to those who didn’t know him well, but he made progresses one step after another, opening up a bit more every time, allowing himself to be. Hob delighted every day in being able to watch Dream free himself.

When they arrived to their home, Dream practically threw himself at their PC to book their tickets to the play. Hob watched worriedly as his excitement died down, his shoulders dropping as he let out a disappointed sigh.

“What’s wrong, love?”

“It’s already sold out,” Dream answered sadly. He turned the PC off and went to their room.

Hob heard him cry through the door, but he didn’t dare enter. He knew Dream didn’t like people seeing him cry. He cooked his favourite dish and prepared his favourite movie, hoping that it would cheer him up a bit, and waited.

When Dream finally got out of their room with puffy eyes and damp cheeks, he was grateful for hob’s efforts, but it was obvious he was still crestfallen.

The following days, he tried to act as if everything was fine, but Hob could see he was still upset. When even their colleagues started asking him is Dream was okay, the history professor decided to act. He took advantage of his office hours (which were really calm this time of the year) and made many phone-calls.

There was one week left before the play when he walked in Dream’s office with two tickets in his hand.

The literature professor barely refrained from screaming, springing from his chair and catching Hob in a bone-breaking embrace.

“How did you get them?” Dream asked, in awe.

Hob smiled, trying to keep his bouncing husband from hitting his desk. “The advantage of being overly friendly and changing career path more times than I can count in my twenties is that I know a lot of people. I made a few phone-calls, promised to help with a house move, got ourselves invited to quite a few get-togethers to reconnect with old friends (which you can obviously skip if you don’t want to come), and finally got my hand on two tickets, and we even have VIP seats.”

“You did all of that for a play you don’t even want to go to?” Dream asked, confusion momentarily eclipsing the euphoria.

“I did all of that so my beloved husband wouldn’t be upset anymore. And it was all worth it, considering how happy it makes you.”

Dream rode the happiness high the whole week, spooking their colleagues a few times with his uncharacteristically cheerful behaviour, to Hob’s great amusement. The day of the play, he was so excited he couldn’t stay still. When they got to the theatre, he was shaking so hard with anticipation Hob worried for a moment they wouldn’t be let in, but thankfully they were guided to their seats without a fuss. They were placed on a balcony, with a perfect view on the stage.

Dream kept squealing and bouncing with delight until the play started. When the first actor appeared on the stage, he suddenly became very still and silent, immediately captivated. Hob didn’t look at the stage once of the whole night; instead, he watched as Dream smiled, cried, and laughed, delighting in his husband’s joy. When the curtain fell and it was time to go home, he couldn’t remember a single word from the play.

They both had an amazing evening.

[rumor-weed]

@airic4t this is for you. I appreciate the love for the fic! Feel free to check out my other stuff on AO3. I collect a lot of my newer fic/drabble stuff under Harvesting the Vegetable Drabbles. They're sometimes a little silly/more crack-oriented, but where else are you going to find a VeggieTales Twilight parody with our wacky nutty characters like Bartlebey? Or other drabble requests and random prompts? I'm still updating all the chapters over there, but I'll be sure to update it to include this and the sequel soon.

Double Date(s) part 2

Petunia brushed out the brown, flowy skirt of her pirate costume and then adjusted the olive sash separating the skirt from the billowy white top she had picked. Her braid had been undone, her hair sprayed with a sea-salt spray, leaving her hair in perfectly piratey beach waves.

Larry approached her, his costume unchanged from his usual 'Pirates Who Don't Do Anything' appearances. "Hey, 'Tunia, sorry I'm a little late. I had - I had a thing."

"It's okay. You're just a few minutes late," she said, approaching him as well. "I'm sure it was very important."

"It was! Very important. And uh, secret. So uh - oh, gee, ya look great in that - your costume, I mean, it looks - cute, you know?"

"Cute?"

"Pretty? Um... cool? Pretty cool!" He grinned, and Petunia decided in that moment that she thought Larry was very cute as well when he tripped over his words, so instead of being direct, she asked,

"This... important and secret thing... didn't have anything to do with that Milk Money Bandit getting loose again, did it?"

"What? No! No, I - I mean, yes! But not like, I wasn't there, but the traffic by the bank was - I was getting money for the drumsticks. You know I love the comically oversized drumsticks, 'Tunia, and -"

"Yeah, I know," she said with an amused giggle. "You know I was worried; I accidentally double-booked our date."

"Our date?" Larry repeated, looking at her suddenly with wide eyes.

"I - I mean, our day. I said 'day', didn't I?" Petunia said, and it was her turn to fluster, her cheeks pink as she fidgeted with her sash again. "I... I had an interview I was supposed to give for work. It was a pretty big deal, and... I called him to cancel, but he was kind of a jerk about it."

"What? No I - no he wasn't. Was he?"

"I thought superheroes would be charming, but this guy? Ugh. He was so mad about me canceling."

"That's not - he said that?" Larry's concern grew, his eyebrows furrowing as he stared at her, trying to think of a reply that wouldn't out him. Petunia enjoyed it.

"He didn't. I could just... tell by his tone."

"Ya probably misheard! I - I bet he was super friendly, and - and he probably thought ya were, I don't know, just goin' to go out on a date - day with a guy -"

"Oh, yeah, he knew. I guess he knows everything. When I hung up, he told me to enjoy the Renaissance fair. Can you believe that?"

"What's wrong with that? He wants ya to have a nice time!"

"I never told him I was going, Larry... boy, aren't those fairies just so cute? Look at those wings." She said, subtly shifting from his superhero name to pointing out the costumed couple standing by the gates.

"I - I bet he was just really good at guessin'."

"It's funny because, you know, you called me on a number I didn't give you. And as soon as I called Larry-Boy, he answered and sounded exactly like..."

"A cool, awesome guy who I totally am not? I know. I wish I was that guy. He's really cool. He'd totally nicely cancel his interview with ya just to let ya have a good time at the fair with your best friend."

Petunia smirked at him, tilting her head to the side and considering her next move. Before she could, Larry timidly asked,

"So uh, Larry-Boy might've... mentioned to me... that you like-like me?"

Petunia was caught off-guard by the question. She had forgotten that she had admitted that on the phone when she still thought she was talking to someone who wasn't Larry. She laughed and darted forward to place a kiss on his cheek before she could lose her courage.

"Does that answer your question, Larry-Boy?"

"Yeah," Larry said, a faint smile left after the initial shock. "I like-like you too."

Double Date(s)

((random plot generator drabble)) ((PetuniaXLarry)

Petunia felt an electric shock go through her body when she saw the note on the calendar. Interview with Larry-Boy.

She had scheduled the interview for the channel, put it on the calendar, and then proceeded to delete the information from her brain once she clocked out. This was how she ended up, two weeks later, calling Larry and asking him excitedly if he might go to the renaissance festival with her. Larry loved the jousts. They bonded over a shared love of the annual festival during her first movie, Duke and the Great Pie War, and she had finally worked up the nerve to invite him to go with her this year.

She didn’t have the heart to break the date, but she certainly couldn’t risk losing the interview. Larry-Boy was always so busy with crime-fighting, it was hard to get any time with him.

Her work cellphone rang, and she answered it quickly. “Hello?”

“Hey, ‘Tunia, I -”

“Larry? Why are you calling my work phone?”

“Your… what? Wait. Oh, shit - I mean - I thought this was your personal.”

“I never gave you my work phone number,”

“I… lost my contacts. New phone. Who this?”

“Larry.”

“I uh, had to look ya up,” Larry said. “This came up under your name, and… well, anyway. I um… well, I wanted to say… I um, I’m really lookin’ forward to the festival tomorrow and all -”

“Oh. Um… yeah, me too! I’ve been looking forward to it all week, and I don’t wanna -”

“I mean, we don’t gotta do it if you don’t wanna.”

“I do wanna! I very much wanna. But uh… I just… can’t decide,” she said, giving in when she realized she couldn’t bring herself to disappoint Larry. It had taken so long to work up the courage to even ask him out in the first place. “Should I dress up? Are you going to dress up?”

“Oh. Um, yeah. Yeah. Probably like, a pirate.”

“You and your pirates.” She said teasingly.

“You could be a pirate too. Like a couples costume. Uh, not that we’re - we’re not like, a couple-couple, but uh…”

Petunia’s cheeks turned the color of her namesake. “Yes! A pirate. I’ll do that. Thanks for making up my mind for me, Larry! I’ll uh… I’ll see ya tomorrow.”

“Wait -”

But Petunia hung up, her stomach twisting with knots and filling with butterflies. She calmed herself, took her phone, and dialed the number for Larry-Boy. She’d just ask if they could reschedule. Surely he’d understand.

The phone answered all too quickly, and a voice answered, somewhat deeply as if putting on a voice, “Uh, hello?”

“Larry-Boy, it’s Petunia Rhubarb, the news reporter? We had an interview scheduled, and -”

“Right. The interview. Um… truth is, I uh… I forgot. And scheduled some… crime-fighting that night.”

“You… scheduled your crime-fighting?” She asked, eyebrows narrowed. “I thought that was just… like, when you were needed.”

“I’m always needed. It’s a very dangerous… Bumblyburg is full of criminals, and crime. And criminals doing crime.”

“Well, um… I guess that works out, because I have… I have something too, and I had um… I had scheduled two things without thinking, and…”

“Phew. Well, I’m glad that works out for both of us.” Larry-Boy said, sighing in relief. “Because I gotta… I gotta fight that crime, ya know?”

“I mean, it’s very important,” she said, nodding solemnly. “When do you want to reschedule?”

“The day after tomorrow?” He suggested.

“That sounds like a good idea. I feel so bad. I was going to cancel my other plans, but I… the guy I like, he’s just so sweet, and I didn’t want to disappoint him.”

“Like?” The voice squeaked. “Like, like-like?”

“Oh. Um, yes. I - I guess,” she said with am embarrassed, soft chuckle. “It’s kind of like… the first time I’ve asked him out. But uh, the interview is super important, and I scheduled with you first, so -”

“Okaysoundsgreat, gottago and figure somethings out. Enjoy the renaissance fair! Bye!”

Petunia stood there in silence for a moment after he hung up, stunned. It took her a moment before she realized with faint amusement:

She had never mentioned the renaissance fair to Larry-Boy.

[jisungsplatforms]

[Chapter IV: You F*cking Minx!]

Pairing: Producer/Music Major! Han Jisung x Photographer! fem! reader

Genre: NSFW! Smut; non idol au, college au, strangers to lovers

Warnings: Mature Content! strong language, masterbation (m&f) (only implied this chapter), discussion of kinks, good old nudes & teasing Jisung ;)

Chapter Word Count: 2.8k (lol minus the emojis cause APPARENTLY, they count on docs)

Taglist: @hyunjeongins @seungstarss @es-kay-zee @hyunjinsplaything @formidxble @freckledquokka @lbxgsunshine @cartierbin @solistired @rainbowmagicpixecorn @http-hyxnjxn (want to be added? send an ask or a dm! <3)

You were starting to think that touching yourself every night was rather unhealthy...

It’s been over a week since you and Jisung met—a week since the both of you started your unspoken arrangement. Breathing heavily, you laid limply on your untidy bed, the only source of light available was the moon’s rays peeking through your curtains. The lower half of your body was completely rid of any clothing; the only thing covering your skin were splotches of your essence. Your phone then lit up with a notification from ‘Hannie Bear’.

1 new message(s) from Hannie Bear 🍯🧸

Hannie Bear 🍯🧸: u okay baby? do u wanna sleep now?

Using your unsoiled hand, you grabbed your phone and typed as best as you could.

Me: Nah, I still have a little bit of energy left in me

Hannie Bear 🍯🧸: really? cool lol

let’s chat for a bit

Me: Sure. Just hold on for a sec

You sat up and wiped your hand on the towel laid under you. Swinging one of your legs off the bed, you used your toes to pick up your garments from the floor, and quickly put them on. Two new notifications from Jisung appeared on your screen. You read his messages as you threw your dirted towel onto the floor.

Hannie Bear 🍯🧸: aight.

actually you know what? just call me please!

You laid back down and tapped on his icon, which now consisted of a selfie of himself from when he ‘needed to use’ your phone a few days ago, at the top of your screen to switch to the call screen. Your phone rang several times before Jisung answered. Through the phone, you could hear the faint sound of rustling and a groan.

“Hey,” he greeted with a raspy voice. You instinctively smiled when you heard him.

“Hey.”

Jisung cleared his throat before speaking. “So I was wondering, since— ah wait. Sorry, my throat’s kinda...”

“No, go ahead. I don’t mind.”

“Thanks,” he chuckled. “You should get some water too! You know, cause— yeah. After all that.”

You laughed, heart warming at his consideration. “Yeah. Thanks!” Bringing your phone with you, you walked to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water. You set the call to speaker mode before putting your phone down to drink. Hearing the hilarious way Jisung took big gulps of water almost made you choke on your water.

He let out an over-exaggerated ‘ha!’ and said with a funny voice, “Refreshing!” Hearing your snort made Jisung smile. “Okay, so now that we’re both hydrated, I’ll tell you what I’ve been thinking.” You hummed to acknowledge him. “So, you know how we’ve been doing this for almost two weeks now, right?”

“Yeah…?” You picked up your phone to go back to your room.

“Okay. Well, we never really talked about, you know, things that we like.”

“Things that we like?”

“Yeah! You know what I mean?”

‘Huh?’ You thought about it for a few seconds before realizing what he was talking about. “Ohh. Do you mean our kinks?”

“There! That.”

You scoffed playfully. “I knew this conversation was bound to happen.”

“Well, then spill, girl!” Jisung said flamboyantly. “Don’t keep me waiting!”

You giggled. “Weirdo,” you whispered, softly grunting when you plopped onto your bed. “Where do you want me to start?”

“I don’t know. I guess just tell me like, what role you like playing in bed, or if you don’t even use roles at all.”

“Well, we’ve masterbated together long enough for you to know that I don’t mind either; sex is sex and it should be enjoyable, whether or not there are sub/dom roles...but I do like being submissive.”

“Oh, right. Nice,” he snickered, “Okay, now what? Vanilla or Kinky?”

“Kinky, all that way.” Jisung wanted to laugh at how fast that answer came out. “Of course, there’s nothing wrong vanilla sex, in fact, it’s very much appreciated in this household.”

“Ahh. Someone of culture. I respect that.” The both of you chuckled. “So, what are some things you want to be done to you?”

“Like, receiving?” Jisung hummed in confirmation. “I guess I like being marked? And being praised and using pet names, but of course, who doesn’t?”

“I feel you, I feel you,” he nodded on the other side of the phone. “I like that too.”

“I also like being tied up.”

Jisung sat up, wide eyed. “Rope-bunny?!”

You guffawed, hearing him so shocked like that. “What? Surprising? Remember, no kink shaming!”

“No no! It’s not like that it’s just-” he sighed through puffed cheeks, “wow, that’s fucking hot.”

“Thanks,” you giggled. “But that’s only the beginning.”

“Shit, there’s more? Holy fuck— please tell me.”

“Overstimulation & edging, I think that’s fucking hot too.” You could hear Jisung’s breath hitch on the phone, making you smirk. “I also really like choking and being able to see myself getting fucked; I think there’s a name for it, but I forgot.”

Not hearing his reply, you snorted before continuing. “And I have the biggest breeding kink ever. You know what I say: the messier the sex, the better.” You stopped when you heard Jisung take a deep breath.

“Whoa, Y/n. I-” he signed. “Let me calm down before I pop another boner ‘cause of you.”

You felt a surge of pride run through you. “What? Too much?”

“Oh, fuck no. Just insanely hot.”

You laughed, adjusting yourself to lay on your stomach. “Too bad. There was still a lot more I wanted to say,” you grinned. “You should tell me what you like then, baby. I need to know how I could please you too.”

“Hmm,” he thought to himself for a while. “So you already know that I like filthy, kinky sex too and that I usually take up the dom role but if I have to be honest. I’ve always wanted to try subbing.”

“Really?” you smiled evilly. ‘How interesting’

“Yup. I mean, I like being babied, so I think I’d really like it.”

“Oh? Would you like to try it sometime, baby boy?”

The line went dead silent for a while, filling you with worry. All of a sudden, when you were about to ask Jisung if he was okay, he whimpered. “Please?” he muttered, and you swore you could already see him pouting. Now it was your turn to take a deep breath.

“Hold on, baby boy. We both just finished touching ourselves not too long ago. Let’s do this another time.”

“Aww...Boo. You’re no fun,” Jisung’s usual cheeky self returned.

You rolled your eyes. “Sorry, but I already came 3 times tonight. Let my vagina rest, Sung.”

“Fair,” he laughed. “Does that mean I get to sub next time?”

“Hm… If you’re nice to me, then yes.”

“Oh baby, you know i’ll be the best behavior if it means getting topped by you.”

Instead of feeling horny, you only felt playfulness behind his words. “Good. I’ll be sure to give my baby a treat tomorrow then.” Jisung cheered giddily, fueling your own amusement. “By the way, what’s with the kink talk? I mean, I knew it was gonna come eventually but still.”

You couldn’t see it, but Jisung shrugged at your question. “Well, if we’re gonna be together, then I need to know everything about you that you enjoy.” Your face dropped, your chest swelling in adoration and alarm. Not hearing a response from you made him panic. “Uh- unless you don’t wanna be a thing! That-that’s fine too...i guess, w-whatever! I just—!”

Jisung stopped when he heard you giggle. “You’re so cute, Sung.” You softly said in content. “It’s getting late, baby. I’ll see you in the morning, hm?”

“Y-yeah! See you in Jung’s class, baby!”

You ended the call then slid your phone under your pillow. Pulling your blanket all the way up to your chin, you squirmed around until you were comfortable enough to sleep. The only thing in your mind was Jisung and how much your relationship with him developed way too fast. It was a little...frightening for your fragile heart.

2nd Period; Mrs. Jung’s Renaissance Literature class. Probably the most boring class ever. Everyday, you regret ever signing up for it.

You begrudgingly walked to class, purposely taking small, slow steps so you don’t have to be there on time. However, as boring as the class is, the only reason why you find it tolerable is because it is the only class you share with Jisung. Looking up, you found yourself in front of your Literature class, much to your dismay. Grumbling, you stepped inside the room to find Jisung already at his (now) usual place at the back of the class, right beside you. ‘Weird,’ you thought, seeing how it’s usually you who comes to class before him. Jisung looked up, feeling eyes on him from the front of the class, and smiled when he saw it was just you. He gestured for you to come over to him; your heart racing as you stepped closer to him.

“Hey, baby,” he greeted happily, watching you take your seat beside him.

“Hi, Sungie,” you replied, setting your camera bag onto the floor under your legs and taking your laptop out of your bag. Feeling Jisung staring at you, you tched jokingly. “Am I that attractive that you can’t keep your eyes off of me?” you laughed. What you didn’t expect, however, was Jisung’s blunt response.

“Yes.”

“O-oh? Uh…”

“I thought I made it clear that I think you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen in my life,” he said truthfully, giving you a bright smile. Your eyes were wide, face heating up at his straight-forwardness. He threw you a flirty wink and chuckled, going back to sit up straight at his own seat. Flustered, you hid your face with your hoodie, tightening the drawstrings to further conceal your blush. From beside you, you could hear Jisung snort, trying not to laugh at you. Before you could scold him, the bell rang and Mrs. Jung entered the class.

Jisung’s drowsy eyes wandered the whole room for the umpteenth time. His ears only shut out the mundane information his instructor was teaching. Something about a Scottish poet named George Lauder being responsible for the advancement of the steel industry or whatever? ‘Man, what does that have to do with the renaissance era?’ It’s only been 30 minutes since the class started and he already wanted to get out of here. No matter how hard he tried focusing on the lesson, the words only went through one ear and out the other. Needless to say, it way too uninteresting for him to retain anything.

His eyes then traveled to your hunched form. He had to resist the urge to pull out his phone and take a picture of your cute face all scrunched up in concentration, your figure engulfed by the oversized purple hoodie you were wearing. In the midst of his ogling, Jisung felt a gentle kick on his right leg. His eyes focused to finally notice you side eyeing him. It was as if you were telling him ‘pay attention or else’. All he did was grin and continued gawking at you.

You rolled your eyes, deciding to not mind him and try paying attention to Mrs. Jung; even if you yourself thought the class was boring as hell. You then feel a warm hand on your left thigh. Since it was just Jisung, you shrugged his hand off of you and typed in the shared doc you both created just to talk in this class. You typed:

‘What are you doing?’

Leaning over to his own screen, Jisung read the message on his laptop then replied.

‘babe i’m sorry but i’m so fucking bored’

‘Me too, but you gotta pay attention, baby boy’

‘hmm i love it when you call me baby boy ;)’

You side-glanced him with a ‘are you serious?’ look while he merely smirked, wiggling his eyebrows as if it would seduce you.

‘Funny. Don’t you dare get horny in the middle of class, Han Jisung!’

‘:)’

Jisung made a quiet sputtering noise as he put his head down onto the table. From the corner of your eyes, you could see him fiddling his platform sneakers with his feet. You restrained yourself from laughing at him. He looked exactly like an annoyed kid on the verge of throwing a tantrum. You shook your head. ‘The poor man is really trying’

Sneakily sliding your phone into your pocket, you stood up from your seat, the chair making a slight screech, catching Jisung’s—as well several other students’— brief attention, to head to the front of the class. Signing your name into the ‘restroom log’, you briefly pointed to the door when you made eye contact with Mrs. Jung, and went to the restroom. You grinned to yourself, thinking about how Jisung would react to his little gift.

The painfully bored boy watched as you left the room. He pouted, his boredom only increased tenfold without you. He went back to his laptop, clicking on another tab to do something, when he felt his phone vibrate from his back pocket. He jolted. ‘Who the hell would text me while I’m in the middle of class?’ Jisung slowly took out his phone to check his notifications. Seeing your name on the screen, he stared in confusion.

‘Y/n? What’re you doing?’ Glancing to see if Mrs. Jung could see him, he unlocked his phone to read your message.

My baby 💘: Remember what I said last night?

Many thoughts, none of which were pg, raced through his mind. ‘What exactly are you talking about?’ He adjusted his keyboard to properly type with one hand.

Me: depends

are we talking about me subbing or your “gift”?

My baby 💘: Hmm sure. You’ll see 😉

Jisung nearly let out an audible ‘huh?’ because of your rather cryptic message. Not wanting to get caught, he hid his phone between his legs and waited for your next text. After almost a minute, this phone vibrated again. Big Mistake…

Strike 1!

‘God, Han Jisung, you fucking idiot!’ The shock unintentionally sent waves of pleasure between his legs, almost coaxing out a whimper from his mouth. He cleared throat, trying to ignore the erection that was threatening to pop up, and inconspicuously took his phone.

Strike 2!

If Jisung died at that very moment, then he wouldn’t even be mad. No regrets or anger whatsoever for his eyes was blessed with the most salacious photo of yourself. There you were, sweater pulled up to show off the lacy red bra that adorned your breasts—your arms deliberately squeezing them together to make them even more tempting than they already are—and pants pulled down enough to show a cheeky glimpse of the matching set of panties hugging your hips. Jisung swore he could feel his blood rushing to his dick and nose; he even went as far as wiping it in case he really did get a nosebleed.

‘Y/n, you minx...’’

Me: baby…

what you’re doing is very dangerous for the both of us

My baby 💘: Oh? Are you sure you didn’t forget what we talked about, baby boy

Jisung anxiously looked back and forth from his phone to his teacher. He covered his mouth when you sent another shameless nude to him. Now it was a picture of your hands cupping your breasts, your bra unclasped, threatening to slide off your shoulders. How you managed to take the photo was beyond Jisung’s comprehension. Though, now that he’s as turned on as a horny 13 year old boy on a porn site for the very first time, it’s safe to say that there was nothing on his mind except you, and you only.

He set his keyboard back to its default mode and put his head down, fingers hastily tapping on his phone to reply.

Me: come on baby

please don’t do this to me

i’m hard. i really popped a boner in the middle of class…

this is fucking embarrassing

Jisung just knew that you were laughing at him, finding great joy in his predicament. He subtly adjusted himself to do something about his hard-on. ‘So fucking embarrassing’ He blushed, biting his lip. He silently prayed to whatever deity out there that his erection was unnoticeable through his sweatpants; he was so grateful that you two sat at the back of the class. His phone buzzed again, it was another message from you.

Strike 3!

He’s out…

My baby 💘: It’s mommy for you today, baby boy 😉😉

Above was a picture of you...Bra hanging from your mouth...Your pearly teeth biting down on one of the straps...Pants off...Panties moved to the side...Showing off your dripping core to the camera...Your fingers threatening to slide inside your core…

Somebody please help this poor man. He might get a heart attack because of you. And if he doesn’t die from that, then it might be because of the rage of sexual frustration he felt when you came back with a seemingly innocent smile on your face. Jisung was just lucky nobody noticed his hard cock throbbing the rest of the session. More importantly, thank god Mrs. Jung is an oblivious old woman.

‘Y/n L/n, you FUCKING MINX!’

[PREVIOUS CHAPTER] 📱 [NEXT CHAPTER]

[marvelmusing]

Making Time

Mobius M Mobius x Reader

Part 2

My Masterlist

“1985, huh?” You say, looking up from the briefing Mobius has just handed you.

“Yeah, maybe we’ll spot a delorian?” He jokes, making a Back to the Future reference. You smile at him, remembering when you’d first mentioned the movie. You hadn’t been at the TVA long, to your knowledge.

You’re sat in one of the cafes, explaining something about the timeline to Casey, and you make an offhand reference to the movie. To which, Casey looks even more confused. You glance at Mobius, who’s been sat next to you, watching your teaching with a smile. You offer them both a small smile, at yet another reminder that you’re from somewhere very different from the rest of them.

“Neither of you have seen it have you?” Mobius shakes his head.

“Not a lot of chances for watching movies when dealing with the timeline. Should we get the chance, I’d love to.” It’s a few days later when you give him the chance.

“Honey, I’m home.” You hear Mobius call out, which brings a smile to your face. Whilst you had your own apartment, you much preferred staying with Mobius, like you did when you first arrived at the TVA. You hear him set down a pile of papers in the kitchen, before making his way into the lounge where you’re sat waiting for him. “Hey.”

“Hi.”

“What’s all this?”

“Back to the Future. I went through my file, and managed to find a version that I watched that was uninterrupted. Then I isolated it, and copied it onto one of those cassette reel things, so that it’ll play on your mini projector.” You pause, before adding, “I probably put too much effort into this but, I thought we could have what my time considers a movie night?”

“A movie night?” Your face falls slightly, feeling embarrassed by your suggestion.

“We don’t have to-“ you start. He shrugs off his jacket and settles down next to you.

“Did I not tell you I wanted to watch it, should I get the chance?”

“Well, yeah.” He gestures to the projector.

“Let’s get this show on a roll.” You grin at him, before quickly pressing play on the projector. Mobius leans an arm on the couch and pulls you to his side. “You finally have clearance to access to your file, and you use it to watch Back to the Future?”

“What else was I supposed to do with it?” You joke.

You and Mobius head to the cubicle where you left Loki this morning. You spot him wapping against the desk with a magazine.

“Training going well?” You ask him. He leans back in his chair, attempting to look casual.

“Yeah.”

“Is that my jet ski magazine?” Mobius asks him. “Put it down. Gear up. There's been an attack. Let's go.” He hands Loki the jacket he’s been carrying. You set the briefing down on the desk, and follow Mobius. Loki trails behind you. “Put it on.” Loki shrugs the jacket on, adjusting the collar before posing.

“Nice.” You tell him with a smile.

“Good. Yeah, smart.” Mobius says distractedly. You soon reach the Timedoors, where a small group of hunters have gathered to wait. B-15 opens up the briefing.

“C-20 and her team went dark shortly after they jumped into the 1985 branch. All signs point to another ambush. We've grabbed enough temporal aura to know it's our Loki Variant. But which kind of Loki, remains unknown.”

“They're the lesser kind, to be clear.” Loki specifies. B-15 sighs,

“Let me see the back of that jacket.” Loki does a small turn, showing the group the back of his jacket, where the bright orange letters reading VARIANT stand out. Everyone is the group shares a small smile. You’re glad you don’t have to wear one of those anymore.

“Very subtle. Well done.”

“I don't want anybody out there to forget what you are.”

“Oh, your only hope of capturing a murderer?”

“No. A cosmic mistake.”

“That's enough.” Mobius interrupts.

“Lovely.” You hear Loki murmur.

“Here's the deal.” Mobius begins. “When we get out on the branch, we're not just looking for a Time Criminal. We're looking for a Loki. A variation of this guy. A type we should all be very familiar with, because the TVA has pruned a lotta these guys, almost more than any other Variant.” He skims through a few of the Loki Variants that the TVA have caught before. “And no two are alike. Slight differences in appearances, or not so slight. Different powers, although, powers generally include: shapeshifting, illusion projection, and my favourite-”

“Duplication casting.” Loki interrupts

“Illusion projection.”

“No, they're two completely different powers.”

“How?” You ask him.

“Illusion-projection involves depicting a detailed image from outside oneself, which is perceptible in the external world, whereas duplication-casting entails recreating an exact facsimile of one's own body in its present circumstance, which acts as a true holographic mirror of its molecular structure. But you already knew that.” He explains. You catch a glimpse of Mobius’s smirk before he says,

“Okay, take a breath. Noted. We're gonna break into two teams, including myself and Professor Loki.”

“Why?” A hunter stood beside you asks.

“Because whoever this Variant is, we haven't been able to find him. So let's bring in an expert.” Loki looks around at the group before adding a quiet,

“That's me.”

As the hunters prepare themselves, you hear Loki ask, “Do I get a weapon?” You laugh lightly,

“No chance.”

“Well, I'll have my magic back. Is no one concerned about that?”

“Of what?” Mobius asks.

“Me betraying you.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“You know that we’ll just catch you again.” You tell him.

“And how's betraying us gonna get you any closer to the Time-Keepers?” Mobius adds. Loki leans forward, his attention fixed on Mobius.

“An audience with the Time-Keepers is on the table?”

“Keep that focus.” Mobius tells him. The three of you follow the hunters through the Timedoor, and out into 1985 Wisconsin. Your group makes their way through the crowd of the Renaissance fair before entering a large tent. It’s dark inside, with only a few lanterns to light your path. You watch as B-15 bends down to grasp examine a helmet left abandoned on the floor.

“So he's taking hostages now?” She says, turning to Mobius.

“The Variant's never taken a hostage before.”

“Maybe he's upping his game.”

“Or he pruned her.” One of the hunters remarks, you frown at his callousness towards his colleague.

“A Loki couldn't have gotten the jump on C-20.”

“I think you underestimate, actually...” Loki begins.

“Fan out and search for her. And hurry up, we're at three units until red line.” B-15 orders. Mobius sets a hand on your arm, and the two of you head to the exit.

“Come on.” He says to Loki.

“Wait. If you leave this tent, you'll end up like them.” Mobius stops beside Loki.

“What do you see?”

“I see a scheme, and in that scheme, I see myself.” Loki begins to ramble about an old Asgardian saying.

“Two units. He is wasting our time.” B-15 interrupts.

“Okay. Come on, Loki, make a long story short.” Mobius encourages.

“We need to look for C-20.”

“That's exactly what the Variant wants you to do. It's a trap. He's waiting for you outside this tent.”

“Should I secure the reset charges?”

“No. He wants me. I'm the key to his plan. He knows that I'm stronger. And he rightly believes that together we can overthrow and rule the TVA. But that's not what I want. I have a new purpose. I'm a servant of the Sacred Timeline. And knowing what I now know about his tactics, I can deliver you the Variant, but I need assurances.” He says, looking to Mobius. You glance up at Mobius, frowning slightly. Surely he isn’t believing what Loki’s saying? His eyes catch yours and there’s a small twinkle in them. You hide your smile. Loki circles around Mobius.

“Yeah?” Mobius offers.

“Assurances that I won't be completely disintegrated the moment the job has been done.”

“Right.” Loki leans forward, before whispering,

“We'll need to speak to the Time-Keepers at once. They're in graver danger than we realized.”

“He's lying. Just playing games. There's no one out there.” Mobius calls out to the group.

“Reset the timeline.” B-15 orders.

“You had me for a second. My ears are sharp too.” He points at Loki’s chest. You follow Mobius out of the tent.

“Well that went well.” You remark, hearing Mobius sigh. He runs his hand over his face.

You’re tucking into your lunch when you spot Mobius. He picks out a drink and a salad before making his way over to you. You give him a small smile,

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

“How did it go with Renslayer?” He sighs, leaning his head back, before getting comfortable in his seat.

“Well, our Loki hasn’t been deleted yet.”

“That’s good then?” You offer. He sighs,

“Yeah. Though he’s getting more and more talkative.”

“You did say he loves to talk. Where is he now?”

“I’ve left him with the archives, hopefully he’ll be reading for the next few days. Or at least long enough for me to finish lunch.” He begins to eat his salad. Just then, Loki scampers in looking like a manic puppy.

“I found something.” Mobius shakes his head, keeping his attention on his lunch,

“No, I said don’t bother me until you've read all the files.”

“I have.”

“Every file?”

“Yes.”

“Pertaining to the Variant?”

“The answer isn't in the files, it's on the timeline. He's hiding in apocalypses.”

“Which apocalypse?” You ask.

“Any time in history? There's, like, a million of 'em.” Mobius adds.

“Ragnarok. Are you familiar?”

“Yes. The destruction of Asgard and most of its people. I'm sorry.” Loki pauses looking down.

“Yes, very sad.” He immediately perks up again. “Anyway, it got me thinking. Nexus events happen when someone does something they're not supposed to do, right?”

“Well, it's a little more complicated, but, yeah.”

“Great. And then that thing they're not supposed to do, cascades into a whole range of other things that aren't supposed to happen.”

“And so on and so forth, until eventually, a new timeline branches. Yes?”

“Chaotic alterations of a predetermined outcome.”

“Exactly. So, let's just say...” He picks up the salad bowl from in front of Mobius.

“Mm-hm. What are you doing?”

“...your salad is Asgard in this scenario.” Loki continues.

“It's not Asgard, that's my lunch.” Mobius complains, the pouting clear in his voice. You lean forward, a hand on your chin to hide the smile at Mobius’s reaction.

“It's a metaphor. Just hang in there.”

“I want that salad.”

“And I could go down to Asgard before Ragnarok causes its complete destruction and I could do anything I wanted. I could, let's say, push the Hulk off the Rainbow Bridge.” He picks up a salt shaker and puts a large sprinkling of salt across Mobius’s salad.

“There he goes.” You say, feeling rather invested in this metaphor.

“The salt's Hulk?” Mobius asks, clearly not as enthusiastic as you.

“And I could also... Set fire to the palace.” He picks up a pepper pot and shakes the pepper across the salad.

“No, just stop. Don't set fire to the palace.”

“Okay? I can do whatever I want to do, and it would never matter. It wouldn't go against the dictates of the timeline because...” He sets down the shakers after nearly emptying them both. He heads to the table behind you. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, God!” Mobius sighs.

“You!” Recognising the voice you look up to see Casey looking very confused.

“Nice to see you. I just need this for a second. Thanks.” Loki picks up Casey’s carton of juice, before sitting back down at your table. “Because the apocalypse is coming. Ragnarok, Surtur will destroy Asgard no matter what I do.”

“No, don't do...” Mobius sighs as Loki empties the carton over the remains of the salad.

“There's the apocalypse.” You say with a sigh, offering Mobius your bag of chips.

“That's the apocalypse?” He asks, taking a handful of chips from you with a smile.

“Ragnarok obliterates the salt. Ragnarok. There it is.” Loki gestures to the ruined salad with a proud smile.

“What am I lookin' at?”

“Okay, it was a clumsy metaphor. But you see what I mean. It doesn't matter. It could be any apocalypse. It could be a tidal wave. It could be a meteor. It could be a volcano, a supernova. If everything and everyone around you is destined for imminent destruction, then nothing that I say or do will matter, because the timeline's not gonna branch. Hence, the Variant could be hiding in the apocalypse and do whatever he wants, and we wouldn't know!”

“Not bad.” You offer.

“Take me to a real apocalypse, to Ragnarok, I'll show you.” Mobius chuckles,

“Yeah. So you can run away back to your homeland? No.”

“No, I'm not going home. We can go anywhere.”

“I'm not taking you for a stroll along the promenade, much less an apocalypse.”

“Oh, Mobius, come on! What could possibly go wrong? We gotta properly test this theory.”

“Well, here's a fun theory. You lure me out into the field, and stab me in the back. And that's a theory I don't wanna test.”

“I'd never stab anyone in the back. That's such a boring form of betrayal.” He most definitely would stab someone in the back.

“Loki, I've studied almost every moment of your entire life. You've literally stabbed people in the back, like 50 times.”

“Well, I'd never do it again, because it got old.” You both laugh at this. Mobius looks at you, and you shrug.

“Might as well try it?” You offer. Mobius nods,

“Okay.”

“Okay, look, you don't trust me, you can trust one thing. I love to be right.” Loki adds. That certainly isn’t a lie.

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[hale-13]

Zero Days Without Incident

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 20 Prompt - Defiance

The ‘Days Without Incident’ sign in Tony Stark’s private workshop has nothing to do with engineering or science mishaps and all to do with a bet between him and a certain Spiderling.

Words: 1783, Chapters: 1/1 (Complete), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Happy Hogan

TW: Stabbing

Read on AO3 or below the line break.

“Peter you have thirty minutes until your curfew,” Karen warned him, already plotting a course home and throwing it up on his HUD.

It was a balmy spring evening and Peter had spent most of his patrol leisurely swinging through Queens or relaxing on a hammock made from his webs. There had been a few petty crimes he had dealt with, some grand theft bicycle, a cat stuck in a tree but, all in all, he couldn’t really complain. He loved being Spider-Man and helping his neighborhood but it was nice to have a slow day sometimes.

A scream sounded in the distance.

“Spoke too soon,” he mumbled, altering his course and picking up speed. “Can you get me directions K?”

“Of course Peter,” Karen answered, as chirpy and happy as normal, re-routing him away from his apartment and toward the sounds of discourse in the distance. When he dropped in on the scene it seemed to be a mugging in progress and Peter rolled his eyes – didn’t people have anything better to do on a random Tuesday in April? God just seriously rethink your life choices.

“I would say its knife to meet you but I’ve definitely used that pun in the last couple weeks and I don’t want to be accused of not being original,” Peter called down, making both the assailant and victim flinch and look up to where he was perched on the wall above them. “Where did even get that thing? The renaissance fair? Who robs people with a full on dagger anyway? Run out of kitchen knives?” Peter quipped, flipping down and pushing the mugger away with a well placed kick to the arm that made the man stumble back.

“This has nothing to do with you bug,” the man snarled, brandishing the weapon at Peter now and making him roll his eyes. “Don’t get in my way and I won’t have to use this on ya.”

“Spiders are arachnids actually, not bugs” Peter pointed out, shooing the stunned woman out of the alley and on her way out of any potential danger. “And how about you not stab anybody today huh? If you promise to behave I won’t web you to the wall and call the police. Sounds like a fair trade right?”

The man snarled at him with irritation. “You talk too much.”

“So I’ve been told,” Peter agreed easily with a nod. “But what do you say? Ready to give up your life of crime for the straight and narrow?”

“No,” the man grumbled and, with literally no warning, lunged forward and stabbed his knife directly into Peter’s gut.

They both stared at each other in stunned silence before Peter processed the pain with a loud ‘fuck!’.

“You motherfucker,” Peter grunted, backing away to lean against the wall, holding the knife still with one hand so as to not dislodge it. “I can’t believe you stabbed me!”

“I thought you would dodge! You always dodge!” The man said, reaching up both hands to dig into his hair. “I stabbed Spider-Man what the fuck!”

“God this is just-,” Peter grumbled using his free arm to fire webbing at the guy and secure him to the nearby dumpster. “I’ve gone three weeks without having to go to the MedBay! Three weeks! All I had to do was last one more and then I got to pick the movie at movie night for the next month! God I can’t believe it! Mr. Stark is going to be so insufferable now!”

“You could just… not tell him?” The man asked hopefully, not even bothering to struggle against the webs and Peter blew out a breath as he sank down to sit on the gritty ground – he was starting to feel a little cold and dizzy from either the blood loss or shock, he couldn’t tell which. Not that it mattered, his fierce anger overshadowed everything.

“Not an option,” Peter grunted, leaning his head back and closing his eyes against the helpful countdown timer Karen had started displaying the second Tony had entered the Iron Man armor and started jetting to him. “He already knows.” Curse the Baby-monitor Protocol! He and Ned would need to remove it again…

“He track you or something?” The man asked questioningly, head quirked to the side in obvious curiosity.

“Or something,” Peter agreed.

“That’s wack man,” he said. “An invasion of privacy. A, uh… violation of your constitutional rights as a free American!”

“Do you honestly think Tony Stark cares about an something as simple as an invasion of privacy? I’m lucky he hasn’t microchipped me yet,” Peter pointed out. Or, at least, he didn’t think Tony had microchipped him. He’d have to check that and remove it post haste if he found something.

“Dude,” knife guy said commiserating and Peter had to fight the eye roll. Of course the person who stabbed him felt remorseful now.

“I know,” Peter agreed, peering down at his side to look at where the knife was embedded into him. He was pretty good around blood as long as it wasn’t his own and, looking at the way his suit was slick and blood was beginning to pool under his thighs in a puddle made Peter lightheaded so he closed his eyes again. “He’s probably going to be pretty pissed at you by the way,” Peter warned. “He has pretty good lawyers so I wouldn’t have high hopes of getting out of this without jail time.”

The man groaned and Peter just shrugged. Don’t do the crime if you can’t do the time and all that – also don’t stab people and leave them to the ministrations of their helicopter mentors. Same thing really. The sound of repulsers neared and Peter braced himself – he wasn’t looking forward to dealing with this.

“I guess that we can change the ‘Days Without Incident’ sign back to zero eh Spiderling?” Tony teased as he landed in the mouth of the alley, disengaging his suit and walking over to kneel next to Peter. “You were doing so good too – your longest streak ever in fact.”

“Don’t remind me,” Peter hissed as Tony prodded around the wound carefully with a pre-gloved hand. “Can you not touch that?”

“No can do buddy,” Tony said, not sounding the least bit apologetic. “Gotta anchor it in so it doesn’t fall out on the ride back. Happy’s on his way to pick us up.”

“Oh great,” Peter groused, letting Tony lean him forward a little so he could start wrapping roll gauze around the knife. “He loves to complain when I get blood on the seats.”

“Only when you get impaled,” Tony said brightly, pulling the gauze tight almost vindictively and making Peter wince. “Wouldn’t want to deprive him now would we?”

“You could just let me bleed out and die here,” Peter suggested seriously. “Since my life is basically over now anyway.

“You’re such a dramatic little shit,” Tony groused, tying off the gauze and levering Peter up off the ground to slump into his side for the extra support. “Now say ‘goodbye’ to your friend, he won’t be seeing the real world for a long, long time,” Tony’s voice had an edge of steel as he said this, dragging Peter to the end of the alley and ignoring the muggers ‘Aw man, c’mon!” as they passed. Peter just shrugged a ‘what can you do?” and wiggled his fingers in a facsimile of a wave as he was pulled away.

Happy, to his credit, was efficient and must have already been in the area because he was quick to pull up with a surly look already cemented onto his face as he surveyed where Peter was leaning into Tony and dribbling blood onto the sidewalk in large, heavy droplets. “I already called the cleaning crew,” he told them through the open window. “They’ll be here before the police to scrub up any possible radioactive DNA.”

“Best forehead of security ever,” Tony crooned lovingly as he carefully situated Peter onto the pile of towels Happy had put into the backseat to soak up the blood and keep it off his leather seats. Happy glared at the both of them in the rearview mirror before rolling up the partition. Tony snorted in undisguised mirth.

“How you feeling kiddie?” He asked as he peeled Peter’s mask from his sweaty face. “Not going to pass out on me again right?”

“Uh…” Peter groaned, squeezing his eyes shut tight to stop the spinning and grey dots that were clouding his vision. “No promises. Sorry.” Tony just let out a put upon sigh like he expected as much and pushed Peter to lay down across the seats, grabbing one of the extra towels to press tightly around the knife and making Peter let out a whining moan at the pressure. “Yeah I might pass out,” he said faintly as his vision started to tunnel.

“Go on then,” Tony said, running a hand through Peter’s damp curls and smoothing them away from his face. “At least you don’t sass me when you’re unconscious.” Peter felt the man lift his legs to slid a few wadded up towels underneath… like that would actually help keep him awake.

“Rude,” Peter grumbled before losing his grip on reality – he trusted Tony to take care of things for now.

——————————————

“I hate this movie,” Peter grumbled groggily, as he pulled himself awake some time later. He was lying in one of the beds in the MedBay, attached to a blood transfusion and with a thick padding of gauze on his abdomen. Tony, seated next to him and munching on popcorn, just sent him a shit eating grin and held up the whiteboard that had been hanging in his workshop displaying ‘Days Without Incident’ with a large 0 written under it in obnoxious red ink.

“This is such bullshit,” Peter said petulantly, picking at the tape holding the IV in place. “I can’t escape! Go watch your garbage movie somewhere else.”

“Excuse me you brat,” Tony said imperiously. “The Breakfast Club is a cult classic thank you very much and besides,” he continued, offering Peter the bowl of popcorn, “someone clearly has to educate you on good movies.”

“I’m going back to sleep,” Peter said, flicking a kernel of popcorn playfully at his mentor (and missing damn – he must be on drugs) and letting his tired eyes slip closed again.

“Sore loser,” he heard Tony tease as he fell asleep and that did it. When he won their next bet they were marathoning the whole Star Wars series from beginning to end, including all of the Clone Wars and the Mandalorian, and he didn’t care what Mr. Stark said.

[lokigodofaces]

thoughts on loki ep 2: the variant (spoilers)

under cut to not disturb your scrolling

Overall I enjoyed so that's good

Uh frick my mind blanked so sorry if things are completely out of order

I don't know, I expected the renaissance fair to be 2012 or 2021 or 2024 (Loki's time, our time, current time in the "sacred timeline"). So I was genuinely surprised when it was in 1985.

Ok, i really like the title card thing. And how the year scrolls around. It's a nice aesthetic touch there.

I wonder why the female Loki variant chooses her locations? Does she have a thing for renaissance fairs, French cathedrals, and Oklahoma?

1985 is when Back to the Future came out. And it's y'know, one of the most popular time travel movies ever. So I think they chose that year as a reference.

Again, not liking that the minutemen only have numbers, not names. It is giving me lots of Clone Wars vibes. If you don't know anything about Clone Wars, the clones are given number identifiers by the Kaminoans. Things like CT-7567. The clones would give themselves names (CT-7567, for example, names himself Rex). A really good sign throughout the series that someone is a sketchy person is if they call the clones by their numbers. The clones don't want to be known as numbers. They are people too, they deserve names, so they come up with all sorts of creative names (Rex, Fives, Cody, Tup, Hevy, Hardcase, Echo, Waxer, Boil, Wolffe, Jesse, Kix, Fox, Hunter, Wrecker, Crosshair, Omega, Tech, Matchstick, etc). The jedi respect this, and the only jedi that i can think of that called clones by their numbers is Krell, who fell to the dark side. the Kaminoans and other sketchy people all call them by their numbers and the clones don't like it. A big focus of the show is on the clone's agency (at the end, they all have brain chips that take away their agency and force them to kill jedi), and how the clones need to be respected. So for me to see in another series that people are only given numbers is bad. What's worse is that the minutemen are fine with this. They don't see it as dehumanizing or belittling. They are brainwashed into being okay with it. Which says a thing or two about the Time Keepers.

did. did the renaissance fair really have Bonnie Tyler's "Holding Out for a Hero" for their renaissance themed fight? Is this normal? Was it normal in the '80's? We saw later that the female Loki can do electronic stuff. Did she rig it to play it? For the vibes?

Also the stuff before the song was about fighting for a princess, and in the end she kidnaps C-20.

Okay, btw, I'm just gonna say Lady Loki for a while because no one has explicitly said Sylvie yet, so I'm going to refer to di Martino as Loki until she or another calls her Sylvie. Cool? Cool.

I was thinking the "Holding Out for a Hero" fight would be the roomba fight or something. It is such a good song that has huge potential for this genre. Why did they use it in a lame fight as that one?

When Lady Loki did the spell on C-20, it looked similar to what Wanda and Agatha can do. As in, it had similar visuals.

Loki reading a random magazine he finds while sitting with his feet on the desk bored out of his mind because he has to learn sh*t is a MOOD.

What is Miss Minutes? She can jump around anywhere, and pop into computers. But she can't be just a projection. She took the effort to dodge Loki swatting at her, so that may mean she was corporeal. She also could be something similar to the Kree's Supreme Intelligence?

So, did Mobius give Loki the shirt, tie, and slacks, but really didn't give him the jacket until they had to call him in? What? That makes no sense? Did the TVA not have any jackets with the variant label? Did someone have to custom design a jacket for Loki?

What is up with this show giving me things I wanted to see only in holographic form? First we saw Coulson's death, and now Loki in his Jotun form in a holograph of another variant.

Okay, Loki being someone the TVA has to constantly deal with is very on brand. Loki is a creature of chaos, of course he's going to unknowingly rebel against the sacred timeline.

Also, headcanon that the Jotun Loki we see is king of Jotunheim because that would be epic.

Also, for personal reasons I choose to believe there is a Loki variant that defeated the Avengers and immediately went queer rights.

Loki's reaction to there being many Loki variants. He's seen what his life is supposed to be. I think he is even more upset that the TVA often deals with him, that there are so many things that could have been instead if it weren't for the TVA and the "sacred timeline."

Also, I totally think Mobius was waiting for another Loki to show up to help him defeat Lady Loki. They get them so often, it makes sense.

Loki explaining the difference between illusion projection and duplication was great. And very helpful to me personally understanding lore. Also, Mobius, get your crap together. If you're a Loki expert, figure this stuff out.

Loki calling the TVA out on propaganda, we love that.

The wolf quote is actually very nice, I quite like it.

Okay, the TVA doesn't even bury or cremate or do any sort of ritual for their fallen minutemen, they just reset the timeline. Which to me seems like another way to show how little the TVA actually care for their workers.

There are statues of the Time Keepers in Ravonna's office. The camera pays extra attention to it. Keep reading for more about Time Keepers and cinematography choices.

What. What sort of relationship does Ravonna and Mobius have? What is going on there? I am really confused.

Who is this "analyst on the side?" What is going on there?

Ravonna is MEGA SUS. Along with that, the Time Keepers are mega sus.

She signs R. Slayer. Yeah. Slayer. Not at all subtle, Marvel. Letting us know that she'll do the deed if needed.

Mobius you are sending me mixed signals. What do you want?

Okay, Mobius saying Loki was a "cold, scared boy" and an "ice runt" and stuff was totally a jab at Loki being Jotun.

Mobius saying Loki is insecure because of Lady Loki is...probably true.

With the elevator, the camera stops and focuses on the Time Keepers.

The Creation of the TVA, the beginning of time, the end of time, all classified. That is sus.

Loki almost crying over Ragnarok was good. Let him cry over the destruction of his home.

Loki being the one to discover something the TVA had no idea about after a day is on brand for Loki. And it shows how the TVA really are vulnerable.

Mobius: Really? In front of my salad?

No but the object lesson was well done and actually did help me understand what Loki was talking about.

Casey! Casey drinks grape juice! Imagine how confusing this is for Casey though. Loki is captured, threatens to gut you like a fish (whatever that means), and now he's dressed like an analysist, stealing your juice box. Does Loki get Casey more juice?

Honestly, Loki looking at everything logically and scientifically is fantastic. Adds to the science = magic thing Marvel's got going on, since Loki is a sorcerer.

Loki saying volcanoes are cool is fun. I agree. Volcanoes mean the planet is geologically active, which means we won't die. Also, there is a volcano named Loki on one of Jupiter's moons. I wonder if the creators knew that and put Loki in Pompeii because he is already linked with volcanoes.

Mobius telling Loki to start off small and Loki completely disregarding that felt very personal to me.

Loki being absolutely chaotic and telling everyone they were going to die while speaking perfect Latin was iconic. I want more of that content. Let the man be buckwild.

Again, Loki finding something out after a day that the TVA never knew about is on brand.

"Be free, my horned friends, be free!" I love that way too much.

Mobius being obsessed with jet skis wasn't something I expected, but I'm down for it. Heck, even Loki admitted they were cool.

The discussion on beliefs is going to lead to saying the Time Keepers are bullcrap. Hopefully.

Grapes and nuts are "candy" on Asgard. So, when Loki was eating grapes in Ragnarok, we can interpret that as him eating M&Ms. Second, this might add to something I've seen around here. I've seen things about a book somewhere with Loki saying chocolate fountains are mythical (which is really funny to me). So, I guess Asgard really doesn't have chocolate.

Oh my gosh, so many apocalypses between 2047 and 2051...hopefully none of those happen in real life.

Roxxcart is probably part of Roxxon, something that has been around in Iron Man movies.

Lady Loki got the shovel thing from Roxxcart that she left in Oklahoma! The minutemen said it was from the early third millenia, which is where we are now! 2050 also fits that category!

I saw something about the file saying Class 8 hurricane...there are only 5 classes...which means this is a crazy storm.

Does B-15 want Loki dead? This is a legitimate question, because I think she does. Dead or pruned.

Loki looking around at the storm, I love it. This could be him loving science, or him missing Thor, since Thor creates storms. Also, at this point Loki probably things Thor dies shortly after him in the sacred timeline, so Loki would be particularly sentimental about Thor.

I love Loki drying himself off and not anyone else. And B-15 yelling about his magic. And Loki's motions are so fluid, it's so aesthetically pleasing, I love it.

Dudes, I thought B-15 was going to try to prune Loki when they were alone.

Okay, was Lady Loki bsing about the azalea sale, or does Roxxcart actually do that? I want to know.

Wunmi Mosaku did a really good job as Lady Loki, I loved it.

Loki being annoyed at Lady Loki and saying he understood how Thor felt, does that insinuate Loki can do what Lady Loki was doing?

B-15 and C-20 were both very shaken after being possessed by Lady Loki. I wonder how that felt for them? We've had different explanations of mind control/brainwashing/similar from Clint, Bucky, Daisy, Mack, Fitz, and Monica in the MCU (including AoS). I wonder what is specific to Lady Loki's possession.

C-20 kept going on about something being real. What was that about?

C-20 revealed the location of the Time Keepers to Lady Loki!

Lady Loki not wanting to be called Loki could be a sign she is Sylvie.

There's something weird where Loki's voice echoed around while the camera focused on Lady Loki. Maybe she's telepathic?

Someone needs to keep a tracker on people telling Loki this isn't his story in a show literally about him.

But, that does add to themes for his life, and how everything was always about someone else in his life. He was always a supporting character for Thor, for Odin, for Thanos. Now, even in his own story, everyone insists he doesn't matter.

I was wondering what the reset charges would be used for. I wasn't expecting a massive bombing of the sacred timeline! Wow! That was unexpected and I loved it!

Okay, this isn't from me, this is from New Rockstars. But to list all the places mentioned on chronomonitors, either bombed or not: Knowhere, Barcelona, Niflheim, Dartford, Phong Nha, Lisbon, Vormir, Thorton, Cookeville, Asgard, Rome, Sakaar, Barichara, Porvoo, Ego, Titan, New York City, Tokyo, Hala, Kingsport, Xandar, Beijing, Madrid, Portland, Jotunheim. Bolded are other planets. Those are almost all the planets visited in the MCU. So fun easter eggs there!

I like Lady Loki's aesthetic. The fingerless gloves, the cloak, I love it. And YES SHE ISN'T SEXUALIZED. So many genderbent characters are excuses to sexualize women. But Lady Loki is just as covered as the male Lokis.

Lady Loki just...left the time door open for Loki to follow...for a really long time...I'm worried he's running into a trap.

What is Loki going to do now?

Theory time y'alls: Lady Loki bombed the sacred timeline to flush the minutemen out of the TVA, leaving it defenseless. And she's gonna go after the Time Keepers themselves. We know she gets into the TVA from trailer footage, and that's what I think we're gonna see next episode. I think she (like the Loki we are following) is upset over the lack of free will, and she plans to change that. That's why she wasn't interested in helping Loki "take over" the TVA, because she doesn't want to become the leader of a new TVA, she wants it destroyed.

Alright, back to the Time Keepers stuff. They keep focusing on the middle Time Keeper. Even in the end credits they have a weird cut to focus directly on his face. I'm not 100% on this, but I like this theory. That face is similar to Jonathan Major's, the actor confirmed to be Kang the Conqueror in Ant-Man and the Wasp: Quantumania. Kang is a well known time travelling villain in Marvel. Maybe he is Kang, and is using variant versions of himself (that's a Kang thing in the comics) to mess with the timeline, and no one expects that from him. Also, Renslayer was his S/O for a bit in the comics, and they keep framing her in front of that one Time Keeper's face. I feel like this would be a good way to set up Quantumania and to show how sus the Time Keepers are.

Also, Loki was absolutely adorable the entire episode. And he got to sleep! Yay for him!

Again, I enjoyed, and can't wait for next week!

[bluezey]

Little Sister - Conception

I decided to work on the birth of Judy fanfic as my first fanfic in google docs, even though it’s gonna be a multi chapter one.  I posted the first chapter in case I lose it cause I don’t know how saving works on this yet.  So, hate to be a jerk, but the next two chapters are going to be released together.  You’re just going to have to sit on the first chapter.  At least it’s got plenty of feels to hold you over.

“Mom, I’m home,” Ian announced as he entered the home.  He placed his staff by the front door and stopped just short of the stairs.  He looked ahead into the kitchen across the way through the living room, spying a small pile of cards and presents building up for his graduation party next week.  It made him smile and feel more relieved that he just survived his last day of high school.  He walked upstairs and into his bedroom, he took two steps and flopped his backpack down by his desk.  He sighed and relaxed, feeling like a big load was mentally lifted from his shoulders, as well as physically.

Ian slumped down into his desk chair, with enough force that it rolled back a few inches.  He looked up after a moment or two to spy a note written on a sealed envelope mailed to him.  Ian could make out the sloppy, bold writing from here, Barley’s writing declaring that something awesome arrived in the mail for him.  Ian picked it up to see the letter was already opened… and it was addressed from the enrollment offices at Willowdale College.  Ian immediately tore the letter out of the envelope and read it, reading it over and over as his chocolate brown eyes grew wider and wider.

The old boom box immediately slammed atop his desk, and Ian had to try once or twice to get the old cassette tape inserted into the tape deck.  Just as he pressed play, the voice of Ian’s dad began to echo from the old speakers.

“Hello?  Hello?”

“Dad!” Ian basically shouted, then tried to control his volume.  “It’s me, Ian.”

“Is that right?”

“Yeah!” Ian replied to the recording as he looked up at the pictures of his dad Wilden pinned to the wall above his desk.  “How ya been?”

“Well, I’m trying to.”

Ian chuckled to himself.  “Well, today was the last day of high school, and I’m gonna graduate next week.  I wish you were there to see it… I know, I can keep a picture of you in my pocket under my graduation robe.”

The voice on the tape laughed to himself.

“Yeah, well… remember that college you went to?  Willowdale College?”

“I know.”

Ian grew so excited he was trembling.  “Yeah, well, I got a letter of enrollment today.”  Ian showed the acceptance letter to the photos.  “I’m in!  I start this fall!  I plan to spend a few years there, and transfer to a college to take my classes in astrophysics!”  After finally revealing the information to his dad, Ian’s face and energy fell when all he heard was the white noise of the tape recording.  “Wow… I hope I get the same college experience as you did.”

“Well, let’s find out.”

Ian couldn’t think of anything else to say, but there was something he wished he could do.  Making do, he unpinned a picture of his dad off the wall and hugged it tight against his chest.  Tears of bittersweetness rolled down his glowing blue cheeks.

“Okay, bye.” The tape ended.

Ian’s face folded into a melancholy frown.  “Yeah… bye.”  He sat down, still clutching the picture to his chest in his makeshift hug.

The long string of silence was broken by Ian’s bedroom door flying open.  “Hey Ian, I- oh.”  Barley stopped mid sentence when he saw the boom box on the desk and the dried tears on Ian’s face.  “I, uh…”

“It’s okay,” Ian replied, sitting up and wiping the tear from his face while placing the picture of dad on his desk.  “Come in.”

Barley stepped into the room.  “I got off the phone with mom and- hey, you got the letter!” he interrupted himself again, seeing the acceptance letter under the picture of dad.

“Yeah.”  Ian looked curious as he remembered the writing Barley added to the open envelope.  “Did you… open it?”

“How else could I have read it?” Barley asked back.

“Barley,” Ian softly scolded with a big smile.

Barley laughed proudly as he hugged his brother tight, lifting him up out of the chair.  “I’m sorry, I had to.  I was bringing in the mail after work and I saw the letter.”  Barley finally let Ian go, Ian tried to keep his balance as they stood together, eye to eye.  “Well, congratulations, college man.”

Ian tried to hold back more tears of joy.  “Yeah, thanks.”  Trying to break the tension, Ian suggested, “Maybe you’ll be next.  Perhaps a nice community college?”

Barley scoffed in a playful laugh.  “Nay.  I’m making waves at my part time jobs.  Weekdays stocking at Valiant Taels, weekends at Manticore’s Tavern, renaissance faire in the fall, the occasional engine work out of the garage…”

“Jobs at a comic and RPG shop and a tavern isn’t gonna pay a lot, Barley,” Ian commented.

“No,” Barley shrugged, “but they’ll pay enough, for now.”

Ian chuckled before thinking aloud to himself, “Wow, Willowdale.  I can’t wait to tell mom.  Have you told her?”

“Nah, you can do that tonight.”  Just as Barley said that, the boys could hear the front door open downstairs.

“Boys, we’re home,” Laurel called from downstairs.  “Boys?”

“Up here, mom!” Barley shouted back, loud enough that Ian had to cover his long ears.

“Come down boys,” Laurel replied.  “We need to tell you something.”

“Us too!” Ian replied excitedly.  He grabbed his letter and stuffed it in the back pocket of his jeans as he raced after Barley down the stairs.

“Woah, hold your horses,” Colt laughed as Barley nearly tripped on the last step.

Ian made his way down the stairs, slowing as he saw Barley take his seat on the couch, and Laurel in a chair, with Colt standing beside Laurel.  Curiouser, Ian sat down next to Barley on the couch.  “What’s going on?” Ian asked, realizing that Colt and Laurel are smiling with excitement, but he hasn’t told them yet.

“Boys,” Laurel said, holding Colt’s hand in hers.  “I have big news.”

“Oh, so do I,” Ian said, getting ready to grab the letter from his pocket, but pausing when he heard mom’s words.

“We’re pregnant.”

Barley and Ian, almost in unison, looked at each other then to Laurel and Colt.  “What?”

“Remember how I’ve been sick for the past few days?” Laurel continued, her smiled growing brighter.  “It’s morning sickness.”

“We just came back from the doctor,” Colt continued, happily holding Laurel’s hand.  “It’s positive.”

“Positive?” Ian asked.

“Positive,” Laurel replied.

“You’re positive?” Barley asked.

“Positive!” Laurel almost shouted, hugging Colt and giving him a big kiss.

When it finally sank in, Barley was up on his feet and hugging them as well.  “A little brother?  This is amazing!  Yeah-ha!”

It sank in for Ian, but felt more like it was weighing him down.  He silently let go of the letter in his pocket and just sat there, looking down at the ground.

Laurel finally noticed and asked, “Ian?  Did you say you had news too?”

“... yeah, nevermind.”  Ian stood from his seat and walked back upstairs.

“Ian?” Laurel called out.

“Ian?” Barley called out as well, Colt also concerned.

Ian knew to be excited, he knew not to be selfish.  But the timing… he was going to graduate, he’s going to college, Willowdale College.  And now, there’s a baby.  For the first time since dad, mom is pregnant with Colt, uhm, Ian’s step dad.  Ian’s still getting used to calling Colt dad since he and Laurel got married, guess a part of him is still holding onto his dad, his first dad.  Things were getting complicated, Ian thought graduating and getting the college he wanted would fix things.  But it’s only getting worse.

“I got this, Barley.  Ian?” Laurel opened the bedroom door to see Ian lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling.  He looked downtrodden, maybe even empty, like he wanted to get the thoughts racing in his head to cease just once.  Laurel sat down on the foot of the bed.  “Ian?  You had some news?”

“No, it’s okay,” Ian replied, trying not to look at her.

“Honey,” Laurel brushed a curl out of Ian’s face.  “I still want to know.  Please, tell me.”

That sweet, comforting tone helped Ian break out of his funk.  He sat up and pulled the letter from his pocket.  Instead of reading it to his mom like he planned, he just handed it to her.

Laurel silently read for a moment, but then she was bursting with excitement.  “Accepted?  You’re accepted!  My little college man!” Laurel squealed, practically throwing herself onto Ian as she gave him a big hug.

Ian finally smiled as he hugged right back.  He let those saddened tears fall, but he was happy once more.

“This is so great,” Laurel told Ian. “We’re going to go through so much.”

Ian looked confused again.  “We?”

“Yes.”  Laurel looked at Ian and explained, “You’re going to college, we’re going to have a kid.”

“We?”

“Yes,” Laurel smiled.  “It’s my child, but it’s your sibling.”

Ian looked like a deer in headlights.  “I’m… going to have a little brother?”

“Laurel!  Ian!  Dinner!” Colt called from downstairs.

“Oh!  We’ll talk later.  Race you downstairs,” Laurel announced as she ran out the door.

Ian didn’t move an inch, still staring at where Laurel’s eyesight once was.

He’s graduating.  He’s going to college.

And he’s getting a sibling

[melonishus]

[Ruby speeds along the sidewalk to Beacon when she plows into another girl]

[Bernadetta screams]

Ruby - I’m sorry ! I didn’t

Bernadetta - PLEASE DONT KILL ME

Ruby - I wouldn’t kill you, you seem nice

Bernadetta- Which is exactly what a murderer would say ! And just look at you, wearing black and red

Ruby - You’re wearing black and gold

Bernadetta - Touché

...............

[Ruby takes Bernie by the hand and walks along the path to Gareg Mach ]

Ruby - Hmmmmm, This doesn’t seem like the right school 

Bernie - What are you talking about ? Gareg Mach is the best school in Fodland

Seteth - Excuse me 

[Bernie and Ruby shriek]

Seteth - I know this is your first day, but every student at Gareg Mach is expected to wear the uniform

Ruby - I don’t have one 

Seteth - No matter . We will provide you one. Follow me 

[Ruby nods and follows Seteth to change]

Bernadetta - WAIT 

[Bernie is alone]

Bernadetta- Oh of course she’s leave you. No one likes you Bernie [slumps]

...........

[Ruby is ushered into the Black Eagle classroom] 

Edelgard - Why hello there 

Ruby - Oh hi....my names Ruby Rose 

Edelgard - Rose ? I assume you come from a commoner house ?

Ruby - [confused] I don’t know, I think my house is pretty unique

[Ruby spots Bernadetta]

Ruby - HEY ITS YOU 

[Bernie screams ]

[Ruby runs to Bernadettas side ]

Ruby - I’m glad I found you ! I thought I lost my first friend here 

[Bernie looked uncomfortable]

Ruby - Whats wrong ? 

Bernadetta - N...Nothing !

.............

[Bernadetta watches Ruby from the doorway of her dorm, trying to figure out why she’s at a Renaissance faire]

Dorothea - Heeeeeey Bernie 

Bernadetta - [shrieks] GODDESS HELP ME 

[Dorothea pulls Bernie into her room before Ruby could see them]

Dorothea - It’s fine Bernadetta , I was just going to ask you what you were doing ? You seemed awfully interested in the mysterious new girl

Bernadetta - No [stomps] She’s terrifying 

Dorothea - That adorable thing ? 

Bernadetta - She’s fast , and strong....super loud

Dorothea - Oh Bernie, she just wants to be your friend  

Bernadetta - [grabs the sides of her head] [terrified] I can’t be friends with commoners ! [runs away]

Dorothea - [concern] Can’t be friends with commoners ?

............

Ruby - Wow ....everyones weapons kind of basic

Bernie - What do you mean 

[Ruby transforms Crescent Rose]

Bernie - A HEROS RELIC ?!?!?!

[Rhea approaches quickly from a distance ]

_____________

Writing Requests are OPEN

RWBY Emblem

[zosonils]

A, E, F, I, K, N, P, T, X, and Z for the fandom prompts? Sorry if it’s too many

a - ships that you currently like a lot - every day my brain is filled with queerplatonic phinabella and bu[ferb]jeet, and i’ve also been thinking about canderemy quite a bit lately because it’s genuinely really sweet?? like They Care Each Other and it’s nice to have a canonically established pairing that’s really healthy and supportive and if nobody else is going to think about jeremy i will fucking do it all myself

e - have you added anything hilarious to your fandom? - i’ve definitely contributed my fair share of shitposts but i don’t think i’ve made any significant widespread impact yet lmao. maybe there’s another timeline out there where catu sparked a phineas and ferb fandom renaissance and my post about ferb and buford texting british recipes to each other has 47,000 notes [1200 of which are a violent in-character debate between two sans roleplay blogs] and haunts me every day and night

f - what’s the longest you’ve ever been in a fandom? - i’ve been into sonic since i was 7 and i’m nearly an adult now and it terrifies me

i - has tumblr caused you to stop liking any fandoms? - answered here

k - what character has your favourite development arc? - to be honest basically every character development arc i like is one that i made up myself in my many extensive fuck canon timelines, but i really love how whisper’s been developing in idw sonic so far :) it’s really really good to see her making friends and coming out of her shell in contrast to her first appearances while still having extremely clear boundaries, and as more of her previous trauma is revealed it’s really interesting to see how that recontextualises her actions - she’s such an amazingly written character and i love how respectfully she’s handled without the writing around her ever getting more serious than anything else in idw sonic [which is on the grim side for sonic media, literally the third arc was a zombie apocalypse and it lasted like 2 years, but it’s still pretty full of ye olde goofy sonic the heck hijinks and handles all but the darkest of moments pretty lightheartedly]

n - name three things you wish you saw more of in your main fandom - i already answered this one but i’m doin it again! i’m cheating and naming six babey! god may judge me but his sins outnumber my own, as they say

aro phineas [with queerplatonic phinabella optional but recommended] please please please please please please please plea

i want early flynn-fletcher family shenanigans!! ferb meeting his new siblings, the kids all getting used to having two parents, baby perry?? has anyone written this? i’ll write it damn it! i might not because writing is hard but also if nobody else is gonna do it then i will!!!!! give me shape babies god fucking damn it!

i wish more people acknowledged the fact that doof is canonically a double amputee like. i know it only comes up in one episode and is never mentioned again and was probably intended as a bit of dark-ish comedy but it’s a really cool fact about him that’s got so much potential for art and fics alike [and even if it didn’t, acknowledging canonically disabled characters even if it’s only canon on a technicality and as a probable joke is still always important!]

p - invent a random au for any fandom - i think i made exactly one post about this and then forgot about it but fuck it phineas and ferb sonic adventure 2 au. phineas goes fast. perry is a chao and he does something really cool, probably. vanessa is contractually obligated to die unfortunately because she’s the best stand-in for maria. ferb might also die but also i could decide he doesn’t if i want to because i sure as hell did that with shadow [i know he comes back but it’s bad so i’m re-killing him and re-reviving him and making an alternate timeline fuck you sega shadow wouldn’t be a cop]. baljeet causes immeasurable damage to government property while upbeat synth music plays

t - any hard and fast headcanons you’ll die defending - [SLAMS BINDER THE SIZE OF A SMALL TO MEDIUM COUNTRY ON TABLE] i literally could not name all of them if i TRIED. i have so many it’s genuinely hard just to pick a handful to showcase as example. in most cases i’m genuinely fine with other interpretations even though i like mine better but there are a select few that i refuse to budge a goddamn planck length on and that automatically make me kinda suspicious of anyone who adamantly disagrees; mostly these are autistic headcanons because what kind of a MANIAC thinks ferb ‘nonverbal no eye contact hyperfocusing king’ fletcher is neurotypical

x - a trope which you’re almost certain to love in any fandom - FOUND FUCKING FAMILY BABEY!!!!! it’s so fucking good even when some or all of the characters already have pretty good relationships with their biological/legal family, there’s a flavour of it to suit basically any group of characters and it makes my heart go bkngjbn hsbvhfnvhjf hsnvjwnvjkfn hjfvnksjvnf hfnvfjk every time :’)

z - ramble about anything fan related - i can’t fuckin do this without a prompt because my brain turns into soup when i’m put on the spot hfnvkfgnj sorry but uhhhhh autistic ferb good and i’m genuinely so so so so glad that it’s received some level of acknowledgement/approval from dan. honestly if you want an answer for this question just scroll through my blog for any length of time hjndfvkfnkbn

[xlehukax]

Yet another idea that struck me on a whim...

May I present to you, Loki at a Renaissance Faire. 

You’ve been planning on taking your local Mischief god to the Fair for a while now, seeing as he would likely be all too obsessed with it. Wanting it to be a surprise, you opted to keep it hidden as an excuse for wanting to be dressed all Asgardian style for a date. Since this technically was not a lie, you were going on a date just not a normal one, Loki thought nothing of it and gave you a very nice outfit to wear. You drive the hour plus drive from the city, Loki unassuming, and your excitement mounting as each mile passed. Finally, when you reached the fair and Loki exits the car... the look on his face is part horror and part morbid curiousity. 

“What is this place? Do you mock me?” 

“No, no, of course not! This is a Renaissance Faire, people dress all Medieval and galavant around like knights and wizards. I thought you might like it, because it’s maybe just a tiny bit similar to Asgard. The Faire here only runs for a few weekends, and maybe it would be a nice surprise? I’m sorry... I hope that’s not offensive or anything...” you fret, suddenly unsure if this was the right way to go. Perhaps you should have just taken him to the movie theatre or a play or something... 

“I appreciate your courtesy, my love. Let’s see what this frightful rendition of olden times has for a prince and his beloved, hmm?” Loki smirks, intertwining his hand with yours. Breathing a sigh of relief, you make sure the car is parked before heading in the archway to the Faire itself. 

It appears that Loki’s princely gait does not go unnoticed by both other guests and the faculty themselves. Loki treats each person as he would if he was a prince on Asgard still: lofty mannerisms, fancy language, general stuck-up royal attitude. You find it ridiculously enjoyable, of course: this is the same man who has been living in your apartment for months now and can’t get over the fact that there are just so many flavors of Ben & Jerry’s. 

“Peasant, you truly believe you have a knife of better quality than one of my own? Foolish quim, you know nothing of true artistry. I have seen finer weaponry from the rabble!” 

“Hey, this is homemade stuff, dude!” the salesman protests, seeming truly hurt that this random man is dishing on him so. Loki produces his own knives, pretending that they came from his side and not from a pocket dimension. 

“Now, this is legitimate excellence!” Loki slams the knife on the table, “And I am a Prince. Nay, a King. You must hold you tongue and treat me as the monarch that I am! Or, you shalt see justice served at the tip of my blades, scoundrel,” Loki demands. The salesman shrinks back, muttering something about the guests being too into the act. You pull on Loki’s arm: he winks at you. 

“You were quite right, this is much fun, my love,” 

“Hah, I’m glad you’re enjoying completely roasting everything you see,” you sigh. 

“This is, in actuality, what a prince would likely do,” Loki remarks. 

“If you say so,” 

Your lighthearted conversation is interrupted by a staffperson, who has clearly heard of Loki galavanting about and bows deeply before talking to him. 

“My liege, it is good to finally find you! I heard that you and your beloved have been walking about our small town of old and was instructed to lead you to the king’s booth for the royal joust,” 

“It is about time, peasant. I have been waiting for much too long,” Loki looks down his nose at the staffperson rather snootily, and it takes much willpower not to break into laughter. 

The person leads you to the booth overlooking the joust, and Loki seats you first before sitting in a ‘throne’ himself. His hands fold over his lap, and you take pleasure in how he smiles excitedly. The people down below heap praises and honors dramatically on him, blessing him for attending their measly match of strength. 

“You’re really enjoying this, huh?” 

“Well, I am the king now, darling. Not exactly how I imagined it would come to be, but fun nonetheless,” 

~~~~~~

By the time you finally make it back outside the Faire, they have closed for the evening and Loki has a crown and a kingly cloak. His eyes are alight with both the mischief enacted from the entirety of the day and so much enjoyment. Most likely from literally every person he walked by bowing and curtseying in his presence. Some would heap compliments, others even going as far as giving him some of their wares. He could even demand free food and drink, and he’d receive it from the shops (of course, you were paying for it discreetly but he doesn’t need to know that). He seems more delighted now than he has in a long time. You open the car door for him to sit, gesturing to his new throne for the two hours it will take to get back to your apartment. 

“My king, your new place of honor,” you announce. Loki smiles wide, kissing your cheek, before sitting inside. You go to the drivers seat and prepare the GPS for the long way home. 

“Darling?” 

“Yes, Loki?” 

“Thank you, for this day. Though it lacked in the grandeur of being King of Asgard, it was certainly something. And very thoughtful of you,” his hand lands over yours on the gearshift. You smile. 

“It was my pleasure, my king,” 

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Monsters of the Museum || Dakota and Morgan

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @dakotasgrant & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Dakota and Morgan try to open up to one another. Some things are scarier than glass-cased monstrosities.

CONTAINS: Mentions of alcoholism, parental abuse, death, and car accident

Despite the weird shit that happened when she and Morgan hung out last, Dakota still felt as though she needed to water this seed, because when it came to everyone else in town so far… Well, this was the only one that was growing. She felt a little bad about getting defensive, and she had already planned on apologizing again once she saw Morgan at the museum, but… Well, technically what she’d said had been true. Morgan knew a sensitive detail about Dakota, but she didn’t really know her. And if she was going to take her only friend’s advice when it came to making more friends, then she needed to know more about Morgan first.

The museum had been her own idea, and even as she sat on the steps waiting patiently for her company to arrive, she still thought it would be fun with or without her. In an effort to be a nicer person, though, she did have two coffees set by her side, her hands in her pockets. She hoped Morgan liked hot bean water sans cream and sugar.

Morgan’s nerves prickled like needles as she pulled up to the museum. For all the effort they’d put into their pop up display during the carnival, the actual building was kind of dull looking, like a refurbished old train station no one had ever cared about. She steadied herself, trying to narrate a version of this visit to herself that both didn’t end with more attempted theft, or factual education, and had her leave with her conscience intact. She couldn’t exactly coax Dakota into making a scene while she smashed her way through reclaiming some supernatural artifacts to restore to their rightful communities, like she had with Deirdre. Nothing came to mind, so maybe she would just ignore everything in the museum and focus on the conversation around them. They were here to get to know each other. She didn’t need to worry about corpses being disrespected by being called creations and elaborate hoaxes, or photographs of supernaturals who hadn’t wanted to be seen dismissed, or magic relics categorized as superstition. She would be fine, and the afternoon with Dakota would be a good one.

Morgan finally got out of her Subaru and jogged up to meet her friend. “Hey! It’s a great day to be inside where it’s warm, huh? Let’s go, yeah?” She offered a hand to help Dakota up. “I tried to come up with some kind of random fact like they make you come up with in cheesy ice breakers on the way but--” I was too distracted by knowing how much wrongful nonsense you’re about to fall for in here. “--I just couldn’t. I’ve had some memorable shitty jobs in the past? I used to have an online crystal shop? My cat that’s been with me the longest, Anya, liked to be walked on a leash and harness?” She held open the door for them as they went in. “What I’m trying to say is, I will try to be as much of an open book as possible, okay?” And as long as they kept talking, how hard could that be?

She stepped onto the shiny tile floor and came face to face with half a dozen dull-eyed, incorporeal school children in their uniforms. She squealed, covering her mouth a second too late and jumped back close to Dakota. “Sorry! This place is just--” Haunted. Full to the brim and fucking haunted within an inch of its life. Morgan couldn’t look in any direction without catching sight of at least two spirits hovering near the display cases. Shit, shit, shit. “--so impressive! Like, way more than I thought it would be!”

Dakota was a little bit more excited than she wanted to admit, especially when Morgan showed up. She wasn’t the kind of person she ever thought she’d be friends with -- she was quirky, and weird, and confusing… But she was bright and bubbly and seemed to be this kind of oddly positive, always “chipper” sort of person. Which, as anyone could see, was the complete opposite of herself. But it made her happy to see that even if she was such a cynic, the people around her could still exist in this sort of.. Care-free innocence, it seemed. Of course, that was all her own perception, but she still firmly believed that Morgan did have some sort of sweet innocence to her, whether or not that was actually true. And she was also a firm believer that being friends with someone like Morgan was the closest she’d ever come to being that bright and bubbly and kind and sweet.

“Hey,” she greeted, but within a short amount of time she was bombarded with words. She forgot that Morgan did that, but this time it was slightly more endearing than the last. From a crystal shop to her cat, she did realize that all she was trying to do was tell her that she was going to be as genuine as possible. Whether or not Dakota chose to believe whatever she was about to say for the next few hours was up for discussion, but who would lie about a cat being walked on a harness? “Right, yeah -- Um. I guess I just wanted to know more about who you are as a person, you know?” she began, holding the door for the both of them to shuffle in. “So, let’s start with --” she began, but was quickly shut up by Morgan’s reaction to the museum.

While Dakota was impressed by the tile and artwork, Morgan seemed to have jumped back only a few moments after being inside -- as if she’d just seen a scary bug. This forced Dakota’s brows to knit together, looking at her in pure confusion. “Uh.. Yeah, I guess so..” It’s not that impressive. “I mean, it’s just a museum -- in my opinion. Have you been to the MET? I heard it’s crazy nice in there.”

“Uh…” Morgan winced with genuine embarrassment. “Sorry. I think my bar was just set really low. I mean, stars, they even have headsets! Not that I want one, you can’t really be with someone when you’re doing that.” Another nervous smile. She glared at the school children floating in front of them in a way that she hoped said, get lost. But they only glanced at Dakota with their cataract eyes and floated, dripping, back to the display case they seemed bound to. Morgan side stepped them carefully as she started down the nearest open corridor. “I did go to the MET actually! It’s so incredible, I didn’t even get to see half of it. It was just a few hours, when I took that trip to New York City with my girlfriend. We wanted our second day to be more chill and get back to our room before Times Square got too crowded, so we just walked the parts of the MET together that we could, popped out and found a bakery, and walked to a historical cemetery after. But here was this great collection of Dutch and German renaissance art and some pottery from indigenous tribes from the southwest. You should go, if you ever get the chance. I just, you know, didn’t think it would be this nice or roomy here.” She cleared her throat, hiding the impulse to seize up at the sight of a headless woman drifting up and down the corridor with them, phasing through half the patrons as she did.

“I’m not really sure how to define what kind of person I am,” she admitted, lowering her gaze to gather herself better. “I feel like I’m in a state of flux. I’m afraid you really will just have to play detective on that one.”

In the spirit of trying to make friends, Dakota tried her best to ignore the way Morgan was acting at the moment. If she’d been to the MET, she shouldn’t have been this surprised by the roominess of the museum… But, of course, she had to remind herself of Morgan’s excitability, and simply dismissed the issue. You can’t dismiss everything entirely, though can you? She didn’t want to think about that. The Nordica was weeks ago, and she hadn’t seen anything other than a big open showfloor with a few intrigued patrons wandering. All who seemed normal, all who seemed human, and no sign of anything with horns, so.. Maybe that’s just how Morgan was. Excitable. A little strange. Definitely weird. All true statements, sure, but she was also a friend.

“Everyone’s always in flux, Morgan. That’s sort of what life does to people. So tell me about your stages, and… I guess I’ll tell you mine.” she stated -- not in a malicious or rude manner, because to Dakota, she was just stating facts. If she listed all the changes she’s been through in the last 30 years of her life, she was sure she could come up with a way she was changing even now, approaching 40 in the next three years. Ooh, don’t think about that, either. They started at the Mutated Dog Remains exhibit, which was really just a bunch of old bones reassembled that showed minor mutations, but she had to admit they all looked rather large. The plaque below a particularly strange looking resemblance of a creature that must have died a while ago mentioned the word hellhound, but debunked the term by stating it was an urban legend, a made-up story, folklore.

“I know that you’re a lesbian, and a wiccan, and that you like deathly stuff. I know you had a best friend when you were younger that made you realize you were gay, and I know you have a girlfriend, and I know you’ve been to New York City. I also know that you have a cat. I guess the reason we’re here is because -- I mean, if you want to talk to me about letting people get to know me, least of all Marley Stryder, then I think it’s fair that I get to know the person who’s giving this crazy advice. So what’s the stuff you never tell anybody? Or were your parents like, happy when you were a kid?”

“Well, I flux more or harder than most people,” Morgan said with a low laugh. “And that’s three cats, total. I got Anya in Houston, and my girlfriend and I got Moira together, and we took in Niamh when her owner, a friend of ours, died suddenly late last year.” She couldn’t help but laugh again, shaking her head ruefully now as the suggestion that her parents were happy. “Oh, stars above, no. I mean, we tried. They tried. And we had moments, like most families, and that’s what I try to focus on but…” Another dry laugh. How did you explain, ‘well my mom was magically cursed with true suffering and shared that curse with me when I was born, so!’ “It was really complicated. My mother was…a really hurt woman. She did what she thought was best, but by the time she had me, her perception of ‘best’ had been warped by a lot of fear and bad experiences. She was really accepting of me when I came out, but that didn't really make all the times she dragged me screaming to my room and locked me in for awhile go away, you know?” Morgan winced, wondering if this was already oversharing. “I’m okay now, obviously,” she hastened to say. “I was just raised under some really specific circumstances that are hard for a lot of people to understand.”

“More or harder than most people?” Dakota repeated, trying her best not to sound judgmental. Lord knows she was the last person to judge, but.. It still came somewhat natural to her. Gotta work on that. She listened, though, about the cats -- reading plaque after plaque of random artifacts that didn’t look more or less interesting than what she could find at Pottery Barn. The place was probably filled with hoaxes, but she wasn’t about to comment, because.. God, wasn’t she so tired of being cynical all the time? Despite her overall standoffishness, Dakota really did care about what Morgan had to say. She could relate in a lot of ways to the story she told -- the half truths she was narrating. She’d been locked in her room before, but probably not for too long, because she always found a way out. And the more she thought about it, it was probably because dad was angry, and nobody wanted to be around when he started yelling. He never hit, though. If she loved him for anything other than ABBA, it was because he never hit. But she wasn’t going to tell Morgan any of that. Fucking hypocrite, she thought to herself. Asking this woman to bare her deepest darkest secrets while you can’t even tell her the truth. If there was one good intention of Dakota’s, though, it was that she cared about Morgan, and if she wanted to get any closer than an arm’s length, she’d need to read the footnotes. “Kind of sounds like Sparknotes there, Beck.” she said, tucking her hands into the pockets of the coat she was wearing while they aimlessly strolled the museum. “You don’t have to go any deeper than that if you don’t want. I’m just.. Saying that you can. If that’s what you want.”

“Wow,” Morgan said, laughing unsteadily. “And here I thought I was oversharing.” She shifted a little closer to Dakota, dodging the spectre of a man with burnt, twisted limbs. He glowered at her, condemning her denial of him. “I’m sorry,” she hissed under her breath. And she was. But smashing glass and striking up conversation with the air in a room full of normies wasn’t going to fix anything. “Um, if you pick a number that’s a multiple of three I can give you the Nightline Edition of some quality trauma. We can pull up one of those number generators on my phone if we really want to play with fate.” She laughed at her own bad joke. No one knew better than her that fate didn’t let you play when she’d made up her mind. It had only been, what, fifteen minutes from the banshee scream on her life to the rebar pole skewering her insides? “Last year counts too,” she added. “I’m not trying to be cagey on purpose. Shockingly, I am actually trying not to scare you off by dumping too much all at once.”

She stopped in front of a framed photograph of the Bachman House, now a pile of rubble in the bend. The placard mentioned the number of unusual deaths on the property, with the usual highlights of trampled by own horse, impaled by own farm tools, unlucky trip down stairs, and those were just the ones that could be ruled by accidents. On the other balcony, she could see teeth in glass boxes and a singular framed wing. “Can I ask you something first?” Morgan asked, her eyes settling into an empty middle distance where there was nothing to see, nothing to hide, no problem. “Where do you think all this stuff comes from? The stories, the pain around it all. What do you believe about it?”

“A multiple of three, huh?” Dakota inquired, mainly just to amuse her. If she was going to be friends with Morgan, it was quite obvious that she was going to have to play by her rules -- meaning that she probably would have to settle for the goofiness, or the kindness, or the sunshine and rainbows of it all. Weirdest part about all of that was the fact that Dakota usually scoffed at people who seemed to be full of so much joy. What the fuck was there to be joyful about, ever? You’re born, you live, you work for fifty years or so, and you die. The monotony of life… The mundanity of it all. So what the fuck was Morgan Beck even smiling about, even if she did have a Nightlife Edition highlight reel of her trauma ready to share? Jesus, dude, go to therapy.

Morgan caught her off guard, just a tad, with her next question. Where did she think all of this stuff came from? What does she believe about all of it? Dakota simply shrugged, unsure of how to put her thoughts into words, which was a first. “I.. Guess the bones come from a bunch of different animals. Some of the artifacts have to be mass produced or ordered off, like, Etsy. The pictures and stuff? Well, anyone can go up to a creepy looking house that hasn’t had any tender love and care for a few decades and make up a story.” Dakota paused, bringing her attention back to the Bachman house. “I guess that’s what it is, in a nutshell. People wanting to believe things bad enough. People wanting other people to believe them bad enough. But the key is in making up the story -- because you can’t spell believe without L-I-E.”

Dakota let a lull in the conversation pass, tucking her hands back into her pockets, wandering off from the picture.“I pick 27, by the way. For the multiples thing.” she tossed over her shoulder.

Morgan nodded along. She couldn’t fault Dakota for speaking so callously without knowing how it all tied to Morgan. And there was some kind of awful experience sitting under her stiffness, something  that made her mistrust goodness and acceptance. “I’ll give you a two for one special,” she said quietly. “The house in that picture is mine. And everything in that placard is true. I have the documents from the town archives to prove it. And there’s a few more deaths that happened off the property tied to my family. There was a servant girl named Constance who wanted to run away with one of the Bachman daughters, Agnes. They were found out by  Agnes’ mother, Hannah Bachman, and the story suddenly went from a desperate romantic getaway to coercion. Constance didn’t have any family or friends to stick up for her, so word of her preying upon the innocent Bachman daughter spread, and she spent about a month living in the woods like an animal until she finally died.” Died because she surrendered her form to power a generational curse, but Morgan didn’t feel like arguing those particulars with a skeptic. “There are some truly horrible, inexplicable things that happen here that are just as real as the morning weather.”

She turned to Dakota, smiling sadly. “When I was twenty-seven, I was supposed to be finishing up my Masters’ in literature. I was living in this nice apartment with some other students and one of them was in my program. And she was so beautiful, and I would’ve done anything for her except say I liked her. One day I’m making sun tea and she pulls me aside about something, how behind on my share of the rent I am, and it’s going okay, but I decide to start opening up about--” The curse. Stupidly, she’d tried to tell her about the curse. “Some of the smaller crises that were going on, and she didn’t believe me and got really upset. And...okay, so the super swore later on that he had replaced all the windows so they were double insulated. This one windowpane had been missed. So when the girl threw one of my plants at the window, the whole thing shattered. I went to pick up the glass and she wanted me to stay away from her, and she pushed me, but because of the glass around her, she also cut herself and slipped and she went backwards just right out the window and fell through what was left of it. We were on the fourth floor, so…” Morgan winced. “Everyone heard us screaming before then, and my standing over the window-- I mean, it was so fast I was too late before I even tried to get close enough to catch her-- it didn’t look good, and they made me re-hash everything we’d been talking about and they didn’t like or believe it either, so I spent the evening answering questions from the authorities, and being yelled at by my roommates, and packing up my stuff. Then came the psych evaluation, which I was too anxious and scared to refuse, and that was pretty scary. And by that time it was eight o’clock or something, so I holed up in a Whataburger for a little bit and then drove around our college town trying to figure out where I was supposed to go next. I got a shitty little Motel 6 place for a few months before I could get leave of absence paperwork going and do depressed 20-something shit until I could start back again with a cohort that didn’t know me.” She thought back on that day, shivering at the memory of the body ragdolled on the gravel, the blood framing her and soaking her hair, the glare of the sun on her empty face… “Sometimes things just happen.” Sometimes they happened because the neutrality of the universe could hurt, and sometimes they happened because you were cursed to carry your great-great grandmother’s crimes on your shoulders.

Dakota had fully intended on continuing to browse the museum, already halfway to the next display whenever Morgan spoke up about the Bachman house. She listened, of course, but part of her didn’t believe a word coming out of her mouth. But she remembered something Erin had said a few weeks ago, something about how she herself had nothing to gain from lying to her, and Dakota couldn’t help but wonder if the same was true for Morgan. What would she have gained by lying to her? What would she get out of a story like that? Unless the woman standing before her was severely mentally ill, suffering from some sort of psychosis or a personality disorder, then what was Morgan getting out of lying about a picture of a house? She stopped in her path, turned back to look at her, and just as she was about to grill her for the evidence, she started talking about grad school.

Morgan shared, and after she’d finished, the exhibit they’d been standing in had been emptied of all people, most of whom had gone on to go see whatever else this place had to offer. Dakota didn’t mean to stare, but she was looking at Morgan for what felt like forever, and suddenly, deciding on whether or not the Bachman story was true wasn’t exactly the most pressing issue anymore. “Jesus Christ,” she murmured, because it was the only thing she really knew to say. She almost wanted to give Morgan a hug, but she wasn’t a touchy person, and she wasn’t even sure if they were close enough for that anyways, so she refrained. “Not sure I can follow that. You win on the trauma stories.”

“It’s not a contest,” Morgan said softly. “Honestly, it’s…” She exhaled slowly. It had been awful, yes. And it had taken her longer than usual to bounce back, to make friends without wanting to run or panic. She didn’t bother telling anyone about the curse at all after that, at least until White Crest. It was the kind of hurt you didn’t think about too much. Besides, there was always another one three years ahead. On and on until the day she died. “I’ve had worse. And it was over ten years ago. I don’t really, you know, think about it that much in the grand scheme of things. I have other, bigger things to worry about.” She did her best to brush it off as no big deal, but in the wake of the confession, she mostly felt bewilderment at her forming any attachments in White Crest at all. “Why don’t you tell me something about yourself, huh? I mean, I know you’ve shared a lot already, and I don’t mind talking more, I just don’t want to take all the air in here, either.” She looked sidelong at Dakota, unsure at how she was really taking all this. Did she think she was making this up? Did she think she was crazy?

Morgan was right. It wasn’t a competition. But if you did compare the two stories -- Dakota’s entire life and then the one incident that happened to Morgan when she was 27 -- Dakota would look like a spoiled goddamned brat. Of course, she could tell her about The Nordica… But she was still in denial about the events that unfolded that night. Erin was the only one she trusted enough to talk about that with because she was the only one she knew that had seen the event take place. She was the only one she really felt safe enough with to talk about the possibility that maybe that thing wasn’t just some rare animal, and maybe it was a monster. Regardless of that, though, it didn’t matter how many times Dakota showed up at Erin’s place to talk about it, because denial was more than just a river in Egypt. Dakota took the opportunity to lean against the railing that blocked museum goers from getting too close to any artifacts that weren’t held behind plexiglass, folded her arms over her chest and let out a little sigh. “I don’t feel like going by multiples of any particular number, so I’m just going to tell you everything, so try to keep up.” Here goes nothing. Or everything.

“I was born and raised in Detroit, but you knew that. It wasn’t the nice part of Detroit because we were really fucking poor. My mom worked at Valentino’s Diner on 8 Mile Road and I never saw her because she was always working -- double shifts, almost every day. I literally remember being a kid and dipping into the drug store to buy her cigarettes and dropping them off on my way home from school. My dad was an alcoholic. I still don’t really know much about him, but I know that he fell asleep in his recliner every night with old ass tv shows on with usually some type of scotch or brandy at his side. One time our house almost burnt down because he blacked out with a lit cigar in his hand -- he must’ve dropped it, because there was a huge cinched patch in our living room that we had to cut out of the carpet.” You’re really going for it, huh? “They fought… A lot. Because mom was doing the double shifts I told you about, and Dad bled their savings dry for booze, and they were always yelling at each other about money. When I was younger I remember asking my mom who “Bill” was. I used to think that we must have just had a lot of thunderstorms because the power kept going out, but really the power just kept getting shut off. Dad referred to her as a “ball and chain” to his buddies, but I think it was the other way around, because my mom was smart. And really fucking brave. And he knew that if he ever hit her, he’d be a dead man, because she wasn’t afraid to fight back. So I know what it’s like to be locked in your room. I didn’t understand then, but I know now that really she was just trying to protect me from seeing things I didn’t need to see, but must’ve forgot that I had ears. When I got older, I started sneaking out of my bedroom window when shit like that happened. Went and rode my bike, that sort of thing. I remember always being so pissed that I never knew what was going on, which is probably why I do what I do. I hate it when nobody knows what’s going on. All that misinformation..” she trailed off. Yeah, you’re one to talk. “Anyways, I was the poor kid with really greasy hair and hand-me-down clothes, and people talked. Kids are fucking assholes. But I took after my mom, because I’m pretty smart, too, and I worked my ass off and got to college. Chris -- my, uh, ex that I told you about -- he followed me. He was going to be a big businessman or whatever the fuck, and really I just wanted the stability, so.. I stayed. For a while. Then I ended up here. And you’d think that the bullshit would’ve stopped, but I know what it feels like to see someone die now, so.. I guess we’re on the same page there.”

“Oh, Dakota…” Morgan pulled her into her arms as best she could. “That’s not something you should have to know. Sorry doesn’t change anything, but… I am. And I don’t--I don’t think it’s too late for you to leave, if that’s what you want. This place is violent. Whatever, whoever you saw die...it’s just a lot more common here than it is in some other places. This place is violent and cruel and you have definitely suffered enough.” From Dakota’s expression, the same could maybe be said for her, but there was too much here. She felt bound to it, or maybe she was just mired and didn’t realize. “I know you’re just starting to find your way, but no one would blame you if you went.”

She pulled back, still touching the woman’s arm, lingering there. “Listen...if you…” Morgan hesitated. Dakota had made herself so vulnerable and Morgan knew exactly what she really wanted to know about her, and who was she to push Dakota to be more vulnerable and open with new people if she couldn’t even try to offer this? “Do you still really want to know what’s...why my body is the way that it is? Because I can tell you, or I can try to. But we should probably find somewhere to sit first.”

Can’t leave yet. “Yeah, but if I skipped town now, who would I cry to about personal shit in the middle of a museum full of hoaxes? Seriously, this is invaluable.” Dakota sounded a bit sarcastic, but she did mean it -- if she were to get the next plane ticket outta this place, she would most definitely be losing one of the only relationships she ever cared about in her life and leaving it behind. Even if White Crest was a cursed place, she’d still feel bad for leaving Morgan.

After she had pulled back from the hug -- which was accepted but not necessarily invited -- something was offered that had piqued her interest. An actual explanation as to why Morgan was the way that Morgan was. At least… Why her blood looked like tar and her skin healed at a superhuman speed. She was ready for the vegan preaching, and now a little more prepared for a cyborg arm than she had been before. If you can see Krampus in a movie theater, I’m sure doctors can create a superhuman arm. “I mean, I’d love to know, but you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” she offered politely, even though she was practically crawling out of her skin with anticipation. “I think there’s a cafe near the entrance, if you wanna..?

Morgan glanced quickly at the cafe area and thought better of it. Too many people. If this went badly, she didn’t want to be the center of a scene. She looked around the gallery and found a relatively empty bench. Well, empty of living people. There was a rather large group of ghost pirates floating around a piece of a ship encased in glass. Morgan made her way toward them, making a face she hoped indicated that she wanted some privacy. The pirates, however, had been dead long enough to not care and just cleared the bench so no one would be sitting through their ghostly bodies.

Morgan shouldered off her jacket and sat very close to Dakota, who she pulled down with her. “So, last April I was kind of in an accident. There was this light malfunction and that caused this huge wreck and it was so fast there was debris everywhere. And I was um…” She winced, remembering. “I was on the sidewalk. I was supposed to go home after work, but I stopped for ice cream with my friend, at this little stand. And it was just some terrible Final Destination bullshit, but my foot was caught and I couldn’t run and then I was on the ground, and there was this…” That pole. That fucking pole of rebar. Morgan had seen it almost every night during those magic nightmares. She couldn’t talk about that, not without knowing how Dakota would take the truth. “It was really bad,” she said. “I don’t know what the best way to explain is, but you can track the….change in my pulse, my heartbeat.” She rolled up her sleeve and held out her wrist. “Will you see? Please?” Her voice trembled with trepidation. Already, she was scrambling to brace herself for the worst; trouble was, she didn’t really know what ‘worst’ looked like yet.

As Morgan ushered them over to a nearby bench, Dakota started to realize that maybe this was a bigger deal than just some blood disorder or bionic arm thing. Whatever it was, she still thought that Morgan would be a friend regardless, because you’re not friends with people just because their bodies function normally. Besides, even if it freaked her out, Morgan was the closest thing to a friend Dakota had ever had -- and she didn’t mean that lightly. Not when she’d grown up the outcast, and not when fitting in always felt like jamming a puzzle piece where it didn’t fit. As far as she was concerned, Morgan could admit she’d committed several murders and partook in some shady drug lord businesses and she’d probably still be her friend.

As they sat, and Morgan spoke about an accident, Dakota just listened. She was good at listening, but it was more of the “getting it” part she hadn’t mastered -- at least...not when it came to people. The accident she’d described seemed horrific enough. Something Dakota prayed to a God she didn’t believe in that would never happen to her. At first, she was confused as to why she needed to feel her pulse, but her voice trembled, and she could tell this was important to her, so.. She gave it a shot, even though she didn’t quite understand. Placing two fingers on her wrist, Dakota searched for her pulse. She tried several different spots, but she didn’t feel a single beat, and her skin was still ice cold. “So… You have a weak pulse? Because of the accident?” she asked.

“You have to hold it for longer than that,” Morgan hissed. “Here.” She took Dakota by the sleeve and pressed her hand over her heart, firmly, where it would’ve been easy for anyone to feel at least a faint impression of a heartbeat. Morgan held it, and held it, and held it. “I’m trying to tell you I don’t have one anymore,” she whispered. “But I’m trying to prove it to you first. You need to understand that this is real.” She drew in a deep breath (In. Hold. Out.) and made sure Dakota felt it. Her chest expanded, the air flowed, but only because she willed it consciously. There was nothing in her that regulated her existence, no internal rhythm to keep up. Her will and her steady feeding were the only things maintaining her existence. “You can try checking on my neck, you can ask me to hold my breath, whatever you feel like you need to do, but I am trying, very hard, to show you the truth.”

Maybe laughing was a knee-jerk response. Actually, she knew exactly why she started to laugh -- because people laugh when they need to project dignity and control during times of stress and anxiety. In situations like this one, right here and right now, when Dakota was confused on all fronts, and anxious because she knew the truth was that Morgan didn’t have a pulse, or a heartbeat, nor was there even the faintest thumb against the palm of her hand through her chest, her response was to laugh. If there was no pulse -- if there was no beat, no rhythm rattling around in her ribcage, then she must have been… She had to be… Dead. Right? People usually laugh in a subconscious attempt to reduce stress and calm down. However, for Dakota, it often works otherwise.

It took a few moments, but she retracted her hand as if recoiling from a hot flame, and stood up immediately. She didn’t know what to say, much less what to do. She could make a break for it and get the hell out of there, but that depended solely on whether or not her legs would move, because they felt made of lead at the moment. She could continue the awkward, anxious laughter that had first bubbled up but has since dissipated to breathing somewhat shallow, quick breaths. Her thoughts raced, so much so that her words wouldn’t come out, and when they finally did, she sputtered. “Am I -- Am I fucking crazy?”

Morgan let Dakota withdraw her hand and grabbed her jacket, started double checking her pockets and bags to make sure she wouldn’t leave anything behind when she made her hasty exit.

“Them’s the breaks,” One of the pirates said. “Head empty as prawns, these humans.”

“Yes, thank you,” Morgan hissed. He was trying to be comforting, but she didn’t want to hear any of it.

She didn’t meet Dakota’s eyes or look in her vicinity as the woman continued to laugh (laugh) deliriously at what she was being shown. “No, you’re not fucking crazy. What’s fucking crazy is having to spend most of my daylight hours pretending to be alive when I’m not. We don’t have to keep doing this. I can go. You can stay and enjoy the--whatever.”

Dakota realized Morgan was moving quickly, like she was ready to flee the scene of a terrible accident. Pun most definitely not intended. She swallowed thickly, trying to think of something to say, but nothing came, not for a few moments that felt like an eternity when Morgan was getting ready to run. “Morgan, wait, I --” she cut herself off, because she didn’t know what she was asking her to wait for. It was like her mind had shutdown, only functioning on the essentials. “I didn’t mean to -- I just -- I don’t -- It’s not possible, which means you’re a -- You’re dead, but that.. You’re...” she was probably sounding like a basket case at this point, and she decided at that moment to stand up a little straighter, brush the hair out of her eyes. “I… I’ve got to go.” And with that, she practically ran to her car, fired up the engine, and got the hell out of there.

“The word you’re looking for is ‘zombie’,” Morgan said, grumbled between Dakota’s desperate stutters for understanding. She was ready to run right there, but Dakota beat her to it, and she had just enough pride not to race her out of this stupid, stupid idea of an afternoon. Slowly, she pulled on her jacket and arranged her hair over the collar just so, and put on her scarf. There was no need to rush anymore and no one curious enough to see her furiously blink back the sting in her eyes and swallow the lump forming in her throat. “Fucking humans, am I right?” She rasped.

The ghosts agreed, but only in silence.

[annabethsgodcomplex]

Hunters of Artemis Adventures: Two Hunters, An Empousa and a McDonald’s Happy Meal

(So I decided to go ahead with the Hunters of Artemis stories thing I was going to do. I present to you my first one. Hope you guys like it)

‘McDonald’s’ Bella said, while pulling her hair back into a braid.

‘Isy, that’s an incredibly random way to start a conversation.’ her friend Maria replied. ‘Would you mind elaborating?’

‘I was thinking that we should go to McDonald’s.’

‘Why?’

‘Normal, non-death related purposes?’

Maria sighed. ‘Like those deer bones we were going to leave behind and you tried to hide from me?’

‘No idea what you’re talking about’, the daughter of Hades grinned cheekily. ‘But the McDonald’s may be for death related purposes. Just a little bit…’

‘Do continue.’

‘You know how we visited Camp Half-Blood the other day and I was talking to my brother Nico?’

‘Half-brother.’

‘Same thing. Anyway, he was telling me how to summon the dead with Happy Meals.’

‘Let me guess, you want to try it. And you want me to help.’

‘Correct. If you help you can choose who I summon.’

‘How could I say no to such a tempting offer?’

‘Is that a yes?’

‘Of course.’

‘I’ll just grab my weapons and some mortal money and we can head off.’

‘Sounds good.’

Bella darted off to her tent and picked up her bow, her hunting knife and an axe she found in one of the trees and decided to keep. ‘I’m back!’ she called out to her friend.

‘What’s with the armoury?’ Maria giggled. ‘You planning a fight?’

‘Nah. Just wanna be prepared.’

‘Fair enough.’ Maria fiddled with the chopsticks she wore in her hair. They had been a present from her older brother in Italy before she’d joined the hunt in the renaissance period. They were all she had left of her brother other than memories. Bella slung her bow over her back and stashed her hunting knife in her belt. She struggled to find a place for the axe. Maria giggled watching her friend try to stuff it in various places before turning it into a silver brooch with a symbol of Hades on it.

‘Nice trick, how did you do that?’

‘Like my sister Hazel, I have control over precious metals. I prefer my death related powers but the metals thing always helps in a pinch. Let’s Naruto run to McDonald’s!’

‘Naruto… run?’

‘Right sorry. I keep forgetting you’re not from this century. It’s an anime thing. Watch me.’

‘Ok.’ Maria said, confusion etched on her features. Bella ran, leaning forward with her arms straight out behind her torso. ‘Now you try Mari!’ Hesitantly, Maria mimicked her friend’s actions as the ran through the woods. They ran to the edge of the woods and stopped. ‘So was that supposed to achieve something?’ Maria asked.

‘Other than fun? Not really. It’s just more fun than normal running.’

‘It’s certainly… interesting. I guess.’

‘You loved it.’

‘I didn’t hate it.’

‘Good enough.’ A cheeky grin took over her features, a glint of danger in her eye. As much as her friend liked to feign a cheeky sort of cheerfulness, Maria knew there was a certain darkness within. Bella had once confessed that she felt a constant pull to do something terrible. She scared even herself. She had been bullied relentlessly by a pack of boys in the mortal world and she joined the Hunt to get away from them and what she’d done. She’d found a new family in the Hunters of Artemis but Maria worried her friend’s darkness might come back if she could no longer control it. Maria pushed the thought out of her mind. She trusted her friend could control herself. Maria grinned back.

They headed into the shop. It wasn’t too busy, they had beat the lunch time rush but the few people in there didn’t seem like much to worry about. An elderly couple ate at a table in the far corner, some teen troublemakers who must have been ditching school hung around together casting glances in their directions before Bella pulled out her hunting knife and glared at them. ‘Bella!’ she hissed. ‘Put that thing away. We don’t need the police getting involved. We’re already sneaking away from camp. Imagine what would happen if we had to be escorted back in handcuffs!’

‘Ok, ok. But did you see the way they looked at us? Men. Ugh.’

‘True’ Maria giggled. ‘But they’ll have got the picture now thanks to you and your knives.’

‘You say the word ‘knives’ like it’s a bad thing.’

‘Well consider bringing knives out in public is considered a threat, it probably is a bad thing.’

‘Touché’

Maria rolled her eyes and went up to the counter to order. ‘Stay here and don’t cause trouble’ she told her friend.

‘No promises’. As Maria went to order, Bella noticed a young girl, around the age of 5 or 6, staring at them intently. She had a Monster High-Style fanged lipstick accessory in her hair. The girl’s gaze was piercing and sent shivers up her spine. There was something off about her and she didn’t want to stick around long enough to find out what it was. When their food was ready, Bella said to Maria, ‘There is a creepy girl staring at me and I don’t like it.’

‘You’ll live.’

‘Look at her! She’s creeping me out. I think she might be a monster.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course I’m sure.’

‘Then let’s get out of here before we get confirmation of that. Lady Artemis will be worried if she finds out that we’re missing and it’ll be worse if we come back dead. You know how she is.’

‘Yeah. I don’t want to get a lecture.’

They left the store and the girl followed. They quickly realized they weren’t going to get out of there without a fight. ‘Maria. Get your weapons ready. We’ll most likely need to fight our way out of here.’ Maria nodded. ‘Need a weapon Mari?’ her friend asked. ‘I brought 3.’

‘No. I’m good milady.’ She pulled the chopsticks out of her hair and pretended to rearrange her dark curls into a neater updo.

‘Excuse me. I’ve lost my mummy and I need help.’ A child’s voice called out. They turned around and saw the little girl. Instead of looking lost or worried, she was smirking and a sadistic light flared in her brown eyes. The smirk turned into a fanged grin. Her voice changed from child-like to demonic. Maria held her chopsticks in and ‘x’ position and they morphed into long swords. Bella on the other hand was having a crisis. ‘Mari which weapon should I use. It’s so hard to pick!’

‘Use your bow, it will give you a better range.’

‘Good idea.’ Bella unslung her bow and loaded it with an arrow. ‘Bring it on Empousa! Fight me like a woman! Or are you scared enough to fight like a man?’

‘Good one.’

‘Thanks milady’ she replied with a mock bow.

Unbeknownst to the girls and the Empousa, Artemis had appeared at a safe distance. She was prohibited from intervening unless necessary by the ancient laws.

‘Well, well, well.’ The Empousa snarled. ‘Let’s see how your so-called immortality holds up against me. I heard you can still die in battle. I’ve always wanted to hear the screams of a dying huntress being ripped to shreds by my talons.’

‘Oh bring it on! I haven’t had a good workout in centuries!’ Maria called out. ‘This is your last chance to turn back.’

‘You talk a big game huntresses. You amuse me.’

‘We’re used to big game. It’s what we do’

‘Your bark seems worse than your bite, Empousa.’ Bella chimed in. ‘Oh wait. That’s for dogs! You’re like what? One quarter donkey?’

‘And 50% chicken it seems.’ Maria smirked, preparing to strike.

‘Okay Maria. On three. You take one side, I’ll take the other.’

Maria nodded. ‘One…two…three!’

‘I normally go for men’, the Empousa growled, growing impatient with the smack talk. ‘But I must say ladies, you’ve earned your deaths as much as them’

A dangerous glint in her eye, Bella snarled. ‘We’re nothing like men!’

‘You just won a free trip to Tartarus Resort!’ Maria taunted. She advanced with her swords, slashing savagely at the Empousa. ‘Nice one Maria!’ Bella called encouragingly, firing arrows at the weakest points on the monster and avoiding its bronze leg. ‘How’s it looking? You got her other side covered Mari? I’m almost out of arrows and she’s still breathing.’ Maria slashes at the Empousa’s donkey leg, crippling it. ‘I’m ok!’ Maria called back, dodging the monster’s attacks and slashing her in several places. She chops the monster’s hand off and calls to her friend ‘Isy. End her! Now!’

Bella stashed away her bow and brought out her hunting knife. She lunged at the monster’s heart, landing a fatal blow that causes the monster to disintegrate into dust. Maria’s swords turn back into her signature chopsticks as she places them in her hair. ‘Good job kiddo.’ She smiles. Panting, Bella turns around. ‘You too milady. You were quite impressive out there. We should get back to camp before anyone notices we’re missing and starts to worry.’

‘We’ve only been gone for a little over an hour.’ Maria pointed out.

‘That may be so, but I’m incredibly noisy and it won’t take long for them to figure out why the Camp is awfully quiet.’ She retorted, flashing her friend a cheeky grin.’

‘Very true.’ Maria laughed. They turn to head back to camp after picking up their bag of food and spot Artemis. ‘Oh. Hello milady.’ She said with a curtsey.

‘Hi milady,’ Bella said awkwardly, attempting to look innocent. ‘How’s the… weather?’

Maria laughed at her friend’s attempt at innocence.

‘Where have you two been?’ Artemis fretted. ‘I was worried sick when I couldn’t find you!’

Maria attempted to explain the situation. ‘My apologies milady. We were just…’

‘Just what?’ Artemis countered. ‘No note. Bows gone! You could have died at the hands of that Empousa! Or worse men could have kidnapped you!’ They all shuddered at the word men.

‘In our defence milady. That wouldn’t have been likely for us but you’re right I suppose.’ Maria admitted.

‘Regardless of if it could have happened or not, I had no idea where the two of you were!’ They started off back to camp, Artemis chastising them.

‘So,’ Bella piped up. ‘Do we get a punishment or is this a first offence sorta thing?’

Maria facepalmed at her friend’s bluntness. Artemis cracked a smile. ‘No my dears. No punishment except for making me worried out of my mind.’

‘Milady.’ Bella said softly. ‘You worry too much. We’re very capable and you have trained us well.’

‘I know my dears. I just worry for you. You and the other Hunters are the daughters I will never be able to have.’

‘I understand milady.’ Maria replied. ‘But we know how to take care of ourselves. You saw that.’

‘I guess you’re right but I don’t have to like it.’ Artemis allowed. ‘Now I’ve changed my mind about not giving you a punishment. You are so cleaning up after the campfire tonight. But if you’re lucky, Thalia might pitch in to help the both of you.’ They all shared a laugh as they made their way back to camp, the sun starting to set behind them.  

[7-wonders]

Bad Apple

Summary: Just when it seems as if Michael’s getting everything he’s ever wanted, it becomes too good to be true.

Word Count: 3558

A/N: You see what I did with the title? Eh? Eh? Welcome to the newest chapter of Mad Love! Buckle up friends, this is going to be a wild one. Seriously though, I’m not sure how I feel about this chapter or if I crammed too much in, so actual constructive feedback would be appreciated. If you enjoyed, I would love if you left a like, comment, or reblog. There is a content warning for sexual situations under possible dubcon conditions, but I promise it will be okay. Happy reading!

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13

Michael senses you before he sees you. He’s thankful for this certain gift of his, not able to take his attention away from the dull conversation between two contentious world leaders. You were gone just long enough to start making him worry that something bad had happened to you; with the witches still determined to destroy him, anything that Michael holds dear is now in danger. You slide into the chair next to Michael, gripping his hand as he finishes discussing the logistics of various nuclear arsenals located around the world. The tight hold that you have on him makes Michael wonder if something scared you when you were getting some air, and he makes a mental note to ask Ms. Mead to check the security feeds to ensure that nobody or nothing gave you a hard time when you were alone.

“Finally,” you mutter into Michael’s ear when the impromptu meeting is concluded, “I thought they’d never leave.”

He stiffens when you kiss his jawline, making your way down his face until you reach his lips. “(Y/N), are you okay?”

“Of course I’m okay. Is it so bad for me to kiss you every once in a while?”

“Well no, but you’ve made--”

“I could stop, if you don’t like it,” you tease, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“It’s not that I don’t like it, I’m just surprised you’ve changed your mind.” You shrug in response, laying one more kiss on him before settling back in your chair and lifting your glass up to your smirking lips.

The remainder of the event passes by dreadfully slow, with the only entertainment the chaste touches Michael shares with you. He hasn’t kept too watchful of an eye on you, which means you probably had one too many drinks that have made you a giggling, affectionate mess. You haven’t left his side since you returned, something that pleases Michael immensely. This is how it should be, and this is how he hopes it remains.

“Seriously, how much have you had to drink tonight?” Michael asks in the car, smiling as you cuddle into his arms that are wrapped around you.

“I already told you, I only had one!”

“You don’t have to be scared to tell me, (Y/N).”

You smile up at him from where your head is leaning against his chest. “Michael, I promise that I’m telling you the truth. Now just be quiet and hold me.”

“I’m happy to oblige.” Michael closes his eyes, placing his chin on the top of your head. If he could, he would want nothing more than to bottle this moment up so that he can return to it whenever he wishes.

The manor is silent when Michael enters with you, the closing of the door echoing through the foyer that you had descended into mere hours prior. It almost feels like you’re in an extended dream state, every sense seeming warm and fuzzy ever since...since...well, you can’t remember what since, but you know that this feeling is associated with Michael, and that makes you want to bask in this feeling forever. Michael’s smile shines brightly, reminding you--as if you could ever forget--of just how much you love him. It feels as if your heart is beating solely for Michael, every blue-eyed glance he sends your way sets your heart thumping wildly. 

Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

Mi-chael. Mi-chael. Mi-chael.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed,” Michael says, stirring you out of your reverie. 

He leads you up the winding staircase and down the hall to your bedroom, the door opening to reveal the twinkling fairy lights that you strung up when you first moved in. Standing back from Michael, you slowly close the door behind both of you. He turns around to check on you, but you meet him with a kiss before allowing him the opportunity to question you.

“What are you doing?” Michael mutters against your lips, weaving an arm around your waist and pulling you closer to him.

“Kissing you.” Michael bites your bottom lip, making you gasp.

“And doing it very well, I might add.” You lean your forehead against his, shoulders heaving as you catch your breath.

“Michael, I want you.” You walk with Michael back towards the bed, falling onto the soft mattress.

“Oh,” he breathes, almost not believing what he’s heard. “Are you sure?”

“I can’t keep up the charade of not wanting you anymore.” Michael’s large hand goes to the strap of your dress, sliding it down your arm so that he can caress your bare shoulder. 

“Promise me that you’re sober,” he pleads earnestly. “I will not take advantage of you if you’re not.”

“I’ve already told you that I barely had anything to drink tonight.” You push stray strands of golden hair out of Michael’s face, gazing up at him. “Please.”

Michael kisses you hungrily, hands roving up and down the planes of your body. Your head falls back against the pillows as you let out a quiet hum at the feeling of his full lips against your skin. It’s wonderful, like everything you’ve ever dreamt it would be. Michael sits up with you, unzipping your dress and letting it pool around your waist. Michael skillfully unclasps your strapless bra, hands cupping your breasts roughly as you quickly fumble through unbuttoning his shirt. He nearly throws you back against the pillows once more, and you cry out in anticipation.

“I love you!” you gasp, eyes screwed shut as he tweaks one of your nipples between his fingers.

Michael stills, sitting back on the heels of his feet in shock. “W-what?”

“I love you, Michael,” you say earnestly. “I’m sorry for being so stubborn and rejecting you. I was just scared. I love you, and I need you more than I’ve ever needed anyone or anything. 

“If I was dying of thirst in a desert and had to pick between a deep pool of water or a mirage of you, I’d pick my hallucination. You’ve loved me endlessly and faithfully since the day we were married. I’ve failed as your wife in the past, but I won’t anymore because I love you, and I’m not afraid to admit it now.”

Michael stares at you in disbelief, his hand almost shaking as he presses it against your cheek. You lean into his touch, kissing the palm of his hand and looking at him with the same sleepy eyes as before.

He pauses when he looks at your eyes, staring into them with suspicion. This entire night has seemed too good to be true, and he’s starting to worry that he’s right.

“(Y/N),” Michael says cautiously, “tell me what you did when you left to go and get some fresh air.”

You groan. “Seriously?”

“Please, my love.”

“Fine,” you agree begrudgingly. “I...went to go and sit on a bench, because it was too cold to actually go outside. I was checking my phone when a waitress came up to me, and then--”

Michael stares at you as you furrow your eyebrows in concentration. “And then what?”

“I--I can’t remember. She gave me something, maybe a drink?” You rub your forehead, fighting off a sudden headache. “I think it was a cocktail. And then, the next thing I remember is sitting back down next to you.”

“And that was the only drink you had today?”

You nod. “It was pretty good, actually. It tasted like apples and cinnamon.”

Michael’s never been on a roller coaster before, but the oft-repeated simile of your heart and stomach dropping dramatically right before the roller coaster drops as well is one he thinks could apply to how he feels right now. His face pales, the smile he had previously been sporting falling to a frown. Apples. How could he have been so stupid as to let you be on your own mere weeks after Satan had attempted to “clear” your mind?

Now, he’s faced with a decision that he hoped he wouldn’t have to encounter again. The drink, his father’s work, has done what was promised. You love him unconditionally, and isn’t that all that he’s wanted since he first laid eyes on you? But he knows this isn’t you talking, not really. It may be your voice, but this is not you.

He stands from the bed, buttoning his shirt back up. You look up at him in confusion, crawling towards him as he looks away from you.

“Put your clothes back on, (Y/N),” Michael mutters.

“What? Michael, what’s wrong?”

“My father is what’s wrong.”

Mild disgust crosses your face. “I mean, while I’m certainly thankful that your father created us for each other, I don’t see why you’re thinking about him when we’re about to have sex for the first time.”

“That’s the problem!” Michael exclaims, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “(Y/N) wouldn’t say nice things about Satan.”

“I’m confused, am I suddenly not myself?” You don’t bother to put your bra back on, but you do slide the straps of your dress over your shoulders once more.

“Say something mean about me,” Michael demands. “If you’re not under the influence of Satan, give me a snide remark about how I always look like I’m going to a Renaissance Faire or something similar.”

You stare at him for a long moment. “I--I can’t, I wouldn’t.”

“Yes, you would! And you do! Yesterday you said that I act like someone is holding me hostage whenever we go out in public and then proceeded to tell me to blink once if I was being threatened.”

You grab Michael’s hand, trying to get him to look at you. “And I shouldn’t have said that to you, it was rude and uncalled for.”

“See,” Michael finally turns around, “that’s how I know you’re under Satan’s influence. You show your affection by sarcastic comments, and you would have appreciated your so-called ‘genius’ with that particular jab.”

“It was the only way I knew how to deal with my feelings! But I’m over that now, because I--”

“Don’t say it,” Michael commands sharply. He sits next to you with a heavy sigh, defeatedly allowing you to move his arm around your body. “I’m sorry, (Y/N). I’m so, so sorry.”

You smile sadly. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“It’s all my fault,” he mutters to himself. “I...I don’t know what to do, I don’t know how to fix this.”

“How to fix what?”

“How to undo this magic.”

You’re not sure what he’s talking about, but you can’t bare to see him so distraught. “Well, you’re always talking about the witches. Maybe they could help?”

“No.” Michael shakes his head. “No matter how much trouble we’re in, I could never ask the witches. They would kill me.”

“Surely there’s other people who use magic?” Michael nods slowly, lost in thought as he tries to think of a solution.

“Give me one second.” He reaches for his phone, unlocking it and searching for a number. You watch as he holds the phone to his ear and waits for the person on the other end to pick up, admiring the way his hair is perfectly, effortlessly curled.

“Dinah, thank you for picking up. I know I promised that I was only going to need a single favor from you, but I need your help again.” He pauses, listening intently. “I understand, and we can negotiate compensation for you upon completing what I ask of you.”

“Who are you talking to?” you whisper, but he ignores you.

“I’ll send you the address, can you be here within twenty minutes? Yes, okay.” Michael pulls the phone away from his face and hangs up.

“Is everything okay?”

Michael smiles, running a hand through your hair. “It will be. An acquaintance of mine will be coming over in a few minutes; why don’t you go and put on some non-formal clothes before she arrives?”

“Will you help me get undressed?” You bat your eyelashes at him in an obvious attempt to pick up where he left off. 

“No, (Y/N). You’re perfectly capable of changing your own clothes.” You stand up, shrugging. 

“Oh well, it was worth a try.” Michael allows you to kiss him, his head only falling into his hands after you leave.

Exactly twenty minutes later, the doorbell rings. The emerald green dress has been replaced by a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt from high school. Michael’s version of “dressed down” is wearing a soft long-sleeved black shirt and forgoing the Gucci belt he was wearing, but that’s expected.

Michael opens the door, revealing a shorter woman with a colorful head scarf tied around her styled afro. She smiles thinly at him, setting a large bag down on the floor.

“Michael,” she greets, holding a hand out for him to shake.

“Dinah.” It’s when Michael says her name that it finally clicks for you.

“Holy shit, you’re Dinah Stevens!” She smiles bashfully, but you can tell that she loves the notoriety.

“In the flesh.”

“Michael, your colleague is a talk show host?” you ask in confusion, Dinah clicking her tongue in disdain.

“I’m also the voodoo queen of New Orleans, thank you very much.”

“Did you have a chance to read the information I sent you?” Michael questions, done with pleasantries.

“Yes, baby Satan.”

You tilt your head in confusion. “What information?”

“Nothing for you to worry about, sweetheart.” Dinah looks at you. 

“You don’t get to decide that for her,” Michael says through gritted teeth. “(Y/N), it seems that my father may be influencing your mind. Dinah’s here to help us.” You nod, but you feel like you’re not as concerned as you should be. After all, you’re with Michael, and nothing can harm you when you’re with Michael.

“Mind if I ask you a few questions?” Dinah steers the conversation back to the reason why she’s here in the first place.

You shrug. “Yeah, fire away.”

“Let’s continue this conversation in my office,” Michael gestures upstairs, leading your small trio to the spacious office on the second floor. Dinah takes a seat in front of the desk, with you sitting in a chair next to her as Michael sits behind the desk.

“(Y/N), do you remember what the waitress said to you when she handed you the drink?” Dinah begins her questioning once everybody’s seated.

“Uh, she had told me that it was the house special and that it was the last one she had. I figured one drink wouldn’t be too bad, especially since I was nervous, so I took it.”

“Mhm, and do you remember Michael’s followers kidnapping you and forcing you to marry him?” Michael winces at the reminder: although Dinah had warned him that she was going to be blunt in an attempt to see just how much Satan’s spell covered, it still stings.

“Well yes, but it was really the only way. I mean, can you imagine me doing that willingly? It had to happen the way that it did.”

“Okay. What happened after you drank the cocktail?”

The same pained expression as before appears on your face as you try to think. “I don’t know. Everytime I try to remember, my head just hurts really bad.”

Dinah chews her bottom lip, thinking. “Gimme your hands.”

You look at Michael in concern, but he nods that it’s okay to do so. When Dinah does grab your hands, her eyes go wide. The dark brown of her iris is replaced by an electric blue, and though it looks like she’s staring at you, you can tell that she’s staring right through you. After a couple of minutes, she lets go of your hands with a gasp, panting at the exertion.

“So?” Michael asks eagerly, barely letting Dinah regain her bearings. “Can the spell be reversed?”

“Ah ah ah!” Dinah chides, wagging a finger at Michael. “I believe you mentioned something about a payment?”

Michael huffs. “Fucking voodoo queens, you’re all the same.” She raises her eyebrows in response; challenging him. “Name your price.”

“I want Marie Laveau’s old territory, in the heart of the French Quarter,” Dinah demands with hardly a moment’s hesitation.

“You know Papa Legba does not take too kindly to me broaching his domains.”

“Nobody said that you had to step foot in New Orleans.”

The two powerful beings stare each other down, both daring the other to relent. Finally, Michael sighs. “Consider it done.”

Dinah’s chin raises victoriously. “What do you have in terms of potion ingredients?”

“Say the word, and it will be at your disposal.”

The voodoo queen waits for Michael to produce a cauldron-like bucket, pulling a weathered book out of her bag once he’s set the large bowl on the ground. “Let’s get to work.”

Michael and Dinah work in tandem, the voodoo queen (she had reprimanded you for referring to her as a witch) calling out different ingredients and the Antichrist conjuring them for her. Some, like anise and lavender, are commonly found in nature and thus familiar to you. Others, such as wormwood and twice-blessed water, you had believed to be purely used in fiction. You’re fine with watching the two figure this out on their own, knowing that you’re nowhere near useful in this particular situation.

“Are you sure it’s safe for me to drink something that contains human blood?” Your nose crinkles in disgust as Michael slices his hand open, the blood dripping into the boiling mixture.

“Safer than you drinking a cocktail made specially by Satan,” Dinah quips, gesturing for Michael to stand back as she starts to chant. 

You don’t know what language she’s speaking in, but you do catch the name “Papa Legba,” the man (demon? You’re not sure) that Michael had referenced earlier, repeatedly. Dinah comes to a stop just as quickly as she started, stirring the mixture once more before nodding.

“It’s done,” Dinah says. “The reversal of the darkest kind of magic will be painful, more painful than what I believe the original effect of that magic was on (Y/N). I’ve mixed a sleeping draught in; hopefully, this means that she’ll feel minimal pain.”

Dinah pours the potion into a glass and hands it to Michael, who looks at the dark purple liquid apprehensively. “And you’re sure this will work?”

“You’re really going to question my skills now?” Dinah raises an eyebrow, and Michael shakes his head meekly. “That’s what I thought. Call me if something bad happens, or if nothing happens. I’ll expect payment by Monday.”

“Thank you, Dinah. Truly, you have no idea how much I appreciate this.” She chooses not to respond, instead gathering her belongings and moving past Michael and out the door.

“A woman of few words,” you remark, drifting towards Michael. “You’re gonna make me drink that, aren’t you? Even though I don’t want to? Even though we both have everything we’ve ever wanted now?”

Michael closes his eyes tightly, gathering his nerve before taking your hand and walking with you to your bedroom. He’s never really felt much empathy for the first humans to walk the Earth. Adam and Eve were weak, and easily susceptible to sin. They knew the consequences, yet accepted the apple anyways. Michael thrives off of sinners, and had previously seen their decision to give in as easy. Now, however, tempted with his heart’s desires standing right in front of him, he understands why they were torn in two when deciding whether to give in or resist.

“I’m doing this because I love you, (Y/N). On your own time, and in your own way, maybe one day I’ll be lucky enough to be loved by you in the same way. But not like this. I’m sorry that this had to happen to you, and that I dragged you into my fucked up, mess of a life. You deserve better than what I can give you.”

“You give me what you’re capable of, and that’s enough for me.” Your head is killing you, screaming to fight back and refuse to take the potion that the voodoo queen concocted, but you push through for Michael. Which version of you is pushing through, the you that’s under the influence of Satan or the you that Michael loves, you’re not quite sure.

Michael helps you into your bed, making sure that you’re completely comfortable before perching on the edge of the mattress. “I’ll be right here the entire time, I promise. You won’t go through this alone.”

“I love you, Michael,” you say earnestly, taking the glass that he hands you as he smiles forlornly.

“I know you do. It may be a different form, but I know. Now, drink up.” He watches as you lift the glass to your mouth, your muscles tensing as you fight Satan’s influence to do as Michael says (something that Michael takes a small amount of pride in).

At first, nothing happens. You feel the exact same as you have, albeit a little wary as you wait for something to happen. Michael’s confused as well, but he still has a reassuring smile on his face to keep you from freaking out. You both wait until a sharp pain in your chest makes you gasp loudly, the last thing you feel before going under.

//

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