#like sure self-destructive behavior over it is fine but there’s a fucking line. which i think i’ve just crossed again. sorry.

[leffee]

Oh my gosh the vinnie thing was deep! I didn’t hate it though I kinda wanna hear more about your thoughts on broken vinnie how far does it go? Does he get happy endings at points or at a point in life? How is is life in the au? Did you have a story for how he ended up dating Sunil? I’m a little obsessed too.. I’ll get started on my thoughts too - fav anon 🥸

Ehehe yeeeah, look, to my defence, while writing it I was listening to a youtube video about self-mummification... which I'm sure had some influence over... whatever the hell I wrote. Also, I like the name "broken Vinnie" it's a simple one but I didn't think about it and I like it :3. Look, he didn't even kill anybody. In this version at least.

Now let me try to answer those questions in the context of all that. Does he get a happy ending? I really would prefer for him not to, but it is possible. If I'm going with full-on angst I prefer angst to the end. The good ending is really only possible if he goes to theraphy or something. I imagine he would never be fully okay, but you know, he'd be able to fucking control himself. Maybe it's even possible for Sunil to trust him again, but that'd be a fine line because it's so much easier to just go crazy about Sunil again if he's anywhere close and interacting with him. But there's a solution that, in a way, satisfies both parties. So it goes like this: after ensuring that Vinnie is actually in therapy and not just lying about it and seeing that he's doing better, Sunil might let him in again as his friend, though not as much as before because, quite frankly, he's scared. Now get this, this stalkerish behavior that can't be fulfilled transforms into what I call "extreme devotion". Basically doing a lot of things for Sunil but not anything that crosses the line. Vinnie offers to do those stuff, he says that it can be anything as long as it makes Sunil happy. It can be doing his chores, going for his grocery shopping, basicaly running errands for him. And at first Sunil's hesistant but he sees that in some weird way it makes Vinnie genuinely happy, and since he can't reciprocate his feelings, he might as well let him do it, it benefits them both after all. So yeah, that's about the good ending.

How is his life in that au? Besides what I already said in this and previous post (and assuming that he's not in jail, oop) with all that therapy and crap, all I can really add is that I imagine he would still stick close to Sunil and want to live close to him too no matter what. Though that of course would require Sunil's consent. But he never moves on, he doesn't fall in love with anyone else, Sunil is still very much the center of his world. And for that matter due to that lingering obsession he's barely interested in any sort of relationships anymore, other people are not Sunil after all, who cares about them. This whole "I'm doing it for Sunil" mindset gets him thorugh everything, it motivates him to even have any sort of life, to get a job and maybe even pursue further education. He just thinks that maybe Sunil will be proud. But he feels unstable and would live out the rest of his life mostly alone. Maybe he develops alcoholism. Or masochism! And then he dies. :D.

Story for how he ended up dating Sunil? Nah, mate, I can't imagine them dating in this scenario. Sunil might let him in again but not in that way. He's more or less scared of that little force of destruction still.

I'll be waiting for those thoughts, my favourite anon 🤭.

[i-am-an-atomic-bomb]

hi! no need for a lengthy reply, i just thought you might have an interesting take. ive been getting more into wiedźmin/ the witcher (am even considering listening to the books!) but i find some of its ideas about disability rather off-putting, like Yennefer’s backstory. any thoughts? <3

first i have to specify that i haven’t seen season 2 of the show and only played the third game (plus watched some gameplay of others but only some) back when wild hunt came out (holy shit that was over 7 years ago…) so my lore knowledge is lacking but i’ll try to answer the best i can

but from i remember the books are simultaneously better and worse than the show in this regard ??? specifically with yennefer’s backstory, in the novels how she looks is only magically changed after she tries to commit suicide at aretuza, but it’s also a much smaller part, pretty sure all of that is only mentioned unlike in the show where some of the plot’s messy timeline takes place when she’s young. i know this is still a harmful trope but it’s less annoying that way i think. in the games from what i remember there’s even less of that if any.

also. as someone who was raised as a woman and has cerebral palsy, if i were given the choice to sacrifice my womb to get rid of my disability i’d do it in a heartbeat (which i know is not the exact same thing like boohoo only my legs are a little fucked and kinda one of my arms and one side of the face kinda take longer to react but i’m kinda fairly priveledged ??? i guess ??? like the doctors expected it to be worse). i don’t fucking know, we live in a society. it’s problematic but accurate.

it’s also mentioned in the books over and over again that due to witcher shit i guess, geralt sees the real her when he looks at yennefer like he can see through the transformation magic. which i think is sweet goddamn i wish i had someone like that. there’s more angst surrounding the fact that she can’t have biological children i think ? but i think that was fairly accurate from what i’ve heard from women who’ve dealt with that. oh and geralt also deals with chronic pain constantly cause when his injuries are healed magically they still hurt as if they weren’t. given that sapkowski wrote that shit in the 80s and 90s as a white able-bodied guy i think he tried at least. especially after hearing from my mother first hand how awful 80s poland was about disabled people.

i can’t really speak on other characters much ??? cause like i said i don’t remember shit. i know there was filippa who gouged her eyes out but can’t recall like specific characters from side quests who stood out ect. also, geralt deals with bigotry from random from npcs all the time but that’s more of a racism simulation/metaphor/whatever i think. because he does look much less „human” in the books than in the show/game, it’s even in the book description on the cover i think ?

[speedmetalqueen]

More works: Masterlist

part II

This was inspired by ‘Good 4 U’. This will have a part II.

I wrote this in honor of meeting Bakugous VA tomorrow so I wanted to write something!

Thank you for reading✨

September 17, 2021 Friday

“I can’t believe that asshole is already dating someone! Not even a month has passed and he’s already got himself a girlfriend!” You yelled your displeasure to Kirishima who was unlucky to be around you at the moment. “I’m sorry Y/N I didn’t even know, that’s totally unmanly.” He eyed you as you bore a death glare into your phone screen. Every social media was plastered with the new power couple- or so the title says. You were pissed- sure you were the one who called off the engagement, but you never thought Katsuki would move on much less so quickly.

Your hands trembled from pure hot rage as you clenched your teeth to stop yourself from crying. Kirishima being the sweetheart that he is wrapped his powerful arms around you into a tight embrace. “I’m here for you, let it out.”

The suffocating burning knot that occupied your throat crawled onto the surface as you let the tears finally break free. Wailing into Kirishima's chest as you grasp onto his shirt, holding on for dear life. You buried your snot covered nose into him as you cried endlessly. Your painful muffled screams bouncing through your shared apartment, and poor Kiri who had to witness one of his best friends go through something like this.

It felt as you were dying all over again, the feeling of being drowned in your emotions hitting hard. Your heart was already in pieces but this made them absolutely disintegrate into oblivion. This wasn’t supposed to happen you thought to yourself- you’d always believe Katsuki would wait for you- maybe even beg for another chance. You were so sure of it- he’d always say to you no matter what he would always love you and no one would ever replace you. You believed him, and that was your fault for being so selfish.

-

The next morning you woke up to a sore throat, the screaming didn’t stop till late into the night. It was indescribable, this feeling of betrayal and abandonment. Not even when you broke up with him did you cry this much- this was an emotional territory you’ve never experienced- and honestly it scared you. You were the one who called off the engagement- even letting the idea fester in your mind- making sure this was something you wanted to go through. So why did this hurt so fucking much? Why is this affecting you the way it is now?

You’re so toxic to yourself- scrolling through his social and tags- everything about her and him. Only causing you to go into hysterics again and again. You couldn’t help it- you were self destructing.

-

A couple of weeks passed and each day it got a little easier but also a little harder. You were so thankful for Kirishima- even though you felt so guilty for him having to pick up the pieces. The hardest days were when your agency would have to team up with Katsuki’s. You both were professional about it, but inside you were screaming in pain. Kirishima would always give you a glance assuring you that it was okay and he was there if you needed him.

You were sure Katsuki could feel the pain you were in- just because things ended between you both doesn’t mean all those years of being together he didn’t learn your behaviors and emotions- which was more embarrassing, having him able to read you like a book.

-

One day you overheard Kirishima talking on the phone- he was always bad at keeping his voice down.

“I don’t know man. I still think it’s pretty shitty that you got a girlfriend not long after Y/N dumped your ass.”

You guessed it was Katsuki on the other line. Why were they talking about you? Why did Kiri sound so irritated?

“Look you’re my bro and I’ll always have your back, but I cannot forgive you for the way you hurt her.” He paused. “She’s fine. But I hope someday you two can reconcile and fix this mess.”

There was nothing to fix- he moved on and you wanted to do the same.

-

That was a couple months ago back in the summer, it was winter now and you haven’t seen or worked with Katsuki since then. You were actually doing better- throwing yourself into your career and even climbing the hero ranks, earning you a spot to attend the Hero Awards. Kirishima was also invited as well, he climbed the hero ranks earning his spot at number 3 and you at number 2. They haven’t announced who was going to be number 1 but you were too excited to worry about that. You had asked Kirishima if he would be your plus one to the event, it was so much easier to coordinate since you were roommates.

When the night finally arrived you were having the time of your life, even seeing some old classmates that you haven’t seen since U.A.

The time came when they announced the new hero spots and you coming in at number 2. Everyone clapped and cheered as everyone was introduced- and now they waited on to see who was the new number 1.

If this was a cliche movie you would have guessed that the last person you would want to see was kissing your ex fiancé. You watched as Katsuki got up from his table and kissed his girlfriend on the lips as she smiled and mouthed something to him earning her a smirk.

Your mouth became dry and that all too familiar feeling in your throat returned. You watched as he passed you to receive his award and take the stage for his acceptance speech. You felt like you were stuck in a Petri dish and everyone was examining you through a microscope. Any little movement and the press would have a field day.

You swallowed hard trying to get rid of the constricting feeling in your throat. He looked so good, like this break up did everything for him. He looked happy and accomplished. He finally became the number 1 hero and leaving you in the past.

[unknown-writing]

The boys reacting to their s/o pulling themselves out of a Bad Depressive Relapse:

Warning(s): Mentions of depression, Intrusive thoughts, self-destructive behavior’s

A/N: I’m very proud of myself for pulling myself out of my bad depressive relapse episode this morning so, it’s time to write some comfort!

This man is pretty dense when it comes to dealing with other people’s internal suffering tbh.

Like, unless your outwardly showing signs of pain, he won’t fully get it.

He noticed that you were...Not your usual self for a while. A long while at that, it started to worry him that you weren’t laughing with him anymore for that period of your slump.

But, one morning, an early morning that is, you had snuck out of your room that you shared with the girls to find Luffy for some much needed Cuddling.

Ever so quietly moving towards his bed, you slowly climbed in. Him feeling movement on top of him startled him awake but, he kept quiet.

Seeing that you were the one crawling in his bed, literally made him have the biggest grin on his dorky face you’ve ever seen.

“Welcome back y/n-san” He whispered as he pulled you in for a tighter cuddle session, you couldn’t help but chuckle but, you kept quiet to avoid waking the other boys.

Soon enough, it was morning, and the rest of the crew saw that you two were finally cuddling again after your depressive slump.

Nami so took a picture with the Camera-snail for blackmail evidence to tease you with.

Seeing you severely depressed drove him Mad.

Not because he was mad /at you/ But because he was mad at /himself/ for not noticing it sooner than he should have.

Robin tried telling him about your depressive slump but, Zoro was completely clueless on what she was getting at.

“My y/n? Depressed? Why? She looks perfectly fine to me.”

That line was a big mistake on his part since you accidentally heard that, which sort of drove you over the edge again

Ngl, it took him quite a while for him to start making it up to you again after that night. His guilty conscious refused to let him rest peacefully until things where settled between you two again

Weeks went by, and even though most of the Straw Hats assumed you where still depressed, Zoro sensed otherwise.

It seemed like to him that you were finally starting to shed your light again, even if it was a slow start at first.

One day though, while the two of you were on grocery duties to help Sanji since he took the role of guard duty this round. You grabbed his arm and hugged it tightly.

it startled him at first because he thought he was being kidnapped or something, but once he saw that you had just grabbed onto it and acted so casually about it

This mans started to blush a pink hue. A brief silenced filled the air between you two before he spoke up,

“...Y/n-san....” He paused before turning towards you, “Is everything ok now? And I don’t mean that fake bullshit ‘Ok’ either...” he asked while looking concerned

You looked up to him, with the biggest smile he’d ever seen. Even if it was a small one, the fact that you smiled again after so long of not smiling, it drove him Wild.

“Yeah...........Yeah.......Everything’s gonna be ok now.” You started off before holding his hand firmly, “I have my Nakama...And I have you by my side. So, I’m no longer alone anymore.” You smiled again while looking up to Zoro, who still had the blush but, a genuine smile back

“That’s my girl.” Zoro just says while bending down to give you a quick peck on the forehead, which made you blush a deep crimson red seeing as you two were in public still.

Okay but, you /KNOW/ this idiot is gonna think it’s his fault your depressed.

He’ll constantly blame himself for your sadness, as it’s not something that could be easily cured with affection or food.

He’s even more sad when he can’t dote on you so much because it makes you feel even worse.

You have to keep reminding him that this was just how your brain worked sometimes.

It wasn’t until Nami and Chopper explaining it to him properly, is when he started to finally understand that some people just feel down and needed some space for a bit.

Even when he was giving you your personal space, he still made you your favorite foods, making sure that you had stuff to drink and eat even if you were cooped up in your bedroom for a long time.

He won’t admit it directly but, he genuinely misses you. He misses your smell, your touch, your face, your body, your everything.

He especially misses the way you can easily fluster him and make him feel like a King, but he’ll deny those feelings if you asked him though.

A couple of month’s had gone by of this depressive state of yours. it was starting to take a mental tole on himself, knowing that you were stuck in those same four walls, missing everything that was happening, being unable to help you at all during this.

Just as he was about to head towards the sleeping cabin area to drop off your next meal, he’d noticed that your door was slightly open. He blinked, confused and worried that somebody had tried sneaking inside of it somehow.

But soon enough, you had popped out, yawning as you’d just woken up that morning. Nothing had harmed you physically from the looks of it, he looked up and down for a while before placing the food tray on a nightstand to avoid spilling the food.

You turn after hearing the tray clink against the wooden surface, “Oh? Morning Sanji-sa--Ouf!” You where cut off from a tackle hug.

Sanji had wrapped his arms around you tightly, holding you so close to him you were practically choking on his hair. “S-Sanji?? Is everything alright?” You asked, patting his back gently

Your eyes widened as the next thing he did was give you a big passionate kiss on your lips. You felt salty fluids on his face. “Oh.” You thought as you realized what was happening

“I missed you so fucking much y/n-chan.” Sanji says after the kiss. Hearing him say that so bluntly made /you/ turn red-faced and start to stutter.

“....Yeah....I missed you too Sanji-san.” You admitted while smiling again after so long of not showing your smile to anybody. Poor Sanji nearly fainted.

Law knew something was off about you even before you realized it yourself.

You were grumpy, snippy, more “tired” than normal. You had constant mood swings that showed up out of the blue. Everything was just...Off.

It didn’t take much for him to realize that you were dealing with Depression. Although he knew very little of your past, he knew that something was eating at you.

Once your downward spiral of your mental suffering began, you stayed in your bedroom for the majority of the time, refusing to go out even if it was for a general meeting for a mission, or even for food.

Law wasn’t the best at communicating his own feelings towards somebody, so helping his crush with her depression was a little bit harder to do than he thought.

He didn’t realize that you would get so bad that you just woke up absolutely /screaming/ at the top of your lungs during a nightmare. The only reason he knew what was happening was because Bepo went to drop off some food for you, and then ran once he heard the screaming.

After a while of some studying on Depression, Law tried everything that he could to at least /try/ to get you to speak with him...But, after a few weeks of this, he started to get tired of chasing you.

“Y/n-ya...At least let me check for injuries.” He said as he sat on the floor, leaning against your bedroom door with a frown....No response.

He could hear silent sobbing and hiccups behind him, which hurt because he didn’t know how to help you! it drove him Mad!

He was about to give up, sighing in irritation. As he started to walk away, he heard the bedroom door start to click open. You peaked your head out tiredly, face stained with dried and fresh tears, your face all red from not just crying but from stress as well.

Seeing you so Broken hurt him. He’s been there before, he’d never wish to see his friends be broken like this...Let alone his crush.

You opened the door wider so that way he could come in, “...sorry....For the mess...” You weakly spoke, allowing him to enter your room.

Once the two of you were in your room, you had shut the door, then locked it behind you...Eventually turning to face Law, the next moved startled him

You were so tired from the depression night terrors, the screaming, the crying and well...Everything else...That you just fainted into his arms! “Y-Y/n-ya??” He questioned as he stood still. No response...Well, nothing with words anyways. A soft snore leaked passed your slightly open mouth

You had fallen asleep, quite literally in his arms. And he didn’t know how to handle it. You were his crush after all! What was he supposed to do!? Move you away!? Fuck.

He calmed down and carried you bridal style in his arms, thanking God that you were a heavy sleeper, and shuffled his way onto your messy bed, kicking his shoes off at least before getting comfortable.

Another week had passed since that night, and throughout that week, law would give orders to Bepo and Penguin to take control of the ship while he stayed put. he would only move to take a piss/shit or a quick shower before rushing to your side again. He’d forgo the shower if waking you would cause you to feel alone and start crying again.

Once that week had passed though, you had woken up to feel a body underneath you. Blinking, you were confused as to what was happening. You then blushed a deep crimson red seeing Law underneath you, holding you so tightly to him that you could hardly breathe properly because of it.

Law had woken up after feeling your movements to try and get out of bed and take a shower, since you hadn’t taken a proper one in the past three weeks due to your depressive state hitting you like a two ton truck.

You then felt an arm snake around your lower waste, pinning you down of sorts, which made you jump a bit and turn to see who’s it was. Only to see Law wide awake and looking upwards at you

A brief silence filled the room before Law had spoke. “Y/n-ya......You’re Ok.” he says quietly, trying not to startle you...Soon, the memories of what you went through during your depressive state had hit you. You saw everything that happened. And then you saw that Law had tried his hardest to get you to feel ok.

You started to cry again, which made him frown in worry, only to . be taken aback by the sudden tackle hug you were doing, “Law!” You kept muttering in between your hiccupped sobs as you held him.

All Law did was rub your head gently and held you close to him again. He didn’t know how to respond. “....You saved me.....” You commented, now hovering over him with a shaky smile.

Those words. Those three single words made his heart melt with pure happiness. A feeling he hasn’t had in a LONG while. Despite the fact that he hated being called a Hero, if he could save /you/ from death? Then he’ll take being called a Hero by you any day.

You just kept hiccupping as you cried of happiness, but that was easily silenced with Law’s next action. You felt Law’s rougher lips against your own, which easily made you stop crying. He broke the kiss after a while and smiled back, “...I’m glad that your Ok y/n-ya.” he says before pulling you down for another kiss

[qqueenofhades]

Okay, y'all. Time to do this one more time. Let the fact that there are so many of these posts right now reinforce the point. Many of you already know this, and I see and love you, but for anyone still ~undecided about their choice, should they be an American citizen of voting age on November 3, 2020:

Time to not be. It was time a long, long while ago, but I am going to have to say it again.

Primary season is over. The endless fine-tooth combing of candidates' policies and positions is over. We are all deeply well aware that the candidates on the Democratic ticket, being human beings and establishment politicians, are flawed. "BUT WHAT ABOUT THIS POSITION FROM 19/ 20-WHENEVER AS JUSTIFICATION FOR WHY IT'S TERRIBLE TO VOTE FOR -- "

No. Stop. Just stop. Stop threatening to hold the rest of us hostage, in the middle of a pandemic, the Great Depression, and racial inequality and protests on a scale not seen from the 1960s, because you did not get Barbie Dream Candidate. That is the behavior of terrorists and toddlers. If your supposedly enlightened morally pure ideology does not involve any action to mitigate the harm that is directly in front of you, it isn't worth a shit as an ideology actually devoted to helping people. If your approach to politics is to shout about how Pure your ideas are on twitter and tear down anyone working within a system of flawed choices to do the good that they can: you're not helping, and frankly, your constant threats to withhold your suffrage as a punishment to us aren't convincing the rest of us that we really need to listen to you or that you have anyone's best interests at heart. The Online Left TM is as much a vacuous, self-reinforcing noise chamber as the Online Right TM, and can sometimes tend to be even more dangerous.

I was saying this in 2016. A lot of us were saying this in 2016. I am just about to turn 32 years old and have been voting in federal elections for almost 15 years. For what it's worth.

This is not an ordinary election. This is not a contest between two flawed candidates who respect the system and want to work to enact their policies in the ordinary way. One is a flawed 90s era Democrat who nonetheless has already been pushed CONSIDERABLY left in his policies and platforms since the end of the primaries (and his existing platform would already make him the most left president elected, even more than Obama). The other is a fascist dictator who has openly spoken about refusing to accept the election results, his desire to abolish term limits and serve for life, and complete the pillaging of any remaining fragile American public funds for him and his cult of cronies. He does not respect the system. He does not want to do anything for anyone that is not himself. 160,000 and counting needless deaths of American citizens have already happened. Will keep happening.

This is the last time Trump has to face voters. This is the last chance the country has to repudiate his entire poisonous ideology and its marching Nazi minions. IF he steps aside, which is already far from guaranteed, he can ride off into the sunset as a vindicated two term president and probably be rehabilitated like George W. Bush was within a few years of leaving office. American political memory is very short. It will happen. Again, if he even leaves.

RBG is 87 and has cancer again. She will NOT survive another four years. Stephen Breyer is 81. Their seats could both come up in the next four years. The Supreme Court could be a right wing rubber stamp for whatever time we all have left before climate change and coronavirus kill us all.

"But if people just thought for themselves and did their homework and didn't vote the party line like sheep, we could support a third party/write in -- " Stop. Just stop. Attend a ninth grade civics class and learn about how politics work in America. Yes, the two-party system sucks. Yes, the Electoral College is a hot steaming pile of absolute bullshit. Magical unicorn fairy dust fantasies WILL NOT change that.

Do not vote for Kanye (who has pretty much openly admitted he is trying to play spoiler to Biden on behalf of his buddy Trump). Do not vote for godforsaken fucking Gary Johnson or Jill Stein who appear on ballots just to give sanctimonious leftists the illusion of virtue-signaling. If you want any chance of fixing the mess that 2020 has left America and the world in, you need to vote for Joe Biden and Kamala Harris. The end.

Biden is a flawed old man who was our last choice, sure. He is also a distinguished public servant who has already been in the White House for eight years under Obama and thus we KNOW what to expect. He is an empathetic man who connects with people's personal tragedy and picked as his running mate a younger Black/biracial woman who directly confronted and called him out on past behavior. While the pundit class was simpering and whining about how it was Disrespectful and how could he consider her, Biden did so, and that speaks well to me of the fact that he is willing to learn, to take criticism, and not just accept it from a former Black female rival, but make her his second in command and the potential first female president of the United States.

Can you EVER picture Trump doing that? Not in eight thousand million years.

As for Kamala, we are all aware of her previous checkered history as a prosecutor (and even then, she did plenty of good things as well!). Since joining the Senate, however, she has consistently become one of its most progressive members. She is the co-sponsor of an economic aid package designed to give every American $2,000/month, backdated to March (the start of the coronavirus pandemic) and continuing at least a few months after its end. A Biden-Harris White House could make that happen. Especially if they are put into office with a Democratic House and Senate (for the love of God, Kentucky, kill Mitch McConnell with fire). That is just one example.

Harris's nomination is obviously historic. And Biden didn't choose another Biden (or another Tim Kaine, the blandest white man imaginable). He chose another Obama: a younger rising star of an immigrant background, a person of color, a former lawyer and someone who represents the diversity of the country that the white supremacists and the Cheeto in Chief have tried to paint as its worst and most degenerate evil.

A vote for Biden and Harris means getting rid not just of Trump, but Mike Pence, Vladimir Putin, Jared Kushner, Betsy Devos, the Trump crony destroying the Postal Service, the rampant coronavirus misinformation and bullshit, the destruction of Social Security and Medicare, the spread of Nazi propaganda from the President's twitter account, the likely two Supreme Court picks that would be as bad as Brett Kavanaugh or worse... on and on. Biden and Harris would be elected by progressive voters and thus answerable to them in 2022 midterms and 2024 general. They can both be, and already have been, pushed further left. They are reasonable and competent adults who have demonstrated experience and compassion. I KNOW about their flaws and past actions I don't agree with. But I'm frankly done with any more counterproductive straw man bitching about This One Bad Thing They Did and how it makes it a terribad awful choice to vote for them. Open your eyes. Look at the alternative. LOOK AT WHAT HAS ALREADY HAPPENED AND THE FACT THAT THIS IS NOT EVEN AS BAD AS IT COULD STILL GET.

Check your registration or register at vote.gov.

DO NOT LOOK AT POLLS AND DECIDE "EH BIDEN IS CLEARLY GOING TO WIN, I DON'T NEED TO VOTE." THAT IS HOW WE LOST LAST TIME.

Unseating incumbents is HARD. It is even harder when the other side has openly laid out their plan to cheat in great detail, and there is nothing really stopping them from doing it. The only thing, in fact, is massive, unfalsifiable results on an undeniable scale.

So:

Vote.

Vote for Joe Biden and Kamala Harris.

Thanks a lot.

[pa-panda-heroes]

Chest surgery anon here. I was hoping to request something. I was just told my nipples might not turn back to normal. And I feeling a little insecure. Could I have Dabi Tomura and overhaul comforting reader on that? That's if your comfortable with it. Thank you so much

Sweetie!! I’m so sorry you’re having complications (and this took me so long ;;n;;). Just know that no matter what’s going on, it does not change who you are as a person or your worth. I’m sorry if that was cheesy but I really hope you don’t get too hard on yourself for any reason, okay? Much love to you!! 🖤

Dabi, Tomura, and Overhaul comforting their s/o who’s having complications after chest surgery

Dabi:

Okay okay okay, hear me out. Dabi is an ass man, a thigh extraordinaire, a lap pillow-loving fuck, and there is no way that he of all people would mind scars or disfiguration or anything else possible.

It wouldn’t bother him at all, and he’d be absolutely sure to tell you that. He knows his own opinion doesn’t matter much, because it’s not his body after all, but he also knows that some affirmations could never hurt. You do it for him, so he wants to do it for you.

Does he think of you any differently? you might ask. Do you think of him any certain way because of his ever-expanding scars? he would ask in return. There you have it. He’s not going to pull punches; it would be stupid for him to feel differently about you because of this, he’ll tell you.

He is, however, worried about discomfort or pain. Is there upkeep and precautions? That’s fine, he gets that all too well. Pain he gets, too, but it’s much different for you to experience it. He’s a hypocrite like that!

Dabi won’t talk about it until you do. He’s afraid of bringing it up when it’s slipped from your mind, and in turn dragging your otherwise good mood down. And he’s of mind that you’ll talk about it when you’re ready to, when you want to, which is primarily the reason why.

Will he make jokes about his own nipples, though? Oh, he absolutely would - if he knows it wouldn’t bother you. His sense of humor isn’t great, but his loyalty to you is better. He’s going to try whatever he can to help you feel more comfortable about it, even if he has an odd way of doing it.

It’s little things he’ll do to comfort you when he notices a shift in your mood, like getting your favourite snacks readily available to you, swiping little gifts for you here and there, or just simply coddling you with cuddles out of the blue.

Giving your chest a little more attention than he normally would is mostly an absentminded way of showing you that nothing has changed. That he’s there. That while he may be self-destructive and dumb when it comes to love, he wouldn’t let something like this sabotage what you have.

Tomura:

Tomura never knows what to say when someone dear to him is feeling down; he just knows that it makes his throat dry and scratchy and his stomach twists. But he’s always there to physically comfort you when you’ll let him, or sit quietly and let you vent it out.

Once you tell him what’s been bothering you, though, he’s not as quiet. He’ll shrug with a nonchalant so what? As long as your issue doesn’t cause you physical discomfort like his skin does for him, he’ll think nothing of it.

Do they look different? Well, Tomura looks different, too. And technically, no two sets of nipples are the same, right? So he doesn’t care what they look like. They’re yours. You’re you. Nothing will change that.

Maybe he doesn’t word it as well as he’d like to, but you know what he means and how sincere it is by the faint puppy look in his eyes, coated with worry that you may not understand him. Not to mention the abundance of junk food and treats he graces you with.

Does he spoil you and go overboard in an attempt to comfort you? No doubt. If you get tired of it or if it isn’t working, you won’t really have to tell him. He knows when your mood is getting better versus when it’s not just by your body language.

Tomura may be wary of touching your chest for fear of causing you pain or discomfort for a while, but that doesn’t mean otherwise his physical affections towards you will change.

Once he knows you’re in the clear in the healing department, he’s back to completely normal, resting his head on your chest while you cuddle, lugging an arm over you in his sleep, or just wrapping an arm around the front of your torso to pull you toward him.

He may also avoid drawing your attention to them if he can, because like Dabi, he doesn’t want to drag down your good mood. That’s not always a good thing, because he’s not great at emotional support in that he won’t make you talk about it when you need to. That said, he’s a great listener when you’re ready.

Overhaul:

So obviously, his main priority is going to be keeping everything clean and sanitary and prevent infections. He will probably obsess over it, and it’s unlikely Overhaul is going to let just any random doctor take care of you.

But otherwise? There’s no change in his behavior at all. He doesn’t touch you less, nor will he smother you. He won’t console you about it, nor will he put your issue down. If you’re needing the extra attention, Kai may be a little insensitive like that.

But if you break down and talk to him about it, he’ll probably be the most therapeutic to talk to. He’ll listen and help you work through your feelings. Are you comparing yourself to impossible standards? Are you worried a loss of sensation will dull things in the bedroom?

Like that, Overhaul will get into the nitty gritty of why you’re feeling down and help you work through it. He’ll get in your head, with good intentions, and in the healthiest way he knows (which... doesn’t say much, but he tries).

Of course, if you ask him to tell you how he feels about it all, he’ll shrug at you and tell you something along the lines of his opinion not mattering. Your self image has to begin with you, he’ll say. And you ought to know by now how he feels about you.

If it’s nothing regarding the nerves or any sort of discomfort, he’ll probably encourage you to get reconstructive survey (of a sort) if you really feel like you need it.

Now, if it’s something more medical and you’re in pain or the like, he definitely usher you to get treatment for that, or find ways to keep you comfortable. And, of course, if push comes to shove he can use his quirk and do it himself with no more downtime...

[thiswasinevitableid]

.. for mermay.. 8, indruck nsfw?

Here you go! Duck’s design is based on a rudderfish.

Authors note: since prompt 8 is “drunk,” drinking is mentioned in this. It’s also implied Indrid is doing some self-destructive behaviors to cope with trauma.

The party is a splendid success, as was the book launch that preceded it. Indrid has done what he does best, lined his pockets and those of his agents and editors, and gotten everyone talking. 

“Did you see the one of the pyres?”

“The one of the hurricane aftermath, the look in the girls eyes is so haunting.”

“Personally, I found the jeweled mummies a bit much, but the emergency room shots? Stunning.”

This is why Indrid is sitting on the rocks on his private cove, and will not be going back up to the house until he’s polished off all three of these heavily spiked bottles of eggnog. It’s better than the time he emptied most of a bottle of vanilla vodka, but not by much. 

He was tipsy when he snuck out the back door and down the path to the sea. So when the empty bottle rolls away, all he can do is whap at the air close to it and wave as it plonks into the water.

“Oops. Hic, oh, hic, well, what’s one more piece of trash in, hic, a dying world?”

He yelps, knocking his remaining bottles into the sand as the lost one flies through the air towards him. Or he thinks that’s the trajectory; it’s hard to tell. The point is, the bottle is back and he’s clutching his chest like an old man in a silent movie.

“Look, man, I know it’s temptin to just leave trash everywhere, but there are signs up and down this beach sayin not to litter.” A man floats in the water at the foot of the rock, black hair plastered to his forehead and muscular arms crossed over a bare chest. 

“It, hic, it was an accident. And I am, hic, in no condition to retrieve anything from the water.”

The man frowns, “shit, if you’re that drunk, you oughta get off the rocks. It’s deep here, you might drown. Go sit on the sand, it’s safer. Warmer too, still holdin heat from the sun.”

“I, I’m fine, hic, don’t, don’t need some wet man babying me.” He stands to prove his point, nearly falls face first into the water, and sits back down, “see, m’fine.”

“Get off the rock.” The man says, sounding for all the world like a cat owner two seconds from grabbing the spray bottle. 

“No.” Indrid huffs. 

Water splashes his face and he sputters.

The man pulls his hand back, preparing to send another wave at him, “Get.”

“Fuck you” 

The splash is much more intense this time and he curses, scrambles sideways, and falls to his knees in the sand. 

“That’s better, now I don’t gotta worry about fishin your careless ass outta the water.”

“If, if we are, hic, t-talking careless, you, you shouldn’t say a thing. You’re, hic, swimming in cold water with, without a wetsuit.”

The man shrugs, “Don’t need one.” With that he floats on his back, bringing a dark-scaled tail into view. 

“You’re, hic, you’re a merman.” He crawls forward, breathless, “that’s so cool, wanna, gotta photograph you, so handsome, gotta-”

“Nope” The merman swims back into deeper water, “no pictures, those can end real bad for us.”

“But, but you’re so beautiful. If, hic, if pictures are no good, I, I can draw. I draw good, even if no one likes it.”

“Uh, you really wanna sit on a cold beach paintin my picture instead of hangin out at that shindig?” He points up the hill to the brightly lit house. 

“No, nonono, hic, don’t, don’t wanna go back up there, s’awful, hic.” 

“Awful?” The merman sounds concerned, and in the patchy moonlight he swims close enough that Indrid can see the details of his face, “is someone up there hurtin you?”

“No” He shakes his head, “it, it-”

“Indrid!”

“Damn it.” He mutters as the merman retreat beneath waves. As his guests grow closer he stands, carefully picks up all three bottles, and heads uphill to meet them.

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

Indrid shuffles through the house, head pounding, decides he hates the following people, in this order:

-His agent

-Himself

-Whoever mentioned it was a shame there were no Plata River Bridge photos, causing Indrid to drink a whole martini in order to bite his tongue.

It’s not until his third cup of coffee that he remembers the merman. God, he was really rude to someone who was just trying to keep him from drowning.

Very, very carefully, he makes his way to the beach, sketchbook in one hand and thermos in the other. 

“Hello?” He calls across the water. No reply. Of course there isn’t; the merman has the whole ocean to explore, there’s no reason for him to hang around Indrid’s house. He sighs, sits down on a piece of driftwood, and draws. Normally the cold would drive him back indoors, but today it’s bracing, blowing his hangover off of him and down the sand. 

“Glad to see you’re in one piece” 

Indrid sits bolt upright. The merman waves to him.

“You came back?”

“Yeah? I mean, this is part of my rounds, so I come by here at least once a day. More surprised you’re down here when it’s all cold and grey.”

“I, ah, I wanted to apologize for last night. I was being stubborn and rude.”

“You were, but I was kinda grumpy too. At the end of my shift and all that, but I shouldn’t have splashed you.” He smiles, swims closer, “do you, uh, remember any of the other stuff you said?”

“I have a vague memory of begging to photograph you. Or maybe draw, it’s all very fuzzy.”

“You did. I, uh” the merman’s cheeks turn pink, “you were really, uh, well let’s just say you were excited at the idea of drawin me, so I thought maybe, if you wanted to..”

“Yes”  Indrid shifts down into the sand so he can rest his back on the log, “can we do it now? You said you were on rounds, and if you’re working I don’t want to interrupt.”

“I’m done for the day. Should I get on a rock or somethin?”

“Can you come on the sand at all? Oh, ah, it seems you can.” Indrid scoots back as the merman slides gracefully ashore. In the daylight, his tail is a rich green-brown, his hair streaked with grey near his forehead. His eyes, one green and one brown, regard Indrid with curiosity as he turns to a new page. 

“You got a name?”

“Indrid. Indrid Cold.”

“Duck Newton. It’s a nickname.” The mer stretches his arms and tail, and were Indrid in a self-flattering frame of mind he’d say he was flexing for him, “I gotta pose?”

“No, as long as you don’t move too much, I should be fine.”

Duck nods, shifts onto his belly with his tail dipped in the surf. Indrid sets his pen to paper, asks Duck what he does for work and when the tunnel vision of his project dissipates, it’s dusk.

“Oh my, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you so long.”

The merman yawns, “S’okay, it was nice talkin with you, and I got to birdwatch some. Can I see?”

Indrid turns the sketchbook. Mis-matched eyes widen. 

“Holy fuck. You made me look damn good.”

“I simply captured you as you are.” Indrid feels a blush moving up his cheeks as Duck scoots closer. 

“You gonna do this tomorrow?  If, uh, if you don’t wanna draw me again, I can bring you some interestin stuff from the water. If, uh, if you want.”

His schedule for tomorrow starts with a phone interview, after which he was planning to sit in a dark living room and watch mindless T.V.

“That sounds lovely. Thank you, Duck.”

The merman beams, waves, and then pushes back into the sea, raising his tail once in farewell. 

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

“...now, Juno thinks it’s-holy fuck ‘Drid, was that your stomach?” Duck raises his head from where he’s been sort-of-napping, sort of talking.

“Hmm? Yes, I suppose it was.” He has his watercolors out today, a surprise stretch of sunny days rendering the beach and hillsides in glorious technicolor. 

“When did you last eat?”

“..............”

“Oh my fuckin god, ‘Drid, no wonder you look like you’re close to passin out.”

“I’m fine.” 

Duck has that look on his face again, the one he got when Indrid admitted to walking the cliff-side trails when he’s coming back from the roadhouse on the edge of town. When Indrid says he hasn’t slept in two days. 

The merman says nothing, goes back to reading the book of nature essays Indrid brought him. A buzz cuts through the air and he groans, shuts off the alarm on his phone, “I need to go get ready for that interview.”

“You wanna meet up tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Great. But, uh, seem to remember you promised me some of those cookies you say are the best in the world.”

Indrid smirks, “I suppose I did.”

“I want some. But not for dinner, with dinner. You feel me?” There’s an edge in his drawl, as formidable and unyielding as the nearby cliff-face. 

“Alright, I'll bring you some other things to try.” Indrid smiles, suddenly looking forward to a grocery run. 

Duck, now in the water, looks over his shoulder, “Good boy.”

Indrid shivers even as heat blooms in his chest. 

When sunset graces the beach, Indrid is busy setting out a half dozen take-out containers and many plastic boxes of cookies and fruit.

“Damn” Duck slides and wiggles his way onto the sand by the blanket, “you went all out.”

“You wanted a meal. I brought you one.”

“Sure did.” Duck sniffs the air, taps a carry-out bowl of soup, “what’s this?”

“Umm” Indrid peers at the label, “french onion soup.”

“Can I have it?”

“Of course.”

The merman downs the soup as fast as temperature allows, munches happily on the orange segments Indrid peels and samples the cookies. 

“Ahhh” He flops his head into Indrid’s lap, “that hit the spot.”

The human nods, bottle of pineapple soda on his lips. He’s so happy and full. 

Wait.

“Duck? Did you suggest this just so I would eat something?”

The face in his lap only looks a little chagrined, “Kinda. I been meanin to suggest this, and today seemed like the right time. And, uh, I know sometimes I have a hard time lookin after myself for me, but if someone else tells me to do it, or I have to do it as part of lookin after them, it’s easier. Thought that might be goin’ on with you. I, uh, I won’t do it again if you don’t want me to.”

“Nono” Indrid sets a hand in his hair, stroking it so Duck rubs his cheek against his thigh, “you’re right. It was easier to do the kind thing for myself when you told me to. Would, ah, would you be willing to do it again.” 

Duck meets his eyes, gaze bubbling with something dark and alluring, “Sure thing, ‘Drid.”

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

“Before you go, I wanted to give you this.” Indrid holds out the small camera. Duck, perched on a rock, takes it with a puzzled frown. He adds, “It’s waterproof. You mentioned you wish you could take pictures of the things you see in your home. I couldn’t think of a better time to give you than your trip.”

“Thanks, ‘Drid.” Duck leans forward, rubbing their cheeks together, “you remember your instructions?”

“Yes.” He whimpers when Duck pulls back. 

“Good. Want you in good shape when I get home.” Duck’s voice returns to normal, “should be back in a week. I’ll see you then.”

Indrid waves goodbye, keeps waving well past the point where Duck could see him, even if he surfaced. Then he grabs the basket of fresh oysters and heads to the house to call Barclay. 

The phone calls and dinners with one of his few friends in town are part of his agreement with Duck. The mer told him he couldn’t meet every night, so maybe Indrid should find other forms of company. He also helpfully supplies Indrid with fresh shellfish that he has no idea how to cook, but his friend the professional chef certainly does. This dovetails nicely with his promise to Duck to eat at least one full meal a day.

It’s not just the strange dynamic they’ve hit upon that’s improving his life; it’s Duck. The merman makes him feel so safe, like someone cares about the real him and not just the him that makes them money or feeds their morbid curiosity. Not to mention he’s even more handsome than Indrid first thought and he spends plenty of nights jerking off to the thought of a cool, strong tail between his legs. 

He does well the first five days Duck is gone. Barclay and Dani come over for dinner, he paints and draws prolifically, and he even reads up on whether it’s feasible for him to adopt rats (“those are kinda like otters, right?” “close enough.”). Friday night his agent calls, excitedly reporting that it’ll soon be the fifth anniversary of the Plata River incident and the magazine is getting requests for a feature on it and Indrid will be perfect. 

Indrid says he’ll think about it, hangs up, and opens the fridge. He promised Duck he’d only drink if it was with dinner or with friends. He grabs two wine coolers and heads into the living room. 

The next day, he’s idly fiddling with the dating app he hasn’t touched since December when a new profile appears. Very good looking, close by, clearly just passing through town, and interested in Indrid. He invites him over, spends the next half hour getting ready, and even cleans the bedroom because well, that’s what he’d do for Duck, he should do it for anyone else he brings over. 

Indrid opens the door at the second knock. The guy takes one look at him, shakes his head, and returns to his car.

Indrid downs the remaining wine coolers and goes down to the beach to sulk. He tucks his legs up, pressing his forehead to his knees, and rocks back and forth. He’s nearly sober when a voice drifts across the waves.

“‘Drid?” 

He looks up, glasses slipping down his nose, “Duck? You’re, you’re back.”

“Yep. It was fast goin the last ten miles. Brought the camera back, think you gotta be the one to get the pictures off, but I can’t wait to show you all the cool shit we saw.”

“Me neither” He stands and instantly pitches forward, landing on his hands and knees in the shallow water. 

“You been drinking?”

“Yes.”

“You and Barclay have a good time?” He’s giving him the benefit of the doubt, giving him an out, and Indrid decides that isn’t what he wants. 

“I wasn't with Barclay. I got horrible news last night, and today I tried to get laid and got rejected, and I’m at the point in my life where I nearly called after the guy that he could keep his eyes shut and I’d just blow him so he wouldn’t need to look at or touch me. So yes, Duck, I’ve been drinking.”

Duck’s expression swims between concern and disappointment, then comes to rest on neutral steel, “That ain’t what we agreed.”

“I’m aware. But I don’t care, I don’t” he aims a splash at Duck, “it doesn’t matter, nothing matters, nothing will come of it, same as always.”

The merman cocks an eyebrow, “You really think that? You forgettin I said there’d be consequences if you broke the rules?”

“Oooh, I’m so scared.” Indrid splashes him again.

Duck smiles, reminding him that all his teeth end in points, “Didn’t say anythin about scarin you. You really wanna believe that nothing matters, you can head home. Or” he points to a nearby rock, “you go get on your hands and knees, facin the cliffs.”

Indrid crawls gracelessly to the designated spot. It’s dangerous to turn his back on the ocean, but a gentle voice in his mind reminds him over and over that Duck is here. Duck won’t let him get hurt. 

There’s a splash as Duck pulls himself onto the rock. Then a whoosh of air and a sting in the right side of his ass. He yelps, startled, and looks behind him.

“If this ain’t okay, need you to say so now.” Duck’s eyes are wide and hungry, but his hands stay on the grey rock. 

“It’s okay.” He can’t believe this is happening, can’t decide if he should tell Duck this is not remotely a punishment. 

Another sharp grin, “Eyes front.”

Indrid’s barely obeyed when the next strike comes. Duck is strong and makes no attempt to hide it, hitting him hard enough that his knees jolt forward in the sand. The pain lights him up each time, forces the thing knotted in his chest up towards his throat. 

When the blows stop he whimpers, pushing his ass back in hopes of more.

“Don’t worry, ‘Drid, I ain’t done with you by a long shot.” Cold fingers undo his fly, bring his pants and underwear down to his thighs. He’s expecting another hit, wiggles his ass in anticipation. 

What he gets are teeth sinking into his skin.

“AH!GOD” He yells loud enough that his throat hurts.

Duck chuckles, “Holler all you want, we both know no one can hear what goes on on this beach, especially with all the wind.” He bites down again, Indrid thrashing and moaning as teeth sink into already reddened skin. Duck growls in reply, savaging the meat of his as and grazing his teeth along his thighs, dangerously close to his balls. He’s already getting hard, the process expedited by warm breath and lips on his body. 

He moans embarrassingly loud when Duck shoves his ass apart.

“Damn, you really did get all prepped for that fella. Shame, he didn’t know what he was missin.” The plug hits the sand to his right.

“You, you don’t have to flatter meEEEoh, oh Duckohmygoodness.” His fingers dig into the sand as the merman teases his rim with a flexible tongue. There’s a muffled laugh, but Duck doesn’t respond beyond that, too busy threatening him with a good time as his tongue gives an experimental push. 

Then it retreats and he turns his head left and right, delivering quick bites to either cheek before his tongue returns. He alternates between the delicious, teasing licks and painful bites, the shift never coming when Indrid expects and causing him to cry out every time. When the mer releases one side of his ass in order to slap his thighs while he continues licking, kissing, and nipping his way across bruised, sensitive skin, Indrid lets out a strangled sound, the thing in his chest now trapped at the back of his throat. 

“You make such cute noises, but they ain’t the ones I’m lookin for. I ain’t stoppin until you apologize.”

Indrid opens his mouth, intending to say something about how this is the wrong way to make him do so. 

“I, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please don’t be angry with me, don’t leave, don’t leave me here, I can’t, I, I don’t want to think about it, Duck please, I’m sorry, so sorry” he;s hunched forward, sobbing into the sand, when he realizes he’s fully clothed and Duck isn’t behind him.

“No” he squeaks, “no please don’t go.”

“I ain’t goin anywhere.” Duck slides up the sand next to him, pulls him into his arms, “I’m so sorry darlin, I didn’t mean to make you cry, I took it too far, I ain’t mad, not really” he eases Indrid’s glasses off and sets them out of harms way, “oh darlin, c’mere, it’s okay” salty kisses dot his forehead and green scales pet his legs. 

“It’s, hic, it’s not your fault. I, I l-liked it, but this has, hic, been building up for months. Years.” He hides his face in Duck’s chest.

“Years?” Duck grabs Indrid’s sweater from where he cast it off, draping it over the human. 

Indrid sniffs, “You know I’m a photographer. But I’ve never told you what I photograph. I, I made my name recording disasters and their aftermath. For a long time I took pride in it; someone has to document those things, so we can’t erase them, so we have to confront them and try to make things better, or try to keep such tragedy from reoccurring. I was so good at recording it I became famous. Wealthy. And I learned that most people like to gawk at horror and then go about their days. I, I tried branching out and...and I ended up with a disaster anyway. A bridge collapse, I chronicled everything from the instant it started to the funerals and it, it was too much. Ever since then I’ve felt trapped by my work. At times, by my life. My agent wants me to go back for the fifth anniversary, he told me so last night.”

“You ain’t goin, right?” 

“I don’t think I can.” 

Duck nods, rests his chin atop his head, “tell me what you wanna do instead.”

He does. He tells him about his other art, about the pitches for childrens books and the plans for a real vacation, about the life that, for the first time, feels in reach when he speaks about it. By the time he’s done the stars are out and he’s much calmer and clear-headed.

“Did you mean what you said earlier? That, that you thought I was attractive?”

“Every damn word.” Duck rolls them so Indrid is on his back, kisses his cheek, “thought so since that first night. But, uh” his gaze flicks down to Indrid’s crotch, “if you want more proof I’m happy to give it.”

“Please?”

“Get your pants off and lay on your sweater.”

Indrid complies, shivers when Duck guides his shirt up and off. 

“Fuuuuck” the mer rubs his hands up and down his torso, “when it warms up, you’re gonna swim out with me so I can get my fill of this while you ride my dick.”

“Yes. Ah, I, I did prep, but it’s been long enough now that lubrication may be an issueOOOh, ooohyes.” He release into the sand as Duck grinds his tail against his cock. The scales feel as lovely now as they do when he pets them, and he wonders if Duck will let him get off by humping his tail one of these days.

“It won’t, trust me. Lemme just--there we go. Open your legs. Heh, eager little thing.”

“I’ve wanted this too long to play coy.”

“Good.”

“Eeep!” Something slick and squirming presses into his ass, “do, do you have tentacles?”

“Kinda? They’re just the tip, for this exact reason. It, uh, it feel okay?” Duck smiles reassuringly and that, combined with the genuine concern in his voice makes Indrid moans and nudge him closer. 

“VeryOH, oohgracious” two more tentacles join the first, pulsing and scissoring him open, “how many are there?”

“About eight.”

He moans louder and Duck laughs, pushes his hips forward, “glad you like it, darlin’. Because from where I’m sittin your ass is fuckin amazin and I wanna be as deep in it as I can.”

“Yes, absolutely, pleaseAHHnnn” enough tentacles now that he can’t keep an accurate count, “please use it as you see fit.”

“As I see fit huh? That’s a tricky question. See, sometimes I wanna, fuck, wanna shove the whole thing in you at once and make you scream while I leave my mark on your neck.”

“AHHnnngod” A firmer shaft pushes in, ridges rubbing all the right places as the tentacles continue exploring him. 

“Other times, think it’s better to tease you with the tip, maybe make you blow me first and jerk you off until you’re beggin for my dick.”

“Yes, yesyesyesyes”

“But tonight” Duck bottoms out with a groan, “I’m gonna take it nice and slow, show you just how fuckin wonderful you are. How much you mean to me. My Indrid.”

“Yours” Indrid twines his limbs around him, “god, Duck, it feels so good, you’re so good, you always look after me.”

“That I do. Because you deserve it. And” the tentacles find his prostate and he nearly howls as Duck continues, “you deserve to learn how t’be nice to yourself. And I, ahfuck, know that ain’t easy, but I’m gonna be here to help.”

“Yes, ohgod, yes, you’re, you’re so perfect, aaAAAhnI, I’m, close sweetheart, you fill me so well.”

“Damn right. Gonna, nnngh, gonna find every fuckin way to fill you, make you feel fuckin amazin, fuck, that’s it darlin, ohfuckyeah” as he starts spilling into him, Indrid cums with a shout, splattering their stomachs. Duck moans at the sight, wriggles his hips as his shaft continues rippling and pulsing. It turns out mer orgasms are long, so long that Indrid is whimpering from overstimulation by the time Duck pulls out. 

A gentle, salt-soaked kiss to his lips, “Lookit you, took it all. You’re so good for me, darlin.”

“Mmmhmm” He doesn’t want to let go, cold, wind, and damp be damned. Duck seems to understand, holds him and whispers sweet promises in his ears until he’s shivering.

“‘Drid, your teeth are chatterin.”

“I kn-know, I s-should g-go home and w-warm up.”

Duck kisses him again, “sooner you go and rest, sooner we can do this again.”

“An excellent p-point.” He stands, blows a shaky kiss towards his future, “see you tomorrow.”

[electricbluebutterflies]

Kabby and 17 ;) xx

This has been in my drafts for like six years but felt like the time to get it done. Obvs modern AU, PG-ish, also on ao3.

meeting at a party whilst drunk au

So the good thing about sorta crashing a friend’s company’sopen-house thing is there’s an open bar.

Abby is in the weird space of not sure if the open-endedinvite actually applied to her, but there are way more people here than sheexpected and she’s not as much of a social creature as she thinks she is. Buton the other hand, there is food. Good food, she will point out, becauseCallie was at least semi involved in planning this thing and that woman knowswhere to spend money, and all buffet-style and spread out in different placesso passers-by (read: Abby) can help themselves without guilt.

And there is an open bar. And Abby is fifteen years too oldto take advantage of it. But she does not want to be here, she’s bored,and she hasn’t managed to find the person she came here to support. And it ismuch easier to have all of those problems if the adorable little bartender isjust happy her drink preferences are simple.

Abby is on her third Black Russian, heavy on the coffeeelement, when she sees a nice little distraction coming towards her. For once, ofthe pretty human variety and not another plate of fancy finger food, althoughif she could get her hands on an entire platter of those pastries that werelike crab Rangoon but not, that would be the best thing ever and-

Distracted, and not exactly in control of her behavior, shetakes half a step forward and the other half of her drink ends up on the prettyperson’s shirt. Well, now she gets to talk to him! Yay!

“Excuse me,” pretty man hisses. His voice is distinctive,and she has a brief memory of him yelling at her someplace else but… now is notthe time to play how likely is it that she tried to fight this guy at somebody’swedding, or ran over his foot with a shopping cart at the supermarket, orpointed out he was an asshole at some town council meeting, or…

Actually it was that last issue, Abby figures out. She can’tremember his name for the life of her right now, but asshole here – that willhave to do, despite the fact that she now wants to screw him in a supply closetwithin the next twenty minutes – had some really questionable opinions aboutnoise ordinances last year and she is still pissed. Ah well. He is scruffierthan she remembered, and way too overdressed for this thing, and she can getover how much of a jerk he is. Maybe.

“You’re in my way,” she counters, even though he isn’t, butit’s a good excuse to put her free hand on her hip and hope that somehowemphasizes her cleavage.

“And you just did… this.” Asshole motions to the front ofhis shirt – Abby is not sure what color that is, it’s gray but it isn’t,sorta a sage green in there too, weird color but somehow it works on this guy –which is now not its original color.

“At least liquor comes out. Could’ve been red wine.” And don’ttempt me, she wants to add. Never mind that she hates red wine – it would be aworthy sacrifice to permanently wreck what looks like an absurdly expensivedress shirt. Now, how to wreck a black suit while she’s at it…

“Are you alright?”

She scans the room. Still no sign of Callie, because ofcourse it’s impossible to find a pocket-sized woman who doesn’t ever wear somuch as a pair of statement earrings in a room this size and this crowded. And nosign of anyone else she can recognize either. Time to have a little fun.

“Does any of this-“ she motions down her body, she wants himto look, this dress fits a little too well and she wants someone to get her outof it- “look like I’m alright?”

“You’re barely upright in heels…”

“You ever tried to walk in heels? Sobriety does not make iteasier.”

“If you’re that determined to self-destruct, I’m sure thereare better venues.”

Oh, so now asshole thinks she’s too trashy for this event. Ifshe knew the potential audience would be on her side, this would be the bit whereshe’d start yelling, but she does not trust herself not to jump all the way fromproper indoor voice to stadium volume right now so…

“And I am sure,” she hisses, “that there are also betterplaces for you to be a jerk. And people here who actually deserve it!”

He rolls his eyes and sighs, honest to god sighs like a manher age and built like he played a sport in college – probably some pretentioussport like rowing, maaaaaybe baseball, honestly she doesn’t have the patiencefor sports so she’s not trying to guess – should not be able to do while alsobecoming more hot at the same time. This is unfair.

“Do you have a ride home?”

Abby hisses. Yes, she has been drinking. But she’s not ahazard to herself yet. Just to other people, apparently.

“I have a friend who is running this thing and who I can’tfucking find because she doesn’t answer her fucking phone even when she is nottrying to coordinate this many things that could go wrong.”

He takes a step back, expression now changing to shock. “Youknow Callie?”

“Yeah. Best friends since sixth grade. I punched somebody todefend her honor and thirty years later…”

And then it clicks, another place she’s seen this guy before– well, seen is a little bit of a stretch, not in person but in a bad-qualitypicture on someone’s phone. This belligerent asshole, if she remembers right,was one of Callie’s more recent flings. And if Abby remembers right, this onedidn’t end well. She can’t remember ever hearing a name there, but-

“You have a lot of nerve,” she mutters.

“Excuse me?” That man does not know how to make those twowords sound like a question.

“You screwed her over.”

“I did what?!”

“I think the exact wording was your breakup involved enoughice to sink the titanic?”

“Not a breakup if it was never a thing.”

“So casual sex doesn’t count as a thing?”

“Not if it’s emotionless.”

“Yeah, she mentioned you didn’t have those.”

“Excuse me?”

“You keep using those words and I do not think you know whatthey mean,” which is totally a line from some movie but Abby can’t be botheredto remember. “The only reason I haven’t tried to hit you is because you did nothave that beard when you ghosted her and I do not think a bruise would showwell enough and-“

“And I’m not sure you could reach,” he mutters. Why are menlike this.

“Do not tempt me.”

“Is there anyone else you know here?”

“Not that I’ve seen yet. And I am perfectly capable of-“

“And I do not care.”

Fine.

So much for her ideas.

As much of a gorgeous bad idea as this one is… he’s notworth it.

(Later, when she gets home – safely, she will point out, shedoes not try to drive in this state – she goes through Callie’s social media profiles,finds the guy through a comment, and spends the remains of her Saturday nightinvestigating the entire online presence of one Marcus Kane, lawyer and aspiringlocal politician and all-around cactus.)

(Later – six weeks later – she tries to attack him during anothertown council meeting, this time with better information, and a new andexhausting phase of both of their lives begins.)

[amlovelies]

what desire will make foolish people do

@wayhavenmonthly​ Fall for Unit Bravo

Day 5: game

pairing: Mason/f!oc Serena Willis (not a detective)

warnings: not technically smut, but super suggestive also smoking and foul language

words: 2779

read on ao3

A/N: this is part of my Au and takes place before the scene I posted for day 2: Liability. I’ve posted parts of this before as “excerpts from a fic I’ll never write” guess I’m a liar. This is all pulled from different parts of the story because I liked the way I could use them to fit the theme, so there are some slightly awkward bits where I edited it to make more sense. 

Round 1

               The cool spring air outside the warehouse helps to clear my head. The last few weeks have been hard, and as much as I think I am adjusting to my new life and role here, there are still days when it’s harder. Days when I miss home and feel so out of my depth it’s almost a joke. I lean back against the door and close my eyes taking deep breaths.

               “Are you planning on blocking the door all night?”

               My eyes snap open at the growled question. Great, Mason. Of all the members of Unit Bravo I’ve been unable to really connect or understand him. He’s made it clear he thinks I’m useless and I’m surprised he bothered to waste a whole sentence on me rather than just grunting. I watch him pull out his damn near ubiquitous pack of cigarettes.

               “Can I have one?” I ask almost surprising myself. I haven’t smoked in years, but maybe it’ll take the edge off.

               “Sorry,” Mason says as he pulls a cigarette from the half full pack in his hands, “I’m all out”

               “So you’re the only one who gets to use self-destructive behaviors to make them feel better?” I ask in what I hope isn’t a petulant tone.

               “Isn’t self-destructive if I’m immortal. Besides, I’ve got something I can give you that’ll make you feel much better than a smoke would.”

               I’m glad it’s getting too dark so I don’t have to see the smirk on his face. It’s too bad it doesn’t affect his vision because I’m sure he can see the blush that paints my cheeks even as I’m rolling my eyes at his much too obvious come on. I’d heard rumors about Mason’s “charms,” but this is the first time he’s ever tried to use them on me. No matter what I think of his personality, he is a dangerously handsome man and I hate how flustered the comment makes me feel even if his flirting has more in common with a battering ram.

               “Or I could just go to the store and pick up my own pack. Sounds a lot more satisfying.” I say as I push off the door and make to walk past Mason. I don’t actually want a smoke that bad, but I also don’t want to back down in front of him.

               “Fine, don’t say I never did anything for ya.” Mason scoffs and I yelp as I’m hit in the chest with the pack. I eagerly pull one out and pass the pack back to him. I’m a little skeptical about his sudden altruism, maybe he really is trying to get me into bed.

               “Where’s your lighter?” I ask.

               “Never asked for a lighter, Sweetheart, and it seems I’ve lost mine.” He says, voice smug and mocking. So much for my victory. “Maybe you should pat me down, see if you can find it.” He adds opening his arms wide to give me access.

               “I think I’ll pass.”

               “Your loss.” He replies as he leans against the wall.

               I sit for a moment tapping the cigarette against my leg trying to figure out how to regain the upper hand. Or maybe not even the upper hand so much as just to stay in the game. Because this is some sort of game to him, and the last thing I was going to do was let Mason win this round of whatever the hell this is.

               A hazy memory resurfaces of younger wilder nights, and I start speaking before I lose my nerve.

               “Don’t worry, Sunshine.” That gets his attention and a scowl replaces the smirk he’d had only a moment before. “I know how to take care of myself. It’s not the first time I’ve had to get creative to get what I want.” I say in what I hope is a low and teasing tone, but I worry sounds like I have a head cold. I close the space between us.

               I raise my cigarette to my lips and wait until he begins to pull another drag from his. “All I need is for you to stay still.”

               I move forward on my tiptoes until the unlit end is pressed firmly against the glowing ember of Mason’s cigarette. We are so close and alarm bells start ringing in my head. His presence envelopes me. My senses are overwhelmed by him. The scent of smoke and sandalwood is heady and enticing, especially combined with the heat I can feel pouring off his body. God he’s good looking. I have to remind myself to breath, to inhale or otherwise this won’t work and I’ll just be trapped under the intense gaze of his grey eyes.

               To my relief, it ignites and I’m able to move away from him. I put some space between us, and take a thankful drag from the cig hoping it will ease my now rattled nerves. It doesn’t, and to be honest I’m not sure why I used to enjoy this so much. I steal a glance over to where Mason stands with a wry smile, his eyes studying me. I’m not sure what he’s looking for.

               “Well thanks for the smoke.” I say with an attempt at a flippant tone. I don’t wait for a response; I turn on my heel and walk off toward the fence. I can hear the door open and I breath a sigh of relief to find myself alone once more.

 Round two

               I guess I earned some sort of respect in Mason’s eyes after the cigarette incident. Oh, sure it was mostly him making innuendos and propositioning me, but it was a hell of a lot more than the monosyllabic grunts that I was used to.

               I tried not to read to much into the flirting. That he wanted to sleep with me I didn’t doubt. I also had heard enough rumors, and been subtly warned by Nate, that I knew it wasn’t really personal. Mason wanted to sleep with everyone. Besides I found myself enjoying our little verbal sparring matches. Considering the fact that he kept doing it he didn’t seem to mind or maybe he just viewed me as a challenge.

               Mason manages to corner me in one of the warehouse’s many labyrinthine hallways. I had been avoiding him all day. The night before I had woken up from vivid dreams that definitely didn’t involve the incredible annoying vampire in front of me. As much as I try to play unaffected by his seduction attempts, I know it’s a lie, and my subconscious did not come to play last night.

               “I don’t know if you’re aware of this, Sweetheart, but our bedrooms share a wall.” Mason leans forward closing the already small gap between us a wolfish smile on his face, “and my hearing is very good.”

               He pauses and I try not to be entranced by the sight of his tongue running over his top lip. I’m pretty sure I know where he is going with this and I wonder it is possible to die of embarrassment.

                “Not that there was much to hear last night. I’d be glad to show you how best to use your fingers,” he raises one hand to push his hair back drawing my attention to his well-shaped and surely dexterous hands.

               It takes all my self-control to hold his gaze and I’m secretly grateful for the solid wall pressed against my back. You could probably boil a pot of water with the heat pouring off my face. The thought that he had heard my clumsy fumbling last night is perhaps the most mortifying thing I could imagine. He probably couldn’t wait to use this against me. At least he doesn’t know I was thinking about him. After all everyone masturbates. The only part of this that is really getting to me it knowing that there is some part of me that wants to see exactly what those hands can do. Not the rational part obviously, but still I’d be foolish to continue to pretend it’s not there.

               At least he had waited for a moment when we were alone. I could only imagine the field day Farah would have with this, or maybe he was afraid of Nate’s disappointment. He looks so pleased with himself and I would give almost anything to wipe that smirk off his stupid handsome face. I have to think of something quick.

               “Listening at walls? Are you really getting that little action?” His smile drops and I know I’ve picked the right counterattack.

               “You know I don’t really think I should be the one you’re concerned with,” I smile and place a friendly hand on his shoulder. “Maybe Dinah can set you up on a bind date. I’m sure she knows some nice girl who is just frothing at the mouth to reform a bad boy and teach him the meaning of love” I gaze up with what I hope is an innocent expression.

               The angry growl that he response with is music to my ears. I try and keep the glee from my face, but as he stomps away, I can’t help but congratulate myself on another victory in what-ever-the-hell game it was that I somehow found myself playing with him.

 Round 3:

               “You suck at this.” Mason says as he once again knocks me on my ass. He isn’t even breaking a sweat while my gasping attempts to catch my breath seem to be echoing in the empty training room.

               I push away the hairs that are sticking to my sweat drenched face and give him a withering glare. He just laughs. How kind of him to make sure I want to hit him, not that I’ve managed to land one yet.

               “Always such a gentleman, Sunshine,” I say as I haul myself back to my feet. “Considering how charming you are it must be a miracle that I haven’t just fallen into bed with you yet.”

               He quirks a brow and gives me a look that I know well enough by now to know is trouble, “yet?”

               I inwardly curse my poor word choice or Freudian slip or whatever. Not that I’d found myself thinking about him late at night more and more, or appreciating the long lean lines of his body, or wondering if he actually had to skills to back up all his bravado.

               “Fuck off, Mason” I say as I roll my eyes and sink into a crouch ready to continue our sparring. It’s a petulant response, not at all keeping with the game we’ve been playing. A game which mostly consists of me trying to not let him unnerve me and find new and exciting ways to drag the very dangerous vampire who is has spent the last few hours kicking my ass.

               He circles me, his movements lazy and languid. When he moves it’s sudden and with a speed I can’t follow. Before I know what’s happening, he’s behind me, his breath ghosting over my neck, “I’d much rather fuck you.” He says with a laugh.

               Summoning ever bit of agility I possess, I turn and swing, but there’s nothing but empty air and his laughter. I overextend myself and have to stumble forward a few steps to avoid falling over. Once I’ve regained my balance, I flip him the bird.

               He just grins and lands a stinging hit to my right side. “Do you know what the problem is Sweetheart?”

               “Oh? Enlighten me.”

               He moves in a blur, and I find myself pressed up against him chest to chest. My arms are held secure behind my back. His face is only inches above mine, his well-shaped mouth curled in a taunting smirk. This close I can clearly see the freckles that dust his checks. He’s breathtaking, and I hope he attributed the rapid increase of my pulse to a fight or flight instinct of being trapped rather than his proximity.

               “Your body gives you away.” His voice is almost a whisper. A fierce blush erupts over my cheeks. Damn his stupid vampire super senses.  He’s so smug and enjoying this. I rack my brain for a way to turn this around, but it’s hard to think clearly when I can feel the lean lines of his body pressed against me, and I can’t help but wonder how far those freckles extend over his body. I have to act quick, maybe I can distract him.

               I tilt my head up to meet his gaze and moisten my lips. His eyes dart towards the action and I press forward against him. I’m playing with fire. This is a stupid idea, but that has never stopped me before.

               “What exactly is my body telling you now?” I ask my voice breathy, low, and inviting. Before he can answer I close the space between us and press my lips against his. I try not to think about the feel of his lips against mine.

               His hands on my arms loosen in surprise. I know that it’s now or never, but I hesitate. No small part of me what’s to stay in this moment surrounded and overwhelmed by him. But that would mean he wins. So, I pull my arm back and strike a weak jab to his right side. He moves back from me with a grunt

               . “Not afraid to fight dirty. Maybe there’s hope for you yet. “He says with a nod before turning and leaving me standing along in the center of the training room.

               I know I should be savoring my victory, but all I can taste is Mason on my lips.

  Match

               It’s a little after midnight and I’m standing in front of Mason’s door. I’ve spent the last few hours tossing and turning in a vain attempt to sleep. I keep replaying what happened in the training room: the feel of his body against mine, the brief taste of his lips, the feel of his breath ghosting over my neck. All these months of trading innuendos and hot tense moments seem to have come to a head and I feel consumed by wanting. It was a line I shouldn’t have crossed, even if it did let me land a punch, but now that I have, I feel like I’m falling towards the inevitable conclusion. And would it really be the worst thing? It’s been so long since I’ve been intimate with someone. Maybe it’s better to do it this way knowing that it’s just fun?                

               So now I’m standing in front of his door daring myself to knock. I mean he’ll probably be insufferable after this, but at least I’ll get laid? We both want this. It doesn’t have to be a big deal.

               In the end, he saves me from having to knock. I jump a little, startled out of my deliberations, when the door swings open. His shirt is off and my eyes trace over his form. Freckles dot his skin and a patch of hair curls over his well-defined chest. Fuck he’s hot.

               “Is it yet already?” He asks with a smirk his eyes tracking over my body. I’d only thrown on my bathrobe before following my libido to his door.

               I take a deep breath and swallow the snarky comment I want to make. “Guess it is,” I say as I push past him into the darkened room.

               He closes the door and turns to face me.

               “You sure about this?” he asks taking a step closer to me.

               I step closer as well only a foot or two separate us. If I wanted to, I could reach out and run my fingers over his chest tracing the line of dark hair to where it disappears under his skinny jeans. And god knows I want to.

                “I am. Are you? You’ve talked a big game. Afraid you won’t perform to expectations?” I ask with a smirk.

               His laugh is dark and low and confident and turns something within me molten. He closes the space between us, pulling my body flush against his. I’m intensely aware of the thin fabric of my robe as the only barrier between us.

               “Not even remotely.” His voice is velvet and sends a shiver through me.

               Then his lips are on mine and all I can sense is Mason: the smooth skin of his back under my hands, the wicked glint in his grey eyes, the heady scent of him-sandalwood and smoke, the taste of him on my lips, and the way he growls as nips his way down my exposed neck. He walks us backwards toward his bed and I know I am lost.

tagging: @morgans-ass-freckles @specialistagent-morgan @bionicgrapejuice and @agentnatesewell

[passable-talent]

Power Hungry [1]

“I’m writing a vampire short story but in the most homoerotic way possible “ -🦌 Roe 2k20

warnings: lots n lots of blood, a little bit of self destructive behavior in the beginning, death of an unnamed character, angst out the ass, please and thx

| part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | 

The way in which the world had ended didn’t particularly matter. 

Lucas Clark had spent many nights following the one that changed the world trying to figure it out, how it had all gone to shit so fast, to no avail. And what did it matter, anyway? Regardless of how it had happened, his life had changed, and it wasn’t going back. 

If he could call it a life, anymore. 

Six months ago, he’d returned from a store trip to find two vampires on the necks of his mother and father. He’d chased them off- and then received the last words of his parents before they both died in front of him.

Six months ago, he’d run to his best friends, Ben and Anthony. Ben had already lost both of his parents to cancer in his teenage years, and the two of them had been living with Anthony’s father- who’d been bitten and turned, who was begging for death. 

Six months ago, three twenty-two year olds became orphans, all in the same day. 

Six months ago began Lucas’ hell.

He spent every day staring at ceilings, at walls. The power grid was still working, but he never wanted to turn on the television- everywhere he’d see sit-coms and news reports being paid to glorify the creatures who’d destroyed the Earth. Plus, neck coverings were in style, and Lucas couldn't stand looking at those, either. 

Any humans left lived the way Lucas did, huddling in a home with two or three other survivors, never leaving, except to get food. Lucas didn’t even do that- Anthony was the hunter. He’d learned the skill from his dad, so he’d drag home an animal every few weeks, and Ben would help Lucas clean and preserve it, and they’d spend the next three weeks letting their tongues go numb to the taste of the meat. There was still food sold in stores- but to enter a public building was like opening your neck up to anybody. No one came out, or, no one came out human. 

Anthony was really the only reason that the three of them had survived. Lucas could fight, sure, and Ben had the skills to hunt if he needed to, but Anthony had the reaction. He kept them alert, imposed rules to keep them safe, ventured out into the fang-infested world and returned safe. 

It was thanks to him that they’d acquired some of the last bleach available in stores. 

TV shows had been way off when they thought about the apocalypse- clans of ‘anemic assholes’, as Ben called them, had an interest in keeping the world working, so stores still sold things, the power grid was untouched, television shows were still being made. These clans weren’t around the area where the three of them lived, though, so mostly they had to worry about the Lones, the vampires without a clan or family and the steady food source that such a family or clan would come with. It did make it somewhat easy to find a human- they were the ones that didn’t have those bite marks on their necks. 

Between Tony’s rules, and the semi-ease with which a human could spot a Lone, things weren’t extremely dire. There was a little bit of a rush on canned goods, back in May, when it all started, but now things were mostly back to normal, other than the fact that it was best never to leave the house. 

Bleach, though. Bleach was gone. 

Humans bought it for the same reason that Anthony had grabbed it up- to douse clothing in, masking any human scent sticking to them so that they could leave the house without attracting a Lone. Vampires bought it up to clean the stench of slaughter from their homes, and to keep it from humans, so that they could easily find their prey. 

They had two bottles of bleach, kept under lock and key, a key that only Ben, Anthony, and Lucas knew the location of. It was the most precious thing they owned, the most valuable. More valuable than the silver daggers each of them carried at every moment of every day. 

The stories of old were wrong. Silver didn’t kill vampires any more than iron, but it was about the statement. The promise that any of the three of them would murder any bitten that dared cross cross their path.

That silver dagger was how Lucas spent most of his time. There was no point to sleeping, so he’d stand in the living room, and practice throwing it. It wasn’t supposed to be a throwing knife, but Lucas did it anyway, taking joy in putting holes in the pristine white wall that still felt so suburban, as though it mocked him, mocked the loss of his nuclear family. 

He gave the knife a particularly forceful throw, hearing it thunk into the drywall. He was about to take it out again when he heard the door open. 

“Tony’s back,” Lucas called up the stairs to Ben, who was in the middle of a long shower. Lucas closed the door behind Anthony, who had a buck balanced over his shoulders, an arrow extending from between its eyes, bouncing over Anthony’s shoulder. It wasn’t even bleeding- Anthony’s white shirt, still stinking of bleach, hadn’t been touched by the buck’s blood. 

“Nice shot,” Lucas said, as he often did when Anthony came home, toting an animal who had died on impact. It was cute, six months ago. Now, it felt dry. 

“Can’t believe I found a deer,” Tony said, letting it thump onto the kitchen counter. “It was out on eighth street, like it didn’t think the town was dangerous anymore.”

“For him, it isn’t,” Lucas said, running his fingers down the ridges of the antlers. “He’s no longer the prey.” 

“Don’t get all poetic on me,” Tony said absent-mindedly, slightly teasingly, opening the fridge to see how much room they had. “Where’s Ben?”

“Taking a shower,” Lucas said, leaning on the table. “I don’t think he could stand to look at me anymore.”

“You and I both know that he could stare at you forever,” Tony said, and somehow, Lucas smiled. Ben was certainly special to him- and he to Ben. All three of them could see it, and had seen it since middle school. Still, they were friends. Nothing more. 

“Yeah, well. Even my pretty face gets boring when it’s all you ever look at.” 

“Tell me about it,” Tony said with a smirk, “I could stand to see a little less of ya.” He lifted his hand and shoved Lucas’ face back, giving both of them a bit of a laugh. The three of them had been best friends for twenty-two years, as long as they’d been alive. Lucas was lucky he still had them- without them, he’d have lost it long ago.

“Either way,” Tony said, turning back to the deer, “When he gets out, you two get to deal with that.” Lucas turned his gaze toward the buck, and his smile fell, as fast as it had appeared. 

“Joy,” Lucas said, sucking his lower lip between his teeth. “So we can eat nothing but deer for the next two months.” Anthony shrugged, but there was a stiffness to the movement. 

“Hey,” he said, with all the warning of a parent about to start a lecture, “if you want something else to eat, you’re welcome to try your luck out there.” Shutting down against Anthony’s tone, Lucas looked to the floor.

“Or I could starve to death,” Lucas said, digging his teeth into the inside of his lower lip, “and not have to worry about it.” 

“That’s not the kind of shit you should be saying,” Anthony told him, jaw working to manage his annoyance.

“Like you can tell me what to say?” Lucas accused, pushing back against the controlling nature that Anthony took on, sometimes too often.

“Apparently I have to, to keep you safe!”

“God, who are you, your dad?” Lucas saw it when the words hit Anthony- his dad was a sore spot, and every mention of him took Tony right back to the moment he’d had to kill his own father. 

“Sorry,” Lucas breathed, and he left the room.

He hated whenever something like this happened- and it was happening too much, recently. He was getting sick of this ‘life’, Anthony was sick of him being snappy. The only one who seemed fine was Ben, but who knows what he’s thinking about in those hour-long showers. 

The house had three bedrooms. Anthony still had the one he’d had as a child, since it felt like home. Ben had what was once the guest bedroom, which he’d taken up at sixteen after Anthony’s dad took him in. That left just the master bedroom, to Lucas- which had never been a blessing, always a curse. At first, because it just felt like Anthony’s dad. And now, because the size of it made it feel so empty, its black king-sized sheets, and high ceiling that felt so far away. 

He laid on his back on top of the sheets, looking up, dagger rolling around his fingers. He knew it was a bad idea, he shouldn’t- but the frustration got too much, and he hurled the dagger upward, into the ceiling. It stuck for just a moment, before falling back down. 

Lucas’ immediate reaction was to roll over, out of the way, before he realized he also wanted to protect the sheets from the blade. He reached out, to try to catch the knife, and got his fingers around the blade just beneath its hilt, slipping just a bit, but enough to slice open his palm, and a line through each of his fingers.

“Fuck!” He roared, blood already rolling down his palm. He jumped to his feet, his uninjured left hand shoving the dagger into its sheath on his thigh, and ran into the bathroom, Ben’s shower be damned. He rustled through the cabinet, looking for their bandages. 

“What happened?” Tony called, appearing at the doorway just a moment later. 

“I did something dumb,” Lucas hissed through gritted teeth, even the touch of the bandage to his raw flesh stinging, “Don’t worry about it.” Once he’d pulled the bandage around his palm, Lucas shoved past Anthony to close the door, letting Ben have his privacy again. 

“What the hell did you do?” Anthony asked, grabbing Lucas’ hand and yanking it in front of him so he could get a good look. Lucas hadn’t dressed the slits along his fingers. 

“It’s nothing,” Lucas said, angry at himself, not wanting to bother Tony so soon after he’d hurt him. 

“That’s not nothing, Lucas, what if it gets infected?” 

“So what if it does?” Lucas snarled, ripping his hand from Anthony’s grasp. “It’s not like it fucking matters.” 

“Lucas, what are you talking about?” Anthony said, anger and concern swirling in his tone. “We want to keep you healthy!” Lucas turned his head to the side, scrunching up his nose, slightly, trying to keep his anger at bay. But every passing day was another blow to the dam, and there wasn’t much left keeping the floodwaters at bay. 

“Why?” he shouted, clenching his hands into fists, fingernails forcing his bandages into the wound. “So I can live in this fucking house for the rest of my life? Staring at white walls, pretending that everything’s fine, hoping that someday, something will change, but knowing that nothing ever fucking will?” Lucas heard the shower shut off, and if he hadn’t regretted the outburst before, he did now- he couldn’t face Ben, not knowing that Ben had heard every word. So he shoved Anthony out of the way, and charged down the stairs. At the front door, he ignored his shoes, ignored the white scarf that stunk of bleach, and charged outside.

“Lucas!” Anthony yelled after him, but Lucas didn’t turn back. 

He kept his fist tight, knowing that it was bleeding, and to expose it to the air would be to attract every Lone in the surrounding four blocks. Thanks to the Lones, there were so few humans with blood to give left, that even existing as one was dangerous. But he needed to take a walk. 

He loved Anthony. He loved Ben. They didn’t deserve to have to deal with him- to keep him alive when he was so stupid, rash, angry. They’d be better off if he was somewhere else, but he had nowhere else to go, so he could at least give them this break, let them get along for two hours while he walked the neighborhood. 

He’d long stopped trying to keep track of the humans in the homes. He’d once been able to tell you who had been turned, and who hadn’t, but there was no way to know, anymore. He just kept his chin down, eyes on the blacktop, ignoring the freezing, November cold. His dark grey hoodie didn’t even have a pocket he could shove his hands into. 

When he looked up, he stopped dead. Standing thirty feet in front of him was a woman, her eyes deadset on him. Her cheeks were sunken in against her face, her skin deathly pale, her bones poking out against her skin.

She wasn’t just a Lone, she was starving. Which meant Lucas was in grave danger. 

He pivoted hard, taking off across the street, and with a glance over his shoulder he was terrified to realize she’d taken chase. She was faster than him, they always were, but she’d tire out faster than he would. If he could make it past this house, and into the woods behind it, he could escape into the shrubs, and she’d be too exhausted to force through them. 

She was too close for his comfort by the time he broke into the woods, but exactly as he expected, she had much more trouble pivoting around thorn bushes and jumping over fallen logs. He planned to outrun her until he could throw her trail, but suddenly he’d reached a clearing, and he looked up to a massive mansion. 

His momentum lost, he tried to pivot his direction, but she’d caught up, and he wouldn’t even make it into the woods before she caught him. So he reached to his sheath and grabbed his dagger, ignoring the sting as the metal slipped over the wounds on his fingers, and turned around to plunge it into her chest with a battle cry. 

And that’d kill anybody. 

She fell forward, and took Lucas down with her, shoving the dagger further into her chest when they impacted the ground. She didn’t move. 

Lucas took a few deep breaths, trying to slow his heartbeat, and a moment later, threw the woman off of him. There was blood coating the hilt of his dagger, protruding from her chest, but he realized quickly that it was his own, from his fingers. She’d been so starved, she didn’t even bleed when she died. 

He’d hit the ground hard, and groaned against a bruised shoulder as he stood, yanking his weapon out of her. He felt just a little bit of sorrow for her, like he always did- a Lone vampire didn’t have a clan, which always meant that they were bitten, once human. It wasn’t her fault. 

“Hey, are you okay?”

-🦌 Roe

| part 1 | part 2 | part 3 |

[bigskydreaming]

@elfysparkles88​

#listen it's a universal problem#I love my mans Scott#everyone is always bagging on him WHY#Scott Summers#X-Men

Its because Scott Summers is inevitably compared and contrasted with those around him, and he has the great misfortune of running in the same circles as an all-star line up of like....just the absolutely most Ridiculous People to Ever Ridick.

We’re talking about a guy whose dad was abducted by aliens and from there went on to decide, welp, guess I gotta become a space pirate now, jaunty earring and all, no, shhh, shh, no, there are no alternatives, I gotta, no, I said no - SHUT IT, I SAID I GOTTA BE A SPACE PIRATE NOW ITS THE ONLY WAY. Oh btw, meet my fianceé. She’s an alien mercenary who is a little like a skunk but don’t call her that to her face or she’ll shoot you in yours. How’s that for swoonworthy, am I right, son?

We’re talking about a guy whose own son was a literal sixty year old Grumpy Old Man overburdened with world-weariness, wildly unnecessary shoulderpads and arthritic joints when Scott was barely hitting his third decade. With said son now randomly being a moody sixteen year old again, with a pet sentient sword he talks lovingly to, because apparently Nathan Summer’s take on teenage rebellion was to act out by being all LOL Fuck Time Travel Paradoxes and then rebelliously zooming around the space/time continuum while blasting a soundtrack of MCR probably, until he finally got a bead on his older self and shot himself in the face while being like “its not that I’m angry with you, I’m just disappointed” and look this is the part where your eyes are gonna wanna just glaze over so your brain can have a break, shhh, shh, don’t ask questions, just let it be, it happened, its a thing.

We’re talking about a guy whose brother rode a merry-go-round of “Am I a good guy this week or am I a bad guy because Reasons or sometimes Brainwashing or sometimes I Don’t Even Fucking Know, Look Don’t @ Me Bro, I Just Fucking Work Here, I’m Not In The Loop” for most of his twenties until dying in a fiery explosion only to inexplicably return years later as a coma patient who finally woke up one day and said “Whoa, just got back from tripping around the multiverse and boy do I have stories cuz apparently I’m the Nexus of All Realities, so hah, SUCK IT, big brother, and yes that is TOO a thing, shut up, LET ME HAVE THIS. Oh and also btw don’t spend a lot on your wedding gift for me and Lorna because I’m gonna leave her at the altar once I realize that I’m actually more in love with the random nurse lady who changed my bed pans while I was in a coma having a romantic rendezvouz with her in Paris in my brain courtesy of her psychic eight-year old kid trying to play matchmaker for her cuz like, she doesn’t date much apparently but its whatever, this is FINE, I have no objections. Ugh why are you looking at me like that Scott, no, I don’t need to “talk” with someone about everything I’ve ‘been through,’ ugh I’m HAPPY you asshole, god, why don’t you ever want me to just be HAPPY ugh you just have to control EVERYTHING with your over-bearing BS like “I am concerned your decision-making processes might be affected by all the people tampering with your decision-making processes over the years” like umm DID I ASK? No? I didn’t think so? YOU’RE NOT MY REAL DAD, SCOTT, UGH THAT DOES IT, IM RUNNING AWAY TO BE A SUPERVILLAIN AGAIN AND THIS TIME ITS TOTALLY YOUR FAULT, YOU’LL BE SORRY WHEN I CRY HAVOK AND LET LOOSE THE DOGS OF WAR THIS TIME FOR SURE, AND OMG FOR THE LAST TIME I KNOOOOOOW THAT’S NOT HOW ITS SPELLED, ITS ABOUT THE AESTHETIC SCOTT, ITS CALLED HAVING A SENSE OF STYLE, UGH, LET ME LIIIIIIIIIIIVE.”

We’re talking about a guy whose other little brother randomly showed up and started killing people one day being like “hahaha surprise, bet you all forgot about me, PS, I’m REALLY FUCKING MAD AT YOU ALL FOR FORGETTING ABOUT ME” because the world’s most powerful telepath made everyone forget about him and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day they all had once and this is fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine, this is normal. As is the way his newly discovered slash remembered slash resurrected slash recently returned from spending the last decade fucking around as a disembodied energy ghost on a rock up in Earth’s orbit little brother then decided the Earth just wasn’t big enough for the both of them, the both of them in this case meaning both him, singular, and his Angst, as a wholly separate and towering entity in its own right. So instead he fucked off to space and decided to conquer a vast alien empire and spend the next several years being their god-emperor or whatever until he got bored with that. And also he kinda sorta killed their dad for a bit but whatever, its fine, he got better, and then he also kinda sorta died for a bit himself but whatever, its fine, he got better, and there was that whole interstellar war between himself and the Inhumans but whatever that wasn’t even his FAULT, Scott, THEY STARTED IT, god, do you ever stop JUDGING ME AND MY LIFE CHOICES and PS I’m still mad at you for killing Xavier, you fucking asshole, not because you did it but because like, you KNOW I wanted to do it, I had a whole fucking villain monologue moment about it and everything, you were literally there, UGH WHY WON’T YOU LET ME HAVE NICE THINGS?!?! YOU ARE THE ENEMY OF FUN AND JOY AND HEY MAYBE YOU WERE THE REAL VILLAIN ALL ALONG, DID YOU EVER THINK OF THAT? HUH? MR. I’M THE BOSS, WAIT WHO’S THE BOSS? OH YEAH STILL ME, SCOTT, I’M THE BOSS, YOU GOTTA STOP BEING A SPACE EMPEROR GABE BECAUSE YOU CAN’T BE THE BOSS, ONLY I AM ALLOWED TO BE THE BOSS BECAUSE I’M THE BOSS AND I SAID SO AND YOU GOTTA DO WHAT I SAY OR I’LL TELL DAD.” 

And that’s not even getting into how we’re also talking about a guy who basically ended up divorcing his first wife and suing for sole custody on the grounds of “Well, your Honor, she tried to sacrifice our son on a literal demonic altar in order to summon Hell to Earth to destroy everything just to get back at me after I left her. Yes, your Honor, I understand that is in fact Asshole Behavior, but there were extenuating circumtances, you see, the woman I left her for was my first love before her who I thought was dead. And also, she was literally my wife before my wife was. No, I don’t mean I was married before Maddie, I mean Jean was kinda pretty much already Maddie before Maddie was Maddie. Its this whole clone thing. Look, I’m just saying it was a complicated situation and I know I have my part to play in it, but I still stand by my conviction that trying to sell out our entire planet and species to the legions of Hell while using the innocent blood of our ten month old as the Golden Ticket to the Chocolate Factory was still a little over the top and not really the right way to handle it either. Also, I contend that I can provide a better home environment at the moment than someone who is insisting on being addressed as The Goblin Queen because what even is that, honestly, Your Honor, and also, she also brainwashed my brother into trying to kill me on her behalf, which to be fair does happen about every other month anyway, but still, like. Dick move, you know?”

And we’re also talking about a guy whose second wife who was kinda sorta his first wife but only in that It Ain’t Bigamy If Its A Clone Thing way....like, I mean. Its kinda hard NOT to come across as the bland one in the relationship when your second wife occasionally moonlights as the AirBnb of choice for a cosmic parakeet goddess of rebirth and fiery destruction who is pretty infamous for the ragers she hosts every time she pops into town for a visit, all smiles and (literal) sunbeams (of scorching lethality) and “Lol hey hot stuff, remember me?” As if someone who ate an alien civilization’s sun the last time she hit a Mood is like....really in danger of ever being “New phone, who dis?”ed. But that is neither here nor there, much like the sentients of Alpha Centauri Bumfuckville after she went all Goodnight Sun, Goodnight Moon, Goodnight Solar System on their corner of the galactic neighborhood, because.....tbh I don’t think she ever actually said “why” there. Its one of those things where if you don’t already KNOW why a cosmic parakeet goddess of rebirth and fiery destruction has decided its nighty-night time for this particular zipcode.....like.....that’s not really something you just ASK, y’know? Its....tacky, probably. Also, low on the self-preservation instincts, probably.

Plus we’re talking about a guy whose second marriage to Yet Another Woman It Probably Should Have Registered As A Bad Idea To PIss Off Like This ended in like....so, okay, this was a bit more His Bad than even Round One was, courtesy of a “Groundbreaking. Revolutionary. Show-stopping” reinterpretation of what was up until this point te much more ambiguous and metaphorically named “Mental Affair” concept. Though it must be said, Scotty always has skewed a bit more towards the literal minded in his personal approach to things, so, y’know. That tracks. But regardless, the pattern remains consistent here, as once again, its not always easy to register on peoples’ radar as anything other than the Plus One when your newest paramour prides herself on being both the entire planning committee AND star attraction of Victoria’s Secret (assuming that said Secret is Secret Aims at World Domination) Presents: A Renaissance Faire. But in an evil and also kinky way. Except now with sixty percent less evil on account of how Emma’s reformed these days, but not a hundred percent less evil because she’s not like, REFORMED reformed, cuz that would be boring, eww, could you imagine, no, you couldn’t, because she won’t let you and she can do that, she’s that good at telepathy and that bad at boundaries. Still the same amount of kinky as before though, but like. That’s just about Strong Branding. After all, at the end of the day Emma Frost is above all else, a good businesswoman.

But yes, she is also a big fan of the Aesthetic, with that aesthetic being Her Whims On Steroids because like they say, go big or go home, and Emma Frost does not believe in going home when she can simply acquire your home instead. Hate the game, not the player. She didn’t make the rules, she just came to win. Point being, its hard to follow up an act like Jean-Who-Is-Sometimes-Phoenix-And-Sometimes-Dark-Phoenix-And-Oh-Hell-She-Cant-Even-Keep-Track-So-How-Could-Anyone-Else-Really, but say what you will about Emma’s wardrobe, she’s more concerned with clothing herself in unapologetic take no prisoners ambition, and as such, her being the follow-up to Scott’s epic romance with his childhood sweetheart turned literal cosmic embodiment of fire and passion, like.....this was never a big checkmark in the con side of a pro and con list for Emma. It was more like oh, yes, hello there, Challenge Absolutely Fucking Accepted.

Which, y’know, all the points to House Frost for showing spine and boy howdy, that’s a spine alright.....but at the same time, going head to head with someone who is classified as a galactic threat when people are deliberately low-balling her, like, for no other reason than you’re bored and your manicure appointment isn’t for another couple hours.....like that’s the kind of thing where it has to be pointed out that there were possibly alternative options worth considering somewhere in between ‘having no spine’ and ‘spiting cosmic entity who can kill you with her brain by stealing her man and saying come at me bro because like....my spine, let me show you it.”

But again, just to reiterate the premise here.....our thesis here today is that Scott Summers Gets a Bad Rap For Being Bland or Boring or Not Standing Out, But In Reality The Issue Is Just That All The People He Knows Are Truly Ridiculous People.

In other words, Scott Summers is no more the Everyman of the X-Men than any of his Truly Ridiculous Friends and Family.

Because an actual everyman would have bounced out of that madhouse way the fuck back in Chapter One: In Which Things Just Got Ridiculous.

Cut to Scott Summers, in contrast: *looks around, purses lips, weighs options* Nah. This is fine.

See also:

His daughter, who didn’t so much arrive after the traditional nine months of waiting and preparing for a bundle of bouncing baby joy but instead just like...plopped back into the past as a full grown woman hailing from a dystopian future she was hellbent on preventing by any means necessary, even if that means had Scott frantically shouting RACHEL NO as she screamed RACHEL YES and sprinted straight at someone like Selene (a villain who has survived 17,000 years of pissing people off and making enemies of actual, literal gods) while thinking “oh yeah, I got this.”

(To be fair, she probably DID have it, or would have, if Logan hadn’t chosen that moment of all moments to have his once-centennial contemplation of “Wait, what if....murder is...NOT good?” Never underestimate the daughter of a cosmic goddess.)

Or see also also:

Scott’s original classmates, including Doctor Hank “I’m not an over-archiever, I’m just stress-eating because its lunchtime and I’ve only revolutionized two whole fields of scientific study so far today,” McCoy, Warren “Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful, hate me because I’m a billionaire, wait no, I’m just kidding don’t hate me at all hahaha I’m too sexy” Worthington III, and Bobby “I may look cute and unassuming and like my only priority in life is video games but sike, I too am a potentially cosmic level immortal being of nigh-unlimited power or at least I will be whenever I get around to tapping that potential like I’m currently tapping xy up down A + BBA like a boss, now shhh, don’t interrupt me while I’m kicking ass at Mario Kart I said I’ll GET TO THAT LATER, ugh, JEEZ, my priorities are FINE, Scott, like get off my back already, you’re not even my real dad” Drake.

In conclusion:

Scott Summers is valid, and there may be legions drinking his Hatorade, but make no mistake, its not that he’s Less Than, its that every single person in his social circle is just that damn Extra.

[unlimitedhearts]

I made a Drarry fic. Give it a read if you’d like.

Read on AO3

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy/Other(s) Characters: Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Pansy Parkinson, Ron Weasley, Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott Additional Tags: Drarry is Endgame, Recreational Drug Use, irresponsible behavior, Draco Malfoy is a concertgoer who wears eyeliner, Harry Potter is the idiot who did not see this coming, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Top Draco Malfoy, Bottom Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Auror Harry Potter, Potions Master Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy is Bad at Feelings, Harry Potter is So Done, References to Depression, Self-Esteem Issues, Sexual Content Summary:

I feel all numb now Is that a feeling? Like a plastic boxed orange, with no peel on I wanna waste, I wanna waste, I wanna waste away

No family, no ties to pureblood society outside of his own name. Draco Malfoy has decided he's had enough and makes every bad decision he was never allowed to make before. He's going to indulge himself until he drops, and Harry Potter refuses to stand by and watch him drown alone. Does anyone else not care? Do they even notice? Do they even know just how badly Draco wants to implode? It doesn't matter because Harry won't let him.

AKA- Draco is being a self-destructive shit and Harry is Not Having It.

Excerpt below the cut. Read on AO3

Loud music thrummed outside the walls of the venue, even out on the sidewalk you could feel the pavement vibrate. The heavy bass and electric guitar, the grit of it all along with the muffled voice of screaming in some incoherent version of English. Well-- Incoherent only if you didn’t already know what was being said, which of course Draco Malfoy did. This was one of his favourite bands after all, but at the moment he was absolutely not paying attention to the music. Instead, there was far more focus being paid to the feeling of a brick wall against his back, and the man on his knees currently sucking down his dick like he needed it to live. The back of his hand loosely covered his mouth trying to stifle the heavy breaths coming from him as this guy worked him over. There was no name given, no pleasantries exchanged. All he’d needed was a charged look between them, and an invite on a torn and stained napkin to get Draco’s intensely tight trousers around his ankles in the alley of the venue.

Whoever the mystery man was, he was awful at giving head but that didn’t really matter to the blond as he got a gloved hand in his blue hair, moving his hips off the wall and into his mouth. It’d been so long, even a shitty blowjob was fine by him if it got the job done. It didn’t hurt that his head was swimming thanks to that line of whatever he snorted earlier. Couldn’t have been just cocaine in that but that also didn’t matter a what to Draco. The Muggles really had it made, didn’t they? Better music, better ‘fun’ drugs with less severe side effects, and even though Draco was sure there was a spell out there that made heated lube Muggles had figured that out too.

“Oh god…,” he choked, getting both his hands on his new best friends head, pushing him down against his cock. Whoever this was didn’t seem to mind though, electing to let Draco do as he pleased. It’d been a while, and he definitely didn’t last long after he’d started to fuck this strangers mouth, spilling down his throat with a heaved breath pushing his head down against the root. The man got up after that, and Draco had been through this enough times that he knew to ask no questions. The first casual encounter he’d had landed him in a month-long relationship with an absolute prick. It ended after the cheating, Draco’s cheating that is. His ex was the type to think nothing was wrong with stepping out, as long as he was the only one to do it. Clearly, this young stranger was new to this kind of thing, as he leaned in on Draco after he’d got his pants and trousers up, pawing at his neck.

“You gonna take me home and fuck me, Daddy?” He sounded hot and desperate, his voice dripping with lust.

For a moment Draco’d almost done it, but he decided on a more non-committal answer.

“Get back inside, if I see you again they’ll have to stop me from fucking you on the bar.” He meant it too, though the chances of seeing him again would be slim to none considering that Draco had no plans to go back inside. Mr. Blue Hair was all for that answer however pulling in Draco for a hot kiss before sauntering back toward the entrance. As Draco’s eyes followed him (or rather followed his arse) he had to admit he might’ve looked good on his back. He had no plans to take anyone home this night, however. The ache of loneliness was enough to get him to say yes to a blowjob from a barely-twenty-something naive kid with electric blue hair, but not enough to take said kid back to his bed.

Cold air whipped through the alley and Draco might’ve been cold if he hadn’t cast a warming charm on himself before coming out here. The wind was pleasant if a little strong, his loose blue t-shirt whipping up with it, the studs on his vest clinked against the wall as it too came to life. A blue light illuminated the alley, coming from the LED parked on the building opposite, advertising some brand of energy drink or another, though as far as he was concerned it also seemed to light up his soul. An everlasting blue starting in his heart and permeating outward. It’d been ten years since the end of The War, nine since Draco and the rest of his peers finished their eighth year at Hogwarts. The warmth of his breath frost up in the cold as a pale fog, the cold managed to seep into his centre despite the charm colouring him a deeper shade of the blue.

The music roared on but the fire in his nerves died replaced with a sinking feeling, large and empty looking to swallow up everything in his path. He reached into his back pocket, taking out a pack of fags, placing one in his mouth. He lit it up and took a rather long drag, letting his head fall back against the brick wall as he blew out the smoke slowly, letting his mind wander aimlessly. His mind almost got lost until he heard the distinct sounds of a hard shoe sole against wet pavement, clicking down the asphalt toward him. Draco’s heart immediately leapt up into his throat as his head snapped toward the noise, hand already in his vest pocket to grab the handle of his wand. The body headed toward him jerked to a stop, and if only Draco could’ve seen the strangers face, he would’ve seen one of surprise.

“...Malfoy?” That cadence was unmistakable, he wouldn’t be able to forget if he tried, and Draco often tried. The blond’s lungs damn near stopped working, a breath dying in his throat replaced with a suffocating choking. “Fuck,” he grumbled, just his fucking luck, when forgetting seemed to already be difficult, life had a way of telling him it would be harder than he thought. The white-knuckled grip on wand loosened ever so slightly before his hand fell down to his side. “Hello, Potter. Been a while, hasn’t it?” Draco’s mouth etched itself into a smirk though it came out more like a lopsided grin as he sauntered over to Potter. It hadn’t been long, they’d only just seen each other on Friday.

***

Read the rest on AO3!

[lunagalemaster]

Relistening to MAG013: Alone 

A few thoughts:

Season 1 is amazing and infuriating to relisten to at the same time. Looking back, so many things are just straight up said in a basic fashion, but without the information or context behind them they go WAY over your head. So listening again, you’re just YELLING and recognizing not only characters, but phrases, information that is super important even now, and in general, the Powers being super obvious in what they’re doing.

This episode is the pinnacle of that.

So, there are quite a few things going on, the Lonely and with that, the Lukases. But, since we still don’t know too much about them and in general, what Peter is you know actually doing atm, I’m gonna put a pin on that and talk about other things. Mainly: Anchors and monster Jon stuff.  

(Gonna add here: Laughing at the fact that Naomi said Evan wasn’t close to his family bc they were “religious”.  Evan took one look at his fog creating, sea family and went “You know I actually like people so uh bye~”).

Anyway, anchors. 

“I tried to back away, but the ground was slick with dew and I fell. My fingers dug into the soft cemetery dirt as I looked around desperately for anything I could use to save myself, and my hand closed upon that heavy piece of headstone. It took all my self-control to keep a grip on that anchor, as I slowly dragged myself away from the edge of my lonely grave.” -MAG:013

Gonna focus on the particular choice of wording. Literally, what is described as an anchor is what help pulls her out of a grave. Falling into the lonely grave with no way to get out is the full fear (something that is confirmed later on in MAG:120).

“At last he’s in the moonlit graveyard, the oldest of the dreams. It is peaceful, cool and damp as the rolling foggy fields stretch out in all directions. He hears her calling pathetically from the bottom of the graves, but by now he knows there is nothing he can do but stare. She begs to be released, to dream of this place no more, but there is nothing he can do.” -MAG:120

Okay, so that’s just one thing. Could just be creative wording used to foreshadow actual anchors later on. Sure. Except….later on, there’s the emotional anchor.

“And then, as I found myself in the middle of that open, desolate field, I heard something. It was the strangest thing, but as I tried to run I could have sworn I heard Evan’s voice call to me. He said, “Turn left”. That’s it. That’s all he said. I know it sounds ridiculous, but that’s what he told me to do. And I did it. I turned sharply to the left and kept running. And then… nothing.” -MAG:013

Evan, despite being…well, dead, was Naomi’s emotional anchor. Which, makes sense! He grounded her when she was alive and made sure she didn’t feel lonely. In her hour of need, he was there to be that anchor and lead her back home.

All the way back in episode 13, not only do we have a mention as an object as an anchor, but a person as well! They’re a bit different, but it does show that as early as this, one way to escape the Powers and their presence are through anchors. Whether the form is an object or a person depends on the situation. 

…But that’s not the only reason why I brought up the MAG:120 quote.

Gonna go a bit subjective here, but… this was the first episode that really started warming me up to Jon as a person. Season 1 Jon is an absolute bastard man and relistening makes him even funnier because he’s basically a toddler stumbling around and making a mess of things about things he doesn’t understand and calling himself smart for it. And he’s still a bastard this episode don’t get me wrong. He’s annoyed and snooty and sounds like he’d rather be anywhere else.

But at the beginning of the episode he’s with Naomi. He tries to give her privacy for her recording. Then she asks for him to stay, so she doesn’t feel alone. And he does.

At the time, that endeared me a bit. It’s small and it didn’t make him into a good person, but it showed there was much more to him than being an arrogant bastard man. It showed that he cared for these people who gave statements and cared for their comfort, even if he begrudgingly showed it.  

Knowing what we do now, Naomi was his first victim. By giving her statement to him, she’s now cursed by the Archivist and the Beholding to relive her trauma for the rest of her life.

All because he chose to stay. 

And he was going to leave!!! Is the worst thing!!! He was going to leave and if he left, Naomi would have been fine!!! She would have said her statement and she would have been on her way!!! But he stayed!!! Because she asked and she wanted someone there!!! He was being kind and in turn he accidentally doomed her!!!

Jon’s first moment of compassion in the series turns out to also be his first monstrous one.

It fucks me up a bit.

One last thing. In MAG:017, Elias mentions that Naomi lodged a complaint against Jon. There aren’t any specifics at all. The only details Elias says is this:

“Regardless, I would prefer that you not antagonise anyone connected to the Lukas family. They are patrons of the Institute, after all.” -MAG:017

This makes me think that the complaint wasn’t about Jon’s bastard behavior towards her. Rather, I think it may have been the nightmares. The Lukas did not care for Naomi at all. In fact, they drove her out because they pretty much blamed her for their son’s death.

“My son is in there. He is dead.”-MAG:013

The way this line is worded...it sounds like that the latter could have been avoided. While we still don’t know exactly the limitations of the monster powers, Peter has talked about living until seeing the next Lonely ritual and there’s the vague idea that The End can’t take Jon. It’s not too much of a stretch to think that the Lukases blame Naomi for Evan’s death because without her, he could have possibly been on the path of the Lonely and been unable to die. 

With all this being said, why would the Lukases CARE if Noami makes a complaint against Jon? They made is clear she wasn’t welcomed that she wasn’t a part of the family. 

..But she was their victim.

I’m thinking that Elias warned off Jon because by taking her statement he accidentally stole the Lonely’s victim and gave her to the Beholding instead. We STILL don’t know what exactly is going on between Peter and Elias, but there has to be some sort of alliance or something, and Mr. Archivist here accidentally doing monster things and messing with Elias’ allies might not help with that.

I don’t have much more to say on this episode, and I think I’ll make a few more of these as I go through the rewatch. This episode in particular though...it’s a bit haunting (no pun intended). When I first listened, I was so intrigued by this new person and hearing her words and her experiences. It was different and it showed that there was something more dynamic going on with the storytelling because instead of just Jon the narrator, we had actual people in this world living these statements. It’s weird, with how technically important this episode is, with all the rest, it’s so easy to forget about Naomi and her tale within the now literally over hundred statements made throughout the series.

It’s been said before how well TMA does mundane horror. It’s usually described with objects, or an odd neighbor, or a job you don’t think about. There’s something else to be said about this though. For the statements, there’s an expectation. If something horrible happens...well, we know. That’s the point. Later on, we can expect horrible things to happen both in meta-narrative and the statements because we’re actively engaging in both.

But...this is so early in the series. We haven’t even met any of the other main cast yet. Hell, Jon really isn’t even a full character, mostly just a personality we’ve come to be familiar with. And yet, one of the the worst decisions, probably one of the most important moments in TMA for our main character, the moment that starts his life down the road of destruction feels like almost nothing. Just… a character building moment at best. 

And if I hadn’t gone back and relistened to the series, I wouldn’t have even thought about it.

“And I wish that I could convince myself that ignorance was the same thing as safety. But then, how many weeds have you unthinkingly stepped on in your lifetime?” -MAG:106

Weeds indeed..

[charliejrogers]

Gone With the Wind (Or, Why are we still talking about this?)

Beyond the second Godfather, Titanic, Avengers: Endgame, The Irishman, and Tarantino at his most indulgent (The Hateful 8) my experience with films over the 180-min mark is rather paltry. I haven’t seen many of those epic “classics” of days past, not because of disinterest, just lack of time. I’ll get to you yet, Doctor Zhivago! But that’s not the case for Gone With the Wind: I just never had any interest. Though I love Titanic, I never had interest in watching a four-hour love story from the 1930s. And for all it’s praise, I never knew anyone who had seen it, nor did I hear a lot of praise about it on online forums/websites. Perhaps because the internet tends to dominated by male voices who would rather tout gangster films than the passionate drama I was led to believe this film was. In sum, I just sort of took it for granted that Gone With the Wind was some all-time classic, but one which I would just never get around to seeing, and I was ok with that.

That changed in 2018, when Spike Lee used a scene from the film to start his own movie BlacKkKlansmen. Before this, I had never known there was ever any controversy surrounding a move that was supposedly as good if not better than Casablanca. Lee used the scene from Gone With the Wind (in addition to a scene from The Birth of a Nation) to criticize the way Hollywood has long served as a bastion for white supremacy, giving voice and platform to hateful speech and thoughts. In the case of Gone With the Wind, that means a work which embodies those hateful thoughts, and yet has been celebrated and praised despite doing so ad nauseum for 80+ years. At that point, I lost even more interest in the film, now not wanting to watch a racist movie.

Fast-forward to 2020 in the wake of George Floyd’s murder (among many other Black people killed by police recently and throughout American history) when HBO is under severe controversy for first putting Gone With the Wind on its streaming service, and then subsequently under more controversy for taking it down. A debate took place about censorship, free speech, and the other bullshit conservatives use to sustain their own beliefs while hypocritically arguing against when things don’t go their way. Regardless, for myself, in order to enter into the debate informed I felt like I wanted to know what the hubbub was all about. Frankly, I was curious to see why a movie that was so obviously racist was so adored.

Three hours and forty-five minutes later, I’m not really that sure. On the one hand, putting myself in the shoes of an audience member in 1939, the first half would have blown me away, with the drama taking place in Georgia at the very start of the Civil War up through its grand destruction under General Sherman. The colors and cinematography capturing the landscape of Georgia are just downright beautiful , unlike anything that had been in films prior. Yes, it’s not the first movie to be shot in color (nor was the Wizard of Oz which came out just 4 months prior), but I can’t imagine films before this were as devastatingly beautiful. Everything from the colors of the women’s dresses to the multiple picture-perfect sunsets pops out and catches your eye, and not in the fairytale, bubblegum way of Wizard of Oz. Gone With the Wind captures the natural beauty and colors of our world, and put it on display in a grand way. The cinematography really deserves every praise it gets.

The recurrent motif of characters’ shadows being casted onto the wall behind them during key emotional scenes was one I never tired of. Not only are the shadows beautifully captured by the camera, but, especially in a movie where every character seems to have a secret passion they refuse to express, the shadows strip away all our external beauties (make-up, facial features, dresses, and all the stuff this film has in spades), leaving us with figures that are still obviously human and whose feelings are immediately understood. All that is needed to convey grief is to see two shadows with the heads hung low.

The other positives of this film? Clark Gable is a handsome fucking man. He walks the fine line of confidence and smug so well that few others than, say, Brad Pitt could have ever performed the role of Rhett Butler so well. I particularly loved how he portrayed his relationship with his daughter, and the genuine love he showers upon her. Yes, he obviously spoils the child, but he’s so charming and so sincere that rarely have I seen such devoting love from father to daughter on screen, even 80 years later. As one character says, “there must be a great deal of good in a man who would love a child so much.”

But Rhett’s also kind of a despicable human being. He’s a brutish MAN, who loves his daughter because she is someone he can finally “completely own,” (an interesting choice of words said by a Southerner just after the Civil War) which is indicative of his philosophy towards love. Yes, love should be reciprocal, but his idea that his wife should exist in strict subservient, obedient love to him is ridiculous, yet he pursues it like it’s his right. He is otherwise prone to petty jealousy and drunkenness, and he is emotionally abuse toward his wife, Scarlett O’Hara (Vivien Leigh). It’s uncomfortable today to watch these scenes of abuse, like where he threatens to crush her skull to get the thoughts of another man out of her head, or where, after O’Hara makes abundantly clear that she never wants sex with Butler again, he in a drunken fit picks her up in order to carry her to bed, saying essentially “I know you said you didn’t want to but I’m going to fuck you.” After such deplorable behavior in a movie today, there would at least be ambiguity about Butler’s character or morality. Nope, not here. We see O’Hara the next morning essentially elated by the burst of passion that just a few hours earlier she was dreading and resisting. Throughout everything, Butler is held up as one of the film’s main heroes, growing from the film’s start as a noble rapscallion who values money too much and gradually evolves into a war hero who earns his people’s respect by protecting his people (and we’ll for argument’s sake just ignore that “protecting his people” means protecting men accused of doling out vigilante, lynch-mob justice which we can only assume implies the KKK). In sum, he’s a complex and charismatic character played wonderfully by Gable, but a character nevertheless that is problematic and would have been better served by a film as willing to highlight these problems as they are willing to highlight them in the film’s protagonist Scarlett O’Hara.

Yes, I’m a thousand words in, and I haven’t even started talking about the actual main character. The movie, for as much as it is discussed as being a love story between O’Hara and Butler or an ode to the Old South, is more a coming-of-age tale (in its first half) and a character study (in its second) focused on O’Hara. She starts the film out a vain, self-indulgent belle of the ball, but faced with the horrors of war and subsequent poverty, she becomes an embodiment of the rotten side of the American Dream: greedy, self-indulgent, and out-of-touch with the world she came from. I suppose that at the end of the film, abandoned by her husband, having lost both of her children, as well as her best friend, O’Hara’s revelation that she should return home to her family’s plantation is supposed to be suggest that she will seek redemption and give up her excesses. That’s fine with me, but I’m not sure the film deserves to just end it there and not allow us to see if she actually earns that redemption. I’m not saying I want MORE Gone With the Wind, just that the story feels incomplete in telling O’Hara’s full story arc.

Still, I can’t say I didn’t enjoy watching O’Hara’s tale unfold. It is always somewhat refreshing to watch film from decades’ past that refuse to present stories that are morally simple (not that I think people in the 30’s were incapable of complex morality, just that movies at the time tend to reflect more simple black-and-white values). To that extent, O’Hara is not a simple character, and is actually quite fascinating. She’s a ruthless capitalist and opportunist, much in the vain of her male counterpart, Butler. I’m curious to know how, for a country just starting to crawl its way out of the Depression and which in just a few short years would see the rise of Rosie the Riveter women, how O’Hara’s devotion to never be in poverty ever again (even if she has to “lie, steal, cheat, or kill”!) was perceived by audiences. Specifically, released at a time when gender norms were all but fixed, I wonder how men thought of her taking advantage of, and almost weaponizing, her femininity for her advantage, marrying three times not out of love but to better herself and survive. Yet, hypocritically she clings to the ideals of femininity of the past. Her use of her femininity to survive she accepts, yet she abhors the film’s stereotypical heart-of-gold prostitute for her moral licentiousness despite her good nature.

Throughout the film, especially in the later half, it was unclear to me how much we as the audience were supposed to like or dislike O’Hara. Yes, she’s hard-working, resilient, and acts heroically multiple times in the film. But she’s also kind of a child til the very end, obscenely jealous, while also cold and calculating, counting down the days til her best friend dies so that she can sleep with her husband. I liked that ambiguity. It made her feel like a real person. To some degree Leigh’s performance as O’Hara is undercut by histrionics and bouts of “hysteria” that were more common in film performances from that time, but which seem a little annoying and grating today. But damn if it isn’t a great performance, display the full emotional range in this film, from buoyantly bright and cheery, to desperate and despaired.

So yeah, I guess I do get why it’s considered a classic, or at least why it made such a splash in 1939. There was nothing like it! The cinematography is great, its characters are fascinating, complex, and engrossing, and the performances (by Gable in particular) are wonderful. But the elephant in the room, then but especially now, is that… damn… this movie is racist, like in its DNA. They double down on this at the VERY START! The fourth shot of the movie (FOURTH!), after first showing a sign announcing the studio who produced the film, then a look at the plantation-like building bearing the studio’s name, and finally some clouds at daybreak, is of slaves tending to crops. The image is set to a triumphant score while the overlaying text tells us that the movie will be based on Margaret Mitchell’s “Story of the Old South.” This is not done ironically. With the beautiful landscape and music, we as audience are to think, “Wow, what a great time this was.” At the end of the opening credits, the prologue text tells us that the antebellum South was the last in a long line of great lands. It’s the last time “gallantry” would exist, and “the last ever to be seen of Knights and their Ladies Fair, or Master and of Slave.” Holy Shit. As if “Master and Slave” is something to celebrate?! “Those damn Yankees would destroy such a beautiful world!” the film argues. Again… not presented ironically. It’s pretty jarring.

That said, I do want to say that to a minimal degree that film is right when it just presents War (with a capital W) in general as a destructive force that either destroys lives outright, or destroys enough property to send lives to ruin. That’s a truth propagated by media as far back as the Iliad, and is sometimes shown effectively here, such as the oft-discussed slow-pan show of the countless Confederate bodies lying dead on the ground mid-way through the film. It’s a depressing sight on an apolitical human level. But, at the same time, the movie’s inability and refusal to address the reason those bodies are there in the first place (racist need to continue slavery), and instead obliquely suggest that the Antebellum South was without any suffering until those damn Yankees brought them ruin is, frankly, insulting and disgusting. It outright ignores the suffering of Black people in favor of highlighting the suffering of whites. A tale unfortunately told ab aeterno in America.

I know others can, have, and will say more about the treatment of Black characters within the film and how they serve only to reinforce negative stereotypes. Mammy, despite being wonderfully acted by Hattie McDaniel, and other house slaves are presented as being eternally grateful to have been enslaved to their white masters, so much so that even after the war they continue to serve them --- because why would they ever want to do differently?! (the film seemingly asks and answers). After the war, Scarlett is more than willing to accept that her lumber mill should be worked by convicts who will be paid less than other workers and suffer harsh treatment, arguing that it is no different than slavery and that has always been ok. WHAT?! And Prissy, the slave who reassures Scarlett that she knows everything about birthing babies, up until the point where her knowledge is needed and she turns out to be nothing more than an airheaded twit, has to be one of the ugliest depictions of a slave I have seen. Particularly, she serves little more than really bad comic relief… with the joke seemingly just being “wow look at how stupid and annoying slaves were.”

This is more than I intended to write, so I won’t go on, but I think everything I had to say has been said. It’s a beautifully shot film, with rich, deep, and complex characters that would be even better served in a movie more willing to dive into the moral ambiguity of their characters, and for Butler in particular not bend over backwards to make him look like a good guy. And I get why it made such an impact 80 years ago, especially in that first half where there’s all the excitement of war and some notable action set-pieces. But even taking out the significant problems the movie has with race, it’s hard for me to understand anyone considers this essential viewing for anyone today besides those with an interest in cinematography, film history, or interested in how race is presented on screen. Its proto-feminist Scarlett O’Hara and her role within an evolving economy and evolving societal ideas of what “love” is are interesting, but they certainly not things that are worth the average viewer’s nearly four hours’ worth of time. It’s a museum piece, one that captured the spirit of a time (and the decades beyond it) where Hollywood felt it was completely OK to romanticize life under slavery, and bemoan its destruction by Yankees. If you want to see this museum piece, go ahead, but don’t let anyone convince you it’s one of the all-time greats.

***/ (Three and a half out of four stars)

Capsule Review: Long movie with great performances and beautiful cinematography... also racist to its core.

[dannyphantomisameme]

Excuses

Phic Phight Prompt by @ave-aria 

“In the wake of Phantom Planet, school resumes at Casper High. Lancer tries to collect homework assigned before the Disasteroid, but - of course - who does homework during the end of the world? Nobody, that's who.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

He was late. Again.

Lancer was surely going to kill him. He’d been late to school everyday last week and by now he could recognize that his first period teacher was getting annoyed. In addition to his horrible attendance, he hadn’t completed the assignment that was due today, but this time, he had a reasonable excuse.

Capping the thermos in his hand, he stuffed it into his purple backpack which slung loosely across his shoulder. He leaped into the air, setting off in an attempt to make it before his first class ended. Today, it had taken an abnormal amount of time to get Technus to surrender, considering he didn’t have Tuck and his PDA. But he had finally done it, and now he was late.

Soaring through the air with the minimal amount of energy he had after barely receiving any sleep last night, he headed in the direction of the only high school in miles.

Casper High was notorious for its constant claims of ghost infestations. Although other high schools ridiculed the institution for its absurd claims, the citizens of Amity Park knew the reality of it all. The students often received breaks because of the constant rebuilding required to fix the destruction ghost attacks posed. Unfortunately, today wasn’t one of those days.

He swiftly descended onto the the ground and landed on the stairs in front of the school. He dashed into the building, running as quick as he could while transforming. A ring of blue light fell from the top of his head all the way to his feet, leaving an alternate version of himself. His shoes skidded against the linoleum floor as he turned a corner. Running down the hall once again, he turned another corner and slammed into an unsuspecting figure.

“Sorry!” He yelped as he regained his composure and took off once again. He had run into Principal Ishiyama, who was left confused at his hasty appearance. She shouted after him, but Danny didn’t take the time to listen. He finally found the classroom door and quickly opened it.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

The door swung open, interrupting Lancer and revealing a disarrayed teen. “Sorry I’m la-” Daniel replied in haste only to suddenly stop as he noticed the stares he was receiving. All of the students had their eyes on him. Looking back at everyone with a questioning glance, the boy shuffled into the classroom and closed the door behind him.

Although Lancer understood why people were staring at him, it felt odd that Daniel, an outcast, was being watched like a celebrity, which ironically, he was.

“It’s nice to see you Mr. Fenton.” Lancer greeted as the raven haired boy shuffled over to his desk at the back of the classroom. Everyone’s stares followed him as he sat down and placed his backpack on the ground. Just as the student sat down, a sudden explosion of voices from the others filled the previous silence. The cacophony of conversations prompted an annoyed Lancer to silence his students.

“Students, please be quiet.” Lancer said in an aggravated tone. “I understand that there are some matters from this weekend that you would like to discuss, and I will allow you to, once I’ve collected your assignments from Friday.”

His students eyes went wide as they realized they hadn’t done their homework. Even the smartest kids who usually had their homework completed weeks in advance had managed to completely forget about the assignment. Given the circumstances that the world had been in danger and was close to destruction, it felt fitting for the students to dismiss their assignments and only hope that a certain ghost boy could save their world.

“Please hand your assignments to the front of the classroom, and then we can continue with our plans.” Lancer said as he glanced around the classroom.

Nobody stood up.

The students looked around the class to see if anyone had completed the assignment, but no one had.

“Is there anybody who did the homework?” Lancer asked only to receive shaking heads in return. One student raised their hand.

“In our defense sir, we were in a global crisis. How could we have worked on our homework when the world was in danger?” said Mikey somewhat defiantly, unlike his usually introverted self. Another hand shot up.

“Like, it would have been impossible to do my homework when some giant asteroid was hurtling towards me.” Paulina said as she filed at her nails. Lancer swore he could hear Samantha mutter something along the lines of ‘not everything revolves around you Paulina’, leaving him battling to keep his smile from showing.

Lancer let out a sigh. How was he going to teach his class if no one had done the preparatory work for today’s lecture? After considering the situation for another minute, he decided to let it slide. He could adjust his teaching schedule to accommodate for one day.

“Alright fine. I’ll extend the date to tomorrow. Rest of the class is a free period. Please keep your conversations to a low volume.” Lancer instructed as he sat down in his desk chair. All the students turned backwards to face Daniel, some even moving their desks.

“Uh Fentur- I mean Fenton, is it true? Are you really Phantom?” Dash asked as he turned to face the raven haired boy. The question intrigued Lancer and he decided to listen in while simultaneously reading through his emails.

He had seen the news and the revelation as Phantom as his own student, Mr. Fenton. It had initially shocked him, how could one be a human and a ghost simultaneously? Was he even human? How had this come to be?

As he further pondered the questions, gears began to click as he recognized his obliviousness to this whole situation. How had he not noticed the student’s constant bathroom breaks and late attendances? The injuries he seemed to sustain after returning from said breaks? The daily uncompleted assignments? The lack of sleep he seemed to have?

The teacher had previously chalked it all up to bullying, as he had known Mr. Fenton was a common punching bag for the upperclassmen jocks. He knew it was wrong to not discipline the jocks for their disrespectful behavior, but they were considered the schools prized possession and on strict orders under principal Ishiyama to not be penalized for their misconduct. It frustrated Lancer, not being able to uphold his moral standards just because some school wanted to make money off of their students.

But he let it slide, only for the sake of not being fired. Any salary, even one as small as his, was necessary for his survival. At hearing the voice of his most reserved student, he was sucked out of his thoughts and brought back into reality.

“Well, uh… yeah I guess.” Daniel stuttered as he rubbed his neck with his hand. It was a common gesture that Lancer had caught on to over the years. The student used it whenever he felt shy, timid, or was bending the truth and making an excuse.

“Can you show us?! I wanna see the ghost boy!” Paulina practically screeched. She was the one who ran the Danny Phantom Fan Club, however despite her immense liking for the famous hero, she wasn’t the only one bouncing out of her seat in joy.

“Uh,.. I don’t know.” He said eyes shifting to the ground. It was obvious he wasn’t enjoying the attention from his fellow classmates. His best friend Tucker nudged his elbow in an attempt to get Daniel to continue. “Mr. Lancer, can I-?”

“Go ahead Daniel.” Lancer said as he nodded towards the boy. Daniel stared back in disbelief. It was obvious he didn’t want to transform into his alternate self so soon after his revelation, let alone in front of a group of his crazed fans. But he couldn’t say no to his classmates, especially with the approval of Lancer.

Sighing, the boy stood up and backed up near the wall. He looked around the class and suddenly two rings appeared at his waist. Lancer couldn’t remove his eyes from the spectacle. It was one thing seeing it on TV, but it was another to see it up close and personal.

One ring descended to his feet while the other rose to his hair, leaving the boy looking like an inverted version of himself. The students ‘oohed’ and ‘aahed’ at the wondrous display of light, some girls were even screaming at the sight of their beloved hero.

Once the rings disappeared, Daniel levitated off the ground, neon green eyes piercing the crowd of unruly teenagers. Lancer noticed himself gawking at the sight and quickly reoriented himself. How did his most enigmatic students manage to save the entire world? The student who he thought would never amount to anything? The student with the worst grades he had ever seen in his entire career of being a teacher?

But Daniel had proved him wrong. He’d never seen a student rise so quickly from the dead, quite literally too. He’d secretly been one of the most iconic people in town, and now globally. It truly warmed his heart to know that his student had been the one to save the world. If only he had known sooner of Daniel’s alternative self, he might’ve helped the boy on his assignments and decreased his overall workload.

“I can’t believe it. You really are Phantom…” Dash murmured.

“Wow Fenton, what else can you do?” Kwan shouted.

“Can you take me on a ride ghostboy?” Paulina asked in a flirtatious voice.

Several other students began talking simultaneously, making Lancer annoyed. It seemed as if Samantha and Tucker were also displeased at the several voices.

“Quiet down students. Daniel can only answer one question at a time, so please, raise your hands.” Daniel seemed to let go of his tense posture as he slowly returned to a slouch.

“Uh... Valerie.” Daniel said as he pointed to the African American girl in the back after looking through the crowd of students.

“Why didn’t you tell any of us?” She asked somewhat aggressively with narrow eyes. Her question seemed to have some hidden meaning, but Lancer couldn’t define what exactly was her true message.

“I couldn’t risk anyone’s lives in danger.”

“What about Sam and Tuck? They knew about it. Weren’t their lives important?” She questioned the boy.

“Well uh, they were there when it happened…” Daniel replied unsurely.

“It?” Valerie asked as she leaned out of her seat and towards the ghostly teen.

“The accident.” Daniel said dropping back to the ground and transforming into his former self. He seemed uncomfortable at the mention of this accident, which meant Lancer would need to intervene. Before he could, Samantha replied.

“Val let’s not talk about that day, ok? Clearly he’s not ready.” She said standing up and looking the African American girl squarely in the eye. Valerie reclined back in her chair from her previous tense posture and began muttering something incoherent.

“Next question.” said Samantha as she turned to face the students who had once again shot their hands into the air in an effort to be called on. “Lester.”

“What powers do you have?” asked the red haired boy from the back.

“Uh, ecto-ray, intangibility, invisibility, flight, ecto-shield, cryokinesis, body manipulation, extra strength, extra healing, and uh… those are the ones I can list off of the top of my head.” Said Daniel as he crossed his arms over his chest. Lester was left in awe as he wished he had powers too.

The class continued like this until the last five minutes of the class period, where Lancer interrupted the students Q&A session to remind them of their assignment tomorrow.

“Remember students, complete Friday’s homework by the beginning of class tomorrow if you would like to earn credit. I will adjust our schedule to accommodate for today’s missed lesson. This means you will have double the assignments tomorrow. Is that clear for everyone?”

Many students groaned, while some replied with a ‘yes’. They began to gather their things and straighten out the desks to their previous placements. The bell rang a second later and students began filing out of the classroom, conversing amongst themselves.

“Mr. Fenton, could you come see me for a moment?” Lancer said as he glanced at the boy. He nodded towards his friends, who left the classroom to wait for him outside. The boy shuffled up to Lancers desk, backpack loosely hanging off his shoulder.  

“Daniel, I want you to know that I’m proud of you.” Lancer said with a smile, prompting the teen to return the smile as well.

“Thanks Mr. Lancer. You don’t know how great that is to hear from you.” He said through his wide grin.

“Just when I thought I might have to recommend your for summer school, you manage to save the entire world.” Lancer said sarcastically. “I’m just curious, why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve helped you.”

“Like I said Lancer, I couldn’t risk your’s or anyone’s life. If you knew I was Phantom, the ghosts would come after you.” The raven haired boy replied quickly.

Daniel’s answer was reasonable, but something felt missing. It was as if he was leaving some crucial information out of the picture.

“Is that truly why you didn’t tell anyone?” Lancer questioned.

The boy was left speechless, and Lancer knew why. He had uncovered another part of his student that he had kept so strongly concealed. Daniel stared at Lancer for a few seconds before replying in a lower and softer voice.

“I didn’t know if people would accept me. Would I be even more of a freak than I am now?” he replied staring at his shoes.

“Daniel, you realize that no matter who or what you are, I will always accept you. You’ve done astounding things with your special powers, and despite your mix of identities, I will always be there for you. And like I said, I am very proud of you…”

Daniel stood there soaking in the words, for a moment he looked like he was going to say something, but then he shut his mouth. He walked around the desk and towards the teacher. He then wrapped his arms around Lancer, and Lancer returned the embrace. The two hugged for a moment, with Lancer patting Daniel on the back. Leaving the embrace, Lancer spoke to his student.

“Now go to your friends, they’re waiting.” he said with a smile.

“Thank you Mr. Lancer.” Danny said looking straight at his teacher. Lancer could’ve sworn he saw a flash of green light from the student’s eye, before he turned around and walked into the hallway.

Lancer watched as the trio walked past the door and into the sea of students.

He really was proud of the enigma everyone called Danny Fenton.

And so was everybody else.

[dreamwritesimagines]

Don’t You Love Me? 11-Wild Fire [Steve Rogers x Reader]

A.N.: Your feedback makes me so happy and helps me write faster, please keep it coming! <3

Characters: Steve Rogers x Reader, Tony Stark x Pepper Potts, Bucky Barnes, Natasha Romanoff.

Warnings: Drinking, mentions of addiction, self destructive behavior, cussing, explicit language, mentions of sex.

Summary: Threats get closer.

Word Count: 3370

Read Chapter 1 here!

Read Chapter 2 here!

Read Chapter 3 here!

Read Chapter 4 here!

Read Chapter 5 here!

Read Chapter 6 here!

Read Chapter 7 here!

Read Chapter 8 here!

Read Chapter 9 here!

Read Chapter 10 here! 

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Gif’s not mine!

It was as if Steve had his own orbit when it came to keeping you away from your usual bad habits. Instead of whiskey, you had decided to get a huge cup of coffee that morning and Steve hadn’t even give you time to reach into your wallet when it was time to pay.

The barista looked way too starstruck by Captain America to notice you anyway.

You looked up at the huge tower, and turned to Steve who sipped his coffee.

“You know we will never hear the end of it, right?”

“I wanna say you’re wrong but knowing Bucky…”

“Bucky? Dude, wait until you see Tony!” You climbed a couple of steps but giggled when Steve tugged you by your hand, turning you around and pulling you closer.

“Steve!” You exclaimed, giggling as he lifted you slightly, while you tried your hardest not to spill your coffee, “Such a shame we can’t do it once we walk in…”

“Exactly why I’m doing it here.” Steve mumbled and pressed a kiss to your lips.

“I mean we need to look…well-“

“Professional?”

“Less horny was the word I was gonna use, but-“ You grinned when Steve smiled slightly and put you down. “Yeah, I get it. Besides, I don’t wanna be accused of corrupting our hero-“

“Y/N…”

“But I will create lots of rumors; I hope you’re ready for it.” You stated, “For example, Steve Rogers sings national anthem before sex-“

“We didn’t even-“ Steve started but stopped when he saw how you wiggled your brows,

“That’s not what they think, Rogers. They think we’ve been getting it on for days.”

“…You wouldn’t.”

“Steve Rogers calls out the names of presidents before 21st century during sex.”

“Sure, you can lie about that if I’m allowed to say you cry during Titanic.”

You gasped, “Have you no honor?! That’s private!”

“And you can sign that song from beginning till the end- twice, if I may.”

“It’s catchy!” You called out as he started walking and you rushed to catch him.  

“Speaking of, how do we play this?” You asked Steve as soon as you stepped into the elevator and he looked down at you,

“Hm?”

“Because if a roomful of geniuses and or super agents think we’re banging, it’s too much of an opportunity to pass.”

Steve frowned, deep in thought, “What do you have in mind?”

“Just uh… Okay, just follow my lead.” You said as soon as the elevator doors opened and both of you walked to the kitchen, and sure enough, all of them were there. You suppressed your grin and made your way to coffee machine.

“Hey guys.”

“Hey there,” Pepper said with a smile and Tony looked between you two.

“Nice to see both of you again, after holing up in your apartment,” he said, “But I guess you both needed it.”

“Tony!”

“Everything-uh… everything’s fine, Stevie?” Bucky asked, making him roll his eyes and you cleared your throat.

“Actually I have- we have an announcement to make.” You stole a look at Bruce “Dr Banner, what do you know about that uh… super soldier serum?”

Natasha frowned slightly as she looked at Bruce while Clint crossed his arms.

“Not- not much? Why?”

“There’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just say it.” You cleared your throat, “It’s okay if I say it, right Steve?”

Bucky sat up straighter while Pepper’s grin faded slightly. “What’s going on?”

“I-um… I think I might be pregnant?”

Pepper’s jaw dropped as Bucky stared at Steve, smacking his arm and muttering something to him.

“Bullshit.”

“Yeah Tony, because I’m laughing so hard right now.” You stated with a solemn expression “And Steve is just the guy to joke about something like that.”

“I mean we’re not-“ Steve coughed “We didn’t know, obviously. But the serum-“

“Speeds everything up.” You nodded and Clint leaned forward, frowning.

“Actually I sort of see it.”

You pulled your brows together, “Wait, you do?”

“How much does it speed it up?”

“Bruce, she’s joking.” Tony shook his head and Pepper stole a look at you, then repressed a smile when she saw you wink,

“No it’s true.” She said, “She um- that’s why you called me crying yesterday, right?”

“Yeah.” You nodded, “Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine sweetheart, we’ll figure it out.”

“So it should take about a month?” Steve asked, “Give or take, right Y/N?”

“Yeah I would say so,” you nodded, “So we should probably shop for…”

“Cribs and everything.” Steve nodded, “Yeah, I was gonna say that.”

“Because you know-“ a smile you couldn’t stop made its way to your lips, “It’s better to be prepared- Jesus Christ guys, look at your faces!”

Steve started laughing and Bucky threw his head back, letting out a relieved breath. Natasha only rolled her eyes and Tony shook his head while Bruce sat back down.

“Also, I sort of see it?” You flipped Clint, “Rude.”

“You were pretty convincing-“

“Nah man, I’ll put a ring on it before I bang that.” You winked at Steve, making him shake his head while smiling at you fondly.

“Fury wants to see you two.” Tony interfered and you made a face,

“Great, I’ll avoid him again.”

“Might be a bit hard, seeing he’s standing behind you.”

You scoffed, “You know it’s not a good idea to answer to a joke with a joke-“

“Y/N.”

“Holy fuck!” You jumped up and pressed a hand over your chest as you turned around to see Fury glaring at you, “How are you so silent, man?!”

“You talk too loud to hear anything else,” Fury stated, “Both of you, in the conference room.”

“You- I was joking about the pregnancy, you know that?”

“Come on,” Steve said as he steered you towards the conference room and you groaned, throwing your head back.

“I haven’t even got my alcohol yet…”

“You’ll live,” Steve said as both of you walked inside.

“For the records…” Fury said as both of you took your seats, “I could not care less about what is going on here,” he motioned between you, “I don’t give a fuck who fucks-“

“Very wise words, sir.” You quipped, “Even if Steve’s ears are bleeding, I appreciate the sentiment-“

“I had to sit through a bullshit briefing because of you Y/N, so if I were you…”

“Got it.” You pursed your lips and leaned back while Steve only raised his brows. Fury cleared his throat,

“I should’ve let Hill handle this…” he mumbled to himself as he pulled open a drawer and took out papers, “Sign this, and I’m gonna need verbal confirmation that this won’t affect anything.”

“Well… I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t fire Steve, so am I being fired?”

Steve’s head shot up, “What? Fury, I-“

“No one is getting fired.” Fury cut him off and you looked down at the documents “You’re both working under SHIELD and it’s the standard procedure in case shit goes down…”

“We break up, you mean.”

“Break up?” You repeated and stopped yourself from asking “Are we even together?” at the last second. This was neither time nor place, so you managed to skim the lines, then looked up.

“Am I having a stroke right now or did SHIELD just ban us from having rough sex?”

Steve checked the document in front of you, then tried to find the page while Fury pinched the bridge of his nose, heaving a sigh.

“Both parties agree that neither of them will engage in any physical activity that may damage them outside missions and/or keep them from attending missions.” Steve read out loud and you tilted your head.

“Yeah, so no rough sex, Cap.” You grinned at the way Steve’s cheeks reddened a little, “No whips, no handcuffs, no riding crops-“

“We all understand what you mean, Y/N thank you.”

Steve massaged over his brows, closing his eyes but you shrugged your shoulders,

“Where’s the part where you give us a list of allowed positions?” You wondered out loud, and Fury crossed his arms,

“Did you think dating Captain America came with no strings attached?”

“Dating-“ you let out a nervous chuckle, “Let’s just… not jump on stuff sir.”

Steve’s eyes turned to you but he remained silent while you turned the page,

“Neither parties can give any details of their missions to one another- what if we’re working on the same thing?”

“Next paragraph clears that out.” Steve said helpfully, pointing at the next paragraph and you tilted your head.

“Oh-“ You heaved a sigh, as Steve turned the page “Fury come on. You know we’re both professionals so we won’t-“

“I’m sorry I’m interrupting but In case there is a third person is involved?”

Your head shot up, “Threesomes?! You added an article on threesomes?!”

“…Neither of the parties will give any secret information to the said third party.” Steve kept reading out loud and you scoffed.

“Yeah because my idea of dirty talk is giving away confidential government secrets.”

Fury looked like he would rather be anywhere but there, “Sign it and save us all from this situation which I will pretend never happened.”

“I’ll sign it and put it above my bed so that we can be sure we’re not breaking any rules.”

“Y/N…”

“Steve, you’re signing something that talks about threesomes and you can keep a straight face-“

“No, this is about cheating.” Steve said and looked at Fury, “Right? Third person?”

“It means whatever the way you want to interpret.” He stated “If you want to think it over, keep it. I’ll get it tomorrow and you-“ Fury turned to you, “You’re coming to SHIELD with me. One of the guys messed up your system, we need you to fix it.”

You ran a hand over your face and groaned, “I told everyone there a thousand times-“

“Yeah, save it for headquarters, be in the car in fifteen.” Fury walked out, muttering something about being too old for this shit and you turned to Steve, smiling slightly.

“So this is awkward…” You gathered the file in your lap and Steve nodded,

“Oh yeah.”

“Because like, there goes my list about threesome-“

“Are you okay?” he asked and you pulled your brows together,

“Hm?”

“Because I told you, the minute you are uncomfortable…”

“I’m not uncomfortable, I’m just- they’re pretending like we’re getting married or something.”

Steve stayed silent so you felt like you had to insist a little,

“Don’t you think so?”

“Yeah but like he said, if it’s the standard procedure...”

“What if something goes bad though?”

Steve frowned, “Like what?”

“Like- like everything. Like you could suddenly have a change of heart-“

“Nowhere here does it say we can’t break up, Y/N.” Steve’s expression was totally calm opposed to your crazy heartbeat, “No one is trying to trap you in something.”

Damn his observation skills.

You swallowed loudly and nodded, “Yeah.”

“You know that, right?”

“Mm hm.” You cleared your throat, “I should- you know… Fury. Doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

Steve looked like he wanted to oppose but in the end he said nothing, then grabbed the papers, shaking his head.

“Jesus…”

“Sorry about the rough sex.” You smiled slightly and he pressed a small kiss to your lips, making your stomach do a flip.

“I’ll see you tonight?”

“Yeah, you’ll be here?”

“I think so. Tony was talking about this new mission-“

“Shh, I’m not supposed to know,” You giggled, and he rolled his eyes as you walked out of the room. You took the elevator to go downstairs and got in the car before Fury started it.

“I can’t believe this is the standard procedure man…” You mumbled as you took a look at the lines once again, “But it doesn’t say here that we can’t have disgusting couple nicknames. What happens if he’s on a mission and I start referring him as my cuddle-cap bear?”

“Y/N…”

“My capcake?”

“Jesus Christ…”

“My spangle sprinkle?”

Fury shook his head slightly, making you smirk.

“What is it?”

“I can’t believe I disagreed with Maria.”

“I don’t even know what the subject is but that’s a mistake which you shouldn’t repeat.” You quipped, “On what?”

“Maybe it’s not that fucked up.”

“Steve and me?” You arched a brow, “And how is that not fucked up?”

Fury repressed a smile, “What is this, twelve o’clock?”

“Mm hm.”

“You’re still sober.”

You paused for a second, then a smile made its way to your lips before you looked out the window silently, the warmth filling your insides.

Yeah.

Maybe it wasn’t that fucked up after all.

                                           *

You ran the algorithm in the system, stretching out your body as you leaned back in your chair. This was taking longer than you hoped it would and for some reason, you had missed Steve already so you were pretty restless to go back to the Tower.

Dating Captain America.

That was what Fury had said, wasn’t it? Dating Steve. And Steve had shown no sign of disagreement to that.

Maybe it was the time difference. It wasn’t like you knew how dating worked in forties, but you were pretty sure people were used to labeling their…

Their relationships.

Now to think of it, you had no idea when the last time you had labeled a relationship was. Except for the Trent situation of course.

Even the thought of it made goosebumps rise on your arms and you rubbed your arms, annoyed at yourself. You pulled open the drawer to check if you had any cigarettes but the package was empty, making you cuss under your breath. The second package you found had couple of cigarettes in it and you grabbed the package and the file to stand up, but you almost crashed into Sharon as soon as you did. The papers flew everywhere and you kneeled down to get them.

“Shit, sorry!”

“No problem, totally my fault.” Sharon said as she rushed to help you while you picked them up “Have you seen Fury?”

“Mm hm, he’s at his office. Hill was there too though, so I’d uh…wait a little.”

“Got it.” Sharon said and handed you the last page of paper, where your and Steve’s name was written. Her eyes fell on it and snapped back to you as you placed it on your desk and stood up.

“Is that the…um-“

“Yeah. Standard procedure.”

Sharon raised her eyebrows, “I see.”

“It wasn’t-“ You paused, “When you asked, nothing was going on. Very recent, so I wasn’t trying to hide or anything.”

Sharon nodded, “Oh- of course.” She tried to smile, “Congratulations, Steve is a really nice guy.”

You pursed your lips, for some reason, jealousy was running through you nonstop, “Yeah, thank you.”

“I’d better go find him.” Sharon said, “I’ll- uh… see you around?”

“Sure! Sure, yeah, I’m around.” You said as she walked away and you rubbed at your eyes, then grabbed the package and went to the balcony. As soon as you lit your cigarette, your phone started ringing, making you take a look at caller I.D and you smiled before you answered.

“Hey there Cap. Did you come across any other stupid article in the-“

“Where are you?” he cut you off and you pulled your brows together, exhaling the smoke.

“Um- I’m at the headquarters?”

“Inside?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Steve, that might not be a good idea-“ You heard Bucky’s voice and your heartbeat sped up,  making you put down the cigarette.

“What’s going on?”

“I’m coming to get you, okay? Don’t go out.”

“Did any of you call Fury?” You heard Pepper ask but she was interrupted by Bucky once again.

“Steve, you can’t-“

“What the fuck is-“ You started but turned your head to see people rushing inside the office, some of them walking to their computers and some of them running to turn on the TV.

This was never a good sign.

The panic flooded you and you held the phone tighter, pressing the cigarette into the marble,

“Is it an attack?” You heard yourself croak out, “You guys- you guys are okay?”

“We’re fine, but don’t go outside until I get there, okay darling?”

“Steve, I’m coming with-” You heard Natasha before Steve hung up, and you swung the door open to rush inside. A lot of people staring at the TV made way for you to pass and Sharon looked almost hesitant before she stepped aside so that you could look at the screen. Someone turned the volume up and you held your breath.

“….and while it is not clear when it happened or who is responsible, the body on the stairs of Avengers Tower is most certainly a threat.” The reporter said, “Following footage may be disturbing to some viewers, so viewer discretion is advised.”

Then the screen changed, and everything around you started to spin.

The dead body was left on the top of the stairs of Avengers Tower, the one you had climbed down a couple of hours ago. He was wearing a Captain America mask and a shirt, on which there was a shield print. Right in the middle of the shield, there was a paper pinned to his chest by a huge knife, stained with blood but when the camera zoomed in, you could see what was written on the paper.

I warned you, sunshine.

Your hand shot up to cover your mouth and you tried to stop the bile climbing up your throat.

Trent.

It was Trent’s doing.

“Okay everyone, get back to work,” You heard Fury’s voice while you still stared at the screen, hypnotized, “I need everyone to work on Avenger’s Tower cameras, along with nearby cameras. Anything to get us a clue about who did this, come on.”

You could barely feel yourself walking back to your desk and pull open a drawer, then you took out the bottle of whiskey and a glass. You filled it, and took a huge gulp, alcohol burning the back of your throat and making you close your eyes.

“Y/N?”

“I’m okay.” You croaked out as you filled yourself another glass and downed it, slamming the glass down while Maria cleared her throat.

“Him?”

“Mm hm.” You mumbled and pulled open the second drawer, then snuck your hand inside the secret compartment and took out the small flash drive. Fury made his way to you and you plugged it in to check if the password was still valid.

“What happened to sobriety?”

“Nah man I can’t do this sober.” You said while Maria’s phone beeped and she stole a look at you, making you frown.

“What is it now?” You asked, exhausted and Maria licked her lips.

“Stark says Steve has already left the building but um-“ she handed the phone to Fury, “They just got this in mail for him.”

Fury’s frown deepened as he looked at the screen, and you silently held out your hand.

“Y/N, I really don’t think-“

“Don’t make me hack you for just one picture, Maria. I respect you and your privacy, but desperate times make me go bad and I’ll do it if I have to.”

She exchanged glances with Fury before she handed you the phone and you looked at the screen.

It was a simple sentence on the white paper, but you’d know that handwriting anywhere.

You should’ve known better than going after my leftovers, Captain.

You stared at the screen for a couple of seconds before you poured the whiskey into the glass to take a big sip, feeling yourself falling down that endless spiral was way too familiar to you but-

Well, Trent was the complete opposite of Steve. He always managed to bring out the worst in you.

 You pulled the flash drive back, put it into your pocket and grabbed your jacket, “You might want to call in an Avengers Meeting.”

“Now?”

“Yeah, Steve is on his way already, probably Nat too, I’d call in the others if I were you.” You got into your jacket, grabbed the whiskey bottle and started walking to the exit,

“I’ll be in the conference room,” You called out as you walked past Sharon and took a swig of whiskey, “It’s about time they learned who that bastard is.”

Read Chapter 12 here! 

A.N: Now repeat after me: I’ll leave feedback because Dream loves feedback! ❤️ 😂  

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