#pyramid long legs steve

[paperpeari]

as opposed to Bill "Long Arms" Cipher

should i post the comic i have of them ???

[babybatscreationsv2]

Baseballs and Pom Poms

Marvel | I don't even know guys - Peter/Tony/Bucky/Steve/Sam

Peter is a cheerleader. The only male cheerleader on the team, in fact. That means he's the only cheerleader in the boy's locker room after practice. The other boys aren't happy about sharing with a cheerleader. Or maybe they are…

Rating: Explicit

For @vaguekiwi

Warnings and tags below

Warnings/tags: object insertion, belly bulge, noncon, gangbang, forced feminization, held down, bondage, misogyny, feminine words for male genitals, breeding kink, crying, humiliation, dehumanization, nipple play

Peter stretched his aching arms over his head. He lumbered into the locker room and soaked up the cool air with gratitude. At least that was the last practice for the week. He couldn't wait to get home for a long hot bath. The girls weren't exactly heavy, but being the only guy on the squad meant he was the only one to do lifts and the permanent bottom of the pyramid. He loved it, but man did it mean he was always sore.

At least the locker room was pretty quiet. A few guys lingered, chatting by the lockers. Peter considered grabbing his bag and changing at home, but he was so sweaty. He couldn't stand the idea of riding all the way home like this. Not to mention, it was just common courtesy not to smell like sweaty ass on the subway. Though, he was probably the only one to respect that rule.

He unlocked his locker and stripped down to his boxers. He let the A/C cool his sticky skin. The showers were defunct these days, but he had a towel and some spray on deodorant and that would have to do until he got home.

"Peter," a voice drawled. Tony Stark leaned against the locker next to him. "How was cheerleading?"

"It was great. I think everyone's gonna be impressed."

"That's cute," he smirked. "Hey, Bucky! Are you impressed by cheerleaders?"

"I don't know , Tony. How big are their racks?" Bucky answered. He threw a leg over the bench and plopped down. His hair was shiny in the front from sweat and he was still in his football uniform.

Peter rolled his eyes. "Don't worry. They're not impressed by you guys either."

"Aren't you a cheerleader, Petey? Do you think we're impressive?"

"An impressive bunch of assholes." Peter grabbed his shorts and tried to step into them, but Tony yanked them out of his hand. "Hey!"

"Where's your little skirt, cheerleader?" He asked.

Peter scowled. "Stop it."

"Why? Got your spanks in a knot?"

Bucky laughed. "You should try pigtails next week. It really works for the girls." He whistled.

"Girls? But Bucky, cheerleaders are girls," Tony teased.

"You're fucking idiots." Peter tried to yank the shorts back from Tony's hands, but he couldn't wrestle them away.

"Those are really rude words for such a sweet face. Somebody ought to wash your mouth out."

Peter leaned towards him. "Fuck you, Tony," he growled. Then he gasped, drawing back and grabbing at his ankles as someone came up behind him and pulled his boxers down. The room erupted with laughter.

Steve came around to stand beside Bucky and enjoy the show, the obvious perpetrator. "Looks like a girl to me," he teased.

"Yeah," Tony whistled. "Look at this little clit." In Peter's embarrassment he wasn't quick enough to stop him before Tony was holding his flaccid dick between two fingers. He reeled back and bent to pull up his boxers only to run into someone behind him.

"Going somewhere, pretty boy?" Sam looked down at him. He grabbed him around the waist and lifted him up. Tony grabbed the boxers around his ankles and tossed them away.

"I'm sure I saw a more appropriate uniform somewhere around here," Tony said, looking around the room.

"I'll get it," Bucky volunteered. He ran out of the locker room.

Peter struggled to get free, but Sam grabbed both of his arms and pulled them tightly behind his back. "Just hold still, baby. Don't squirm so much. Not yet anyway."

"You're crazy. Let me go!"

"You better shut him up before someone comes running," Steve said.

Tony balled up the boxers in his hand. Peter screamed, but Tony was quick to stuff the material into his mouth. He kept shoving it in until he mouth was stretched full around it.

"Don't let him spit that out," Tony ordered. He walked away and Peter immediately spat, trying to dislodge the fabric. Sam kicks the back of his knee.

Tony returned with a roll of packing tape. Peter screamed around the boxers in his mouth. Tony's grin was cruel as he wrapped the tape not only around his mouth, but all the way around his head, looping it twice and packing it tight. Peter couldn't move his mouth at all. Tony bit the side of the tape and ripped the end off. His hands smoothed over it to stick it down.

"There. Quiet as a mouse."

"Got it!" Bucky came running back holding red and gold fabric. Peter screamed under the gag, but the other boy only grinned. "Well if Peter doesn't have any complaints, I say we dress him up."

The four of them manhandled him, getting the skirt around his legs and up to his waist. He almost got free as they struggled to get his arms into the sleeves of the top. Then he was dressed and once again helplessly restrained.

"Isn't that cute," Tony commented.

"Wouldn't that be a fun surprise when you're looking up his skirt," Steve said as he flipped up the front of the skirt. Peter kicked at him.

"Careful, gorgeous, I wouldn't piss that one off," Bucky said. "He only looks calm on the outside."

"Why isn't he tied up yet?" Steve said. He looked around until he spotted something tucked in a corner. "Get him over the bench. I know what to do with him." He and Bucky walked away while Sam dragged him across the room. He pushed him down over the bench.

Peter struggled, but Sam pinned his legs pulling his ankles up to his hips and held him still. Tony grabbed his forearms and held him down. Peter glared up at him. He screamed behind the gag, but it was fruitless.

"Don't be so dramatic, Petey," Tony sighed. "We're just trying to help you. You're clearly a little bit confused. See, cheerleading is a girl sport. If you're gonna do it, do it right."

"If you're gonna act like a girl, then you gotta act like a girl," Sam added. He stared down at him like he was a piece of meat.

Fresh panic rushed through him. Peter wasn't sure what that meant, but he could guess and none of his guesses were anything good. Struggling continued to get him nowhere so he rested, hoping an opportunity would come along.

Steve and Bucky returned. Each of them held a couple of plastic jump ropes. "This should do it."

"Perfect," Tony said. He dragged Peter down the bench to get his wrist aligned with the leg of the bench. Bucky tied it tight. Then they tied the other. His ankles were tied together under the bench, then the rope was pulled up and around to circle his waist, forcing his knees to bend and leave his legs wide open. The skirt was hiked up, covering nothing now, it's only purpose to humiliate him. He couldn't do anything but cry.

"See, we're teaching you how to be a girl already." Tony brushed sweaty hair back from Peter's forehead.

"We're not done yet. Girls are good for something else, too," Bucky said. They all stared at him, eating him up, enjoying their little secret. Then Steve held up a hockey stick.

Peter thought at first they were going to hit him with it. Then Sam said, "Hang on. I have lube. It'll be way more fun if you can actually get it in there."

Peter fought against the jump ropes. Sam dug around in his locker for a second before returning with a half empty bottle of lube. Steve yanked it from his hand. "What, are you jacking off after practice?"

"Fuck you, Steve," he spat.

"Who wants to do the honors?" Steve asked the room.

Tony jumped up and grabbed the bottle. "I've been waiting for this." His friends laughed.

"Yeah, we know. You're fucking obsessed with the slut," Sam laughed.

"Fuck you," Tony said, but he was preoccupied with squeezing lube onto the edge of the hocky stick. He smeared it around with his hand and set the bottle aside. Peter stared up at him, pleading with his eyes. He struggled as Tony put a hand on his thigh and gripped the stick like a weapon. Bucky and Sam each grabbed one of his legs to stop his squirming. Then Tony was stuffing the object into his unprepared ass hole.

Peter sobbed and then screamed. It was more panic than pain, at least at first. The hockey stick was cold and hard. Harder than he thought possible. The odd shape of it felt like it was tearing him open. It felt so much bigger than it looked, as if he were shoving his fist inside him. Tony had no mercy for him, pushing the stick deeper and deeper, watching with fascination as it disappeared inside him. Peter pleaded, unsure what he was even saying, but he couldn't do anything but beg.

"Shut up," Steve growled. His palm struck the side of his face. Peter went silent, tears rolled down his cheeks. He took a deep breath through his nose only for him to break down into terrified whimpers.

"What a good girl," Tony praised. "Your pussy is just swallowing the stick right up. Bet that feels good doesn't it, sweetheart?"

Peter shook his head.

"You don't know how to treat a lady, Stark," Bucky accused. "They like it when you play with their tits." He hiked up Peter's stolen top until his nipples were exposed. Then he leaned down and sucked a nipple into his mouth. Peter whined. He squeezed his eyes shut. Bucky ran his tongue around it, flicking it, then finally released the little nub with an embarrassing pop.

"Damn," Tony mused. "He squeezes when you do that. Must feel good huh, Pete? You tryin to milk my hockey stick? It's not even a real cock. What a fucking whore." He drew the stick back and Peter let out a relieved breath only to scream again as he thrust it back in. He pushed in until he found resistance. Peter's stomach cramped in protest.

Tony laughed. "Think I found his colon."

Sam whistled. "That's a deep cunt."

"What else can we stuff in there? I always wanted to see how far you can stretch somebody." Tony looked around. "Someone grab me those baseballs."

Steve jumped up to grab what Tony asked for. He came back with a whole bag of them. Tony yanked the hockey stick out with two quick jerks. He grinned when Peter shrieked.

"He makes such a pretty pussy, doesn't he?"

"I'm just glad you thought to gag him," Bucky said. "Someone would have ruined our fun by now."

"I'm not sure there's anyone here. I saw the janitor head home when everyone else did. We're probably locked in," Sam said.

Bucky laughed. "Even better."

"At least we have something to entertain us," Tony said.

Steve picked up a baseball and held it up. "You think he's wet enough?"

"Let me check." Tony hooked a finger inside his abused hole and pulled it open. He spat inside him. "Looks wet to me."

They laughed while Steve pressed the ball against Peter's hole. It was rough and dry and way bigger than the hockey stick. Steve pushed relentlessly, forcing his hole to stretch around the ball. His legs trembled with the effort.

"I think he wants it. He's opening right up," Tony teased.

"I think he needs more lube," Steve said. Tony dutifully spat again on Tony's hole. Peter could feel the warm wetness as one of them smeared it around. Then the ball popped in. He thought it was just relief when that baseball filling up his ass made him moan. Then he realized it actually felt really good. He could feel tearing, an undeniable burning pain around his rim, but that ball was pressing up against something. And it felt really good.

"That's a good girl," Tony purred. "See, I told you he wanted it."

"Better give him some more then," Steve said as he offered Tony another baseball.

Tony spat on the ball and pressed it against Peter's hole. He stretched more easily this time, but the baseball already inside him didn't want to move. Tony pushed, forcing it deeper little by little. Peter struggled again to escape, but it was just as useless as before.

"Poor little thing," Bucky mocked. He looked down at him with pretend pity. "Does it hurt, sweetheart?"

Peter nodded his head, whimpering as the balls moved deeper.

"Good." Bucky grinned. Sam laughed. Peter shuttered as he realized Sam's dick was bulging out of his gym shorts. He couldn't see the others from where he laid. It was bad enough they were tormenting him like this. He squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to consider how much worse it could get. Then the second ball popped in. Peter moaned again. His cock jumped against his belly. Someone stroked it, just once and the touch was too dry but it made his soft cock start to thicken.

"Such a fucking slut, Peter. And here I was always defending you when Tony said it," Steve accused.

"I told you I can always tell," Tony said proudly. "Who wants the next one?"

Bucky was quick to take Steve's place next to Tony. He picked up a baseball and held it up for Peter to see. He tried to beg, to tell him it wouldn't fit, that he felt like he might die. Bucky just squeezed a gob of lube onto the ball and began to add it to the rest.

"What a gentleman," Tony teased.

"I always make sure my girls have a good time." Bucky rubbed Peter's thigh as he pushed the ball in. It was several minutes of straining before Peter felt his ass open up around the widest part. His stomach ached, starting to cramp once again. He cried fresh tears.

Bucky was strong and he wasn't taking no for an answer. The pain was awful as he slammed his palm against the ball until it finally went in. Peter thought he'd passed out because he felt as though he'd blinked and several minutes had passed. Or at least, he'd missed half of the conversation. Tony's hand was on his abdomen and he looked bewildered.

"Fucking feel it." He pressed his hand down and Peter groaned. It felt like there were rocks in his stomach. The other boys all gathered around, pushing and prodding at his belly.

"Holy shit," Sam laughed. "You fucking knocked him up."

Dizziness washed over him. Peter laid his head down against the bench and closed his eyes. This wasn't ending until they wanted it to. Fighting wasn't getting him anywhere and neither was begging. All he could do was breathe.

"What are you going into shock? That seems pretty dramatic, Pete." Someone slapped his face and Peter opened his eyes to see Bucky bending over his head. He grabbed a fist full of his hair and pulled his head up. "Watch. Sam's gonna stuff ball number four in you. Do you think it's gonna fit?"

"No!" Peter tried to scream. "Please don't!" He looked at Sam, eyes wet and pleading. There was no mercy in the face staring back at him. Peter felt the baseballs inside him shift around as they tried to make room in his already crowded guts. He couldn't help but scream. Yet it was no different from the others.

He'd gotten used to the ripped feeling. Now there was just full, stretched, and the tingling of the baseballs pressed snuggly against what he was sure was his prostate. He cock twitched every time the balls moved now. He gave in, letting himself enjoy whatever pleasure he could get. And when Sam managed to get that fourth ball into him, he came.

They were laughing, mocking him. Shame and humiliation burned throughout his whole body.

"What a good girl," Bucky cooed, stroking his hair.

"I think you'd better keep the skirt from now on, Pete," Tony teased. "It definitely suits you."

Sam had his hand in his shorts, openly rubbing his dick. The others were hard too, Peter could tell.

"Hey, I found another one!" Steve called. He returned to the group holding up another baseball.

"There's no way," Bucky said.

"Yeah there is! We just need to make room," Tony said. He picked up the hockey still from the floor and stood between Peter's open legs. Peter watched, enraptured with fear. Tony placed the end of the stick against Peter's hole. How he'd even managed to close around that last ball he didn't know, but once again his ass was forced open around the hard stick. Then it pushed inside.

Tony leaned his weight into, slowly pushing it in, allowing no resistance even as Peter's muscles spasmed in rejection. He expected his stomach to swell up like a balloon, yet the objects inside him weren't nearly as big as they felt.

"I can't believe there's more room in there," Sam said in genuine awe. They were all watching, eyes dark, humor forgotten. Steve was rubbing himself through his shorts now too.

"There we go. Plenty of room," Tony declared. Having shoved the baseballs as deep as they would go. He pulled the stick from Peter's ass, ignoring his whimpers, and picked up the fifth ball. Then he held Peter by the hip and pushed it in.

He felt delirious. His brain was cooked, melting out of his ears, eyes rolled back into his head. His wrists twisted around in the jump ropes searching desperately for a way out. When his senses returned, the first thing he noticed was the sound of skin against skin. He opened his eyes to see all four of them, jerking themselves now, looking at what they'd done.

"Look at that bulge," Tony moaned. He pressed his fingers against Peter's belly again. He squealed with pain. It was visible now. His lower stomach had an obvious hump where the baseballs were down in his gut.

"Fuck," Sam swore. He stopped and held the base of his cock. "We shouldn't let a good hole go to waste, but it's all stretched out."

"No way, it's perfect," Tony mused.

"Not once he pushes out all those balls."

"Who said anything about taking them out?" Tony argued. "No one wants loose pussy. Just use it like it is. It's not like he can't take it."

"Let's just make a little room." Bucky reached between Peter's legs. At first, his hole didn't want to let the baseball go. He forced the opening to stretch around his finger and coaxed the ball free. "Shouldn't let this go to waste either."

"What are you going to do with it?"

Bucky grinned. He walked along the bench to stand by Peter's head. "Somebody help me with this tape."

Tony came running. He eagerly ripped the tape off and unwrapped it from Peter's head. It pulled out hair and a layer of his skin as it went. He pulled the boxers from Peter's mouth.

Peter relaxed his jaw and swallowed. He choked at the dryness in his mouth.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. This will help," Bucky said. Then he stuffed the baseball into his mouth. It butted against his teeth, but Tony grabbed his jaw and stopped him from closing his mouth. Peter had no choice but to open as wide as he could and let Bucky stuff the ball behind his teeth. Peter gagged and shook his head. Only for Tony to stick the tape back in place, wrapping it around again. Even without the same stickiness, there was no dislodging the ball without his hands. Peter sobbed pitifully. Already his jaw ached. But Bucky right, his mouth wasn't dry anymore. Not with how he was all but drowning in drool.

Distracted by what was happening with his mouth. He didn't realize what was happening between his legs.

Sam knelt at the end of the bench, holding his hip with one hand and his cock in the other. Peter whimpered as he rubbed it against his hole.

"Are you making love to him or what? We all want a turn, Wilson," Steve complained.

"Yeah yeah. Shut the fuck up," Sam grumbled. Then he started to push in. Peter's noises were muffled behind the baseball in his mouth, but his body still trembled. Not that any of them cared about his protests.

Sam pushed in until his hips were flush with Peter's ass. Then he fucked him. The baseballs moved with his cock, rolling back and forth. It felt like being fucked with a telephone pole and he was pretty sure he wasn't going to survive. All he could do was hold on and try not to pass out. Then Sam came inside. It felt warm and sticky and disgusting. Somehow it made him feel more full.

Sam pulled out with a satisfied moan. "I can't say it feels good in there, but it does feel like nothing else."

Tony shoved him aside. "We'll see about that." He yanked the ropes around Peter's ankles until they came loose so he could lift up his hips. The angle brought fresh pain and cramping. Then Tony stuffed his cock inside, fucking into him like he was trying to get deeper than even the baseballs could.

Peter whimpered with every thrust of his hips as the balls rattled around and Tony's dick stretched him out. Then he came, too. Adding to the sticky mess.

Steve took his place, holding his weight in his arms to fuck him even harder as if they were in competition to see who could break him in half. Peter's teeth dug into the baseball. His body slid up and down the bench. Then Steve came too.

"Don't spill that," he said as he passed him to Bucky like the communal cum sock.

Bucky smirked down at him as he slowly pushed his way in, watching him shake as the slow friction forced him to feel every inch. "You should see yourself, sweetheart. You barely look human."

Peter whimpered as he moved his hips slowly, purposefully, humiliating him all over again as he held his gaze. With less pain and more friction, his cock took an interest again. Peter whined and turned his face away. Someone slapped him. Then Steve was there holding his head in place, forcing him to look up at Bucky as he fucked him. Tony wrapped his hand around his cock, grinning viciously as he stroked him. Sam knelt beside the bench. His hand ran over Peter's chest only to find a nipple to tease. It was hell and there was no escape, but his orgasm was building. He tried to close his eyes, but Steve slapped him again. He thought maybe he would be saved when Bucky's control started to slip, fucking into him faster, less methodically, but Tony picked up the pace, too. Sam pinched and plucked his nipples. And screaming around the baseball gag, Peter came and he thought it might never stop. He felt his own cum splatter on his face. Most of it landed on the gag, but he felt a heavy glob land right in his hair. The pleasure only receded as Bucky was pulling his cock out, dripping with lube and a mix of everyone's cum.

They all stood around him, admiring the mess they'd made.

"Well," Steve started. "Practice is over, guys."

They all chuckled at his joke. Sam picked up Peter's shorts from the floor and cleaned himself off with them before offering them to Bucky.

"Wait. One last touch." Tony went to Peter's still open locker and returned with his red and gold pom poms. "So you think about us at practice." He stuffed one into his abused hole, handle first, pushing as deep as it would go. Peter felt the rough edges of the fringe as they were shoved inside. The handle tapped against the baseballs inside him. Peter groaned miserably as Tony tried to force it in deeper. When he was sure it wasn't going any further, he stuck the next one beside it and pushed that in just as deep.

"Look at that. A cheerleader with a pom pom tail. That'll be something for the next pep rally," Steve said.

"We're just full of creative ideas," Bucky agreed. "The whole team should be sticking those things up their asses instead. It'll make the same old routines a lot more bearable."

"We should get going. It's getting late," Sam suggested.

"Yeah, let's get out of here," Steve agreed.

"We can't leave him like that all night," Bucky pointed out.

"Eh, untie his hands. He'll figure out the rest," Tony said. He walked over to the bench and bent down. As he worked the jump ropes loose around his wrists, he bent and kissed Peter's forehead.

"It's cool if I tell all the guys who popped your cherry right?" he said, mockingly. "You're gonna love it when they're passing you around the whole school. But I'll be here when you want to recreate your first time."

Bucky huffed. "Don't leave us out.”

[callunavulgari]

Chapter 9 is up (otherwise known as the Robin interlude!!!!!!!) for our @steddiebang2024 project! Chapter banner by the lovely @firefly-party! <3

.

Robin watches with glee as the bambi-legged fucker all but trips over himself getting back into his apartment, the door to 6A slamming behind him. She wouldn’t have even needed to see the door that he disappeared behind to know that the messy-haired, cow-eyed loser is the Eddie that Steve’s been mooning after for months. The Eddie of the horrible no good rock music. The Eddie that Steve’s been making sad puppy dog eyes over ever since he stopped playing their silly little game.

The Eddie, Robin thinks, a thrum of excitement fluttering through her chest as her gaze lands on the lopsided pyramid of Campbell’s soup cans stacked in front of her doorway, that just left Steve a cute little care package.

Robin gathers the cans up slowly, tucking each of them against her chest one by one until their sharp metal edges are digging into her ribcage. She has to fight not to drop them as she attempts to get the front door open and still manages to drop one on her foot by the time it finally swings open. She curses, wincing as she ducks down to scoop up the wayward soup that’s rolling its sluggish way across the open hallway.

There’s a groggy noise from the direction of the living room as she sets the extra cans onto the table and kicks the door closed behind her.

“Rob…?” Steve’s voice is weak, thick and miserable. He gives a wet, mucousy sound sniffle. 

She grins, still riding the high of actually seeing Steve’s very own white whale, and skips her way down the hallway. 

“Saw your booooy today,” she sing-songs, dropping the last can of soup into Steve’s lap. She stoops as low as she dares with Steve still gross and hacking up both lungs, hunkering down over the couch that he’s curled up on and crossing her arms over the back. She grins down at him and jerks her head towards the soup, waggling her eyebrows. “Special delivery.”

Steve blinks his sad wet eyes at her, still looking adorably confused.

She rolls her eyes and leans in to knock her knuckles gently against his forehead.

“Your metal man, dingus,” she tells him affectionately. 

Steve’s eyes widen. They jerk down to the can in his lap. “Wait, Eddie? You actually saw him?”

“Sure did,” Robin crows. “Turned red as a tomato and bolted the second that he clocked me standing there, but it was definitely him.”

Steve hesitates for a minute, eyeing the can of soup in his lap like it’s the second coming of the dear sweet baby Jesus. She watches him chew on his lip for a second and then he opens his mouth and whispers in a quiet voice, “What did he look like?”

Robin snorts. Of course.

“Bit of a beanpole,” she tells him with a shrug, rounding the couch and lifting his gross hairy feet long enough to slip in beneath them. “You know the type. Thin, lanky, lots of hair.”

Steve gives her a wobbly smile, honking out an attempt at a laugh. “Great hair?”

She makes a seesawing motion with one hand, hems and haws a little to really sell it. “Maaaaybe if you’re into that kind of thing.”

[cyclicalaberration]

Unrecorded Histories

Eret is a historian. The server changes so fast that events get forgotten in less than two months sometimes, so trying to preserve it was crucial. Historians are few and far between nowadays, griefing and abandonment and time decaying all documents.

They have only known one other, but he is highly specialized, knowing more about the wastelands of 2B2T than any has cared to know in decades, as the warzone was under constant change.

Recording history is hard on many servers, but it feels that the SMP is harder to record than most. Few people remember more than a decade back, and most information is lost faster than that with the amount of times old builds have been griefed. Eret has been around a long time, and they are still learning new things.

It’s ironic that the one dedicated to preserving history cannot remember their own.

They remember a city of four, they remember white eyes. They remember the smell of spruce wood, coal dust and ozone. They remember the squelch of netherrack, redstone particles, gold. They have always hidden their eyes. They didn’t use to hide their eyes. Conflicting accounts. They remember thunderstorms.

They remember being loved, they remember dancing. They remember singing, and spinning, and laughing. They do not remember more from before the SMP.

They have no problem remembering the smp, the horrors, the hurt. They have no problem remembering the torment. They do not remember the life they led before.

They sit upon the pedestal in their castle, staring as the redstone particles dance. They and Foolish have been searching for weeks, to no avail. They don’t remember. The netherrack is warm beneath them, and it pulses every once in a while. They don’t remember. They don’t even know what they are.

Their glasses sit in front of them. They stare at their reflection, blank white eyes staring back at them. Nobody reacts well to their eyes, only Foolish. Decay creeps up their fingers again, the withering lingering as their hands, their cheekbones, their chest, burn. They have never died to a wither, but they have the lingering effects of one who’s withered a thousand times over. Their joints creak and they massage their hands.

They don’t even know what they are. A hybrid, certainly, but they don’t know what their other half is.

“Okay, now he’s just Herobrine,” echoes through their head, Philza’s first reaction upon seeing their eyes. They can’t shake that name.

They shove their glasses on their face with shaky hands, gloves hiding their ashen fingertips, and clip their cape on, gold clasp gleaming with the crest of their kingdom, a kingdom near dissolved. Their crown sits unworn. They don’t need it where they’re going.

“Eret! Old pal! What brings you to my temple?” Foolish drops the sandstone he was moving, turning to face them, rows of teeth betraying nothing but excitement, emerald eyes shining. The gold beacon on his pyramid spins, and Eret takes a deep breath.

“Hey Foolish.” Foolish’s face falls, and he shrinks down so they’re the same height,

“The withering bothering you again?” Eret nods. There was no point in denying it, the ash was creeping out from under their glasses. They massage their hands again, ignoring the burning in the middle of their chest, the pain where their glasses press on the withering skin, but that wasn’t why they’re here.

“That’s not why I’m here. I just-.” They flinch as another bolt of pain shoots through them, but this time it doesn’t fade. Their face burns and itches and screams in agony, and when it pulses again, they bite their tongue so hard it bleeds, the taste of iron filling their mouth. They’re blind with pain. Their eyes burn, their face burns, their hands burn. They try and speak and they start to cough, each cough sending more pain shooting through their body.

They are sitting down when they can think again. They don’t know when that happened. They can see again shortly after, unimpeded by sunglasses. Foolish is crouched in front of them.

“Old pal, that isn’t phantom pain! That’s active withering! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Withering- usually isn’t that bad.”

“Withering- Withering has a lot of long term consequences! In most mortals, repeated withering can cause cataracts, loss of joint function, temporary paralysis, night terrors, insomnia- Eret, how many withers have you fought recently?”

“I don’t remember- twelve? Maybe? Twelve I’ve used for beacons.” Foolish’s jaw goes slack, and another, smaller, spasm of pain shoots through them.

“Have you properly- of course you haven’t. Foolish, foolish, of course they were gonna be rediscovered-”

“What are you talking about?” Eret looks up at him, trying to climb to their feet on shaking legs. Foolish offers them a hand and they take it, leaning on him.

“Remember when I mentioned the wither cult? We tried to stop it from happening again, destroyed all information we could get our hands on. We were young and stupid, and of course it’d be rediscovered in this area. Lets see if I have the stuff to take care of this-” Foolish’s hand hovers just over Eret’s ashy cheek, just under their eyes- “You just stay here, I have to look for my supplies.” Foolish helps them to sit on the tail of his snake statue, and starts to dig through his chests, muttering quietly.

“There’s not much I can do to keep it away until the withering retreats, but this should make it hurt less, and send it away faster.” Foolish pulls out a tube of what looks like homemade burn cream, but darker, and wipes it over their face, letting them massage it into their hands. “Is there any other decay I should know about?”

Eret nods, dropping their cape and gesturing towards their back. Foolish hisses.

“How long?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Drink this.” He hands them an instant health potion, and then a glass of milk. “Can I help you with this?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow, you really outdid yourself old pal. I thought you might’ve learned your lesson, but you really haven’t changed that much.”

Eret smiles, and Foolish stands up and steps back, handing them back their cape. “I have another potion after this, but until the decay decreases, I don’t think there’s much more we can do. So let’s get to the bottom of this memory loss then.”

--

Herobrine is a god. He is a god with empty eyes. He is a god who floats. He is a god who builds. He is a god of fear. He is older than the nether. He saw wither skeletons with their flesh still tied to their charred bones. He saw the river that flowed through the soulsand valleys. He saw the nether in its prime. He is older than Prime. He is older than XD.

He strips trees of their leaves, leaving them twisting, skeletal husks in the dead of summer. He is a mischievous god, a vindictive god, an evil god, a god of chaos. He saw the monuments when they still saw the sun, unflooded and unguarded, still worshipped at. He saw the temples worshipped at, he saw the mine shafts dug. He saw the fortresses built, the strongholds the last ditch effort to avoid the devastation.

He is older than the end.

He is old, and he got bored. And boredom makes gods antsy, makes them stressed, makes them bored. Bored gods are dangerous gods. And Herobrine had been bored for centuries. So it was to be expected that upon his first contact with another being, he caused mischief. He was a bit vindictive, perhaps.

But Steve grew used to him, and Alex grew exasperated, and he grew fond of the adventurers. He couldn’t scare them any longer, and eventually they grew fond of him as well.

Eventually, in their travels, they set up a base. And he built. Alex and Steve would hunt, farm, explore, mine, but he would build. He built cities, villages. And sometimes, sometimes he would strip forests of their leaves, but only if he was extremely, extremely bored.

Finding a child in the nether was the strangest event in a few centuries, but that didn’t say much. Finding a godling was.

He named it Eret. Alex was confused, Steve was adoring, Herobrine would die for them.

Eret grew slowly, as godlings tend to do. They were smart, and fast, and at some point they set out, exploring new areas of the world, and they returned, a totem of death in tow. Eret and Foolish, as he had been named, were close. They were ever so close, and ever so chaotic. Herobrine laughed, when the angel of Death visited to tell him that his kid was interfering with the Blood God’s business.

Alex was less amused. Steve found the whole thing rather endearing.

Eret was home for a while, telling them about a time traveller they met, when they were summoned. They were there, and then they were not, and he had no idea where they went. Steve said they’d be fine, Alex sent out letters to everyone they could think of, and Herobrine sent a letter to Foolish.

Foolish sent him back a letter, saying they were fine, saying they were alive, in a land of XD’s making, a land where he had no power. He didn’t know it would affect their memory.

--

Eret shakes their head, the sand hot against their skin, in shock.

“I- I don’t remember. I’m so sorry, Foolish.”

“You will. In time, you will, I promise. We will figure this out together, old pal, on my word, I will help you. And if you don’t remember, we’ll make new ones. Now,” Foolish slides a disc into his jukebox and bows to them, extending one hand. “Let’s start here. May I have this dance?”

[thosewickedlovelies]

AND THEY WERE WALLMATES: Pasteles de Gloria (part 3)

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Rating: T for mature themes (mentions of sex and violence)

Summary: Javier thanks you...appropriately, this time. Connie and Javier have a chat <3

Tags: Mention of blood. Reader starts to have Thots (same, girl)

Word count: 3,740

A/N: So their POVs in this chapter overlap a little bit...sorry if that throws anyone off, I’m still getting used to writing reader insert fics. The dessert and the Spanish are explained at the end :) Enjoy!

Masterlist

--

You hadn’t seen Javier in over a week. The first few days after that conversation had been a whirlwind of emotions- worry over whether you’d said the right things, hope that he might feel the same (plus fear that he wouldn’t), and eventually anger at his total lack of response. Until Connie told you that he and Steve had been sent on some mission.

“Nothing dangerous, but they’ll be gone for a few days. Javi must not have gotten the chance to say goodbye.” Uttered without a second’s hesitation, like it was unthinkable that Javier wouldn’t have explained himself to you if he could.

Maybe Connie knew something you didn’t.

So another several days had passed, with worry becoming the dominant theme; all your other initial feelings faded into the background as you wondered how ‘not dangerous’ DEA work could really be.

You’re settling in for another restless evening when there’s a rap on the door. Your nerves leap and jangle- you aren’t supposed to being seeing Connie again until tomorrow, so who…?

You peer through the cracked door before wrenching it open the rest of the way, your heart roaring in your ears. Javier Peña stands before you. He holds a bottle in one hand and a paper bag in the other, and looks uncharacteristically nervous. You forget you’re theoretically supposed to be upset with him as you stare at each other, wide-eyed.

He clears his throat. “Hey. Uh, sorry I disappeared on you. Boss sent me and Steve on a mission, I had to leave from work.” So Connie had been right on both accounts. He hadn’t had time to call you, and he would have if he could.

When you wait, he continues. “I thought, since I interrupted your evening the last time I was here, I could make it up to you.” He holds up the bottle, which you’re surprised to recall is indeed the same wine that you had opened the night he came to your place after reopening his wound.

You look at him in wonder, but he’s not finished. “Also, well...I can’t bake for shit, but I know somewhere that can. You ever had a pastel de gloria?”  He lifts the paper bag, cracks a small, still-nervous grin.

“I haven’t,” you confirm, an answering smile growing on your face, touched by the sweetness of his gesture and the implications it holds.

“Well, you can try them tonight, because-” his confidence apparently bolstered by your response, he holds the bottle out to you, brow quirking in request. You take it, bemused at the prospect of there still being more to his plan, and he digs something out of his back pocket with an air of presentation. “-I found the sequel to a certain movie while at a market recently. I was going to bring it to Steve and Connie’s but...now seemed like a better time to watch it.”

You almost laugh out loud as you take in the cover of the tape in his hand. It’s the sequel to that movie night travesty, all right. That Javier would do all of this...you hardly know what to say.

You hope whatever expression is on your face is saying it for you, though, as you look up at him. “Thank you, Javier. This is...amazing.” And it is, much more so than would have been necessary to thank you for helping with his leg, or to make up for his unplanned disappearance after you turned down his proposition.

He chuckles, looking down in embarrassment. “You don’t actually have to watch this shit movie if you don’t want to. That part was just a joke.” You could swear he’s blushing, the faintest tinge of color in his cheeks beneath the white hallway lights. “But you should try these pastries, because they are something else.” He offers you the bag, his body shifting sideways slightly, as if he intends to hand off his gifts and then disappear. As if his wide, guileless, puppy dog eyes and the unconscious pout to his lips weren’t begging otherwise.

Well. “Of course I want to watch this shit movie, Javi. As long as you watch it with me.” You give him a teasing grin. “It was much more fun with a spoilsport.”

Relief spills over his features, washing the tension from his shoulders and the breath from his lungs. Turning away toward the kitchen, you miss the true extent of it, leaving the door open for him as you head back inside. “Bring those to the couch, I’ll get us some plates,” you call over your shoulder.

Javier follows more slowly, collecting himself. By the time you join him in the living room, carrying, plates, wine glasses, and napkins, he’s fiddling with your VCR. You pour the wine while he sets it up, although you find yourself distracted by the shifting valleys of muscle in his back beneath his tight-fitting shirt, the bottle in your hands suspended uselessly above a glass. You curse as you almost spill.

“Everything okay?” Javi joins you on the couch, a careful, hesitant distance away.

“Of course!” You’re quick to assure him. “Now, tell me about these pastries,” you urge, eyes sparkling. He unloads them onto a plate, stacking rounded pastries into a rough pyramid, each one golden brown, sprinkled with sugar, and the size of a small fist. His voice softens as he tells you about the bakery and the older woman who runs it, who insists everyone call her ‘abuela’, even grown men and gringos like him. How he discovered it entirely by accident one day, following his nose.

“The filling is usually pasta de guayaba- guava paste- but they can also have arequipe, or cheese, or all three. She gave me a some extras, so I’m not sure which ones are which here,” he says, suddenly brusque. He gestures for you to take one first, a look on his face you can’t quite identify.

You’re definitely at risk of drooling as you pick up a pastel, Javier watching you intently. Puff pastry flakes over your plate as you take a bite.

And close your eyes in relish. A trio of flavors oozes over your tongue, each complementing the other, all of them ensconced in a sheath of sugary, flakey pastry. The creamy, neutral tang of the cheese mellowing the tart-sweet burst of fruity guava, both flavors coated in the thick, sticky-sweet burnt sugar taste of dulce de leche.

Swallowing, your eyes pop wide to look at Javier again. It’s a near-physical reaction he has to your sudden attention, an almost-flinch away from it as he awaits your verdict.

“Javier.” Your voice is serious. With slow deliberance, you lean toward him intently, reaching out to rest your hand on his forearm. You let the anticipation s t r e t c h.

“You have got to tell me how to make these.”

The breath leaves him in a rush, a huff of relief and and laughter at your dramatics. He’s hyper-aware of your hand on his skin- the casual touch reverberates through him in a way he should probably be more concerned about. It’s the first time you’ve touched him for non-medical reasons, but it heals him all the same; he feels warm, something inside him yielding in your presence.

He clears his throat. “Like I said, I can’t bake for shit. But...I can ask the abuela.” His free hand rubs at his neck, slipping beneath the collar of his shirt. The movement draws your attention, and your gaze continues lower, to the two buttons he seems to perpetually leave undone. The smooth, flushed skin beneath. Was it warm in here?

You stand abruptly. “Is it warm in here? I’ll flip the fan on. You want to press play?” You throw him a quick smile as you cross the room to the wall switch. You flip off the overhead light while you’re there, leaving just the tall floor lamp casting a bright but cozy glow.

Javi obliges, the space dimming briefly as the opening sequence begins. You plop back down on the sofa, deliberately settling slightly closer to him- friends distance away. Handing him a wine glass, you raise yours expectantly. “¡Salud!” you beam.

Despite your cheer, you feel a trickle of nervous anticipation. What shape would your relationship take with only the two of you to guide it? You’d never been alone alone together for the express purpose of just hanging out.

Javier clinks his glass with yours. “Salud,” he murmurs, his eyes crinkling upward slightly.

You order yourself to stop getting in your head. Humming around a mouthful of plum-purple wine, you set down the glass in favor of your plate, loading it with several more pastels. Blissful satisfaction fills you as a second bite confirms their perfection, and you lick sugar off your lips with a happy sigh. Beside you, Javi’s empty fingers twitch. He takes a large gulp of wine.

The movie rapidly proves to be of the same ‘quality’ as its parent. Just as quickly, you realize you didn’t need to worry about getting on with Javier. You end up having great fun at the film’s expense, frequently pausing it so Javi can explain in more detail why this or that would never happen in real life. It’s fascinating hearing him speak with such confidence, observing the minute ripples of his face as it contorts in thought. Despite his superior knowledge, he’s never condescending toward you, listening patiently to your questions and trying to answer in ways you can relate to. He sneers freely at the characters onscreen though, and you can completely picture him sitting at a one of those government conference tables, telling some poor bastard how bad his ideas are with his trademark dismissive, deadpan attitude.

There are other fascinating things about him, too. Like the way his short shirtsleeves to stretch over his arm muscles, subtle but visible, highlighted by the room’s long shadows. Like the tempting cords of his neck when he tips his head back to drink. Like more of his self-conscious glances, when he bites into a pastel and crumbs and sugar cling to his mustache. He hurriedly swipes his palm down the hairs, but you’ve caught him from the corner of your eye. You press your lips together to smother a giggle, but when he glides his tongue over his lip to catch any stray bits, your smile fades as your stomach swoops. You can sense him regarding you again as you fix your gaze on the tv. You wish you knew what was going on in his head.

Too soon the movie ends. The credits roll, but Javier shows no signs of leaving, leisurely taking out a pack of cigarettes and tapping it against his hand. “Do you mind?” he checks.

You wrinkle your nose but allow it. “As long as you do it at the window.” You stand, leaving Javi still seated, and spread your arms in a stretch, attempting to blink away some of the sleepy wine haze. “Be right back,” you tell him, taking the opportunity for a bathroom break.

After, however, before crossing the kitchen to rejoin him, you pause on the threshold of the hall. Your head tilts as you run your gaze over his unguarded stature. Javier leans against the window’s edge, his head and torso turned to exhale smoke out into the night. It doesn’t all escape immediately, gray twisting in the air around his profile, and you lose yourself in the brooding picture he paints. He believes he’s alone, but doesn’t look like he’s enjoying a peaceful smoke break- more like he’s weighed down by his thoughts, his eyes sweeping over the street without taking it in. Doesn’t he have anyone to share his burdens with?

You shuffle your feet loudly before you turn the corner, revealing your presence so he can react accordingly. As you approach, he stubs out his cigarette on the narrow sill and turns to face you, his shoulders relaxing.

“I thought of something else about that last scene,” he greets, and you’re happy to let him go on about the film, savoring the rich timbre of his voice. You talk for a little while longer, lounging by the window. He asks you more about yourself now, and you haltingly tell him about your background, how you came to arrive in Columbia. He drinks in every word, and you get the feeling he’s storing this all away, ready to reference later. As if he intends for there to be a later.

Finally it comes up. Your last interaction. “Look, I’m sorry about last time,” Javier begins. “When I, you know-” he nods jerkily in lieu of saying “tried to seduce you” out loud. “I, uh. I don’t know what I was thinking.” His gaze drops the same way it did when he was withholding how he got the cut on his leg.

You thought you had understood some of his thought process, but maybe there was more to it. “I think you do,” you disagree wryly. One shoulder lifts in a shrug. “But it’s okay, Javier. I just...didn’t want you to sleep with me just because you felt like you owed me.”

It’s a struggle to hold his gaze, yours ranging over his face and chest, searching for a reaction to what you’ve left unspoken. That you may well want him to sleep with you, but only because he actually wants to, wants you, specifically. Javier is smart, and clearly experienced with women- there’s no way he’ll miss the implication.

The longer you hold his gaze, the more clearly you see his thoughts churning, turning over everything that’s occurred between you and what it might mean, with all the analytical precision his career requires. That’s who you’ve been seeing, you realize, every time his provocative persona misses its mark with you- Agent Peña, the man who puts up a shield of derisive disdain so no one gets too close, so no one wants to. Until someone comes along who says fuck that, for whatever reasons of their own- like Steve, who demanded that Javi let him in as much as he could stand to because they’re partners, damn it, for better or for worse. Like Connie, who informed him that your well-being is important to my husband’s, so by god, you’re going to let me care about you. Like you- his neighbor and wallmate who, despite being faced with Agent Peña's rakish side, could see that there was more under the surface than just blood oozing from a knife wound.

As if realizing the window this moment is giving you, Javier shakes himself free of it, pushing off the wall. “Well, I won’t keep you up any longer,” he says gruffly. “Thanks for...this.” He gestures to the coffee table behind the couch you’re leaning on, the silent tv static jittering on the wine and pastries.

You stand too, unhurried. “Thank you, Javier. For the company, as well,” you say with sincerity.

He nods, seeming torn, perpetually caught in some internal struggle around you. Finally, he says a single word in farewell, his voice a low caress: “Vecinita.”

He starts for the door without waiting for a reply. Blinking in surprise, you spin in place. “Buenas noches, Javi,” you call, hoping your understanding reaches him.

You think it does, because he pauses for a second with his hand on the doorknob; before, with a last glance, exiting, leaving the hope kindling in your chest as the only proof it really happened.

--

Javier has a hard time focusing at work the next day. He and Steve have a lot of paperwork to get through, mostly material from their recent mission, but every time he shifts in his shitty desk chair he remembers how comfortable your couch was. How at ease you seemed sitting next to him on it. How badly he wanted to reach out to you, see if you felt as soft as you looked in that setting.

“Fuck,” he swears. The paper in his hand is the same one he’s been staring at for the past ten minutes.

Huffing, he shoves his work aside, snatches up his jacket, and heads home early. But his apartment offers even fewer distractions, so with a growl of frustration, he downs a whiskey and stalks back to the door.

Only to be stopped in his tracks by Connie, standing on his stoop with a coffee pot in hand. She looks startled by his sudden appearance, her fist still raised to knock.

“Hi, Javi. I heard you get back a little while ago, and I haven’t seen you since you and Steve returned. I thought we could catch up.” She speaks tentatively, clearly wary of his black scowl and riled energy.

“Did she send you?” he asks, eyes narrowing, jutting his chin to indicate your door.

Connie frowns in confusion. “No, I won’t be seeing her for a a day or three. She’s got an intensive-care patient at the hospital who needs around-the-clock attention.” Her own eyes narrow. “Should she have sent me? Did you do something?”

“No,” Javier retorts curtly. “Just- didn’t know if this was brought on by some of your gossip, is all.” Resigned to his interrogation, he steps back, opening the door for her.

Connie continues to glare suspiciously as she passes, but heads into his kitchen nonetheless, getting out sugar and mugs in a familiar ritual. She knew better than to bother checking the fridge for milk.

Once seated in the dining room, however, she doesn’t pry any further about you, or what he may have done, only continuing a previous line of conversation from their last chat. It helps, but as she gets caught up telling some work story, Javier’s attention drifts again.

He inhales from the cigarette between his fingers, remembering the taste of the one last night, filtering through the flavors of cherry-dark wine and sugar-encrusted pastry. He had tried to keep some figurative distance between the two of you, but you didn’t seem to want it, closing the gaps with questions, always looking so damn interested when the answers pertained to him or his life. Were you that fascinated by all your ‘friends’?

Javi doesn’t notice that Connie is scrutinizing him again, just like he hadn’t noticed that she’s been silent for the past minute.

“What’s she doing up there?” Connie asks loudly.

Javier chokes mid-drag, and a wicked smirk overtakes her face.

“What,” he croaks, trying desperately not to look guilty.

“Your neighbor,” Connie clarifies. “That’s what you’re thinking about, right?” She looks far too smug with herself.

“Hah,” Javier scoffs, trying to ignore the shivery goosebumps at someone calling you ‘his’. Buying time, he takes another long drag, letting it numb the sting from his cough.

Sometimes he wondered why he let himself get sucked into these coffee chats. They so rarely seemed to go well for him.

“Come on, Javier,” Connie coaxes. “I know there’s something between you two. Do you wanna talk about it?” A genuine offer, not just merciless teasing. She’s managed to wipe most of the mirth from her face, leaving a sympathetic expression behind.

He rubs his thumb along his mustache as he sighs a long stream of smoke from the corner of his mouth. “I don’t know what’s between us,” he finally says. “I’m not- I don’t do relationships.”

He isn’t sure he remembers how to. Nothing about his life here is suited to them- it’s intense, harsh, dangerous. Not to mention his network of CIs, who he pays for sex as well as information.

“Why not?” Connie asks simply.

A glance at her face tells Javier that it’s a serious question. He snorts. Lounging back in his chair, he raises a contemptuous eyebrow at her. “You can’t honestly tell me the DEA lifestyle is helping your marriage.”

Her face tightens, and he feels a pang of guilt. But he resolutely pushes it away- Connie knows who he is, she asked for this conversation- “My marriage isn’t up for discussion here,” she says evenly. “And besides, don’t you think that’s something for her to decide? She knows what you do, she sees you almost every day. She told me she was helping you with something- do you think she’d let herself get close to you if she was scared of your ‘lifestyle’?”

He doesn’t let it show how deeply her word affects him; but like ink dropping into water, he feels a ripple of shock. The change of color as his thoughts cloud, churn with sudden optimism. Because Connie was right, you had helped him- with a fucking secret stab wound, for christ’s sake. You’d already seen the blood and the secrets, understood that his life came with risks- and helped him without further explanation.

Javier brings the cigarette to his lips again without tasting it, unseeing gaze fixed ahead. Possible though it is that you’re not put off by the danger which hounds him, it still doesn’t mean you want to be more than friends. That was what you’d said, right? ‘Friends are a thing people have.’

But there was also what you hadn’t said last night. That- as long as it was for reasons other than feeling like he owed you- he was allowed to want to sleep with you.

Suddenly he slumps forward onto his elbows, sighing. The wrinkles on his forehead ache as he smooths his thumb over them. “I don’t know how close she wants to get,” Javi mumbles. He might be experienced at sex with women, but forming conections based on what was beneath the skin...well, not only was he rusty, but it required a frankly terrifying amount of vulnerability that he wasn’t sure he was up for.

Connie softens. “Listen, Javi, I saw the way she was looking at you during movie night. She’s interested in you, no matter how much you think she does or doesn’t know. Just- see what happens, or…ask her.” With her last words she shrugs matter-of-factly, content to drop the subject now that she’s delivered her thoughts.

His lips twist, the only begrudging acknowledgement he gives as he reflects on this. He picks up his mug and swirls the dregs of the coffee his friend had poured for him- black, like he usually takes it. He takes a sip.

For the first time, he thinks it could use a little sugar.

--

A/N: Get it, because he needs some of READER’S sugar AYOOOO...I’ll leave now lmao.

Spanish note for the less linguistically inclined: ‘Vecinita’ is the word ‘Vecina’ (Neighbor) plus the suffix ‘-ita’, which is attached to words as a way of describing them as ‘small’. So literally translated it says ‘little (feminine) neighbor’, but! This suffix is also used to say things in an affectionate way, so you could put it on the end of someone’s name (ie Pedrito <3), or on the end of another noun to indicate a nickname. (Disclaimer, I only speak Italian, but it has this same concept, so I think I did it right. Someone pls tell me if I did not). It’s used very casually, so it’s not really as deep as it sounded in Reader and Javi’s moment, but it was deep for Javi okay!!!

The dessert this chapter is named after translates to ‘Gloria pastries’, which according to Google, is a popular Columbian pastry. I have not actually ever encountered one of these personally, but I’ve had all the ingredients individually, so I cannot imagine them not being DELICIOUS all together. Here is a recipe I fully intend to try (it uses mozzarella cheese, but other sources say you can use any plain/white/farmer’s cheese). Guava paste is a really yummy, thick puree (think jam, but thick enough to stay in slab form at room temp) of guava fruit (obvs), which I’ve used in recipes before! I found it in a regular Weis market in central Pennsylvania lmao so I would guess it to be a thing you can find across the US. Arequipe is just another name for dulce de leche. I gotta get me and my sweet tooth to Columbia!!

Fic Taglist: @din-damn-djarin, @thirstworldproblemss, @remembertoreadthese

[firefly-in-darkness]

Misconceptions - 12/12.

Misconceptions - 12/12

Characters: Y/N, Bucky Barnes, Avengers

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Series Summary: Bucky Barnes overhears a conversation that he shouldn’t have…

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Fluff, all of the fluff. a little bit of drama.

Beta: The always lovely, Stacey - @princessmisery666 - honestly she’s amazing // all mistakes are my own.

A/N: Well, it is finally here, the end of this series - I didn’t expect the amount of beautiful feedback I have received. I hope you enjoy the ending to this instalment. Thank you for sticking with me!

Catch up with the series here: Misconceptions Series List

Return to Firefly’s Library & Masterlist

Y/N sat in the back of the car whilst Bucky joined Steve up front, the conversation faded as they drove further away from the apartment and towards the quinjet. She glanced out the window, her mind clouded with her feelings for Bucky once more. 

She thought about what happened in the kitchen; the warmth and laughter, Bucky’s lips on hers. Subconsciously, her index finger dragged across her bottom lip, a small smile growing at the thought of what it could have led to. She hoped that he’d pulled away because of Steve, that he had closed himself off as soon as their bodies untangled.

They drove up the ramp of the quinjet, the jolt knocking Y/N’s head against the window with a slight thud. She rubbed at the sore spot and unbuckled her seatbelt, before she reached for the door handle, it was opened by Bucky. Y/N slipped her hand into his outstretched hand and climbed out of the car. As she glanced up at him, his soft blue eyes held her gaze, she was lost in his touch and bright eyes.

Steve’s fake cough had them both turning to him, “Come on, we need to get back and, Y/N, we need to talk.”

Y/N’s stomach dropped at Steve’s words; she knew she wasn’t in trouble, but she didn’t need a guess to figure out what it was about. She could have compromised the mission, and that was not a good situation for any agent, let alone amongst the Avengers. She dropped her gaze from his and her stomach fluttered painfully, the nerves slowly gripping a hold of her chest, as she followed Steve.

With the door closed behind her, she followed Captain America to the desk he had leant on instead of sitting behind. She took a seat and with an intake of breath began recounting the events that led to Bucky’s rescue. As she spoke of Davenport, her stomach lurched at her stupidity for being caught up in her own head. 

“Fury will put you on recruit training, you know, that right?”

“Yeah, I know, I'm not daft.” Y/N scoffed and shook her head, “It’s for the best, I could have compromised the mission, and someone could have gotten hurt, or worse.”

The facade of Captain America disappeared as he sat in the chair beside hers, giving her shoulder a squeeze and a light smile. Y/N relished in his reassurance and support.

Steve’s smile widened, “Let’s go up front, I’m sure Bucky will like the company.”

The compound was alive as Y/N, Bucky and Steve walked through the doors of the common room. Pizza boxes were being opened; beers passed around. Movie night. Y/N’s heart sunk as she realised there wasn’t going to be a way for her to escape and talk to Bucky if they entered the event. 

Y/N turned to Bucky, ready to say or drop a hint to get out of there but without warning, Wanda had grabbed her hand and began dragging her further into the room. She glanced back to Bucky, but he’d disappeared. Her stomach flipped and her anxiousness about not being able to talk to him seeped to the front of her mind.

“Are you okay?” Wanda whispered and perched on the bean bag in front of the spot Y/N occupied on the couch.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just-” Y/N’s thoughts flashed to Bucky, the uncertainty of where she stood with him, it was gnawing at the edge of her enjoyment of their moment in the kitchen.

Y/N’s heart dropped at Wanda’s blush, fear of being outed by her telepathy had Y/N stammering out her words “Oh gosh, Wanda. Please don’t-” 

Wanda shook her head as she grabbed a slice of pizza, “It’s okay, I’m sorry, I wasn’t prepared to block it. But you know, I keep other people’s thoughts to themselves.”

“Oh, baby girl, whatcha thinking about?” Sam teased sitting on the armrest and pulled her into a side hug. He kissed the top of Y/N’s head then joined Nat on the corner sofa opposite.

Y/N shook her head, changing the subject, “So what disaster of a movie are we watching?”

“It’s my choice doll, and it’s not going to be a disaster.” Bucky sat beside her with a bowl of toffee popcorn resting in his lap. 

“It better be good Barnes,” She smirked at him, taking a slice of pizza from Wanda’s box and munching away. She hoped Bucky couldn’t hear her heartbeat quickening at his closeness.

The opening sequence of The Mummy began; Pyramids and statues of Anubis coming into view as the camera panned and the Medjai Chieftain began narrating the story of Imhotep and Anck Su Namun. 

Y/N’s head snapped to Bucky’s; he’d picked one of her favourite films. One she had mentioned in passing many months ago. Y/N’s cheeks ached from the grin she gave him before nestling deeper into the cushions.

Soft giggles and lip bites were exchanged over the bowl of popcorn each time their hands brushed whilst diving for a handful of the sweet treat. Bucky pulled a blanket over their legs, inching closer to Y/N, his thigh resting against her own, the warmth radiating between them and calm washing over them at the slight touch.

Y/N was glued to the television as Evelyn read out the words from the Book of the dead. She jumped as the mummified corpse of Imhotep was awoken and screamed. Subconsciously she grabbed Bucky’s hand tightly, her eyes widened at the absentminded reaction. She glanced between their joined hands and Bucky’s face. His soft smile and gentle squeeze of her hand was enough to settle the panic that had begun to rise.

Bucky raised her hand to his face, pressing his lips softly against her skin. She almost shivered from the connection, his ocean eyes swimming with adoration and a hint of teasing. If Y/N and Bucky had been aware of anything outside of their bubble, they would have noticed the side glances from their teammates. 

They would have noticed them gradually leaving, and by the end of the film, they were alone. Well, almost alone, unbeknownst to them, the team had set themselves up in the surveillance room. They had a perfect view and sound of the two shy friends snuggled up together.

“This isn’t right,” Steve shook his head and gestured to the screen, “we shouldn’t be spying on them.

Nat raised her brow at him as she curled up on the sofa, “You joined in on the bet, Rogers!”

Sam’s laugh echoed around the room, “Steve, you can’t back out of this now. It’s gone on for too long and they need this little push!” 

Steve sat beside them with a sigh, handing them a beer from the cooler they’d prepared earlier, “I guess all we have to do is wait.”

Y/N leant forward, body tense as she watched Beni being surrounded by the scarab beetles whilst Evelyn, Rick and Jonathan escaped the collapsing temple. As Rick pulled Evelyn into a kiss, riding on a camel and off into the sunset, Y/N couldn’t help but compare them to her and Bucky. Dancing around their feelings but being there for the other when it mattered most. She remembered the tingle of Bucky’s lips against hers and she wanted, more than anything, to do it again.  

The credits rolled, she stretched out her legs and glanced around the room, realising it was empty. She’d been so engrossed in the movie and Bucky’s touch that she had no idea how long they had been alone for.

“When did-” She started.

“About half an hour into the film.” He chuckled, “They tried to be subtle.”

Y/N turned to him fully, hand still in his, a slight frown, “What do you mean?”

“I think they’re waiting for something to happen between us.” Bucky’s thumb rubbed the back of her hand. She watched the way it glided across her skin, hands that could be brutal, hands that killed, but now, they were so tender, it brought a blush to her cheeks.

Bucky stood up, pulling her with him, her body moulding to his. His beard grazed her cheek as he leant to whisper in her ear, “I think they’re watching, the cameras moved earlier. They might have bugged the place too.”

Y/N gasped, from the warmth of breath that curled around her neck, it wasn’t just the audacity of her friends. She pulled back slightly and looked up at Bucky, “And I can easily guess who’s involved; Sam and Nat.”

Bucky chuckled softly, his arms wrapping tighter around her waist, “Steve is most definitely involved, the punk doesn’t know when to keep his nose out of other people’s business.”

Y/N’s mind whirled at the thought of them spying on her and Bucky. At least now, she thought she knew where she stood with Bucky; his film choice, the hand holding, his unreserved mention of something happening between them, and now, the way his Vibranium hand caressed the small of her back and the other gripped her hip.

She looked up at him, almost losing herself in the warmth that filled her chest at the sight before her. His happy smile swelled confidence in her and she smirked, “Wanna give them a show?”

His grin blinded her, “What are you thinking?”

She bit her lip, “Maybe something a little dramatic?”

Bucky dipped her down, his lips hovering above hers, “How dramatic? Just a little or are you all in, doll?”

“I’m all in.” She grinned back at him as his lips descended onto hers.

Sam charged down the hallway, “This is not happening! I forbid it.”

He was followed by an equally angry Natasha, “I cannot believe them. What on earth are they thinking?”

Steve was a few steps behind with a disappointed look on his face as they pushed through the doors and into the scene that they’d seen unfold before them; Y/N stood with her left hand in Bucky’s, the other clasped around her mouth, and Bucky kneeling before her.

Sam glared at them, arms flailing around, “You are not getting married.”

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[askgogglessteve]

Entity Headcanons

The Gala me thinking about what Goggles Steve’s Entity is like. What Goggles Steve's Entity is like?

So because I got to interacting with one of the Entity ask blogs here on Tumblr I wanted to headcanon some ideas about what Goggles Steve's Entity is like.

What do I mean by that? So assuming there are multiple Entity's we are talking about the Entity that kidnapped Goggles Steve and his Nancy.

This is not going to be exhaustive it's just based on some ideas after I interacted with the @the-bastard-entity​  (Thanks for making me think about this and going down this rabbit hole it’s all your fault.) 

The ExperimEntity- Goggle Steve's Entity tends to be mysterious, they almost never directly interact with their survivors and with killers it depends on the killer.

He has a shell that he uses sparingly and that's mostly to interact with specific killers or other Entitys.  He's been to the Gala before but he never interacts with his Survivors and reveals who he is, if they find out he wipes their mind of that information.   He's mostly there to talk shop with the more powerful killers and the other Entitys. He prefers most of his subjects to see him as mysterious and unknowable. Even the Killers, mostly those who he chats with he still sees as lesser its just that they are powerful enough that he can’t manipulate them as easily with his powers. (Beings like Freddy, Pyramid Head, Pinhead, etc, have powerful supernatural abilites that make them harder to control.) 

(An idea of what his shell sort of looks like in my head this isn't a perfect rendition but it gives you an idea. So like this but with more Entity imagery like the crab legs/fog etc.. probably different colors. ) 

As the name implies he's kind of interested in Experimenting with his survivors and killers. And by that I mean, he tends to be a tiny bit of a micro manager, by putting survivors in specific trial situations.

He also doesn’t really understand how the real world works fully. (So you know how the game has a crazy amount of bugs irl?) So sometimes when he creates a trial he make a mistake and crazy stuff happens like survivors floating slighty next to a hook instead of being hooked on it. Or a hill suddely becoming a death trap cause a survivor can get stuck in a corner. Billy being able to defy gravity, basement hooks sending survivors to Narnia, etc. (Yep in game bugs are sometimes IC.) 

He likes trying out combinations over and over again. He likes creating emotional bonds and destroying them. He likes changeing the rules of his campfire subtly and seeing how long it takes the survivors to notice.  He has a lot of spinning plates at the same time, so many actions, reactions, webs of different things. He's always fiddling the rules, trying to get specific reactions, be they emotional, physical, etc..

Sometimes he'll have super subtle experiments, sometimes he's anything but subtle.

He's also proud of his collection of lesser beings, he loves classifying and the taxonomy of them. For example Steve is not the only Steve he has and he's sees him as a slightly defective Steve because he got emotionally damaged enough to constantly be wearing his goggles.  

He's still useful for experiments but it's really annoying that he insists on wearing that eyewear all the time even for unapproved outfits. Sometimes he trys to take the goggles from Steve but Steve's psychic connection to the blasted things is super strong so they eventually find their way back to the boy.

And while it's annoying the ExperimEntity also finds it fascinating that Steve has such a strong mental connection to them.

[philippmichelreichold]

#scifi #review this immortal by roger zelazny

#scifi #review this immortal by roger zelazny

Basically

This Immortal, known in an earlier incarnation as Call me Conrad, is one of Zelazny's heroic epics with no less than the fate of humanity at stake. The principal character, Conrad, is typical of most of Zelazny's heros. He is for all practical purposes immortal. Like Bugs Bunny, he does not go out of his way to cause trouble for others, but does not suffer abuse lightly. He plans carefully, trying not to act rashly. And he changes his feelings and views as he grows older and wiser. These traits lead, of course, to conflict. Conrad is retained to give a high caste alien from Vega named Cort Myshtigo a tour of earth for a survey. Because of the relationship between Vegans and humanity, this incites some resentment against the alien and concern for the future of humanity. The smart money has wagered that the way to save humanity is to kill Cort. Conrad makes it plain that he prefers to wait until he has enough information to decide, and spends most of his time shielding Cort from attempts on his life.

Irony

The novel contains a great deal of irony which is used to show mankind returning from the brink of extinction and beginning the process of healing its wounds.. Episodes occur in which the putative destroyer is the instrument of salvation. The first of these occurs in Egypt. Hasan has been hired by the Agency to protect Cort. But as is known or suspected by everyone except Cort, Hasan is also a Radpole agent sent to kill him. In the final ironic twist of this episode, Hasan saves Cort from a boadile while trying to kill him. Other ironies abound. Twice, those thought lost are returned and bring salvation with them. The first returned is Conrad's dog, Bortran. Bortran had gone missing years earlier and has been searching for his master ever since. After Conrad returns to Greece on this tour, Bortran crosses his trail. He catches up with Conrad just in time to rescue him from the Kouretes. Next to return from the presumed dead is Conrad's wife, Cassandra. While burning an old friend, Conrad and his party are set upon by the Beast of Thessaly. In a dramatic sequence worthy of Dickens, they battle the Beast until Cassandra plays Zeus and strikes the Beast dead . In a more prolonged twist, the Radpole is trying to kill the one Vegan who can save earth and set it free. Throughout the story Conrad repeatedly intercedes to stay his execution, opposing the Radpole which he had founded decades before. The final irony is in the very nature of the Kallikanzaros. Rather than being the instrument of the world's destruction as in Greek myth, he is to be its savior.

Symbolism

Symbols of loss, destruction and ultimate redemption strengthen the themes presented through the use of irony. Symbols of the destruction of earth's civilization include the spiderbats, the Kouretes, the Beast of Thessaly and the threatened dismantling of the Pyramids. The beginning of the restoration of civilization is symbolized by the return of Bortran and Cassandra as well as the destruction of the Kouretes, the Beast of Thessaly and the inroads being made against the spiderbats. Conrad symbolizes earth civilization itself. Cort refers to him as a sort of "ghost of place." The restoration of Bortran and Cassandra, essential to Conrad's wholeness as a person, support this symbolism. Also, Conrad's fungal rash, present at the beginning of the story, has been eliminated at the end. He still has his limp, but his healing has begun, and like the earth itself, he endures

Steve Troy calls This Immortal a "lighthearted romp." And it is. This in no way detracts from the seriousness of Zelazny's themes or nor does it reduce the effectiveness of his presentation. It does make the story more enjoyable. The twists and rescues do not merely heighten suspense and grip the reader. They also provide the framework for the irony and symbolism that carry Zelazny's themes of returning from the brink and of recovering from destruction.

QUOTES

My thinking is usually pretty good, but I seem to do it after I do my talking-- by which time I've generally destroyed all basis for further conversaton.

If heaven didn't want me then, I'm not going to ask a second time.

Vocabulary

adytum- "1 the innermost room or shrine in certain old temples, to be entered only by priests 2 a sanctum" (Excerpted from Compton's Reference Collection 1996 copyright (c) 1995 Compton's NewMedia, Inc.)

bouzouki-"a stringed musical instrument of Greece, somewhat like a mandolin, used to accompany folk dances and singers" (Excerpted from Compton's Reference Collection 1996 Copyright (c) 1995 Compton's NewMedia, Inc.)

cadge- "to beg or get by begging; sponge" (Excerpted from Compton's Reference Collection 1996 Copyright (c) 1995 Compton's NewMedia, Inc.)

caique- 1. a light skiff used on the Bosporus 2. a Levantine sailing vessel(Merriam-Webster Dictionary)

Cassandra- Conrad's new wife. According to  Bulfinch's Mythology, "Queen Hecuba and her daughter Cassandra were carried captives to Greece. Cassandra had been loved by Apollo, and he gave her the gift of prophecy; but afterwards offended with her, he rendered the gift unavailing by ordaining that her predictions should never be believed." In This Immortal, Conrad disbelieves both Cassandra's accurate warnings of danger and her later prediction that things will go well.

chthonic- "1.designating or of the underworld of the dead and its gods or spirits 2.dark, primitive, and mysterious" (Excerpted from Compton's Reference Collection 1996 Copyright (c) 1995 Compton's NewMedia, Inc.)

felucca- "a small, narrow ship propelled by oars or lateen sails and used esp. in the Mediterranean" (Excerpted from Compton's Reference Collection 1996 Copyright (c) 1995 Compton's NewMedia, Inc.)

galabieh-"(variant of djellaba)-a long, loose outer garment worn in Arabic countries"(Excerpted from Compton's Reference Collection 1996 Copyright (c) 1995 Compton's NewMedia, Inc.)

Kouretes- "returns this line from the play The Bacchae by Euripides:" 'O secret chamber of the Kouretes and you holy Cretan caves, parents to Zeus, where the Korybantes with triple helmet invented for me in their caves this circle..." That is because the Curetes (the more common spelling) were spirits on the island of Crete who protected the newly born god Zeus when his mother Rhea hid him from his father Cronos, who would otherwise have eaten the baby. The Curetes danced around banging spears on shields to make a clattering din to drown out Zeus's cries.'" (email post from Joel Skidmore.webmaster@muwekma.org.98-06-30 21:11:42 EDT)  ouzo- "a colorless Greek liqueur flavored with aniseed" (Excerpted from Compton's Reference Collection 1996 Copyright (c) 1995 Compton's NewMedia, Inc.)

Ozymandias- "Here are two verses from the poem Ozymandias by Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822):

'I met a traveler from an antique land

Who said: "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone

Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,

Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,

And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,

Tell that its sculptor well those passions read."

... "My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:

Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay

Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,

The lone and level sands stretch far away.'"

(email post from Joel Skidmore.webmaster@muwekma.org.98-06-30 21:11:42 EDT)

Piraeus- "seaport in SE Greece, on the Saronic Gulf: part of Athens' metropolitan area: pop. 184,000: ModGr name PEIRAIEVS" (Excerpted from Compton's Reference Collection 1996 Copyright (c) 1995 Compton's NewMedia, Inc.)

 Satyr- "The Satyrs were deities of the woods and fields. They were conceived to be covered with bristly hair, their heads decorated with short, sprouting horns, and their feet like goats' feet." (Bulfinch's Mythology)

Skinner boxes- "an enclosure in which small animals, as rats or pigeons, are conditioned by rewards and punishments to perform certain acts in response to specific stimuli" (Excerpted from Compton's Reference Collection 1996 Copyright (c) 1995 Compton's NewMedia, Inc.)

steatopygiac- "having "a heavy deposit of fat in the buttocks or thigh"(Excerpted from Compton's Reference Collection 1996 Copyright (c) 1995 Compton's NewMedia, Inc.)

syrinx- "pipes of Pan", upon which he plays. See:Syrinx; Encyclopedia Mythica for more information.

Thespis- "Gr. poet: traditionally the originator of Gr. tragedy" (Excerpted from Compton's Reference Collection 1996 Copyright (c) 1995 Compton's NewMedia, Inc.)

Characters

Bortran- Conrad's dog

Conrad- hero of the story, "Director of Arts, Monuments, and Archives," Radpol founder, and kallikanzaros

Cort Myshtigo- a wealthy Vegan journalist who wishes to write a book about earth

Dos Santos- hates Vegans, husband of "red wig"

Diane- the girl with the red wig, hates everyone, disfigured by a Vegan disease Radpol member

Dos Santos- hates Vegans, husband of "red wig" Radpol member

Ellen- George's wife, wants to go to Taler, freind of Conrad

George- scientist, entomologist, freind of Conrad wants to poison the spiderbats

Jason- Conrad's son

Hasan- Mercenary hired as Cort's bodyguard

Lorel Sands- earth director appointed by Earth Government onTaler, Conrad's boss and freind

Phil- poet laureate of earth, freind of Conrad

Procrustes- War Chief of the Kouretes  (from Procustes in Myth)

My content creative commons attribution required share alike

image from ISFDB under fair use

[mimik-u]

Flower Child (Chapter 9)

Title: Home (III)

A/N: 

The last of the Beach City filler episodes "Home" installments—I swear, lol. Thank you guys for sticking with "Flower Child." I appreciate each and every one of your Kudos and comments; they never fail to make me feel like I'm on top of the world. Hope you guys enjoy this chapter! Next week, we'll be back to Empire City, and for the first time in this fic, I think we'll play around in Steven's point of view for a little while. ;)

(Pearl sketch at the bottom.)

AO3

01.

The sand pushed against Garnet, but Garnet pushed back, dragging her feet through the coarse grain that seized at her with millions of grasping hands. Fingers around her swollen ankles. Claws. But she did not stop; she could not afford to stop.

She was afraid that she would let the sand bury her if she did.

The yellow dunes a monument to her cowardice.

To every instinct that had told her to run.

The sun carved itself into her back; she ran to invite its pain, not in spite of it.

Her tank top was slick with sweat, pressed against her skin like a white tattoo; she ran and half-wished the garment would choke her.

Damn coward that she was, she ran.

And she did not look back. The sharp heaving of her chest felt like knives.

One full hour of this—don’t stop—two—don’t look back—and then suddenly, without warning, Garnet’s powerful legs buckled underneath her and she pitched forward in the sand, choking, teeth gritted with the salted grain. She coughed violently, and black spots sprayed across her vision as she fought to maintain a tenuous grip on reality, but it slipped away from her as she dipped her forehead against a fallen, sweat drenched arm. The sun bore down on the back of her exposed neck. Her breath clouded in the pocket between her face and the hot sand. The ocean seethed against the shore.

Garnet closed her eyes.

She let go.

And a memory stole in—soft, vulnerable, a moth fluttering next to a candle.

It was twilight, and the setting sun slanted through the blinds to soak the painfully white walls. An orange that seared. A deep purple that left a bruise. An angry pink, like the aftermath of a blow. Garnet sat on the edge of the railed bed, hands clenched until they were gray on her lap.

And she was still, dreadfully still—a statue on the verge of erosion.

“Garnet?”

She didn’t hear him at first, couldn’t hear anything past the blood boiling in her ears and the unholy trembling of her bones, her chest, her stomach.

“Gaaaaarnet,” he persisted, a teasing edge to his voice. “You’re missing the best part! Toast just broke up with Milk because she thought he was cheating on her with Cereal, and now they’re both crying about it on split screens! Oh, wait—no! I spoke too soon! Toast, Milk, and Cereal are all crying on triple split screens! Gosh, this is good stuff!”

It was Monday night, which meant that a new Crying Breakfast Friends was on. A show about clinically depressed breakfast items, it was somehow Steven’s favorite.

He liked to gush about it.

This was normal, she told herself.

This was normal. She bit her lip so hard that blood welled where she split it.

This was normal. She couldn’t look at him.

This was normal. His empty catheter bag hung limply off the side of the bed.

“Pearl said that I need to, uh, critically examine the stuff I watch, though, so if I’m being honest, the problem here is kinda forced. Cereal is obviously not into romantic relationships, and she just views Milk as a friend, which is totes cool, but I appreciate the character development they’re giving her.”

Kidney failure.

He had kidney failure.

He was thirteen years old, dammit, and he had—

“Because you see,” he continued over the sound of a closely whirring machine, over the sound of her spiraling panic, “Cereal never shows emotion. Like, ever, and she really values her friendships with both Toast and Milk, so this being the thing that breaks her is actually kinda sweet.”

Dr. Maheswaran’s lined face had fallen into geometric disarray when she had told them, all of her harshness slipping into nothingness, into a helplessness they had only seen her wear once before.

The day of Rose’s funeral.

“I’m sorry,” she had whispered. “I’m so sorry that this has happened.”

“And what I’m trying to say, Garnet, is that you’re spacing out right now, and it’s really scaring me,” Steven said, his voice vulnerable with the admission, cracked.

The words were distant to her, landing in her ears but traveling no further. Even so, Garnet painfully drew her head up to look at him; it felt as though there was a weight upon her neck, a yoke, an iron clasp, a world.

His dark eyes burned into hers, and they were the only things that did; the rest of his features were pale, ghostly, having long lost their beautiful olive tint to sickness.

He was thirteen.

He had kidney failure.

“Please,” he murmured softly, extending his chubby hand towards her—as far as all of the tubing and wires would allow. “I need you to be here for me, Garnet. If you’re scared, let’s be scared together.  Because I’m kind of scared, and everyone else is gone, but you’re here, and yet, you’re not really here, and I—”

She was slow, slower than she usually was when it came to comforting Steven. He scraped his knee after falling down? Easy. She could scoop him up into her strong arms and blow raspberries onto his tubby belly until he forgot the sting. Emotional episode of Crying Breakfast Friends? She’d pass him the tissue box seconds before he even opened his mouth to ask for it.

But this?

This?

This was uncharted territory—for Steven, for her, for Greg, Amethyst, and Pearl.

So she was slow, achingly slow, to close the distance between them, to wrap Steven into her arms, to place her chin on the crown of his curls.

But she managed it.

(How? She couldn’t say.)

She rubbed soothing circles into the small of his gowned back and whispered, “I’m here.”

I’m here.

I’m here.

I’m here.

In the warm shield of her arms, Steven began to cry.

Barely five minutes had passed, but they felt like an eternity as Garnet finally pushed herself out of the sand and into a tentative sitting position, lightheaded from the heat and yet heavy with exhaustion. She could have floated away; she could have melted into the ground.

But both of these options were untenable.

She had to—she stumbled gracelessly to her feet—get to—she palmed a sweaty hand across her face—Steven. A low growl tore through her teeth as she began to run.

The sand pushed against Garnet, but Garnet pushed back, hands scissoring the still air, thighs burning with the exertion. She felt the clever trappings of the yellow grain, felt the particles climb up her skin and entreat her to stay, but she did not stop; she could not afford to stop.

She had a purpose now.

Something… someone… to run home to.

One full hour of this, but not quite two—she was fast, determined, indomitable—and the beach house came into view, snugly perched on the cliff, its railings newly livened up by a multitude of colorful balloons. Garnet only slowed to a walk when her foot found purchase on a stair, lead pooling suddenly onto its weight. 

Nearly four hours of running, and she’d forgotten her water bottle in her haste to leave. Her lips, her throat, her entire body were scorched, but she paid no mind to these little details as she dragged herself up the stairs, one sluggish foot after another. 

She had to—she crossed the wooden deck—get to—she wrapped her glistening fingers around the door handle—Steven.

Garnet opened the door.

A whoosh of cold air rose to greet her, and she was able to pry her eyes out of their half-lidded weariness. The ceiling fan in the living room whirred. Kneeling next to the coffee table, Peridot and Lapis looked up from where they had been counting plastic utensils.

Peridot opened her mouth as though to speak, but someone else beat her to the punch.

“Garnet?”

Her head shot to the left, and there Steven was—sitting on his bed, his pale face awash with relief.

She was slow, achingly slow, as she climbed the couple of steps leading up to the loft.

But she didn’t have to go much further.

Steven slid off his bed and met her halfway, curling his arms around her sweaty leg.

“I’m here,” she said softly, placing a tentative hand on his curls.

I’m here.

I’m here.

I’m here.

(And I’m sorry.)

“Ugh,” he replied with a grin, scrunching up his button nose, “you stink, Garnet.”

02.

Naturally, the fish fry was a success—as it always was with Pearl at the organizational helm.

Only a handful of people lived in Beach City, true, but this very handful invited their friends and family from neighboring towns and cities, and fifteen odd people somehow became nearly one hundred. By five, around seven hundred dollars had been raised, and they hadn’t even looked at the bids for their silent auction yet! (Vidalia was offering up some of her artwork, and Boardwalk vendors like Mr. Fryman and Kofi had been gracious enough to donate services like free catering to the pool of available items.)

Leaning against the porch railing, Pearl surveyed the view in front of her and waited for the swell of pride that usually congratulated her after a night of such accomplishment. Garnet and Amethyst had arranged round tables all over their little stretch of beach, and sitting at the front of the deck, a long, rectangular table boasted scant and scattered piles of white to-go boxes, the pitiful remnant of what had once been teetering pyramids. (Surely, people would snag the last couple on their way out, just to have leftovers for tomorrow.) The sun, golden and blurred around the edges, sunk into the low neck of the horizon, casting lovely, shimmering images on the ocean just beyond the beach. People were laughing and talking and dancing to some hip electronic song that Vidalia’s DJ son was blaring through his tall speakers.

The day had been perfect.

So why did Pearl feel like she was about to throw up?

Maybe it was the way various people from town kept coming up to her and asking after Steven. They meant well, but their sympathetic eyes and the pity in their voices and the subtle relief in their faces (I’m glad it’s not me) started to blend and grate after awhile.

“Ah, poor Universe,” Mayor Dewey sighed, tsking lightly. “It just doesn’t seem fair, does it?”

“Sweet kid.” Barb Miller knocked her affectionately in the shoulder (nearly barreling her over in the process). “I just dunno if I could do it if it was my Sadie.”

“You tell Steven that he’s welcome to come to Funland at anytime, ya hear?” Mr. Smiley smiled, all teeth, brimming with an ungodly kind of optimism.

“He’s not looking good, is he?”

“You guys are doing the Lord’s work.”

“Has there been any news?”

“I’m bringing a casserole over soon!”

And on and on. Pearl’s hand drifted to her stomach, and her eyes drifted down to one of the tables closest to the house, where Garnet was sitting alone, her expression seemingly vacant behind her trademark sunglasses. But Pearl was perceptive, and what’s more, familiar with Garnet after nearly two decades of being her roommate. The sculptured lines of her muscles were tense, electric with nerves. Her legs were crossed, but the foot she had on the ground bobbed out of time with Sour Cream’s music.

Maybe it was the knowledge that tonight, she’d sit across Garnet and tell her about the contents of Dr. Maheswaran’s letter. She’d have to watch as Garnet’s stoic features would crumple as she registered the words feeding tube, how her hands would clench tightly on her lap in the place of spoken words. 

Maybe it was the fact that Steven had only picked at his grilled fish tonight, had nibbled on an unsalted french fry or two before shoving his plate away apologetically.

“I’m just not hungry.” He’d said the same thing about his pancakes this morning. He’d thrown up the one pancake that he could stomach.

Or maybe it was the way Amethyst’s brown eyes had dulled after Pearl had grabbed her arm earlier this evening and told her that they were going to have a family meeting on the deck.

“Something’s wrong, isn’t it?” Her voice was quiet, scratchy in all of her vulnerable places.

Pearl stifled the urge to look away and could only manage a curt nod.

“I figured as much,” she sighed, pulling a hand across the back of her neck. “Dr. M was really antsy this week. Guess that can’t mean anything good.”

She searched for Amethyst now and found that she was with Steven. They were sitting on the shoreline, backs to the house, eyes on the setting sun. She had one plump arm slung around his shoulders. In the dying light, her long hair was a brilliant silver stream.

Jealousy nicked at her with an unexpected sting, a little paper cut right across her sternum, one inch long.

She wanted to know what they were talking about.

Wanted to cling to every word that came out of his mouth.

Every moment… every hour, every minute, every second… was precious with him nowadays.

He was an hourglass turned over, slowly trickling away.

Maybe she’d go down there and join them…

Maybe that would abate the awful mess of her stomach…

Maybe was her constant refrain tonight.

Uncertainty was the word.

“Ya’ve done it again, Pearl.”

Pearl blinked, and with a jolt, realized that Greg had joined her on the balcony, an appreciative grin stretched across his red face as he greeted her. In an old, white tank top and ripped jean shorts, he was just as Greg as ever, but his bleary eyes betrayed him (just as Garnet’s foot did her and Amethyst’s dull expression spoke volumes). His tired gaze slid to where Steven and Amethyst sat on the beach, following where hers had just been, and his smile seemed to take on the subtle tinges of sadness as he absorbed the simple image.

She regained her composure with a tiny cough. “Ah, thank you, Greg. I’ve been meaning to catch you by the way. We’re having a family—”

He cut across her as kindly as anyone cutting across someone could manage. “—meeting tonight. Yeah, I know.” He jerked his thumb down below. “Garnet told me.”

“Oh.”

“Mhm.”

They lapsed into silence. There was nothing left to say; there were oceans. (But neither of them were particularly good at navigating the rough waters, so they remained silent in an attempt to not choke on salt.)

The party swirled on without them.

People laughing.

Talking.

Dancing.

Enjoying themselves.

They were all but alien creatures, every single one of them.

How were they so happy?

So carefree?

How was their world not bleak and gray and centered around a little boy named Steven?

“Pearl?” Greg asked after a long while.

“Hm?” She slid a curious glance his way, but he never took his eyes away from the darkening silhouettes of Amethyst and Steven; they were but specks in the distance now, bathed in the dusky sun.

“Do you remember what Rose used to say about sunsets? She had this whole speech about them, and I can almost hear it in my mind, but I honestly can’t remember it word for word.” He chuckled lightly and tapped the side of his balding head. “The years are catchin’ up to me, I guess.”

The mere mention of her name sent an involuntary shiver down Pearl’s spine. She wanted to hug herself; she wanted to wrap herself around the name and be left alone to mourn for it, but all the same, she knew instantly what Greg was searching for in her memories.

Her voice was thick as she volunteered it.

“She loved sunsets,” she whispered, looking down at her hand on the railing. Pale and cold, it was knotted with tiny goosebumps; the wooden grain beneath it was simply knotted by time and wind and salt. “And when she was… sick, you know, she used to say that sunsets were lovely ways to think about life and death and everything in-between. They’re explosions, riots of color that precede beautiful, star-strewn nights. She—”

Pearl faltered; she couldn’t go on.

“She said she was a sunset, didn’t she?” Greg said softly when he realized this. “She said that we shouldn’t grieve for her… that we should appreciate the night she leaves behind.”

She couldn’t say yes so much as she could intimate it.

She nodded very slowly and tried to smile.

He shot her a watery grin in return.

The first stars began to pop up in the vast canvas of sky; Steven lifted his arm to point at them.

03. 

By seven, nearly all of their guests had finally left; what stragglers remained helped clean up. By eight, the beach was all but pristine, the fish fry eradicated from its silky existence. All that remained were the multitude of collapsed tables that they had leaned against the deck for the night. Greg would take ‘em back to their storage unit sometime tomorrow. By nine, Steven had taken his bath and was tucked into bed by all four of his guardians.

“G’night, Stu-ball.”

“Goodnight, Steven.”

“Night.”

“Don’t let the bed bugs bite, Ste-man,” Amethyst grinned before promptly attacking his blanketed feet. 

He giggled, the others stepped down from the loft, and then he surreptitiously whispered out of the corner of his mouth, “The window!”

She winked at him conspiratorially before descending herself.

When everyone was in their respective rooms, getting into their pajamas, Amethyst snuck into the darkened living room and moved deftly towards the corner that was opposite to Steven’s loft; with its L-shaped bench and plush cushions, it was more or less a reading nook for nerds like Pearl and Peridot to make themselves comfortable in. Glancing around to make sure that no other adult was observing—she was pretty sure she could detect a dark pair of fourteen-year old eyes glinting at her from across the room—she unlatched the lock in the window that overlooked the deck and pushed the glass an inch or so upwards. A narrow strip of humid air snuck its way into the cool room.

She gave Steven a thumbs up she wasn’t entirely sure he could see before scurrying off to her own room to pull on her own nighttime gear (a tank top and booty shorts, of course).

By 9:30, their little coterie was assembled at the white table that perched conveniently on the far corner of the deck, asses already chafing in the uncomfortable plastic chairs. (“I’ll eventually get us cushions,” Pearl often claimed. “I’m just waiting to find a set that complements the house best.” “Jesus,” Amethyst moaned in return.) Pearl sat lightly at the edge of her own chair and squinted at a tiny slip of paper that was barely illuminated by the soft, yellow porch light; Amethyst immediately recognized it as one of the papers that Dr. Maheswaran had wanted her to pass on.

As furtively as possible, she snuck a glance at the crack in the window that no one had yet to notice, thrilling a little at their clever subterfuge.

“So, uhh, what’s in that letter, Pearl?” Greg asked, nervously eyeing the note. He didn’t know the contents—none of them did—but there was something in Pearl’s features—something dark, something bleak—that spoke to their worst assumptions. Amethyst stiffened in her seat to prepare for the blow, never quite letting the window leave the periphery of her vision as she did.

Shit, maybe she shouldn’t have done this.

Pearl opened her mouth and then promptly shut it, and then opened it again but no words came out. Silently, she passed the paper to her left, to Garnet, who scanned Maheswaran’s piss poor handwriting before shoving the paper into Greg’s surprised hands.

She didn’t have her sunglasses on.

Her eyes, one blue, the other brown, stared wildly into space.

Amethyst was suddenly stricken of the image of a wounded animal—cornered, desperate, doomed.

“No, no,” Greg shook his head, his low voice rising with each denial. “It’s too soon for that. We can’t be there yet. He’s still eating. He’s—” The note had crumpled in his large hand.

“He’s puking up nearly everything we give him,” Pearl said lifelessly, staring down at the table. “That can’t be healthy for him.”

Amethyst impatiently snatched the letter from Greg’s clenched hand. “Lemme see!”

She smoothed out the wrinkles as much as she could manage and read:

Pearl,

Steven’s health has declined considerably in the past few weeks. You all have probably noticed it and let me be quick to assure you that it isn’t because any lapse on your behalves. Chronic kidney disease tends to progress faster in adolescents.

All the same, he’s lost seven pounds since May, and with the onset of anemia, he’s at risk of losing even more, amongst other complications. My advice to you this week is to ensure that he strictly follows the dietician’s recommendations for caloric intake. Additionally, he absolutely must take those iron pills in order to encourage red blood cell production in his body.

If I find that his condition has worsened by the end of this week, then I think our best step forward is hospitalizing him again, so that we can supplement his nutrition with a feeding tube—

She didn’t read any further, didn’t have to, dammit, and she cast the offending object away as though burned. Wrinkled and worn, it landed in the center of the table, an eyesore that drew all of their baleful glares.

For the most part, the letter was fine.

Hell, it was in the ballpark of the kind of stuff Dr. M usually sent.

It was just those two words.

Feeding tube.

He might need a feeding tube.

Greg was right.

They couldn’t be there yet.

It was way too soon.

“Dammit,” she said aloud, only remembering at the last second that it was carrying to ears beyond the ones at the table. (With every passing second, with every new drop of horror pooling in her belly, Amethyst regretted letting him listen in. He’d just been so persuasive on the beach, so ready to accept the consequences of what he could possibly hear… but even if he was prepared, she wasn’t so sure that she was.)

“Crude,” Pearl sighed, pinching the bridge of her sharp nose, “but accurate.”

Garnet shifted in her seat, her mouth set into an impossibly firm line that only budged when she spoke; her words were tense, pushed out through gritted teeth. “So what now?”

“Pardon?”

“What do we do now?” she asked, as though it was the most obvious question in the world, and perhaps it very well was. Dr. M had given them a possible consequence, and now they had to do their best to avoid it coming into fruition—if that was even possible.

Amethyst pulled the paper back to her side of the table, glanced over it one more time.

My advice to you this week is to ensure that he strictly follows the dietician’s recommendations for caloric intake. Additionally, he absolutely must take those iron pills in order to encourage red blood cell production in his body.

“I guess we just try to follow Dr. M’s orders,” she shrugged when no one else was forthcoming, but even the act of shrugging seemed like a betrayal to the situation at hand. Her mouth was achingly dry. “Make sure he eats, give him his medicine, and yadda-yadda-yadda. It’s not a lot to work with, but it’s, like, better than nothing.”

“Well said,” Greg murmured, and to her relief, both Garnet and Pearl eventually brought themselves to nod.

“Better than nothing,” Garnet repeated, seemingly to herself. And then her bicolored eyes seemed to focus, as though drawing themselves back to the present. She blinked once and offered a lopsided grin to Amethyst, and Amethyst felt a sudden rush of grateful heat clamor up her cheeks. It’d been far too long since one of those had graced her features.

“Then I suppose that settles that,” Pearl said with visible relief, reaching across the table and reclaiming the note. She appeared a little less harried now that they had established a game plan. “Before we disperse, we should probably cover our finances for—”

Amethyst hadn’t even opened her mouth to call Pearl lame when an ominous plunk resounded from inside the house—dull but louder than it should have been. Closest to the window, but not facing it, Pearl whipped her head around and ascertained the crack with a choking gasp.

“Has that been open this whole time?!”

Amethyst suddenly found herself very interested in a lightning shaped crack in the table, but luckily enough, Pearl was more focused on examining the source of the noise—please be one of the cats, she hoped against hope—than actively being suspicious about a window that they usually kept closed all the time. She sprung gracefully from her chair and opened the door as quietly as she could possibly manage, sticking her head in to look.

“Oh, my God! Steven!”

[mayhemproduces]

Rickey Shane Page vs Jon Moxley

The MPW faithful were on their feet, as for the first time since Jon Moxley’s first stepping foot inside an MPW ring, Wild Thing blasted throughout the speakers, and the crowd was singing along just about as loud as they possibly could. Moxley walked through the crowd here at the Walter Pyramid, his eyes never leaving Rickey Shane Page the entire time he marched to the ring. Mox was here on a mission tonight, and that mission was to spill as much of Rickey Shane Page’s blood as possible, and make RSP regret ever crossing him. 

Moxley slides into the ring, just as referee Bryce Rhemsburg calls for the bell, meaning we’re officially underway here! Steve Guy isn’t even given the chance to finish introductions, as Moxley takes RSP down with a double leg, and starts hammering away at him! A wild fury of right hands, as RSP has no other option other than to cover up, and try to block as much of this beating as possible. Rickey manages to shove Mox off and use the ropes to get back up, when Mox knocks Rickey over the top rope and to the floor with a massive clothesline! Moxley follows RSP out there, and grabs Rickey, whipping him right into the solid steel ringpost! Rickey’s head bounces off the post, making a thud loud enough for most in the arena to hear. Moxley was all over RSP here in the early going, and our fans were LOVING it! RSP stumbles to his feet, and Mox grabs him, slamming him into the barricade, before landing a few right hands to the head, before starting to bite RSP! Mox threw RSP into another section of the barricade, before going to get one of the weapons that had been brought out for this match, a milk jug filled with sand, taped to the end of a broomhandle. Mox swung wildly at RSP, connecting with head and body shots, before the milk jug broke off. Mox then broke the broomhandle over his knee, and with the new sharp, jagged point, began to dig into RSP’s forehead! RSP was already bleeding from the very first chairshot, but now the blood flow had been increased by Mox. Mox caught RSP with one more shot to the head, before throwing him to the side, taking a second to relish in the rabid MPW Los Angeles fans.

Mox grabbed a door and brought it into the ring, before setting it up in the corner, grabbing Rickey, and literally just throwing Rickey right through the door! Mox once again took a moment for the fans, throwing up his gang sign, before grabbing the box of light tubes that had been set in the corner, grabbing a few out, and setting them up where Rickey was seated in the corner. Mox then ran off the ropes and crashed into Rickey with a sliding clothesline in the corner, smashing the light tubes between both himself and Rickey’s bodies! RSP looked the worse for wear, while Mox stood up and relished the blood now running down his body, running his hand through it and painting his face with his own blood. Jon Moxley was on a mission tonight, and that mission was to fuck up Rickey Shane Page. 

Mox grabbed the pieces of broken door, and the parts of the light tubes that were still somewhat intact, and began stacking them on top of Rickey. Moxley then heads up to the top rope and drops an elbow on the pile, crushing RSP underneath all of it! Mox kicks some of the garbage off of Rickey and hooks the leg for the first cover of the match!

1….2… Kickout!

Rickey out at two. Moxley sits up and rolls out of the ring, beginning to look for even more toys to make this match a further bloodbath. Mox grabs several chairs, a door, a couple light tube bundles, and even a pizza cutter, throwing all of that into the ring, before finishing up his shopping spree with a metal trashcan, throwing that into the ring as well. Moxley slides into the ring and grabs the pizza cutter first, before grabbing Rickey, trapping him in a headlock, and running the pizza cutter along RSP’s forehead! Blood begins to run down Rickey’s face as he cries out in agony, before finally being let go by Moxley. Mox gets off of RSP, and takes a long lick of the pizza cutter, before tossing it aside, and dropping down to do snow angels in the ring, right where glass had already been broken, showing Mox was having the time of his life in there right now, and so were these fans watching it. Mox drags Rickey back up to his feet and blasts him with a straight right hand, dropping RSP down to a knee. Rickey crawls into the corner, and starts using the corner to try and pick himself back up, as Mox measures him, before running and charging in on Rickey, but Rickey manages to send Mox up and over the top rope. Mox lands on his feet on the apron, and tries to catch Rickey right a right, but Rickey blocks it, before laying into Mox with a forearm. Mox is stunned, and Rickey takes advantage by driving Mox’s head into the turnbuckle a couple of times, before kicking his leg out, knocking Mox off the apron. Mox stumbles around the outside, and goes to grab for a bundle of tubes on the apron, when RSP charges in and nails the tubes with a baseball slide, shattering the tubes against Mox and knocking him down! A cloud of broken glass and poison gas blasts Moxley in the face as he’s send into the steel guardrail! 

RSP gets up to his feet, and now with full control in this match, walks over to Mox and puts his boot on Moxley’s throat, grabbing onto the barricade for leverage, and using off of his weight to choke Moxley! Deathmatch rules in this one, anything goes, and RSP was looking to take full advantage of that fact here tonight. Rickey grabs Mox back up to his feet and slams Mox’s head into the ring apron, before folding Mox over, lifting him up, and dropping Moxley on the ring apron with a Gutwrench Powerbomb! Moxley goes spine first into the hardest part of the ring!

RSP tosses Moxley back into the ring, and grabs the trashcan, lifting it up, and as Mox tries to pull himself up to a knee, Rickey brings the trashcan down on Moxley’s head. Mox drops back down to the mat, as Rickey sets the steel trashcan down in the center of the ring, and goes back over to Moxley once again, lifting Mox up, and depositing Moxley down on the trashcan with a suplex toss! The trashcan crumples under the force of Moxley being slammed onto it, and Moxley appears to be in a great deal of agony, as RSP drops down and hooks the leg, looking to end this one. 

1….2… Kickout!

Moxley out at two, staying alive for the time being! RSP sits up and just starts laughing to himself. “You couldn’t just fall in line, huh? You had to be the big star, Jon Moxley! This is where it got you!” Rickey actually leaned over and slapped Mox in the face with that last line. That’s before RSP gets back to his feet, and goes and grabs a single light tube, sitting Moxley up and putting it in Mox’s mouth, before grabbing the ends of it, and breaking it in half, shattering glass right into Moxley’s mouth! Moxley rolls over, clutching his mouth and kicking his legs on the mat, clearly in a great deal of pain from that! Rickey is revealing it, practically laughing at Moxley as he stalks around him. Rickey forces Moxley up to his feet, before sending Mox off the ropes, and on the rebound sending him up and over with a backdrop, catching Mox with a kick to the spine on the way down! Rickey followed it up by grabbing a tube bundle, laying it across Mox, and hitting the ropes, before crashing down onto both Mox and the bundle of tubes with a Senton! The tubes shatter between both men, sending broken glass into each of them! Rickey is clearly in a great deal of pain, buth he tries to push past it, rolling over and covering Moxley once again. 

1….2…. Kickout!

Moxley kicks out again! Rickey sits up, clearly feeling the effects of just having landed on a bundle of tubes, but still gets up to his feet, once again grabbing at Jon Moxley. Rickey raises his arm, before spinning and trying to take Moxley’s head off with a Rolling Elbow! Moxley stumbles back into the ropes, but suddenly uses them to rocket forward, nearly decapitating RSP with a King Kong Lariat! RSP was turned inside out! 

Mox gets back to his feet and starts grabbing the chairs that had been brought into the ring earlier. Mox picked up two of the chairs, before setting them up back to back, Necro Butcher style. Mox then went to grab Rickey, when suddenly Rickey broke Mox’s hold, and began peppering Mox with forearm shots, punctuating them with a brutal European uppercut, before lifting Mox onto his shoulders, and hitting a massive Death Valley Driver onto the set up chairs! Mox’s spine connected with the points of the chairs, as he rolled off of them and into the corner, holding his back and struggling to stand. Rickey grabbed a chair, and threw it at Mox, connecting with it, sending Mox down into a seated position, before charging and crashing into Mox with a cannonball! Rickey drags Mox out of the corner, looking for the cover!

1….2… Kickout!

Moxley out again! RSP didn’t waste much time, getting right back up to his feet, and watching Mox get up in the corner. Mox was struggling to his feet, and grabbing a chair, but RSP still charged him, and when Mox put the chair up to swing it, RSP connected with a massive bicycle pump knee, connecting with the chair, and sending it right into Mox’s face! Mox fell against the ropes, and RSP quickly ran off them, before delivering a massive bicycle knee to the back of Mox’s Head, before grabbing him by the back waistband of his shorts, and lifting him up into an electric chair! RSP eyed the pile of chairs in the middle of the ring, before walking over to them, and dropping Mox down with a massive shoulder switch sit out powerbomb, Mox landing right on the pile of chairs! RSP made the cover again! 

1...2… kickout! 

Mox out again! Rickey gets up on his knees and looks down at Mox, a smirk spreading across his face as he does. Rickey is in full control and knows it, and knows it could only be a matter of time at this point.  RSP got back to his feet, before grabbing a styrofoam board, with a bunch of plastic forks sticking up out of it, and setting it in the middle of the ring, grabbing Mox again, and slamming Mox down onto the forks with a Falcon Arrow! This earned RSP a chant of “You Sick Fuck!” Which RSP simply smiled at, before wiping some of the blood on his forehead off with his hand, before taking a nice, slow lick of his hand, savoring the taste of his own blood. 

RSP then walked over to the corner, grabbing a Barbed Wire Lawn Chair, And setting it up, before grabbing Mox and pushing him into it, forcing Moxley’s ass and back right into the barbed wire! RSP marches across the ring, and seemed to be setting up for something, when a fan yelling at him seemed to catch his attention, as RSP began yelling back and forth with the fan, daring him to come over the barricade, before turning his attention back to Mox, and charging him with an imploding Senton, but Mox moved at the last second! RSP crashed into the turnbuckles, and Mox grabbed RSP, hitting him with a small wooden crate, breaking it over RSP’s head, before pulling RSP out of the corner, and wrapping his hand around RSP’s throat, going for a Paradigm Shift, but RSP managed to escape, before grabbing Mox, going for the Chokebreaker, but Mox escapes, slips behind RSP, and drives him into the mat with a dragon suplex! RSP is stunned, and Mox grabs the styrofoam board full of forks again, setting it down, before grabbing RSP and driving him into it head first with a Paradigm Shift! Mox goes for the cover! 

1…..2…. KICKOUT!

Rickey Shane Page kicks out of the Paradigm Shift! Moxley was certain he had him! Mox sits up, a look of frustration creeping along his features. Mox looked down at the forks again, and began to pull them out of the board, apparently looking to drive them into RSP’s head. Mox grabbed RSP by the bun his hair was in and began to drive the forks into his forehead, causing Rickey to bleed even more than he already was. Blood trickled down Rickey’s forehead as Mox continued to stab him, before throwing the forks away, and looking for something else to go after Rickey with. Mox rolled out of the ring, and quickly began rearranging furniture, grabbing two chairs and setting them up, before grabbing a pane of glass on the outside and setting that up in between them. Mox then grabbed two more chairs, and set those up on top of the pane of glass, before grabbing another pane of glass and setting it between those two chairs, creating some makeshift double decker glass pane sandwich thing. Mox then grabbed Rickey, and dragged him in between it, laying Rickey across one of the panes of glass, before Mox climbed up onto the top rope, and stood up, making a small sign off the cross as he did, before leaping off, going for a diving cross body, but RSP gets out of the way, and Moxley goes crashing through two panes of glass on the outside! Nobody home for Moxley! 

Mox now lay bleeding, and maybe even unconscious on the outside, as Rickey leans against the guardrail, knowing he may have just avoided certain doom there. Rickey grabs Mox and tosses him back into the ring, and crawls in after him, rolling Mox over for the cover!

1….2… Kickout!

Mox stays alive again! Jon Moxley refuses to die! RSP gets up, breathing heavily, clearly frustrated that he hadn’t yet put Jon Moxley away. Rickey picks up Mox again, and tries to set him up for a Chokebreaker, but Mox fires off a couple of elbows to Rickey’s head, blocking it. Rickey lets him go, and Mox charges Rickey, dropping him with a clothesline. Rickey gets back to his feet, and as Mox goes for another clothesline, Rickey ducks it, before taking a wild swing with a roundhouse kick that Mox ducks, but Rickey keeps his momentum going, swings back around, and drops Mox with an Enziguri! Rickey gets back to his feet, and as Mox is stunned, grabs Mox around the throat, and plants him with a massive Chokebreaker! That might be it! Rickey Shane Page may have just put Mox down for good! Cover!

1….2… Kickout! 

Rickey shouts in frustration as Mox kicks out again. “Are you fucking kidding me?! He shouts over at Tom, who just shakes his head and insists it was two. Rickey pounds the mat, and stands back up, beginning to circle Mox. “Stay down, Moxley!” RSP shouted. “Just fucking stay down!” Rickey is clearly frustrated that this match isn’t over yet. Rickey grabbed the box of light tubes, before pouring them out onto the mat, lining them all up in a pile, before grabbing Mox, lifting him up, and driving him down right on top of the light tubes with a Michinoku Driver! Rickey hooked Mox’s leg for another cover!

1...2… Kickout!

Mox managed to stay alive again, but it was clear from the amount of times now that he’d been driven into glass, that he was losing a significant amount of blood. If he was going to turn this around, he’d have to do it quickly. Rickey rolled out of the ring after the unsuccessful pin attempt, and began looking around for other weapons he could use. He looked under the ring and pulled out a door, grabbing a couple of chairs to go along with it. RSP slides all of these things into the ring, before hopping up onto the apron. RSP sees Mox charge him, and manages to sidestep Mox trying to catch him with a shoulder, and catches Mox with a kick to the head, stunning him. Mox stumbles back as Rickey starts to get back into the ring, before using the ropes to catch Mox with a slingshot cutter in the middle of the ring! Innovative offense here from RSP! 

Rickey gets back up, and begins to unfold the chairs, before carefully placing the door between them, before turning to collect Mox again, catching him with a few clubbing blows to the back, before laying Mox across the makeshift table he’d just made. Rickey then began to head for the top rope, setting his feet on the top, before carefully walking across the top rope, getting some extra spring, and leaping off, crashing down onto Mox and the door with a Rope Walk Frogsplash! Rickey may have just ended this! Cover!

1….2….Kickout!

Moxley STILL stays alive! What is RSP gonna have to do here tonight?! RSP sits up in disbelief, unsure of just what he was going to have to do to end this one. Only one idea came to mind; Powerbomb off the top. RSP got back to his feet and grabs for the chairs in the ring, setting them up, before RSP grabbed for the door that had been brought into the ring by Mox earlier, perhaps the last unbroken door allotted to these two men for this match. RSP bridged the door across the chairs, and then went to the ropes to grab some of the light tubes that had yet to have been broken. RSP lays the tubes on the door, before going back over to Mox, and drags him over towards the turnbuckles. RSP climbs himself up to the second rope, before pulling Mox up by his shirt, and pulling him up onto the ropes with him. RSP tries lifting him up for the powerbomb, but Mox catches RSP with a few well placed back elbows, causing RSP to let Mox go. RSP was stunned sitting on the top rope, and Mox grabbed a bundle of tubes, before smashing the tube bundle over RSP’s head! RSP hunched over, perhaps out cold, as Mox climbed back up to the top. Mox grabbed RSP, and lifted him up, before falling back and driving RSP through the door, the light tubes, and right down onto the mat with a Top Rope Paradigm Shift! RSP might be out!

Mox wasn’t done though. Moxley goes back over to that Barbed Wire Lawn Chair and grabs a long, long strand of loose barbed wire, and wraps it around his forearm and bicep, clearly with evil intentions on his mind. It isn’t enough to beat Rickey tonight. He needs to make RSP suffer for everything. Rickey is up on his hands and knees now, but that’s exactly where Moxley wants him, as Moxley charges in and traps Rickey Shane Page in the Bulldog Choke, made even more painful, more agonizing by the barbed wire wrapped around Moxley’s arm! Rickey’s face is turning beet red, and the barbed wire is digging into his flesh, RSP can’t take it anymore and has no choice but to tap out!

“Here is your winner, Jon Moxley!” 

Bryce Rhemsburg almost has to pull Jon Moxley off of RSP, as Rickey drops into an almost unconscious heap. Mox unwinds the barbed wire from his arm and steps over the unconscious body of Rickey Shane Page, laying bloody and beaten here tonight at Darkness Falls. These two men had just gone to war, and Moxley is the one left standing. 

[sonipanda]

Hello CK – we meet again, but this time with it being in the current collection and not a pair you can’t get hold of!

Now I gotta say with this being a black sheer backseam pair, they are the most versatile pair you can get your hands on. And with it being a good and decent brand, I have to say it’s worth getting a pair!

If you missed my last CK review, then click the following link > Calvin Klein Matte Sheer Control Top Tights

The Spec

Colour: Black

Size: A – X-Small

Denier: 12

Materials: 85% Nylon, 15% Spandex

Price: £15.99

Website: UKTights – Calvin Klein Backseam Sheer To Waist Tights

  My Outfit

Now let’s go casual with a touch of smart this time. I decided to wear my new denim shirt dress paired with my statement heels to give it a little oomph. A lot of you might not agree with this look (especially the heels) but I think it just looked funky and I was feeling it!

I kept my hair up in a bun today and kept jewellery to a minimum.

My Deets

Dress: LOTD

Tights: Calvin Klein (CK)

Shoes: Steve Madden

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  The Review

From The Website: Calvin Klein might just be the world’s most famous and well respected underwear designer, and now they are trying their hands at the world of legwear too. This design is classic Calvin Klein, with a simple look that remains a classic no matter what, a fit that is comfortable and a flat seam construction that has subtlety at its core.

* 12 denier * Sexy backseam * Flat seams * Ultimate comfort * Smooth waistband * 85% Nylon * 15% Spandex

  The Packaging: damn sexy it is too! The model at the front is killing it wearing that seam. You can also find details of the size and colour stated at the front, with a little more detail at the back about the hosiery, sizing, care etc;

“Backseam Sheer – Sheer to Waist. Sexy backseam with sleek opaque knit soles. 12 denier leg. Flat, smooth waistband. Flat seams for ultimate comfort.”

Getting inside, these are neatly folded around sturdy cardboard. When you unravel them off it, these are shaped to the legs really nicely too! You get the full foot shape, which then curves into the leg and thigh.

Here you will see the seams run straight along that subtle fold, and then bend. I was dead confused here as to why they were bending instead of following that fold, but I will later find out hey!

  Getting Them On: hosiery gloves are a must with these because they are delicate as anything!

I did the scrunch and roll on both legs as I didn’t wanna risk it first thing in the morning by messing around with them (plus it helps to get your line-up right).

Over anklets these are fine as long as they aren’t too sharp!

  On The Legs: so… what shall I start with? How smooth they look and feel? How the denier has a gorgeous slight shine to them?

Let’s start with the feel; so damn nice! They are super soft and super smooth on the legs, and to touch as well! I mean check out the thigh pic below where it just looks like a perfect finish!

The denier is just right for me to be honest; it gives you a lovely coverage on the legs and perfect for those who don’t mind exposing a little skin.

The quality is amazing, however I say that and I did manage to get a snag during the day. I wasn’t too impressed but hey, that was the only one thank goodness!

The backseam on these are great too; they start right from the heel/ankle and work up to the top thigh, finishing about an inch or two under the tushy. What I did notice on my left leg was the backseam ending with a small bit of thread hanging out. When this happens, either use hairspray or clear nail varnish to stop it from pulling.

  The Toes & Ankle: plenty of wiggle room is the first thing I will mention here! You may need to release a little pressure from the toes when you first get them on and then you’re good to go!

During the day, these hardly budge and the toe seams stay in place too!

The sole detail is just stunning; it starts from under the toes and then works under bringing it slightly more around the heel and them working into a pyramid backseam. I just love how classy they look without trying.

The ankles have a lovely sheer, smooth finish to them without a single wrinkle in sight.

  The Waistband: is so comfortable and different to any other band I have tried. It’s a silky top with it working into a darker denier. I love the way it fits and sits flush against you the whole day.

These don’t roll down at all and they hardly show through fitted clothing as well! I am in love with these just for the band!

  My Thoughts?

These are brilliant!

✓ Fabulous quality minus that little snag

✓ The seam stays in place during the day and hardly moves

✓ The denier is just right for that sleek leg coverage

✓ I love the sole leading to the backseam which gives it that classy vintage touch

Calvin Klein Backseam Sheer To Waist Tights Hello CK - we meet again, but this time with it being in the current collection and not a pair you can't get hold of!

[brandongunte1r]

She had no way to move but with the river.

Livingston Parish, one of the hardest hit areas with about 138,000 people, an official estimated that 75 percent of the homes were a total loss.. She rubbed her fingers through the dirt, and grabbed a handful of grass to wipe between her legs. From here he could see four lesser pyramids, the city’s western walls, and the camps of the Yunkishmen by the shores of Slaver’s Bay, where a thick column of greasy smoke twisted upward like some monstrous serpent. FS1 will provide coverage of Friday and Saturday qualifying and Sunday eliminations for each NHRA Mello Yello Series event, with a minimum of 16 Sunday eliminations shows to be presented in a live coverage format, and the remainder shown either in weekend afternoon or primetime time slots.. She had no way to move but with the river. "It's the only pair in your size. We think he is a tremendous player who is only going to get better. An acquaintance of the writer was married to a gentleman in Louisiana, who was the proprietor of some eight hundred slaves. Another turned his cup over to wash away a finger of blood before it reached the place where he was seated. A safe place, beyond my sister’s reach.”. AOL Autos: How to choose an auto repair shop. Hello! Sorry this is late coming up, I had lots to do today! And assorted computer trouble didn help either

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But, as promised but late, a review of the costumes winning in the cosplay/costume contest for Otakon. Other people moving:Rod Perth to president exec VP of programming, USA Networks Entertainment, New York, from senior VP of late night and

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[blackirisposts]

Rattled Keys and An Unexpected Guest

Darcy's had a day. Like a helluva day. All she wants is to be alone, at home, and have a drink.. 

Word Count: 2205

Notes: Un-beta’d, I own no characters, swearing, drinking, fluff; you’ve been warned. 

Originally posted here: archiveofourown.org/works/2128398

She rattled her keys uncharacteristically loudly as she stomped up the stairs to her apartment.

Today had been a long ass day. Work had been fine, realistically, but between the normal hustle and bustle of her typical day at the lab, life had managed to add a few unsightly events to her already long day.

Coffee spilled on her new cream pumps, which caused her to mentally castrating herself on her decision to deviate from her typical black shoes. She tore her stockings, well thigh highs really, on the subway. She’d been trying to appear classier lately and part of her attempt to do so was to no longer go bare legged while wearing skirts. She should at least try to be a lady to counter when her tongue got away from her.

These things of course were minor in comparison to the events of the destruction of the copier that ultimately ruined her ‘can do’ attitude that she was striving to maintain throughout the day. What she thought had been a paper jam with a simple tug and pull to alleviate the matter ended with her pulling a Tony and had half of the machine dismantled and scattered throughout the office. Of course, to make matters worse while in the midst of fixing the machine, her ever clingy mother called and started on her now weekly drill of questions that affronted her single status and when, not if, but when was she planning on settling down and getting serious with her life.

The ink smudges that covered her arms and skirt were topped off with a small smudge on her forehead. She could care less as she was almost home. Today was not her day and it was beyond time for a drink and long hot shower.

“Hmmpft.” Followed with incomprehensible babble came from her as she fought her front door’s lock. Today it stuck more than normal and she was in no mood for it.

Finally through the door, with another disgruntled moan toward the door, she threw her keys in a bowl and slammed the door shut with her foot before locking the dead bolt on the door.

“Home.” She mumbled leaning on the door and closing her eyes. Off came the newly ruined shoes. “And now for the booze and jazzy music.”

On her way to the kitchen she pulled her blouse off and threw it on the couch. Once in the kitchen she shimmied out of what was left of her stockings and threw them directly in the trash. “Adios you bastards.”

Turning the light on over her stove she reached for her favorite glass and all the fixings for a greatly deserved drink. Remembering her stained skirt, she removed it and to attempt to remove the offending smudges in the kitchen sink, seemingly forgetting her drink in her ministrations.

“Oh screw this.” She said, leaving the skirt in the sink for a later time when her nerves where calmed.

She took her ipod from her bag. Remembering it died on the subway ride into work, she grunted again. Today really wasn’t her day. At least she managed to be wearing matching black lace bra and panties, she thought to herself as she moved to her laptop on the kitchen counter.

“Hmm.. something good, something good..” She mumbled to herself as she surfed through her hoards of music. She clicked on Martin Garrix’s Animals to start. Mainly to kill the silence that she now found unbearably irritating. She needed, if only for a moment, to drown out her thoughts. She skipped to her favorite part of the song, but it still didn’t do it for her. “Next...Next!....Next!!” Obviously shuffle is not working for her today as a string of her usual favorites were not creating the soothing atmosphere she desired. She then settled on a play list, one she rarely lets anyone know she has. It’s of older music. “Frozen Bro’s-Esce” is what she named it. “Esce” as it wasn’t strictly 30’s and 40’s but also 50’s music. In all honestly, she absolutely adores it. Always had. Even before she knew the two men that had gone through so much. As the music starts to drift from her speakers, she starts to relax a little and moves to resume making her drink.

“See the pyramids along the Nile Watch the sun rise on a tropic isle But just remember, darling, all the while You belong to me”

She starts to sing along with the beginning of the second verse and walks to the bathroom, drink in hand when something didn’t seem just right. Something tall and dark caught her eye. So she walks backwards, slowly, into the living room. Hoping beyond hope that if she moves slow enough the funny feeling is really just her frayed nerves sprinkled with newly added spirits and not anything more. She stops and turns, eyeing the living room.

“There it is. The other shoe dropping for my crap-tastic day.” She says. “What are you doing here Ice Man?” Pointing with her drink.

Bucky, arms crossed, leaning against the wall, smirks and looks her over slowly, admiring her bravado and curves.

“Well.. You said to stop by if I was having a bad day or ‘whatever’ and I figured I’d take you up on it for once.” He said, still staring. “And evidently I chose the right night, doll.”

She rolled her eyes and downed the rest of her drink. Ignoring that she was in her skivvies would be easier once the drink was gone. She was grateful she had only barely started singing along to the music and had not started fully dancing like she usually would have.

“So you decided to break in? I know they had phones back in your day, you could have called first, you know.”

“Yeah, but then I woulda missed out on the show.” He said tilting his head and quirking an eyebrow. “Besides, needed to be somewhere.. different..Away from Mother Steve..” He paused for a beat. “Had I known you strip once you get home, woulda made a point of comin’ here sooner.” He ended with a wink.

“Well, today’s not my day either, Buck-o. Wanna talk or drink about it? Evidently, I’m out.” She said as she raised her empty glass as evidence. She moved back to the kitchen and returned with a bottle of vodka and two short cobalt glasses that she set on the coffee table.

“Sit. Pour. Spill.” She commanded as she walked to her bedroom in search of something to cover up with. And what could he do but follow orders.

He’s eight shots in to her four.

After a comfortable silence filled only with pouring liquid, clicks of glasses and exacerbated sighs turning to calm breaths, he picks up her blouse from the seat next to him, “Looks as though you had a day too, doll.” He comments, not really handing it back to her.

“You don’t know the half of it…” She scoffs and grabs the blouse from his hand. “Coulda been worse I suppose.” Darcy swirled her fifth drink before throwing it back. “Coulda been wandering around here naked before I realized your sorry ass was here.” She snorted at the truth of it.

“Seein’ you, and your curves, was the highlight of my day. That can’t be the worst part of your day.” Stalling, always stalling this one.

“You’re not getting away with it that easily, mister.” Her almost slur was an art form. “Besides, I’m covered now!” Waving a hand at her tank top, yoga pants and vintage style silk robe. Looking down at the robe while hearing the next song come on, another of Ella Fitzgerald’s, she wondered if she was the 'one out of time.'

He simply responded with a smirk as he poured another round.

Bucky’s at fifteen. Darcy’s at nine, well eight and a half.

“You gotta stop stalling Buck-Buck.”

“You gotta stop pestering, doll.”

“Hey, I’m not the one that admitted I was having a bad day.”

“You didn’t have to, doll. You attacked the door and threw your clothes all over the place. Not that I’m complainin’ about the last bit.”

“Well, I’m sure the door was in a more proper working order ‘till someone decided it’d be easier to fuck with my lock than drop a text or call.” She accused, raising an eyebrow. “But you did come over here ‘cuz of a bad day, didn’t you?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe, my ass. You never come over here unless I drag you over.” She countered.

Chuckling and downing another glass, “I like you and your ass.” He mumbles.

Bucky: Eighteen.

Darcy: Nine.

She’s sprawled from her side of the couch to most of his, again, not that he’s complaining. Her legs are slung over his and she traces the plates that make up his left arm; both of which he finds oddly grounding. She’s just the distraction he needed. She’s smart and funny and doesn’t treat him like he’s a broken mess that needs constant protecting. When he first got there she was one of the first to call him on his shit and make fun of him when everyone else had kept quiet. And she’s got the body to match the mouth she has. Both of which get him going, but he keeps that on lock down, never knowing, regardless of his training, if she could ever want more of him. More of them.

That is until today. Tonight really. He’s had a terrible day and needed a boost after another successful mission gone dark that sparked flash backs and memories he thought he’d reconciled. His therapist helps, but only so much. Her. She helps more. Even if he’s not the one talking. Ok, especially when he’s not the one talking. He loves that she rambles at times, like she is now. Loves? Really? Yeah. He does. He loves her.

Bucky: Twenty three.

Darcy: Ten.

“I know you’re all..” waves hands..”Super soldiery and all, but shouldn’t you like, you know, slow down, or not drink All the Vodka?”

“’ur cute when you worry, doll.”

“Pshh, you woulda loved me in high school then. College too. Hey, did you even go to high school? I was looking at my great grandfather death certificate forever ago and he stopped going to school after the eighth grade. Is that..was that common?..”

And there she goes again, rambling away when anyone else would have kept their mouths shut or said something beyond safe instead.

“..Oh..I..uh..Sorry..Prolly don’t wanna talk about that..or maybe don’t remember?” The vodka, right. She stopping drink awhile ago. Afraid to truly and fully let her guard down and knew it would only break that barrier down all the faster if she keep downing drinks. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him. The problem, if you like to call it that, was that she liked him. Or maybe more than liked. But she tried not to let her mind wander down the path of ‘how much exactly do I like the formerly brainwashed assassin turned good-guy, when he probably only sees me as a friend like he does Rogers.’

“Don’t mind you asking, doll face.” He’s talking again, breaking her derailed train of thought. “You really wanna know about the time or just curious about me?” giving her another sideways glance with a smirk as he fills the small cobalt glasses.

“You. Well..both, both is good” she stammers, smiling wide in attempts to hide her blush and previous thoughts from her face, “you know that’s fro-“

Her reveal is cut short by his reveal. His lips brushing hers, as his real hand comes up and cups her face in earnest. Her lips aren’t moving, she’s frozen, but it’s a good frozen. Her surprise is overwhelming her, making her unable to move. Her eyebrows are rocketed towards her hair line but she manages to at least slam her eyes shut. A grin slowly forms on her lips. As he begins to doubt himself in her stillness and draw back from the mistake of this kiss, and soon after her apartment, she grabs the collar of his shirt and draws him in closer for a proper kiss.

Now it’s his time to smile slightly as her lips find his again. Her hands fisting in his shirt relax and move to his neck and the base of his head as her lips start to move against his. His fingers become tangled in her hair. His metal hand now resting around her waist, absently tracing the edge of where her top has risen exposing warm skin, the weight of it slowly registers and brings her from her dream state.

“Hmm.”

“Hmm, yourself doll.” He moves so their foreheads are just touching, his fingers in her hair, thumb rubbing over her cheek.

“Gotta say, didn’t think you had it in you. Thought maybe you went all Steve on me and couldn’t see me as anything more than a comrade.” She said, grin going a little goofy.

“Maybe it just took me a while to finally act on it.” He shrugged, before bringing his lips to hers again.

[honey-crisp-boy-blog]

Haunted (loki x Reader Oneshot)

This one is a little bit personal and I didn’t post it before because I was worried about the response it would get but anyways: You are part of the Avengers and you can freeze objects in time and occasionally fast forward a few minutes and she was very depressed as a kid so she has scars (also everyone gets drunk except for you and Loki. And Tony insists on playing a game). Sundae of Fluff with angsty sprinkles on top! Enjoy!

Forgot to mention the reader is depressed and has scars from when she self harmed. Trigger warning I guess?

You were in the middle of a competition with Wanda on whose power was coolest with Natasha, Clint and Tony being the judges. Until Thor burst into the door with Loki trailing not far behind. “Friends! My brother and I have come here in search of a place to rest!” “What’d he do this time?” Clint asked. “Yeah and why can’t you go find somewhere else to rest?” Tony jumping in while staring directly at Loki. “Come on guys stop being so rude, I would like to meet Thor and Loki actually” you said while trying to keep glass cups suspended in air to make a pyramid. You were the newest avenger along with Bucky, Wanda, Vision and Sam, so you hadn’t got to meet Thor or Loki (or Bruce) yet. “ Y/N, you want to meet everyone okay, this man destroyed New York with an alien army! Hell he killed me! Thank god Bruce was there to scare me alive” Tony wasn’t looking too happy with your protests. “Yeah Y/N you do tend to forgive and forget very easily. Loki is not someone who deserves forgiveness yet.” Natasha added in, siding with Tony. “I’m right here you know” Loki tried to protest but Thor interrupted him. “Please friends we just need a place to stay for a few days. Loki will not be of any problem to you!” By now you had forgotten about your glass pyramid and went to introduce yourself to Loki who seemed rather unamused. “Hi I’m Y/N, it’s a pleasure to meet you!” You shot him a cheerful grin and held out your hand making sure your long sleeve stayed at wrist length. “Lady Y/N, it’s nice to see at least one friendly face.” and just like that you were obsessed with him and everything related. He shook your hand and noticed the blush blooming across your face, causing your (Y/E/C) to look even more vibrant. You awkwardly walked back over to the couch hoping no one noticed your red face. The rest of the night was filled with the Avengers getting drunk, Thor and Steve’s drink off, and you trying every chance available to talk to Loki. Once everyone was drunk Tony suggested a game of Truth or Dare, which never ended well drunk or not. “(Y/N) are you gonna play? Everyone else is!” Natasha called out from her spot on the couch. “Sure why not!” After Clint was forced to draw an arrow on his forehead in sharpie, Thor had to tell about his first time with a woman, and Wanda had to hold Vision’s hand, it was your turn. “Okay (Y/N) truth or dare?” Natasha was notorious for getting juicy truths, so you went with dare. “Take your best shot, dare!” Challenging her was the worst mistake you had ever made and you knew that the minute the words left your mouth. “I dare you to sit on Loki’s lap for the rest of the game!” She looked at you with the best cocky grin as she could muster with how drunk she was. “Okay” you said shrugging, trying so desperately not to show the others how excited you were that you had played this game. As you walked over to Loki to sit on him you could barely breath so when you actually took your space on top of him he noticed right away. “You midguards are terrible at hiding your emotions, or is it just you?” At this point you were glad everyone was beyond just drunk because they wouldn’t remember your intense blushing or Loki wrapping his arms around you and whispering rather inappropriate things into your ear. “Loki why are you doing this to me?” You squeaked out covering your face with your hands. “Oh (Y/N) dear, I’m just sharing my thoughts with you. Do you not like them?” You could hear him smirking and it didn’t help your situation at all. “They are very… ungodly Loki.” “Well if just whispering them to you gets you in such a vulnerable state, I wonder what it would be like to actually do them to you.” Again you could hear him smirking as he buried himself in the nape of your neck with his arms around you. He had you in the palm of his hand by the end of the game, and luckily everyone was to drunk to see him disappear into your room with you. As soon as the door shut he had you on the bed with himself on top of you. “Darling (Y/N), are you okay with me doing this?” You couldn’t resist him, especially when he had respect for you even though he could’ve easily taken advantage of you at that moment. You were about to say yes until you stopped yourself, realizing you couldn’t do this. You were ridiculed when you were younger, you had been abused physically and mentally by the other kids. Soon enough you fell into depression, and you had too many scars along your arms, legs and body to be confident enough to say yes to him. “I can’t do this Loki.” You said sullenly as you sat up. “Why ever not?” He asked also sitting up and moving a few inches away from you. All lust that you had seen in his eyes was now gone, replaced with curiosity.

You had grown up in an orphanage filled with other powerful children like you. There were two unbreakable rules: No one was allowed to have memories of before the orphanage, and no one over the age of sixteen. Nobody knew what would happen if you broke the rules but after you turned sixteen, you were shoved in a tiny cell, only allowed to come out when your number had been drawn for the fight. After surviving for a whole year, you were finally rescued. The damage done to your body and mind were thought to be irreversible, and in some cases it was. You had only an elementary grade education so you had to go through school, that’s when things got bad. You were bullied by the others for being older, and when you told your friend about your abilities, they turned on you too. You had the atrocious fate of depression and bullies. Now you were in a gut wrenching situation, Loki wanted to go a step further but your self esteem was holding you back. What were you suppose to do? “Darling (Y/N), what is wrong? Is it me? I’m sorry.” Loki casted his eyes down to the floor and it broke your heart watching him blame himself. “No Loki it’s not you at all! It’s just… well for a while… I have a lot of, um a lot of scars,” Loki was now looking very puzzled “ that I made… myself.” You felt him staring at you and you knew how this would end. With him calling you insane and you two never talking again. “Why would you scar yourself (Y/N)? Did someone force you to hurt yourself?” “No Loki, I did it to myself.” You were waiting for it, him to snap at you, but he didn’t and instead he laced his hands through yours. “May I see?” You looked up, not expecting to see him stricken with worry and curiosity. Slowly you removed your shirt not knowing what to think. When he saw your stomach and arms he recoiled and immediately you moved to put your shirt back on. “I’m sorry Loki, I didn’t mean-” you stammered out while tears streamed down your cheeks. “Why are you apologizing? You’ve done nothing wrong darling,” Loki wrapped his arms around you and pulled you closer to him. “ no matter what scars you have I’ll still love you!” You’d been sitting with him on your bed for at least half an hour now in his arms when you made up your mind. “Loki, um if it isn’t to late or the mood isn’t to down, would you like to, uh-” “Yes, love” and with that he was once again on top of you with a gaze filled with lust. He crashed his lips into yours and the rest of the night belonged to him.

[gojiro]

The Vinyl of the Day is ‘Over There: Live At The Venue, London’ EP by The Blasters, 1982. The Blasters were part of the Rockabilly Revival of the late 70s/early 80s, as most famously exampled by the Stray Cats - the difference in the bands though, was that at a bar the Cats would steal your girlfriend, while the Blasters would break a bottle over your head and steal your wheels. 

Formed by the brothers Phil and Dave Alvin, The Blasters were an all-out high energy group best described as ‘punkabilly’ - their music encompassed rockabilly, punk, R&B, soul, and whatever else they felt like throwing in. They were fixtures of the punk rock and rockabilly club scene of the early 80s, performing alongside X, Black Flag, The Gun Club, the Screamers and others. That’s what’s great about this particular album; it captures their energy at a live show, which is where the band really shines. They were never polished or pretty enough to become a mainstream hit band, and Dave left the group in 1986 for a very successful solo career - but they’ve still got a crazy devoted following of those ‘in the know’, and they’re still highly regarded by the music community. And they’re still touring, and I don’t know of a better band to recommend seeing live in concert. Here’s a link to their touring schedule;

http://www.5gig.com/The+Blasters-tourdates

From Wikipedia;

Their self-described “American Music” was a blend of, rockabilly, early rock and roll, punk rock, mountain music, and rhythm and blues. They have a devoted fan base and have received largely positive critical reviews, but have earned only limited mainstream success. Critic Mark Deming wrote of them, “the Blasters displayed a wide-ranging musical styles [and] were a supremely tight and tactful band with enough fire, smarts, and passion for two or three groups.”

The Alvin brothers had an early interest in Rockabilly, and attended concerts by Chet Atkins, Leo Kotke, and others. Phil Alvin remembers that his mother would take him backstage to get harmonica lessons from some of these artists when Phil was still a boy. Gene Taylor joined the band on later records until 1994, performing boogie woogie-style piano. Later on the band were joined by Steve Berlin (later of Los Lobos), who played baritone sax.

The Blasters’ energetic live performances gained a local following, and they became fixtures of the early 1980s Los Angeles punk rock scene. In 1986, members of the Blasters appeared with Screamers front-man Tomata du Plenty in the punk rock musical Population: 1. Former Black Flag singer and current Rollins Band leader Henry Rollins wrote of the Blasters, “In my mind, they were a great band that not enough people found out about. Bill Bateman is one of the best drummers there is, and then of course, there are the Alvin brothers. A lot of talent for one band." 

In 1980, the song "Marie, Marie”, from the album American Music, became a minor hit for Shakin’ Stevens, see This Ole House. In 1985, for his album ‘Lipstick Powder and Paint’, he also covered “So Long Baby, Goodbye”.

Matchbox also recorded “Marie, Marie” for their 1980 album Midnite Dynamos.

The Blasters toured almost continuously for much of their existence. The notes for The Blasters Collection report that in one particular month, they toured with psychobilly pioneers the Cramps, with western swing revivalists Asleep at the Wheel and on a leg of Queen’s west coast tour. The Blasters gave boosts to both Los Lobos and Dwight Yoakam by inviting them on tour; Yoakam would later score a modest hit with his version of Dave Alvin’s “Long White Cadillac”.

Their song “Dark Night” was featured in a 1985 episode of Miami Vice, and they gained more exposure in the Walter Hill film Streets of Fire, (1984) performing two songs for the soundtrack as well as appearing as themselves in the film. In 1987 “Marie, Marie” was featured in the Ridley Scott film Someone To Watch Over Me starring Tom Berenger. In 1988 “So Long Baby, Goodbye” was featured in the film Bull Durham starting Kevin Costner and in 1996 they also appeared in the Quentin Tarantino-Robert Rodriguez collaboration From Dusk Till Dawn. In 2001, the song “So Long Baby, Goodbye” was featured on the second episode of the HBO series Six Feet Under as the song chosen by the widow of the founder of a pyramid scheme for her late husband’s viewing. “So Long Baby, Goodbye” is also featured in the 2004 PlayStation 2 video game Gran Turismo 4.

[markandthemorons]

Two more sessions in one!

As the group look at the shadows and bounty board they are approached by a Goliath wearing a duster. He asks what bounty the group are looking at before tearing the ‘Little Girl (Tusr) missing’ bounty and claiming it is his.

During this Lucien is almost shackled but gets away with it. Offhandedly mentioning you had a bounty on you in front of a bounty hunter is a questionable career choice!

The group plus ‘Trigger’ decide to work together but head off to the groups tavern, ‘With-A-Fork’ first. They walk the hour there and note that there seems to be a shadow in the air, between the tavern and the warehouse they were attacked in. Heroically deciding to nope the hell out of there they go to their tavern and simply state that they are leaving and will be some time, and then walk away again. Trigger is confused as they walk all the way back to Goblin Steves, where they just were. 

They go to Steves and he seems to be hammering wood to the floor over a trap door. Some discussion later and it turns out what he sells are actually goblin goods, because he sends people down the trapdoor into a cave complex that houses goblins, and they steal from them. Somewhat questioning the ethics of stealing from evil goblins they are asked if they can go down and deal with some of them by Steve, and eventually say yes when told that the caves lead to the swamps, where the little girl was last seen.

Climbing down through the trapdoor there are some falls and minor injuries. Trigger gets annoyed at Steve and shoots at the closing trapdoor. A cry of “AGH THEY HAVE SOMETHING DANGEROUS” and “oh no my assistant!” are heard.

They begin to move forward and find some goblins quite fast, but they also notice the goblins are facing off against a large demonic baboon. One runs off, and the party quickly moves in and dispatches the goblins before noticing the baboon is now a rather fancy sounding humanoid shape. It’s clearly a demon though, and the group move to take a route out before being told that it’s the wrong way.

The way the demon is blocking is the right way, much faster, They want to find the girl right? Not learning from past lives they decide to trust the demon. At least I can’t accuse them of meta-gaming!

A long walk down some thin corridors is very goblin free except for some corpses they find. Three goblins are skewered by something large (A SPEAR MAYBE?!) while another it seems has been cut in half by a whip. They carry on but find a warforged stuck in a wall. It seems to not want to move and refuses to let any of the party touch them, soon sinking into the wall. Trigger follows it and finds it is an illusion, there is a rather well dressed woman sat on a stool in a nice looking room behind that wall. 

Surprise surprise it’s a trap, the woman is actually one of the demons that escaped from the ship. Trigger is charmed into shooting the party but after some trickery and invisibility the figure is killed while still changing it’s appearance at will. The wall is behind them, and is now a real wall. Thankfully some Strength rolls break open a hole, only to find the well spoken demon stood there again. He claims the thing they fought was an ally, up until the point it started fighting.

There is a purple wax sealed letter (image of a snake in the wax) on it’s corpse and some gold. The letter is opened to reveal a message:

“The person who is holding this is to be trusted. Only accept if it is sealed”

Thankfully mending is cast on the wax seal and works, but it turns out the letter itself is magical. No curses though! (yet? :D ) They have no idea who it was written for, though, and the demon isn’t saying anything. He wants the spear and whip found and the party realize the corridors they were walking through were made by something forcing it’s way through. Something big...

Moving on they find a cottage in a perfectly square cave. It’s a figure called Firo. Past lives have met this figure and know it is a time protecting dragon with a sister, the sister promptly appearing at the door huffing and storming off. Looks like Firo has done something wrong that maybe some dead PC’s know about. Oh well!

He sells the group some healing potions with loyalty cards for all before telling them to:

“Find the flame, follow the rust”.

He won’t let them rest in the cottage but gives them a room, by making the cottage and himself disappear and making the perfectly square cave turn into a huge wooden cube.

(new session) The group panic and try to find a way out, especially once some vines burst through the roof. It would seem each wall is a single piece of wood and a Nat 20 attempt to break through reveals it is likely magical.

Somehow simply asking ‘can we get out now’ reveals a door and a staircase up. As people are still resting, Trigger lies in the doorway to stop it disappearing while Lucien goes above ground. It’s the swamp!

There’s a large (Mayan style) pyramid not far from the exit, and it looks to have a fire going outside at a small camp but no-one is there. About halfway up the pyramid is a hole.

Lucien returns, they all rest and then make their way to the pyramid. The fire is still burning but is barely embers at this point, while there is food rotting within the tents. It has been a few days since someone was here it seems but how is the fire still going?

They get to the hole in the pyramid to find it was blown open, Trigger recognises its cause as a black powder explosion (woo guns). The hole leads down into a room, while the group one by one get into. There is a dead gnome face down at the bottom, male with green hair. They get a look at the room and discover it is likely a human tomb from about 700 to 800 years ago.

They go West to find a room with slabs with slight indents in them, walls having holes filled with jars and tools that many players could describe as ‘mortuary tools’. Against a wall there, though, is a human male with broken glasses and graying hair. He has a huge burn mark over his heart that must be from magic. His feet and lower legs are shattered and his arms are shackled to the wall, but by being forced INTO the wall rather than the usual way.

Lucien finds out the slabs have small doors on their sides. Most are empty, one isn’t! Inside is a dead halfling, female. She has been decapitated but more worryingly she is covered in blood and upon inspection was boiled alive. Someone finally gets a good look at the human and realises he has no blood in him, and the slab the halfling was in has dried blood on top.

Trigger finds that the human was dragged from the entrance they climbed down into, and it was likely he fell down hence the shattered legs. The halfling was killed before the human, so he was left to suffer. 2 stars on Trip Advisor.

Going back to the main room and heading North they find another warforged, equally distrusting as the last one but with many notebooks. He mentioned that they were sent as a group to explore here by the Emerald Arcana because ‘it wasn’t here before’, which worries the group. Four of the group entered while the warforged stayed at the camp, but after 2 days they didn’t return so he went to see for himself but got stuck as the rope was too weak to climb back out. This explained the camp being empty and why food was rotting but the fire was not out.

Book 1: Trigger reads. Some basic info. Book 2: Lucien reads. It’s cursed! No-one can understand him now (for 6 hours) as he speaks gibberish. The book mentions “Drums behind the mountains” and a “Maliniss” who has a shadow of death preceding him at all times. Book 3: Varsha reads. Looks blank, but is actually a hidden text that is the warforgeds instruction manual. Book 4: Nip reads, more background info.

The warforged has a self destruct which he decides to use once he becomes fearful of Trigger and acid sprays out of his spine turning him into a pile of metal in moments. He states just before this happens that it is because ‘he knows things that others shouldn’t’. Good times.

Going East they find four rooms, mostly empty. One is empty, one has a dead woman on a bed, clearly stabbed. They learn little else though.

Another has a bag in it, Baern cautiously cuts the bag open and 1000 copper coins fall out. He yells that he dropped his axe to stop others trying to claim some.

The last room has a 4 foot tall cauldron in it, and what looks like a gem at the bottom of it. Trigger ponders getting the gem but decides to place a bit of rope in and it burns very quickly. Grabbing a nail from Baern he dips that in but is forced to drop it onto the stone floor as it sizzles and burns away into a small puddle of molten metal in seconds. A Perception check reveals the gem is painted onto the bottom of the cauldron but this must be where the halfling died. Also, there’s no fire under it, so it is un-naturally boiling.

South reveals 2 women, old, hunched over with long fingers grabbing at a much smaller cauldron. With no pause they attack the women and find a small girl against a wall. Trigger yells Tusr and she instantly looks at him so he is now happy, whether about finding her or the bounty payment I don’t know.

One of the women quickly disappears in a pop and Tusr does so not long after, while the other fights. A surprisingly long fight occurs, at one point Baern tries to lift the cauldron up to throw at the hag. He lifts it but falls backwards with it, thankfully not having his head crushed in the process. Trigger is put to sleep (with an EXACT roll of his health) and Lucien gets some shots into its neck. She dies and another note is found, it is torn with only the letters ‘sxi’ written on it. 

They go back and find Tusr by the dead gnome. Trigger makes sure she is ok but doesn’t fully trust her. She is shaken but seems genuine, an attempt to touch her head reveals she is really that height and it isn’t just an illusion. The other woman is nowhere to be seen though. They climb out and realise they still need to get back to Illmere.