#send me more of these if u like i love to jabber

[losersroom]

A little bit of everything for the asks game!

favorite scene: brock at the house party with the third liners. i liked the flow of it, the natural reveal of information through the conversation, the comedic timing, the dynamics at play. any time you can involve the comic relief characters in a scene, i think you should do that

hardest scene to write: i got stuck on the transition from the ice skating date to the first sex scene for long enough that i almost gave up on finishing the fic entirely and had to get a friend to smack me into just doing it. i still think that transition is garbage but what can you do, sometimes you just write a shitty transition between two good scenes and move on with your life

favorite character to write: honestly. in this one it was brandon. sometimes it's fun to write about guys you don't usually think about!

favorite dynamic: brock and his buddies. though obviously i like the concept of sugar baby brock just a whole lot. i could write about 40k more words on the subject

why i chose the title: this is one of my more bullshit phoning-it-in titles tbh, i've never been happy with it. i do like the bit of that song i quoted in the endnote and i think it fits the theme of the fic well, and it is one of my favorite songs of all time, but as a title to this fic specifically it just seems incorrect. still have no idea what else i could have called it though. again, sometimes you've just gotta move tf on

fun fact: i think i've mentioned this before, but a lot of this fic is based heavily on my experiences at the u of m like a decade ago, so all the references are old. the dinkytown mcd's closed down, and then reopened but it's bad now. that skating rink got bought up by a sales conglomerate and now it's an event center. dp dough is still there but the last time i ordered their cinammon sticks they baked black olives into the bottom. so it goes

[islesnucks]

hi bae can i request a barzy blurb based on dress by taylor swift? ty 🥺

a taylor swift song inspired barzy fic? hell yeah that’s like my two favorite things in the word together

requests are open so go send something if you feel like 

also this turned out a bit longer than I expected

I DON'T WANT YOU LIKE A BEST FRIEND - MAT BARZAL X READER

Word Count: 1.9 k

Warning: none

Summary: after Mat introduces you as his best friend and it affects you more than it should, you end up confessing your feelings for him 

Masterlist

Add yourself to my taglist!

His words hadn’t left your mind the whole night, they were on loop, replaying over and over in your brain. ‘This is Y/N, one of my best friends.’ That’s how Mat had introduced you when you arrived at his family’s friend’s wedding, to which he had invited you as he’s plus one.

You knew you and Mat were just friends, you have been for a long time, and it surely wasn’t the first time he introduced you like that. Maybe this time hit differently because you had just come to terms with the undeniable fact that you had fallen for your best friend, no matter how cliché that sounded.

You couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment when it happened. It just happened slowly without you even realizing. Suddenly seeing him hit on random girls at the bar made you feel sick. Suddenly his hand on your lower back guiding you through a crowded room felt different. Suddenly your name coming from his lips made the world stop. You didn’t know what turned the switch in your brain from platonic to romantic love and made you look at him with new eyes, but once you realized it there was no going back and the thought of Mat and you becoming something more was always there painfully present in the back of your head.

“Y/N?” you heard Mat call you, bringing you back to reality. You looked at him still a bit lost in your thoughts. ”Are you okay?” he asked with his eyes stuck on the windshield as he drove you home after the wedding had ended.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”

“I don’t know. You’ve been a little off all night.” He noticed, he obviously did. Because he’s Mat, he’s your best friend, he’s one of the most attentive guys you know and he knows you better than you know yourself sometimes. So he obviously noticed, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t keep on pretending.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” you replied failing to sound as confident as you wanted to. Mat didn’t say anything and the car fell back into silence. 

You looked outside the window, trying to distract yourself and calm down. You weren’t far away from your place, in just a few minutes you’d be in your apartment. Mat had noticed something but he didn’t know what it was, so you could send him a text explaining you had a headache or something to get him off your back and just move on.

At least that was the plan but then Mat turned off the car and got out of it with you. You thought he was walking you to the building door like he had done many times, nothing strange. However he walked into the building with you and got into the elevator.

That’s when you started to suspect something was happening. You looked over at him confused and he just smiled at you, like nothing was going on. So maybe he was just walking you to the door. You decided not to think too much into it because if you did your heart would start racing and would notice your nerves, the last thing you needed was to give him more reasons to believe something was going on.

As you opened the door Mat was quick to walk into your apartment and you watched him with furrowed brows as he took a seat on your couch, casually like there was nothing weird with it.

“Excuse me? Can I help you with something?” you asked, stepping in front of him.

“I know something’s up Y/N. You barely talked today and you didn’t cry, I’ve seen you cry at stupid commercials and you didn’t cry at a wedding.”

You rolled your eyes walking away from him because you knew you couldn’t lie to his face, he’d notice. “I’m fine Mat I promised I just had a headache.”

“No you didn’t. When you have a headache you massage your head and you get sleepy, that’s not what happened today. It’s more like you were gone.” You hated how much he knew you, it would be harder to convince him but that didn’t mean you wouldn’t try.

“Well I’m sorry I don’t always have the same gestures Sherlock.” you replied, irritation was clear in your tone. Mat let out a deep sigh and got up. It wasn’t his intention to argue and he could see you were getting mad, he just wanted to know what was going on.

“Y/N I know you-” he started to say as he approached you but you were tired of hearing that speech.

“Can we not do this right now? I’m tired Mat, I just wanna go to bed.” you said with a defeated look, lowering your town. He looked at you for a minute and decided to push his stubbornness aside. He knew he was right, he’d bet a million dollars on it, but he also knew you were exhausted, he could see it in your face.

Mat walked till he was in front of you, inches away, and suddenly wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. He held you tight as one hand went up to your hair to stroke it. You were surprised at first but then he felt you relax in his embrace. He placed a kiss on top of your head as he balanced slightly from one side to the other, keeping his face buried in your hair.

“You don’t have to tell me what’s going on okay? Because I know something happened, don’t even try to pretend it didn’t. I just wanna know if it’s something I did, that’s all I need to know because I can’t leave you here alone knowing I may have done something to upset you.”

His voice was soft as he spoke against you. Tears started to build up in your eyes and you tried to push them away as you debated what your next move would be.

If you told him it wasn’t about him he'd leave and you could move on pretending nothing happened and dealing with your unresolved feelings. If you told him the truth you didn’t know what would happen. However you knew that regardless of how he felt about you he’d be nice to you. The man was hugging you tight about his chest, refusing you to leave until you told him it wasn’t his fault because he wouldn’t be able to live with himself knowing he did anything to hurt you.

Maybe it was the wine you had drank. Maybe it was because you were emotionally exhausted and unable to think clearly. Or maybe because you were tired of pretending. You didn’t know the reason why you decided to be honest and tell him how you truly felt, but you did that.

“You introduced me as your best friend today, that’s why I was off the whole day, I just kept thinking about it.” you mumbled against his chest, breaking the silence.

“Did you want me to introduce you differently?” He pulled away a little to be able to look you in the face, but his arms were still around you.

“Yes- I mean no. I-” You stumbled on your words, trying to find the right way to explain everything. “What you did was fine, I am your best friend, that’s right.”

“Then why did it upset you?” You rested your head face against his chest again, not having the courage to look him in the face as you confessed what you were about to confess.

“Cause I don't want you like a best friend Mat. I haven’t for a while now and I just don’t know how to deal with this. It’s not your fault, I don’t know what happened or when or how. I have these feelings for you and I guessed it hurt a bit to hear you calling me your best friend, even though that’s exactly what I am.”

After you spoke the room went silent again and you started panicking. You looked up at Mat who was already looking down at you and all you could see was shock. Suddenly your worst fear was real, you had screwed up your friendship with him. It was over. You felt the familiar knot in your throat and tears blurred your vision.

“Sorry ignore everything I said. Just forget it okay?” you said as you freed yourself from his embrace. Still no reaction whatsoever from him. “Shit. Shit. Shit. I feel so stupid.”

“Y/N.” he said, but you were too distracted pacing around the room and rambling to hear him.

“You know I even spent hours shopping for the perfect dress that would magically make you see me as more than your friend, do you know how stupid that sound? What am I? 15 years old?”

“Y/N listen-” he tried again but there was no getting to you, you were too lost in your own jabber. It was like once you started you couldn’t stop and you’d surely later regret all you were confessing.

“I’m an idiot. I really thought you could maybe by some miracle feel the same and-”

“Y/N!” he said now in a much louder tone so you would hear him and place his hands on your sides to stop you. You were surprised, not even realizing he had approached you at some point.

“Please stop.” he added now on a lower more tender tone, it almost sounded like a plea.

Now that you looked at him the initial shock had been replaced by something you couldn’t make out. His face was unreadable as he stated leaning in and before you could even question what was going on his lips were on yours.

You were surprised at first, eyes wide open not being to process what was going on. But once the initial shock was over you kissed him back. It’s embarrassing how many times you had thought what kissing him would be like, but it turned out to be even better than you could have imagined. His lips caressed yours gently, even a bit shily. Your hands met on the back of his neck and his slid down your sides to your waist, pulling you closer. 

Then a thought found its way into your brain.

“Wait.” you mumbled against his lips and he instantly pulled away. “I need to know you’re not doing this out of pity.”

He chuckled letting his head fall back before answering. “I’m doing this because I also don’t want you like a best friend. Because you do look amazing in that dress. Because I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long now. Because-” 

Your smile grew wider with every word and your cheeks turned red. You could tell he planned to keep on going, and you were surely going to ask him to tell you the rest later, but now there was only one thing you wanted.

“Ok, ok. I get it. We can go back to kissing now.” you said making him laugh, already tugging him closer by his neck and his laughs died in your lips.

-

hope you liked it! likes and reblogs are always appreciated!

taglist: @glassdanse @2manytabsopen @tazeboes @barbienoturbby @sweetlittlegingy @petey-patty @mcsteamylove98 @ttylfedora @chieflawyerpastatoad @iwantahockeyhimbo @cherrymaybank

[slashingdisneypasta]

Slashers x Reader(Mostly Chucky and Michael) || Oneshot

Title: Sometimes Its Best Not To Decide //or// She Will Always Unlock The Door

Notes: 

Chucky is in human form here. 

This is a strange ass AU where all the Slashers live in the same time(Including billy and Stu) that caters to my needs to write this shot. 

Plot: 

You want a normal life, but you will always let the dark in. Even if you don't want it. 

Warnings: Swearing, mention of blood? mention of Sawyers?

~~~

It’s been months since I last saw them, so I figured I was okay. I could do this; I could take that last step into a normal life. My final, best chapter.

So, I took the plunge, the risk. I said yes to a nice boy, with glasses who wears a tie at the coffee shop and paid for my drink for me in the morning, and we went out earlier this evening. Everything went great, it was like a fairytale, compared to how the rest of my life has been.

When we nearly kissed is when things went downhill.

As soon as his nose brushed on mine, feather light and not heated at all - nice, -, that’s when the loud, barking knocks on my front door started. 

And I knew immediately who it had to be of course, but I still hoped it was just a really, really enthusiastic salesperson.

At 11 at night.

Of course, I was right initially, and the minute I opened that door all hell broke loose. Michael’s brought in from the rain, getting puddles of blood and water all over my damn floor and Chucky drops him on my perfect cream coloured couch. “What the hell happened to him??” I’m asking, hyper aware that he’s injured but Danial is still standing right there by the kitchen doorway, adorably confused. I round on Chucky, who doesn’t seem as concerned as he should be, seeing the situation. “What do you want??”

“Well, I tried to put him down when I found him but then he threw a fucking handful of mud in my face,” He wipes some of what’s left of the mud, off his face. “And kept trying to come here so I came along.”

“Why??” I wouldn’t have stopped the rude lilt to my tone just then if I could have. He just looks amused, at my anguish though and turns back to the bleeding murderer on my couch, which is turning red. I glance at Danial, fearing his reaction, then turn back pleadingly to Chucky. As if him and Michael leaving now will make things easier at all for my poor, now self-destructing ‘normal life’. “Can’t you just leave? Michael will be fine- Michael you’ll be fine. You always are. Take off the mask and go to Hospital- Chucky. I’m on a date.” I clasp my hands together and try to ignore the pinging guilt in my gut for trying to get rid of them, when I know Michaels in pain. But I told them, I can’t be a part of this anymore! I don’t want it; I don’t want his life!

“Aww, doll, you’re gonna abandon him in a time of need? Here I thought you were the good one.”

“Fuck you!” I am the good one, which is why I don’t want anything to do with this. First it’s Michael and Chucky, then I start getting dreams again, and Jason thinks its okay to come over when he’s lonely, I’ll get phone calls from Billy, and then I’ll have the whole fucking Sawyer clan in my home. As much as it hurts, and has downsides like leaving my friends, I cannot be connected to this anymore. I can’t say it enough! I want a normal life! And they know that! “Get out, get out of my house. And make sure to tell Drayton on your travels that this is not a stowaway home and to stop sending me letters with money, I don’t care how much he can pay me.” I put a hand on Chucky’s back and attempt to push him out of the house. I nearly succeed because he’s letting me by some miracle until he turns out of my clutches and back into the living room. Damnit!

I watch, hopelessly as he plops himself down in an armchair. And turns… to… Danial. “So, you’re the new toy?”

“U-Um, sorry? I-s that Michael Myers? Are you- “

“Charles Lee Ray, nice to meet you. Y/N tell you we’re old buddies?” A devious smirk reaches his lips, and he really is a concerning picture right then. With wild hair and a muddy coat. Oh crap, he’s getting mud on my armchair.  “No, I guess she wouldn’t. Too much of a priss to be connected to me.” A second passes and Chucky raises his eyebrows like he just remembered something. “Oh! Have you heard of Fredrick Krueger? He was on the news some years back, she’s pals with him to-“To stop him from talking, I grab a pillow and viciously hit him in the face with it.

Then I kneel down and put it under Michaels head, carefully. I guess there’s no getting rid of them now, the damage is done.

Danial looks to me, looking horrified myself even compared to his pale face. Quickly, I go towards him and try to explain. “I knew him as a kid, I don’t hurt people Danial- “What else can I say? Its best to be straight to the point and focused then to jabber on. I’ve done this all before.

Slowly, he nods. As if he understands. But he doesn’t look at my face, just the floor and occasionally he glances at either Michael or Chucky. “I think I need to go home, Y/N. I, I’m sorry.”

“No, I am.” I sigh, with a severely heavy heart as he walks past me knelt on the floor by the infamous Michael Myers, and leaves. As soon as the door shuts and the sound of rain is muffled, I turn furiously to Chucky. “You should be sorry, too.”

He levels with me, eyes going dark and smirk twisting into a dangerous grimace. “Look, Y/N, you let us in- “

“You pushed your way in! -“

“Irrelevant. You knew who would be at the door, more or less. You knew it would be one of us at least. You can try to pretend to be Plain Jane all you like, but when the wolf comes knocking on your door, you will always open it for him. Your soul is slate grey, get the fuck over it.”

I can’t agree with that because that life, is not what I want. But I can’t disagree either because the simple fact that Michaels hair between my fingers, as I comfort him mask-less makes me feel warm inside. Comfortable, in the right place.

While I get up and grab the medical kit, Chucky pulls out a cigarette and a lighter and lights up, and Michael shifts on the couch tiredly. “I didn’t come up with the Plain Jane thing, by the way. That was Ghostface boy.”

“So, this has been a topic of conversation??” I ask, sternly, half a decibel from vicious really. He chuckles, and nods, causing me to sigh heavily and start looking for Michael’s wound. Really, it could be anywhere. His outfits ripped up in places and there’s blood everywhere. Probably not all his, but it’s still very confusing.

He blows tobacco smoke into my living room. “Hehe, yep.” I find the wound and clear the area, to start cleaning it. Its on Michaels side, as if someone took a machete Jason style and wacked him right in the side with it. Not too deep, though. He’s just lost a lot of blood. I get a roll of toilet paper and get to work cleaning the area. It smells terrible. I don’t think people talk about the smell, enough. It really is rank. At least for me. So metallic, and totally unbreathable.

Quietly, I excuse my actions to them both. “I just don’t think, that because I love you,” And, by that, I mean all of them. Someone had to in this life and I guess that’s me, despite everything they’ve done. That’s what I tell myself. “That I should be taken away from my life, because of it.”

“But, there’s a part of you that loves it. The chaos and danger. Every good girl does, and yours grows every time one of us contacts you.”

“How dare you be so deep.” I half joke, carefully cleaning closer to the gash so Michael won’t move. When I’m done with that, I throw the tissues indifferently to the floor, where Chucky already tread mud. Its not like it can get any worse. Not wanting to talk about this anymore, I start sewing up Michael, feigning the fact that I need to concentrate. I know Chucky knows that, at this point, I don’t need to concentrate when doing this -I’ve stitched him and the rest up enough times to do it with my eyes closed,- but he grants me a few minutes of silence, thank goodness.

When I finish, I wipe the area quickly, but carefully to get every possibly infected spot with a medical wipe and get up. “Michael, you should be okay in the morning. I mean, I would recommend to anyone but you that you should rest for a few more days, but I know you wont. So, I’m just putting that idea out there at this point.” Wiping blood off my hands and onto my jeans -date jeans!!- I turn tiredly to Chucky who’s just quietly chain smoking away on the chair. “Are you gonna stay tonight? Cuz if you are, you’re taking a shower. You already owe me 15 bucks to get the mud out of that chair.”

“A gracious offer, but I got a hiding place for tonight.” He aims a dirty smirk at me then, hinting at something about his new hiding place that I really don’t want to think too hard about, and then pushes off the chair. He walks on by me, but before he can pass, he stops and turns to me one last time. “Think about what I said, Y/N. You’re lucky you get to live both worlds- even with us crashing into this one too often. If it were up to just Michael or Jason, or even Freddy, and definitely those crazy hick Sawyers, you wouldn’t see normal life again. You’d be kept in a basement, or a coma. Be happy with what you have, because we love you too. But not enough to respect your freedom if you go too far.” He looks down at me carefully through his hair. “Got it?”

Same old threats… “Yeah, I got it.” … But they’re getting closer to being real, I know that. Not all the love and care in the world could change their inability to handle loss without a fight. And if it came to a fight, I would most definitely lose.

A few minutes after he leaves, I check on Michael again and find he’s sleeping peacefully on the couch. If I was honest with myself, I like him there. I like having him around- I like having them all around. A musty old forest zombie isn’t so scary when you come to feel safe with him around, and nightmares aren’t so bad when they include mostly bad puns and dad jokes. Just like a crazy, possibly incestuous, definitely cannibalistic and slightly off the hanger family isn’t unbearable when they leave aside a plate of veggies just for you because they know you won’t eat human.

I love them, and I want them around. And if I was honest with Chucky, I would agree that I couldn’t survive without the splash of danger and extraordinary in my life. But I won’t, because if I do then I’m locked in, but then again if I say it isn’t true then I’m lying to myself. And he might leave and take the rest with him. So, sometimes it’s best not to decide.

Finally, I turn off the light and whisper goodnight to Michael and go to bed.

[turnaboutimagines]

ok i know i only usually send in a few at a time but i am just LOVING the idea of simon with 185. “I don’t want to hurt you.” - “I’d like to see you try.” tbh?? like he's teaching reader how to swordfight and they're just Really Inexperienced? hattie pleas i beg of u gimme the Good Shit -❤

Ah, swordplay fic with Simon… that’s good stuff, alright, pal!  Leaned into the localization’s characterization here.  Reader makes a bad pun in this one, I could not help myself.  Prompt is from this list!

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t nervous about having Simon teach you swordplay.  As much as you want to be able to share his hobby, along with starting to exercise with him… this is pretty intimidating.

The polished wooden katana in your hands feels pleasantly cool against your sweaty palms as you adjust your grip.  A small comfort.  The past couple of sessions had been spent with him teaching you the basic components and stances of swordplay.  All leading up to today, when the two of you are going to cross blades for the first time.

You look down at the pale wood of the blade, admiring the craftsmanship for a few moments before looking up to him.  “…So, we’re actually going to be using these wooden swords for this, huh?  They’re kinda heavy…”

“Bokken.”

“What?”

“These types of practice swords are called ‘Bokken’,” he reminds you, mild exasperation giving way to a teasing lilt in his voice.  “Have some class.”

“Well, somebody’s being a bit of a stickler for the details.”

“Hmph.  These are not sticks, that’s like comparing a forged blade to an ingot of steel.”  The sour look on his face is absolutely priceless and you can’t help but grin, feeling proud of yourself for getting under his skin for once.  It’s a definite confidence booster, that’s for sure.

“Oh, come on, you have to admit that was a clever pun!”

“The only thing I’m going to admit is that you’re doing a rather poor job stalling for time.  Enough jabbering.”  He raises his Bokken into position to punctuate his order, quickly wiping the grin off your face.

And you’ve been read like a book, as always.

You respond by raising your sword, newfound confidence waning.  “I just… don’t want to hurt you.”

Something about what you just said must’ve been awfully funny, because he lets out a snort.  “Heh, I’d like to see you try.  Besides, that’s what practice swords are for, my dear…”  (Aw, that was almost swee—) “…little novice.”

(Bastard.)

Before you could come up with a witty retort, he lunges forward, blade ready to strike.  You’re able to defend yourself successfully at the last moment, blocking his hit as you take an instinctive step back.  The dance of clashing wooden blades begins, him pressing ever forward and you sidestepping and moving backwards.

Any complacency he’d subtly instilled in you before beginning the swordplay is quickly swept out from under you—it’s a struggle.  But you’re learning faster than you expected, able to implement the movements he’d taught you from your lessons into this sparring match.  Still, it’s no contest, given his years of experience and ironclad focus.

Your nerves similarly evaporate as the two of you spar.  It’s actually… a lot of fun.  Even though you catch him intentionally trying to throw you off balance with the occasional jape or flirtation, he never takes the chance to land cheap blows on you.  He just seems to enjoy making you squirm while you’re too focused to quip back at him.  Plus, it isn’t like he exactly needs to resort to cheap tricks when he’s landing blows on you with incredibly ease due to your inexperience.

Still, every hit he lands on you is precise and controlled, simple light taps.

You aren’t sure how long the match lasts for, all you know is that you’re having a great time… even if he is absolutely wiping the floor with you.  However, it comes to an end when you manage to finally out maneuver him, using his expectations of you against him.  In a clever move, you act like you’re going to feint using the method he’d taught you, only to carry through with the blow at the last possible moment.

The wood of the sword connects to his shoulder with an audible smack.

There’s a moment of frozen silence as you both process what just happened.  His eyes are wide with surprise that you’d actually managed to hoodwink him, but you’re more concerned about the fact that you’d actually hit him.  With force.

Dropping your training sword to the ground, you quickly rush over to him.  “I-I’m sorry!” 

He lets out a laugh, eyes crinkling in one of his rare smiles—anything but angry or stern—as he drapes one arm around your waist and pulls you close.  “Tsk.  Not bad.  Perhaps you do have a glimmer of potential after all…”

“Really?”

“Just not class,” he says with an insufferably smug smirk and raised chin.

“H-Hey!  That’s still rude.”  For good measure, you give him a playful smack on the chest and earn a low, rumbling chuckle from him.

“…Need I remind you that you’re the one who oh-so-rudely wounded me?  Seems to me a case of the pot calling the kettle black.”  A pause before a devilish smirk breaks out across his face as suggestion creeps into his voice.  “But I suppose that you can at least apologize for your transgression by kissing it better.”

“You are absolutely unbelievable,” you say with a blush as you avert your gaze, his teasing having precisely the effect he intended.

“Ha!  Pot meet kettle.”

Unable to stand that pleased look of his any longer, you take his cheeks in your hands and draw him close to kiss it off of his stupid face.  He immediately returns the kiss and tightens his grip around your waist to pull you closer… but simultaneously crouches down, bringing you along with him.  You’re momentarily confused until you hear his Bokken carefully hit the mat on the ground.  You can’t help but smile into it as you realize what just happened.

His newly freed hand grasps the back of your neck, erasing your own smile as he deepens the kiss.

Absolutely unbelievable, indeed…

[adapembroke]

Hi I was wondering if you could advise me on something, no worries if not! So I don't practice tarot but Im hugely interested in it and find comfort in the idea of it- I've just never picked up a deck- but lately I've been thinking about getting a tattoo of some variation of 'the fool' card as it really resonates with me so I was wondering if u think this is appropriate given I don't practice, I don't know enough about the community to know if it's at all offensive??, ty + i love your blog!

Thanks, anon!!

The choice to get a tattoo is super personal, but I’m happy to share some thoughts. Do with them what you will. 

The Fool card from the Rider-Waite-Smith deck is in the public domain. (At least it is in the United States. I’m not up on international copyright law.) That means you have the legal right to do whatever you want with that card. If anyone thinks they own the Fool card, they can take it up with zombie Pamela Coleman Smith. 

The Fool character belongs to humanity. It’s not a super-secret occult possession of the Tarot Readers Club. “The Fool” is an archetype that shows up over and over again in the collective unconscious. It’s less of a Thing and more like a template that artists and writers and psychologists and diviners use to understand people and create characters. Tarot is one gateway to the archetype, but there are many others. 

You might not be an expert in Tarot cards, but if you find the Fool resonates for you, you probably recognize it from stories that you do know well (Captain Jack Sparrow, Adam Sandler’s characters, Coyote, Loki, etc. etc.). If you like the Fool enough to get it tattooed on your body, I bet you’d get a lot out of reflecting on the places where you find the Fool in culture and reading about it in Tarot books. (I recommend Modern Tarot by Michelle Tea and 78 Degrees of Wisdom by Rachel Pollack.) I think that doing that learning as much as you possibly can about it will help you decide what to do.

As for what the Tarot community would think, I suspect the worst thing that will happen is a Tarot reader might see your tattoo, start buzzing like an excited bee, and jabber at you about their favorite deck. How would that make you feel?

A less permanent way of testing of how you might feel about that would be to get a t-shirt with the Fool on it and see how you feel about how people react to that. A quick search on Society6 brought up 616 results, so it looks like you might have a few to choose from.*

Lastly, a potential note of caution. I have had The Fool show up in readings with the meaning “you idiot,” which is what “fool” means in common parlance. Tarot readers know that the Holy Fool is a sacred office, but most people don’t. You might want to consider how you’d feel about people seeing your tattoo and thinking “dumbass.” No judgement here. Just something to think about.

If you decide to get a Fool tattoo, send me a picture? I’d love to see what you decide on.

*I am not an affiliate of Society6.

[lovelyyjh]

crazy in love || 5

↬pairing: yoon jeonghan x reader

↬genre: F L U F F, humor

↬warnings: the SOFTEST, everyone’s a baby, stupid humor, minor swearing

↬word count: 1.3k

↬a/n: double update tonight! hopefully it’ll make up for the short chapters. so this chapter is a flashback and it’s the summer after their kindergarten year. and yes i know, no sane parent would send their six year old child to a sleep away camp but we’re gonna pretend okay. as usual, thank you for reading and let me know what you think!

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“i don’t wanna go!” you looked up and over at the boy who was struggling with his mom over going into the camp. you frowned and cocked your head to the side. why was he so upset? summer camp is fun! you reached up and tugged on a counselor’s shirt and asked if you could go over there, getting a nod in return. you waddled over to the boy, tapping him on the shoulder gently. he turned around, his lip in a pout and his eyes watery and red.

“hi, my name is y/n!” you smiled, a tooth in the front missing, but not making your grin any duller, “what’s yours?”

“j-jeonghan,” the boy stuttered, looking up at his mom, who gave him an encouraging look, prompting him to talk to you.

“well, jeonghan, today is the first day of summer camp, which is SUPER fun,” you told him, still beaming, “come play with me, i have transformers toys. girls at school say transformers are for boys, but i still have them because they’re fun. i also have cars and a barbie doll too!” jeonghan began to smile, looking up at his mom again, who nodded and smiled. you reached out and took his hand, pulling him over to your bag, “mommy said i have to bring two bags, one she packed and one i packed. i packed the fun one, with all the toys, and mommy packed all my boring clothes.” you jabbered on, handing jeonghan a car and your barbie while you played with your transformer toy. the two of you played for about an hour, jeonghan getting much more comfortable and talkative until he gasped, dropping the car he was holding.

“i forgot! my friends seungcheol and joshia are gonna be here! i don’t know where they are,” he shouted, causing you to shoot up.

“we have to find seungcheol and joshia! if we don’t, they can’t play with my transformer toys with us!” you yelled. the two of you held onto each others’ hands and ran around camp screaming their names. soon, you found two boys talking to each other near the fireplace in the mess hall, one of them with a blue backpack and the other with a dark backpack and skull t-shirt.

“that’s them!” jeonghan pointed to the two boys, running at them and tackling them in a hug, “y/n, these are my friends joshia and seungcheol! joshia and seungcheol, this is my new friend y/n.” you waved energetically and smiled at them so hard, your face started to hurt.

“jeonghan, my name is pronounced joshua, not joshia,” the boy with the blue backpack explained.

“shut up, joshia.”

“hey! my mom said shut up is a bad word.”

“but shut up is two words,” you piped up looking back and forth between the three boys. seungcheol stepped forward and examined you closely.

“she’s a girl. why do you think she’s cool enough to be friends with us? girls aren’t cool.” you gasped and put your hand over your heart dramatically.

“i am cool! look, i’ll show you.” you reached into your backpack and pulled out your favorite object in the entire world. jeonghan went to stand beside you as the other boys’ jaws dropped.

“see, seungcheol, she has transformers toys, so she’s super cool.”

“can i play with it?” joshua asked, smiling sweetly at you. you grinned and nodded, motioning for all of them to sit down as you brought out all your toys.

“she has a barbie! that’s too girly,” seungcheol said, crossing his arms. you frowned and hit him in the shoulder with the doll, causing him to flinch.

“barbie is awesome! she can ride in cars and hang out with transformers. she’s badass. i heard that word on a tv show.” you grinned proudly, holding up your barbie doll. all three boys looked at it in amazement before repeating the new word they learned.

“badass.” you all four laughed together and continued to play for the rest of the afternoon.

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that night, you were all sitting on a log at the campfire, you next to jeonghan, who was next to seungcheol, who was next to joshua. the three of you ate s’mores and told each other your favorite colors and animals, so now you were total experts on the other ones. at one point, you gasped and your head shot up, making the boys look over at you.

“i have an idea! all of us should be in a cabin together, then we can play transformers all night!” the other three cheered and jumped up with you to go find a counselor and tell them you were rooming together. you finally found one on the other side of the campfire, who’s name tag said ‘taeyeon’. she looked down at you and smiled, asking what you needed.

“all four of us want to be in a cabin together! i’m jeonghan, that’s seungcheol and joshia, and this one is y/n!” jeonghan exclaimed, hopping on the balls of his feet. you nodded, smiling up at her. her face dropped and she gave you an apologetic look.

“listen, i’m sorry guys, the three of you can room together, but y/n, since you’re a girl, the camp has rules that you have to be in a cabin with other girls, but i’ll take you to your cabin and you can meet the two other girls who are already there, is that okay?” you nodded sadly and held onto taeyeon’s hand when she offered it, waving goodbye to the boys and walking away with the counselor.

a few minutes later, you arrived at a cabin with a sign above the door that said ‘wind flower’. taeyeon opened the door and led you inside, where two girls were on one of the beds, one braiding the other’s very long dark brown hair.

“solar, moonbyul! this is y/n, she’s going to be staying here with you two,” taeyeon told the girls, motioning to you.

“hi, y/n, i’m solar.” the girl with the long hair waved and smiled, her dimples on full display.

“i’m moonbyul,” the other girl said, showing off where she was missing a tooth on her front teeth, looking similar to yours.

“hey! we both have missing teeth,” you said, pointing to your mouth and grinning. the two of you giggled and you climbed up on the bed with them, “do you guys like transformers?” solar’s eyes lit up and she nodded enthusiastically.

“i love transformers! but my mommy never gets them for me since she says they’re for boys.”

“of course not! transformers are super cool and they’re for everyone,” you said, pulling your toy out of your bag. solar squealed and exchanged looks with moonbyul.

“can we play with it?” moonbyul asked.

“of course you can, we’re friends now, so we’ve got to share our toys!”

“we’re gonna be the three coolest girls here!”

“yeah! we’re badass!”

“y/n, what did you just say?” you giggled and turned to taeyeon, who you forgot was still there, shrugging and bringing your finger to your lips to make a ‘shh’ motion. taeyeon rolled her eyes and laughed, brushing it off this once.

you still knew you were pretty badass.

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“y/n!” you were tackled into a hug by a boy wearing a pink shirt, who you recognized to be jeonghan after he pulled away. it was the next morning and you had gone back to the mess hall for breakfast, “i missed you so much last night. and not just because we didn’t get to play transformers. you’re my favorite person now and you can’t leave again, ok?”

“i pinky promise i won’t leave again.”

“no! we need more than pinky promise, we need… we need a elbow promise!” he reached over and hooked his arm with yours, linking your elbows together.

“i elbow promise i’ll never leave you again, yoon jeonghan!”

“i elbow promise too!” he leaned in and wrapped his small arms around you, crushing you in a hug. you wrapped your arms around him as well, squeezing back tightly.

“you’re my bestest friend forever now, hannie.”

prev. // next

masterlist

[laguanrodgers]

While Waiting

(A Short Story by LaGuan R Rodgers)

I never liked when my stepfather would drive me to school. It wasn’t because I was embarrassed by his car; the ’87 Pontiac got us where we needed to be and then some. It was more so how I found him to be weak. He let my mom rule him, and somehow I thought his frayed machismo might find my skin like a plotting ointment. I found myself studying the sky for planes from that backseat window, most of all trying to guess exactly where a given hunk of traveling metal and its passengers were off to. I’m pretty sure my guesses were always confined to the states, as the geography of thinking beyond and what places fit where would get lost just around the time Sean’s car would halt and I’d shuffle to homeroom.

“Can I get you anything else, maestro?” my waiter asks. For the past twenty minutes or so, I’ve been slowly sipping a black coffee and picking at this dry blueberry muffin, waiting for Gianna to arrive. I’m not buying anything else. She is lucky I agreed to come to this damn diner. The parking is so so and some of our most memorable arguments happened in the booths here. Whoever made the menu goes skimp on the omelet and there’s something I don’t trust about their maple syrup like a station with gas prices lower than nearby spots.

“Thanks, buddy, but no I’m ok,” I reply. The waiter has pillows under his eyes, not the glaring hangover or mid-term up all night weights, but somewhat noticeable, especially by another night owl. He has yet to declare his name, and I haven’t cared to ask. I study his veiny hands, and though his short fingernails are without dirt, I suspect he still lets a family member cut his hair. And who the hell is maestro, anyway? I put my head down to tear at the muffin and shift my cup, yet he stays in the same spot. I’m hoping it doesn’t come to the inevitable. The stage where I have to get in his tired face and let him know I’m not with that sugary stuff.

“Their uniforms do nothing for me,” he says.

“I’m sorry, what?” I ask.

“The Trail Blazers’ uniforms,” he answers, pointing up to the flat screen positioned in the corner. A replay of last night’s game versus Oklahoma City is playing with the volume off.

“Red and black work together, but ugh, they can do better with those bending lines that take up most of the jersey. It’s all too…too…too…I don’t know, but once I think of something better, I should reach out to their people.”

Gianna told me the owner of Swan Street is originally from Portland, and the dude has yet to come to grips he is more than 2,600 miles from home. The pennants and postcards on the wall scream of everything Oregon and his Left Coast Is the Best Coast pie is a hit here in WNY. She made me try it the night we first hooked up. I didn’t like it, but I said I did.  

“I’m a fashion student at Buff State,” the waiter points out.

Oh, wow, that’s what’s up,” is my reply. I give him a look as if to ask why isn’t he serving other people, yet it’s mid-morning and empty, and the rush from the Larkin Building across the street won’t come about until lunch hour.

“Where do you go?”

“Oh, I’m not in school, right now.”

“Guy, I feel you. It’s not for everybody. When you think about it, they’re just teaching us how to make someone else money. Fashion is the closest thing to independence if you ask me. But I hear there’s a big need for the trades nowadays because all of the dinosaurs our grandparents used to call in the Yellow Pages are retiring, and few young folks are stepping into those jobs, you know.”

“Good point,” I say with a shrug. I forgot to put on my Timex, so I’m starting to stare at the spot where the tan line on my wrist will eventually be. Doing odd landscaping gigs two or three times a week every summer will do that. Gianna has been sending me e-mails of jobs here and there. I’ve filled out a few applications online, yet there’s something discouraging about completing questionnaires where you can’t tell the truth. Where the hell is she? For the past six months, we’ve been doing the distance thing after she moved to Albany for some job in a big library. I can’t remember all the details, but she’s happy and spends less time knitting uneven sweaters for her yorkie and sending me recipes off Pinterest she knows I’ll never make on my own. Today is supposed to be the day we decide.

“Coming!” the waiter whose name is Jackson shouts. I now know this little useless tidbit because a male voice from the kitchen yelled his name while I was staring out the window. Three tulips stand at attention from the flower bed that needs just as much attention as the blueberry muffin ingredients. She must think I have all day.

The entrance door swings open. A toddler boy wearing overalls wobbles over the threshold. His mouth already has stains of juice, and he wants no assistance from his parents who give off this que sera, sera vibe. The man and woman scan the room, and locate me in their tripod scope of discovery, only to flash grins at me before muttering some baby gibberish to the little one, as he has already rung the front counter bell enough to awaken something in the basement of a day failing to officially start.

Hey, fine folks, how are you?” Jackson asks the newest patrons, sort of doing some half-hearted skip to the front. “As you can see we are jam packed, but I’m sure we can find something cozy and comfortable for ya.” Everybody laughs, except the tike and I.

“Oh no…no…no, Brady,” the mother says, smiling once she realizes her little person is running toward my booth. She is too late. He grabs the second menu from the table, and waves it wildly like my grandmother sometimes does with those usher appointed fans during stuffy marathon church services.

“You eat,” is what I make out from the boy. “Him eat, right?”

“I’m so sorry,” the mother says. “He’s a traveler.”

I look at the father who just shakes his head, as if there is more he wishes he could tell me over a Cuban and some bourbon.  

By now, the mother comes over to my booth and ushers away her little explorer by the arm.  

“Him eat, right?” continues the boy. “Him do it…”

“Yes, honey,” says his mom. “Go to Daddy.”

“This is why I hate going too many places in a day,” the father says in a tone somewhere between madness and unbridled surrender.

“It’s fine,” the mother says. “It really is ok.”

“Well, let’s get you guys seated,” Jackson breaks in, mustering up a manufactured smile he’s most likely perfected in the back kitchen or voguing outside one of his textile classes.

I look at the clock on the wall behind the front counter, and spread some butter on the muffin.

  When Gianna moved into her upstairs apartment on Claremont Ave. with her two girlfriends, I helped them. Being her boyfriend, I knew such heavier things would fall to me. We found a way to defy trigonometry, stubbornly bending half painted corners with used furniture and appliances. She is the organized type of XX and that day the Eisenhower in her began to bloom. She elected to drive the U-Haul with Jamie and Allison, as I was content to drive my own car and meet them at the new place. My commander of a woman backed the truck on to the lawn, got out and handed her troupe instructions and goals written on loose-leaf. I put the paper in my back pocket, and just grabbed labeled boxes. The first few trips, I placed them where they needed to be, the carefully taped cardboard containing shampoo, tampons, and razors found their home in the bathroom. Maybe it was because no one else’s boyfriends showed up until I was a sweat stained version of former self, or the way Gianna stood in the downstairs doorway with frustration when her full proof battle maps left no margin for things falling apart or how the summer rain would slap our efforts then back pedal into some distant pocket on the other side of town before I could adequately curse it, but I found myself unashamedly putting boxes in rooms where they didn’t belong. We later ate pizza and drank bottled water on the floor, a collegiate picnic of sorts. Both boyfriends whose names I dismissed looked as if they struggled to please any woman, and their talk of IPAs and invites to join a softball league only made my decision to leave more justifiable. “Oh, before you go, lover, can you help me hang these?” Gianna asked me, as she opened a box marked CLOCKS in black sharpie. It wasn’t her handwriting, and as her and I went room to room hanging ticking numbers with power drill and the dull need to be alone, the thought of that stayed long after I left.

 “Hey, Ian,” Gianna says. She leans over and kisses both of my cheeks before sitting down.

“When did you come in? I didn’t even see you.”

“I’m a love ninja,” she declares. “I move in silence.”

“Well, Ms. Storm Shadow, are you having your usual? There’s a new waiter working, and he is full of life.”

“Be nice, lover.”

“What makes you think I’m not.”

“I know you.”

“Do you, really?”

“I’d like to think I know if the man I love is being an asshole or not.”

I still hear the ongoing jabber of my toddler friend from the other side of the diner, and once Jackson discovers I am no longer solo, he darts towards the action.

“You didn’t tell me you were waiting on a lovely guest, my guy,” Jackson shrieks. “Exciting.”

“Good morning,” Gianna says. “Is it still morning? No…wait…it’s technically morning? Sorry my brain is in every county of the state today.”

“No worries, I understand,” Jackson replies. “It’s finals time, and I’m the same way. I’m living the dream, though. Stress and all.”

“If it isn’t too much trouble, I think I’ll try something new today.”

“You have to get our new red velvet pancakes,” our waiter urges. “To die for!”

“Hmmm, should I?” She calls my name, but I’m staring at little Brady who is biting his straw and too curious to be held at bay by whatever routine conversation his parents may be conducting.

“Ian?”

‘What’s up, GiGi?” I snap back onstage, knowing the second time she calls me is the important one of the two. I shrug and simply say it’s spring.

“I am a horrible server,” Jackson says. “I didn’t start by asking you what you wanted to drink. I’m so caught up in the vibe of you two chirping birds.” Gianna orders the pancakes and asks for orange juice to come when the food arrives.

“Are we going to do this?” she asks.

“I’m prepared either way,” I say.

“That’s not the right answer. It’s been three months.”

“But how are you feeling?” I ask, picking out blueberries I can find in the torn pieces of muffin.

“Ok, I guess,” she says. “I still get sick, and the new clothes fit now.”

I want to bring up something about how I’ve applied to the latest jobs she’s sent me, but I close my eyes and try to take it in every molecule of air in the building.

“What time do you have to be back tonight?” I ask.

“I don’t. I already called in sick for tomorrow.”

“Go easy, you’re going to need those days later down the road.”

“So you’re saying you do want this, right?”

“I want to keep you happy and occupied.”

I turn at the waist and find the tulips outside the window. I wish I could pick all three and the curtain would close.

“And here you go,” Jackson declares with a smile, waiting for immediate approval. “I present delicious pancakes, your juice and our in-house maple syrup.”

“It looks amazing,” Gianna says.

“Is there anything else I can get you?” It’s as if Jackson wishes he were the stack of crimson flapjacks with a melting cube of butter atop.

“We’ve got all the bases covered for now,” she says. With fork and knife in hand, the woman I met at a farmer’s market four summers ago, puts a piece of pancake to my mouth. I submit to her honor, and chew slowly so I can really give her the truth of it all.

“What do you think?”

“They’re actually really good,” I admit.

She takes a bite and her eyes become big with unexpected glee.

“Boy, you better get one more taste because I can’t promise I’ll save anything else.”

“Go ahead,” I say. “It’s all you. You need it for strength. After all…you know…”

“You act like it’s some sort of plague, Ian.”

“No, I don’t. It’s just…”

“It’s just what?”

“A lot.”

“No shit, man,” she says, now with a tear bubbling by the corner of her eye nearest the window.

“We can make it work.”

“Do you really want it to?”

“I’m here.”

“Have you even thought of names?”

“Of course, I have.” Really I haven’t, and now would be a fantastic time for Jackson to save the scene.

“Have you told your mom?” she asks, still eating.

“Yeah, she knows.”

“What are her thoughts?”

“You know my mom, GiGi.”

“I don’t want to play games.”

“I see no ball or joystick.”

“Answer a question for once in your life,” she shouts. By now, the tears have bullied the breakwall and run southward to a place I have little to no access to. It’s one of those classic embarrassing moments when I sense all eyes are upon us, yet I have no hard evidence to support it other than the intuition that comes from past battlefields still ripe with blood. The Larkin Building traffic infiltrates what was an empty place of business.

“My mother told me to be a man,” I say.

Gianna stares at me for awhile before she finishes the plate of pancakes, only leaving streaks of red mingled with the sappy sauce that is the Oregonian’s special recipe. Without as much time to devote to us any longer, our waiter gives me the check and says he hopes to see us soon. I tell him thank you and good luck with his exams before I make my way to the front counter where there is now a female waitress at the register.

“It seems you made a friend,” Brady’s mom says. “He hasn’t stopped talking about the man who eats by himself.” The family of three prepares to leave the diner, a precautionary measure on the part of the husband and father who doesn’t want to cause a scene I suspect.

“Maybe I’ll see you in this joint sometime soon, little man,” I say to Brady. “Be good for your mommy and daddy.”

I foot the bill and tip, and wait for Gianna to come from the bathroom. I know she will want to take a walk and possibly talk more on what is a pleasant afternoon in early May. Once again, I’m looking out the window where I see Brady and his parents walking to their car. The father has little patience, and if it wasn’t for his wife, who knows where that car would go. She is the reason her child gets away with picking one of the tulips I’ve been staring at all morning. That little boy doesn’t have to take unnecessary long walks. If anything, I am sure he fixates on passing airplanes.  

[jd-rush]

Close Encounters

TITLE:  Close Encounters   AUTHOR:  J.D. Rush FANDOM:  Marvel:  Guardians of the Galaxy; Iron Man PAIRING:  Tony Stark/Peter Quill RATING:  NC-17 for M/M sexy times and language. SUMMARY:  Hours after meeting the Guardians, Tony makes good on his promise to Quill.  Sequel to “Units from Heaven”, which can be found here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11102664 WARNINGS:  Spoilers for “Guardians of the Galaxy 2”.  Also, not exactly Team Cap friendly.  Just a head’s up. DISCLAIMER:  All characters belong to Disney, Marvel, Sony, and anyone else who can sue me.  I’m just taking them out for a spin.  I own nothing. AUTHOR’S NOTE:  Thank you to everyone who read my previous story and left such lovely feedback.  This probably isn’t the sequel you were expecting--it’s just a little ‘space boyfriends’ thing to set up the next story.  The Guardians will return.  I promise. AUTHOR’S NOTE 2:  No betas were harmed in the making of this story.  All mistakes are mine.

Tony had to admit that as far as alien invasions went, this one was a lot more fun than his first go round.

“Fuck yeah, that’s it,” he groaned, tossing his head back as he impaled himself once more upon Quill’s cock, going where no Stark had gone before.    

“Fucking perfect,” Quill echoed, bucking up hard, driving in a bit deeper.  “Just like that.”  

“So good,” Tony moaned, clutching at the headboard with both hands to anchor himself as he bounced up and down enthusiastically, undulating his hips, matching the low throbbing bass of the AC/DC song pulsing through the room and the couple writhing on the bed.  “Jesus, fuck!”

“Aw, yeah, keep doing that,” Quill commanded.  “Don’t fucking stop.”

Tony chuckled breathlessly.  “Not. . .planning. . .to. . .” he grunted, grinding his ass into Quill’s lap, wondering if all spacemen were as gifted as Star-Lord.  

Quill gripped Tony’s hips, strong fingers digging in, guiding his movements, quickening the pace.  “Just. . .a. . .bit. . .more. . .”

“So fucking. . .go-o-o-o-d. . .” Tony could barely get the words out.  He was close, so goddamn close!  Bracing himself with his left hand, he wrapped his right around his cock and stroked himself vigorously, gasping with every slick slide.  

Quill moaned at the sight.  “Yeah, like that,” he urged, even as he pumped into Tony, faster and faster.  “So fucking hot.  Do it, Stark.  Do it!”

“Oh, oh. . .god. . .oh. . .fuck. . .!”  Tony’s climax hit him hard and fast, Quill’s just a few seconds behind.  With no strength left, Tony fell forward, crushing Quill into the mattress, both men breathing heavy, sweat clinging to their bodies.   Unnoticed by either of them, the lights dimmed and the music lowered in volume, shifting to some soft, mellow piano jazz.

FRIDAY knew what her boss liked.

As Tony laid pressed to Quill’s warm skin, waiting for his racing heart to slow down, he thought back over the past few hours since the Guardians’ unexpected arrival at the Avengers’ Compound.  Rhodey’s reaction to meeting their long-distance space visitors had surpassed even his high expectations. (“Oh, honey bear!  You should see your face!  Priceless!  FRIDAY, get a shot of it!  That’s gonna be my Christmas card for the next decade, I swear!”)  After a quick round of introductions, he left the still stunned man to sort out the dinner order with the Shawarma Palace (“Just have them send one of everything on the menu.  Actually, make it a double”) while he took his guests on a tour of their new home.

Along the way, they met up with Vision, who was watching a cooking show in the large common room.  After another quick round of introductions, during which he regarded the motley crew with a mixture of curiosity and quiet scrutiny, he bowed his head cordially towards them and stating softly but resolutely, “I sense no malevolence in these individuals,” causing Tony smile in relief.  He had a good feeling about the Guardians, but it was nice to get confirmation, especially since his track record was rather shaky when it came to judging people.  

Not that he was still bitter about what went down in Siberia.  Well, not much at any rate.

Tony’s tour of the Compound showed off all its highlights and amenities, ending with a visit to R & D, where they encountered Bruce Banner.  (“My science bro!” he proudly proclaimed, planting a big, fat kiss to Bruce’s bright red cheek)  After yet another quick round of introductions, Tony gave the group a run-down of the lab’s features.  Rocket’s interest in all his high-tech equipment and projects pleased him immensely, and he freely extended an offer of full access to the lab (“supervised, of course”) for anything that might be needed in their fight against Thanos.  Quill once again warned against that idea but Tony just waved him off.  (“No worries.  It's fine.  How much trouble can he get into anyway?”)

None of the Guardians answered that.

The food, once it arrived, was a hit, as Tony knew it would be.  Bruce and Rhodey joined them because, hey, who doesn’t like shawarma, right?  Conversation was kept light and fun with everyone trying to come up with the most entertaining story to tell (“I am Groot.”  “Yeah, I would have kicked you in the knothole for that, too!”)  Mantis’s excitement at trying a new, exotic dish was charming and contagious, and if Drax looked upon her rather dotingly, no one mentioned it.  

Once dinner was done, Tony powered up the entertainment center.  Everyone enjoyed ‘The Lord of the Rings’ and ‘The Two Towers’, which of course they HAD to watch because Tony had forgotten there weren't any Ents in the first movie. (“Twenty fucking hours of film--how am I supposed to remember all the details?”)  Groot kept jabbering about Treebeard to Dum-E and U, who were whirling around the room, excited to have a new friend.  Bruce and Gamora seemed to hit it off, though it was hard to tell as Banner mostly just stammered and fidgeted--even more so than usual-- while Gamora watched him with curious eyes and a little Mona Lisa smile.  Still, she hadn’t threatened to pull his spleen out and make him eat it, so he was definitely one up on Tony in that department.  

By that point in the evening, things started winding down.  The Guardians had traveled a long way and were tired, so Tony promised they’d watch ‘Return of the King’ the next night, showed everyone to their rooms, then grabbed Quill and dragged him to the master bedroom.

All in all, one of the most entertaining nights Tony could remember having in a long time.

“Well, that was nice,” Quill panted out once he had regained the ability to speak a few minutes later.

“Nice?”  Tony repeated, incredulously.  “NICE?!?  I just rode you for 30 minutes like the winning jockey in the Kentucky Derby and all I get nice?”

Quill gave him an amused grin. “Very nice?” he teased.

“That's it,” Tony grumbled good-naturedly, as he rolled off Quill and flopped onto the mattress beside him.  Oh, he was gonna be feeling that tomorrow morning.  So worth it.  “Next time, YOU do all the work and I’ll just kick back and enjoy it.”  

“So there's going to be a next time?” Quill asked as he removed his condom and tossed it off to the side, hoping it hit a trashcan, but not really caring if it didn’t.  

“Well, yeah, if you want,” Tony replied, grabbing his discarded tank top and clumsily wiping down himself and Quill before dropping it on the floor beside the bed.  “I mean, I thought that was a given.  Mi bed et su bed, or whatever that saying is.  Open invitation, as long as you guys hang around.  Then again, if it was only nice. . .”

“VERY nice,” Quill corrected with a quick kiss to Tony’s left shoulder.  “You put Captain Kirk to shame.  But, um. . .I’ve kinda got a confession to make.”

Tony whipped his head around to face Quill, panic in his eyes.  “Please don’t tell me you’re one of those male aliens that can get pregnant?”

“What?!” Quill might have squeaked.  “No. NO!”

“Thank Christ,” Tony sighed in relief.  “That almost took ten years off my life.”  

“Besides, you were the catcher.  Shouldn’t YOU be the one worried about getting knocked up?” Quill joked.

Tony glared at his bedmate.  “Not funny, Quill.  I’ve read that fanfiction.”

“The what?”

“Nevermind.”  Tony reached down and haphazardly pulled the bedding up over the two of them.  “So what’s this big confession of yours?”

“It‘s just, well, I’m not really an alien.  I mean, I’m half-alien.  I think.  Or I was.”  Quill ran his hand nervously through his hair and huffed an awkward laugh.  “I’m honestly not sure anymore.”

“That sounds complicated.  And intriguing.”  Tony turned onto his side, head propped on his hand.  “Do tell.”

Quill stretched out on his side, mirroring Tony’s position, before explaining,  “I’m originally from Missouri.”

Okay.  That was unexpected.  “You mean the Missouri here on earth?”

“You know of another Missouri?”

“Well, no, but who knows, right?  Big cosmos, lots of planets. . .”

“Never thought of it that way.  But no, I’m talking about plain old earth Missouri. St. Charles, to be exact.  I lived there with my mom when I was a kid.”

“And your dad?”

Quill shrugged.  “He wasn’t around.  Didn’t even know who he was.  Mom used to tell me that he was from the stars.  I thought she was simply being romantic about a one-night stand or something.”

“But she was telling the truth?” Tony guessed.

“Yeah.  We--the Guardians and me-- met up with him a few years ago and he was, um . . .”  Quill flashed a sheepish grin.  “Okay, don’t laugh but he turned out to be a celestial.”

“Why would I laugh at that?” Tony asked, seriously.  

Quill gave him a look.  “I just told you my father was a deity from outer space.  You don’t think that’s weird?”

“I might, if I didn’t have the Asgardian god of thunder on the payroll.  Hey, maybe they know each other.  You should totally invite him to visit the next time Thor’s in town.  THAT’S a guy who knows how to party, let me tell you.  He bought this special home-brewed grog or something with him one time?  I woke up in Vegas wearing a feather and sequined showgirl outfit, I kid you not.”

“Sorry I missed it.”

“Rhodey’s got pictures.  He claims he doesn’t but I know him too well.  I mean, if HE had been the one in that outfit you can bet your sweet ass I’d have pictures of it.  Wow,  I just had a great idea.  Okay, all my ideas are great but. . .I should call Jane Foster.  I’m sure she has a way to contact Thor, a raven or something, and we can get him down for the weekend, give you guys a grand ‘Welcome to Earth’ party.  How long would it take pops to get here?”

“We aren’t really in touch anymore,” Quill said with a grimace.  “He turned out to be kind of a . . .what did you say earlier?  A twatwaffle?”

Tony scoffed.  “I hear ya‘.  Dads, huh?”

“You, too?”  

“Oh, yeah.  King of the Twatwaffles.”

Quill chuckled at that.  “Tell me about it.  I was much better off thinking David Hasselhoff was my father.”  At Tony’s raised eyebrow, he explained, “When I was little, I used to pretend that . . .”

But Tony cut him off, “No, I’m with you.  I wanted my dad to be The Fonz.  Just a laidback gear-head with a black leather jacket, a cool motorcycle and a fuck-you attitude.  Well, I guess Howard got the ‘fuck-you’ attitude right, but he was a total dick about it.”

“You know, I never thought anyone could be 100 percent a dick until I met Ego.”

“Ego?”

“That was my dad’s name.”

“Seriously?!” Tony sniggered.  “Talk about a big flashing neon sign.  Damn, not even Howard was that dickish, though not for lack of trying.”

“I heard Howard Stark was a great man.”

“Didn’t make him a great dad.”

“His son didn’t turn out half bad.”

Tony gave a self-depreciating snort.  “Yeah, that’s just because you don’t know me.”

“I think I do,” Quill replied softly with a small, sad smile, and the sympathetic expression on his handsome face left Tony feeling oddly exposed.

Trying to get off this suddenly serious--and frankly, uncomfortable--topic, Tony did what he did best and used humour to change the subject. “So, am I going to find out how a hot, possibly half-alien guy from The Show Me State ended up guarding the galaxy?” he teased.

Quill hesitated for a moment and Tony thought he‘d refuse, but eventually he said, “It’s kind of a long story.”

“We’ve got all night,” Tony replied, as he ran his hand down Quill’s left arm and stroking along his muscular chest.  “Plus I’m gonna need some time to recover before our next round.”

Quill smirked.  “Ambitious.”

“Well, I’m hoping to improve from nice.   I have a reputation, you know.”

“Very nice,” Quill reminded him, clasping Tony’s roaming hand and brushing a kiss across the knuckles, causing Tony to smile.

“You keep that up, and I’ll just want the Cliff Notes version,” Tony warned with a playful glint in his eye.

Quill kissed the pulse-point of Tony’s wrist.  “I can do that.”

Tony gave a low impressed whistle.  “Oh, you’re good.  I mean, I thought I was good, but you?  I could learn some tricks from you.”

Inching closer, Quill murmured, “My pleasure. . .and yours.

“Fuck me twice.”

Closer.  “If you insist.”

They were so close now Quill could feel Tony’s breath against his lips.  He leaned in for their first proper kiss, only to be stopped by Tony‘s finger pressed to his mouth and a whispered, “Story first.”

Quill pulled away with a rueful grin and a half-shrug.  “You drive a hard bargain, Stark.”

“If you think I’m bad, don’t ever try to negotiate with Strange.  Trust me.  So. . .?”

Quill settled back on his side of the bed, still holding Tony‘s hand.  “So, when I was about eight years old,” he kissed Tony’s palm.  “Shortly after my mom died,” a kiss to Tony’s wrist.  “I was abducted,” lips skimmed Tony’s thumb.  “By a group of space pirates called the Ravagers,” and a final kiss to the back of Tony’s hand before Quill released it.

He recited it matter-of-factly, and didn’t seem overly upset by his revelation, but Tony certainly was.  “Jesus.  Why?”

“Dad hired some them to find me and bring me to him, but when they figured out what an asshole he was, they kept me instead.  It was actually kind of them, I suppose, though I didn’t know that at the time.  I thought they just wanted me around because I could crawl into small spaces to steal things.”

Tony frowned.  “That’s. . .”  There were so many things he wanted to say after the word, but all of them involved a serious amount of f-bombs and vows to hunt down every last Ravager in this universe and make them pay for doing such a thing.

His expression must have spoken volumes because Quill quickly jumped in.  “Hey, it‘s okay.  Happened ages ago.  And really, it wasn’t so bad.  They taught me a trade, right?  And I got to travel around the galaxy.  And their leader, Yondu,” Quill’s voice cracked on the name.  He glanced away from Tony for a moment and took a deep breath before he continued.  “Anyway, so I traveled with them for about 20 years, seeing the stars, perfecting my stealthy skills, making a name for myself. Then, a few years ago, I struck out on my own-- doing odd jobs, whatever paid the most, and that’s how I ended up meeting the other Guardians.  After I stole the Power Gem. . .”

Tony wanted to go back and find out why Quill suddenly looked so sad when he said ‘Yondu’, but sensed it was a probably a sensitive matter that should wait for another time.  Instead, he exclaimed, “Wait a minute.  You STOLE the Power Gem?!”

“Well, I didn’t know what it was at the time,” Quill shot back, defensively.  “Like I said, I was a thief for hire.  It was a job, that’s all.  I did it for the money.  And just so you know, I don’t do that anymore.  I’m totally reformed.”

“I sure as hell hope not.  I like bad boys.”

And just like that, Quill’s impish smirk was back.  “Score one for me.  So, yeah, before I could fence the gem, Gamora tried to steal it from me.  Then Rocket and Groot got involved because they were trying to capture me for a bounty that was on my head.  And so we all ended up getting into a big public fight on Xandar, which resulted in us getting arrested and thrown into prison.  And that’s where Drax tried to kill Gamora but he helped Rocket to break us all out so we took him along and we’ve been together ever since.  Just one big happy dysfunctional family.”  

“And Mantis?”  Tony asked, curiously.

“Dad was keeping her as a pet on his planet, so we rescued her.  Did I mention he was a twatwaffle?”

“Yeah, you did, and I’m starting to think he’s actually got Howard beat in that department, which I didn’t think was possible.”

“And so, that‘s my story.”  Quill chuckled uneasily.  “That must all sound pretty crazy to you, huh?”

“Crazy?”  Tony laughed.  “You want crazy?  Let’s see. . .”  He started counting off on his fingers.  “Parker was bitten by a radioactive spider and can now climb walls using just his fingertips.  Bruce overdosed on gamma radiation during an experiment that went spectacularly wrong and turns into the Unjolly Green Giant when he stubs his big toe.  Our two super soldiers, Bucky and Cap, are nearly 100 years old, although admittedly they spent most of that time as Swanson’s frozen meatloaf dinners.  Oh, and there’s a talking tree and a homicidal Davy Crockett hat sleeping one floor below us.”  He gave Quill a pitying look.  “I hate to break it to you, Star-Lord, but you barely register on the crazy scale.”

“Well, that’s a first.  And what puts you on the crazy scale, Tony?”

“Besides the fact I just had a very dirty close encounter of the third kind?”

Quill’s face split into a big smile that showed off his dimples, and Tony had to physically restrain himself from leaning over and licking them.  “Great movie, but I’m not an alien, remember?”

“Yeah, but you’re half-alien.  That totally counts.  And I’ve never been plowed by a guy from Missouri before, so I can check that off my bucket list.”  

“And, of course, there’s always Gamora, if you’re still interested in the full-on Captain Kirk experience,” Quill pointed out.    

“She’s definitely a looker, but I think I’ve got my hands filled with Captain Hottie,” Tony joked, tapping a finger against Quill’s chest.  “Besides, I don’t poach another guy’s girl.  Okay, I do.  Sometimes.  But not a friend’s girl.  Well, not in a long time anyway.”

“Wait, you think me and Gamora?” Quill gaped.  “Oh, God, no!  Are you kidding?  I’m too attached to Little Star-Lord, thank you very much.  

“I can see why, but I was talking about Banner.”  

Quill shook his head in confusion.  “I don’t get it.”

Tony rolled his eyes.  “You didn’t see the way he was looking at her?”

“Well, yeah, like you said she’s stupid hot.  Anybody with a pulse would notice her, but . . .no, hold on . . .”  Quill trailed off, and looked at Tony who was nodding his head and smirking.  “Really?”

“Yup.”

“No way.”  

Tony’s smirk grew.  “Oh, yeah.”

“You mean tonight, during the movie. . .was he FLIRTING with her?”

“Uh-huh.”    

Quill suddenly burst out laughing.  “But that was so. . . so. . .”

“Painful?  Sad?  Pathetic?  Hilarious?  All the above?”  Tony filled in cheerfully.  “Yeah, our Doctor Banner is a lot of things.  Mr. Smooth isn't one of them.”

“Does he have any idea who she is?”

“Not to worry.  He can take care of himself.  Big green rage monster, remember?  Plus I have a hunch deadly female assassins are kinda his type.”  Tony rolled onto his back with a snort of amusement.  “Oh man, I just had a thought.  Gamora and Black Widow in the same room.”

“Is that gonna be a problem?”

“Let’s just say that maybe you better keep a close eye on Little Star-Lord.”

“I’d rather keep an eye on yours,” Quill leered, running his gaze up and down Tony’s toned body, barely covered by the crumpled sheets.

“Pervert.  I like that in a person.”

“Perverted bad boys.  I’m two for two.”  Quill reached over, trailing his fingers lightly down Tony’s neck and along his collarbone.  Tony watched as his gaze was drawn to the ugly circular scar where the arc reactor once resided, and waited anxiously for the inevitable questions, but was surprised when Quill instead inquired, “So this Black Widow is out with the rest of the Avengers?”

“Yeah, they‘ve been over in Latvia fighting Doctor Doom.  Real piece of work.  Gets a bug up his ass every couple of years, tries to take over the world with his,” Tony made air quotes, “ ‘doom bots‘.  Fucking original, that guy.  The Fantastic Four usually take care of him but since they’re away investigating an incident in the Negative Zone, we got the call instead.  You'll meet them when they get back, I guess.”

“You don't sound excited about that,” Quill observed.

“No, no,” Tony replied quickly--too quickly.  “It’ll be great to have the whole band back together again.”

“Well, THAT sounded convincing,” Quill said, sarcastically.  “What’s going on?”

Oh, he really didn’t want to get into all this.  He was having such a great night--the last thing he wanted was to think about Rogers and Nat and Clint and the rest of Team Backstabbers. . .ahh, Team Cap.  “It’s nothing.  Just. . .we had a bit of a disagreement a while back and things are still a little tense.  Does three years count as ‘a while back’?”

“More than.  Must’ve been a helluva disagreement.”

Oh, no, he really, REALLY didn’t want to get into all this.  Not now.  Not tonight.  Just. . . no.  “Difference of opinion, that’s all,” Tony replied, waving his hand around dismissively.  “Ancient history now.  All water over the bridge and under the dam.”

“I think you have that backwards.”

“I do?”  Tony tried to look innocent; he failed miserably.

Quill gave him a shrewd look.  “And I don’t suppose that this ‘difference of opinion’ has anything to do with why you stayed behind to help that Parker kid with a science project?”

“Wow, beauty AND brains.  I think I’m in trouble.”  As if on cue, FRIDAY announced, ‘Intruder alert!’ and a loud electric crack was heard, followed by a string of very creative --and rather impressive--cursing.  Tony grinned maniacally.  “And it sounds like I’m not the only one.”

Quill had jumped at all the sudden commotion.  “What the hell was that?” he cried out.

“That, I believe, was Rocket trying to break into my lab.  I warned him not to mess around with it.  Those locks would put Fort Knox to shame, and FRIDAY is a very vigilant, and efficient, security guard.”

Quill glared at his bedmate.  “Tony Stark, you just kill my co-pilot?”

“No.  But I bet his tail is a bit singed.”

“Are you nuts!?”

“Seven years later, jury’s still out on that one.”

“That’s only going to encourage him to try again, you know.”

“I hope so.  I need someone besides Parker and Bruce to keep me on my engineering toes.  Can‘t let that asshat, Justin Hammer, get the jump on me.”

Quill just shook his head and sighed dramatically.  “I don’t even want to imagine the mischief you idiots are going to get into.”

“Probably for the best.”

“This must be how Gamora feels all the time.”

“I guess we know who wears the pants on that spaceship.”

“You have no idea, which is too bad, because she looks amazing in a mini-skirt.”  Quill gave Tony a panicked look.  “Don’t tell her I said that.  I like my spleen just where it is.”

“You’re secret is safe with me,” Tony promised.  “You know, for a group of outlaws who met up in prison, you’ve got a pretty awesome team.”

Quill chuckled at that.  “Yeah, I do, but trust me, it’s not all smooth sailing.  We have our ups and downs, and we drive each other crazy sometimes, but that’s what family does, right?  None of us are perfect, and we accept that.  At the end of the day, there’s no one else I’d rather have at my back than those guys.  I trust every one of them with my life.”

“That must be nice.”  No, he absolutely was not still bitter about what went down in Siberia.  Well, not much at any rate.

“Don’t you trust your team?” Quill asked, concerned.

Tony heaved a deep sigh.  “I used to.  Now. . .it’s all messy and complicated and fucked up.”

“Well, that’s family, too,” Quill said, another small, sad smile pulling at his lips.

Again Tony felt that odd sensation of being totally exposed, as if Quill could look inside him and read all his flaws and fears.  Just who was this strange, sexy spaceman from Missouri who seemed to know him so well after such a short time?  And why didn‘t that scare him as much as it probably should?   “Yeah, I suppose it is.”  

“Look, Tony, I don’t know what’s going on with you and the other Avengers, and maybe it’s none of my business, but can I give you some advice?  Whatever this disagreement was, whatever happened in the past, it has to stay there.  We all have things we wish were different, things we have to learn to live with.  We can’t change them--we can only change the future.”  Quill grasped Tony‘s hand once more and gave him an encouraging smile.  “Your team and mine, Tony.  We take on Thanos together, and we win, and we save the universe, and we can all heroes, even if it’s just for one day.”

And even with the seriousness of the situation, Tony couldn’t help but grin at Quill‘s heartfelt speech.  “That album was the first one I ever bought with my own money,” he divulged.  “I wore the grooves out I played it so much.  Dad hated it, which made me love it even more.”  He sighed heavily.  “God, I fucking miss Bowie.”

Quill mouth fell open.  “You got my reference,” he whispered, a hint of awe in his voice.

“You sound surprised.”

“No one ever gets my pop culture references.”

“That definitely won’t be a problem around here,” Tony assured him.  “Strange is positively obnoxious about his knowledge of obscure pop songs.  Parker and Rhodey are in a tie for biggest sci-fi nerd you’ll ever meet.  And though he’ll deny it to his dying breath, Bruce has seen ever rom-com and chick flick ever made.”

“And you?”

Tony replied with a campy, “Honey, you should see me in a crown.”  At Quill’s puzzled expression, he added,  “Okay, ‘Sherlock’ is definitely next on the ‘must-see’ list.”

Quill gave Tony a cocky smirk.  “You know, I think I’m gonna fit in well here.”

Tony flashed Quill a seductive smile as he parted his legs slightly.  “Well, we already know you fit in well here.”

A quirked eyebrow joined Quill‘s cocky smirk.  “Is that so?” he purred, crawling over and on top of Tony, pushing aside the annoying bedding as he moved.  

“Oh, yeah,” Tony sighed, wrapping his right leg around Quill’s hip, his hands resting on Quill‘s broad shoulders.

“So, I told you my story,” Quill murmured, leaning down until his mouth hovered over Tony’s.  “Do I get my kiss now?”

“I think you’ve earned it,” Tony said, raising his head and brushing his lips across Quill’s in the barest hint of a kiss.

“That’s it?”  Quill asked, incredulously.

“You didn’t specify the type of kiss you required,” Tony replied with a smug grin.

Quill took the teasing in stride.  “Well, I was hoping for a bit more. . .”  The rest of the sentence went unspoken as he leaned down again, licking a leisurely stripe along Tony‘s lower lip.

Tony shivered at the contact.  “Mmmm.  Not bad.  But how about. . .?”  Sliding his right hand around the back of Quill’s neck, Tony finally pulled him in for a long, lingering kiss.   Mouth, tongue, lips, fluids.  It was incredible.  Amazing.  Perfect.  And a hundred other superlatives Tony couldn’t possibly think of because all his brain could think was, ‘Fuck, this man can kiss!’

Quill’s hands, meanwhile, were busy skimming along Tony’s hips and slipping under him, coming to rest on the his ass, pulling him closer, crushing their bodies together, and there had to be a word beyond ‘perfect’ in some language, but Tony was too busy losing himself in Quill’s kiss, melting into Quill’s embrace to even care what it might be. There was no question he was going to have serious beard-burn tomorrow morning.

So worth it.

After a minute or so of their tongues becoming intimately acquainted, Quill pulled away, ignoring Tony’s small whimper of disappointment.  Crystal green eyes held Tony’s gaze as he said, “Tony. . .”

“I swear on my Black Sabbath tee-shirt, Quill, if you say this is nice, I‘ll kick you out of this bed.”

“Do you like to dance?”

Tony was thrown momentarily by the odd question, his mind still a bit foggy with his desire to simply continue kissing Quill’s talented mouth, but found enough brain cells to reply, “I love to dance.”

Quill beamed.  Oh, those dimples!  This time Tony didn’t hold back and licked the closest one, which made Quill smile wider.  “Just checking,” he said, before claiming Tony’s lips once more.  

And then there was no more talking for a long, long time.

THE END