#someone take these characters away from them i am playing with them like rag dolls

[n7punk]

10k in one day. if you even care

[dutchdread]

Rebirth Update 3

Well, I'm just about done outside of Junon, but it's getting late so I'm gonna retire. First some thoughts though. While the combat here was going significantly better than during the demo I do still have some complaints about certain aspects of it. Especially when fighting some of the larger flying enemies it is quite frustrating that my skills don't work like I'd expect them to. When a creature is charging at me I try to dodge, or use Focus Strike, and it feels like these should both be appropriate responses that will make sure that you keep fighting, but they almost never are. I want to feel as though, if I'm quick enough, there is always a right move but too often there simply doesn't seem to be one and I get rag-dolled around for a while. The same is true for grounded enemies but to a lesser extent, mainly because when getting interrupted while flying it takes longer to hit the ground and correct. I initially felt like the argument between Tifa and Cloud in Kalm was a bit forced. The talk itself was good, as well as Tifa showing Cloud her scar, but her indignation afterwards felt out of character. I am happy to say though that this was more than made up for by their talk in Junon, as well as the frog mini-game quest. Since my favorability rating with Tifa is understandably quite a bit higher than with Aerith I'm unfortunately not able to quite yet determine what part of the differences in treatment is due to favorability and what part is non-optional, but dear lord do Cloud and Tifa have sexual tension as well as couple vibes. The people who used to say Aerith and Cloud have better chemistry because she annoys him should really look at these scenes, because my god. I do still think it was a bad move to make Cloud hypothetical condition so explicit. People always complain about Tifa not saying anything in the OG, but she's clearly less reserved in this game and while it makes for some great moments between Cloud and Tifa which really show that their story is entwined, I do feel that it takes away from the overall atmosphere. Speaking of which, the black robed individuals are also a lot less creepy than they were in the OG, which is partly because of the better graphics leaving less to the imagination. But is also because they're just lined up conveniently out in the open and are talked about pretty openly. I feel they could have ramped up the eerie factor there. Yuffie is absolutely GREAT. She was fun in intergrade but I am enjoying her even more here, which is a welcome change since I hated her in the OG. Aerith so far is also an improvement, simply because she's gone back to being a slightly clueless ditsy girl, which is what she was in the OG. Have to say though, the people who think "someone mature" was in reference to Aerith should play this game because man is she childish in her mannerisms now. Barret continues to be awesome, same as Remake, Nanaki is just Nanaki, no complaints there. There was one weird scene where Barret had a flashback to the end of remake to remind then viewer of what happened and that scene nearly gave me a whiplash with how it was put together but for the rest everything has been pretty good when it comes to direction, not that there has been much to see in that regard since the game has essentially slotted in two massive side-quest areas right next to each other. Also, without explaining that you need to go to yunon first before you can access some of those quests. Also, am I the only one who is annoyed by the summons in Chadleys VR? I was fighting phoenix, I was absolutely destroying him. He has like 3% life left after I stagger him, and he just uses rebirth flame and kills my entire party, couldn't interrupt or do anything. Sometimes the game makes you too helpless. Also also, my abilities are pilling up, kinda makes me wish that instead of R1 giving you access to regular team abilities it was just another hotkey button, I need more of those. Have to end on a good note though....Man Tifas abbs look good in this game.

[afaimsarrowverse]

The 14 Creepiest Arrowverse Villains:

Yes, this one should have been made for Halloween. But after the year we just had, let’s take comfort in the fact that were are not forced to ever meet this guys here on the street in the dark. While two of the villains on this list had rather big seasonal arcs, I specifically disqualified characters from here, have proper motivations and character arcs as well as villains, who are creepy but at the same time quite a lot of fun. This why you won’t find Alice, her Mouse, Ramsay, Eobard, the Trickster, Mallus, Neron or even the Thinker here.

This list mainly consists of people we want to put back in the box, they got out of, until not seeing them at least for a season or so, and who we want to yell at: „What’s wrong with you!“ while they are on screen.

 14.  Toyman Senior (Winslow Schott Sr., Supergirl, Henry Czerny)

Technically this one should not be on this list, because he was redeemed in Season 5, however that happend after his death and on Earth Prime rather than Supergirls Original Eart,h so we will ignore that for now (also I wrecked my head whom from „Supergirl“ to put on here, so I overlooked that on purpose). Toyman is more creepy as a concept than in reality. He blows up kids (and other than the Trickster is no fun at all while he is doing it), threatened the life of his son to get his wife to leave him and did God knows what else to said wife and son. And did not even stop terrorizing people after his death. Can you imagine growing up as Toyman’s son? Poor Winn, you truly deserved better!

 13. Bug Eyed Bandit (Brie Larvan, Queen Bee, The Flash, Arrow, Emily Kinney)

Yes, it’s because of the Bees. Because she controls Mechanical Bees that sting and kill people! I am sorry, but what’s your problem, can’t you just kill your enemies like a normal person, Brie? Not to mention the whole Felicity-thing, because yes it’s totally normal to go around and kidnap and threaten to get what you want and then try to murder again. I still do not get why they let her into the Young Rogues anyway, but then … most members of that gang were all wrong, weren’t they?

 12. Garfield Lynns (Arrow, Andrew Dunbar)

Most of us have tried to forget about Season 1 Episode „Burned“ for several reasons. But the villain of it is also one of those. Because, yes Mick was a Pyromanic as well, but for more complex reasons. Garfield Lynns was a fire fighter who started burning people and ended burning himself to death because of reasons and … well let’s be honest, he was nuts and burning people is not cool at all!

 11. Jake Simmons (Deathbolt, Arrow, The Flash, Doug Jones)

That’s what you get, if you hire a creature actor (no offense, Doug, we love your work!) to play a psychopatic villain. Occasionally kind of fun, yes, but mostly Simmons is crazy and creepy, and we never liked him very much, but crucial Captain Cold killed him with a flimsey excuse, which no one ever bought, and let’s put it that way: If Leonard killed him just like that, there had to be something wrong with him in a big way, and yes, the hints were there, so, yeah, what a creep.

 10. The Mist (Kyle Nimbus, The Flash, Antony Carrigan)

A former Mob Hitman that looks like that and can turn into Mist. Do I have to say any more? I would take Victor Szasz over this one any day. Because Nimbus … well you would not want to meet him during a misty night, would you?

 9. Murmur (Michael Amar, Arrow, Adrian Glynn McMorran)

This one actually cares about his grandma, I will give him that, but SOMEONE SEWED HIS FUCKING LIPS TOGETHER! So you don’t really like looking at him, and he kind of went over board after he was pressured into joining Damien Darhk with, you know, killing everyone and joining HIVE, who as you recall planned to end the world as wen know it, so what about everyone elses grandmas, they can just die or what? No, Mister Amar, there is quite a lot wrong with you, that’s for sure.

 8. Everyman (Hannibal Bates, The Flash, Various)

That one could be a tragedy, but well, he got so mixed up and wrong in the head, that he became a danger to everyone else. He is creepy trapped between shapes and he is creepy in other shapes because … you don’t just go around and kiss random women, who think you are somebody else. That is just wrong. But Bates is kind of mostly wrong, so, yeah.

 7. Anthony Ivo (Arrow, Dylan Neal)

Ivo is Sara’s Personal Case of #Metoo, which really should be enough to earn him a spot on this list, but there is also his habit of keeping people in cages and the whole „You have to choose, whom I shoot dead!“- thing and all of that is only the tip of the iceberg. Not even Dylan Neal can stop me from wanting to scream at the top of my lungs: WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?! at Dr. Ivo.

 6. Nocturna (Natalia Knight, Batwoman, Kayla Ewell)

We all know the story how Nocturna was not allowed to show up in the Animated Batman Series in the 90s, because she was considered too disturbing (Morbius on the other hand was allowed to show up in the Spider-Man Cartoon but had to … undergo some changes, which made a perfectly good vampire into the creepies cartoon-villain ever unleashed on kids and scarred me for life, but that’s another story). Here she finally is, and yes, she is rather disturbing. Because she acutally knows very well that she isn’t a vampire, but still strings her victims up and bleeds them out, after biting them with laced spikey teeth. It would be kinky, if it were the least bit sexy, which it totally isn’t, so yeah, put her away for good please.

 5. Vandal Savages Hawk Creatures (Legends of Tomorrow, Various)

Season 1 of „Legends“ was quite different than what came after, but „Night of the Hawk“ was an early highlight. While it was kind of a parody, being Season 1 it still played it straight for the most part, which resulted in an episode with the vibe of „American Horror Story“: We are in on the joke, but it’s still Horror. No wonder, after all Joe Dante directed this one. Vandal Savage turned poor teenagers into hawklike monsters, that no one would want to meet … ever. So yeah, thanks, but no thanks.

 4.      August Cartwright (Ethan Campell, Batwoman, John Emmet Tracy, Sebastian Roche)

Oh, God, that guy. So his mother wasn’t particulary ... nice, but that is no excuse to kidnap, gaslight, and brainwash a young girl, keep that girl’s mother’s head in a fridge for years, turn said girl into a slave and get her to make facemasks out of actual human face! Nor is that any excuse for fear-gasing your own son just because you are mad at him. Or anything in any way related to face-stealing, ,killing, identitiy theft, or anything else Dr. Cartwright has ever been up to. Like, seriously it has been a long time a character that desevers to be hated that much has been on our televions screens. Creepy Creep!

 3. Duela Dent (Batwoman, Alessandra Torresani)

Female Slashers have become kind of a common trope in fiction by now, but Duela is kind of different. Suffering from a pretty extreme version of of body dysmorphic disorder Duela sees beauty through a different lense than the rest of the world (we will never forget what she deems to be her face being perfect, even though we desperatly want to). So yeah, she slashes faces, mainly her own, is out to punish people, who force beauty ideals on her and othes, and somehow has no problem with … donating her face to Alice. … Can someone please get that poor woman help, I mean, seriously?!

 2.      Rag Doll (Peter Merkel, The Flash, Troy James, Phil LaMarr)

He did make Joe West throw up. And not only him. Rag Doll is plains disgusting. So disgusting actually, that the producers dialed him back in Season 6 and used more CG and less pratical „Troy James freaks us out“- bending. But while he could be fun all elongaty, we actually prefer him as his creepy original Season 5 Self. He is demented, wears a creepy mask, acts creepy, and we really don’t want to see him do his stuff but can’t look away at the same time. I have no idea why he was in the Young Rogues either, because he is really mainly creepy – und would be the Overcreep on this list, if it weren’t for….

 1.      The Dollmaker (Barton Mathis, The Broken Doll Killer, Arrow, Michael Eklund)

I am still amazed to this day that they were allowed to make this episode. You have to remember „Arrow“ had been only on for one Season at this point and „The 100“ was still about to premier. The CW was yet to change it’s image. Still they somehow got to made the Dollmaker-Episode, which left us disturbed to this very day. What Mathis was doing to his victims …. Well not only Quentin got nightmares about it. Poor Laurel went understandable full addict after almost being made into a puppet by him. So, Rag Doll might look creepier, but the Dollmaker is one of this Serial Killers we never want to even hear from again. It’s really no wonder he was an one-off, like I said, I am still amazed they were even allowed to make the episode on Network Television let alone The CW at all.

[rosethornewrites]

Fic: the thread may stretch or tangle but it will never break, ch. 7

Relationships: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī & Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī & Wēn Qíng, Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn

Characters: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī, Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Wēn Qíng, Wēn Níng | Wēn Qiónglín, Granny Wēn, Lán Yuàn | Lán Sīzhuī, Wēn Remnants, Wen Meilin, Fourth Uncle

Additional Tags: Pre-Slash, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Secrets, Crying, Masks, Soulmates, Truth, Self-Esteem Issues, Regret, It was supposed to be a one-shot, Fix-It, Eventual Relationships, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, wwx needs a hug, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Filial Piety, Handfasting, Phobias, Sleeping Together, Fear, Panic Attacks, Love Confessions, Getting Together, First Kiss, Kissing, Boys Kissing, Family, and they were married, Bathing/Washing, Hair Braiding, Hair Brushing, Feels, Sex Education

Summary: A little making out, and family time.

Notes: Soft chapter, but one that was difficult to write. Definitely look up the song Wei WuXian plays on the dizi. There’s a version on YouTube played with the xiao, and it’s lovely. Last week of summer semester, so it might be a bit before I update.

AO3 link

Chapters:  1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

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

Though at first their teeth collide a few times, Lan WangJi discovers that kissing, as with anything else, is a skill one can improve with practice. He is startled a bit when Wei Ying opens his mouth to deepen the kiss, but he finds the sensation of his tongue against his own more than enjoyable. 

He finds it even more enjoyable to be able to finally give attention to the mole under his lip that has taunted him all these years. Wei Ying seems to realize his focus because he laughs, joyous and breathless and beautiful. 

Lan WangJi hooks his arm around Wei Ying to pull him closer, but he freezes at his pained hiss.

Of course; Wei Ying was injured by Wen Ning, and likely hurt himself last night falling to the hard cave floor in his haste to escape the dog spirit.

As much as he would prefer to continue this, Lan WangJi forces himself to stop. He can’t help but remember Wei Ying’s reminder that their union hasn’t been consummated, and that doesn’t make it easier. He has, after all, been waiting since he was fifteen. 

“You are injured,” he says softly, sitting. “And malnourished.”

Wei Ying pouts, but doesn’t protest vocally or move to get up, which tells Lan WangJi he truly is in pain, and judging from the way his eyelids are drooping, absolutely in need of more sleep.

“I will meditate here, and we will have breakfast together when you wake. We should also discuss my brother’s impending visit.”

“Ah, I guess you want to tell him we’re married, then?” Wei Ying says with a sigh. “Can we at least ask him to keep quiet about it until after shijie’s wedding? She deserves better than to have her happy day overshadowed.”

Lan WangJi has not, in fact, thought yet of how he will tell his brother he married Wei Ying all those years ago and neglected to tell him. But he does agree that the news should not detract from the marriage of Jiang YanLi and Jin ZiXuan, though he disagrees with the idea that the their marriage could be a dark thing.

“Agreed, but…”

He pauses, considering how to say what comes next, how not to risk driving Wei Ying away again.

“Please consider telling my brother you no longer have a golden core, if not the circumstances,” Lan WangJi finally says.

He is relieved when Wei Ying doesn’t pull away, only grimaces, but his relief is short-lived.

“You think he’s more apt to help if he knows I’m broken,” he whispers.

Lan WangJi feels his jaw drop, horror rising as he realizes just how deeply Wei Ying’s self-loathing goes. He wishes he could assure him of his own worth, but he also knows it will take time to convince him. But this, he knows, is his fault. He did not help Wei Ying until he knew the truth, when he should have helped from the beginning, should have trusted him.

Does Wei Ying believe he pities him? The idea chafes.

“You are not broken,” he tells him, “and certainly not simply by virtue of being without a golden core.”

Wei Ying snorts derisively. 

“Then what am I? A cultivator who can only cultivate on the crooked path?”

Lan WangJi gently pulls Wei Ying closer until he’s pillowed in his lap, until he can look at him directly, if upside down.

“Wei Ying is Wei Ying. You need be nothing more.”

His zhiji looks away, his eyes shining in the dim candlelight. Lan WangJi feels helpless in the face of his despondency, knows he is in part the cause.

“I haven’t even told Jiang Cheng. He’s going to be so angry.”

He understands; the secret involves his brother, and he has a duty to tell him first, regardless of how long it will be before he sees him next. Wei Ying’s public break with the Jiang clan makes that uncertain, and it is not the sort of revelation that would be appropriate in a letter. In fact, if it were known he sent a letter to Jiang Cheng at all, problems could arise.

Perhaps XiChen could send one on their behalf, though, asking Jiang Cheng to at least visit in secret.

“I will tell no one, Wei Ying. Not even xiongzhang, if you do not wish it. But… eventually you will no longer be able to hide it.”

Lan WangJi strokes Wei Ying’s cheek, hating to have to think about or reference the inevitability of his mortality. Hating that it is an inevitability.

“I ask only that you consider it, nothing more. I will honor whatever decision you make.”

Wei Ying doesn't reply, instead curls closer, shifts until his face is hidden against Lan WangJi’s side, his arms around his waist, his body further in his lap.

“You are not broken,” he repeats, running his hand through Wei Ying’s hair. “You are beautiful and honorable.”

He wishes the rest of the world could see Wei Ying as he does.

In the silence, he has little to focus on, noting the brittleness of his hair, how it seems as unhealthy as the rest of Wei Ying. But Lan WangJi has never had much opportunity to touch him this way—after XuanWu and when he fell after Wen RuoHan’s death notwithstanding. 

Neither are pleasant memories, particularly the latter. The image of Wen RuoHan dangling Wei Ying by the throat over the steps of Nightless City still fills him with dread. He was certain then he was about to witness his zhiji’s death, to watch his neck snapped, to see him tossed aside like a broken doll.

Afterward, in the days he was unconscious, watching the bruises around his throat fade slowly, fearing he may never wake again as his spiritual energy did not seem to be recovering… It did not recover, but it was not, as he suspected then, due to demonic cultivation.

Lan WangJi wishes he realized sooner. He will always wish that he somehow was able to help Wei Ying more, will always feel the sting of having failed him for so long.

Wei Ying’s breathing evens slowly as he falls asleep, and Lan WangJi matches his breathing. Though he has never attempted meditation with someone in his lap, his zhiji’s presence is soothing, and he slips into the necessary trance easily. 

He slips out of it just as easily a couple hours later when he hears footsteps approaching their chamber of the cave. From the sound, very short legs, the pace puttering against the stone and dirt of the cave.

Lan WangJi is unsurprised when a-Yuan enters. The child surveys them quietly for a moment.

“Xian-gege sad?” he finally asks.

Only then does Lan WangJi remember that Wei Ying is asleep in his lap, arms still twined around his waist.

“Mn,” he says with a nod.

Because despite Wei Ying’s happiness at his insistence that he indeed wanted to be married to him, his request regarding his brother upset him. And it had taken far too much convincing for his liking for Wei Ying to believe he was worthy of him. 

“Hugs make me feel better when I’m sad,” the child says. “I can hug Xian-gege, too.”

Lan WangJi nods again, and a-Yuan toddles over and chooses the most expedient way to deliver a hug: flopping onto Wei Ying and then hugging him. 

He resists the urge to scold the child when Wei Ying wakes with a pained grunt, and instead lifts a-Yuan off, settling him on one knee.

“Ah, a-Yuan, be careful,” Wei Ying murmurs, his voice a bit strained. “You’re getting big.”

“Xian-gege needed hugs. And gugu said you need to wake up for breakfast. And popo said you’re too skinny.”

“Popo always says that.”

Wei Ying winces when he sits up, which lets Lan WangJi know Wen Qing should examine him. He hopes he will not injure as easily once he’s in better health.

“She is not wrong, Wei Ying.”

He pulls a face in response, but can’t help but laugh when a-Yuan imitates him. 

“All right, all right. Let’s go eat.”

Lan WangJi is relieved when Wei Ying doesn’t need help getting up, though he doubts very much he would ask if he did. He carries a-Yuan with them, and the boy seems content with being carried. 

“I did not inquire yesterday about bathing facilities,” he comments as they make their way to the communal area.

Wei Ying laughs shortly.

“‘Bathing facilities.’ You’re so proper. We have a river, Lan Zhan. That and basins and rags. That’s about it right now.”

The river was practical, but not in the long term. Perhaps that was something to address with Wen Qing, then, whether tubs could be purchased. Before winter, when bathing in a river would be less than ideal. 

“I know you’re used to better, but I’ll show you where later today,” Wei Ying says. “Honestly, I’m probably overdue for a wash myself.”

“Xian-gege stinky?”

Wei Ying drops back to tickle a-Yuan. 

“Stinky, eh? You just wait, stinky radish. I’m sure your gugu will want us to give you a bath, too.”

“A-Yuan not stinky!” the boy squeals with a giggle.

Wei Ying darts in and makes a show of smelling him.

“Oh, my little radish is ripe. It’s almost time to pick him and cook him up for dinner!”

“No cook a-Yuan!” he shrieks, still giggling, as they enter the communal area.

“Oh? Should we sell the little radish at market instead?”

“Noooooo! Gugu, tell Xian-gege!”

Wen Qing scowls at Wei Ying, but it’s without heat, a sort of play-acting likely affected for a-Yuan’s amusement.

“I swear sometimes you’re a child yourself,” she mutters.

“Xianxian is three,” Wei Ying sings with a grin.

“Brat,” she says, rolling her eyes, her voice fond.

They’re a family here, Lan WangJi has come to see. The closeness of their relationships brings light to the darkness of the Burial Mounds. He is glad they have been there for his zhiji when he has not.

Wei Ying winces when he settles on one of the seats and Wen Qing’s sharp gaze catches it. She looks between them with an expression that looks far too amused, and despite the fact that her assumption is incorrect, Lan WangJi can feel his ears heat.

“Dog spirit,” he explains. “Wei Ying fell.”

Wen Qing’s expression shifts to concern. It’s clear she knows of Wei Ying’s phobia.

“The damn thing came back again?”

Lan WangJi glances at Wei Ying—he didn’t mention it had bothered him on previous occasions.

“Bad dog,” a-Yuan contributes.

“Lan Zhan eliminated it this time,” Wei Ying says, avoiding both their gazes.

Wen Qing shoots him a grateful look. 

“Last time he knocked into the cave wall and almost broke his nose,” she tells him. “Hopefully all he’s got this time is a few bruises, but at least it won’t be back.”

She turns her attention back to Wei Ying.

“I’ll examine you after breakfast to be sure. Cooperate or I’ll make you.”

“Aiya, no needles, Qing-jie! No need to bully me.”

Wei Ying grabs a-Yuan from Lan WangJi’s lap to use as a shield. The boy just giggles, like this is a common occurrence. Knowing his propensity for dramatics, it probably is.

“A-Ning is giving you double portions today,” Wen Qing continues, ignoring his antics. “And I’ll trust Hanguang-Jun to make sure you’re not feeding it to a-Yuan. He’s getting plenty, too, and we have radishes ready to harvest in a few days so we’ll be fine with food for a little while at least.”

She glares at him when he looks like he might protest.

“You’re unhealthy and everyone is worried about you. Popo was encouraging me to use needles and find a way to shove it down your throat earlier. Don’t think I won’t resort to that.”

Wei Ying, thankfully, takes her seriously enough to behave throughout breakfast. He eats enough that even popo, who seats herself at their table and manages to look both sweet and intimidating throughout the meal, seems satisfied.

True to her threat, Wen Qing has popo take charge of a-Yuan and drags a lightly protesting Wei Ying back to the Demon Subduing Cave to be examined. Lan WangJi hesitates, but follows at his zhiji’s pleading look. 

“Sit,” Wen Qing orders when they’ve reached the alcove “I want to make sure you didn’t break anything, at least. You have horrid luck. Where did you fall?”

“Shoulder and hip,” Wei Ying says with a resigned sigh. “But it’s really not—”

He goes silent at her glare, which Lan WangJi has to admit is formidable. 

“Don’t even,” she huffs. “You always lie about your injuries. Strip.”

Wei Ying, to Lan WangJi’s surprise, actually blushes, glancing at him. Wen Qing takes notice, looking between them.

“Ah, you told him, then?” 

She looks almost amused. 

“Wait, you told her?”

Lan WangJi almost winces at the bit of hurt in his tone.

“That he’s besotted with you? Any fool could tell, except you,” Wen Qing snaps.

“I did not tell her,” Lan WangJi confirms.

He is a little concerned when a slightly gleeful look passed over Wei Ying’s face, replaced with one that is utterly fond.

“So I was the first one you told that you handfasted me when we were sixteen?”

Wen Qing makes a noise that sounds almost like a choke, looking at them uncertainly.

“I did not even tell xiongzhang,” he confirms. “I would tell no one without telling you first.”

Wei Ying’s expression turns to one of adoration, and Lan WangJi starts mentally reciting the Lan principles, as he is sorely tempted to revisit their morning activities.

Wen Qing is still staring at them, and Lan WangJi takes pity, explaining in brief what occurred in the Cold Spring cave, with Wei Ying contributing details. He finishes by explaining the meaning of the forehead ribbons in a wedding ceremony and the bow to Lan Yi as essentially an elopement.

“You’re married?” Wen Qing murmurs, her voice hoarse with shock. “Married.”

Her gaze turns shrewd.

“Has it been consummated?”

It’s Wei Ying’s turn to choke. 

“Qing-jie!”

Lan WangJi doesn’t trust himself to answer verbally and simply shakes his head.

To his surprise, she starts pacing, hands clasped behind her back. He didn’t expect her to be someone who paces.

“And you want to be wed, correct?” she asks after a moment.

Wei Ying’s “definitely” and Lan WangJi’s “of course” are simultaneous.

“Good,” she says, her tone surprisingly emphatic, as she turns to them. “So you’ve had quite an extended engagement, and we can figure out what this idiot gave as courting gifts since you bought a-Yuan toys and provided the Burial Mounds with money. I hate to simplify what is obviously a love match to political terms, but you need to consummate before Zewu-Jun arrives, in anticipation of the question of its validity.”

Lan WangJi can feel his ears heating, and Wei Ying’s face blushes more fetchingly than before. Wen Qing looks between them, and her brief look of glee is ever more concerning than Wei Ying’s was.

“Well, since you’re both clearly virgins—” 

She ignores the “hey!” from Wei Ying.

“—and I am familiar with all forms of sexual hygiene as a doctor, I’ll go ahead and explain exactly what you’ll need to do to make it a safe and enjoyable experience.”

Wei Ying’s jaw drops. Wen Qing gestures for Lan WangJi to sit, and he’s honestly grateful to as she starts talking. She brusquely yanks Wei Ying’s robes from his shoulder to check his injuries as she does, and Lan WangJi has to avert his gaze from his zhiji’s milky skin to avoid reacting to it.

He cannot deny he has thought quite a bit about what he wanted to do with Wei Ying very often almost since first meeting him. Wen Qing’s very detailed and blunt explanations make those imaginings far less fuzzy than they were before. She even includes a discussion of aftercare, advising they keep a basin of water and rags nearby for the “mess.” By the time she’s finished, Wei Ying’s very red face is buried in his hands, and Lan WangJi has to avert his gaze as she pulls his trousers away from his hip, revealing the curve of one bruised buttock.

“And I guess I’ll have to send Merlin-yi to market for the oil,” Wen Qing says as she wraps up both her lecture and her examination. “I’ll send a-Ning, too. Even if we can’t provide a proper banquet, a marriage deserves celebration. You’re family, Wei WuXian, and we’ll do our best.”

“Qing-jie,” Wei Ying whispers, sounding touched.

She offers him a smile and shoves his robes at him.

“If we could afford red silk, we’d throw a whole wedding. You don’t mind the others knowing, right? They’ll be very happy for you.”

Lan WangJi glances at Wei Ying, careful to keep his eyes on his face—he may be wearing trousers, but he might as well be naked and it’s terribly distracting. The look on his face assures him he doesn’t mind, so he nods affirmation to Wen Qing.

“It’s just some bruising, thankfully,” she assures them. “I’d put on salve, but I heard you discussing bathing at the river, so I’ll leave that for later. It’d be a waste to apply it twice.”

Wei Ying pulls his robes on, still red in the face.

“Right, a bath.”

His gaze is shy when he looks at Lan WangJi, who is trying to imagine how they’ll get through bathing together without engaging in some of the activities described by Wen Qing. 

Some of that thought must have been apparent to Wei Ying, because his face flushed again. 

Wen Qing snorts. 

“Not so shameless after all, are you? We’ll be sure to give the river a wide berth.”

Wei Ying’s response is to hide his face in his hands again.

“We will bathe separately,” Lan WangJi states, pulling Wei Ying to his feet.

Wen Qing just laughs at them.

When they reach the river, which is a short trek from the settlement, Lan WangJi insists Wei Ying bathe first, pulling the fragrant soaps he uses for his body and hair from is qiankun pouch for him to use. He knows they are likely a luxury, and he is happy to share it with him.

He plays his guqin while his zhiji bathes, starting with “WangXian” and moving into “Cleansing,” infusing the latter with spiritual energy. He is pleased when the resentful energy in the area eases, and hopes it helps Wei Ying as well.

When Wei Ying returns, clad in fresh robes, he takes his own turn to bathe. The water is chilly, but not inordinately so in the summer heat. He is pleased when the notes of a dizi fill the air, playing “WangXian” as well. Though he composed the song with the guqin in mind, the rendition Wei Ying plays on ChenQing is lovely. Lan WangJi is glad it has brought him comfort.

The notes shift into what he recognizes as “Plum-Blossom in Three Movements,” a song he rather likes but didn’t know Wei Ying knew. Lan WangJi has heard xiongzhang play it on the xiao and can play it on the guqin, though it was originally composed for the dizi. But he shouldn’t be surprised; Wei Ying is a master of the six arts and has displayed such with references to literature and poetry even in his playful moments.

The plum blossom is an apt symbol for the resilience of life on the Burial Mounds and for Wei Ying, who always endured despite the hardships he faced. Perhaps the song is an expression of Wei Ying’s hope, his faith in Lan WangJi. He wants to give his zhiji hope, longs to ease his hardships. 

When he has finished and dressed in fresh robes, he rejoins Wei Ying and asks if he may comb his hair.

He uses his own sandalwood scented oil, giving it the proper treatment.

Wei Ying is swaying slightly when he finishes, the pampering lulling him nearly to sleep. Lan WangJi longs to style his hair, to put it in the GusuLan style as though Wei Ying was marrying into his clan. But he is not, and so he refrains. 

Instead he brushes the hair from the nape of his neck, leaning forward to brush his lips against the soft hair there.

Wei Ying shivers and turns to him, pulling him in for a proper kiss before taking the comb and hair oil from him to return the favor. 

Lan WangJi didn’t expect the sensuality of his husband brushing his hair—husband. They’re married. Wei Ying’s deft fingers make short work of his tangles, gently spread oil to treat his hair, grazing his scalp in blossoms of sensation, love in every touch.

Wei Ying braids his hair, his fingers weaving the locks with care, and Lan WangJi lets him. He is not in Cloud Recesses, not required to wear his hair in GusuLan style. When it is finished he turns to see a flourish of red, Wei Ying having used his own ribbon to tie off the braid.

And so it is natural to braid his hair in return, to weave the sacred ribbon that usually rests on his forehead in his hair, leaving the cloud symbol at the top, adorning the top of the braid like a jewel. 

“Your forehead ribbon?” Wei Ying asks, startled, when he catches sight of the very pale blue ribbon tying his hair off.

Lan WangJi cups his cheek in his hand, moving forward until their noses are almost touching.

“Airen, you may touch it.”

A soft smile blossoms on Wei Ying’s face, and he rests his forehead against Lan WangJi’s.

“Airen. I like that,” he breathes.

They stay like that for a while, basking in each other’s presence.

[carryonmywaywardwriters]

One Day At A Time - Jensen x Reader

A/N: Part Two! As always, feedback is incredible. And, I hope you all enjoy <3

PSA: I am NOT a minor friendly blog. If you are below 18, please come back when you’re older. I don’t want to lose my blog because you were too eager to grow up. If I discover you, I WILL block. 

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Widower!Jensen. Grieving process. Age Gap. Character pregnancy. Unrequited feelings. I believe that is all.

Word Count: Roughly 3,200

“Jared!” You screeched just in time to find your body thrown in the air. You didn't let go, tugging the large, heavy weight in after you. The water rushed around your form. Cradling your fall. An angry cry left your lips as you surfaced. Glaring at your friend as he shook out his shaggy, dark hair. “You're such a shit.”

The sound of kids shouting out their own war cries sounded before they followed. The noise was enough to diffuse the mini war for a moment. They were careening their bodies into the water one at a time. Six cannonballs of various sizes.

“Teach you to sass,” He cackled, wincing every so slightly as you splashed at him in mock outrage. You dodged Shep as you bolted away from him; kicking your feet hard enough that Jared couldn't see well enough to dive at you until you had some distance between your bodies.

“Gen!” Before you could bring his wife into the mix, you were tackled again. Losing your shout in the liquid. Jared's unnatural length had given him the advantage. Again.

“They're going to kill each other,” Jensen muttered to Genevieve at the grill. Watching the scene from the corner of his eye. He'd refused to bet on who would come out on top. Both of you were too determined to end the mutual torture amicably.

“The kids will break it up before it gets there.” She answered with a grin as she watched your leg hook Jared's. The towering height was a disadvantage for the first time as you yanked the limb upwards with your entire strength. It slowed him down. His arms couldn't quite reach you before you threw him off balance. Crashing his bulk backwards. Creating waves that all six kids rode out. The high pitched betting on who would be winner making the brow rise towards his friend's wife. “Or maybe not,” The devilish smile on her love's face made her tsk in shame.

The hiatus-bearded forty four year old beside her stopped watching the meat for a moment. Focusing on his best friend and his nanny. You had promised yourself wouldn't leave. It had been just over two years since Danneel had passed away, and you'd kept your word.

For not knowing how to care for other people full time, you'd figured it out in a hurry. Ouchies were bandaged. Homework was helped. Food was prepared just in time for everyone to slink out of the rooms. You'd gone above and beyond. Taking up a housekeeper role, even. No one could have asked for a better person to fill what had been needed.

“He takes her out? He has kid duty.” Jensen warned; his own grin covered as he took a swig of his beer to compose himself. A recent habit he'd invested in when it came to anything involving you. Too many people found themselves asking questions. He didn't want to answer them.

“Fair enough,” She shrugged as she watched Jared toss you like you were a rag doll. “Overgrown children. The both of them.”

“Keeps life a little interesting,” He acknowledged easily. It really had. Helped keep it all lighthearted when things were anything but. It'd helped him survive the worst thing he'd ever experienced. “They're too busy pranking each other to turn their wiles on us, nowadays.” That brought up Gen's brow.

“She's given you wiles, huh?” Her own drink was brought to her lips to keep her face as neutral as could as she watched her friend turn the deadly chromatic gaze her way. Looking for a sign that would tell him to keep his mouth shut. He didn't find anything. Being in the acting business had its perks, and cons, when it came to their friendship.

“She's decided that I'm too serious, lately,” He grumbled. Finger quotes and all. Pulling on the years of playing Dean Winchester for a way to express his displeasure with adequate emphasis. He'd long ago accepted that the Winchester would pop his head up whenever he needed him to. Almost eighteen years on the job did that to a man. “She gets the kids in on the plots. Got Jared in on a few before they turned on each other.”

Jared had eagerly adopted a new victim in his favorite sport. Jensen had lost the urge to get down and dirty years ago. After an incident that may, or may not have, involved stink bombs in a trailer. He reserved his angst for Misha and other cast members. However, that didn't mean that he didn't enjoy watching his best friend meeting his match.

It was nearly as explosive as when him and Jared had been younger. The only thing that prevented a forced truce was the amount of space and time apart that you two experienced. It never had a chance to build up and become deadly. Or, that's what everyone was counting on, anyway.

“Did it work?” The Winchester's bitch face was turned her way. Two could play the acting game. She just read it better, “So, it did.”

“It's been two years. I don't need checked on, constantly,” He grumbled. Taking another swig as he flipped the burgers and hot dogs. She wasn't quite sure if he was talking about you or her nosing about.

“Jensen-”

“I'm fine, Gen...Really...I'm great.” She didn't look nearly convinced. Impatiently waiting for him to continue. He didn't disappoint. Unleashing the verbal diarrhea in a torrent after a moment of silence. He'd been stewing for too long. “She just...she's something else.” That seemed to catch her attention even more.

“Are you two fighting?” The question was carefully let out, ensuring that he knew she wasn't trying to push too hard. Simply expressing a bit of concern.

“No,” He scoffed. Despite that it's actually what he'd tried to enact more than once. You were just unshakeable. “She's just...she's always there, you know?” He sounded weak to his own ears, but that didn't stop the word vomit leaving his lips. “And she's always... on top of everything. God forbid I tell her what to do.” Every thing that had been itching at his nerves burst forth. “That's another thing! She isn't intimidated. At all. I told her to take a day off, or she's canned. What'd she do? She laughed. Laughed!” He was going to lose his mind over the saucy nanny. That much he was sure on.

“And you don't like that?” Gen's teasing tone made him mentally kick himself in the ass. His long suffering parent face came out at that. She missed the point. “Sounds like the perfect nanny if I'd ever heard of one.”

“She's not just a nanny,” He was aware that he sounded like a sulking child. It made his shoulders straighten even more. His voice deepening in frustration. “She joined the damn family. When she shouldn't've had to. Y/N was supposed to get back on her feet, and moved on.”

The lingering guilt came forward. You hadn't wanted to be trapped in role. Yet, there you were. All for his family's benefit. His benefit.

“Doesn't seem to bother her,” Genevieve noted, nodding her head subtly towards the scene in the pool.

You'd gathered reinforcements. Jensen's three helped you knock Jared under the water again while his own children simply cackled around the attack zone. All it took was a simple bribe from their chief to get them to join in on the battle. Suddenly, the pool erupted into full blown war fare.

Waves crashed over the edge. Floaties went flying through the air. But, everyone knew their limits. Tenderly, you all rode the thin line that would lead to death as you wrestled in the chlorinated pit.

“It should,” He grumbled. It had at one time. The memory of you insisting that you couldn't fill the void echoed in his brain. People didn't change that much. No, if you were okay with it? There was a reason. And there was only one he could piece together enough to make some kinda sense. “She's using us for a crutch. She should be out there. Looking to start her own family.”

He'd painted the image in his mind. Clear as day, it danced there. He could see you in a bar, taking a down night. Later, with your own family after you'd stumbled into some nice good looking chap who'd appreciate you. God knows that you'd earned it.

“Ever think that she doesn't want to?” The idea was dismissed before she even finished it. After all, what woman didn't want someone of their own? “She's a big girl, Jensen...She can decide when she's ready.”

“You don't always get to choose,” His answer was softer that time. Thinking of the turn his life had taken. “You don't always get time.”

His own lack of time still haunted him more than he'd acknowledge. Jensen had wanted forever. Instead, he'd gotten a sliver of it. Best damn sliver of his life, but still. It hadn't been enough. He wanted his wife back. Wanted the life they'd been denied.

“I know,” She would have offered him a hug if his expression hadn't turned back to the mulish expression that often resided in his character's face at the soft words.  It was his way of coping. Emotions turned deadly. He wouldn't- couldn't give into it. Not in front of the kids, anyway. Alone in his room was a different story. “Have you tried actually talking to her?”

“She treats me like one of the kids,” He muttered with a soft scowl that made Gen bite back a laugh. “Actually, that's not true. I get lower. She gives the kids more attention when they take up a problem with her.” The sulking was back in full force as he nudged at the meat, once again. It was the one trait of yours that drove him crazy. That easy dismissal of his concerns.

“I can talk to her-”

“No,” His head jerked her way in dismay. He didn't want anyone fighting his battles. Didn't want you to feel that he was forcing you out. “No,” He cleared his throat; this time speaking more calmly. “I'll figure something out...providing Jared doesn't kill her.” His eyes locked onto your form as you tried to tackle the bigger man, and failed. Laughing as you were tossed around like a rag doll.

–

“I still have water in my ears,” You grumbled back at the Ackle's fortress. Trying to dislodge the liquid by shaking your head. It was useless. You'd have to pull out the cotton balls and rubbing alcohol to try and draw it out. “Your friend is wicked.”

“You started it,” Jensen shot back, setting the dish he'd dried back into the cupboard.

They'd been discarded from that morning, before the small get together. Going to sleep with a dirty sink had turned into one of your pet peeves. So, there you were. At midnight. Cleaning dishes next to your employer and friend...of sorts.

“Fair point,” You relented, passing him the pan you'd just rinsed.

After nearly three years? You'd had no problem taunting the man who'd once intimidated you. The puppy-like beast could truly do damage if he wanted. Jared simply never had the desire to inflict permanent harm. Rather stuck to temporary discomfort.

And, you loved every bit of it. It made you feel welcomed. Placed on equal footing, despite the fact that you were the furthest thing from famous.

“I think it's time to replace this thing,” Jensen muttered as he shifted the thinning towel to a dry spot to work on the metal more.

“I can do this on my own, you know.” You pointed out without malice. After all, that's what you were paid to do. A job that you didn't particularly mind, either.

“Figured Jared kicked your ass enough, today.” The wry grin made your eyes roll before you turned away. Ignoring the way his chuckle made your stomach knot.

It wasn't a new feeling. Simply one that you couldn't focus on. He'd had that soul deep kinda connection that you longed for before. So rare that you doubted you'd ever find it. Not only was he still madly in love with Danneel. But, there was also the issue of him handing over a paycheck weekly. Even if you were willing to bend the rules a bit? He wouldn't. So, you turned back to what you could focus on. The dishes.

“I can take it from here,” You returned when you gathered your wits back to where they belonged. It took longer than you had liked. “Besides, you have a flight in the morning. You should get some sleep.”

“Sure thing, mom.” His dry tone was telling enough. You were being blown off. “You sure you can handle them on your own?”

His anxiety over the trip was both endearing and frustrating. On one hand, you understood it. The kids were his everything. He hadn't left their side for longer than a few hours since they'd lost their mother. On the other, it almost hurt that there wasn't enough trust built up to give him relief for a single weekend. To let you step in and care for his family as if they were your own. Hadn't you already proven your worth?

“I'll be fine,” You waved him off with a sudsy hand. Blowing him off as easily as he had your concern. He and Dee had raised some pretty fantastic kids before you'd stepped in. They'd stay that way over two days without their dad. You'd make sure of it. “You need some time to yourself, Jay.”

“When do you ever get that?” He pointed out, jumping on his opening. Your eyes rolled back so far that it was painful. Rehashing the now familiar argument.

“I'm starting to think that you're trying to get rid of me,” His horrified look your way was ignored as you pressed your point home. Making him understand exactly how it was coming across each time he pushed. “If you don't want me around-”

“Did I say that?” The answer was so Dean that you had to bite back the chuckle. He'd only get more worked up, again, if you did. So, you resisted the urge. The kids were out. Neither of you wanted to wake them. “I just think that you need a getaway- one that doesn't include my kids.”

“Are you kidding? What fun is it to go to the beach on your own?” You'd joined the family on their excursions. Everything from the family vacations to trips to conventions. You'd even stayed in Toronto when it came time to film Supernatural. Ensuring that Jensen hadn't needed to worry for a second about his children. Instead, he'd begun to direct it towards you. “I'm not missing much. Trust me. Been there. Done that.”

“Are you still hung up on-”

“I should have never told you that story,” You muttered before he could finish. He'd never forgotten. Or let you forget that you'd confided in him. It was the first thing that had made him give you a second look. “I have bad taste, Jensen. Notoriously bad taste.” He wasn't going to argue there. The guy in question was a douche. “I'm not bringing anything like that home with me, again. There's not enough sage in the world to get rid of that kind of energy. You really should thank me.” A sad smile lined Jensen's face. Danneel had been known to burn a bundle as needed. The tradition had lived on, even just for memories sake.

“Yeah,” He cleared his throat. Taking the hint, finally. “I shouldn't push.” The look on your face said that you agreed. Silence ensued as the nightly chore was wrapped up before you went your separate ways. The issue only held away for another day.

–

“We're good. Go have fun,” You winked over the snapchat. Jensen could see all the girls in the back. Odette had taken the place of Zeppelin for the night. The boys were all with Gen. The children's own request.

You pulled away from your face to record the dance party that was taking place to Little Mix's Salute. Makeup covered all their little faces haphazardly. Your own face carried the telling marks of a young child's heavy handedness. Boas and frilly pink pajamas filled the room. All had embraced their inner female, looking remarkably fierce as they yelled the lyrics.

You ended it with a little lip sync action and your own, half-assed salute. He found himself replaying it for the simple, wide smile on your face as you turned away in the end. You'd seemed happier than he'd expected. His fingers rubbed over the bridge of his nose. Maybe you and Gen had a point.

“Dude, you okay?” Jared's shoulder jostled his best friend lightly, making the shorter one jerk away from his phone. When he glanced back, his reflection stared back at him. A flower crown rested over his forehead. His back straightened as he locked the screen, and tucked the device back in his pocket.

“Fine,” He answered easily. His hand ran through his hair. A simple tell. “Y/N was just checking in.”

“It's hard to be away from them,” The understanding tone made Jensen's tension fall a bit. It was ridiculous to even try to hide it from Jared. “I get it, man.” The large hand clasped against his arm. “If you want to bail, I'll find a way to cover-”

“I can't do that to the fans,” He shook his head. They'd all been so patient. So damn sweet after he'd lost Danneel. They deserved more than him flaking out. Again. “No, she's got it.” A crooked side smile pulled up his face, “Besides, Gen would kill me if I left you alone. You're practically bursting at the seams.”

“Am not,” The little shit eating grin said otherwise. A look that called bull was the only response he got. “Okay, but number four being on the way is kind of a big deal.” Fatherly pride was contagious.

“Yeah, man, it is.” With a sigh, Jensen pulled himself together. Determined to fall back into old patterns as much as he still could.

Years ago, Danneel and him had said they were done. Hell, even on live TV. Yet, so had Jared and Gen. There was no predicting how life would go. What turns would come forward.

Jensen was happy for his friend. Hell, his brother. He'd be there for them and the kid. Just as they had for him and his brood. But, it didn't settle the pit in his gut.

His focus lingered on the what ifs that life had left him with. Where would they all be if that car accident hadn't happened? Would the man who'd hit her be behind bars for someone else? He even found himself wondering if he'd have a fourth baby if Danneel was still alive...

Part Three

ODAAT: @winchester-ofthe-lord

Dean/Jensen: @akshi8278 @screechingartisancashbailiff

Forever: @dean-winchesters-bacon @supernaturalginger @lilulo-12​ @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​ @malfoysqueen14​

[stuck-in-hawkins]

October 28th, 1993- Reunion

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Fandom: Stranger Things (TV 2016)

Pairing: Will Byers/Mike Wheeler

Read on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24656785/chapters/60958708

Will felt completely exposed. He just stood there breathless, staring, with his heart pounding a mile a minute.

Mike stood up from the couch, with that big beautiful smile. Before Will could pick his jaw off the floor, Mike was over to him in a few strides and had wrapped his long arms around him in a hug. Will was trying to process it all, but thoughts, sensations, and memories were crashing like waves against the shore and he could barely keep up.

His senses taking in all the familiar and new with Mike. How there seemed to be a place that Will just instinctively locked into in the embrace. The secure pressure of his arms wrapped around, the scent of some new cologne or deodorant that combined with the familiar smell of Mike that he could never quite pinpoint. There was the feeling of being small in his arms, and an onslaught of memories that beckoned. Will knew he’d lose himself in them if he dwelled but there would be time for that later. It just felt so good to be held by Mike again.

“Hey, Will.”

Will’s mind commanded, ‘Say something!’ He needed to recover so that he didn’t look like some lovesick puppy. But he was still taking everything in. He had only seen Mike a handful of times since leaving for college. He wasn’t used to how wide his shoulders were or how soft he’d gotten. Since 7th grade, Mike had been a beanpole, tall, bony. But now, all his edges were softened. He even had a bit of a belly. Will’s arms wrapped around Mike and felt… hair? Mike had a ponytail.

“Hey, hippie.” He pulled back from the hug. There were curls in the front of his face that were still too short to reach but it was plain as day: he had a ponytail. Will chuckled, “Since when did you decide to do a ponytail?”

“Since the last time the barber hacked off my hair.”

Will laughed, “You mean that buzz cut? That was two years ago!”

“Yep.” He took the hair in hand and flopped it so that it rested on his shoulder. It was a little past his shoulder. “This stuff grows like weeds.”

“Well, I’m still betting you’ll be the first to go bald.”

Mike held his hands up. “Don’t curse me like that, Will.”

“Sorry, but only models can have hair this perfect without paying for it later.” He hadn’t meant to, but he touched Mike’s hair as he said it. This would have been fine if he had just played it off. But, when he realized where his hand was, he drew it back so hard he hit himself in the chest.

Will thought, ‘Oh dear, God. Could you be any more obvious, Will Byers?’

And there it was, beneath the familiarity and laughter of friends, all the intimacy that had come during that time. The memory of being someone else’s other half was still ingrained in his every motion. The pathways in his brain had been carved out with each touch and a wall had come down. It could only be held up with conscious effort.

The motion was not lost on Mike and there was a recognition that crossed his face. But Mike smiled. Was it sympathetic, guilty, or just awkward? Will couldn’t tell. He mentally scolded his cheeks, trying to forbid them from blushing. But he could feel the heat rising. He hated being such an open book.

Mike broke the silence, “You always work on Sundays? Busy life on the prop scene?”

Will felt instant relief. Work was a safe topic. “It has peaks and troughs. Right now, I’m working on a bit of a passion project, making a monster.”

“Wait! Holy shit, like for a movie? What one??”

“It’s not for a movie, per say. It’s more like a talent scouting thing.”

Dustin interjected, “He couldn’t tell us, even if it was for one.”

Mike turned, “So you don’t badger him for info, then. Right, Dustin?”

“Uhh. Do you even know me, Mike? Of course, I do! He’s got to crack at some point.”

Will watched the way Mike’s eyes crinkled with those familiar laugh lines. And without even trying, Mike had made Will fall for him all over again. A part of him wanted to fight it, to just be happy with being friends. He wanted to save himself from the hurt that would follow. But this love was a familiar and warm embrace. It woke him up from the pain of that morning’s rejection. It was hope.

Mike was here for the first time in years. He was within reach again. He was gorgeous and smiling. But why was he there? What brought him out to Burbank after so long?

“When did you get in?”

“I think my plane landed at… 3?”

Dustin added, “Yeah. About then.”

“Feeling any jet lag?”

“For that crazy three hour difference?” He laughed. “It’ll probably just feel like a long day. I’m hoping that I can power through until 10.”

“Sounds like a late night for you, old man.”

Mike smirked, playfully, “Listen, just because you are some cool Hollywood cat now,” he poked Will in the stomach. Today of all days, he was wearing his crop top. And the contact was direct, skin on skin, Mike’s fingertips in his stomach for the briefest of seconds. Will felt his heart leap inside him. Mike did a double take looking at his mid drift, which had clear muscle tone. “And apparently working out?” Mike was astounded.

Will flustered, waving his arms, “I’m not like a musclehead, or anything! It’s just a thing I do with my friends from work.”

Dustin leered, “Don’t listen to him, Mike. It’s ‘cause he’s single and trying to bring home a beefcake.”

Will’s head snapped to Dustin. He was getting redder by the minute, “What the fuck, Dustin? BEEFcake?”

“Listen, you can’t bring home gorgeous men and me not talk about it. Seriously, Mike, these guys are all 10’s.” He winked.

Will was staring daggers at him, “I am never making you breakfast again.”

“WAIT! No!” He stretched his arm out, “I’m sorry!! I take it back.”

“Too late. It’s Captain Crunch for you from now on.”

Dustin groaned, and flopped over the couch, defeated. Will’s eyes flicked over to Mike and saw him suddenly self-conscious.

Mike caught his gaze and said, somewhat sheepishly, “I can’t say I’m really surprised, though. You're a catch, Will.” There was a sadness in it. As if Will was out of reach. As if he had been the one that got away.

The sincerity of it left Will speechless. Was he misinterpreting it? He wanted to let him know that the door hadn’t closed, but he didn’t want to be wrong and make things awkward. He’d clear the air later, when Dustin wasn’t there to watch. He couldn’t look at Mike’s face now.

He tugged the longer side of his hair behind his ear. A useless and nervous gesture, as the hair went right back in his face. “It’s not- I’m not-” He stopped himself. Take the compliment, he told himself. “Umm… thanks.”

Will saw Dustin smirking. Was he trying to play cupid? Will was going to chew him out the second he was alone. This was not something to play with.

Will desperately wanted to change the subject, “So, how are we going to show him the best California has to offer?”

“How about Gauman’s?”

Will shrugged, “Sounds good. What do you think, Mike?”

“That’s the place the Oscar’s are filmed at, right?” Mike asked.

“The very same. But, when there’s no Oscars or premiers it’s just a regular theater,” said Dustin.

Mike nodded. “Sounds awesome.” Will smiled seeing the childlike excitement on Mike’s face, the kind he used to get before a much anticipated movie or comic release. Will felt flutters and wondered if he would be coming down off of cloud nine anytime soon.

“Cool,” Will said. “I’ll go get dressed.” He needed to sort out everything going on inside his head.

Mike looked down at his own clothes, “Do we need to dress fancy or something?”

“Well, not exactly. You’re fine. But cut offs aren’t exactly something I wanna wear there.” He gestured at his own clothes.

Mike’s eyes flicked down and immediately looked away, his face beat red. “Oh. Yeah, of course.”

Will blushed. Holy fuck. They were both absolute disasters right now. He walked down the hallway to his room and flopped on the bed. Breathe. Why had Mike gotten so flustered? Why had he looked down? He could feel his stomach flipping at the suggestion in the question.

He had to calm down. But everything inside him felt like an amusement park, spinning, and jumping. How in the hell was he supposed to keep himself together? He had to wait until Mike was alone. It would be better to get it all out, clear the air. But what in the hell was he even supposed to say?

‘Hi, Mike! Nice to see you, by the way, I’m still in love with you. Is this a mutual thing? Or should I have gotten over all this years ago?’

He put the pillow over his head and groaned. He could get through this. At the very least, they would be in a theater. It was a familiar space, where they could forget everything else and just be the Party again, picking apart movies. Unravelling cinematography, digging up meaning, and concocting theories and Will could collect himself.   ______________________________

They bought tickets for Return of the Living Dead 3. It was one of those gritty B rated movies that the party had always loved tearing to shreds. After they gave Mike the unofficial tour around the handprints, they went inside and paid for their tickets. They were making their way past the various displays of movie props and costumes encased in glass when Will’s eye caught sight of something. He turned so fast he nearly got whiplash and made his way over to the case. Inside, there was a set up for Halloween: a town of monsters, each with unique and incredible designs. The setting looked like an ink drawing come to life, complete with the texture of hatching lines on the ground. This parade of characters was led by a charming skeleton in a Santa suit and a girl that looked like a cross between a rag doll and Frankenstein. He read the plaque beside it: The Nightmare Before Christmas.

“Don’t drool on the case, Will.” Dustin teased.

Mike came over, “What is it?”

“These are the stop motion puppets from the movie,” Will answered. He couldn’t take his eyes off the figures.

“Oh, Stop motion! Like the special effects for the older Hollywood films?” Mike asked.

“Or like Rudolph,” Dustin added.

Will stared, “It’s like a cross between the two. It’s completely embracing the horror aspect of the medium and combining it with the whole Christmas movie tradition.” He couldn’t get over the character designs, the idea behind it. The premise intrigued him and he desperately wanted to watch it.

“Should we see that one instead?” Mike suggested.

Will turned, “No! No. I’ll definitely have to come back to watch it though.”

Dustin leaned in, “We have to go see that movie with him, Mike. He’s gonna totally flip shit the whole time.”

Mike crossed his arms like he was studying Will, “You think like Labyrinth level freak out?”

“Hard to say,” Dustin retorted.

Will shook his head, “Nothing will be Labyrinth level freak out. That was a once in a lifetime movie. A high fantasy setting with elaborate backdrops and the most insane special effects featuring David Bowie as the Goblin King, himself.”

Dustin smirked, “Not to mention those pants.”

Will stood up, “Why does everyone always bring up the pants?”

“Because it was an enlightening experience. I finally understood what you see in men. And now I know with certainty that if Bowie were to ever ask I’d- OW!”

Will punched Dustin’s arm. “You’re not gonna finish that statement.”

Mike chimed in, “You know better than to speak blasphemy against The Thin White Duke around Will.”

Dustin played it up, soothing his wounded arm. “Aw, come on, Will. I didn’t mean it, I know you get first dibs.”

“How kind.”

They laughed as they went into the theatre together.   _________________________________________________

It was a tradition of theirs that following a movie showing, they would stand around the lobby and dissect it. However, since the theatre was getting crowded, Will suggested they relocate to the nearby diner. They began picking it apart in the car, shouting over one another the most grotesque or ridiculous parts. Will had the edge in these conversations now, because he could usually determine what exactly they used for certain effects. The guys enjoyed hearing Will’s insight into the behind the scenes techniques. Once they got in the diner and got their seats, the conversation quieted a bit and their ruminations became more well thought out. They cited different camera angles, acting, and plot points. It felt like old times.

After they ordered their food, Will asked, “So, Mike, how long are you in town for?”

“I’m staying for the week.”

Will almost dropped the fork he’d been messing with, “The whole week?!”

“Yeah, I have some vacation time that the boss told me I needed to use before December.”

“You didn’t want to save that for Christmas vacation?”

“Nah. A lot of families take that time off. School, you know?”

“That’s cool of you.”

Mike shrugged, “It’s just the decent thing, you know? El doesn’t really care about the holidays too much so I can be flexible.”

And a cloud swept over Mike’s face. Something he hadn’t wanted to bring up. Someone he didn’t want to mention. And Will could see him brace for the question.

Dustin asked, “How-?” He felt clumsy. “How is she doing?”

“She’s okay. She has her good days and her bad. I told you she lives with me now, right?”

Dustin nodded.

“That day I got my hair buzzed? Bad day.” He laughed it off, “I don’t think she recognized me for two weeks. The worst part? I actually bought a wig.”

Dustin nearly spit out his drink, “You what?”

Will laughed. “You didn’t!”

“Oh yeah. My first toupee. Looked like a fucking mop.”

Will joked, “Oh, please tell me you still have it. I’d pay money to see that.”

“No way. It’s haunting some thrift store now.”

Will shivered. “The worst thing to find there.”

Mike chuckled. He asked, “So, when is Lucas getting here?”

Will perked up, “What??”

Dustin suddenly looked awkward.

Mike turned, “Shit. Was that supposed to be a surprise? I thought he already knew.”

“No, it’s okay. Recover it! Surprise, Will!! Lucas will be here tomorrow!”

The smile on Will’s face could have lit up the city. He couldn’t contain his joy. His friends would be back together for the first time in so long. He didn’t see the way Mike was looking at him, the content smile and the eyes that just couldn’t get enough of Will’s warm glow.

Dustin was beaming, “Max will be picking him up and they’ll be staying at a hotel nearby.”

Will couldn’t believe it. “Dustin, did you put this all together?”

His friend got a little bashful and tried to shrug it off. “I mean… I just made a few calls. Lucas told me he’d be home in time for Halloween and I thought it was the perfect opportunity for a reunion.”

And then, something sank inside Will. Halloween. It had been ten years... Was that why Dustin was doing this? He coached himself, ‘Stop. Stop. Stop. Just enjoy this.’

He smiled. “It’ll be so good to see them again.”

The change wasn’t immediately visible to the guys.

Mike suddenly got excited, “Are we going to have a Halloween party or something to celebrate?”

Dustin answered giddy, “Oh, hell yeah! I mean we have the monster maker himself here!” He clapped Will on the back.

It shook Will out of his head. He saw how excited they were. Maybe this whole thing was orchestrated out of concern for Will, the thought of it stung his pride a bit. But then again, maybe it was the only way to get everyone together. The last time they had all been together had been when Hopper found El… She had been broken, disoriented, and wandering around New York City. The reunion had been one of grieving, trying to heal, and being there for Mike.

That was what going their separate ways had meant- only seeing each other for the big things: weddings and funerals so to speak. So, Will watched Mike and Dustin talking animatedly and let himself get caught up in it, too.

“As much as I’d like to bring the studio stuff home, I don’t think I could get it past Anderson. They get extra uptight at the shop with props and stuff around Halloween. Everyone wants to borrow stuff for their own parties. But I might be able to whip up something homemade.”

Dustin bragged to Mike, “It’s too bad you won’t get to see The Werehouse, Mike. It’s like a cinephile's wet dream. They have a full on werewolf! Fur and everything!”

Will asked, “Why wouldn’t he be able to go?”

“Because visitors are banned.”

“No, you are banned.”

“What do you mean, ‘I’m banned’???”

“You were touching literally everything!”

“And that was enough to get me banned?”

“You gave Scottie such agita, I thought she was going to have an aneurysm. Do you not remember her following you around, asking you to put things down?”

Dustin grimaced, “I got a little caught up. It was a lot to take in.”

Mike asked, “So, does this mean I get to go?”

The idea of showing Mike his work space was elating to Will. There was that familiar feeling that Will had everytime he handed Mike his sketchbook or a new drawing. The hope of approval and praise for his art.

Will eagerly nodded, “Just don’t touch anything.”

Mike smirked at Dustin, who groaned, “That is SO not fair!”

“Sorry, Dustin.” Mike shrugged as he scooted out of the booth.

Dustin pouted, “Are you, though?”

“Well, not really that sorry.” He laughed, “I’ll be right back.” Mike excused himself to the bathroom.

Once he was out of earshot, Will looked over at Dustin.

He didn’t want to ruin the moment but he had to ask. “Is there a particular reason you got us all together?”

“Because Lucas is coming home.”

“He was home a year ago. We didn’t get together then.”

Dustin’s shoulders sank and he started fidgeting with his napkin. “You said it yourself. It’s been too long. It was an excuse for us to get together. And… well, it has been 10 years...”

“You say it like it’s some kind of anniversary.”

“I mean, it kind of is. You making it out of all that alive is something to celebrate.” Dustin said it genuinely, his heart in his words, “We watched what we thought was you, pulled from the quarry. We listened to you calling out for help. It affected all of us, Will.”

Will suddenly felt selfish. He’d seen this whole thing as some kind of elaborate pity party, but he hadn’t been the only one to suffer. He hadn’t been the only one to face that thing.

But a question still nagged at him, “Did you tell anyone… about the nightmares?”

Dustin tightened and looked guilty. “Just Mike… he….”

“Dustin you promised!”

“I know. I know. But I was worried, Will! I didn’t know what to do.”

“There is nothing for you to do. It’s something that I’m handling.”

His friend looked at him, anger tempered in his brow, “They’ve gotten worse. Don’t tell me they haven’t.”

Will’s fingers dug into his knees, his knuckles turning white. He felt humiliated. It was true. They had been getting worse. It wasn’t so bad when he had someone sleeping next to him, but on the nights he was alone? There was a 50/50 shot at waking up in a cold sweat. A few weeks ago, he had woken up with a yell in his throat and Dustin’s panicked face above him, trying to shake him awake.

‘Please… don’t tell anyone, Dustin. Please…”

But of course he did.

“Will, you don’t say when things aren’t okay. You shoulder them until something breaks. So, I made a judgement call. I didn’t want you to go through it this year alone. I wanted you to know that you have us. That we’re here.”

Will put his head in his hands, “But why did you have to tell Mike?”

“Because I didn’t know how to help. And it’s damn near impossible to get him out of Hawkins these days. But he’ll do it for you.”

His insides did a somersault. “That’s another thing, Dustin.”

“What?”

“Please, stop playing cupid with me and Mike.”

He was quiet, mumbling, “I wasn’t trying to before, at the house. I was just messing around.”

“I know but the jokes were hitting a little too close. There’s a lot of stuff I don’t want to dig up. It’s complicated between us and we need to figure that out ourselves.”

Dustin looked like a puppy getting scolded, “I gotcha. Sorry.”

Will added, “And, I swear to God if I ever hear the word ‘beefcake’ from out of your mouth, I am mailing your nudie mags to your mom.”

His eyes got wide, “You wouldn’t!”

Will rested his chin on his hands, “You really want to gamble on that?”

He held up his hands, “Fine. It is stricken from my vocabulary forever.”

Mike was making his way back over and Will tried to tuck everything back inside. Mike slid back into the booth. He pulled a small notepad from his back pocket and put it on the table.

“Okay. So what are we doing for costumes?”

And Will laughed. All of a sudden, the years melted away. He remembered how Mike would spend the remaining days of summer planning out their Halloween costumes, their trick or treat routes. The jubilant energy of new ideas spreading across his face, the excitement in his voice. It all came back. This time was precious. Their lives would undoubtedly fall back into their pattern before long. Lucas and Max would likely move back by her job in Silicon Valley. Mike would go back to Hawkins. Back to El. So, Will needed to hold onto every moment and make them last.

[readbeneaththelines]

The Bough That Broke

A/N: I don’t know why I am giving sweet loveable Jin some Whump and Angst.. I really do adore him, I promise!!! 

Synopsis: Jin is injured from an avoidable accident, leaving him partially paralyzed from the waist down. Reader is the nurse that is hired to take care of him once he gets back to the dorms and begins the physically and emotionally painful road to recovery. Will she have what it takes to spark determination in him to get back on the stage? 

Characters: Idol!Jin x Nurse!Reader

Genre: Whump, Angst, Itty Bittyamount of crack, itty bitty amount of fluff, maybeeeeeee some smut

Warnings: First few chapters are rough, starting out of the gate with the Angst and Whump. I’m sorry!!! Don’t hate me for hurting Jin.... pretty please!!I promise to make him all better in the end!

Word Count: 1630

Each Chapter will get its own warnings. If anything is a trigger, please read at your own discretion.

cr to gif owner

It was supposed to be a simple concert in a small venue. It was supposed to be a simple set. What it was supposed to be and what it actually was, though, are two different things. 

“Hey, we’re here to help with stage set-up” the two girls piped up as they ran into a man that seemed to be in charge. He looked them up and down, scrutinizing their size. Hee looked past them, motioned for another stagehand to comeover, then turned back to the girls.

“Jongdae will show you what needs to be done. You will get paid at the end of your shift tonight and after break down tomorrow night.” Both girls squealed, then quickly recovered their composure and Jongdae approached them. He led them away, showing them where the equipment was being stored, and told them to get to work. 

Little did they know, that was their first mistake. A mistake that could have ended a life. 

“Hey Jimin, I’m going to run through my placement one more time, I might want to adjust the lighting a bit.” Jin headed back on stage, using his earpiece to communicate with the lighting crew above. He had the music start, going through the motions and words of Epiphany. He stopped short of stage right, looking up then back to the stage. “Can you adjust the lights here? I think a bit more from behind me will look better. I like the shadowing effect.” 

With the earpiece in, and the music still blaring, Jin didn’t hear the loud strain of metal as the light moved directions. He continued until he was pleased with the outcome, unaware of what was hanging by a literal thread overhead.

That was their second mistake. A mistake that almost ended a life. Three strikes and someone might be out.

They put their hands in the center, one hand on top of the other.

“Bangtan, Bangtan, Bangtan Sonyeondan!” their hands flew up and they began bouncing on the balls of their feet. The air was electrifying, the energy thick and palpable. Seven young men, doing what they love, and giving their all to ARMY. Within minutes, they would be up on the stage, fan chants reverberating throughout the small venue. It was music to their ears, hundreds of voices singing their names over and over. 

Two young girls flitted over to them, smiled stretched across their thin lips. They patted the members backs, wishing them luck, then scooted off just as quickly, giggling loudly and holding hands as the ran.

“What was that all about?” Jungkook leaned over to Hobi. Hobi shrugged as he looked to Namjoon. 

“They helped with stage prep this morning. I guess they are a little excited.” He shook his head before leading the members to the rising platform that would bring them to the stage, and one of them to a life altering accident. 

The roar of the fans penetrated through their ear pieces, smiles curling at their lips as they stepped onto the stage. The music filled the small arena, energy vibrating everywhere as their voices harmonized, flowing seamlessly from one song to the next. It was coming up on Jin’s solo for Epiphany. The piano began, Jin playing the keys with his eyes closed, his passion apparent.  Oblivious to what was happening above him, he stood and made his way to the single spotlight. The gems that covered his suit jacket sparkled and scattered refracted lights across the fans, cheers erupting as he took one more step just outside of the light. It was at that moment that the spotlight was supposed to move behind him. The echoes of screaming fans drowned out the sound of metal snapping under the strain of being improperly setup, the support beam and light now hanging by just an electric cord. Jin lifted the microphone to his lips, but there would be no sound coming.

The next few seconds passed as the catwalk tech watched in horror as the metal beam and lighting fixture became disconnected and fell. The other members watched, frozen in place, as Jin was crumpled under the weight of the beam. No one could move, no matter how hard their mind fought to take a first step. The lights went dark, the music stopped. There was chaos in the stands, fans crying and running for the exits they were being ushered towards.

Namjoon was the first to break from his trance, trying to make his way to his hyung, his friend, his brother.

"Jin!" 

He fought against arms that held him back. He turned in their grasp, swinging arms wildly. The others were also restrained by staff, allowing the medics access to the tangled heap of twisted metal and Jin's body. 

“Get them out of here! We need more people!” Orders were being given from several of the men that were gathered around Jin. Five more men came rushing past, and all the other members could do was stand helplessly by. It was an eternity before they were able to lift the beam off and move it carefully away.  

To see Jin from a distance,you would think there was no sign of life to be found. He was lifeless, not moving even as the weight was taken from him. Jimin wailed when he caught sight of the blood, the thick dark red pool growing by the second. Jungkook was the one to break free from the hands that were struggling to keep him back. He skidded across the floor, halting in his tracks then fell to the ground. The others were reluctantly aloud to go to Jungkook, each of them kneeling a short distance away. Then came the stretcher and three more medics. 

“Keep his body as still as you can. Get the neck brace and straightboard.” somebody cradled Jin’s head gingerly as the brace was situated and secured. As space was made for the straightboard to be brought in, it was then that Namjoon and Yoongi noticed the awkward position of Jin’s lower half. It was as if someone had used him as a rag doll and twisted him at the middle before throwing him to the ground in disgust. Namjoon’s stomach churned and wretched, making him empty what little contents were still digesting. Hoseok and Yoongi aided him to stand and led him off the stage against Namjoon’s pained protests. 

Jin was at long last strapped onto the straightboard and laid on his back. The medics scrambled to get him stable, starting an IV and covering him with a blanket. Vitals signs were being monitored, and the stretcher was brought out. He was lifted up with the utmost caution and care, being placed on the stretcher and immediately wheeled out.

The staff came to check on Namjoon and the others. They all insisted they were okay, only asking where Jin was being taken. 

“They are airlifting him to the nearest trauma hospital. We need to get you all out of costume, then we can take you to where he’s going.”

Ushered off the stage, they ran to their dressing rooms, stripping out of their clothes along the way. Once dressed, they were piled into an unmarked van and set off for a long hour’s ride. Silence filled the interior, the only sounds were that of them each crying. When Namjoon could no longer ignore the inevitable question, he finally spoke up.

“He’s going to be okay, we have to believe that. Jin is strong and healthy. He has to be okay.”

Once  they arrived at the hospital they were taken in through the ambulance entrance. With heads hung low, they somberly gathered around the nurses station. They could overhear the commotion in one of the bays, people talking over each other as they hurried to stabilize Jin. One of the nurses step around from behind the curtain, making her way to them. 

“We are working on getting him stable. He is at a critical point right now, but we are doing our best.”

“When can we see him?” Taehyung asked, at last finding his voice since this all began. 

“It will be a while. We have tests to run, scan to take. Why don’t you all find a place to rest, someone will come and get you when we know more.” She placed a comforting hand on Namjoon’s shoulder, the sympathy showing in her downturned expression.  One of the nurses at the station led them to a private conference room. Their manager brought them food, and the nibbled and picked at the sandwhiches and chips. 

Yoongi began pacing back and forth, his anger rising as the seconds passed at a snail’s pace. Jimin took his arm, attempting to make him stand still. Yoongi spun on his heel, glaring at  the younger man, fists clenched tightly. 

“Yoongi, please. Just take a seat. There is nothing we can do right now.” Jimin was pleading with Yoongi, but he was having none of it.

“Who set the lighting? What fucking idiot put the support beams and lights up? Who the fuck didn’t check it? “ His voice echoed off the walls, and Hoseok had to physical sit him down.

“We’ll figure it out, Yoongi. We have our hands tied right now. Let’s find out about Jin, first, then we will find out who did this.” Namjoon’s tone was calm, a false cover of how he was beating himself up inside. He was supposed to protect these men, he was supposed to ensure their safety and well-being, and he had failed. Sensing him turmoil, Taehyung plopped down beside him. 

“Hyung, you didn’t know. None of us did. It’s not your fault, it’s not any of ours fault.” Namjoon let his head fall on Taehyung’s shoulder, silent tears dampening the younger one’s shirt.

@min-shookga-yoongi @beautifulseoulliar @agustd-suga-yoongii @astronomyturtle @aspaceformyself @dreamyoongi @holy-yoongi@trashkazuya @maxinaptak @micky1518 @rosiemilas @karri570

@seoulsunshineandstories @kwonnansi @xjamlessparkx @berryjam17

@kingsuckjin @flora-jimin 

[thinkyoureholy]

Guess Who [7]

[A/N : SHIT IS HITTING THE FAN IN THIS ONE]

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Pairing : Kim Jongin x Reader / Byun Baekhyun x Reader

Genre : Angst, Violence, Language, Fluff, Character Death, Mafia! AU

Words : 3.8k

Pt 1. Pt 2. Pt 3. Pt 4. Pt 5. Pt 6. Pt 7. Pt 8.

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

-Y/N’s P.O.V-

As soon as I closed the door I leaned my back against it, sliding down to the floor. I buried my face in my hands, feeling how my whole body shook borderline violently. Back then I was fueled by anger, only seeing red but now that the moment had passed I felt terrified once more. My heart sank to the pit of my stomach, this overwhelming sense of dread washing over me again. I placed my hand over my heart as it started to ache but it wasn’t because of the heartbreak I had gone through and am still admittedly going through, no it was because of something entirely different. It felt like that bullet he fired straight into my heart before was piercing my skin once more. I felt the pain I felt that night but it was so much worse. It was getting so bad I felt like I couldn’t breath, my lungs felt like they weren’t getting the oxygen they needed. I closed my eyes, trying to snap out of it but it seemed like it was no use, no matter how hard I tried. It felt like I spent hours on the floor trying to come back but in reality it was only a few seconds. Just when I thought I was going to pass out I felt something kick at my leg. I froze at the sudden contact, my shaking stopped immediately when I looked up to meet his gaze. He sighed heavily before crouching down in front of me.

“Breathe.”

That was all he said but hearing that word fall from his lips had my lungs suddenly working again. I sucked in a huge breath of air, my eyes trained on his face. The look he wore was one I had hoped to see again after so long. I couldn’t get a word out as I stared at him, watching as a small smile played at his lips. Without warning he reaching out, patting the top of my head affectionately...just like he used to. But instead of pushing his hand away like I would usually I let him, relishing in this moment.

“You okay?” He asked, his voice soft, as if he was talking to a child.

I bit my lip and shook my head, thinking it would cause another riff between the two of us if I was caught lying to him. I already felt terrible about what I had said to him earlier when I left, lying now would make things worse. He frowned at my answer nevertheless, a heavy sigh falling from his lips. He didn’t say another word as he grabbed my hand in his and pulled me to my feet. He pulled me toward the couch in silence, making me sit down. He went to force me to lie down, presumably to tell me to get some rest but I stopped him, grabbing his wrist.

“You’re not going to ask more?”

He shook his head, that frown still on his face, “It doesn’t look like you want to talk about it so I won’t push the subject. Now why don’t you try going to sleep, huh? It’s late and we still have some planning to do tomorrow.”

I grew confused at his words, being reminded once more of the way he was before everything went south between us. But with everything going on I didn’t have the energy to question him, simply nodding my head.

-Sehun’s P.O.V-

I sat on the coffee table in front of the couch, waiting for her to fall asleep. I hid my clenched fists in my pockets, my mind going wild with what I just heard outside a few minutes ago. I can’t believe that bastard had the nerve to show up in front of her after what he did to her and to come here? Of all places? That guy was an idiot. I had wanted nothing more than to march outside and beat his face until he was unrecognizable and I was going to until I heard her words to him. I could hear the anger behind her words, feeling my heart ache for her. But what hurt the most was hearing the way her voice shook with every word. It was barely noticeable and I’m sure he didn’t catch on to it but I knew her well enough to know when she’s trying to hold herself together. She was trying so hard not to let her true feelings show, trying to remain strong in front of him but I’m sure if he said one wrong word she’d break.

I watched her as she slept, my chest tightening at the look on her face. Even in her sleep she looked so unbelievably sad. Sure I was an asshole to her and may have added to her sadness but it didn’t mean I cared about her any less. She was more important to me than anything else in this damn world. I only acted the way I did because I was hurt; hurt that she wouldn’t believe me, hurt that she picked him over me, hurt that she practically abandoned me and for what...some asshole that only lied to her and played with her heart. I had every right to act the way I did with her up until this point...but that doesn’t mean I don’t regret some of my words. The look in her eyes when I said those things to her...broke my heart. I reached out hesitantly, brushing her hair out of her face. She’s always the one dragging me out of the dark but I can’t seem to do the same for her, I only do more damage, pushing her further into that darkness. Her words from earlier made me realize that.

“No matter how you feel about me now...just know that you’ll always be my brother, you can hate me, despise me even but the way I feel about you will never change”

The way her voice sounded so desperate for forgiveness...so pained, hurt. She was in pain and I was only adding to her pain, only thinking of myself. I exhaled shakily, regretting everything. I regretted not deleting the footage right away and encrypting it instead. I regretted dragging her back here after those years abroad. I should’ve listened to her when she suggested staying away but I convinced her to come back. I rubbed my hands over my face roughly at those thoughts, feeling like complete and utter shit, tears in my eye.

“I’m sorry…” I let out in a voice barely above a whisper, feeling the lump in my throat.

It was in that moment that all thoughts of revenge left my mind. The only thing I could think of was getting her out of here and away from all this. Move her somewhere no one will be able to find her, not Baekhyun and not even Jongin. I’ve known Jongin for years and I refuse to believe he’s acting this way out of love, I know that bastard too well. Before I wouldn’t hesitate to take a bullet for the man but I could tell what his true intentions where the moment Y/N woke up from that coma. Instead of taking that bullet I would be the one firing it if he’s thinking of doing what I think he is. Just knowing how much a scumbag he could truly be made my blood boil.

-Y/N’s P.O.V-

It had been a few days since that incident with Baekhyun. I couldn’t get him out of my head. The way he looked so ragged, so out of it...I was so confused by it all. If I didn’t know any better I’d say he’d been losing sleep this whole time, over what I couldn’t tell you. I raked my fingers through my hair, shaking my head to rid myself of these thoughts. Whatever he’s going through it’s none of my concern. The only thing I had to worry about at the moment was getting back at him and giving him everything he deserved.

“What do you think?” Jongdae asked, looking over at me.

I raised my brows, giving him a confused look, “Huh?”

“I was asking you what you thought of the plan.”

I looked down at the desk, shaking my head once more as I tried to remember what they had all been talking about before I spaced out. They had suggested ambushing him and his group while we still had the upper hand, who knows when they’ll rally up more people to fight alongside with them. But now that I think about Baekhyun doesn't look like he’s in any condition to fight.

“Run it by me again.”

“We send in Chanyeol and Junmyeon through the front door to draw their fire while you and I sneak in through the back door. Sehun and Jongin will be on the roof when everything starts. As soon as they hear the first shot fired they make their way in through the windows on the second floor, working their way down.” He explained to me carefully.

I sat back, thinking this through. I couldn’t help but let my eyes wander around the room, seeing how Sehun was more drawn back than the others. I didn’t pay him any mind as I met Jongin’s eyes, questioning him silently.

He smiled before giving a nod, “It’s your call, doll.”

I nodded, looking back down at the desk before speaking, “Fine. We go with that. Everyone gear up we’re leaving in a few hours. Let’s give these sons of bitches hell.”

That was all I said before walking out of the room, leaving them all to themselves. As I left, I failed to see the glint in Jongin’s eyes at my word and the smirk on his face. Even if I had seen it I’d think nothing of it. Right now my focus was on Baekhyun and Baekhyun alone.

-

My mind had been going crazy the whole drive. The day has finally come, the day I make Baekhyun pay for everything before I could rest, once and for all. I looked down at the gun in my hand, noticing it was the same gun he had used on me that day. I closed my eyes as the memories resurfaced, clutching onto the metal weapon.

~

“B-Baek c'mon this isn't funny. L-Let me go.”

“I was never joking to begin with, love.”

~

“Remember when I said we're gonna play a little game? Well I'm sure you know what Russian Roulette is.”

“Tell me, did it give you some sick satisfaction to kill Jieun like that?”

“B-Baekhyun please I-I know you’re not going to believe me but I swear--I swear on my life I didn’t kill her!”

~

“What’s that look for love? What are you angry that I killed your dear friends? You’re in this mess because of them!”

“I hate you! I fucking hate you! Fine! You wanna know who killed her?! I did! I did it!”

~

I flinched when I felt a hand on my shoulder, clenching my hands over the gun before feeling someone take it from me. I opened my eyes to see Jongin was the one who took the gun from me, a look of worry on his face. He frowned as he looked into my eyes, placing the hand he had on my shoulder atop my head.

“You know you could’ve stayed home for this right?” He asked, his voice low.

The two of us were sitting in the back, alone, the other four in their own thoughts as Junmyeon drove the van. I sighed heavily after having a look around the car, my eyes landing back on my now empty lap.

“I wouldn’t have been able to sit still if I stayed back…” I said softly, avoiding his gaze, “Besides...I need to be the one to finish this, I can’t have you all fight my battles for me.”

Jongin chuckled softly, his arm now slung over my shoulders, “This isn’t just your fight you know that doll? We’ve all got some score to settle doing this. Sure what he did to you was what gave us a push but this was bound to happen sooner or later.”

I said nothing, nodding at his words. I kept quiet the rest of the way there, my nerves still trying to get the best of me. Just when I thought they would take over the car stopped, Junmyeon turning to us all.

“It’s time.”

Everyone nodded at his words, getting out of the car and into our groups. Jongdae was adjusting his weapons when he was pulled aside by Sehun. I looked over at the two questioningly, wondering what they had to talk about. I watched on as they spoke in hushed tones, too quiet for me to try and listen into their conversation. I don’t remember them getting along enough for them to be talking like that but before I could voice my questions to the two I felt a hand on my shoulder. I knew it was Jongin before even looking at him, hearing his voice over my shoulder.

“Be careful out there doll, we don’t know if he’s recruited extra men or not. If you see things going sideways you run you understand?”

I turned to look at him immediately after those words, “I’m not leaving you all behind.”

“Doll...if you die all this-”

“I won’t. So you just make sure to stay alive too,” I said sternly, cutting him off, “Let’s go Dae...we need to be in position before they get started.”

I called for him over my shoulder, shrugging Jongin’s hand off of me. It’s like a flip within me switched, all the doubts I had completely vanished. I was left without any doubts, without all those useless emotions and again used my anger to fuel me. I dug down deep to find the purest form of that emotion, feeling it consume me as I made my way to the back of the house with Jongdae following closely behind me. I felt like an entirely different person, surely if I were to see myself in the mirror I wouldn’t be able to recognize the person staring back at me.

“Y/N…”

I ignored him, staying within the treeline as I stared at the back door intently.

“Y/N.”

“If you’re going to tell me to run if things go south I don’t want to hear it.” I said curtly, narrowing my eyes at the sound of leaves rustling.

I shook my head, getting paranoid. I’m sure it was just Jongdae. I looked around the clearing behind the house, my eyes on the trees and what might be hiding behind them.

“People are going to die here tonight and if I’m one of them then so be it. I’m not running away anymore.”

“That’s quite noble of you, I can see how you snuck your way into Baekhyun’s heart now.”

I froze at the sound of a familiar voice, remembering the one it belonged to. Kyungsoo. I turned around quickly, just in time to block his punch but he was stronger than I was, pushing me out onto the clearing. I stumbled over my feet before regaining my balance. I snuck a look over to Jongdae only to see him preoccupied with fighting a woman I didn’t recognize.

“Ah ah ah, eyes on me.” Kyungsoo tsked, grabbing my attention.

My eyes widened at seeing him charge at me. I just barely managed to pivot out of the way. So he was stronger, not faster. I had been caught off guard and I was still able to sidestep him. I can win, I thought to myself, allowing a smirk to play at my lips. Clenching my hands into fists I got into a fighting stance, confident now. I could see him raise an eyebrow, an amused look on his face. He must not have expected me to fight back. Clearly he didn’t know I knew my way around a fight, and now after training over the past few months I could use a knife in said fight if I wanted to but for some reason I wanted to test my own strength to see if I could beat him empty handed.

He charged at me once again and like before I spun out of the way but he changed it up this time. Instead of running right passed me like I had hoped he kicked my legs out from under me, his arm on my shoulder as he slammed me to the ground. I let out a small grunt, feeling the air leave my lungs but I recovered quickly. Before he could do anything I brought my knees up and kicked at his chest, throwing him off of me. He rolled on the ground for a second before stopping himself, staying down on one knee. He grinned, punching the ground underneath him before rising to his feet. I did the same, getting into my fighting stance once more. He chuckled but instead of him coming to me I went to him. I ran at him, making it seem like I was going to tackle him, seeing him dig his heels into the dirt. I smirked at seeing him do that. Just as I got close enough he swung at me but I ducked out of the way, sliding across the grass and kicking at the back of his knees, taking advantage of his surprise at seeing me dodge his punch. He let out a groan as he was forced to kneel. Just before he had the chance to stand up again I wrapped my arm around his throat from behind. As soon as I did that he put his hands on my arm, trying to pull me off of him. I pressed down on his throat, hoping to cut off his airflow enough for him to pass out. What I didn’t expect was for him to reach up and grab at my head. Before I could even figure out what he was doing he pulled, harshly. He pulled me over his shoulder and slammed me back down onto the ground, landing a punch to my face.

“I don’t care what Baekhyun said about not touching you. You’re pissing me off and I’m going to have to teach you a lesson.” He said through clenched teeth, his eyes shining with annoyance as he landed another blow to my face.

I winced at the pain, his words about what Baekhyun said not escaping me but I didn’t have the luxury of dwelling on them. Without a word I swung my own fist up, just barely grazing his jaw as he moved away from the punch. He grabbed at the collar of my shirt roughly, pulling me to sit up. He stood in front of me and without warning he punched at my face once more, harder than before. I lay on the ground, disoriented, trying to fight the pain that throbbed throughout my face. Within seconds he was kicking at my stomach, a sickening crack being heard after one particularly hard kick. I let out a scream, knowing it was one of my ribs, curling in on myself.

“See, you’re just a bitch that needs to be put back into her place.” He spat out with a chuckle, kicking at my stomach once more.

I let out a wet cough, tasting blood on my tongue. I could faintly hear Jongdae fighting with that woman,  I heard the woman let out a shrill scream, drawing Kyungsoo’s attention. This was my chance. Quickly, without alerting him I pulled my knife out of my boot, sitting up and plunging the blade into him. I made sure to stab him up through his ribs, his eyes staring back at me surprised. I set my jaw as I twisted the knife within him, knowing I hit his heart.

“Who’s the bitch now.” I said in a low voice, pulling the knife out and letting his now lifeless body fall to the ground.

I spat out the blood that was in my mouth onto the ground next to him, rising to my feet. I gave him one last look before directing my eyes over to Jongdae. What I saw wasn’t what I was hoping for. He was lying on the ground, writhing around in pain while the woman stood over him, an anger in her eyes that even scared me. She looked absolutely rabid as she set her sights on me. My eyes widened when I saw her run at me, knife in hand. There was no way I’d be able to fight against her in the current condition I was in but that didn’t mean I couldn’t try. Gritting my teeth together I bared through the pain, clutching onto my own knife tightly. I tried side stepping her like I had done with Kyungsoo but I was injured and too slow to move out of the way in time. She managed to slice at my arm, the one holding the knife. My hand shook at the pain, now grabbing the knife with my left hand. I stumbled back at seeing her walk slowly towards me, closing the distance between us. Is this really going to be where I die? Just as she lunged forward to plunge the knife into my heart something, or rather someone stepped in between us. I stared at the back of Jongdae’s head in shock, seeing him silently pull out his gun before firing a bullet into the woman’s head. The woman fell to the ground with a thud, Jongdae also falling to his knees. I reached out to catch him just as he was falling back, tears clouding my vision. I touched the knife in his chest with trembling fingers, knowing there was no way he’d survive.

“Why…?” I said in a voice barely above a whisper, knowing if I spoke any louder my voice would break.

He smiled softly, reaching up to brush his fingers across my cheek, “I made a promise.”

“You idiot...why would you make a promise like that?” I asked, the tears now slowly cascading down my cheeks.

“Because you’re worth giving my life for…” He said, his voice low now, “I’ve never done anything noble in my life before...saving you from Baekhyun was...the only thing...I’ve ever done right. Even--Even if I was asked...to keep you safe...at all costs...by the only man that’s ever wanted...what was best for you...I would’ve done it...all on my own.”

“Jongdae…” I all but cried out, watching the life leave his eyes, “Out of everyone you should’ve been the one to walk out alive...you fucking idiot...why…?”

He smiled softly once more, for the last time before closing his eyes. I closed my own eyes, choking on a sob as I held him close before laying him down on the ground gently. I brushed his hair out of his face, my tears hitting his skin.

“I’m sorry.”

[mutantsrisingrpg]

Congratulations BECK! You’ve been accepted as EUROPA with a FC change to ELIZABETH OLSEN.

Bea’s skeleton was one of my favorites when I wrote it, and you definitely brought her to life and reminded me so much of why I loved writing it, Beck! I love the straddled lines between facade and feeling, of power and control, of protection and obedience that you explored through her eyes. There’s a tangled web she left in her wake, and her ties to others outside the mob only give her an extra dimension I can’t wait to see you explore! 

Welcome to Mutants Rising! Please read the checklist and submit your account within 24 hours.

Out of Character Information:

NAME/ALIAS: Beck

PRONOUNS: She/Her

AGE: 22 in January!

TIMEZONE & ACTIVITY LEVEL: GMT. I am in my final year of uni, so admittedly there will be times where i’m not as active as I would like to be. Though no doubt writing will be the only break I have from work so i’m gonna want to write as much as possible lmao

In Character Information:

DESIRED ROLE: Beatrice ‘Bea’ Einfalt // Europa

GENDER/PRONOUNS: Cis Female She/Her

DETAILS & ANALYSIS:

Bea is a cataclysmic event of her own making. It is hard to tell how solid she really is, and how much of the forced calm demeanour is just an optical illusion. As if this carefully balanced and closed off exterior is like a thin sheet draped over a gaping hole, of something much emptier and bleaker beneath. It was once such a conscious effort to keep those walls high, to keep herself two steps away from everyone else. That distance soon became a comfort, second nature, a feeling of security. Was that security for her or whoever she was distancing herself from though?

She would have been happy to play on no ones team. Stay a free agent but more importantly, keep herself far from anyone she could remotely care about, for fear of hurting them too. In her mind she’s the the pin of a grenade, finger on the trigger, a molotov cocktail waiting to be thrown. Her’s is a mind so shredded by it’s own teeth that sometimes, there are glimpses to be seen through the holes and tears. Her expression slips carelessly for a moment and something twisted and suffering is there instead, peering out from the body that has been forced into a prison.

Bea is similar to a flower growing through the cracks on the side walk. Other flowers look nice with their neat and pretty garden beds, but rest assured this wild flower had to fight like hell to be where it is now. It takes an observant eye to take a moment to appreciate the violet growing by itself and see the little beauties in her simplicity.

BIO:

Beatrice does not have an origin story; nothing is known about the girl she used to be, before she came to Chicago that one fateful day- a skin-and-bones rag doll girl dragging herself and her sister through the world, starved and desperate. At least, that’s the truth everyone has been led to believe.

There was always something off about the Einfalt girl. Something unsettling. People had been talking about her since you first came into this world, bright eyed and big lunged. There never seemed to be a reason for you to cry, but she was one of those babies desperate to be heard. She came rocketing into the world begging for attention, but her cries got quieter every year until she was quiet enough to make some adults around her uncomfortable. No wonder she had so few friends growing up. The kids called her mouse. Oblivious to her social ranking among some circles. Kids didn’t care that her father was quietly raising in political rank. They didn’t care that she became so quiet at home because he was so loud about what he saw as terrible world issues.

Growing up the word ‘mutant’ was always followed by ‘freak’ or ‘menace’ or ‘problem’. They were made to be the monster under her bed, the creak of floorboards at night. Bea can’t count the times her mother had to tuck her back in at night, begging her not to listen to her father and his wild thoughts. It wasn’t until years later that she found out why her mother was so gentle when her father was cold and angry.

Everything had always just felt so empty to her. The houses lined up one after another. Straight like the teeth every one of your father ‘associates’ seemed to smile at you with. Everyone seemed to be trying so hard to cling onto the façade that they were happy. They might have been. She herself was happy enough but she never understood why it just felt so ungenuine from everyone else. Her life was silver spooned perfection, but she always felt like a dove in a cage. Raised to be gentle but with fiery strength burning her your skin, threatening to burn its way out.

Bea’s childhood never seemed like anything to think twice about until you were older. To her, everyone had full days of classes, learning languages no matter how hard they were to comprehend. She was raised amongst wealth, the few friends she had were just as busy learning through the days, leaving little time to play. It was years later when she realised her father was trying to mould her into his own shadow. Unaware that she was everything in life he seemed to hate.

Growing up with so much fear of even the word ‘mutant’. When her powers reared their ugly head, Bea was rightfully terrified. If her father ever found out about her, it was unimaginable what he would do. A quiet child, her voice hadn’t raised in years. So when her mother dropped a glass, and Bea came running into the kitchen, treading on the sharp scatterings, her scream was surprising. In more ways than one. Bea will never forget the way her mother was propelled across the room, or how calm she was even as Bea couldn’t stop crying. Pressing a cloth to the back of her mothers head to stop the bleeding, all her mother could do was try to reassure her it was okay. The story of the mutant gene in their family was a long one, but Bea’s mother managed to tell the tale before her father got home.

Life was always going to be difficult after that point. Bea went from quiet to almost silent, terrified if she spoke something awful was going to happen again. It took years for her to allow her mother to tell her more about their family, about her mothers own power. It wasn’t until her little sister, Ellie, showed signs of the gene that anything really kicked off, however. Where Bea had kept this secret so close to her heart, it was basically sewn into her. Ellie was never as subtle.

The day their father found out was the end of it all. For someone who’s voice felt like a caged bird, a locked away box to never open. She had no trouble using it when she found her father ready to turn over her sweet, harmless little sister to people that would no doubt poke and prod or even worse. There was no literal blood on her hands that day, but Bea will never forget the light leaving her father’s eyes, or the way her little sister cried and clung to her.

Bea would never have gotten away with this normally, and her father was no normal man. A politician with strong Anti-Mutant views was always going to be well known. It was her mother that took the fall. Persuasiveness weaved through her DNA, literally. Convincing officers and officials that she was the one to do this was easy. Too easy. While some looked deeper, suspiciousness rampant, others were just glad to have this cruel man out of the way.

It’s been years since that day that Bea and Ellie were made practically orphans. Several cities, several lives. Bea’s mother is granted a visit once a month that never goes unanswered, and hearing the pride her voice when Bea mentioned The Jem Family eases a hole in Bea’s heart each time. Guilt still rages rampant at where her mother will be for the rest of her life. Now that she’s older however, knowing that she took out a horrifically evil man, and saved so many mutants? Makes it all a little more worth it. What if the truth is revealed, however? There will still be her fathers supporters, even years later, still digging for the truth. Each day Bea works that little harder, to work on her own powers to protect herself and her sister in case that day comes.

EXPANDED CONNECTIONS:

When there was no one in the world Bea could trust besides her sister. It was a small, lonely world. Then there was her introduction to Jem and those involved. She went from having no one, to people who actively wanted to know and care for her. It was far too much all at once, and frankly Bea pulled away more than she wanted to.  Sensible distance was always kept from people, but it felt like she was digging a ravine between her and them all. The first to start building a bridge was Shae. When Bea took a step back, Shae stepped forward. When someone would usually write her off as too broken, too distant, too uncaring. Shae was always there. Never pushy but always actively trying to get to know Bea. If her life was a constant storm, Shae was the sun behind the clouds. It was impossible to make friends, and Bea will admit that was on purpose. It was a comfort to be unknown. Now its a comfort to know she can call or visit Shae and be understood and wanted. She’s the one person in the world that has some idea of what might have happened in Bea’s past, however no matter how close they become, Bea knows she’s always going to keep Shae that little bit away from the truth.

EXTRA:

Pinterest Board here!: https://pin.it/fnymedfualhdfq

Her father raised her with every intent of moulding her into his own shadow. With his wealth he enrolled her into more classes than a child was ever capable of keeping up with. This included languages like German and French. As a result education is exhausting for Bea, and she avoided going to further education and instead learns in her own time. Alone.

There are very few people that can pull a full, engaged conversation out of Bea. She isn’t rude, she’ll always talk to people when talked to first, but her interest is often elsewhere. She’s well aware this makes her come off as uncaring at times, and she doesn’t bother to correct people.

There’s fear of the unknown weaved between her bones, born from years of fear. But there’s an adventurous streak that brings out the bold and the brave within her. New experiences and the thrill and power that come with them are calculated and thought out butare often craved.

She’s not naive, she knows how this world works. Its good at times yes but there’s so much bad and so many people that fall under that darker side. That she knows to keep her wits about her at all times. Those she has befriended still know only what she wants them to know about her.

The memories are never going to fade, everything a constant reminder of the past. However the longer she spends pretending her past didn’t exist, the easier it becomes to believe it herself.

Theres a rage inside Bea she tries so hard to pretend doesn’t exist. It built her entire childhood, when she had to face fear every single day. Or as she lacked the friends she needed. The comfort she needed. It exploded out of her when her father threatened her sister, and  ever since Bea has tired to lock it away. The only person who ever saw that anger since then was Ciara and it keeps Bea up at night that she saw that side of her. No matter how angry their break up, she knows she could have kept more control.

ANYTHING ELSE: A FC change to Elizabeth Olsen please?

[theimpossiblescheme]

Never Altered: The Theatre de Bourgoyne Ten Years Later

I had the idea a long time ago of having Cyrano bump into the buffet girl who was so kind to him in that first scene again, and the amount of sweet sweet content on my dash as of late gave me the kick in the pants I needed to finally write the scene I’d imagined.  So here it is—feel free to tell me what you think!  My grasp on that particular language style needs some brushing up, I’ll admit, but I gave it my best go, and I’m rather proud of how this turned out!

                                                           ---

In ten years, the Theatre de Bourgoyne had barely changed a stroke of paint on its doors.  At the moment, they were flung open to let in the steady trickle of playgoers here to see one of Moliere’s classics—one that Cyrano had already seen twice, but it was always interesting to see how different companies of actors interpreted the same lines. He kept one hand on the head of his cane and the other curled around his ticket as he watched the stream pass by him. Toward the front of the uneasily staggered line were the poorer of Paris, their hair unwashed and their clothes muddied and torn from the daily grind, but there was a brightness in their faces and a hunger in their eyes.  They came for the love of the art and an escape from their humdrum lives, and Cyrano felt a rush of affection for them all as one man caught his eye and grinned in anticipation.

Behind him, a nobleman in purple ribbons—some duke or baron of somewhere or other—sniffed in distaste and gave him a shove to tell him to hurry up.  It wasn’t too great a shove, though; it was barely a poke with one finger, as if he were afraid he would catch some disease from his poor neighbor if he let his hand linger too much.  Flanking him, like a fleet of fanciful toy ships every color of the rainbow, were yet more men in flowing ribbons and silver buckles and women with more lace and fake flowers in their hair than any doll had ever worn. Every so often one of them would wave an enormous fan to someone they recognized and start discussing, in simpering voices like cats mewling for their masters’ attention, what box they would be sitting in, who was expected to be joining them, what each other thought of the latest court scandal… not a word about the play.  They couldn’t have cared less about the play—they were simply there to be seen.  And to look magnanimous, Cyrano supposed, since a handful of their gold could feed any of these actors’ families for a week.  At least he’d had the grace to pay back the entire theater after the Montfleury incident.

As soon as he reached the doorway, a harried looking usher—dressed in burlesque servants’ clothing, distinguishing him as one of the play’s ensemble—rushed to the entrance with a small barrel slung around his neck, making him look like a lost St. Bernard puppy.  “Tickets, please!  Let me have your tickets!  Box tickets, right here!”  The poorer audience members ignored him and filed past, as they had no boxes to pay for, but the beribboned and caped members drew their tickets out of cuffs and purses and handed them over before hurrying to their private balconies. Cyrano himself had been saving for a seat among the lower balconies on the right of the stage; they gave him a wonderful view of the action, and the actors had a tendency to enter from the right side and mutter their lines to themselves, just to make sure they were memorized, before going on.  If it was a play he’d already seen, it amused him to catch their gaze from far away and mouth their next lines to them if they looked particularly lost.

But before he had a chance to surrender his ticket, something ran headlong into his side, and he looked over to see a young woman clutching his arm like a lifeline at sea.  A man’s dark brocade cloak nearly swallowed her slight frame, and there was a shoddy black domino mask, obviously cut from some larger garment, perched over her eyes. “Please sir,” she whispered, her voice ragged as if she’d been running for her life before reaching him, “if you would be so kind… let me sit with you in your box.”

“Why, does it not please you to stand?” Cyrano asked, not unkindly.  Ridiculous as the rules were, there were still rules: if this girl was found in a box she couldn’t pay for, she would be thrown out of the theater completely.  And no doubt he’d be thrown out after her for letting it happen.

She shook her head frantically.  “My brother’s friends are here—my brother is part of the company… I can’t let them see me. If even one of them were to find me…” Wrapping her cloak tighter around her, she shuddered violently, and Cyrano could see the thin red line of a recently healed scar right at her hairline.  So…

“Are you afraid of these men?”

Not looking up until she had thoroughly swaddled herself in the cloak, she nodded, and he was struck by how young she was.  The poor girl had to be at least twenty, and perhaps even that was generous.  “They’re still very young,” she ventured, a half-hearted attempt to defend them.  “Young men… can be much crueler than older men.  I’m sure you know—they think they have no one to answer to.  Oh, no offense meant!” she quickly added, her eyes wide under the mask.

“None taken.”  The frazzled young usher flexed his hand hurriedly toward them, and Cyrano tore his ticket in two and gave the halves to him.  He took no notice and slipped them into the barrel all the same.  “Let me ask but one thing in return for this, my child.”

The girl’s face twitched with momentary fear, but she still nodded.  “N-name it, anything…”

“Your name, please.”

“My name?”  For a second she looked confused, but it quickly faded into a look of relief.  “It’s Clemence.  Clemence Voizin.”

“Then let me formally extend an invitation,” Cyrano replied with exaggerated courtesy, sweeping a hand out behind him toward the boxes just out of sight, “for the esteemed Baroness Clemence Voizin to accompany me to the theater.” Another wash of relief came over the girl, and she finally smiled and fell into step beside him as they wound their way through the crowd.  Occasionally she would start, thinking she recognized some man brushing her shoulder, and Cyrano would put a hand very gently at her back to guide her.  When they finally reached his box, Clemence looked a bit bewildered, looking down at the ground floor like she’d never been this high up before… like she wasn’t sure if she belonged here.  She lowered the hood of her cloak, and a spray of dark brown curls fell over her shoulder; Cyrano noticed she’d made an effort to dress for the occasion by threading the stem of a tiger lily through her hair.

“De Bergerac?” called a nasally voice behind them.  Clemence startled, and Cyrano turned around to face the Marquis de Bassompierre, his long yellow plume and the ends of his outrageous black mustache bobbing with every inch he moved his head.  It wasn’t often he made the voyage from Normandy to Paris, but when he did, it was always to drink in the city gossip and loom like a loud, preening bird of paradise over his peers, sneering at anyone else who fell beneath. “I am surprised to see you without your regiment.  Even after their impressive victories, do the Gascony Cadets shun peacetime and prefer battle to poetry?”

“Some do,” Cyrano replied, unruffled.  Original as the Marquis thought he was, it was a variation on the same tune he’d been hearing every time he came to see a play.  “Some prefer to recount their own glories rather than see pale reenactments of them upon the stage.  And some still prefer a poetry that no man’s pen can justly capture, the serene beauty and sublime quiet of their homes in the old country.  You must understand, being a country squire yourself.”

De Bassompierre bristled, his mustache curling at being called a mere “country squire”, but he merely gave a thin smile and averted his eyes to Clemence.  “And who is this… rustic rose?” he inquired, giving her an appraising look.

“You mean you don’t recognize her?”  Gesturing for Clemence to turn around, Cyrano proceeded to gallantly untie her cloak and throw it over his arm with a flourish.  “You stand in the presence of Clemence Voizin, daughter of the Baron de Constant de Rébecque‎.  I offered to be her chaperone for the performance tonight, the rest of her family being preoccupied with court affairs.”  Catching on, Clemence took a corner of her simple pink skirt between two fingers and dropped an elegant curtsey.

“I cannot say that I recognize her,” de Bassompierre said slowly, looking her over between narrowed eyes.  “She isn’t exactly dressed for the theater, is she?”

“Her purpose is to admire the actors’ craft tonight, not to distract with being admired herself.  Besides, bangles and lace serve only as foils to a greater diamond—does not her beauty speak for itself?”  Clemence blushed at his last comment, and Cyrano took her hand very daintily in his own and guided to her to her seat, never breaking eye contact with the Marquis. De Bassompierre still didn’t look completely convinced, but a fanfare from the stage stole his attention as the play was about to begin.

“That was quite a close save,” Clemence gasped, leaning close to Cyrano across the arm of her chair.  “Thank you… I don’t know what I would have done if I were stuck alone with any of them.”

He simply flicked a hand to dismiss it.  What sort of soldier would he be if he turned aside a distress call, particularly from a defenseless young woman?  “One learns with time that opinions and entitlements of boors matter less than they think they do, noble or common.  Never waste your time paying them any mind.”  Pressing a finger to his lips for quiet, he leaned forward to watch the play, and Clemence mirrored his posture.

Tartuffe was a success that night.  Granted, Orgon was a little wooden and stale—the actor seemed to take for granted that he wasn’t the one the audience was there to see—but the title character was a divine charismatic force, drawing laughter and gasps from the audience by turns.  Elmire and Mariane were both lovely, the former a stately and almost imperious beauty and the latter fluttering and rosy-cheeked as a new blossom, and Valère was charming and pathetic by turns.  There was a moment where Damis forgot a line to his sister in a moment of panic, and Cyrano had to mouth it to him three times once he made eye contact, prompting sniggers from the box inhabitants across the way and a genuine giggle from Clemence.  And if the various servants were a bit too broad in their comic relief and the sudden entrance of the unseen king at the end a bit too ridiculous, nobody minded too much.  Even Cyrano had to admit it was a damn good show, and he rose to his feet to applaud with the rest of them as the company came out one final time for their bows. Beside him, Clemence was clapping feverishly, smiling like an excited child down at the young man who’d played Valère.

“Couldn’t I go down and say hello to him?” she insisted once the applause had died and the audience was beginning to file out, her fingers picking at the edges of her mask.  “I came all this way—"

“Not yet,” Cyrano hissed, staying her hand.  “Your brother’s friends may not be gone yet, and you mustn’t risk recognition if you fear them so much.”  As Clemence wilted a bit and nodded, letting her hand fall into her lap, his eyes darted back up to the thin, angry scar on her forehead.  “How did they inflict that mark, might I ask?”

For a moment, he wasn’t sure she would answer at all.  Her hands twisted at her skirts, her fingers forming claws amid the fabric.  With a quick glance to make sure de Bassompierre’s box was empty, she leaned closer to Cyrano again.  “Robert—my brother—had come to visit me with his friends between rehearsals here.  He said it—it would be a relief from my duties.”

“You worked here in the theater?”

She nodded.  “I used to man the buffet.  It was all the work I could find for so long, and for ten years I’d gone completely without incident… until that night.”  Assailed with the painful memory, her face tightened for a second, and she took a deep breath before the moment passed.  “One of the boys… made a pass at me.  I might be an old maid, but I know that no kiss is meant to be so violent as the one he gave me.”

“Even if you were a maiden of sixteen, that would still be true,” Cyrano interjected, his voice gentle.  “And beside that, if you are as old as you call yourself, you carry your age well,” he added with a smile.  Ten years she’d been manning the buffet at the same theater… perhaps it wasn’t the worst job, but he could imagine how bored she must have become over so long a time. Especially with the louts this place used to employ and how rowdy the patrons could become.  Maybe he’d done his fair share of contributing to that as well, he mused wryly… ten years ago he’d entered a lengthy duel with a viscount he’d only known for about five minutes.  If he were a domestic caught on the sidelines, he might very well be terrified.

Clemence smiled a little sadly at his compliment before dropping her gaze back into her lap.  “Well, as—as soon as he’d finished kissing me, Robert jumped in to defend me and hit him. And before I could tell them to stop, all four of them were having the most horrible row, throwing punches and breaking glasses over each other’s heads.  I tried to intervene, but… that was right when one of them took out his sword.” She swallowed thickly.  “I never saw who it was, but… that’s how I got the scar. Robert’s friends never apologized—not that I ever heard—and the theater manager scolded me for getting in the way… so I handed in my apron that night.  I’ve seen too many fights, and this—this one was the worst.”

“There was still an element of courage to your intervention,” Cyrano said after a moment’s silence, unsure if anything he could say would comfort her.  “And of nobility, thinking of your brother’s safety rather than your own.  In a duel, to mark an opponent’s face is considered the height of dishonor, being so easy a target… but one never lets the other’s dishonor discolor one’s own outlook.  You are a woman with many enemies, you bear their scars openly—be advised, wear them like armor.  Be proud that yours is the moral vantage, endure as a martyr would, and other men such as Robert’s friends will know that nothing they do can damage that armor.  Scars fade, but it will withstand and serve you well.”

It wasn’t anything special—his fellow cadets would have scoffed at the sentiment and dismissed it as childish.  But they were hardened men, not a young lady with so little experience with the world and its violence; she needed gentleness and encouragement, not a rousing call to arms.  And no doubt his lack of experience was showing.  Roxane… Roxane hadn’t needed such words in years… not since they were children playing among the bulrushes together.  What did he know of that kind of naivete anymore?  But it was still a lesson they had both learned so long ago, one that he still held to with so many years lining his face… and it seemed to do the trick.  Clemence’s smile was a little more sincere as she looked back up at him.  “You’re as eloquent in person as you are in the Gazette, Monsieur de Bergerac,” she said with another blush painting her cheeks.  “I’ll keep that in mind.”  Cyrano merely smiled in response and leaned beside her against the balcony to watch the patrons trickle back out the doors.  Occasionally she would crane her neck to see a certain pod of half a dozen men or so, bantering boisterously among themselves and shoving each other in that way that only not-quite-boys can, making their way outside.  He heard her breath catch as they stopped by the door, as if they were waiting for someone—her brother, no doubt—and she unexpectedly darted her hand out to squeeze his, which he let her after a moment’s surprise.  Whatever it would take to calm her nerves—it was better than Ragueneau’s habit of nearly fainting when he’d endured more than he could take.  It took the young pod about ten minutes to decide it wasn’t worth the wait and join the exiting stream, to which Clemence seemed to finally exhale and let go of Cyrano’s hand.  “Thank you,” she breathed, reaching up for her mask and peeling it away to reveal…

Well, well, well… this was an interesting turn of events.  “My dear mademoiselle, you have deceived me.  You might have mentioned that we had met before those ten years ago.”

This time she blushed even more furiously.  “I didn’t think you would remember me, Monsieur.”

“Ah, but you do my memory a great disservice,” he retorted with an even broader smile.  “The little guardian angel who offered me a month’s satisfaction in a single free dinner.” How fate loved a jest indeed—but this one he would welcome.  “If you may think nothing of a moment’s boldness, dear child, you look no different now as you did then.”

Clemence laughed, a fuller and less timid sound.  “I’ll accept being called a child this time, the way you say it.  You’ve hardly aged a day yourself, Monsieur.”

“Oh, don’t lie so—you mar what might have been a flawless second impression.” Cyrano’s own expression was wry as he got to his feet, leaning on his cane as the floor momentarily spun under him. “Remember what I said about scars, wearing them with pride… I have cheated death many times and find myself no more handsome for the wear, but no less undefeated.”

“What happened?”  She rushed forward to take his arm, but he shrunk from her as he drew himself upright. “They called you the Heroes of Arras, but I can’t imagine what must have happened…”

“A great deal happened,” he replied glibly.  “In my own case, a stray cannonball sought an argument with my skull. Miraculously, my skull emerged victorious… and I stand before you now… more or less the same Cyrano de Bergerac who refused more than a handful from your table years ago.”  Remembering her cloak on his arm, he unfurled it like a magician with his cape before draping it back around her shoulders.

“And thank God for it, too,” Clemence said, smiling up at him even as she busied herself with the ties of the cloak.  “Or else you would not have been here to hide me from my own enemies.”

“A trifle, my dear Mademoiselle Voizin, a mere trifle.  It is payment enough to finally know your name.” Lifting her hand, he kissed it as he would the hand of a princess, the same as he had a decade ago.  “And now let me ask but one more thing of you before your brother spirits you away.”

“Anything you like—you have an hour of my time, Monsieur.”

“Allow me to buy us both dinner from the downstairs table.  Think of it as repayment.”

“You don’t have to repay me for anything… but thank you.”  And Le Bret was right—her eyes didn’t avoid him as she followed him back downstairs to pass another pleasant hour, and her smile never faded.  Of all things that the Theatre de Bourgoyne had never altered in all this time, perhaps this was the best of them all.

[ghostiedoesherbest]

Patches - III

It didn’t take long for news of Lotor’s sudden freedom to reach Allura and she wasn’t pleased to say the least. The first person that she began to look for was Shiro, who had been resigned for this coming conversation. He silently prayed to whatever deities that were listening that he would get through this conversation with the rest of his limbs in tact when the Altean princess stormed into the control room. “Shiro, please explain to me why Lotor is not in his prison cell?” Shiro took a deep breath, hoping that Mateo was having a much better time than he was.

_______________________________________________

As it turns out, Shiro was right. Lotor and Mateo were sitting in the recreational room. The silver haired prince was completely puzzled by the simple technology of the game system. “What is its purpose?” he’d asked.

Mateo tilted his head, “It’s for entertainment. You take a game disk, put it in the console, and you can play a game with these remotes. You wanna try it out?”

“Fascinating. I’ve heard of these games but I’ve never been allowed to play one,” Lotor said as he turned the remote control over in his hands, his fingers itching to take it apart so he could see how it worked. 

“Didn’t you try one out when you were exiled?” Mateo inquired. 

Lotor shook his head, “I focused most of my time on survival and gathering support.”

Mateo noticed that there wasn’t an ounce of regret in Lotor’s voice but there was a longing there that made his heart clench in pity. He forced a bright smile onto his face and slid a simple game into the game console. “Well, better late than never, right?” Mateo went about showing Lotor how the game worked. It was a game called Castle Crashers. They both picked the colors of their characters with Mateo choosing the happy looking pink character and Lotor deciding to use the very aggressive looking purple character. 

It was a simple hack and slash game that was rather easy to learn. Although, Mateo quickly learned that Lotor was a little shit. “Why do you keep taking all of the gold?!”

“Because you keep stealing my kills,” the prince retorted with a haughty snort. 

“I’m trying to help you! We’re a team remember!” That was said right before the killed the first boss. Then, came the battle for the princess’s favor in which Mateo was decimating Lotor.

“What happened to the team, Mateo?” Lotor cried in indignation as he tried to help his character fend for itself. 

“That was then and this is now,” Mateo laughed as his character killed Lotor’s character. The prince pouted as Mateo’s character was kissed by the princess. 

“She’s not even your type!”

“Which is?” Mateo asked, humoring the pouting prince. 

“I think the blonde one is more your speed.”

Mateo opened his mouth to retort but he quickly thought back on all of his previous boyfriends and realized that most of them just so happened to be blonde. Perhaps he did have a type. “You’re not wrong.” He just doesn’t know that Mateo bats for a different team. Lotor gave him a pointed look and the brunette rolled his eyes but let the Galra have that victory. 

Lotor chuckled to himself, “If I had known that these video games were as fun as this one, I would have invested a portion of my time into it. It has been a long time since I have enjoyed myself so much!” 

Mateo was about to respond when the door slid open to reveal a very unhappy Allura and an exasperated Shiro. The pair stood to greet them but Allura completely ignored Lotor in favor of glaring at Mateo. "What do you think you are doing?"

Mateo coolly regarded the white haired princess, "I'm playing video games with Prince Lotor."

"Now is not the time for smart remarks Mateo! Do you not care that his father is responsible for the complete subjugation and slavery of the entire known universe?!" she snapped. The older McClain cousin noticed the way the prince flinched out of the corner of his eye.

"Allura who is the person standing beside me?"

"Do you think I'm blind?! Anyone with eyes can see that he's the heir to the most blood thirsty race in the universe!"

"I think you need to have your eyes reevaluated Princess," Mateo said. Shiro could feel the temperature drop at his cold and clinical tone. It was almost as if he was back in training under Iverson. "His name is Prince Lotor, Son of Zarkon. Son. He is not Zarkon -"

"I am well aware!"

"I don't think you are," Mateo folded his arms behind his back and began to circle around Allura like a predator. He wasn't about to back down from this. "You are holding an entire race responsible for the actions of a man who holds power over them. You look at Lotor and you see Zarkon but Zarkon wouldn't be sitting here trying to help us end this war. That is the plan, correct?"

Allura's face grew red with frustration, "Yes! That has never changed!"

"So tell me what was your plan upon defeating Zarkon?" Mateo asked as he came to a stop to stare directly into Allura’s eyes, his voice barely above a whisper but he could have shouted for all its effect on Allura who reeled back as though she'd been slapped.

Mateo had grown wary of Allura after experiencing the alternate reality where the Alteans were the dominating force of the universe. Where Allura allowed for other races to be practically lobotomized in order to serve the Alteans as subservient slaves. What disturbed him the most is that this reality’s Allura had seen nothing wrong with the practice because it was "more peaceful." That wasn't peace, it was slavery but Allura could see no wrong in it because the Alteans did it so there must have been a logical reason for it, right?

However, if the Galra had taken up the practice she would have been horrified and called them monsters. That double standard was why Mateo had become a lot more hesitant with his interactions with Allura. He hadn't been her biggest fan before but he could trust her to have his back. Now he wasn't so sure. If she found out about his heritage would she be okay with it or would she immediately turn on him?

Allura had yet to answer his question so Mateo put pressure on her, taking a step forward. Immediately she took one back. "What is your plan for the Galra left without an emperor to lead them? Were you planning on wiping them out like Zarkon did to your people? Or were you just going to sit by, not knowing the Galra's customs for choosing their leader, and possibly allowing someone worse to take the throne? What is the plan Allura because the way I see it you're blinded by revenge and have no plan beyond hurting the person who hurt you." With each question Mateo took a step forward and Allura would take one back until she was backed against a wall staring into Mateo's dark brown eyes that seemed like an empty abyss in this situation. "What was your plan for Lotor when he ran out of information to give?"

Allura floundered for an answer but she couldn't bring herself to say what had been on her mind. Mateo could see it in her eyes though as he backed away from her with a disgusted sneer. "It seems that you have more in common with Zarkon, Princess."

That seemed to make something in her snap as she used her shapeshifting ability to grow taller so that she could tower over Mateo. Lotor was growing a little nervous at the tension that had been growing in the room. It wasn’t like with Hunk where he knew that it wasn’t serious. This was serious and Lotor didn’t know who he should defend in this situation. “Stand down, Mateo,” she warned. 

“I won’t,” Mateo stated glaring directly into her eyes. “I know damn well that you can kick my ass up and down these halls but I’m still gonna tell you the truth Allura. Now are you done puffing yourself up or is your head still so far up your own ass that you don’t want to hear reason.”

Allura’s gaze wavered before averting them from the brunette. “If he turns on us then it will be your fault,” she grumbled, hoping to make Mateo waver.

“I’ll take that chance.”

"If it's all the same to you, I have more information that may be beneficial for you all," Lotor interjected, feeling as though he wasn't supposed to witness what he'd just seen. Although, he was grateful that Mateo was willing to stick his neck out for him, so he felt as though he should prove himself worthy of that chance. “All of the information after this point will be more perilous in nature.”

Allura turned her sharp gaze onto Lotor, “I’m listening.” 

“This information is something that I believe you would consider important on a more personal level,” Lotor continued with his shoulder’s rolled back, feeling a little emboldened by Mateo’s presence in the room. Mateo listened intently as Lotor relayed the possible location of Pidge’s father. He was relieved that the younger girl’s father was confirmed to be alive and only in need of rescue. However, he knew the moment that Allura would relay the information to the Green Paladin that she wouldn’t wait for back up.

She did exactly that, pleasantly surprising Mateo when she at least took her brother and the former bounty hunters that almost stole Blue. Lotor observed the exasperated exchange between Shiro and Mateo as they practically rag dolled onto the couch when Allura left them. “At least she’s not by herself,” Mateo sighed.

“Did you see how mad Allura was? Do you know how much my ears were ringing from how much she was yelling at me for letting you talk me into letting Lotor go?” Shiro chuckled as he rubbed his neck. “She looked like she was about to kick your ass.”

Mateo lifted his head to look at the Black Paladin, “You know she could probably wipe the floor with me.”

“Then why did you do that for me?” Lotor asked, reminding Shiro of his presence. 

Mateo looked at the Galra prince and gave him a soft smile, “I’m a firm believer in second chances. Plus, I’m pretty sure you’re our only hope for peace.”

“We have Voltron,” Shiro retorted, sounding slightly offended.

Mateo rolled his eyes, “Voltron is a giant sentient super weapon. Being chosen to pilot it doesn’t automatically make everything you do right. Sure, the Galra will back down after you blow up a bunch of their ships, but who’s to say that they won’t come back later looking for revenge.”

Lotor followed his train of thought, “So your plan is to get them on your side. If you get your enemy to stop perceiving you as their enemy then there is no war to be fought.” The prince was honestly impressed by this since he had much similar ideals. He did not want to subjugate but to have peaceful cohabitation.

Mateo shot him finger guns, “That’s the plan, Princey.” Lotor settled on a free portion of the couch next to Mateo’s head with his arms resting on his legs and his hands clasped together. Mateo tilted his head back and his eyes widened. “Whoa! Your hands are huge, man!” He reached out a hand to examine it but stopped short, unsure if Lotor wanted to be touched. 

Said prince stared at Mateo for a few moments before hesitantly placing his hand in Mateo’s despite every aspect of himself screaming for him not to trust it. Mateo turned Lotor’s gloved hand over in his own palm, sending pleasant tingles up his arm. He gently brushed his fingers over the palm and frozen when he noticed something interesting. “You have beans!” he said breathlessly as rubbed at the pads of the prince’s hands. 

“What?” 

“Shiro come check this out!” Mateo called to the older man as he continued to rub Lotor’s palm without answering his question, increasing the tingles felt by the prince. He tried not to show how much it affected him as the Black Paladin leaned over Mateo’s shoulder to see what he was so excited about. Mateo excited waved his hand for Shiro to pay attention as he gently pressed down on Lotor’s palm and watched as his once normal nails elongated but there they were blunted. 

“You clip your nails?” Mateo asked, looking up at Lotor who had turned his head away to hide his blush. 

“Yes, I found that my claws were rather annoying. They tend to get caught in my clothes,” he cleared his throat and raised his other hand to cover his mouth. Was he really that touch starved? Sure Lotor was well aware of his need for positive attention but he didn’t think that a pretty human caressing his hand would feel as pleasurable as it is. 

Mateo tilted his head, wondering if he should do the same about his own since they always get caught in his sweaters and blankets. He had a hard time explaining to his grandma why the blanket she’d made for him was ripped up after a particularly bad transformation. He had to make her believe that he’d taken in an injured feral cat. 

“You have some pretty big hands yourself, Mateo,” Shiro pointed out.

Mateo blinked owlishly at the Black Paladin, “Really?” He sat up properly and lined his hand up with Lotor’s. His hand was slightly smaller than Lotor’s but they were considered pretty big by normal standards. He tilted his head in thought, “Huh, I guess they are.” 

“Are all human hands so soft?” Lotor asked curiously, hoping to get the attention off of him. 

Mateo barked a laugh at his question, “Only the humans who have a relative like Lance. He absolutely refuses to be associated with me unless I moisturize twice a day.” He leaned in and whispered conspiratorially to the prince, “Between you and me, I think he just likes to dote on people, but you didn’t hear it from me.” 

Lotor found himself chuckling in amusement. Mateo hadn’t been nearly this nice while he was imprisoned. He was not unkind or cruel, and yet never completely friendly. Lotor was kept at an arm’s length, as he should have been. However, he also didn’t expect for the human to befriend him as quickly as he did. HIs presence made him feel safe and protected, which is ridiculous because he was pretty sure he could bench press the shorter human. 

Mateo McClain was an interesting conundrum that Lotor is determined to understand. 

Tag List: @starfaring-princelotor @motheroflittlelions @fandomsoffeelings@done-with-your-shit-shirogane @kirahhhh @legendofcarl @lotor-for-emperor@marvelheaux @yanderemommabean @lotorrential @planet-jumping-warrior

[iliketowrite1996]

Someday 2/3

TRIGGER WARNINGS AND THEMES- Segregation, racism, interracial relationships being disapproved of, parental disapproval, perceived disapproval from a friend but he’s really just concerned, lying, sneaking around, secret relationships. 

PART 2 of my collaboration work with @starsshines-blog! It was her idea to give Bucky a love interest so here we go!

For the purpose of the story, the reader and her family are Christian. Plus, I based it off of myself a bit. 

 Jazz music.

   It’s something that your very religious parents would never allow in their house. No, nothing but Sunday morning hymns and Gospel music for the Jameson household. And it’s not that you don’t love those songs. You can sing with the best of them, and those songs define your entire childhood. You have vivid memories of sitting on the back porch with Jane, singing songs that you’d sang in church earlier that day as you braid her hair, sip lemonade, and wait on your mother’s Sunday Evening dinner of Roast beef, potatoes, carrots, rolls, and creamed corn to be done.

   Jazz music, through… that’s when you come live. The dance floor is your safe haven. Other than the church and your home, it’s the one place you can simply be yourself.

   Plus, Jeremy Coleman would never set foot in the place. He doesn’t like dancing. You know that from the awkward conversations you had when your mothers left you alone to talk.This isn’t his cup of tea, so you’ll gladly drink from it.

   It’s a safe haven, In a world where segregation is the norm, and you are no stranger to being harassed because of the color of your skin, you need all of the safety and peace you can get it, when you can get it. While it does sink that there is no way for you and people who don’t look like you to dance together, you’re grateful for the chance to dance when you can.

   ‘’I don't’ see why I had to come along,’’ Jane huffs, pulling at the red fabric of her dress.

   Jane hates dancing. He can’t stand it. She’ll watch you twirl around the room and down the hallway of your small home as your parents and brothers just started.

   This is another scene. It really isn’t. But you’re her best friend and her sister and this is your scene. She remembers dragging you to the library countless times as a young child and this is a way to sort of pay you back.

   She’s holding tightly to your arm as weave your way through the crowd that’s gathering at seats and into a corner, where she can sit and observe and you can leave your coat and purse to go and cut a rug on the dance floor.

   It’s only twice a month that yo get to come here. Currently, your mother thinks Jane is cleaning houses with you to earn some extra money.

   That’s what you always tell her.

   Then you change and leave the clothes where you know you’ll find them.

   You come here.

   You have a drink.

   Next thing you know, you’re swing dancing with some good looking young man and having the time of your life.

   And you know full well that your mother would tan your backside if she ever found out and Jacob would drag you away. So this secret stays between you and Jane.

   Jane is currently watching on with disdain as your eyes scan the dancefloor, looking for a suitable partner. Every girl is with a guy, skirts flowing as the men twirl them around the dance floors like dainty, human tops.

It’s got you moving your legs, and then your feet are moving until you’re out on the floor, doing your own thing, dancing to the music yourself.

It’s fine and it’s fun and it’s cool. It’s how your Saturdays at a dancehall always go until you’re returning to your table and someone drops a glass. It’s hard to see the broken glass in the dimly lit nightclub, so others side step it. You're Half tempted to pick up the bigger pieces, just so whoever comes to clean up doesn't find a nasty surprise sticking through the bottom of their shoe.

   ‘’Hey, can I get someone over here to clean this up?’’

   You’re used to tall the guys that work here- you’ve danced with all of them at least once. Seeing a handsome man with brown eyes and brown skin and short, cropped, black hair is nothing new.

   What is new is seeing the ivory-skinned, blue-eyed, blonde-haired man rushing forward to sweep the fragments onto glass, reminding you to watch your step.

   ‘’Please, let me help you.’’

   You take the rag that he came with and attempt to mop up the spilled drink while the new cleaner picks  up the smaller pieces with the broom and then the bigger pieces by hand.

   ‘’Thank you so much, miss.’’

   ‘’It’s no trouble at all.  Clean houses all day. I know what it’s like to be busy and then accidents happen, and… Steve Rogers?’’

   ‘’He looks up form where he is playing the broken glass covered rag into a bin, and his eyes nearly pop out of his head when he recognizes you, ‘’Um, hello. Fancy meeting you here.’’

   You quirk an eyebrow at that tired pick-up line, ‘’This is more my territory than yours, wouldn’t you say?’’

   He nods a bit before looking to his dark colored shoes, blushing, ‘’I’m just using the lines that my friend Bucky Uses. I have no idea how to talk to a woman.’’

   This throws you a bit, but you don't’ show it. Because not only is he very, obviously attracted to you, but he’s treating you like any other human being.

   Maybe that’s why, on his break, you find yourself talking to him in the alley as he enjoys a sandwich from the kitchen and you sip a glass of water.

   ‘’I need extra money. This place was hiring, I like it here, and it pays decent enough,’’ hesitates as if it were that simple.

   You suppose that, in his mind, it really is. He can come work here. You could work at nightclubs that ‘’should’’ be more of ‘’his scene’’, but you know that you would not be treated so kindly if you di. Despite some looks of respite on the parts of your peers at his particular nightclub, Steve obviously hasn't been harassed much in the two weeks that he’s been here.

   You like that he is talking to you in a way that is real. He tells you about how he’s currently living with his old high school friend, and  that he wants to be apart of something bigger, that he has dreams and hopes and plans that go even further than Brooklyn, New York.

   There must be something in the air tonight, because you tell him that your dreams go far beyond the walls of your family's home. That you dream of being a nurse but worry, and for good reason. It’s not that you can’t be a nurse- there are plenty of nurses that look like you. It’s that you’re worried what others will say about you and your plans.  He doesn’t tell you that he understands, no. but you see it in the glint of sadness in his sapphire eyes.

   He can’t be sympathetic, no, but he’s empathetic. It’s  look you’ve only seen a few times and it still feels you with emotion each time.

   He’s something special, even if you can’t quite put your finger on it.

   Maybe that’s why you end up teaching some dance lessons to him in the alley, fifteen minutes before his thirty minute break is over. He’s laughing, you’re giggling, and, for once,the world isn’t in black and white, literally or  figuratively.

   It’s in bold, screaming, dazzling color and you could kick yourself for admitting it, but…

   Maybe, by the end of the night, yo have some sort of crush on this boy.

   And maybe he’s the reason you’re going to do your best to sneak over here again next Saturday, exchanging the promise and thrill of his company for the lure of the wooden dance floor and eyes on you and skirt squishing around you as you step in time to the music.

   He’s got a hold of you that not even dancing and sneaking around does for you.

   That says something.

   ‘’You look beautiful tonight, doll,’’ Steve tells you as you lean against the wall outside, the cold air doing little to soothe your overheated, flushed skin.

   ‘’The band is really jumpin’ tonight!,’’ you remind him, ‘’Everyone’s having fun.’’

   ‘’Everyone who's having fun can actually dance, doll,’’ he laughs, shaking his head, ‘’You’ll notice it’s my night off and you don’t even see me out there.’’

   You hadn’t even noticed that. Steve has been sitting at your table all night, guarding your purse and keeping Jane company while you were twirled and dipped and carried and swung on the dancefloor.

   ‘’I am just glad that you were having a good time. I can’t dance, you know.’’

   ‘’Steve Rogers, anyone can dance,’’ you roll your eyes, setting down your cool drink of water and taking his hands in yours.

   It’s beautiful, really- the contrast of his pale skin against your own skin. It’s something that would make others cringe should they see you. That’s why you keep this little dance lesson where no one can see you. His and nervously touches your waist and you show him how to move to the symphony of sounds drifting out to the dance hall and spinning around in the night air before falling over the two of you like a cascading waterfall of music.

   The floral pattern of your dress swishes this way and that along with the skirt as Steve Gets the hang of things. He doesn't dare try any fancy footwork, just moving in time to the basic steps that you’ve just shown him.

   Steve Rogers is no idiot. He knows that the world you live in wouldn’t take too kindly to the two of you being friends. It’s taboo to most, perverse to many.

   He wishes people would take the time to see that the color of someone’s skin has no indication of their intelligence, character, personality.

   The closest he’s come to a like-minded individual is his best friend, Bucky. Bucky doesn't agree with the way things are, but he also doesn't want Steve to get into trouble. So Steve keeps the fact that he's definitely developing a little crush on you.

   In fact,it’s such a secret that he doesn't even fully realize it until he’s staring at you in the moonlight. It’s corny and it’s happened to so, so many others,... but your pressed hair and skin and lips and eyes? They all look so beautiful under this nighttime sky.

   That’s why he drops his hand and quickly turns to face the other way, trying to release the thoughts of being more than just friends with you as he takes in a deep breath, over and over again.

   In and out.

   Breathe in, breathe in out.

   Let in the good air.

   Let out your wishes that you know can’t come true, Steve.

   ‘’Steve, what’s wrong?’’

   ‘’Nothing,’’ he says a bit too quickly, letting you know that something is, indeed, wrong.

   ‘’Steve,’’ you sigh, placing a hand on his shoulder, ‘’Come on. I know you better than that.’’

   ‘’Do you think that things will ever change? As far as society, I mean.’’

   It’s a question that you’ve often pondered. Are brighter days ahead? Is this the way things will always be or will your children have far more opportunities? You know someday this won't be the reality.

   Right now, though, all you can do is live and hope or that day.

   ‘’What about, like… do you think people will be allowed to love who they want,’’ Steve questions after you tell him all of that.

   ‘’I do. I really, really do.’’

   Maybe then you wouldn't be going o n date with Coleman after work on Monday. Maybe you’d be able to go out with the man who you really want to be with, the man who you know you can’t be with. In another place, time, world, or life.

   But not here. Not right now.

   You know it's impossible for you to be with Steve right now It’d be illegal for the two of you to marry, and your parents would shun you. Jacob would never talk to you again and he’d definitely rope your other brother into ignoring you. You know that all  you would have left would be Jane,and even she would not be too thrilled about that turn of events.

   Steve knows how dangerous it’d be for you to be together. Even you two talking has people turning their heads which is why it’s better done in private. Any relationship would be a ‘’No’’ and would fizzle out and fade to darkness before he could even start the spark, let alone the fire of love to keep it going.

   That doesn’t stop him from confessing that he feels something for you, from confessing that he can’t think about you, from asking if he can kiss you.

   It doesn't stop you from admitting the same thing, that you’ve been there too many times to count lately, from letting his pink lips press to your lips.

   It’s short, it’s sweet, it’s simple. It's a promise- a non verbal agreement to see where this thing goes. He takes your hand, and presses a kiss to the back of it like he has seen Bucky do to so many dates before.

   From the giggle you emit, he must be o the right track.

   But that’s where you part. The club is shutting down and Jane will be looking for you and you’ve better get home and change before your mother checks on you two.     

   So you say goodnight. Give him your phone number. Tell him to hang up if your dad or your older brother picks up.    

Collect Jane and your things and leave.

   ‘’And just where have you been all night,’’ she raises an eyebrow as she questions  you.

   ‘’Oh, just talking to a friend.’’

   It’s not a lie. Not really. It’s partial omission of the truth, yes, but.. Jane wouldn't understand.    

   You don't’ even understand.

   That’s why you go on your Monday night date with Jeremy and agree to see him again on Friday.

   Because you’re seeing Steve two towns over, having a picnic together at his favorite spot, on Saturday.

   Guess which date you prefer?

   ‘’My buddy doesn't mind us using his apartment. He knows what it’s like to go on a date with a pretty girl like you,’’ Steve clears his throat, fixing his tie before taking a drink of his water.

   ‘’Steve, stop being so nervous,’’ you shake your head fondly, ‘’I already like you.’’

   Steve is not Bucky. Girls always look at Bucky, not Steve. Even Steve’s dates want Bucky.

   It’s why he's a little hesitant when he brings Back to the club that night, knowing full well that you’ll be there with Jane.

   Worse case scenario, Bucky is shocked but is polite and asks Steve what the heck is going on later.

   Best case scenario, his best friend gets along swimmingly with his best girl, and the two of you continue this relationship for as long as you can.

   Steve is not stupid. Neither are you. That’s been established.

   There’s no foreseeable way for this relationship to last long term. That’s been established, too.

   Your relationship has to be kept behind closed doors. It hurts you and breaks his heart every time you see each other, but it’s for the best. It’s all you can do right now. Stolen moments are taken advantage of, and you two discover just how meant to be you are between kisses and conversations about the future and the changes that it may hold.

   You don’t want to live your love life this way. Hiding Him away as he hides you away is awful. You know it’ll change, and you’re living for that day, but in the meantime… you can’t hold your boyfriend or kiss him in public. You live in a world that sees you very different from the way that you two really are, that see this relationship as something that’s contaminated.

   Everything is not black and white, even in a world that appears to be,

   So it’s with hesitation hat you tell Jae that night. Your parents are under the impression that you two are going to have a night on the town. And you're.

   The difference? She’ll be meeting Steve,

   ‘’Daddy is going to flip his wig. He’s going to snap his cap!,’’ Jane hisses at you as you pin your hair, ‘’Have you lost your mind?’’

   ‘’Momma always did say I’d lose my head if it wasn’t attached to my body. I guess I have,’’ you shrug, looking at your sister in the mirror.

   ‘’This is not funny, and you know it. You know how dangerous this is!’’

   ‘’I did not tell you this so that you could judge me,’’ you stand, facing Jane, ‘’You are my sister, my best friend. I love you and I can not keep a secret from you any longer.’’

   She shakes her head, smoothing hair brown hair out of her face and taking the short tresses behind the rear, ‘’Fine. He’s not Jeremy but I'll Meet him if it’ll make you happy.’’

   ‘’Well, don’t you sound like an eager beaver.’’

   ‘’Don’t push it.’’

   Jane has her arm looped through yours when you arrive at the club. The regular patrons have begun accustomed to seeing Steven and some even say hey to him as they pass his table. So, no, that’s not what’s unusual to you.

   What’s unusual is the fact that he has a man sitting with him that you've never seen before, but you’ve definitely heard about before.

   This must be Bucky.

   ‘’You didn’t say anything about it being him and him being a friend,’’ Jane narrows her eyes at oy.

   Little do you know that Bucky and Steve are having a similar conversation across the way.

   ‘’You didn't say…’’

   ‘’I didn’t think it mattered.’’

   ‘’It shouldn’t Steve,’’ Bucky sings, ‘’But you know it is. It shouldn’t be but can we do to change that?’’

   Bucky means well. He does. But Steve Doesn't wanna hear it.

   HIs eyes are focused on you and anything else and anyone else doesn't matter.

   ‘’Hey,’’ he shakes your hand, knowing he can’t embrace or kiss you here.

   ‘’Hi. Um, Steve, this is my sister. Jane.’’

   ‘’Hello,’’ she sticks her hand out. ‘’Nice to finally meet you.’’

   ‘’Nice to meet you,too. And this is my best friend, James Buchanan Barnes.’’

   The moment he says that, Jane and Bucky lock eyes.

   It’s something straight out of a radio show- you can see the connection.

   ‘’Hello,’’ she says mildly, timidly.

   ‘’It’s nice to meet you two. You can call me Bucky.’’

   Steve whispers to you, ‘’That’s a good sign. He only lets me and his mother call him that,’’

   There’s something building between Jane and Bucky. Within these four walls, you can dance with Steve and she can dance with Bucky. People am I think something of it , but hey say nothing. It’s an unspoken rule, that this is a place for having fun. Most people here don’t mind Steve and they don’t mind his friend by association. He’s kind Treats everyone the same, form the other waiters to the bandleader to the owner.

   So you’re safe within these four walls, where you can’t show him how much you love him but can enjoy acing with him as Jane dancing with Bucky.

   It’s pure bliss and you don’t feel a care in the world.

   Neither does Jane, if her giggles as she and Bucky talk indicate anything.

   You can relax and just be you, and they can be them, and it works.

   Little do you know that Jeremy’s sister and your brother’s current girl are sitting at a table on the other side of the room and can see everything.

   You enjoy tonight, not knowing it may be all you have left of this fantasy.

   Because tomorrow, the truth will be exposed.

   And your day dream may turn into a nightmare.

DISCLAIMER- I DO NOT OWN ANY MARVEL CHARACTERS OR THEIR FICTIONAL WORLDS,COUNTRIES, CITIES, OR UNIVERSES. 

@ashanti-notthesinger​ @destinio1​ @afraiddreamingandloving​ @starsshines-blog​ @airis-paris14​ @syreanne​ @chaneajoyyy​ @90sinspiredgirl​ @shemiahsmelanin @zillmonger @skysynclair19 @bidibidibombaclaat @marvelpotterlove @constantlycravingtheunknown @imaginewhoever @wakanda-inspired @pocmarvelworks @theunsweetenedtruth @dreampovx @adrioola21

[shethephoenix]

I started this blog with the intent that i would post daily about my last 100 days as a Fiance...

well...

hows that going you ask?, well seeing as how this is my first post, and we are 87 days from the #cheerstotheChotias, il leave that to you to figure out.

Truth is i have watched YT video after YT video and followed almost every wedding page their is out there (a little exaggeration never hurt no body), but truth talk.

I haven’t yet found a page that has sparked that Bride feeling inside of me,

.. also because i wasn't the girl that spent her childhood playing with countless barbies ( i had one), i was outside playing with birds and the dogs or running in the street with friends, trying to roller skate out the house on clean maroon shinned floors or watching power rangers, (i was a HUGGGE fan, and yes i was the pink ranger), also, what i wasn’t doing was spending hours with my black barbie and white ken dreaming of wedding days, but when i did play with them it was dress up and seeing if ken could withstand the amount of dirt, water and dog bits that came with playing outside, but you could sometimes catch me dismantling things, and my video game at the time knew all about my destruction to see just how it was possible that super mario could run and jump across my tv. side note: i never found out, because once i took it apart i was shocked that something so simple had so many parts top piece back, so it would end up in a giant kist with everything else that reached it play by date.

i did however treasure two things and that was my doll Chucky (no he didn’t have the crazy face from the movie), he had the biggest smile with a wink and rag doll hair but i wasn’t allowed to take him outside, and the other thing that kept my most precious Tinkerbell “cosmetics” was a brown little suit case, which i dragged everywhere outside the house. So as you can read I just wasn’t about that “little girl, Princess, weddings vibe)

Soooo now that ive given you that little “Hello my name is...” heres something i thought id share, and yes i could put this in my journal but to put pen to paper has been hard lately, as well as opening this page, so i thought what the heck, id go for the one where i can just type to my hearts content and also put some of me out there. (Scary to let people into what you think), but as tears are a healing to the soul, writing is my outlet.

Thing is as with most things in life, nothing just starts on hip hip hooray, as that of a new born being birthed to this world, there is unexplained joy, but so many tears, some good, others bad and some just for not knowing, and yes I've cried my share of tears and in moments i didn't think would be a tear-fest. (and yes, i am a proper softy, so tears are just there waiting to roll).

Recently I stopped mid way watching a Jamie Wolfer vlog on all things wedding of course and something hit me, as much as there are countless books and advice on weddings and marriage there just wasn't a page where i could go an immerse myself in the truth and struggle about a couples life, and yes i get many are trying but we live in an online edited world and as much as people say they posting about their lives, we are only ever given the parts that were good enough to see.

So having discovered that what i was looking for didn't really exist to the extent i wanted, i decided i would blog about my own, and in hopes that it wouldn't just be another blog about someone in the process of getting married, and how i had to go about picking colours and flowers and center pieces, but that this blog would give someone a good truth read about 2 humans that are about to share a title but more so a life that no one has received the “dummies guide” too.

...

the next few paragraphs might offend you, read at your own risk.

...

at 87 days away from saying I Do, one would think that everything is rosy, but what i have come to learn is that nothing is as it seems and getting to do the picking and thinking of wedding things somehow seem to be the best thing because I’d pick that over having to deal with people and thier opinions, even on things that do not concern them, and at other times when you high key just don’t want advice. please don’t get me wrong, i really appreciate help on things that i know nothing about, but stop throwing your intelligence and “ I've lived longer” help on me and then smile like you helped a generation overcome some mental illness.

This process has however taught me to “believe people when they first show you who they really are”, it may be hard to see but it is or was there in your first encounter, so much so that i found myself saying endless times in everything “ if people would just be honest from the jump, things would be so easy”, we as humans take things and complicate the hell out of it, and then we sit there and stress about what next. i am also guilty of this behavior...

but,

of all the pinterest pictures, boards created, dress ideas, shoe height, napkin colour, angle of the chairs, how many to invite and what you would look like on the day, there enters moments that you were never ready for. There is a movie that put the next words so nicely in English, “our Marriage, their wedding”, i never understood the true meaning of those words, until now, yet, no vlog or book can prepare you for the true test.

one of mine that brought me to tears was finding out what is being said about you when you think you have handled a situation to the best of Your ability, only to find out...you dead wrong and that whats to follow is not only in how you react but what happens once you have reacted and the next morning rolls in and you have to find the courage to deal with it, and you sit there and try to be a good human but every ounce of you wants to unleash all the anger you feel, but then you have a little light bulb moment, and wipe your tears, blow your nose, put your hair back in the messy bun it was, and you realize that there is such a thing as the wheel turning, and that one day instead of being the statue, you get a chance to be the bird...

but my problem is:, i was taught to love and respect, and with that comes the part where you grow up and realize that not everyone shares your values, and that is okay because how else would people like me learn or build character if it wasn't for “life lessons”.

so this human makes her already anxiety filled life even more filled by always considering the feelings of others, because i make it a conscious decision to always respect and appreciate people.

but, life,

Because, another thing you don’t get from a “dummies guide” is how to deal with truths, hard truths, real truths, the ones couple don’t post about, the ones that are spoken between the walls and with people who have shared in the experience and are able to give a few helping words.

The one were i learnt, its possible for another human to express their heart so brutality and not consider the feelings of another individual. Cause no counseling session or family meeting will ever teach you how to appropriately deal with such a matter.

Yes sometimes its better to not know the truth cause then you live in your bubble and think that you have done everyone good, but with that said i am not naive cause i know you cant please everyone all the time, even if you try.

In saying so, i have found to have this cry my eyes out moment and then i get distant, sounds harsh but it gives me a chance to see things from all angles and i don’t exclude putting myself in the judgement chair, (cause yes anxiety will make you go to places that were never necessary, but you do anyway) so that if its me i will deal accordingly. (it may not be immediately but i really try)

And so every morning i get up and try to be better then i was cause i was never no exception to any rule, and because i want to be the person that i hope to encounter in my journey, and i really just want to be a better “help meet”, but, you get tested daily and the ones you fail you hope to see another day to correct.

so, may i learn and be open to lessons, and i hope to become the best wife my Husband to be will need.

[goldenmvry]

𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒅𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒍𝒐𝒑𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 | 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒍𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏

full name :  MARY HELOISE MACDONALD. The miracle child named for miraculous women. Mary, for the mother, and Heloise, for the French philosopher with divinity and humanity tied to her name. The Macdonald family thought that perhaps they’d never be given a child, but when she finally came along, she imbibed the household with a light and fervor characteristic only to one destined to be one of those miraculous women. And how right they were. How right they continue to be. 

birth date :  3 March, 1960. Mary is a Pisces, though the confidence attributed to the zodiac sign is, at present, uncharacteristic. Once upon a time, however, she exemplified all the qualities characteristic of her zodiac. gender and pronouns : Mary identifies as cisgender, using she/her pronouns. sexuality : bisexual, biromantic

character traits : [ + ]: EMPATHETIC, INTUITIVE. You will never meet someone more in tune with the human condition, with the struggle so pertinent to the war hanging like clouds atop their heads. On a higher level, Mary is a figurehead for the sort of person the Order fights to protect, but on an interpersonal level - where she truly shines - she simply sees people. She is entirely un-judging, open-minded, a confidant in all aspects. She is understanding in a way uncommon in times such as these, perhaps thanks to the way in which she was raised. Mary is, first and foremost, a kind soul; she loves as deeply as she hurts, and she always does her very best to set aside grudges and see the humanity behind every mask. Oftentimes, this is to her detriment. There are some masks that are simply not meant to be peered beneath. This is, perhaps, what will make her an excellent healer. Bodies can be healed quite easily, but it takes a special touch to mend the wounds inflicted upon a soul. [ + ]: FORGIVING, COMPASSIONATE. Things change. People change. Skills are learned and unlearned as quickly as the weather shifts overhead; this is a fact of life - perhaps it makes her contradictory, perhaps it lessens the purity of her character, but quite frankly she could not be assed to care. Once upon a time, Mary would forgive every slight, would see reason in every wrong. She would do her very best to forgive, to be the forgiveness and understanding that even the most horrid monsters needed. And though, today, she is still as compassionate as she once was, though she remains a kind word and a warm shoulder upon which to lean in times of trouble, she has a harder time forgiving. She can do it, of course; she of all people knows the necessity of healing and forward motion; but a seed of doubt has been planted. Now possessing the capacity to hold a grudge, Mary makes a point to work twice as hard to be forgiving, to be kind, to be understanding. But fuck if it isn’t hard. [ + ]: HARD-WORKING, PERSISTENT. She learned the merit of hard work and persistence before she could hold a wand; before there was the magic of spell-work, there was the magic of blood, sweat, and tears, and this has instilled in her a sense of independence that lends to a work ethic unmatched. She is a workaholic by definition and an obsessive by trade, and will go above and beyond without a second thought in both career and relationships. She has always believed in the power of calloused fingers and tired eyes; and though she is nothing but tired nowadays, nothing but the strange, pulsing, ragged hole between her third and fourth rib, she will run herself into the ground before she allows herself to stop. She is like her mother this way; should she stop, should she teeter off the edge, she will fall into a bottomless pit, the nature of which is not kind. And, without a doubt, hard work is now a coping mechanism - at least it’s productive. 

misc: restless, maternal, overprotective, meek, easily led, holds grudges, identity crisis, spiraling

[ - ]: PESSIMISTIC, FATALISTIC. She’d never have thought that she’d feel such pain, see such vibrant shadows of death, but she’s seen it, and she can’t stop seeing it. Where once she believed she had a destined place at the heart of the Order, with her fate firmly grasped in her own capable hands, she now feels as if she is hurtling toward something horrid and inevitable. Quite often, she wishes she could simply disappear, for there is something thoroughly broken inside of her that she cannot piece back together. She is fearful, angry, living out of her own control - she hates what her life has become, this strange fluctuation between manic action and miserly isolation. Though she does do her best to remain kind, to remain supportive of her friends, of her own dreams, and of her needs, she hurtles toward something terrifying and inevitable, and she no longer feels powerful enough to stop it. [ - ]: PARANOID, AGITATED. There now grows brimstone in Mary’s garden. The attack she suffered has both demolished and set ablaze something terrible inside of her, lighting her from the ribs outward and setting her on a constant knife’s edge. It’s true that she is still kind, still Mary, still the friend they all know and love, but she’s changing with every passing moment. And how can she not, when she sees dark shapes in every corner, horrifyingly familiar faces in every shadow? She’s sleeping less, and this is making her less patient and more on edge; there lives an insatiable itch beneath her skin nowadays, and she snaps more often than she once did. Once upon a time, she was the most patient person in the world. But now, with near-constant knitted brow and deep circles beneath her eyes, she is a shell of her former self, with embers fleeing from between the cracks with every flare of a temper that was not there before. [ - ]: CHANGEABLE, DISTANT. See - Mary’s greatest flaw and her greatest strength is her ability to change. Change is good, for it makes us stronger. However, it does not make strength that lasts when it happens as quickly as it’s happened to Mary. The Mary that stands before you today is a shadow of the Mary we’d all like to know; such horror has befallen her that the once-fiery girl, made of passion and nothing but, is a husk, a mere shadow of what she once was. She is moody, often isolating herself for periods of time. Though she does make efforts to return to herself, to return to that blaze of love and passion that once streaked the halls of Hogwarts, she feels as if she is looking at herself, her old self, from the wrong end of a long tunnel. She is an echo, a hint of what once was. The old Mary is not dead, but she is somewhere far away, difficult to reach. 

affiliation : THE ORDER. It was never a question. What sort of person would she be, to sit on the sidelines while innocents fought and died for people like her? Even if she were the sort to willingly neglect a challenge, which she is heartily not, she would feel a sort of divine duty to her personhood, to her dignity, to her honor to fight for those like her who cannot fight for themselves. And that’s just what it is - honor-bound nature aside, she wishes to aid those who cannot help themselves, who cannot put up walls and hide behind them from what is yet to come. She is a staunch advocate of squib rights, goblin equality, and the like; it’s only natural that she would be a very vocal member of the Order. Her skill set and experiences lend her to be an excellent healer, rather than someone out on the front lines - though people change. Times change. Necessity is predestined to change. 

     plot lines :

[ LIVE TOGETHER, DIE ALONE ]: As I’ll mention in her bio, Mary’s involvement in the Order is honestly everything to her. It’s become somewhat of an obsession, to be frank, and as a thoroughly independent and strong-minded person (beneath all the fear, of course), she isn’t going to let anyone shield her from being involved in the Order. Even broken dolls have sharp edges. She was alone when she was attacked, and so has found comfort and strength in being by the side of other Order members. Mary knows the cool, bitter taste of solitude, for the attack alienated her in a way she’d never thought possible, and she never intends to feel that again. I want her to throw herself wholeheartedly into the Order, and feed the obsession that’s going to propel her forward.

[ THE SHAPE OF THINGS TO COME ]: There is an enormous storm coming - there’s no denying this. And even though Mary had an ever so short stint in the Dueling Club, she isn’t exactly the most proficient fighter in the bunch. Though her healing abilities are unmatched, she could stand to use a little help in defending herself - and in going on the offensive when necessary. I would really like for Mary to seek out some help in this department, if only so that she can defend herself more proficiently - be it a Neutral or someone in the Order, I think that she could really benefit, even mentally, from being able to toughen up a little.

[ I AM WHAT YOU MADE ME ]: This is a total given, but I obviously would really like to explore Mary’s relationship with Avery and Mulciber. She hates them more than she thought she could ever hate another human being, and not just for what they did to her - but for what they stand for in the grand scheme of their current world state. I want her to be able to confront them directly - and not in just a crossed-wands sort of way. The damage they inflicted on her was more psychological than physical, as they are the source of the fear that cripples her, and is making her very much not herself. She doesn’t know what she will do when she faces them again, and that’s something that will surely come with time, development, and input from whoever plays them, so I’ll just leave this idea dangling here, ready to turn into something twisted, dark, nasty, and hopefully therapeutic.

[ HEALING HANDS THAT NEVER FAIL ]: Despite the title of this section, I can’t help but wonder what might happen if Mary fails to heal someone. She has a really spotless track record as it stands now, but I can only imagine how it might wreck her should she not heal someone as well as she could have. What happens when someone dies in her care? What happens if her hands shake a little too much? She’s already precarious enough as it is, and though it’s quite masochistic for me to want to wreck my own characters, but I can’t help but be curious about what might face Mary as she continues to heal, both in the hospital and on the field. And in that same vein - what might happen if she were to have to heal her own mother? 

[ FALTER, FALL, FAIL ]: In that same vein, I would like to see Mary heal just as much as I would like to see her struggle with overcoming fear in the name of regaining her warlike strength. I wonder if perhaps the act of regaining it might taint the purity of her strength, for no one can stay truly pure in a war such as this. All snow mixes with dirt, all masks lose their luster. And when someone as pure as Mary passes through something as morbidly dubious as that - there’s no way she’ll return to herself completely unchanged. She’s trying so hard to regain her strength, her fire, her whole self, just as it was - but what if it returns different? 

[ AN UNCLEAN WEAPON ]: Fear marks her entirely; there is no Mary without a hint of fear behind every breath. She wishes she had a weapon to use against them, something they’d never expect her to use. But maybe she does. I am fully aware of how far-fetched this idea is, and how far down the road it might be - and how shallow we would wade into this pool before Mary would turn back with her conscience bugging her to run as far away as she could. She wonders if it would be possible to dip her fingers into the pool of the knowledge of dark magic, if only to use its secrets against the Death Eaters. She’d never wield it herself, she knows this; but in her most desperate moments, in the middle of the night, when she sits awake in a cold sweat, on the threshold of a nightmare, she wonders if it might turn the tide. Same weapon, different hand - Mary can only wonder if it might not be so evil after all. But I highly doubt she could wield the same magic that hurt her so; that’s just not her nature.

     biography :

There is a house on a hill in which her heart lives - in which it will always live. It all began with the house, within the daisy-colored walls and fluttering curtains, the smell of the herb garden outside the first sensation to herald the arrival of the first and last Macdonald child, though it was not for a lack of trying. She was born hollering at the top of her lungs to a man and his wife, but she only ever knew the latter, for her father left the house on the hill, the herb garden, the tire swing on the willow tree in favor of a woman neither Macdonald woman had ever cared to meet. She never knew her father, never saw his face; he’d send letters at holidays, and before Mary was too old to understand what the little parcel with her name upon it meant, her mother would hide them away, insisting that Mary had not been born of a man, but of a fairy, and that she belonged among them. It was a story to thrill any young girl - but thrilling and fantastical tales can only thrill and fantasize for so long before the world catches up, before the reality seeps through the cracks.

And thus has been the tune of Mary’s life - reality seeping through cracks unable to be plugged up, unwilling to budge.

But though she wouldn’t know it for years to come, her childhood was an empowering one, a lively one; not the picture-perfect textbook ideal of a family, but Mary thought it better than that. She was a cacophony of sundresses and skinned knees, tree-climbing and flower-planting, for it was but she and her mother in that house on a hill - her mother who acted more as a best friend than anything restricting. Mary was, from the start, incredibly protective of her mother, for the way she saw it, she had been born to replace the man fated to leave them - though she’d never forgive him for making the decision to bow to fate. She took up the role of protector and provider in the household, even as a young girl, for her mother’s flower shop seemed to amass less and less business by the day. Helping in the garden, collecting mushrooms in the wood just beyond the house, pulling her mother from her bed and leading her out into the garden to watch her swing on days when dear Elizabeth Macdonald simply could not rise. She was the sun, this miracle baby, and she burned too brightly. She was a creative force as well as a destructive one, nurturing and protective of her mother, while being outspoken and brash in the face of those who would underestimate a single mother and her child.

A strange child, around whom strange occurrences befell any close enough to see. It earned her a bit of a reputation, this oddness. But she minded it not.

Even before she was old enough for it to be entirely appropriate - though she had never been one to live by the bounds of her age or stature - Mary took a job riding her bicycle on a route between the neighboring villages - with the house on the hill nearly always in sight - as a courier, carrying odds and ends for the various shop-keeps in town. It was a seemingly idyllic life, to spend the day out in nature and the evenings at home with her mother, with days in between which consisted of nothing but frivolity in the yard, the garden, playing dress-up in Elizabeth’s closet; Mary studied in her free time, leaving the books her father left behind and that her mother brought home from customers and friends at the flower shop. Though her mother insisted she attend the all-girls’ school in the next town over, Mary insisted she remain at home, for she worried at the thought of leaving her mother unattended for so long. And so Elizabeth consented to educate her within their home, as Elizabeth herself had been taught by her own mother. Mary was unconcerned, in her younger years, with continuing her book-bound education, but was more enthralled by what the world had to teach her. But as her mother read from history books and assigned her trips to the library, Mary discovered a passion for learning, and a need to see what learning could do for the betterment of her life - her life; perhaps the first time she had thought of the future in the singular.

The realization came at an apt enough time, for on the eve of her eleventh birthday her mother thought it apt to reveal a box full of hidden letters, packages, trinkets from a father she had never met. It felt the ultimate betrayal, and in her anger Mary set the box aflame, right there in the middle of the sitting room. She and her mother stared at it in utter horror before the both of them leapt upon it - and then as if by magic, the fire extinguished, leaving Mary with nothing but ash upon her birthday dress, and a small char at the ends of her hair. It was at this that all the strange occurrences seemed to fall into place, for as the clock struck midnight an owl appeared at the kitchen window, beckoning to Mary as if it had known her all along.

Her mother embraced Mary’s magic as if she herself possessed the ability; both women expressed a bit of indignation at the plebeian sound of the word “muggle”, for Mary thought her mother much better than a generalization. But the utter wonder of the new world which unfolded before her seemed a reward for eleven years of premature adulthood at her mother’s side; she was suddenly allowed to be a child in utter wonder, suddenly born into a universe as fresh and unaware as the day she’d arrived at the house on the hill.  It felt as if she stepped into a second, more appropriate skin, the storm of energy and vibrance that had always been her signifier suddenly arriving at a home that befitted it. In a moment of pride, she mused that she perhaps had always been to much for a normal life, that she deserved this —

— but what would become of her mother when she left?

It was both the most selfish and the most wonderful thing she had ever done, leaving for Hogwarts. Her mother encouraged it, pushed her forth, for she could see Mary’s untamed wildness, her unconventional start, her unrefined nature, as something that would become her here. It suddenly did not matter that she didn’t have a proper education, that she had only clothes hand-stitched by her mother, that her life had been nothing but filling and mending a void left behind by a father; she felt, for the first time, both quelled and enlivened. She saw greatness before her, like a trinket dangling in a shop window - and thus the brightness of her nature exploded into a thousand suns.

What she was unprepared for, however, was how out of place so many would go through efforts to make her seem. She knew nothing of the wizarding world, of this universe that had merely been waiting for her; no matter how much wonder became her, there was always a voice, always a looming presence, pointing fingers and insisting that she did not belong. Mary was not the only one, of course; it seemed as if a small collective of students, all from the Slytherin house, were determined to belittle those who came from non-magic families.  And while some would have wilted beneath it - and, Mary noticed with chagrin and anger, some did - the criticism only made her louder, more brash, more competitive. It was at their taunting that she was pushed to join every club, to study her hardest, to battle her way through every obstacle to show them, to show herself (to show her mother, in all the letters written home) that not only was she the equal of the purebloods - she was better. And she felt it, for a time. She flourished once she broke from the shell of shock at her arrival; Mary made friends easily, for she was an extroverted, opinionated, loud entity of pure light. Not a wilting flower, not a fixture in a garden, but the very sun itself.

However, all lights fade. She didn’t think she’d believe it; Mary had always been the sort to think the light of the deserving, the true, the kind, to be unbreakable, unfettered. She thought herself untouchable, and for a time she thought it her own fault. But the attack she suffered, at the hands of two purebloods who had antagonized her in the past, was in no way her fault. Never had she felt such a victim, never had she felt so small. She had never been the sort to hide from what ailed her, but as she hid away in the Hospital Wing, shrinking at every flickering light, flinching from every touch, she thought that perhaps the safety of the anonymous shadow befitted her much better than the glaring sun. Mary did not write home about this to her mother, but merely pretended that all was as usual; her letters were much shorter, more concise, and no longer signed by her name with the doodle of a small flower, and so her mother knew that something was wrong.

But she’d never say it aloud. Even in the world of magic, the undeserved guilt of the victim is crippling.

And so her days became marked, once she returned to her classes, by sideways glances, wide berths, and muted colors. Her marks slipped, her enthusiasm dimmed; evenings once spent in clubs, with friends, in the grounds, now turned to nights tucked away in far corners of the library and the Gryffindor common room. She hated herself for being weak, hated herself for being afraid, hated herself for not fighting back - but not once did she hate herself for the reasons that they hated her. Perhaps this was the only hint that they had not extinguished her fire entirely, for she was stuck in the shadow for the remainder of her Hogwarts career.

Leaving school, however, meant a broader world, and more opportunity to step into the sun again. Joining the Order without question, as she entered into a training program at St. Mungo’s, seemed the perfect alignment of the stars. Many of her friends joined the Ministry, entered into programs to become Aurors and Hit Wizards; they often asked why she had chosen to heal rather than to fight. At this, she could only think of evenings spent in the Hospital Wing, long after her accident in her last year of schooling, aiding Madame Pomfrey in the healing of injuries oh so similar to her own. It was also a sort of personal challenge; she could see Avery and Mulciber scorched upon the backs of her eyelids whenever she closed her eyes, and by healing those who’d met their own personal demons, she could work to scrub them away.

And yet, she still dreamed of fighting back. Sometimes, in her dreams, she killed them. When she awoke, she thought she would be remorseful - but she was not.

Remaining in St. Mungo’s, under the safe umbrella of the hospital’s protection, was never enough, despite her fear - or perhaps because of it. She spoke to Dumbledore privately about healing in the field, for she could not stand the thought of her friends, those she loved so dearly, fighting and dying, without her at their side. They looked at her like a fragile, broken marionette, giving her a wide berth while putting themselves between her and harm’s way whenever they could. No matter how crippling her fear, her love for her friends, for the cause, and for those who did not have it quite as lucky as she did gave her the certainty that she needed - to find the strength again, to step into the sun, to return to something bigger and better than her former self. She always fought for what was right, always fought to protect - from her mother to her friends - but the violence characteristic of so many had never touched her. She could heal in the field, and then return to the hospital. She could stand alongside her friends, alongside the Order - and then perhaps she could see it up close when those who wronged her fall on the battlefield.

She would quite like to have a hand in the assured destruction characteristic of righteous justice. She could not save the world, in the meantime, but she could save the soul in front of her, if she worked fast enough.

Every week, however, she takes a moment for softness, that which has left her so. She travels, with galleons and sickles changed into muggle money, and sends a letter to her mother, hand-written and wrapped in a wad of cash. She likes to imagine that, even as the war wages on in her world, in her mother’s there is still a flower shop and a little house on a hill.

[strangcrdoctor]

∞Okay last one for the night because I am really tired and very ready for bed but I’ve gotta get in my Avengers commentary because I have to start off tomorrow on a clean slate and ready to go. Thus, here we are.

1. In lieu of only post Infinity War MCU canon, Loki’s rhetoric at the very beginning of The Avengers sounds a fucking lot like Maw’s. In the initial scenes when he’s fresh off the Tesseract Express his words and way of speaking sound nothing like his own. Even comparing his speeches at the outset of the movie versus the one he makes in Stuttgart, the tones and focuses of them are very different. (IE the first speech focuses on the “powers at be” versus the Stuttgart speech focusing on Loki’s personal opinions of humanity which are more and more developed throughout the film.) But it struck me that these first scenes are precisely on-cue for someone tortured and brainwashed by, say, The Black Order. 2. Given I literally just watched the first Captain America yesterday, I find Cap’s “old fashioned” comment about the stars and stripes on his uniform to be both sad and interesting. Especially given the context that comparatively Cap hasn’t been “up” for very long, one particular comment made to him by Schmidt literally moments before he went into the ice stands out. Schmidt says that through the Tesseract he glimpsed the future, and that there were no flags. In the America and world Steve wakes up to, compared to the world of the 1940s that claim of Schmidt’s could very suddenly appear to be true, which would be understandably uncomfortable for someone like Steve who is usually determined and quick on his feet but at such a staggering disadvantage because of the gap between his mindset and that of his contemporaries which are more varied than he necessarily knows how to quantify right at the outset. Watching his progress throughout the MCU in light of that is interesting, but that one moment of introspection about the utility of the “stars and stripes” is a uniquely postmodern comment coming from a pre-modern/modern man. 3. Okay so this intrigues me now that we have the Guardians and pretty much the entire universe in play in the MCU, but what “greater worlds,” exactly, was the Tesseract supposed to unveil? True the Tesseract is the space stone and verifiably can open portals to everywhere and anywhere in the universe, but Loki specifically makes the claim that the Tesseract can open up access to “greater worlds,” and I’m honestly still not entirely sure what precise reference this was supposed to be making. Because Thanos barely might have arguably needed the Tesseract to get to the planet the Soul Stone was on, but even so that’s a connection that still somehow feels like a stretch. So my question is, what if they meaning the Black Order or Thanos or possibly even Loki needed the Tesseract to get at something else? Somewhere else? Then again, this particular slip might just be Whedon’s doing and not necessarily be reflective of the culmination of the MCU up to this point so IDK. 4. I’m not going to lie, I’ve found it fascinating from day one that The Avengers very openly plays with godhood, to the point that I’m genuinely not sure if they’re reifying it in the MCU or tinkering with it. I mean obviously in the later movies this theme is less stressed because the tinkering patently takes precedence, but it’s still cool to me that there are both scripted and visual imagery that tie in multicultural interpretations of godhood. Fury mentions the burial rites of the Pharaohs within the first ten minutes of the film, Loki commits a human sacrifice on a Babylonian bull altar straight from Gilgamesh era in Stuttgart, Cap makes a comment about how his singular god does and does not dress after Natasha herself labels Thor and Loki as gods, and Fury unashamedly labels Thor as a god when they release the Tesseract to his custody. And while a bit ham-fisted, the correlation between theism and the bleeding-edge demand to acknowledge the reality of the universe is still pretty neat guys. 5. The old man in Stuttgart because no FUCK. If any of y’all think that my Germanist ass won’t get misty-eyed and choked-up during this scene, you’re wrong. 6. Okay so I’ll premise this by saying that I haven’t cross-checked the official script because frankly... yeah frankly I don’t want to be wrong and I really can’t hear anything but what I believe to be my interpretation of the line even though I know what the other fan alternatives have been. But when Thor and Loki are arguing on the mountaintop, when Loki says that he, “Was and should be ---,” my hearing of it instead of having been “Was and should be king,” is “Was and should be killed.” And while I’ll bow to whatever official record claims otherwise, I like my hearing better so there. (Also... there’s zero hint of Hiddleston’s palate producing a “g” sound in that sentence but I’ll put my inner linguist away and leave it at that.) 7. In light of that scene, though, when Loki and Thor are arguing is one of the first moments when Loki actually sounds like himself after the Stuttgart scene? Prior to that point the only times we see Loki is when he’s marshaling his human troops and getting policed by those lording over him. In all of those initial scenes Loki feels... very un-Loki to me. Not because Loki isn’t a bastard (hint: he is), but because his motivations and justifications are vague and not seemingly personally motivated, which is what Loki is to a fault. Post-Stuttgart, however, and the personal element seems to return for him because of some reason or another. (IE I have theories but you can read your own into it.) 8. Let it never be said that Thor is a dull bulb. Yeah it’s still sort of unclear how Thor got to Earth (though nothing is unclear about why Thor is pissed), but Thor does walk in with more than enough information to be frankly a little surprising. Bless Heimdall and all that, but seriously the fact that Thor knows about the Chitauri but doesn’t know other things casts an interesting focus on what he was told by Odin and Heimdall before going. Most importantly, though, even from conversing with Loki for a few minutes, Thor is attentive enough to pick up on some of what Loki isn’t saying. Such as, just who showed Loki how to use the Tesseract and all the things Loki claims to be motivated by. Equally interestingly, Loki specifically refuses to answer that question. 9. I feel bad for Fury for sleeping in a den of vipers for so long - though I do like the build-up from the first Avengers into the following issues with HYDRA corruption - but in ways more important to the immediate issue in the first Avengers, Fury might be a shady bitch but he is not an idiot. Because while everyone else was having pissing contests and not trusting one another, Fury was not trusting the person that deserved to be trusted the least, which isn’t just good leadership, but is good spycraft. 10. As established later in the MCU, it’s exceedingly clever that even in the first Avengers there are scenes when even without a “wielder” present, the Mind Stone - as-yet unidentified as such in the MCU - can be seen manipulating those in its vicinity such as in the lab where the biggest catfight in the history of the MCU breaks out. I mean. Until CA:CW... 11. Steve Rogers, poor cinnamon roll, unexpectedly served at dinner instead of breakfast, who cracks jokes about technology he really isn’t that bad at as “seeming to run on some kind of electricity.” Bless. Though really that internal console, while doing complicated shit, is definitely not any more or less visually complicated than the interior of a radio relay which Steve definitely dealt with in his day but kudos for the humor bb, A+. 12. Still one of the strongest and most harrowing lines ever said in the MCU in my opinion: “We are NOT soldiers.” Know why? Because they aren’t. Hell, the only ones among them that are soldiers - and some by slim and emergency-driven margins - are Steve, Bucky, Rhodey, and Sam. The rest of them are brilliant, gifted, and tortured civilians trying to do the right thing. And to Tony Stark above all else, that means something. That means that they didn’t get training to deal with this shit. They didn’t choose for this to be their lives, necessarily. And above all, they don’t deserve to die. And even though Tony knows Coulson is a SHIELD agent, Tony still considers him a person before a disposable “soldier.” 13. Mother-fucking Marvel give me an entire series devoted to my Hawk Guy I need him. You have so much to work with and yet you’re so good at squandering him. I hate it. 14. In light of how bad NYC got fucked up, it’s honestly no wonder Jessica Jones has a drinking problem because I would too even without the personal loss, experimentation, and emotional maladjustment. 15. IN WHAT FUCKING POST-9/11 WORLD DO BUSINESS BUILDINGS NOT HAVE VERY STRICT EVACUATION PLANS. SERIOUSLY. I am a little mad that there are morons ogling out of office building windows when frankly that shit wouldn’t fly. Even on fucking 9/11 that shit didn’t fly and if you think NYC is less paranoid because 9/11 was a decade prior to this movie coming out, you’re wrong. Everyone remembers, and city evacuation ordinances will sure as hell never forget either. Come on Marvel. 16. As a point of interest my grandmother - who also went to see The Avengers with me when it was in theaters but not at the midnight showing like my mom - was 84 at the time and still sat through the whole thing with a bucket full of popcorn to herself, and her favorite moment to this day is when the Hulk tosses Loki around like a rag doll. She’s 90 now, and the Hulk is still her favorite character. 17. Mother-Fuckin Nick Fury will cock-block your nuclear strike with a bazooka because he thinks you’re that dumb. Do not test Nick Fury’s willingness to be Extra (TM) . You will lose. 18. Real talk, though, I’m really curious about whether the Chitauri actually are a hive mind race or, is it their technology that runs of a hive mind link? Because the armor at least on the giant toothy space whale monstrosities does not look organic - it looks implanted. The Chitauri foot soldiers also seem to have a unique biologically based interface with their weapons, armor, and technology in general, which begs the question of whether their biometric matrix is just somehow more inclined toward shared-existence technologies, or whether they self-engineered themselves into a corner by relying on said technologies too much. Seriously guys I have questions and why won’t Marvel give me answers. 19. As a final send-off, this is the first time Tony has ever driven an Acura in the MCU and I refuse to believe it’s not because of the Avengers “A” aesthetic. Tony is canonically an Audi man. Fight me on this.

Okay I’m seriously done for now it’s 1 AM and I need to sleep I have 4 more movies to get through tomorrow. I’ll be up and around and at my shit again in the morn.∞

[cutesyhunter]

Ink stained mirror Bonus

A bonus chapter that if you want can skip

*- are for important breaks in the story such as a time skip

Mary was helping Norman clean up a mess in the projection room, spilled a lot of stuff and they didn’t want to call wally since it didn’t seem that big to call him in.

“So how’s your wife?” Mary asked throwing some of the ruined bread in the trash

“She’s all good, just doing what she does best: ruinin' the house” Norman said, he looked proud

“That’s great! How are your kids?”

“They’re doing great, thriving wher’eva they plan to go”

“I’m happy for you then” Mary looks up with a grin as they finish up

“ ‘preciate it doll” Norman smiled back down at her, grinning face, helping her up.

Suddenly they hear vigorous steps coming and banging up the stairs.

“Mary! I got a great idea!” Minnie said her excitement clear

“Don’t shout, I’m right here” Mary said

“Sorry, I’m just super excited!”

Norman mumbled something about Minnie acting like one of his children on a sugar high

“What is it? And please don’t shout dear.”

“You remember that letter, our parents sent us?” How could she not? They’d just got it this morning.

“Of course”

“And how I wanted to send something more personal than another letter, telling them boring ol’ stuff like how we’re doing and stuff”

Mary raised an eyebrow like ‘don’t say that but continue’

“How about we show them!” Minnie said to Mary’s big eyed face

“What you going to send your parents a projector?” Norman asked, making both Mary and Minnie snort with laughter

“What? No” Minnie calmed down from her laughs “I was thinking a photo!”

Mary stopped laughing, saying in a quiet voice “Minnie we can’t afford that…we don’t even have a camera” she liked the idea but they couldn’t afford it, if they wanted to eat

“Weeee don’t” Minnie put emphasis on the ‘e’ “but I know someone that does”

“You do?” Mary was surprised that Minnie would know someone that owned something like that.

“Yeah I know someone who owes me some favors.” Minnie said proudly

“But aren’t photos expensive? I know they’re not as much a film” She looks at Norman proudly as he nods, her stupid grin coming back

“He owes me” Minnie said again

Mary looked about ready to repeat herself but Minnie beat her to it “He. owes. me. Biiiiiiiig”

How big did he owe her? Mary questioned to herself

“I called him about thirty minutes ago and he’s on his way” Minnie said

“wait what?” Mary mumbled, Norman was just being chill about their conversation

“Weeeee should probably make sure Joey doesn’t know, since he could fire us” Minnie gave a strained smile

“why didn’t you think of that earlier?!” Mary’s voice went higher at the realization, meaning she was mad

“well I thought our clothes are still clean, it’s pretty early and his schedule was open, and I really wanted to get a photo to the squirts n’ mom and dad as soon as we could”

Minnie was sentimental about things like that, hell she was still wearing the locket and cross their mother had given to her, Minnie wasn’t even religious.

Mary could only sigh since she did things like this far too often then she should

“Lets go greet him! Come on!”

“All right! All right! No need to drag me! Goodbye Norman!” Mary said Minnie pulling her down the stairs

“see ya” Norman waved goodbye to the girls

*

Minnie dragged Mary all the way up to the first floor, they saw Minnie’s friend before he saw them, he was just looking around curiously

“Salty! You found the place!” Salty looked down at Minnie words

“Little hard to miss there Tomato” “well considering you get lost to the bathroom I wanted to make sure my favorite Rag-a-Muffin made it here safe” They exchanged smirks at each other, then Salty picked Minnie up and gave her a big old bear hug, which she returned until Mary swore she heard a popping sound from both ends.

They both let go laughing their buts off.

“Um…hello salty, nice to see you again” She waved shyly, using her other hand to push her hair out of her face

“Always a pleasure” His hand had practically engulfed hers last time she shook his hand, salty was massive with few tattoos hidden somewhere, so to know he had a hobby that involved art wasn’t strange just unexpected.

“So we got you for an hour, so let’s get to it…and avoid our boss”

“Wait what?” Salty seemed just as surprised as Mary had been moments ago

“Your boss doesn’t know t’m here” Salty asked Mary since Minnie wasn’t going to give a straight answer when she knew she was in trouble

“No…and he might fire us if he sees you” Mary said

“Why? You’re not giving away secrets as far as I can tell”

“Our boss is an ass” Minnie told him

“Minnie hush!” Mary told her thinking the man would hear them

“Sound terrible…” Salty rubbed the back of his neck nervously

“Enough talk! Let’s go!” Minnie dragged Salty to the drawing nook to begin their operation: gift for parents and squirts

*

“I like this rooms energy” Salty said once he stepped into the drawing nook

“Thanks!” Minnie said “So we agreed three pictures one-“

“Hold up. We agreed only on two.” Salty told Minnie, Mary looked at Minnie waiting for the argument

“Yes we did, but I figured I’d go ahead and owe you big to give them another picture” Minnie told him, Mary looked back at Salty

“But what if I’d said no?” Salty pointed out, Mary looked at Minnie

“Then I’d be disappointed but I’d understand.” Minnie replied, Mary looked back at Salty, the big man had an amused look on his face

“Oh fine. I can’t say no to such a sappy request” Salty told her, making Minnie grin with a smug kind of happiness for a successful trade, Mary giggled at her face.

“So whatcha thinking you smug tomato?” Salty asked Minnie

“I actually do have an idea! Mary and I show some of the drawings we’ve been animating for the camera! Sound good?”

“I love it!” Mary told her

Salty shrugged “sounds good to me, get the pictures and hold them up”

The two looked through them and made their decision, Minnie held up two pictures, one with Bendy and Alice dancing, the other with Mary Mirror in a fortune telling booth, and Mary held up a picture inspired by a jam session all the characters at once l, including the butcher gang, she’d been inspired by Minnie’s drawing and drew it; Boris on the banjo, Bendy on the violin, alice on the microphone, Mary on the guitar and the butcher gang on different instruments; Edgar on a harp, Barley on accordion and Charley on piano.

Minnie had admitted that one looked better.

She’d gotten a few too many comments on the butcher gang, that there was no way they’d play those instruments, but Mary thought it was cute and the instruments suited them, honesty she was just proud she’d managed to finish it at home, it was a small scene but it made her happy.

Salty adjusted the camera, telling them to stand a little closer and snapped the picture.

“Cute scenes” He commented

“Thank you” They both said flattered, Minnie was grinning from ear to ear, Mary put her hair behind her ear

“All right let’s go take the next picture! I got an idea for the music room!”

* They’d only had to hide once in a room on the way there since Joey was walking in the opposite direction, waiting until his footsteps pass in the empty office

“You make it out like the guys scary, he doesn’t very big” Both the twins shush Salty

*

A few years shaved off their lives but they were finally there!

“I don’t like the energy in this room much…”

“Whaaaat! Why not?” Mary asked Salty

“It feels dark…”

She was about to question further what he meant but something else interrupted them

“Holy Moly!” They jumped to see Wally staring up at Salty

“Who’s the giant that looks ready to punch someone?” His wide eyes looking up at salty who just snorted

“The giants none of your concerned” Minnie said using a tone she never used with Wally,

“But-“ Wally began

“Who ‘re you?” Everyone jumped once again, Salty let out a curse since it was close to his head instead of below him

“Norman! Stop sneaking up on people” Minnie called up at the project room

Before Minnie could get more frustrated, Mary just introduced Salty “Wally this is Sylvester Woods, we call him Salty, Salty this is Wally Franks”

The two stared at each other awkwardly, Salty held out his hand and Wally shook it, they hear a cracking sound and a yelp from Wally

“Sorry” Salty said as Wally tried to shake the pain out of his hand

“Salty that’s Norman Polk up there, Norman this is Salty”

“How’ ya doin?” Norman waved casually

“I’m ok” Salty nodded up to him

“Moving on, I was thinking Mary with her guitar and-“

Salty started coughing “Bleh! What’s that terrible smell?”

Mary and Minnie could have turned to stone at that moment, and they could have cracked into a million pieces when someone else was coming through the door

“Hey what ar-“

Well, that explained the smell, it was Jack.

“….Hi?” He says seeing a really big guy and the twins staring at him

“Am I interrupting something?”

Before the twins could respond, Sammy came in looking like he was talking to Allison until he bumped into Jack and this scene

And they had the exact same questioning eyes as Jack.

“What the hells going on here?” Sammy turned his stare at the two red heads

“You wanna cover this one or should I?” Mary asked Minnie

“You please” Minnie said gritting her teeth in frustration since they didn’t mean to be seen by everyone in the office

Mary told them that they were taking pictures for their parents a few states away

“I see…” Sammy said, Jack tapped his chin

“That’s sweet” Allison giggled

There was a tension to the room

“Will this take long?” Sammy asked “I don’t think so” Mary told him

“come on!” Minnie said, she said frustrated

“all right” Mary said exasperated by Minnie’s behavior

“So I was thinking that Mary you could play your guitar and I could be that stick waver!” Minnie told her the idea

“Stick waver? You mean the conductor?” Sammy pointed out, making Minnie pout

“Yes that” She said, she points at Sammy without looking at him

“don’t point” Mary chided

“It’s kinda bland” Salty said getting Minnie a little more frustrated, looking down with a harder pout

Salty thought it over, looking down at the other few and looked up at the projectionist room but the man wasn’t there anymore making his shiver, clearing his throat

“Why not take a picture with these guys” Salty pointed to them

“Don’t point” Mary chided again

“No thanks I’m gonna go get some ice or a brace for my hand” Wally said going to the little nurses room

The three look at each other, Mary honestly liked the idea

“It can be like a jam session!” Mary smiled at them

Sammy huffed letting out a ‘fine’

“Yeah sure!” Jack shrugged

“I’d love to” Allison said

They got to the places with their instruments, and Allison at a microphone. Minnie tried to be the conductor but she still looked ridiculous so they gave her a tambourine and she looked good.

“Your parents will love this photo” Salty said making the twins really happy

“All right I got an idea now!” Mary pulled Minnie over to the front of the recording studio, Mary talked to her.

The two started giggling, Minnie put her arm around Mary, the smaller twin had to lift up slightly while Mary had to bend down slightly. Minnie pressed her cheek to Mary’s in affection.

It was a sweet sisterly photo, Which Salty immediately took.

“All right! Now we have to get you out!” Minnie said dragging Salty out

Mary let out a huffed laugh

“Still wanna jam?” Jack asked

“yes,” Mary nodded going to sit down.

*

Minnie didn’t know it would take forever for the photo’s to get done, they hadn’t heard in forever.

Until Salty came to the drawing nook and gave them the photo’s and a copy of the old one.

“thought you’d want it”

They did, so they both gave salty a kiss on his cheeks for being amazing.