#still figuring out the tagging system of the ah fandom guys

[pamgkrthwrites]

Touched : Chapter 2 : Waiting

Warning, the following content is for an 18+ audience. If you are under the age of 18 do not read the content below. The following content has themes such as; Angst, Sexual Harassment if you squint, and others. The character(s) depicted within this post are over the age of 20. (This list may get updated with each new Chapter Update)

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Fandom: BNHA

Pairing: Bakugou x F!Reader

Themes: Soulmates, Porn with Plot (This list may get updated with each new chapter update)

Summary: Bakugou loves being close to you.

Word Count: 3503

Tag List: @tjmaxx556 @cosmicbreathe @lavender99 @optimisticprime3 

A/N: Thank you again to my beta readers "Huntress" and "Ribbon". And thank you Huntress for "approving" this chapter LMFAO

“Good morning, L/N.”

“Good morning, sir.” You smiled weakly at Best Jeanist, trying to ignore the soreness you still felt between your thighs from the night before.

You came to the conclusion that their session last night was more passionate or eager than usual. You didn’t know why or what triggered it, but it must’ve been someone amazing if they broke their side of the unspoken agreement.

Which though saddened by it, you understood it was going to happen.

“You have everything ready?” Hakamada asked, slightly leaning down to better look into your eyes.

You nodded. “I made a PowerPoint last night so you can properly visualise what I mean.”

“Sounds good.” He nods. “Bakugou should be here any moment. He had to deal with some villains on the way here.”

“That’s fine.” You brushed the issue aside. “We can get started when you are both ready, I really don’t mind.”

Best Jeanist looked at your face, thinking deeply. “I think you will be able to handle him if you are able to be patient with him, but I do wonder if you’ll be able to deal with his emotional outbursts.”

You silently cringed, remembering reading a few articles where he yelled at a certain journalist. No one knew the reason why as the guy seemed to keep his mouth shut about it, but the image of Bakugou looming over the reporter and pointing a finger in the guy’s face wasn’t something people were going to forget easily. 

Maybe that was something you could bring up too…

“I’m sure I’ll figure him out, Hakamada.”You reassured him. “I won’t be leaving his job anytime soon.”

Best Jeanist watched you, clearly thinking. “You’re not one of those Dynamight fans, are you?”

You let out a short laugh. “No no. I just decided to make the move here because of some personal reasons.”

“Ah.” Is all Best Jeanist would reply with, understanding to drop the topic.

It wasn’t long until Bakugou did finally stepped onto the floor level out of the elevator. His hero mask was pushed up above his hairline, showing his forehead. His eyes almost immediately landed on you, as if searching for something on your face.

When he couldn’t find the answer, he turned to Best Jeanist. “Has the meeting happened yet?” Bakugou asked, his deep voice sending a shiver down your spine. 

“No, Bakugou. We were waiting for you.” Best Jeanist answered.

Bakugou stiffened. Did he try to skip this meeting on purpose?

“I’ll do my best to make it as quick as possible.” You reassured Bakugou.

Bakugou gave you a look, it wasn’t one of anger or happiness. You couldn’t really read what was on his face, but you knew it wasn’t anger or delight. Whatever it was, it was something that was haunting him.

“Let’s get started then.” Best Jeanist noted as he walked you two into his office where his main secretary was waiting.

The three of them got comfortable in chairs as you pulled up your PowerPoint. You took one last deep breath in to get any lasting nerves out of your system before you began.

“First, I think it would be best if we limit how much access Bakugou has to the Dynamight social media.”

Bakugou froze before quickly his eyebrow started twitching. “What?”

“The Dynamight Twitter is known for ‘going off’ at random people or on topics, so I think it would be a wise choice if I were at least approve of his tweets before he sent them out.”

Bakugou’s eye twitched. “You kidding, right? I ain’t getting my stuff approved.”

“Then we can limit your access altogether and have it as only a brand account.” You counted him, tilting your head slightly.

Bakugou’s eye twitched some more and he started to form an angered expression. 

“I think that is a good idea.” Best Jeanist said which resulted in Bakugou snapping his head to him.

“So what? I’m expected to pass by every single post by her?” Bakugou barked out, grinding his teeth.

“Yes.” You answered him.

Bakugou glared at you, his eye twitching. It seemed as if he was expecting this meeting to go one way and not what you were suggesting. 

He turned to Best Jeanist’s assistant to see what their opinion was, but they also seemed to have agreed. 

Three against one.

Bakugou turned back to you, staring into your eyes with an angry expression as if he was searching for something. He couldn’t find his answer, making him grumble and sitting back in his chair with his arms crossed.

“Fine, I’ll get my posts approved.”

“Thank you.” You said, startling him again. You moved on to the next slide. “We should limit the interviews Bakugou has.”

Bakugou slammed his fist on the table, making a loud bang sound that echoed throughout the room. “What?!”

“Bakugou, calm down.” Best Jeanist sighed. “Could you please explain your logic, L/N?”

“Certainly.” You then clicked on the slide that ended up showing a few graphs. “This graph represents the public’s reaction to Dynamight’s interviews, this one represents Dynamight’s overall fans' reactions, while this final one shows his fan girls' reactions all to interviews that are considered positive. The graphs below them are the same but how do those people react to considered negative interviews.”

Bakugou’s eyes stared at the graphs before sighing and sitting back in his chair, the anger leaving his body.

It was clear from the graphs that he was able to hold and gain fans with the ‘positive’ interviews than the negative ones. The positive ones were interviews replanned and ones he didn’t storm out of.

“If we cater the interviews for Bakugou so he has very few interviews, I think it would lower his chances of outbursts in his interviews and would allow him to have more control over the interviews and fanbase.” You ended that point off, feeling quite confident considering Bakugou’s body language being more relaxed now.

Though it was clear he didn’t like the idea, but given the amount of research you put into this point was proving to him that your point wasn’t baseless. He wasn’t going to change himself for interviews, that much was obvious. So instead of Bakugou changing the interview, you would have to change the interview. 

Bakugou had been in different types of interviews, and though some caused more of his temper-raged reactions than others, it was still the interview itself causing the issue. Therefore, the only solution was to remove interviews from the equation. The problem with that is now fans won’t be able to see their favourite hero, that’s what interviews were good for.

So, limit the amount of interviews he goes to which will lower the chances of how many outbursts he gets from said interviews. Instead of three bad interviews that happened after he took down a villain out of twelve in one week, he could have one bad interview after only having twelve in one year.

The main thing though that tipped Bakugou over to agree was just the sassy little know-it-all tone you had in your voice. The way you were holding yourself up and standing as if you owned the office. Bakugou was trying his damn hardest not to stare at your hips or thighs cause holy fucking shit he wanted to so bad be in between those-

“The last thing I want to suggest is more photoshoots.”  Your voice broke Bakugou's train of thought.

You saw Bakugou’s blonde eyebrow narrow and scrunch. “No.” Bakugou said with a slight growl.

“It would help hold your fan girls-”

“I said no.”

You let out a silent sigh. Bakugou wasn’t going to budge and you could feel it with the tension that was filling the room. Maybe in the future, you could try to have him agree to have photoshoots for the Dynamight merch. You tried to imagine him in some Dynamight merch and come up with an idea, but the image of Bakugou in baggy jeans and a tight compressed black shirt sends a wave of lust down to your core.

Bakugou takes a sudden and noticeable sharp breath in before raising an eyebrow at you, as if he could tell you just had a fantasy wash into your mind. It left you confused admittedly. 

Regardless, you quickly shut down that image within your head. “Alright, we won’t do that.” You said, closing that option for Bakugou.

Best Jeanist tapped a finger on his knee. “Is that all, L/N?” He asked.

“Yes, those were my ideas to at least help with the Dynamight PR.” You answered him.

Your job was going mostly answering emails, helping with paperwork, answering phone calls, and making sure Bakugou got to appointments on time. Yeah sure you were going to have to manage him and you now having access to your social media to make sure his PR stays in check will be helpful, but that wasn’t what assistants or secretaries do.

The only reason why you needed to ‘prove’ yourself and have these ideas at the ready was not just to prove you were capital at your job, but also to show you could think on the spot. Because everyone knew how hard it was to work with Bakugou, and if you couldn’t adapt then you weren’t going to get along easily with him.

At least his looks made him easy to look at.

At least to you.

You may not know the reason why Bakugou didn’t want to do photoshoots, but you tell by how Best Jeanist merely glanced at Bakugou and seemed to brush off Bakugou’s reaction told you that he knew. If Best Jeanist knew then it was safe to say it was safe to just leave the topic there, even if you thought the idea would work out.

Best Jeanist stood up, making his assistant and Bakugou stand up in follow. “Then let’s leave it there. You know how to get around everything, right?”

“Of course.” You answered him, quickly gathering up your belongings.

“Good, just dive right in then.” He said before opening the door, encouraging you and Bakugou to leave his office.

You and Bakugou stood outside of Best Jeanist office and the man closed the door. You started walking towards where your two’s office was, making Bakugou quickly follow behind you with a slight thump to his step. He grumbled, with his upper lip twitching as he followed.

“I don’t like being the one following.” He barked.

“Then hurry up.” You sassed back at him with a slight smile.

Bakugou grumbled, fastening up his pace. “Don’t be sassy with me, L/N. You’ll regret it later.”

“Is that a threat?” You raised your eyebrow at him as you two reached your office door.

Once you open it and walk, Bakugou leans on the door frame, looking down at you with a look that sends a shiver down your spine and warmth rushing to your core. Your reaction makes Bakugou chuckle, and something about his chuckle makes a wet puddle start to form in your panties.

“You're really having that sort of reaction while we are at work?” He asks with a smirk.

“What are you talking about?” You ask him, sounding a bit frustrated not just because of the growing sexual tension on your end, but also because he wasn’t making any sense of anything.

He leaned closer to your face, where you could now feel his hot breath on the skin of your neck. You bit the inside of your mouth, trying to hold in your desire, but you could feel your soulmate’s desire rising too.

“You really don’t know?” He asked.

“Know what?” You barked back, trying to keep on top of your sexual desires right now.

“Hm.” Bakugou let out before walking into your office, closing and locking the door behind him.

You stepped back until you reached your desk. You thought that you would be flooded with fear but no. Instead, the feeling of lust and desire seemed to have been rushing throughout your entire body.

The way Bakugou stalked closer to you, the way his hero suit gripped his body to give you an outline of your abs and chest, the way his biceps seemed to pulse as he caged you to your desk. Your lungs were filled with lust for Bakugou at this very moment, making you look up at him weakly through your lashes.

What made your sexual want- no… Your sexual need for Bakugou so much harder was that you could feel your soulmate’s lust in return, sexual urge and need for something you had no way of knowing. You could feel it was driving them insane, and you could feel your soulmate’s boner through the soulmate bond.

Then you felt Bakugou’s boner on your thigh.

You also felt through the soulmate bond that your’s soulmate’s cock was touching someone’s thigh.

Bakugou was…

Bakugou was your soulmate.

Bakugou must’ve seen something in your face that gave it away to him, because now he had a knowing grin on his face as he leaned closer. Your noses almost touching and his hot breath on your lips.

“You figured it out now, Y/N?” He asked.

Your name felt so right coming off his tongue, it felt like sweet honey dripping into your ears. Your body felt the desire to touch him, kiss him, hold him, be under him.

You gulped, trying to hold back your natural desire for him while you were still at work at the very least.

“When did you figure it out?” You asked him weakly.

“When you were leaving work.” He answered truthfully. “I’ve never had a physical attraction for anyone before and yet when I saw you it was instant luring. It only hit me when you were talking away, my attention all on your ass.”

You breathe in sharply and deeply as Bakugou’s head lowers to your neck. Another spark of arousal as he starts to softly kiss your neck. You know he’s holding back because of the soulmate bond, and you know he can feel your enjoyment through the soulmate bond.

You softly pushed your hands onto his chest to push him off. Bakugou regretfully obeys your wishes, pulling away from you.

He looks down at you with eyes you cannot read. He scoffs and looks away. “Right, I forgot for a second there.”

Without giving you a chance to explain yourself, you watch him turn around and leave your office, closing the door harshly behind himself.

Your heart felt as if it was squeezing and every drop of blood from your heart was leaking throughout yout body. It genuinely felt worse then when you broke up with your ex or found out he was cheating on you. You weren’t rejected by your soulmate, but more it felt awful that you hurt him somehow.

Probably because of not waiting for him and having not just a relationship before you met him, but you had sex with that person before you met him.

You felt gross. You felt disgusted with yourself.

You took a deep breath in and then out again. There wasn’t anything you could do about the situation. You can’t try to find a new job so quickly after getting this one, plus you need the money until you are properly settled.

Shit how were you going to tell your parents?

You took a deep breath in, held it, and then let go.

You can deal with that when you get home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You groaned slightly as you left your office with your bag on your shoulder. You made your way to lift, though you could hear his footsteps approaching you at a fast pace.

“Sneaking off, are we?” Through his angry grumbled tone, Bakugou's voice felt cold in your ears.

You felt your heart ping, silently wincing as you pressed the lift button. “It’s just time for me to head home is all.”

You didn’t see his face but you could feel his glare at the back of your head. “...Right.”

You walked into the lift, and so did Bakugou. You tried to keep your eyes off of him but knew that even if his body was also facing towards the door his eyes were glued onto you.

After the doors closed and after the lift started moving, you heard the tapping of his foot. You quickly glanced at him, which seemed to give him permission to speak.

“Who is the bastard then?” He asked.

You blinked. “Pardon?”

“5 and a third inches you’ve fucked for 2 years. Who is he?”

You felt blood rush to your cheeks. You quickly looked away as your hands fiddled with your bag.

Bakugou didn’t seem to like that reaction, scoffing. 

“... I broke up with him once I got the job here…” You finally answered Bakugou with a weak voice.

Bakugou seemed to be less tense from that answer, though he still clearly wasn’t happy. “Couldn’t do long distance or was he a distraction?”

You bit the inside of your mouth, taking a breath in before answering him. “He cheated on me.”

Bakugou fell silcent. You expect him to say something rude or hurtful, but instead, he was just silent. He turned away and crossed his arms, one of his fingers tapping on one of his biceps.

“That must’ve been difficult.” Is all he said.

He wasn’t being rude or hurtful or pushing you down. He didn’t say ‘That’s what you get for not waiting’. Though, he clearly wasn’t thrilled about it either. Even if he had been angry you had slept with someone else, you were still his soulmate. He may not be able to feel your emotions or write to you on his skin, but there was still some connection between you two.

“...It’s actually why I moved here.” You broke the silence. “I didn’t want anyone or him to know I found out, so I found a job far away from him and used that as an excuse.”

Bakugou’s tapping stop, thinking. “...Guess there is one thing to be grateful I guess.” Bakugou mumbled quietly to himself.

Though selfish, Bakugou was happy you weren’t going to sleep with someone else anymore. He hated how it felt, how it felt feeling someone else thrust into you. It was the most disgusting feeling he had ever felt. You enjoying someone else’s cock and he had to feel it, the whole way through.

But looking down at you and seeing the sadness in your eyes?

He didn’t know you, all he knew was the bond that made you two connect. He sighed, running his hand through his hair. He might not have liked the situation but you were still his soulmate. You two were tied together by the fates themselves, and if there was going to be anyone to see you naked again it was going to be him.

“...I’ll walk you home.” Bakugou stated.

You looked up at him with a surprised look. “What? No you don’t have to-”

“I said I’ll walk you home.” Bakugou’s sounded deep and husky, making you quiet your voice.

Bakugou wasn’t asking, you could tell by how his back was straight, his voice booming against the elevator walls and how his eyes looked at you.

You self small - and submissive - under his eyes.

Under his glare.

You looked away and forced yourself not to get horny again, thinking about something that happened to you as a kid that still makes you angry. When you got aroused in the past, you knew your soulmate could feel it but you didn’t know their reactions. They were just a faceless person who you’d maybe meet one day.

But now you knew who it was, it was Bakugou. Practically your boss, had a known temper, and was standing right next to you.

And fuck it he looked hot too!

You took a deep breath in and kept your eyes on the elevator door, trying to keep yourself distracted from his cologne. His presence was becoming overwhelming. You couldn’t help but wonder if this reaction was because you now knew, because of your soulmate bond, or you genuinely found him attractive.

You felt warm breath on your ear, making you shiver. You look up at Bakugou, seeing his face so close to yours now. Your eyes went to the right side of his face where the explosion scar was imprinted on his beautiful face.

“I know because of the nature of our soul bond, we will have a hard time holding back our desires for each other.” Bakugou whispered into your ear while trailing a hand up your back. “But, if you can hold it in until we get to your place, I’ll reward your patience.”

You felt your face grow out and a pool of wetness form in your panties. Your mind couldn’t help but wonder what this reward would be. Bakugou - as if he could read your mind - chuckles.

“I told you to be patient.”

[mushewhosta]

five comfort characters, five tags :)

thank you for tagging me, @cheer-me-up-scotty! Here I am, a month later.

I am unsure whether I understand the notion of a comfort character well. Still, I’ve picked a few fictional guys whose fictional existence satisfies me deeply and inexplicably.

Chu Wanning from The Husky and His White Cat Shizun Have you ever projected onto a character so much you felt like throwing up? His loneliness, yearning, and lack of understanding of what love is supposed to be, yet feeling so much of it, compels me. He’s so kind and self-loathing; I can’t stand him the way I can’t stand myself. Truly & unironically comforting

Vash the Stampede from Trigun, Trigun Stampede I was raised very catholic. Now I have a thing for such characters: the messiah deemed dangerous by the Church, the actual Jesus figure, overbrimming with goodness, yet persecuted, sometimes even killed by the system, in the name of Christ. There are more of those, but I can’t love Father Flote (Red Noses) as much as I love Vash; there’s a bit more to his appeal. It’s the biblically accurate gun, I suppose

Shen Qingqiu from The Scum Villain’s Self-Saving System There’s a brutal honesty in his unreliability. There’s something impossibly human about this narrative device of a man. He satisfies the cognitive scientist in me - I want to fMRI the fuck out of him. And oh, I love the kindness in him that he dismisses so easily. I love him; I love him the way I’d love a friend

Gu Yun from Stars of Chaos Ah, this is just a pure comfort character. Strong and witty, his eyesight is shit (same), and despite being young, his back is like that of an ancient man (HE JUST LIKE ME FR)

Can’t think of a number 5. Can’t think of any female character either, I have to go contemplate my gender for a minute.

EDIT

So today Seven Seas posted the Guardian cover and I almost started crying when I saw it. It occurred to me that yes, obviously,

5. Shen Wei form Guardian

He’s as much a comfort character as they get. Literal comfort. I have a photo of zyl as Shen Wei in a little frame that I used to keep on my desk to motivate me to study. He’s the academia god I pray to when in academic despair, which is often. The glasses I wear every single day are identical to the pair Shen Wei had in the drama. Some of my academic work I did with him in mind, as a tribute of sorts. He’s the promoter I turn to when the real life ones fail me 💜

Tagging:

@everythiiingoes @apprenticedmagician @taralkariel @scrhtt @fandom-queen-aka-trash

[starlalalala]

Sword-point Diplomacy

Pairing: Geovin

Prompt:  “If you even THINK about touching him/her/them, I’ll kill you"

Tags/Warnings: Minecraft AU, Kings AU, Creeper!Gavin, offscreen violence, non-graphic depictions of minor injuries, Ryan as Sir-Not-Appearing-in-This-Fic

Summary: Geoff narrowly avoids an international incident while travelling through the outskirts of Ryan’s kingdom.

Thank you @love-geofffree for the prompt!

“If you even think about touching him, I’ll kill you,” Geoff hissed. The knight in front of him laughed.

“You’re not in your own kingdom anymore, Your Majesty,” he said. The knight was tall, broad-shouldered, his armour bearing the mark of one of the noble houses of Ryan’s kingdom. He stood before the gate set into the ring wall of the outpost, carried himself like a third born son with something to prove. “And we don’t tolerate aberrations here.”

“Aber- he’s with the royal party! You want to start a war, asshole?” 

The knight shifted uncomfortably. He obviously had an idea of how this would go, and Geoff was going off-script. Even the relatively small search party Geoff had brought with him outnumbered the soldiers at the outpost, and regardless of the outpost’s defenses, if the rest of Geoff’s people joined in it would be a slaughter.

Geoff didn’t want it to end that way.

Yet.

But if these bastards tried to keep Gavin here-

“You wouldn’t anyway, actually, because your King is smarter than you. I doubt he’ll be impressed with this. I can only imagine the shame it might bring your house,” Geoff continued, hand steady on the hilt of his sword. If Geoff focused on what had been done, not on what might have happened in the eight fucking hours in between, he could summon enough fury to hide his fear. 

“I did my duty. I captured a creature marauding through the forest... Your Majesty,” The knight’s words were strong. His voice was not. Geoff knew he had him.

“You kidnapped a member of my court who had strayed too far from the party. If he has been harmed, you will pay.” Geoff’s tone was certain. Angry, but not sadistic. A simple statement of fact. “You will, of course, be punished regardless. But cooperate now and you may keep your life, if not your title.” When the knight made no move, he continued. “If you make me wait, I’ll take him back regardless, and you won’t be around to defend your actions to your King.”

The knight had enough restraint not to flinch backwards at the words, even as he leaned away and his men whispered amongst themselves at their post atop the wall. So many forgot that Geoff had fought for his throne, and fought to keep it. He let them. He had no desire to go down in history as a warlord, or a cruel man, or allow his battles to be the best of his accomplishments.

For Gavin, though, he would play the part.

The knight ordered the gates to be opened, and Geoff strode past without a word, Dan a respectful three steps behind. At this point, the knight knew better than to question him.

The small courtyard in the center of the outpost showed obvious signs of a struggle. Heavy armoured footsteps had sunken into the dirt, and lighter, smaller ones in between -about halfway to the tower, those light footsteps became heavy drag marks. Geoff’s grip tightened around the hilt of his sword. The remaining soldiers scurried out of his way.

The marks led to a door at the base of the central building of the outpost. Tower was too generous a word. It was three storeys tall, round, standard stonework with small slits for archers. Someone -a smith by the looks of her- opened the door ahead of him, bowing deeply as she did. 

The door did not lead into the tower proper, but onto old stone steps that disappeared into the earth. Dan accompanied him down as the remainder of is guard spread throughout the courtyard, keeping an eye on the knight and his men.

The basement smelled foul, the damp of the nearby forest having nowhere to escape. Only two torches lit up the area, one on either side of the long room. Towards the back was a simple cell, with iron bars unevenly spaced to separate it from the rest of the basement. Dungeon was not the right word, but it came close. Hay was stacked in a makeshift bed, wilting in the humid dark. 

“Stay here,” Geoff ordered, and something shifted in the dark of the cell. He knew Dan wanted to protest, but Geoff needed to see him first, needed to know what they’d done to him.

A low hiss emanated from the figure, a sound that triggered a deep, instinctual fear in Geoff that only the very real fear of Gavin’s injuries could push away. The hiss petered out into a whimper when the form tried to shift into a crouch, and Geoff winced in sympathy.

“It’s just me, buddy,” Geoff soothed, approaching slowly with his hands in the air. The figure stiffened, then relaxed, and Geoff closed the distance.

“Geoffrey?” Gavin whispered, and his voice sounded wrecked. 

In the dim light it was difficult to make out Gavin’s features, but his top lip was split with dried blood dribbled down his chin. His left eye was swollen shut with a dark bruise, and his right darted from place to place, never settling on Geoff for long. His eyes glowed an unnatural green in the darkness. He hissed again when Geoff brushed his hand over the bruise, but in pain, not fear. Geoff moved his hands to Gavin’s shoulders instead. Gavin’s eyes finally met his.

“Hey, c’mon, can you stand?” Geoff tried. Gavin shook his head, and Geoff’s grip on his shoulders tightened. He and Ryan were going to have words once they arrived at his court. Even if those words were an explanation of why one of his subjects had been killed. By the gods, if Geoff’s kingdom wasn’t depending on his behaviour...

Heedless of his injuries, Gavin scrambled closer, both hands tangling in Geoff’s vest. One leg dragged uselessly behind him, and Geoff caught sight of dried blood crusted over Gavin’s bright green clothes. He tried to hold Gavin, but the other man just wouldn’t stop moving, trying to bury his head in Geoff’s shoulder and press them as close together as he could.

“Gavin -Gav, stop,” Geoff ordered, trying to keep his voice low and controlled. “You’re going to hurt yourself, buddy, stay still.”

And Gavin froze. His stillness wasn’t complete -he was still trembling, his grip on Geoff held by fear alone. Gavin’s breathing shook his whole frame, deep, heaving breaths that forced Geoff to put aside his fury for the moment.

“I’m gonna pick you up now, alright? Just keep holding on, it’ll be okay...” Geoff talked Gavin through the whole painful process, shifting Gavin’s body so he could get a good grip under his legs and back, shushing him and apologising when his injuries were jostled. He tried to be as gentle as possible, but it seemed that Gavin had bruises everywhere, and every other movement prompted a whimper. None of the few cuts Geoff could see seemed deep, and none were still bleeding, though a few briefly reopened when Geoff stretched them. 

Overall, it wasn’t too bad. Gavin’s leg seemed to have taken the brunt of it, a few patches of scales scraped thing, a few missing completely. These injuries were nowhere near the worst either of them had had, and Geoff knew as soon as Gavin got over the shock he’d be back to his usual self and complaining about not being able to use his leg. 

Knowing that didn’t stop Geoff’s arms from shaking as he tried to keep his breathing even. That wasn’t what Gavin needed right now. 

He allowed Gavin a moment to catch his breath. Once his breathing had slowed and his head rested on Geoff’s chest, Geoff stood, carefully, trying to keep Gavin’s body as still as possible.

Dan looked on from the doorway, naked concern on his face. He reached for Gavin when Geoff approached, but to hell with appearances, Geoff wasn’t letting Gavin go until he could put him in a warm bed with a healer nearby.

Unfortunately, holding Gavin meant he couldn’t storm upstairs as he wished to. 

Gavin was quiet in his arms, face hidden and breathing evening out, and so Geoff dropped the calm act. He wasn’t entirely sure what the others saw when he emerged into the light again. The knight stood in the center of the courtyard, and whatever he’d been about to say to control the situation died on his tongue when he met Geoff’s eyes. The rest of his men had kept themselves well out of sight, as had most of the workers, but some craftsmen remained to watch the scene.

It was the sight of the workers that decided Geoff. His anger wasn’t worth their safety.

“I am taking my leave. Your King will hear about this,” was all Geoff said. Anymore and he risked starting a fight, and he didn’t want to shake Gavin awake.

The knight nodded, and got out of his way. 

Gavin was, thankfully, unconscious for most of the journey home. Pain and fear had kept him awake through most of his captivity. They moved supplies from the small cart they’d brought with them, distributing them between saddlebags now that speed was no longer an issue, and Gavin curled up in as many blankets as they had. He was almost entirely hidden underneath them, keeping his skin and scales safe from the sun. Geoff rode beside the cart as they returned to the main caravan. 

“I’m sorry,” Gavin said, much later. His wounds had been cleaned and bandaged, and his leg was stretched out in the bed in front of him as he leaned against Geoff’s chest. The carriage was small, but comfortable enough to fit both of them, and Gavin would be riding in it for the next few days at least.

“For what?” Geoff had wrapped his arms around Gavin’s slim frame and hid his face in the patch of scales on his shoulder. They were both exhausted. Gavin needed more rest to truly recover, and Geoff had been in a constant state of anxiety since Gavin had failed to return.

“Shouldn’t have wandered off,” Gavin mumbled, and Geoff held him tighter. 

“It’s not your fault, alright? They had- they had no right to grab you like that, they shouldn’t have-” Geoff wanted to look Gavin in the eye, but he didn’t want to move him. “I’m sorry for taking so long. If I’d realised you were missing sooner...”

“You couldn’t have known-” Gavin began.

“And you couldn’t have known there’d be a bunch of assholes in the woods, right? It’s not your fault. I don’t want you thinking that it is. Just focus on getting better, alright?” Geoff felt Gavin’s sigh more than he heard it. Geoff grinned and gave him a wet kiss on the cheek, and Gavin squaked indignantly, wriggling in Geoff’s grip but completely unable to escape thanks to his injured leg. 

“Urgh, that’s disgusting!” Gavin whined, and Geoff laughed. The tension had disappeared. Gavin settled himself again, leaning back against Geoff, his warmth soaking through the bandages. Geoff placed another kiss on his cheek, gentler this time.

“Get some rest, idiot,” Geoff said, and Gavin nodded, his head falling on Geoff’s shoulder. Safe again, he drifted off to sleep easily. Geoff wouldn’t be too far behind, but he wanted to stay awake, just a bit longer. Just to reassure himself that Gavin was here.

[realityhelixcreates]

Lasabrjotr Chapter 79: The Rites of Blood and Knowledge

Chapters: 79/?

Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: pg 13(Blood)

Relationships: Loki x Reader

Characters: Loki (Marvel),Thor(Marvel) Wanda Maximoff, vision, Bruce Banner

Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), Party Time, In Reference To Blood Mixing Mentioned In The Eddas

Summary:  The great ceremonies begin.

The dreams were powerful that night, whisking you off to far away places, off to the increasingly familiar form of the gargantuan space artist. There was a strange nostalgia out here that you were slowly coming to recognize as being not your own. How could it be? You had never physically been here, only visited in dreams.

With green and blue sparkling at your right and left, you drifted along in their orbit, yet another asteroid in a primordial star system.

First Wielder.

The concept filtered through your mind, trailing a warm and wistful longing behind it.

Peace. Eternity. Creation.

Before battle. Before separation. Before imprisonment.

Before all.

The star system was strange: every time you came here, the sun was a little different. A variable star, its brightness oscillating, it was still young and new.

There was only one planet in this system, located fairly close to the star. The presence of the colossal giant perturbed the asteroids and gas around the star, but their great mass prevented them from coalescing.

Comets formed in great numbers from the gas and ice beyond them, whizzing past them, inspiring new drawings. Asteroids clumped up against them; a brush of their great hand sent them flying, to collide into one another, to spin away from their unstable orbit, and join the comets on their cross-system journey, to crash into the singular planet.

The colossus watched with the patience of true immortality, as the planet burned and erupted, filled up with water, and clouds, and sky.

Thoughtfully, they regarded an asteroid they held in one hand, then, with their color-stained fingers, they began to draw.

The wistfulness and regret reached their peak, and you woke up in the empty bathtub, with a thought ringing in your head.

The Wielders always came to a bad end.

                                                                            ******

Loki was somewhat disgruntled to discover that you'd been having these dreams without him. He didn't scold, but his concern was clear. You described them in as much detail as you could, but, to your dismay, he didn't have any explanation for what you'd been seeing while you slept.

It would just have to remain a mystery. The upcoming day was going to be far too busy to dwell on it.

Both you and Loki had dressed in your absolute finest, your armor polished bright, your skirt covered in embroidery, your chest and neck festooned in beads of carved gold and pearl. You still felt a little bit like you were so buried in finery that you became invisible, but you tried to carry it with pride. All of this had been put together especially for you, and that hard work deserved to be shown off.

Loki was so magnificent in his fur-trimmed cloak, and elaborate helmet, you had to firmly tell yourself not to spend the whole day just staring at him all moon-eyed.

Maybe just a few hours.

Today, the Second Feast, was really the main event, as far as this Buridag was concerned. At noon, you would participate in the Blood Taking ceremony, wherin you would 'mingle blood' with the royal brothers, in order to be formally adopted into Asgardian high society. This would cement your status as high enough to advise Loki as one of the most important members of his personal entourage. And before the evening feast, you would perform the ritual that would confirm you as an official Seidkona.

But before that, you would have the time to run around and enjoy the festival.

It was set up like a combination job fair and reenactment fest. Stalls lined the streets and filled courtyards, peopled by the crafters of Asgard. Smiths, armorers, and carpenters, goldsmiths, lapidaries, scrimshanders, and glassblowers. Weavers, spinners, leatherworkers, and dyemakers, artists, musicians, chefs, academics, mages, stonemasons, construction workers, scribes, dancers, and cheesemongers. All the sights, and sounds, and scents, and flavors that made up Asgard were being demonstrated and celebrated.

Your Father and Tara joined you in the streets, and Loki reluctantly released you into their care, having some preparation left to do.

Tara, flouncing around in an apron dress and domed brooches very much like your usual style, gushed over how beautiful you looked, and your father, rather sheepishly dressed in an Asgardian greatcoat and cowl, agreed openly.

“You look like a princess.” he said. “A real one. You...You walk different now. Talk different. You look so strong.”

“Is it me, or are all these people following us?” Tara asked, not very quietly. A few chagrined people in the crowd that flowed in your wake down the street peeled away, and wandered in different directions. The rest either had less shame, or had orders to keep watch over you.

You spared the group a glance. There appeared to be a solid mix of Asgardians and humans, several of which had their phones out. You surmised there would be a new wave of photos of you on the internet over the next few days.

“Keep your cowl up dad.” You advised.

“Want me to run them off?” he offered.

“Nah. I don't really mind if they take pictures of me. Can't really hurt anything.”

“Wasn't so great last time.” Tara pointed out. “I spent a lot of time stanning for you.”

“Well, last time was sensationalized bullcrap. This time is a nice festival. I mean, check out that guy!”

That Guy was a glassblower in his stall, spinning a huge, bubble thin amphora of rose pink glass. You had seen its like before, but never seen one made.

“Oh, they age crystal mead in those! The pink lets in the right wavelengths of light that give it it's shimmering quality.”

“What's crystal mead?” your father asked.

“Don't try more than a few sips, if anyone offers.” you warned. “Asgardians have iron guts. Their booze is way too strong.”

“Yeah, they warned us about that on the plane.” Tara said. “And yesterday, it looked like they had everything divided up by species, so no one got the wrong thing.”

You took them around to various demonstrations: spinners spinning yarn, brewers preparing several of Asgards many alcoholic beverages, apothecaries showing how basic medicines were made, a cobbler putting together a nice pair of boots.

“So, Asgard's really advanced, right?” Tara asked. “Why is everything like Ye Olden Times?”

“Asgard's never had that big a population, even at it height. There just isn't that much demand for mass production. Most things are bespoke, or self-made. Quality depends entirely on the maker, so that, of course, becomes a competition. And that, in turn, becomes a matter of cultural pride. Also, they have thousands of years to get good at what they do, so Asgardian made goods are super high quality, and they judge personal worth by that. I don't think they'll ever automate; it would go against a lot of what they stand for.”

You snagged the three of you a traditional Asgardian snack; fat sausages, wrapped in savory pastry. You thought it might be good to have something else in your stomach before the first ceremony.

Tara called them Asgardian corn dogs, which you couldn't wait to share with Loki, if only to watch his nose wrinkle with disdain over the undignified term.

“So when do we have to let you go?” Tara asked.

You checked your phone for the time, stuffing the last of your sausage into your mouth.

“Eh, I've got a few minutes left. Better start heading over though.”

Your winding path through the courtyards took you past minstrels, impromptu dances, and games, to a large, tall dais that had been put together as a temporary mirror to the throne room. It towered over the City Hall courtyard like a ziggurat. You'd be up there soon enough, but currently...

“Who's that?” your father asked, pointing at a man standing at the top. “Doesn't look like Thor.”

You squinted up at the figure, his bright armor shining in the rarefied sunlight.

“Ah, That's Heimdall. He's the Guardian of Asgard, and god of...uh, sight? I think? Vigilance? It's not quite that neat and simple, you know? The whole 'God Of' thing is a bit more complicated than that.”

“So that's a god?” your father asked. “How can you tell? Are they all gods? What does that even mean?”

“All good questions. Mostly because they are very hard to answer.”

Your father and Tara jerked at the sudden new voice, and, not for the first time, you found yourself amazed at how easily a man of the sheer size and importance as the king of Asgard could sneak up on people.

“Your Majesty.” you said calmly, inclining your head. Your father and Tara dipped into awkward bows, a little awed by the mythical figure before them. Thor didn't necessarily demand obeisance, but he didn't exactly discourage it either; he let people act as they felt appropriate.

“Not every Asgardian is a god.” Thor explained. “Those that are go by the term 'Aesir', a common name through most of the realms for beings of that type. You are born Aesir; you cannot become one by outside influences. However, Aesir nature doesn't always become apparent at birth, it often doesn't manifest until adolescence. As for what it means to be Aesir...that doesn't have so straightforward an answer. I leave it to the philosophers, who, incidentally, are in booth seventy-eight.

Anyway, I have come to collect your daughter for the ceremony. There isn't much time left, so we'd all better get in place. If you go through those two poles there right now, you can get very good seats.”

“This could get a bit weird.” You warned. “It's a ceremony more ancient than any recorded human practices, so it's probably going to seem archaic.”

“Oh, it's not so bad.” Thor said. “It's been updated and refined over all those years. For instance, everyone remains clothed now, and there are at least seventy percent fewer entrails used.”

Your father coughed, and you rolled your eyes. Thor's sense of humor was difficult for you to understand, considering how serious he was about everything. The thing about Thor's jokes was that he might have been joking about something that had really happened, or he might have been joking about something he'd completely made up, but he would never specify which.

“On that note, I've got to go.” you said. “Entrails to sort, and all that.”

Your father coughed again, Tara patting him compassionately on the back.

“Good luck!” she called to your receding back.

                                                                                ******

“Now, you've been fully briefed on what will happen during this ceremony, correct?” Thor asked, as the two of you loitered near the back stairs of the temporary dais. People were filtering in to seats and standing room around the courtyard, waiting for things to start.

“I think so.” you said. “If I've got this right, there's going to be a special dance-”

“The Alignment of the Celestial and Worldly bodies, yes.” Thor said. “It symbolizes everything that must come together to bring the 'adoptee' to the greater 'family'. In this case, it will tell the story of how you came here to join our family.”

A soft warmth crept up your neck, and heated your ears beneath your helmet. You knew it was all socio-symbolism, but the notion of 'joining the family' hit differently now that you were on intimate terms with Loki.

“And then all the braziers will have some kind of incense thrown in, and in the smoke, we'll all go up the stairs like we're magically appearing. Honestly, it sounds like it'll look really cool.”

“All ceremonies contain a bit of theatrics.” Thor agreed. “Perhaps that is the most important part. Or that's the part that makes it important. I wish we still had some of the traditional ceremonial incense, but we just don't have access to the materials anymore. You would have liked it; it was much more floral than most of what you have here. We did manage to get some lavender though. That should be nice.”

“Maybe one day, when the Bifrost is more stable.” You said. It did sound very nice. “Loki said that you, and he, and Heimdall will sing a blessing song?”

“Yes, a divine blessing from a trio of Aesir. It's got to be three. And then...”

“Yeah. And then.” Loki had told you about the bloodletting. He had been very frank about it. “I know. I'm nervous, but not afraid.”

Thor nodded. “Sometimes there are unforeseen effects, but never anything bad. You'll be perfectly safe.”

“I know. The nervousness just comes from knowing it'll hurt. Even if just for a short time.”

You buckled under Thor's hand when it came down on your shoulder, enveloping the whole thing.

“Loki would rather slice out his own guts than draw your blood, trust me. He's been trying to figure out how to get around it for weeks. Unfortunately, the blood is the most important part of the magic. It carries all of the power. It's very old magic: according to him, this is practically the only part of the ritual that has remained unchanged from the beginning.”

“Did there really used to be entrails and naked people, or was that a joke?”

“Ehhh, well, yes and no. This ceremony originated with the Vanir, and they are not opposed to nakedness under certain circumstances. In this case, everyone who attended was expected to leave the clothes they came in at the door, and wear a special loincloth instead. This was actually to prevent violence, by barring hidden weaponry from being brought to ceremony grounds. So rather than pure nudity, everyone was dressed as scantily as was possible.

As for entrails...unfortunately yes, that was also a part of it. A seer would perform a divination using the entrails of a slaughtered animal. That practice was going out of fashion, even before the war, and I don't think anyone today even remembers how it was done.”

You shuddered. Yes, it was a different culture, and a long time ago, but it still grossed you out.

“I'll have to remember to thank Loki for trying to get me out of it, even if he wasn't successful.” You said. He really did put in a lot of effort behind the scenes. If only he were more open about some of that effort, so you could appreciate it more.

“He was adamant about the bull.” Thor said. “Demanded a private ritual the night before. Put your helmet up on the pillar, then sacrificed and butchered the beast himself. Insisted on it. Did our ancestors proud, but you know he knows his way around a knife.”

“I wish he'd told me. I was really stressed about that whole thing. I'm glad, in the end, that he was thinking of me, but I really wish I'd known. I wouldn't have lost so much sleep!”

“It was a little last minute.” Thor admitted. “I approved it the instant he explained, but we had to do it pretty much immediately afterwards. He really should have told you, but I fear my brother is usually more invested in the making of plans, rather than what to do once they come to fruition. I feel you will be a positive influence on him, though.”

Even though he was wearing his eyepatch, rather than the mismatched prosthetic, his one blue eye was open and sincere.

“I think so too.” you said. You already were influencing each other. It was impossible to live so close, to sleep in the same bed, without doing so. But Loki did have a bad habit of assuming things, a by-product of his upbringing as a leader, you supposed. You would simply have to speak up more.

Perhaps you had gotten too comfortable. But perhaps you wanted to be too comfortable. It might be a holdover from your year of struggle, but having someone who wanted to do so much for you was very tempting. You knew it would be better to strive for a balance, but you also knew that, unless Loki somehow diminished himself severely, the two of you would never truly be equals.

But you admired that greatness, and somehow, those all too common flaws in him made him easier for you to love. They made him so real.

An ambling drum beat started up, accompanied by the brassy ting of zills, and a flute. Loki joined you and Thor in peeking out around the dais, just as a group of dancers spread out around the courtyard.

You'd been told that the dancers represented personages from history and legend. You were pretty sure that the three women who orbited the dance stage equidistant from one another must be the Norns, and you assumed the cluster of people standing beneath a glittering tree branch and clanging their zills were probably meant to be the ancestors of the royal family.

The dance told a story of a woman dressed like you, and a man dressed like Loki, wearing silver bells at their wrists and ankles that jingled with every step. They made everything look so much more graceful and sensual than it really had been: Holding hands like the rune branding had been on purpose, dancing circles with each other, like everything had been friendly and not at all awkward from the very beginning. How elegantly 'you' swooned into 'his' arms, while the assassin was caught. How triumphantly 'you' defended 'him' against the Huldra. And how beautifully 'he' clasped 'you' in a romantic, yet properly chaste embrace.

There was none of the blood, none of the fear, or anger, or petulance, or confusion. No loss, or loneliness, or uncertainty.

But that was how it worked, wasn't it? None of those things could be shown to the general public. This was ceremony. This was spectacle! This was what would be remembered.

The pair danced away, out of sight, the ancestors retreated, and the Norns raised their arms in unison. All around the courtyard, attendants dumped incense into the torches and braziers, sending thick smoke and mysterious perfume wafting over the entire area.

“Show's on, darling.” Loki said, grasping your shoulders, and leading you up the stairs. A new wave of anxiety washed over you as you rose above the sweet smelling clouds like a legend. Heimdall stepped aside to let you pass, Loki and Thor leading you right up to the edge of the elevated platform, where waited a podium, upon which rested a brass bowl. An unfamiliar rune was stamped on its bottom. So that was where the magic would happen.

Thor held his hand out over an unlit brazier just in front of the podium and concentrated. Scarcely a moment later sparks danced between his fingers and jumped to ignite the fuel. The light illuminated the clouds of incense, obscuring the audience. Cut off thus from every other person out there, you didn't flinch as the trio of gods each placed a hand on you, and began to sing.

You couldn't help but wonder if they had done this before. It was a complex song, with rising and falling harmonies, parts layered over one another, something that couldn't have been easy to learn. As their voices dipped and flowed, you felt the power rising, just like out in the camp, months ago. Why could you sense divine power? Was it because of your magic? Was there anyone out in the crowd that could feel it too?

Thor's good eye had begun to sparkle with crackling white energy, the power of the blessing he was singing into you. You assumed Heimdall, behind you, was lighting up orange, and when you turned your head to glance at Loki, you were suffused with the gentle glow of the blue light from your dreams.

All of the anxiety drained out of you at the touch of that light, your arms dropping to your sides as relaxation took over.

Everything was all right. Loki was right beside you. Thor and Heimdall were with you, their voices reverberating through you, their blessing upon you. The rare winter sun filtered down over you like a blanket, as the last notes of the Aesir's song filled your head.

Loki gently took your hand, gazing earnestly into your face as the calming light faded from his eyes.

“Forgive me, my love.” he whispered.

A sudden, painful jab, ripped you out of your cocoon of sunny calm. With a sharp cry, you turned to stare at your fingertip, pierced deeply by the tip of one of Loki's knives.

Loki held your hand over the brass bowl, letting the blood drip, enough to cover the rune at the bottom. Then he tenderly bandaged the tiny wound, lines of regret around his eyes. Thor held his hand out for a slash, and then Loki turned the blade on himself. Blood slowly filled the little bowl, as a light throbbing started in your head. Every drop that rippled its surface was like a giant heartbeat within you.

Once it was full, Thor and Loki began singing again, lifting the small bowl between them. They held it up to the sun, and then poured it onto the burning brazier. The fire sputtered, sizzling, sending a huge cloud of smoke directly into your face. You gagged on the scent of burning blood, practically bathed in it, a layer of death-scent on your skin. The song cut through it, thrumming in your ears, an echoing promise of cherishment and fidelity.

The blood burned down into nothing, the smoke slowly clearing. All of the people in the courtyard came back into view, the upturned faces solemn. The dancers below picked up the chorus.

And you understood them.

Loki took your hand and lifted it up, flourishing to the crowd. They cheered, while you stood there, stunned. You understood what they were saying, their enthusiastic calls, their songs. The blood smell lingered in your nose, the throbbing swiftly receding from your head.

He led you to the stairs down as you wobbled, but you never made it all the way down. Dizziness overcame you, and you collapsed into Loki's arms.

[pluviophile-bookworm]

HSMTMTS 2x9: so dreaded, so exciting, 'Sword!' (yeah, I went there, I've been thinking about this scene - you know the one - since yesterday for some reason)

After two computer malfunctions and a very tough, very sleepless night, here I am with a third attempt to write this post. The universe is against me today. Is Mercury in retrograde or something? Ugh, I just want to get this over with already. And I haven't even managed to see half the episode yet. You better like this cursed post because it's taken me two hours at this point, and will probably take another to finish - and that is if nothing goes wrong this time. Please bear with me. This is my reaction to HSMTMTS 2x9, take 3. Let's hope and pray it's the last one.

I'm normally [unpopular opinion alert] a very spoiler-positive person (it's the combination of anxiety and ADHD and a bunch of other stuff, I suppose), but for this one I've been refraining from looking at the tag all morning, so by now I'm simply bursting with impatience. But before we dive in, I need to get some stuff off my chest.

Some pre-watch thoughts and feelings (let's see how well they will have aged by the end of the episode):

Seriously, what is with whoever writes this show? I know it's impossible, but I feel like they've been toying with my emotions specifically all season. Like:

Ah, so you were a Rini shipper last season? Great, now we'll make them obnoxious and borderline toxic to the point where you actually want them to break up, but then their old chemistry will be back just for the breakup scene so that you can cry your eyes out over the one couple you couldn't stand - even though you can't seem to relate to a single song from Sour, we'll make you feel like you do for a hot second. At least it will remind you that you loved Ricky.

So you say Redlyn own your heart and soul? Great, we'll make you dread something going wrong with them for a week straight, and mess up your sleep schedule beyond repair over it. You're welcome!

We heard you said Rodfini give you life? Perfect, how about a big Seblos fight? And would you like a side of questioning your choice to stan Carlos with that? Because what is life without a little anxiety, a bit of doubt of your ability to read people, and a pinch of existential dread, right?

Ah, so you claimed not to ship Portwell romantically, is that right? Brilliant, we'll make you ship them and then we'll use that to torture you, too.

You've been excited about ABF and Asher Angel guest-starring ever since they were announced? Magnificent! We'll make you hate ABF's character to the point where you can't even look at him, and we'll make you call him names you thought yourself incapable of uttering. And as for Asher, you'll be left waiting for him until the last third of the season, and then you'll dread the possibility of hating his character, too. Do you love us yet?

Oof! Right then, I've got that out of my system. Time to dive in.

Miss Jenn playing around with the backgrounds is, like, 90% of the people who had online school this year, and honestly, I love that for her.

Wait, why is Nini first on this call? Are they going through with the Rose thing? Cos like, the song is nice and all (and, might I add, much more to my taste than nearly all of Sour, don't @ me), but if they use it, it will get them disqualified. They’ve been told that! Gosh, please let me be wrong about this.

We get it, Carlito, rich and fancy and over-the-top is kind of your thing, but have you stopped for a second to think about how others will feel about this? Especially Seb, whom you claim to care about. Seriously, though, I love Carlos and would not hesitate to die for him, but I’m getting the feeling that, unlike my other favourite (you know the one), he wouldn’t do the same for me. Oh well, he’ll figure it out. He’s just a kid. Give him time.

Wait, Milky White? Is that an Into the Woods reference I smell? Cool! If I had a cow, I’d totally name her Milky White (or Gertrude, but don’t ask me why). I just hope they don’t have to, like, take her to the market and exchange her for magic beans, if you catch my drift.

Ahhhhh, Caswell cousins content! We love to see it!

‘You guys are watching, like, old old movies’ WTH, Nini (or is it Nina)? Scary Movie is literally younger than me. But what do you know about it, you 21st-century baby! Ugh, I don’t know why I’m being so hostile today... must be the lack of sleep. Hope it doesn’t influence my reactions to the episode so dramatically as to make me forget how much I love this series. Because I do.

Yay! Big Red is here! I can finally smile. And did Ash just say they’re soulmates? Because yes they are! Ahhh my heart is going to explode.

‘Nini, have you heard from [Ricky]?’ Yikes, awkward... but of course, Big Red can be counted on to save the day here, too.

Ok, so that was a cool cold open. Time for some nice in-person scenes, though. I did not spend all of three semesters doing online school just to have the characters of my favourite series do the same.

Wow, Gina is really embracing that French accent thing! And I really don’t want to think about, erm, ‘Napoleon over here’ right now, but I really think the fact that she’s doing it better than him will be another piece of evidence towards my theory of fake-French!Antoine... ugh, I said his name. Oh well. Back to Gina. Too bad the French thing didn’t work out for her.

Ahhhh, Portwell with Ash in the background! And Ash is going to paint EJ’s nails! I feel like he’s going to end up loving that, despite what he says right now. But seriously, I just love how comfortable these two are with each other. Can you blame me now for shipping them as friends? Well, I mean, it’s obvious they will be more than friends, and somehow, despite the amatonormativity of it all, I’m here for it.

Wait, was that Asher? That was Asher, I’m 100% sure of it. And Gina said ‘a sign’ and then looked at him, even from the back... what am I supposed to think and feel here? I’m confused. Moving on.

Ahh, poor Ricky being a burrito... good thing that breakup scene last time reminded me that I love him, because the entirety of the season before that was very good at making me forget that.

Wait, did she say ‘the Bean’? As in, that Bean? The infamous Bean? LOL.

‘So the only time you two talk to each other is to gossip about me’ Boy, did I feel that. I once got my hands on my dad’s mobile and I... kind of went through his texts with mum. Yep, all about me and my brother. At this point I feel like they’re only together because of us. But this is getting too personal. I’m here about the episode, not to rant about my family. Moving on.

Yikes, looks like Nini’s got writer’s block all over again. Am I supposed to feel sorry for her? Because I kind of don’t. I mean, no hate towards her, none at all, but that entire scene just felt awkward and unnecessary. And not just because it’s her first time going live. That I can understand. What I don’t understand is why the writers can’t seem to do anything creative and interesting with Nini. Olivia is being wasted there. Idk, that’s just how I feel. Again, no hate.

Ahhhhh it’s Asher! And well, he’s not Jonah, but I kind of really like him as Jack. I wonder if that will last.

So is it just me, or is anyone else not quite sure how to feel about Ricky’s mum? I mean, their interactions seem kind of awkward and strained, but that’s how it’s supposed to be given their recent history, and yet something just doesn’t sit quite right with me.

‘You there, Muse? It’s me, Nini!’ Ah, so it’s Nini again? I didn’t get the memo. Gosh, this episode is kind of really underwhelming. The most exciting thing so far (but not nearly as exciting in practice as it was in theory) – Asher and Sofia’s on-screen reunion. The second most exciting thing? The thought of Ash painting EJ’s nails. Everything else? Kind of ‘whatever’. Is this what I tossed and turned about all night? Totally not worth it. This episode better get, like, 300% better right this instant. It’s just not worth all the frustration and excitement and dread so far.

Looks like my prayers from just now have been heard! That improv scene was hilarious! Guess it was lucky that Miss Jenn had them do improv before this moment. But I need to know more of Jack’s backstory now.

Ok, so that was awkward! So Kourtney is talking to Howie again, I guess. And I guess I know now what Carlos did that was all public and no subtle. Still, what’s wrong with posting photos from your holiday? Guess I don’t exactly know yet what Carlos did to piss the others off so much.

Great, now I’m tempted to google butterfly faces. Good thing I’m not eating anymore. *** Ughhhhh this was a mistake! Please don’t ever look a butterfly in the face if you want to stay sane. Don’t be like me.

Ahhh the Duke sweater! ‘Is that your boyfriend’s?’ Well, not quite yet, it’s not... *screams in Portwell*

Oh, now we’re talking! But seriously, Ricky? The ‘my friends think’ card? Why don’t you just say ‘I think’? It’s clearly something you’ve thought about a lot. I feel like I’m going to love this scene or cry over it or both.

Ooh, therapy. It’s not just... basically the entire fandom... who says it now. Please tell me that means Ricky will be going to therapy at some point. Says the girl who is currently firmly refusing to go to therapy in favour of hyperfixating on HSMTMTS and getting back into the good old practice of having imaginary friends... yeah, I’m one to talk.

My, my, my! Seb has really had it now. I mean, it was about time, but... not quite like this. My heart is starting to do some weird stuff, I can feel it. I might need to lie down.

Ok, so as much as I envy North High for getting to see so many shows on BWay – basically living out my dream – stalking East High on Instagram and being shady about them taking a well-deserved break... just goes beyond all limits. I mean, if you’re so into Broadway shows, you should know as well as I do what happened the last time a certain founding father did not take a break. Maybe you’re the ones in need of a break here.

Nini on the call with the Caswell cousins, though... ‘I’m obsessed with both of you’ – first relatable thing she’s said or done all season. And EJ playing with old toys is pure gold.

Oh, so Jack’s dad is a pilot. Makes sense, I guess. I’m kind of intrigued by this guy. Just as long as he doesn’t try to come between Portwell before they’ve had the chance to happen, you know...

Ashlyn might need to stop swooning over Nini’s songwriting or Big Red might get jealous... I mean, I would not have pinned him as the jealous type before 2x7, but ever since then... I guess insecure + dating a girl like Ash = the jealous type. And although that looks good on him, I’d bet anything it doesn’t feel particularly pleasant on his side. So... wait, why am I talking about Big Red? He hasn’t even got anything to do with the scene at hand. But then again, there’s been so little Big Red content in this episode that I seem to be trying to make up for it. Still. Stay focused.

Ooh, so Big Red did edit that video! Is there anything my boy can’t do? Ok, now I feel like he’s even more criminally underappreciated than he was before. But let’s look at the video. I’m curious to see the whole thing because that sneak peek from yesterday simply hasn’t been enough.

That was... really, really cool! I love how they took the ‘when they go low, we go high’ line from last time and run with it. Now if only they were putting as much effort into BATB... North High wouldn’t know what hit them.

Hmmmm... I guess Gina and Jack could be what I originally wanted Portwell to be... really cool friends. Unless it’s one of those ‘airport magic’ things. Oh well. It probably is. Was that all we’re seeing of Asher here? I did not wait 2/3 of the season for this. Though it was nice.

Ooh, Ricky’s solo song... why is there more Rini chemistry in this song than there was in all the season? Not counting the breakup scene, of course. Also, I feel like it’s just as much about him and his mum as it is about Nini. Some say music is the best therapy. I think they might be right. And no, I’m not crying. You are.

The granola bar, though... this episode might have been very underwhelming in the first half, but... it delivered in the Portwell front, and the music was *chef’s kiss*, so I’m willing to let it slide that the advertised Seblos ‘big fight’ was not touched upon nearly enough. Maybe next week...

Ok, now that we’re done watching the episode, let’s see how my feelings from the beginning have aged:

The Rini breakup: apparently, along with reminding me that I love Ricky, it has rendered me unable to look at Nini. What’s up with that? If this is some sort of tactic along the lines of ‘Olivia might be leaving the show so we’re making you hate her character so that you won’t miss her’, it’s not really working. Because I don’t want to hate Nini. Believe me, I don’t.

Redlyn: ok, so there’s nothing wrong with them whatsoever - we even got a ‘soulmates’, which I loved - but first they’re being swept under the rug, and then the antis come at us with that ‘their relationship is underdeveloped’ nonsense. Individually, though, I liked them in this episode (even if there was a significant shortage of Big Red), and Ashlyn collaborating with Nini again was cool, but... what I really wanted to see was her painting EJ’s nails. Did she even get the chance to actually do it? Maybe next week.

Seblos: I’m still failing to understand exactly what Seb thinks Carlos did wrong (please enlighten me if you did catch that, I’m kind of slow), but he (Seb) does have reasons to be mad at him (Carlos)... and at other people, too. Still, if you want to have a fight between two people in a relationship, you could do much better than whatever this episode was. Maybe next week. I notice I’m saying that a lot. Guess I’m putting a lot of hopes on 2x10. I just pray it doesn’t disappoint.

Portwell: boy, am I happy that my frustration on this front did not age well! What I mean is, apparently they’ve decided to bless us, not torture us for once. Even a rather disappointing episode like this one had to have some sort of silver lining. And Portwell is it.

Asher as Jack: well, luckily I didn’t hate him, but... it’s kind of the opposite problem. I loved him and now they’re taking him away from me. Guess I just can’t win here. Oh well. At least he didn’t have the screen time to get in between Portwell...

All in all: 2x10, my hopes and prayers are with you!

[coffeefairy]

Writer’s Month August 2020 - Day 8

Day eight of the challenge, still late, because I am a still a helpless procrastinator

Day 8, Prompt: Eight

Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender

Ship: Sheith

Rating: Teen and up

Summary: Lance throws a party to celebrate that he and his roommates are going to be friends - for infinity. At the party, Keith meets destiny. Or as he introduces himself, Shiro.

Veeeery loosely based on the New Girl dynamic but not close enough to call it an AU.

Excerpt:

“Ta-da!” Lance stepped back and revealed the decorated room behind him.

Keith tilted his head. “The theme of the party is...eight? Eight what? Why?”

Pidge peered around Keith to see. “Did you realize it’s your age in emotional maturity and decided celebrating reaching it?”

“It’s not eight, it’s infinity. We’re celebrating we’re going to be friends for infinity!”

Keith grimaced and shrugged, Pidge made a gagging noise and Hunk shushed them both.

Tags: first meeting

Infinity

“Ta-da!” Lance stepped back and revealed the decorated room behind him.

Keith tilted his head. “The theme of the party is...eight? Eight what? Why?”

Pidge peered around Keith to see. “Did you realize it’s your age in emotional maturity and decided celebrating reaching it?”

“It’s not eight, it’s infinity. We’re celebrating we’re going to be friends for infinity!”

Keith grimaced and shrugged, Pidge made a gagging noise and Hunk shushed them both. 

“Guys, Lance has worked really hard on this party.”

“God knows why,” Keith muttered under his breath and Hunk elbowed him. “Yeah, yeah. There’s beer, right?”

Walking into the apartment he had to fight his way through streamers, balloons and even past a pinata. Behind him he heard Pidge point out that at least half the balloons said “Happy Eighth Birthday!” on the backs. Lance shot back all the balloons were tilted ninety degrees, which clearly made the eight into an infinity sign.

Going about tapping the keg, he realized with a shock that they had all lived in this loft for eight years. Moving in right out of high school, the building deep enough into a sketchy enough area that he could afford it, he and Lance had spent the first days emptying it of the previous tenants’ rubbish. Once it looked presentable - essentially bare, but not the drug den it had clearly once been - they’d posted an ad for the two spare rooms. Pidge had arrived, narrowing her eyes at the print out in her hand. She’d believed the apartment was shared by women. Not that it mattered to her, she stated, as long as everyone left her alone to study. Hunk had seen the open plan kitchen and promised muffins on the spot. Lance had shaken his hand, welcoming him to the apartment.

And that was...eight years ago. The apartment had changed over the years. It had furniture, for one. Adding to it through donations, or a purchase when someone had some cash to spare. Keith had bought the coffee table because he refused to use a tray balanced on his knees to eat in front of the tv. Lance had replaced the couch at some point because the first one - inherited from Pidge’s grandmother - was ugly as sin, covered in large roses and wearing some kind of furniture skirt with bows on it. Hunk had picked up appliances on Gumtree, installing them one by one himself. Keith had used the printer at work to blow up some large scale pieces he’d done. The joking picture he’d drawn for Lance for his 21st birthday of them all as superheroes held pride of place. 

He hadn’t really thought about it but they’d all changed, just as the apartment had. Lance, his one and only friend from high school, still loud and animated, but instead of the messy haired loudmouth he’d been, he was now a tidy, suit-wearing marketer. Hunk, who’d finished his degree in mechanical engineering, had worked in the field for three years before pursuing his real passion - cooking. His own restaurant had just celebrated its second birthday. Pidge, still the same height as when she moved in, to her chagrin, had finished her PhD in astrophysics and found her place at the Observatory where her father and brother worked. She’d taped “Dr.” in front of the K. Holt on the door to mark the occasion. 

Though if he was comparing, the one who’d changed the most was possibly himself. 

Leaving high school he’d never imagined he’d want to go to university, or that he’d ever know what he’d want to do. It was Lance, who had drunkenly filled in his application to art school, attaching blurry cellphone pictures of what Keith deemed his “doodles”. Lance who had pushed him out the door to the interview to “just see what it’s about”. Now, Keith had just heard from his publisher his comic book, Voltron: Legendary Defender, had been renewed for another run, with more zeroes attached than Keith had ever dreamed he would make from his art. In truth, he didn’t think any of them needed to live together for financial reasons anymore. But there had been a time when his part-time job and scholarship money didn’t stretch to everything a month would need, when the other three had quietly “made too much food” or “felt like overpaying on gas this month - I did have a few long showers”. Just as he had when Lance had been between jobs, when Pidge didn’t have enough time to work in the last two months before her PhD was due, when Hunk had struggled to make ends meet at his new restaurant. 

Sipping his beer, he woke from the reverie to realize people were arriving. He recognized a few of Lance’s work friends, some of the people from the Observatory, Pidge’s brother, staff from Hunk’s restaurant. 

Lance came beelining over.

“Keith, Allura is here! She came!”

As his friend was in love at least twice a month, Keith just hummed.

“Allura, Keith! The woman who owns the model agency we give a lot of business to.”

Memories of this particular woman being a recurrent topic of Lance’s he obediently looked to where Lance was indicating. A tall, slim blonde was talking to Matt - who looked like he’d never finished Standing Like A Human Being 101. Awkwardly hunched, he laughed entirely too loudly at something the woman had said. 

“I need you to talk me up to her if you speak - nothing big, you know, how I’m a model employee, earn three figures, drive a Range Rover, and that from what you can tell through my bedroom door I can make a woman have an out-of-body-experience.”

“If she’s with you in bed, she’ll wish she was out of her body,” Keith joked automatically.

“Keith, focus!” Lance tugged at his shirt to stare into his eyes. “She’s the most beautiful woman on the planet, she’s smart and she’s funny. She came to this party and I have a chance to make this work.”

Sighing lightly, Keith put his beer down. “Lance.” He put his hand to his shoulder. “Remember that none of what you listed me to say matters. You’re a good guy, you take care of your friends, even when they don’t want you to. You’ve been my mom, my partner and my friend for years. You don’t need to brag about whatever car you drive if you could just believe that the people who love you, love you for you and not for being cool, or suave or whatever epitaph it is you’re always pursuing. Just go talk to her and be yourself.”

Lance blinked rapidly. 

“Don’t cry, man. If you do, I take it all back.” 

Lance kept blinking, sniffles starting.

“Stop it. I’ll tell Allura you’ve got syphilis if you cry.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” The tears sank away and Keith breathed a sigh of relief. “Besides, first I need you to distract Allura’s date.”

“She brought a date?”

“She brought some guy who looks like he models. They’re probably just colleagues.” Lance’s voice was high pitched with his own disbelief. “In any case, it shouldn’t be a hardship for you to talk to him, just don’t drool on him too visibly. I don’t want Allura to think my friends have no class. Even if they don’t.”

“Hey, watch it. Remember I can tell anyone, at any point, you sing Backstreet Boys in the shower.”

“They have an underrated emotional intelligence in their songs!”

Keith snorted, “As if “I Want It That Way” isn’t about a breakfast egg order.”

Lance drew a deep breath, about to go on a tirade. Then he deflated, narrowed his eyes. “Later. We’re doing that later. Now I am going to talk to Allura, because the guy is coming over here for a drink. Distract him for as long as you can!” Lance hissed the last bit under his breath and slipped away. Keith shook his head. Parts of Lance were certainly not older than the eight years Pidge had claimed.

“Hey, could I get a beer?”

Keith turned around and choked on his beer. There could be no doubt that this was the date Lance had described because he looked like an underwear model - however sadly clothed at the minute. Parts of him punched through Keith’s nervous system like lightning flashes, splayed across his retinas in shining technicolor. Wide shoulders, biceps coiling out of a t-shirt as a gift to mankind, narrow hips showing off jeans to their best advantage, a jaw that could cut glass at an angle that made Keith’s mouth go dry with its wish to latch on like a barnacle to a ship and never let go. Dark hair, soft and shining, stubble that made Keith’s stomach clench, and eyes that edged somewhere between silver and mercury.

“Ah…”

He had to take another moment for the speech to get turned into coherency in his head through the interference of his hormones screaming “Gimme, gimme, gimme”.

“Of course. Beer. Sure.”

Standing behind the kitchen island laden with drinks, next to the keg, he realized he looked like he was there to serve drinks. Setting his own cup down he pulled a fresh one from the stack and poured. Bracing himself to turn his eyes back on the god standing in his kitchen, he turned back. 

“Here you go.”

“Thanks. I’m Shiro.”

“Keith.” 

Keith saw that one of the sideways eight balloons hovered behind Shiro like a halo. Suddenly it did look like the sign of infinity.

[dhufflebee]

when I see you like that  (a Glee fanfiction)

One-shot Fandom: Glee Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jesse St. James & Andrea Cohen; Jesse St. James/Rachel Berry - mentioned (and at this point very much one-sided) Characters: Jesse St. James; Andrea Cohen  Additional Tags: rambling phone calls; basically just Jesse moping a lot; Friendship; Pining; Self-Worth Issues; rated T for some swearing

Read on:  AO3  |  ff.net Summary: After the loss at Nationals, Jesse can’t face his Vocal Adrenaline students, and calls his friend Andrea instead. Talking with her, though, painfully reveals his well-concealed sense of inadequacy—and his unquenchable feelings for one Rachel Berry

This fic is basically 3k words of Jesse moping, in a weird half-dialogue half-rant format. I’ve felt the need to write this since I’ve rewatched ‘Nationals’: that three-second shot of Jesse on the verge of tears has been haunting me, and I had to get the story out of my system. Most of all, I needed him to get some of the love and validation that the show deprived him of.

In my mind, it isn’t at all out of character for Jesse to be this miserable in private. He is crazy talented and he knows it, but he also has deep self-worth issues (due to his demanding and not very loving upbringing), for which he compensates with pride and overconfidence. He also has his (in)famous showface that rarely goes away, and he doesn’t feel comfortable being emotionally vulnerable. Except with Andrea—and, well, with Rachel.

By the way, I know Jesse and Andrea's friendship is mostly fanon, but I like it very much nonetheless.

Jesse had never felt so upset in his life. His heart, his mind, his guts were telling him conflicting things, and his knees were starting to give way under him as the adrenaline of the competition slowly went away. He barely managed to close the door to his room before he had to sit on the bed. He was feeling lightheaded, with black pushing at the edge of his vision—the way he would feel after a long training when he hadn’t eaten enough. But it wasn’t low blood pressure, Jesse knew that. It was the same dreadful mix of emotions and thoughts as that damn day two years before, but somehow a hundred times worse. Then it had been divided loyalties, two shattered hearts, and the gut punch of feeling like an utter bastard, but now… damn, he’d added so many failures in the past two years that he had no idea how his showface was still so good. He was starting to feel like a hollow husk at times. Something had definitely broken back then, and the constant, cyclical reminders of what he’d stupidly lost weren’t doing him any favors—that evening after Nationals, the castle of cards that had been Jesse St. James’s so-called adult life was a breath away from collapsing, once and for all.

Jesse kicked off his shoes, threw the suit jacket haphazardly on a chair, and lay down on the bed, trying to steady his breath against his inner turmoil. After a while, he felt blindly around his legs for his phone, until he found it lying precariously near the edge of the bed. He then flung the duvet up over his head and snuggled under it, shirt and nice slacks be damned. He unblocked his phone and opened his recent calls, dialing his best (only?) friend’s number.

“Victory boy! Hey!” a chipper voice answered.

“Andrea…”

“Ah. You didn’t win, then.”

Jesse sighed. Andrea’s reaction made him realize he sounded as dejected as he felt—something he’d long learned how to conceal, but the Chicago air must have jinxed him or something. Or maybe he was simply beginning to crumble under the pressure of his feelings. Whatever.

“I feel like crap, Andy. I should be with the guys, drowning our disappointment in ginger ale or what-have-you, but I don’t even have the energy for that. I barely managed to tell them I was proud of them—and I am—before I had to get out of there. They were crying, Andy, and the looks on the seniors’ faces… I just—I couldn’t stay.”

Jesse knew he was rambling, but a big part of his and Andrea’s friendship had always been taking turns in unloading while the other listened and then offered some honest advice. No one else in his life had ever made him feel safe enough to be so open and vulnerable—except for Rachel, but he’d thrown away his chance to have her at the other end of the line again, hadn’t he?

“I’m sure they understand, Jesse. You told them you were proud, and that’s what matters. Remember how nice it felt when they would tell us? Eased the disappointment of losing somewhat, no?” Andrea asked, a tinge of wistfulness in her voice.

“Yeah, well… god, they worked so hard for this. I really thought we’d win, you know? I honestly miss the high of victory—as I’m sure you do, too,” Jesse said with a smirk, getting a chuckle from Andrea in response. “Nevertheless, Carmel High is going to kick me out the minute I get back to Akron, as they so candidly told me they would when I got the job. And I guess they have all the rights to do it—what kind of failure am I, four-time champion and I can't even coach fucking Vocal Adrenaline to victory? I wouldn't want to keep me around either."

Jesse heard himself getting whinier by the minute, and he hated it, hated how earnest he ended up being while talking with Andrea (and with Rachel, too—he never quite managed to keep his walls up for long with her either… Stop! Stop thinking about that!). Andrea hesitated and exhaled, and Jesse could imagine her shaking her head as well.

"Why didn't you win, though?" she asked at last. "I've seen those videos you sent me: the choreo was incredible! What happened?"

"A ragtag bunch of misfits, that's what happened," Jesse answered, trying to sound mean but only managing desolate. Figures. "The New Directions really busted their asses this year, apparently. You should have seen them, everyone performed at a level they'd never reached before—and you know how they've always been so endearingly energetic. I loathe to admit it, but they were great, and I guess they did deserve to win. Probably. Couldn't tell that to my guys, though," he chuckled, gloomily.

"I'm glad to hear that," Andrea said, with a careful, knowing tone that Jesse instantly dreaded. "Is that it, though? This whole call just because the New Directions finally snatched first place after years of trying?"

Jesse didn't answer. He couldn't, he wouldn't tell Andrea the real reason of his moping—besides, he knew she could easily guess it.

"Unless..." (There it is.) "What about Rachel, Jesse? Did she sing?"

Jesse was thankful the conversation was happening on the phone, Andrea at one end of the nation and himself buried under a duvet in a hotel room in Chicago. He wouldn't have been able to sustain her gaze, otherwise. At least on the phone he didn't need his showface, and his instinct to flee from emotional vulnerability was somewhat tamed (but not much).

"Jesse?"

He squeezed his eyes shut and gripped the phone more tightly, hoping to keep at bay the flood of emotions that he could sense coming. At last, he whispered: "Yeah, she did. It's All Coming Back to Me Now".

"Oh."

And that was it. Andrea’s understanding tone was all it took for the floodgates to open and for Jesse’s rambling, vulnerable side to come out in full force. Tears threatened to escape his eyes, but he them firmly shut—he would not cry.

“God, Andy, when she sung that song—it felt like she was saying all those things to me!” Jesse’s voice traitorously cracked at that last word.

“I don’t think that’s—”

“I know!” Good lord, he was whining again. “I know that it’s ridiculous! that I’m reading too much into it, that they chose the song way beforehand and Rachel has much better things to think about than me… But what if she was singing about us after all? The words are rather fitting, and she knows that—same as she knew we were bound to meet here tonight. It’s there, Andy, the whole story! Me being an idiot, all my mistakes and the hurt I inflicted her—she was reproaching me, and I cannot blame her because I deserve it. And I especially deserve to hear it from her magnificent voice, even if god knows I don’t need to be reminded of what I did to her.” Jesse was breathing heavily, almost unable to articulate his feelings, his words spilling out at an alarming speed.

Andrea remained silent for a few seconds, then answered with a deliberate yet soothing tone—the one she reserved for Jesse’s rare mopey moments. “I don’t think your history with Rachel had anything to do with the song, Jesse.” He scoffed lightly, but she ignored him. “Besides, you were a teenager back then, and you were forced between a rock and a hard place. Shelby was a bitch that manipulated you and treated both Rachel and the parents of that baby like dirt. Sure, you were a bit of a dick, but you’ve got to cut yourself some slack. You were not stupider than the average teen in love, all things considered.”

Jesse tried to scoff again, but what escaped his throat sounded more like a sob than anything else. “Andy, you don’t understand,” he pleaded, pressing the heel of his free hand on his eyes. “I threw away the one truly warm thing in my life because Shelby threatened to take away my scholarship to UCLA, and look how well that went,” Jesse laughed bitterly. Ah, the familiar taste of self-deprecation. Saying all that out loud felt better than just mulling over it constantly, though. “I’m such an imbecile—I got college handed to me on a silver platter, and I couldn’t even manage to float just above the pass grade? Or, I don’t know, use my fucking brain for a change? And to think I would be so conceited about it, as if I could ever hope to accomplish anything intelligence-related…”

“Jesse, stop!” Andrea interjected vehemently. “You’re spiraling and you’re starting to sound like your father. You’re not stupid, you’re not brainless—you’re smart, and the most brilliant guy I know as far as musical theater is concerned. And don’t start with how acting or singing or whatever is bullshit, because I’ll come down there, slap you, and then find your dad and punch him on his ugly mug.” At that, Jesse felt a sharp surge of affection for his friend, regardless of her proclivity for mild physical threats. “We all sweated blood in Vocal Adrenaline, but we were happy and good—you above all, because performing is your passion and your talent. Who cares if you didn’t pass gen eds? You’re wonderful, and you will take Broadway by storm soon.”

“Ms. Tibideaux didn’t seem to think so,” Jesse replied, dejectedly.

“Who?”

“Carmen Tibideaux. NYADA?”

“What does she have to do with anything now?” Andrea asked, confused. “That was years ago.”

“Yeah, right—the first of my many failures.” Jesse’s tone was more bitter than he expected. He intentionally hadn’t thought much about his audition since, but he guessed disappointments never actually stopped stinging, did they?

“Come on, Jesse…”

“I didn’t get in, okay? No point in sweetening the pill. I was good but apparently not enough—and I always knew that, but now I have confirmation from the woman’s own voice that I ‘showed promise’ but couldn’t overcome the obstacles to be the best. So really, I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing with my life.” Was he being overdramatic and overly self-critical? Absolutely. At that moment, though, Jesse had no idea how to stop.

“Enough!” Andrea exclaimed. Deep down, the rational part of Jesse’s brain had realized he was being maddening, but he also had to admit he didn’t mind Andy’s forceful tone. It felt strangely soothing, being told to get a grip from someone who cared about him.

“I can’t believe you are saying this,” she pressed on. “I’ve already told you: you are incredible, and I won’t let you wallow in this kind of negativity. The audition was years ago, and believe me, I’ve seen you get absurdly better in the meantime. Ms. Tibideaux said you showed promise, and that’s good! You did and you do, and you will reach even higher that she could ever imagine.”

Jesse hummed, not entirely convinced but certainly relieved that someone else was eager to vouch for his talent. He knew he was good (okay, very good), but that didn’t mean he wasn’t, from time to time, afraid he’d been deluding himself due to his own arrogance.

“When did you speak with the woman?” Andrea asked.

“She was here to see Rachel perform. And when I went and told her she shouldn’t let Rachel slip through her fingers, she remembered me and made a list of all the flaws in my audition. Lovely experience, really,” Jesse said, with a bitter chuckle.

“Aw, you put in a good word for Rachel—that’s so sweet! Did you tell her?”

“I can’t! Are you crazy? She cannot know ever. I don’t deserve her knowing, if anything I owe her.” Jesse replied, his voice half-strangled. (Pathetic.) “Rachel and I bantered for a couple of minutes before the competition, and it almost got me punched by Finn, in addition to giving me some serious doubts about my ability to function properly.” He smiled at the memory. Rachel’s red dress was still incredibly vivid in his mind. “God, Andrea, you should have seen her—she was radiant. I’d ever seen her inhabit the stage so perfectly. She is the one who deserves to take Broadway by storm and who will. She’s a powerhouse, and she’s absurdly talented, and tonight she looked so beautiful with that smile of hers, and then she sang Céline and I couldn’t—”

Jesse heard Andrea exhale, as if ready to answer, but he rambled on, unable—unwilling—to stop now that someone was there to listen to him for once.

“I just—I miss Rachel so much. She earnestly thought I was worth all the fuss. Even with Shelby, it’d always seem like my work was barely acceptable, and that all the trophies were just due to luck and the power of a good routine or something. Which yeah, I guess is true, but—honestly, Andy, except for you, Rachel’s the only person who’d always tell me how much she liked when I performed, and how good I was. I was starved—I am starved for that, Andy. D’you know my grades improved while I was in Lima with her? I actually had to study, and I wasn’t half bad at it. All thanks to her. God knows why she stayed with me after the initial razzle-dazzle, because she was way better that I could ever deserve. And she definitely deserved more than yours fucking truly,” Jesse spat out.

“And I guess she will have it,” he continued, barely taking time to breathe, “since she’s getting married soon to Finn. And sure, I hate him and he hates me, but I can see how Rachel looks at him, and he looks at her the same way. I mean, he’s a rhythmically-challenged dumbass, but I can’t deny he makes her happy—that’s the truly important thing. I ruined everything, and I know I’d never be able to make her feel that way. I think Rachel could really be the one, you know? I feel it in my bones, I’ll never be as happy with anyone else as I was with her… But it doesn’t matter. All that matters is Rachel won’t have a fuckup like me beside her, who’d just end up wiping her wonderful smile away.”

Jesse had to stop—his throat was aching due to the strain of putting one coherent word after another, of trying to talk as fast as his inner turmoil demanded. Tears were escaping his eyes and running down his cheeks and in his hair. He didn’t care that he was crying, though: he already felt like an utter failure, another embarrassing thing wouldn’t change anything. Besides, it was nice, having a friend listen to him while he moped and pined. Crying is good, right? It helps get the toxins and the sadness out, doesn’t it? A good cry and I’ll stop feeling like shit—

“Oh, Jesse…” Andrea whispered after a beat, and that shattered Jesse’s attempts at regaining his composure—he started sobbing uncontrollably, burying himself more and more under the duvet.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me that?” Andrea asked, softly. “God, Jesse, I wish I was there to hug you. Believe me, though, Rachel is right—everything she told you and everything she thinks about you is true. You’ve had a lot of shitty people in your life, but never for a second doubt that Rachel was sincere and saying things as they are. You’re brilliant and very talented, whether you believe it or not,” Andrea added, in a decisive tone that drew a wet smile from Jesse, “and no amount of Shelby or Ms. Tibideaux or your asshole of a father can claim otherwise. All that hard work and dedication… you do deserve the world, Jesse.”

Calming his breath enough to answer took Jesse a moment—his gratefulness to Andrea and his longing for Rachel were a killer combination, and he didn’t want to start bawling again.

“Thank you, Andy,” he finally managed to say. “I just wish I’d made fewer mistakes, you know? Maybe then I wouldn’t always feel like such a failure, maybe I wouldn’t be so lonely all the time and it wouldn’t hurt this much… I know things between me and Rachel probably won’t ever be mended, but gosh what I wouldn’t give to sing with her on a real stage, to have a partner that inspires me to be better and lets me share the spotlight with her.” Jesse exhaled shakily, willing himself to not cry until he had finished talking. “It’s too late now, though, and it’s all my fault, no point in denying that. I just wish for her to be as wonderful and captivating as she was tonight, forever—she lit up the whole place. I really hope I didn’t make an ass of myself with Ms. Tibideaux, and that Rachel’s dreams will come true. No, scratch that: I know they will. I just pray I’ll be able to get a glimpse of her happy as can be.”

Andrea’s silence at the other end of the line was almost deafening, but Jesse pressed on, feeling that he’d never have another chance (nor the nerve) to admit to it all out loud.

“Sorry for the rant, Andy. We lost Nationals and it hurts like hell, but it will pass—it’s going to be a nifty addition to the You’re A Failure pile, though,” Jesse mused, with a self-deprecating chuckle. “I have no idea what my plans for the future are going to be, after Carmel High parts ways with me. I guess I could finally try and go to New York for real. It’s just that, you know, seeing Rachel again really threw me for a loop, even after all this time, and I’m not sure why—”

“It’s love, Jesse,” Andrea interjected. “The way you talk about Rachel—you love her.”

Jesse inhaled sharply. Repeating that to himself was one thing, but hearing someone else say it so matter-of-factly felt real, definitive. (Scary.) “Hurray for me, then,” he muttered, at a loss for words to describe how his heart was ablaze, dismayed, and longing at the same time.

“I really hope you and Rachel will put your cracked pieces back together, Jesse,” Andrea said, sounding softer than she did at any other point in the phone call. “You both deserve a great life, and to have your talents shine—you and her alongside each other? Musical theater won’t ever be prepared, let me tell you.”

“Thank you, Andy.” Jesse’s eyes had filled with tears once again, and he’d once again buried himself under the duvet, in hopes of preventing the onslaught of painful memories he was sure would come. But it was no use—he thought back to Rachel singing, and a loud sob escaped his lips. Tears started falling freely down his cheeks and neck, reaching his hair and the collar of his shirt. “I wish. I’m not sure I believe that, but god, I wish.”

[lilithsgayadoptednephew]

Holy Hands

Fandoms: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!   Not Rated Graphic Depictions Of Violence F/M, Other Complete Work

Chapter List

Chapter 18

Lucifer was still dizzy, but now he could manage being awake for a few hours at a time. He wasn't a fan of this whole "needing rest" business and honestly he didn't know how Belphie didn't go insane. He stared out the window as the van rumbled along the seemingly endless stretch of road.

36 hours to go.

0MC drives like an absolute maniac, it turns out. They drove down the yellow line in the center of the road, didn't even bother to look at speed limits, and straight up cut through people's lawns at times. Everyone had had enough when they took a sharp turn at nearly 80 mph while yelling at the top of their lungs.

Satan drove after that.

"Yeah I should never drive." They admitted as they sat down between Asmo and Acacia. "It's like I'm a different person behind the wheel and all I know is "fuck the system, I wanna hit a stop sign." Acacia giggled and there was a muffled "Hell Yeah!" from Mammon.

Satan did ok until he hit the highway, that's when he revealed he'd never actually driven before.

"What? Why'd you take the wheel then?"

"Because anything is better than your suicidal thrill seeking." He reasoned

"Well can anyone else drive?" There were murmer's of no's around the car and MC rubbed their temples in irritation.

"I know how," Lucifer said bitterly.

"Yeah but you're not fit right now" Asmo responded as gently as he could.

"Yes" he had to agree as just looking out the window was giving him a headache.

In the end MC had to verbally walk Satan through highway etiquette and safety. They were a much better backseat driver than a driver.

0The car had been silent for a while, almost painfully so. There was only one thing to really occupy their minds and that was the events of the last few weeks. It wasn't a fun silence.

Acacia was the one who came up with the idea. Her eyes caught a light blue PT cruiser parked at a kwik fill as they drove past. Punching MC as hard as she could in the arm she yelled

"Cruiser bruiser, blue! No punch backs." MC winced from the sudden assault before they too noticed the car.

"Oh it's gonna be like that is it?" They smirked and then the game was on.

Woody wack's for station wagons; punch bugs for buggies; Rams, Dodges, juice, no car was safe from an excuse to have a fist fight. The brothers caught on to the game quickly and soon there were raucous shouts of car models and fists flying between the rows of seats.

Mammon would just make up cars even though he didn't see them. Asmo would hit the hardest but complain the most when he got hit. Levi would continuously moan "I'm not playingggg" when someone tried to hit him. Satan claimed to have drivers immunity but still would hit others. Belphie completely ignored the "no punch backs" rule, and poor Beel never actually figured out how the game worked so he just got pummeled.

Then Beel figured it out.

"Hah! Punch-bug yellow!" he called gleefully as he punched Lucifer right in the arm.

The car went silent as Lucifer gave Beel a look as if he'd actually murder him. Then, without changing expression, he jabbed Beel so hard in the back of the neck that the poor guy folded in half.

"You didn't say 'no punch backs'" he grumbled, turning to resume his glaring out the window.

0"Oh come on!" Levi shouted from his spot in the passenger seat. "You just need to make it to that smudge" he urged.

But the raindrop on the windshield didn't budge.

"Give it up" Satan said darkly. "Your puny drop was a lost cause from the time mine got that speed boost from merging with MCs" he laughed an over-the-top maniacal laugh.

"That's not fair, you can't team up!"

"Friendship is magic, Levi." MC called nonchalauntly from the seat behind them. "Get with the times."

Levi muttered something under his breath.

"What was that, loser?" Satan mocked.

"I said rematch " Levi spoke very seriously.

"You're on. I call that one!"

"I call-- ah man!" Levi slumped in his seat. "Fine, that one then."

The race was on. Satan's drop held a steady lead down the majority of the windshield. Hardly wobbling as it streamed steadily down even the driest parts of the window. Levi seemed to be at a huge disadvantage as his drop moved a few centimeters at a time before stopping and faltering. The tension rose as Satan's drop started to lose momentum near the end. Levi's started to pick up speed, a few drops boosting it along the way.

It was neck and neck, such a bad start but it looked like Levi's was gonna pull a comeback!

MC was on the edge of their seat as the battle of ages waged before their very eyes. Satan's drop stopped! Just before the finish it halted entirely! Now all Levi's drop had to do was make it to the finish. It was so close they could almost taste it!

Suddenly a rogue windshield wiper swept through the battlefield, taking both drops to their fate and leaving dry clean windshield in its wake.

"Guess we'll never know" Satan shrugged as he flicked the windshield wipers off again.

"GODDAMNIT SATAN!!!" Levi practically screeched, but Satan just laughed at his anger.

0"Come on Beel, this is your 4th bathroom break already!" Levi called from the van. Beel came back and hopped in, climbing over Asmo and MC to get to his assigned seat in the back.

"Sorry! Human bodies don't hold food and drink like demons." He blushed.

"TMI Beel" Satan wrinkled his nose as he stepped on the gas. "Why aren't we moving?"

"You have to put it in gear" MC said patiently.

"Right, I knew that." Satan blushed as he put the car I'm gear and backed out of the gas station parking lot.

Skreeeeech!

Everyone in the car winced at the sound. Putting it back into park, Satan instructed Asmo to hop out and see what happened.

"Good news!" He yelled. "We're ok! It's just the other car that's damaged." He hopped back in.

"Great" Satan sighed as he continued driving away.

"Wah! Awahawa! Guys! That's a hit and run!" Acacia shook MC as she spoke.

"So?" Satan peered at her through the rearview mirror.

"So? So that's illegal!"

"So's driving without a license." He countered.

"And living in the United States without a birth certificate or visa." MC deadpanned.

"Oh shit!" She realized "you guys are illegal aliens!" The car was silent for a minute. "Well now I just feel stupid"

"You're not stupid Acacia," Beel put a large hand on her shoulder from the back seat.

"Thanks Beel."

"Either way it's best we avoid any human authorities." Satan confirmed, there were nods and soft murmer's of agreement around the car.

"Heh heh"

"What now?" Levi snapped.

"Heh... we're criminals." She elbowed MC.

"Oh yeah we're bad, don't fuck with us." They agreed sarcastically. "We live outside the normal order."

"Yeah I ripped a tag off a mattress once." She laughed.

"I pirate all my music." MC countered.

"I'm going 5 mph above the speed limit right now." Satan added.

"I commit felony tax fraud!" Mammon yelled from the trunk.

The car went silent at that.

"What?"

0When they stopped to rest for the night there were 26 hours left to go.

[aliathewriter]

Fanfic tag game

fanfic tag game

I was tagged by @disappearinginq Thank you so much!

Questions:

Ao3 Name: Aliawrites

Fandoms: On AO3: Magnum PI, Stargate, Forever, Lewis, Harry Potter

On FFN: Sever Us1 (I no longer have access and haven’t updated in years) : Harry Potter, Stargate, Atlantis

Also FFN: NSSherlock - Lewis, Criminal Minds (it was someone liking my Lewis story and offering me an invite code that got me on to AO3)

I was previously on Livejournal and fandom specific sites that are now defunct for Harry Potter and Sentinel.

Other fandoms I’ve written for that weren’t online: Star Wars (OG - started after Return of the Jedi), LOTR

Number of fics: Too many to count! Currently 25 on AO3

1. Fic you spent the most time on: Either My Dad or Enemy Mine (both Harry Potter)

2. Fic you spent the least time on: Probably one of the Stargate 100 word challenge drabbles

3. Longest Fic: My Dad at 86,173

4. Shortest Fic: I have a few 100 word drabbles like: The more things change (SG1)

5. Most hits: All time is definitely My Dad across the multiple platforms it was once on. So far on AO3 it’s The Morgans (Forever)

6. Most kudos: On AO3 also The Morgans - on other platforms definitely My Dad

7. Most comment threads: On all platforms My Dad, on AO3 Quarantine (Magnum PI)

8. Fave Fic you wrote: At the time, I was most passionate about Enemy Mine. I really enjoyed writing that. More recently I’m enjoying Quarantine.

9. Fic you want to rewrite/expand on: I like how new Magnum played with and updated some original series characters and I’ve got a couple I’ve been writing more for myself so far about Frank Peterson (Magnum’s stepfather) and Joey Peterson (Magnum’s half brother who died in Vietnam). Both re-imagined for this show with Frank being Navy as well and Joey (trigger warning) having died by suicide while in the service.

10. Share a bit of your WIP or share a story idea that you’re planning: See above for one that I’m planning.

Also, there’s what would really happen if the ridiculously stupid ending of the S2 finale actually happens - the first version is title “Arrested” and I posted part of it on my tumblr already, but here’s a little more:

“What did he say? Was he charged with anything? Why are they keeping Higgins? What are the charges against Robin?…” “Whoa,” TC cut him off. “Chill man, he didn’t say anything.” “He didn’t? What did you talk about?” “I told Kumu about my tour this morning, he literally didn’t say a word until we got here…” he broke off with a jump as Thomas opened the car door. “Nothing?!” Rick demanded, not having heard the door open. “What the hell man! Tell me you’re not gonna let him shut us out with this!” Even over the phone now Rick heard TC’s nervous clearing of his throat and Thomas closing the door, if a little too late. “Uhh…” he stuttered. “Thought my ears were burning,” Thomas said with a little smile as he pulled on his seatbelt. “Hey Thomas,” Rick said a little too loudly and with a little too much fake cheer. “Thanks for coming to get us,” Thomas said to TC. “Do you mind dropping me at {hotel where he was covered}? I still have some vouchers from when I helped out Russ.” “What?” Rick called out. “No way! Are you out of your mind?” “What our friend means to say TM is that it’s after lunchtime and I doubt you’ve eaten much today,” TC said, cutting off Rick’s rant. “Now, Rick has a burger and fries and a couple of beers with your name on them. You can eat, catch your breath and catch us up on what’s going on.” “Guys,” Thomas began with a sigh. “Honestly, I…” But TC stopped him. “Ah ah ah,” he said, holding up his hand, palm flat between them. “Food first, then we talk and figure out what to do.” Not waiting for a response, he put the van in gear  and pulled out, turning toward the marina and the bar. “Rick, we’ll see you in about 10 minutes,” he added, ending the call. “TC,” Thomas began, putting up his hands in surrender when his friend turned a pre-emptive glare on him. “No, no, you win, I’m not going to argue. “Just, thanks,” he said quietly, leaning his head back against the headrest and closing his eyes briefly. “Thanks for coming to get us. Kumu is just distraught over this whole thing.” “Of course brother,” TC intoned immediately. “But what about you? This has got to be affecting you too. I mean, you’ve known Robin forever. Much longer than Kumu has. Not to diminish what she’s feeling, but…” “No, it’s not that,” Thomas said with a sigh. “This has been building for her. She’s been defending him to the cultural community ever since…” He sighed again, lifting his head and looking out the side window. “He’d made some promises when he bought the place both to the previous owner and the cultural society,” he said. “That it’d stay in local hands, that the cultural heritage would be protected… “When he signed it over to Higgins… Well, Kumu’s been assuring everyone that he had a plan, that there were safeguards, that it wasn’t what it seemed…” A gift to a foreign owner to game the immigration system he didn’t say, but it sat in the space between them anyway. “They’re saying it’s been seized by the federal government so, pretty much her worst fears come true,” he said, trailing off, eyes focussed on the ocean out his window. “She’s devastated…”

TC let the quiet settle. Let Thomas have his quiet thoughts for a little longer as he gathered his own. He felt for Kumu and definitely wanted to help her too, but he wasn’t going to let Thomas keep ignoring his own feelings. How this has been affecting him too. Robin had made some promises to him as well.

And as much as Thomas wouldn’t agree, Robin owed him. Thomas had never really spoken about the ‘incident’ that had happened when Masters was first embedded with him except to acknowledge that Robin had nearly been killed.

Tagging: @disappearinginq  @amandagaelic 

[austinonymous]

Make-Up

Title: Make-Up

Series: To the East | 1.At the Hawk’s Behest | 2. Make-Up

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug / My Hero Academia

Ship: Marc x Nathaniel (mentioned)

Characters: Marc, Nathaniel (mentioned), OC (Marc’s Brother), Hawk Moth (mentioned)

Word Count: 1,622

Tags: Villain!Nathaniel , Villain!Marc

Warnings: Mentions of Abuse, bullying, lots of violence, and several implied-but-not-stated awful things

Rating: T 

AN: So this level of dark is a bit new for me- I usually write only fluff or happy things, with maybe a side-order of angst. When I had written the first prompt ofr this My Hero Academia fusion, my goal with including mentions of bullying was to translate what happened in ‘Reverser’, along with Nathaniel’s history of bullies, into something I could use for a My hero universe. In this one, I detail the type of bullying and abuse that happened in this AU before Marc went to school with Nathaniel. I really put Marc through the wringer here. Some of what he went through is only implied, so I’ll let people read into what I wrote and decide for themselves how much went down.

Marc hadn’t meant to make a statement when he had first worn make-up.

That’s not to say that he didn’t understand why his fellow students found him such a nice target. Marc’s figure was naturally slender and girlish, as his older brother would say. Marc understood that- he had been taught to expect cat-calls and comments at some point, should he decide to dress or look a certain way.

His brother wasn’t lying when people would peg him for a girl, or some f… some guy thinking he was one. His smooth and silky black hair had only added to the impression, especially since Marc had always worn it long and in a messy bun. He was often called a ‘little lady’ because of this as he grew up.

Marc hadn’t meant to make a statement. Or maybe his brother had. People just were wrong about which one he was making.

 When he was in elementary school, Marc had a friend. They had met when she had come up to him and declared that if he felt like a girl then she didn’t mind it. Marc had politely thanked her and just said he liked wearing the make-up. He was- what was the word his brother had used?  Ah, effeminate. That’s what he was.

That’s all? She had asked him that question doubtfully, unsure despite his insistence.

That’s all. Marc had replied with false confidence. He wasn’t in the wrong body, but he didn’t dare elaborate beyond that.

Marinette had taken that answer for what it was worth and started asking him what he enjoyed doing.

His parents had taken the make-up in stride; one could even argue that they didn’t give a damn. Marc wasn’t sure which it was to this day, more serious neglect or simply being busy. All these years later and he couldn’t tell if he still wore rose-tinted glasses of his parents.

People didn’t bully him for being quirkless at that time. It took time. The boys at first jeered and thought that some girlish f- girlish fop wasn’t worth their time. They had new cool quirks to try out! The girls too, thought this, though they rarely confronted him directly even when they did start bullying him.

That had changed one morning when he was older, maybe third or fourth grade. Marc had gotten in a fight with his brother and in the rush to get ready for school ended up putting on more make-up than usual. That drew new sneers and increased taunts and laughter. Then at recess, when Marc had decided to go to the corner of the yard away from the crowd for some peace, he was followed.

At first it was just taunting and pinches, startling him by using their quirks too close to him. Marc knew he had felt the familiar licks of flames on his arm, making him freeze in terror. That drew more laughs and jeers. One could excuse their behavior in a way; they were only children and did not understand exactly what they were doing to Marc.

Then suddenly, the ground rumbled as Epicenter stepped onto the field, livid. The kids around him had backed up quickly, offering the middle-schooler the first hit on the little fa-freak. Mess up that garish make-up Marc had on, smudge it up nicely.

Epicenter had laughed, and Marc knew what was coming, looking down. It was always like this. The punch laid him out on the ground, some blood from his nose landing on the grass and forming a nice mark on his make-up, something Marc couldn’t dare wipe away with destroying his careful work.

The boys had laughed at first and had tried to high-five the older boy, happy that the middle-schooler had found their new activity fun.

The boys soon were crying as Epicenter broke their bones and made them regret ever laying so much of a hand on Marc. It was fast, it was brutal, it was one-sided; exactly what the older middle-schooler was known for. Marc’s classmates hard really been quite stupid to not run.

People once more didn’t bully him for being quirkless at the time. Not when his older brother was the most notorious bully in the entire schoolyard.

“I’m surprised you don’t put on a dress you weak-ass fucking f….” Basil’s words fizzled out as Marc kept his head ducked down, drawing in on himself. The older boy sighed and with a growl brought the candle closer, smiling with satisfaction as Marc clenched his hand, betraying some response. “You should’ve known this would happen Pieter. Toughen the fuck up, you sniveling baby.”

His older brother wouldn’t be there to save him next time. And if he didn’t want his arm burned, he needed to be able to stand up to the jackass with the flame quirk.

Marc needed to use make-up on his arm sometimes after that day. He ran out of hoodies after the sleeves were burned.

There would come a time when people stopped bullying him for being quirkless. It was when he was in middle school, his brother now in high school. The incident hadn’t happened when he was at school this time.

His parents were home early for once and were arguing quite loudly. Marc wasn’t sure what it was about exactly, but he was certain that one of them had lost their jobs. He would later learn that it was both that had.

Basil had been quite stressed out over the whole situation; he was pacing the room he still shared with Marc angrily, running his hand through his hair nervously. Once he had graduated from high school and was living on his one, Marc could understand why- suddenly losing your main sources of income was highly stressful.

Marc was soon dragged in by his collar and thrown onto the bed, a fist punching his face. If there was one thing that an older Marc was glad about was that his brother’s homophobia at the very least kept it to hits only. But unlike the one or two that usually came, the occasional kick, Basil didn’t stop.

Pieter, defend yourself!

Pieter, you useless sack of shit, fight for once!

Pieter, you better give me a fucking fight!

Marc had gritted his teeth and finally, screamed with tears in his eyes, “If you want a fight so much, go hurt someone else! Try and kill someone else for once!”

His hand had moved on its own like he was throwing something.  It was instinctual, it was self-defense, it was out of his control.

Basil had stilled once the black-and-white-paper-plane had hit him and dissolved. He seemed to be processing what Marc had screamed, as Marc shivering and sobbed underneath his much larger and muscular frame. He gave his younger brother a wicked grin and ruffled his hair.

“Sure thing kiddo! Just stay here you fucking useless bitch, I’ve decided to be merciful for once.” Epicenter stood up and stretched, walking out the door as he grabbed the machete he kept displayed proudly on his desk. It was a wicked thing, with a blade sharp enough to slice through anything. Marc had dubbed it the Tank-Top Killer after he had to throw out all of his tank-tops because of it.

The heroes came by relatively soon. Marc had not left his room- he could see some blood just outside his door and couldn’t stomach to see what was out there should he decide to walk out. The heroes had been horrified about what had happened to him, even if Marc knew it was his fault. Epicenter hadn’t stopped fighting, not after the first five blocks were rubble, not after the heroes arrived, not after two were wounded and another three blocks destroyed.

To this day, most people believed Reverser was unable to make his changes to people permanent. Even his boyfriend was unable to figure out why he refused to; Evillustrator was at least kind enough to not pry. Hawk-Moth, on the other hand, had been quite amused by what he’d forced out.

When he was put into the foster system since all his relatives were no longer able to take care of him, Marc asked to change his name legally. He got to choose his name to start over again with; he thought it was fitting in a way. Marc Anciel- a name that was a play on the part of himself he’d decided to accept. Maybe he was a f… a fa… that word… but he couldn’t hide his attraction to boys anymore. Nor did he need to.

He didn’t need to wear his make-up anymore.

Then it was the first day of high school, with a quirk at his side and new friends to be made (he had heard Marinette was going to this school too). He pulled on his tie-dye shirt, painted his nails and shouldered his backpack confidently. He looked in the mirror- and Marc faltered.

The bruises were gone and the scar from knife and flame alike were covered by his hoodie but… this wasn’t him. Maybe the boy under the make-up was what he had been born as, but what he knew, what he was comfortable with…

But this time, he wouldn’t wear it because he was being forced to learn. Because he had no choice. Marc was able to choose for himself this time, and sure, maybe he’d messed everything up so far, but… he could do this right? This one little thing.

He’d claw his way along no matter what. He’d live, if only to stick it to that bastard Epicenter.

Marc sat down and hummed, genuinely happy, as he pulled out his brushes and turned on the mirror’s light to get started.

[the-elemental-sides]

From The Other Side: Prologue

A/N: HERE IT IS, the prologue inspired by this AU. I honestly don’t know if l’ll be continuing this; it depends on the response. But I think the idea is really cool, so this was lots of fun to write!

Tagging everyone who showed a bit of interest: @alix-the-skeleton, @generalfandomfabulousness, @hayleycreagine (name credit!), @fangirlfiles1, @fandoms-winkitywonk, @i-put-the-purr-in-perfect, @vexation-virgil, and @mymotiveformurder (I really liked your addition, I might implement parts of it in the future if that’s okay!)

Blanket warning: This is a story about the afterlife. It treats the subject of death and various things related to it (existence, heaven & hell) with a degree of lightheartedness. If casual death talk makes you uncomfortable, proceed with caution!

***

“So, er...Pinkani, was it?”

“Picani, actually.”

“My mistake. I was just distracted by your, you know. Your wings. They’re quite lovely, by the way. Do I get some?”

“Thank you,” said Picani, ruffling his pink-and-white feathers self-consciously, “and no. Because like I said, Roman, you are not an angel.”

Roman grumbled a bit. “That still doesn’t sound right to me. I may not remember much, but if there’s one way for Roman...uh...whatever-my-last-name-was to perish, it’s by heroic sacrifice! Fighting a dragon! In a volcano!”

“Actually, you fell off the stage during a dramatic production of Macbeth.”

“The Scottish play,” growled Roman. “Figures.”

“In fact, you didn’t perform so many heroic deeds at all. Don’t get me wrong, you were...decent. But, in your quest for a heroic life, you lost sight of your true goal of helping others. Your priorities skewed more towards taking the perfect selfie in front of a burning building.”

“Absolute blasphemy–wait, were they really that perfect? Can I see some?”

“Sorry, they’re not on file.”

“Blast.”

“But don’t worry, you certainly weren’t bad enough for Hell,” Picani assured him. “Which is why we’re signing you up for community service.” He paused dramatically. “Purgatory!”

“Ah,” said Roman. “So that’s a definite ‘no’ on the wings.”

***

“All I’m saying is, this is one hell of a grading system you’ve got here!”

Picani laughed. “Gosh, Patton, I can’t remember the last time I met a human with such a wealth of afterlife puns! I’m always looking for new ones to share with the office.”

“Actually, I was serious,” Patton said, his smile fading slightly. “Not to sound greedy, Doc, but I really thought I was doing okay. Where did I go wrong?”

“You were a pretty morally astute person, Pat. You tell me.”

Patton sighed. “The lies.”

“The lies,” Picani agreed. “We know the world is tough, Patton. But you can’t keep yourself so willfully ignorant your whole life. It’s bad enough to lie to yourself, but when you lie so much to other people?”

“Is this all because I kept telling my fifth graders that Santa was real?”

“I’m afraid there was much for to it than that. For example, your friend’s illness…”

“Right,” Patton said, wincing.

“To treat a disease, you have to acknowledge it,” Picani chided. “But you kept the truth from her because you didn’t want to face the reality. And because of that, it was so much worse than it could have been.”

“Believe me, I know,” Patton said softly.

“Chin up, though. Incidents like that put you over the edge, but overall you got pretty close. And that’s why we have the limbo system. We’ll get you into Heaven eventually.”

Patton slumped in his chair. “I should’ve known. I never stood a ghost of a chance.”

Dr. Picani chuckled gently as he jotted something down on his clipboard. “You’re on a roll.”

***

After scanning the brochure for the fifteenth time, Logan looked up. “I’m sorry, but I simply don’t understand,” he said. “I’m definitely dead?”

“That you are,” said Picani.

“And now I’m being sent to purgatory?”

“Yup!”

“All based off arbitrarily-judged propensities built into my character throughout my existence?”

“They’re called morals, but yes.”

“Well, I don’t get why I have to go through this...process,” Logan complained. “It all seems so tedious. And unscientifically sound. Where’s my eternity of oblivion? I was starting to look forward to it.”

“Well, we do things differently up here,” Picani said. “And, if I may say so, your flippancy over the system is what landed you here in the first place, Logan. Your problem is your extraordinary lack of desire to care. For the last twenty years of your life, there was hardly a single person you decided to help out, let alone treat as an equal.”

“I decided early on that my goal as a sapient creature was to seek knowledge,” Logan stated flatly. “If what you’re saying about my diligence is true, then I believe I succeeded. The only thing that bothers me now is that you’ve gone ahead and erased most of my memories. Doesn’t that render everything pointless? Without knowledge, who am I?”

“Well, Logan,” the angel said, “you’re going to find out.”

***

Picani’s last appointment of the day was with Virgil, who was a bit like a feral cat: snarly, snappish, and sarcastic. But Picani had dealt with worse.

“I’m just finishing up the paperwork,” he assured Virgil, who slouched in the chair across from him. “Your application was a bit tough, but I managed. Do you have any questions?”

“No,” said Virgil. “Honestly, I’m just surprised I’m not in the fire-and-brimstone place right now.”

“I won’t lie to you, it was close. You were kind of a moody guy, huh?”

“I hate people.”

“But motivation and situation most definitely factor in. I don’t see a Mr. Put-Down when I look at you, Virge. I see a guy who was, above all, scared. You just had an unhealthy way of dealing with it.”

“If you had my parents, you’d lash out too,” Virgil muttered.

Picani paused. “You remember your parents?”

“Am I...not supposed to?”

Picani started furiously flipping through files while Virgil shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “No, actually. We erase the memories of our clients to make the transition easier.” He mumbled to himself and searched through more stacks of enchanted papers. He picked up a sheet with Virgil’s name on it and swiped to the left. The words on it changed. “Ah, here we go...oh, this is interesting. Virgil, you are strongly resistant to our memory erasing procedure.”

“Am I gonna get in trouble?”

“No, I’ll have a talk with Remy about it. It’s interesting, though. You have such a strong tendency to cling to past memories, especially negative ones, that you simply aren’t affected by being told to forget.”

“In seventh grade, I accidentally called a teacher ‘Mom,’” Virgil said gravely. “It haunted me until the day I died. And it still haunts me, I guess.”

“Well, it’s no matter,” Picani said with a smile. “I’d even call it a good thing. It shows that you’re as good a candidate for our purgatory system as I thought you’d be.”

“Purgatory system?”

“Yes. Basically, it’s community service. Read this while I clean this mess up, please.”

Picani handed Virgil a single sheet of paper and went to work restacking his files. Virgil’s eyes narrowed with increasing suspicion as he scanned through the information. Finally, bewildered, he looked up.

“...What the heck is a ‘Side?’”

[mayordamien]

Title: Fallen Angel

Chapter 3: A House Divided

Fandom: Markiplier (Who Killed Markiplier)

Pairing: Damien x Fem!Reader

Word count: 7,170

Tagging: @markired (if you’re still interested in readin’ it! :D)  And if there’s anyone else who’d like to be tagged whenever I upload a chapter, let me know!

You dashed in, looking around. All that remained was an outline made of tape where the body had lay, but exactly as the detective had said, no body.

The detective gestured angrily, shouting despite himself. “Who did this? It certainly wasn’t me. No, no. Somebody, not me, must have moved it between the time I was the last person alone with the body in the room and then stepped out for a few minutes to take care of some personal business that you don’t need to know about! Could have been anybody… except me,” he declared, speaking almost a mile a minute.

You thought it was rather sketchy, personally, that the detective felt it necessary to say this, but you had learned over the past day that he was almost as eccentric as the Colonel, albeit a close second. The circumstances were already strange enough as it was, and now to have all of this happen—there had to be something more to the situation.

Shaking your head, you looked around, but were jolted out of your reverie by the butler coming in—it was like déjà vu, like a flashback to that very morning. He stood over where the body had been, looking around in confused disbelief. “What the hell happened here?” he inquired, gesturing wildly. The detective shrugged, a look of frustration on his face.

“The body’s been moved,” he answered. The butler’s expression, in response, became more confused, if such a thing was even possible.

“On its own?!”

The detective shrugged again, glancing back at you momentarily before exhaling in frustration. “We haven’t quite ruled that out just yet, but let’s not forget we’ve got a murderer,” he declared, and the lightning cracked loudly outside on cue.

The Colonel came in the room shortly thereafter, getting in the faces of everyone one by one as he surveyed the area. “Bully! Quite a storm out there, eh, chaps? What are you doing huddled in here in fear?” The chef piped up a moment after, startling most of them with how suddenly he had shown up. “We have a zombie problem,” he declared, and you exhaled tersely. Couldn’t any of them take it seriously? Although you supposed that there could in fact be things out of the ordinary, you doubted that any of that could extend to this house, let alone to such a degree that someone would be reanimated from the dead.

I have been feeling a little… off since I entered the house though.

The Colonel continued on his grand rant, though now he had drawn his gun and was swinging it around, and you ducked, resisting the urge to smack him. “Ah, homo necrosis! The most dangerous game. Well, if someone needs to put the old lad down again, I’m well up for the privilege,” he declared, and that made everyone’s eyebrows shoot up to the top of their foreheads.

Abe was the first one to speak, pointing a finger at the Colonel, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What do you mean by ‘again’, and what do you mean by ‘privilege’?” he asked. You were internally glad that he asked that question—you were afraid to vocalize it yourself. Yes, Damien had said that the Colonel was an eccentric, but sometimes he just seemed a little more than odd—mad? No, perhaps it was just the leftover alcohol in your system from the previous night, you guessed.

          The Colonel put the gun down, seemingly coming back to his senses, realizing it probably wasn’t the best idea for him to wave it around. “I’m just saying, I’ve got plenty of… e-experience on the matter,” he reasoned, and your eyes narrowed. Was what Damien had been saying true, or was the Colonel more than just eccentric? You decided to reserve your judgement, however, and see how he acted more.

          The chef, not wanting to be left out, spoke up, “So do I.” Everyone’s eyes darted to him, and then back to the Colonel after a moment.

          “Yeah, that just raises more questions,” the detective pointed out, arms crossed over his chest. You glanced back and forth from the detective to the Colonel to try and see if you could figure out just what they were up to, but before you could say anything, the Colonel spun on his heel and headed in the opposite direction.

          “Well, I’m off to the grounds to see if I can catch a whiff of the old bag of bones, eh?” he declared, walking away. The butler spoke up as the Colonel left, but to no avail, it didn’t stop the other man.

          “Wait, weren’t you and Mark the same age?” he asked, and the Colonel laughed, before the laugh dissolved into a cough. They were the same age? you wondered. You hadn’t met the Colonel before, so you hadn’t known how long they had been friends—the only one of the three you had known the longest was Damien, and even then, you didn’t know if he was the same age as Mark and the Colonel were.

          Abe shrugged, seemingly coming to the conclusion that it wouldn’t be worth it to go after the Colonel at the moment. They were all still stuck on the grounds of the manor; they would always be able to converse with him about the matters later. “All right, I don’t trust him. Then again, I don’t trust anyone. Alright, lock this place down. Secure the front gate. I don’t want anyone in or out of this place until we get to the bottom of this,” the detective ordered, but then the butler interrupted.

          “Locks won’t keep people from getting out, sir,” he pointed out, and the detective rolled his eyes before the chef also turned on his heel to leave.

          “Locks won’t, but Chef will.” With that cryptic statement he headed off toward what was predictably the kitchen, and the butler looked at the detective for some sort of answer or explanation.

          The detective turned to the butler, speaking firmly. “Look, you’re a real smart son of a bitch. Handsome, too. Beautiful, even. But, we don’t have time for this. I think we forgot the most important question of all during our arousing game of whodunit. Why? Why?” he asked, leaving the butler looking confused—it was like none of them had actually stopped to think about that. Starting off in the same general direction that the Colonel had walked in, he gestured for you to follow him, and you begrudgingly did.

          “Come, walk with me. Why did he invite us all here? Why tonight? He said we were celebrating something, but he never specified what. It’s almost as if this whole shindig of a hootenanny was just a ruse. Mark was my friend; had been for years. But then he went quiet. I knew something was wrong, I just never figured out what,” he murmured, pausing after you had walked a fair distance. “Now I guess I never will. Look, I’m gonna level with you; you’re my new partner. I’ve been working with him for years. Now I’ve been doing this for a long time, and I know something is wrong.” They began walking up the stairs that Mark had descended just the previous night—when he was alive—how did things change so quickly?

As you walked up, and he continued musing, he declared, “There is a murderer—“ but was interrupted by the thunder and lightning “—here amongst us, and we need to find him. Now you look like a trustworthy woman. I know we just met, but I am an excellent judge of character. Excellent like a fox,” he said with a grin.

“I smiled and fed them a line of bullshit. The truth was, I couldn’t trust them any more than the other scuzz around here,” Abe continued, “But like my late partner once said right before he died, best to keep your enemies close. You don’t look like you have a reason to kill him. And if you do,” he said with a grin, “Best to keep your enemies close, eh?” You shrugged, only half listening to what he was saying, as you were trying to familiarize yourself with the layout of the house—you hadn’t had that many chances to look around before getting drunk the previous night.

Now he was getting to the real questions, and you perked up when he asked, “So, the real question we should be asking is: Who stood to gain the most from Mark’s death? Now, in my thorough analysis of the corpse, I discovered that in addition to being stabbed 37 times, he was also poisoned, beaten, strangled, drowned, and shot, in that order. Now, if you ask me, that’s a lot of trouble to go through to knock off one guy, and it sure as shit is no accident. No. No, my friend. There’s gonna be no simple candlestick-in-the-library solution to this whole…puzzle.” You glanced at him incredulously.

“Is that seriously everything that happened?” you asked. “All last night?! Stabbed, poisoned, shot, beaten, strangled—everything?!” and you were shocked when you saw him nod.

“His body was fucked up. I didn’t want to tell anyone else about it, but… God, it was terrible,” Abe murmured, looking a little pale. You couldn’t blame him; if you had seen the extent of the damage, you wouldn’t have been taking it well either. Seemingly he was trying to ignore it, as you reached Mark’s master bedroom, and the detective clapped his hands together. “So, we’re gonna have to do the detective-ly thing and go through the victim’s most private and personal possessions.”

He put a hand on the knob and swung the door open, an arm gesturing for you to go in. “Well, after you.” Abe let out a sigh, and put his hands on his hips, surveying the room—papers were everywhere, books were scattered, clothes were awry on the bed, to name a few of the things out of place. “Looks rough, but I don’t think he was killed here. Take a look around, see if you find anything, but be careful. I’ve lost three partners before to bedroom booby traps. Make sure you don’t tamper with any evidence! Lemme know if you find anything,” he ordered, and you nodded.

There just seemed to be something almost sacrilegious about this, to be digging through the possessions of a man—a friend—who was now dead, and whose body was nowhere to be found. You looked at a desk in the corner of Mark’s room, and was a little surprised to find four different photos: three were facing up, and one was facing down.

The first one was a picture of Mark, Damien, and the Colonel all smiling and laughing, and you found yourself smiling in response. They must have been such good friends—and Damien—God, that smile made your heart race. Your eyes darted to the next picture, and confusion filled you. Damien and the Colonel were off to the side in the picture and it looked as if they were glaring at Mark, who was looking happily at a woman who was hanging off his arm.

The third picture that followed was just a picture of Mark and Damien, both looked somber, and the Colonel and the woman were nowhere to be found. The final picture was flipped over, and you picked it up. It was a picture of only the Colonel, and the frame was shattered. That seemed like a clue of some sort, so you held it up to Abe.

“You find a clue?” he asked, and you nodded, holding up the picture of the Colonel to look at it closer—but was interrupted by the Colonel himself, who stood in front of you and got in your face, his eyebrows drawn together in a frown. You jumped, putting the photo down as the Colonel looked at you quizzically.

“You’re quite on the case, aren’t you?” he asked. “Say, detective? May I borrow your friend here?” The detective stood in the far back corner of Mark’s room, and looked defeated, yet looked at the Colonel with a large amount of skepticism.

“Yeah, sure,” he grumbled, before setting down whatever it was that he was looking at. “Don’t worry, partner, I’ll handle it from here.”

With that, you began following the Colonel out of the room, albeit nervously. The Colonel was just too wild for you to predict—and you almost wished Damien was there, he would at least be able to rein in the Colonel’s more hyper or unpredictable tendencies. “Bully. Take a walk with me. I thought that it was about time that we got to… know each other. Someplace far, far away from the prying eyes of, uh… anyone else. Come with me,” he growled, and the tone of his voice made you shiver against your will.

It took a moment, but almost as if out of nowhere, you were off the second floor and then on the downstairs patio outdoors, and you had to stop yourself for a moment—had you just… teleported? No, it couldn’t be. “Now correct me if I’m wrong, but…you and the Mayor know each other, right? He’s a good man, that one,” the Colonel declared, and you relaxed a little bit as the conversation turned to Damien.

“Yes, I do, we went to college together,” you replied, and the Colonel laughed heartily.

“We’ve been fast friends for as long as I can remember. Now there came a time when I could have said the same thing about Mark, but.. Well, best not to speak ill of the dead.” You reached a pool out on the patio and you glanced at it, and somehow, within a moment, the Colonel had changed into a bathing suit with horizontal red and white stripes, and a hat that looked like something an Italian gondolier would wear. “Oh! The pool hasn’t aged a day! GERONIMO!” he shouted, jumping in.

You raised an eyebrow, but then whirled to look to your right when you heard hurried footsteps and saw Damien. Your face immediately flushed bright red much to your chagrin, and the sentiment seemed to be mutual, as Damien’s face was red as well. You noticed him push his hair back, smoothing a stray strand pack into place before he spoke. “Have you seen the Colonel? I thought I heard him. I need to speak with him. I may have been a little short at our last encounter… Well, if you do see him, let me know.” He gave a small nod of his head before heading off—you hadn’t even had the chance to tell him where the Colonel was before he had left, and you shrugged.

Somehow, the Colonel had gotten out of the pool, back in his military garb, completely dry, and was standing in front of you proudly, as if he wasn’t completely avoiding Damien, and you sighed.

“Bully! Oh, life needs a bit of madness, eh, chap? Now, what were we talking about? Oh, yes! The grisly business inside. Well, I’m sure I’m not the first to say that our host had a great deal of enemies as of late,” he grumbled, and you tilted your head.

Enemies? Mark hadn’t struck you as the kind of man to make enemies of anyone, but then again, you didn’t know him as well as the Colonel or Damien did. “My prying eye might suspect that the people who worked for him might have reason to stab him in the back. God knows he’s a tough son of a bitch to work for.” The Colonel had continued walking forward, and then when he reached a railing, he looked over it and his expression brightened—followed by him immediately dashing down the stairs. “Oh, the old golf course! I-I’ll fetch my clubs.”

After this escapade he disappeared from view and you exhaled tersely. He had such a bad habit of running away—but then almost as if on cue, Damien came over to you, looking around. Where the hell had the Colonel gone, anyway? You was, however, glad to see Damien, so you couldn’t complain. “Colonel? Damn, I thought I heard him,” he murmured, stepping forward, linking his hand with yours affectionately before giving you a quick yet gentle kiss on the forehead. “No matter. Would you accompany me? There’s something that I would…very much like to discuss with you.”

You felt your stomach do flips—was he hoping to discuss what had transpired earlier? Judging by the look on his face, he was more likely about to discuss the issues that they had been dealing with in regard to Mark and the death. Sure enough, he continued, still holding your hand. “Now, I know you’ve been assisting our… intrepid detective with his investigation, but… I have to bring some concerns of mine to the forefront. If we look at this situation logically, we can only assume that the killer who struck down our dear friend Mark was with us last night,” Damien reasoned, pointing at the manor. The pain was obvious in his voice, and you squeezed his hand.

“And while I would stake my life on the innocence of the Colonel or yourself, can we really say the same of our beloved detective? Or worse yet, mayhaps our counting skills aren’t as good as we assume them to be… and mayhaps… in the shadows of this manor, unseen to any of us, lay hidden��a murderer,” he murmured, as the lightning went off on cue. Right as Damien uttered that word, however, a gunshot rang out in the house, and the sounds of arguing could be heard from outside. Damien didn’t even give you a second glance before he dashed toward the house, still holding your hand, throwing open the door.

Inside was the detective, aiming his gun at the Colonel, who was, in turn, aiming at the detective. There was a vase shattered on the floor, and the butler dashed over to it quickly. You hid behind Damien for a moment and then moved to his side a minute after.

“I don’t know what you’re playing at but you better lower your weapon, you murderer!” Abe growled, still aiming his gun at the Colonel.

“I bloody well won’t, you’re the one that assaulted me! For all I know, you could be the murderer!” the Colonel shot back, aiming the gun at the detective’s head. He looked furious, ready to shoot, and you gripped Damien’s hand tighter. The Colonel wasn’t just an eccentric—you saw the animalistic rage in his eyes and it struck you then—he was dangerous. The whole time the two shouted the word ‘murderer,’ the thunder went off on cue.

The chef ran into the room and then threw his arms up in the air when the Colonel aimed the gun at him. “What the fu—whoaah!” Abe, however, tightened his grip on his gun and shouted at the Colonel again. “Last chance, drop your weapon!”

The butler, however, had his attention focused on the shattered glass. “Master’s prized vase!” he cried.

Damien kept an arm in front of you protectively, cane in hand, raised. “Everyone, please! I know we’re all on edge, but can’t we resolve this amicably?” You sighed. It was so like Damien to want to resolve things peacefully. It was how he acted in proceedings with the city too—he was always a much kinder soul than you.

The detective, still enraged, spat at Damien, “On edge?! This psycho tried to shoot me!”

Mockingly, the Colonel growled, “That’s a bold-faced lie! I was merely doing some light target practice!” His gun was still aimed at the detective and Damien pushed you further behind him, shielding you with his body, even though it was the last thing you wanted him to do.

“Inside?!” the butler shouted incredulously, sweeping the broom across the Colonel’s face.

The Colonel grimaced. “Well, yes, I couldn’t go on the grounds now with that bloody chef in my way, could I?” Right as he said this the chef got up in his face, and the two men glared at each other fiercely. “You’re damn right! You should’ve remembered that, Private! Besides, you’re not my boss anymore!”

That shocked you—had the Colonel lived here before? You had thought maybe you were getting to the bottom of things, but it appeared that you were just more confused than ever. Damien said nothing, still standing in front of you, and you wanted to move past him, to confront the Colonel about his place in all of this, but now was not the time.

“It’s “Colonel” now,” he growled at the chef, and the detective interrupted—neither man had dropped their weapons.

“Enough of this horseshit! You knew I was onto you and you were trying to whack me off before I could finger you… as the murderer!” Abe had paused after a moment to reconsider his phrasing, as it sounded rather inappropriate, but the lightning ruined the almost ironic comedic timing of it all, and the Colonel yelled back, “I will not be called a murderer in my own home!”

Right as the lightning flashed and the thunder cracked at the mention of the word ‘murderer,’ the door was flung open by a newcomer.

“Stop!” the female voice shouted, and you looked past Damien’s arm to see none other than the woman that had been in the photo with Mark.

[realityhelixcreates]

Lasabrjotr Chapter 55: Shut Up and Dance With Me

Chapters: 55/? Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Teen And Up Warnings: none Relationships: Loki x Reader (Ah, there we go) Characters: Loki (Marvel), Thor(Marvel), Tony Stark, natasha Romanoff, Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers, Peter Parker, Clint Barton, Vision, Pepper Potts, Wand Maximoff Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), FINALLY

It’s time to party.

Loki draped a fur-trimmed cape over his shoulders, turning this way and that in the mirror to admire his  reflection. Was he alluring enough? Regal enough? He knew you'd be wearing the dress, and had chosen his clothes to compliment it. The two of you would look so good together.

Despite whatever anxiety he might feel over being surrounded by his brothers friends all weekend, he certainly looked forward to dancing with you.

Some of their best musicians would be there, and there would be served Asgardian delicacies...as well as could be approximated, at least. He was well tempted to trick everyone into trying the crystal mead, but as much as he'd like to see your silly, drunken face again, he really didn't want everyone else to see it. That was his, for as long as he could keep it.

It wouldn't be forever. No aspect of you would be his forever, that was simply the way life was. Your family, your friends, even that odious Todd had all known things about you that he was just beginning to learn. He intended to outdo them all, if you agreed, of course.

Maybe Thor was right. Maybe he was ready. He'd thought it impossible, with all the many personal flaws and problems he still had to deal with. But maybe he would never actually fix them all. Maybe he would never be the perfect being he could just barely see in his future. Odin had been far from perfect, after all. Frigga hadn't even reached that perfection, and yet, she and Odin had been happy together.

Could he really have that?

It wouldn't be the same as what they had, he already knew that. The same relationship never existed twice. That was part of the beauty of it. Whatever you and he might have, it would be yours and his alone.

How wonderful.

He preened in the mirror a few moments more. Perhaps he truly was handsome? Not in the Asgardian sense, but to humans? And perhaps, as humans and Asgardians influenced each other, people like him would become desirable to both species.

If there even were other people like him. Adopted, miniature, shape-shifting, royal Frost Giant Aesir were probably not too common throughout Yggdrasil.

But that just made him more valuable! He was a very rare, perhaps one-of-a-kind creature. He just had to keep telling himself things like that, until he, one day, believed it.

He placed a coronet over his black curls, the horns so reduced as to be no more than an elegantly etched design on the front.

When he left to pick you up, he found you already gone. You had been so eager to meet all your heroes in person, you must have just taken Saldis and left the instant you'd gotten dressed. Excitable little thing. Still, he'd better hurry. He didn't want you alone with those unpredictable savages for very long, even if Romanoff was there to keep them in line.

                                                                         *****

“-And then I punched him in the nose!” You exclaimed to raucous laughter. “Aw come on guys, I was terrified!”

“Sorry, sorry.” Sam said. “It's just the image of Tall, Dark, and Grumpy standing in between cupcake displays, getting popped in the face by a civilian...”

“It's delightful.” Tony interrupted. “I lifted that frame from the video. It's my new lockscreen.”

“So he really did kidnap you?” Said the young one-Peter-the one you didn't know anything about. “He didn't even tell you why he was there?”

“Well...yeah.” You admitted reluctantly. “He was on a really restricted deadline. Kinda literally. I really was dying, and he was sick too. And it wasn't like he could stay long. He's not allowed to be in the States by himself.”

“And his Royal Highness had to pull quite a few strings to get that calmed down.” Tony added.

“Loki isn't always straightforward, but when he is, he is very much so.” Thor said gravely. “In this case, he was making the effort to be altruistic. Methods aside, his heart was in the right place.”

“I think his heart was in staying alive.” Tony snarked. “He wasn't gonna just let himself die because some little lady was dragging him down.”

“Rude.” You said.

“Unfortunately, my brother has proven far too willing to let himself die in the past.” Thor pointed out.

Tony shut his mouth.

“I could use another drink.” Pepper said, and Tony instantly leaped up and took himself to the banquet table in search of one.

“Don't worry about it.” Thor told you. “He's just getting it out of his system before Loki arrives. Unfortunately, Loki awakens in him the same kind of trouble that dust does for you.”

“Oh!” You said, finally understanding. Most of the others seemed kind of tense or indifferent towards Loki, but Tony Stark was downright hostile. But that made sense now, if he suffered like you did.

Honestly, it would be surprising if any of them didn't have something that triggered them.

“Dust?” Peter asked.

“Uh, yeah. I don't like dust. Something bad happened, and there was a lot of dust involved, and it just stuck with me. It's okay, we just keep the place real clean.”

You noticed the curious looks, the exchanged, questioning glances.

Steve leaned forward, clearing his throat. “Miss _____,” He began.

The door guard interrupted. “Your Majesty and guests! His Highness, Crown Prince Loki Odinson of Asgard has arrived.”

Several of those glances shot to Tony, who had come back to the couches with a drink for Pepper, and one for himself.

“It's okay, it's okay.” He said. “I'm good. At least he announced himself instead of just popping in behind me or something. It's cool. I'm good.”

Loki peeked around the door first, before sweeping regally into the room. You scooted over on the couch, making a space for him, but he visited the banquet table first, bringing you a glass of juice and a small plate of tasty tidbits.

“Good evening, my dear. I have come to bring you better company.”

There were a few derisive snorts, but mostly, everyone went back to their conversations. You heard someone say “Boom. You looking for this?” and Saldis's peal of delighted laughter, Loki questioning whether the wizard Strange was allowed to be there, and the wizard claiming that he'd had a royal invitation. Loki sneered, but Thor just shrugged.

“You need to touch base every now and again.” He explained. “Make sure nothing is going wrong, everything's stable, all those magical things that are over my head.”

Both Loki and Strange made matched scoffing noises, but did start up a somewhat antagonistic conversation.

A group of musicians shuffled into the banquet hall, setting up in an out of the way place. You spotted Lofn among them, carrying a harp. She smiled at you and ran her fingers along the strings.

The music was very much what you would have expected from a fantasy royal party; beautiful and ethereal, gently seizing your senses. You swayed along slowly, wanting to dance, but every time you looked over at Loki, he wasn't paying any attention, still arguing with the wizard.

You looked around, trying to catch someone's attention, but almost everybody else was engaged in conversation. Lofn was still watching you, enigmatic smile lingering in your vision. She was always like that. Did she want something from you?

Captain Rogers was looking at you, curiosity on his face.

“Are you all right?” He asked. You nodded.

“Yeah, I just...Do you want to dance? I want to dance.”

“Oh. Sure. We can dance.” He stood, holding his hand out for you. With butterflies in your stomach, you let him lead you out onto the floor and began a slow, chaste sway.

“You know, we were all pretty worried about you to begin with,  but it looks like you're thriving here.” He said.

“Well, I'm doing a lot better than I was.” You answered. “And this is probably the best place for me, considering the whole magic thing.”

“Well...there was always Steven.” He pointed out. “He's part of an entire school of mages. Is that the right word?”

“I'm not sure.” You thought about how your hand had buzzed back when the wizard had taken it, how much it had been like that first time you had touched Loki. “They call me Seidkona here.”

“What is that anyway? I've heard the word several times so far.”

“It's a type of magical lady, I guess. Like a combination personal mage and advisor. I'm still figuring out what all that means, but I think I'm getting better at all of it. Aside from all the bad stuff, I'm having a pretty good time.”

“Speaking of, if you don't mind my asking, when you say you are afraid of dust...Hm.”

“Hm?”

“I think I've done something to piss your prince off. He's glaring.”

You cast a look back over your shoulder. 'Glaring' was putting it lightly. Loki's stare could set things on fire.

“Woah. Uh, maybe I should go talk to him.”

“Are you sure?” Steve asked, concerned. “Does he get angry with you? Does he get rough?”

“No, not with me.” You said, letting go of Captain Rogers, and approaching the fuming prince.

“Hey Loki.” You sat down next to him, offering him your plate, with its remaining snacks. All your favorites, but you knew he liked some of them too. “Have something to eat?”

He ignored you completely, the full force of his hateful gaze leveled at Steve.

“Loki?” You placed your hand very gently on his knee, and he jerked away, eyes snapping to yours. The conversation all around you dwindled down. “Uh. Do...you want to dance?”

His lip curled. “Why would you even want to?”

You drew your hand back, surprised at the venom in his voice. “Well...I just-”

He stood abruptly. “You do not need to bother worrying about me.” He said, voice curt. “Play with your little friends. Banish me from your mind. You're already halfway there.” He swept out of the banquet hall, his cape dragging your confused protests behind it.

                                                                                 *****

“That...did not go as I imagined.” You said quietly into the uncomfortable silence. Thor glanced at the door Loki had exited, then over a Lofn, who still played her harp. He'd thought for sure...

“You want me to kick his ass, darlin'?” Tony asked. “'Cause I'll go kick his ass.”

“You will not.” You murmured. “And with all due respect, which admittedly, is a lot; please don't call me that.”

Loki calls her that, Thor mouthed over your shoulder. Tony raised an eyebrow.

“Alright.” He said. “Do, uh, you wanna kick his ass?”

Lofn ran her hands over the strings in an almost aggressive series of chords.

“Yeah.” You said. “I mean, no. Something else.” You stood abruptly. “Gimmie a minute.”

You too, rushed out of the banquet hall, leaving Thor subject to a lot of questioning stares.

“Yes, alright.” He said with a sigh. “There has been a...development.”

“Wait, really?” Pepper asked, while Clint snickered.

“I called it!” Peter crowed. “I knew it, I called it. I was right.”

“Yeah, yeah, you did.” Tony said, staring at Thor. “So, you know that's a terrible idea, right, you know that?”

“Now, just hold on, it's not what you think.” Thor explained. “Yes, my brother has developed...affectionate feelings towards _____. That is true. Do you understand what a grand breakthrough this is? Loki cares about someone! Well, someone from outside. I haven't seen him like this in centuries!”

“What, throwing tantrums? We see him like that all the time.” Bruce said. “Practically every time we see him, in fact.”

“That's just because...” Thor paused. “Well, partly because he holds a slight grudge against basically all of you, but partly because he wants you to underestimate him.”

“Underestimate what?” Tony asked. “That look? He was giving Rogers? I've seen that look before. It was just before he launched me out the two-hundred and twenty-fourth story window.”

“Yeah, that was uncomfortable, being on the receiving end.” Steve admitted. “Didn't realize I was horning in on his girl.”

“Is she into him?” Scott asked. Thor shrugged.

“I do not yet know.”

“What are you kidding?” Clint asked.

“She is head over heels for that man.” Wanda asserted. “What? I don't need to look into her mind to see that.”

“It's pretty obvious.” Clint clarified. Natasha nodded along with him.

“Mind control.” Tony declared. “Has to be.”

“No.” Thor said. “My brother has many talents, but that is not one of them. He could only do that when he had access to the Mind Stone.”

“Which,” Vision said, breaking his contemplative silence. “He no longer has.”

“Precisely.” Thor said. “Though influence comes in many forms. Speaking of which,” He switched to Asgardian. “Lofn. Your presence graces us tonight. I can't help but feel as though you have more in mind than demonstrating your skill on the strings though.”

Lofn smiled at him. “I see them, Allfather. I see many people now, who do not yet see each other, but I see them, and they begin to see each other now.”

“You wove a spell.” Thor accused.

“I made music. What spell could I cast upon dear, clever little Loki? No, no, all I did was set a mood.”

“Hey, what? I know you can speak English, big guy.” Tony said.

“And when it's relevant, I do.” Thor answered. “Friends, let us continue our revels! Loki and _____ shall do as they will, and so should we.”

Lofn continued to play.

                                                                     *****

According to the people you passed, Loki had headed back to his quarters, so that was where you were going as well.

What was all that about? Why was he so angry? Was he offended that you asked him to dance? Maybe he thought that would make him look bad in front of the Avengers. You were pretty sure they would tease him. He would hate that.

Was he mad that you had danced with someone else? But he had been busy! And something about the music had just made you want to dance. So you had chosen the person who was the least likely to get fresh with you. And besides, when else would you get the chance to dance with Captain America?

When you entered the rooms, his door was open, and you could see him pacing in front of his fire. His low voice traveled down the hall to you, a quiet muttering in Asgardian, full of curses; at you, Steve, or himself, you couldn't tell.

You stood in the door way, fiddling with your phone, until he spotted you and stopped pacing.

“What are you doing here?” He demanded. “Don't you have...” He waved his hand dismissively. “...Heroes to fawn over?”

“Maybe, but they probably get a lot of that already.” You said. “I decided to come fawn over you instead. Maybe you don't get enough of that.”

“I do not requite pity!” He snapped. “Did my brother send you to me? Tear you from your dear Captain's welcoming arms to come cajole me with platitudes?”

“I came myself, geez! What is going on with you, why are you so angry? Are you mad at me?”

“No...” He muttered.

“Well, are you mad at Steve?”

He growled. “No..”

“Are you mad that I was dancing with someone else?”

“No...not exactly...” He squirmed, obviously not wanting to tell you what was really on his mind. You persisted anyway. Surely, you were owed an answer for his humiliating behavior.

“Well then what exactly?” You demanded.

“You chose him first!” Loki exclaimed. “I was right there, and you asked him before me!”

“I...thought you were busy talking to that wizard!” You said, surprised. He was jealous. Loki was jealous that you had chosen someone else over him.

Could there actually be something to what Saldis had said?

“I didn't even want to talk to him! He is an arrogant, ignorant fool. I would always welcome an interruption from you. I always....I always have time for you. I do not wish to be your second choice in anything. I want to be the one you come to automatically, for whatever you need. I wish to be the kind of person...the one who can provide that for you. ”

The firelight danced off his features; his pink cheeks and averted eyes, his closed and nervous posture. You gaped. Saldis was a little minx! Everyone knew, she had said. Everyone except for you, apparently!

“_____, I-”

You strode past him and set your phone down on the dresser near his bed, starting a playlist of classic slow dance songs.

“Your Highness, you really should allow me to dance with you.” You said firmly.

“...You do not command me, tiny mortal.” He rejoined, but when you turned back to look at him, his arms were open, and you walked right in.

Now this felt right. Swaying securely in the circle of his arms, head laid against his velvet covered chest. Who knew how long you stayed there; an hour? A lifetime? A few minutes? You could happily spend the whole night here, in his warm embrace.

Loki cleared his throat.

You looked up at him expectantly.

“Tell me something.” He asked. “Something only you would know.”

“...Worried that I might be a Huldra again?”

“I wouldn't like to repeat that experience. Tell me something she wouldn't know.”

“Umm, let's see...” You thought about it for a moment. “Did you know that corn comes in more colors than just yellow and white? There's thousands of different types. There's blue, and red, and orange, and purple. Even pink and green! And some mix all those colors on the same plant. We use them for decorations, and to make popcorn, and-”

Loki grasped your face in his hands, snaking one back to cup your head, like he had on that first day. Instead of scolding you though, instead of filling you with unbearable light, he seized your mouth in a tender kiss.

He held it long enough for you to overcome your shock and throw your arms around him to reciprocate. He sighed in relief and practically swept you off the ground in his enthusiasm, and you giggled against his lips.

Loki was very reluctant to stop kissing you; even when you had to draw back, gasping for air, he followed your mouth, peppering your face with little pecks, licking your lips insistently for entry. You couldn't help but laugh at his antics, and he took the opportunity to take his kisses deeper. You still laughed, letting him catch the sound in his throat and send it back to you as a whuffled chuckle through his nose.

Neither of you really wanted to let go. Loki, with all his gentle tenderness, was hungry for you in a way that would have left you breathless, even if he wasn't demanding claim over your mouth.

The two of you collapsed into his bed, giggling against each other's tongues, hands roaming freely and greedily. You were hungry for him too, for the warmth of his lean body, the scent of his hair, the caress of his graceful hands. You both clearly wanted more, more, more.

But not too much.

You finally pulled away from him.

“Not yet.” You said, gasping for breath.

“No, not yet,.” He agreed, smile suffusing his whole face. He was so radiant you almost wanted to cry. When was the last time anyone had seen him like this? This was yours. All yours.

The thought galvanized you to dive back in. You wouldn't be returning to the party, but the Avengers would be here for a few days yet. They could wait.

[janiedean]

(part 1) ur gonna roast me for this but im legit curious why mafia AUs are so bad? im asking in a non confrontational way, i get it romanticizing mafia is wrong, but i also believe that 1)most mafia AUs are a really toned down type of mafia;2)they do make for some interesting kinds of dynamics with fanart and with fics; 3)in a fic specifically u can create your own world and call something mafia and still make it so they don't kill innocent people but only idk members of other gangs or sth

(part 2) plus theyre a way to put ur charas in a completely diff context and see what theyll do. i mean i dont believe that writing ships in a certain context (like mafia) equals romanticizing that context. mafia AUs arent even my fav things to read (in fact i almost never do), im sure many ppl romanticize it and i obvs dont agree with that but im just trying to udnerstand bc i believe fandoms are a way to explore things that we normally wouldnt.

I’m not gonna roast you don’t worry xD okay wait let me check if I replied to this already if yes I’m gonna c/p because it’s half past midnight otherwise I’ll just go at it again wait *checks tags* fff obviously I don’t have a general post but anyway pls read this after you’ve done with my post and then this which is also choke-full of links. plus for a (not nice) laugh: here. AH WAIT I FOUND THE POST.

okay, so, let’s have it out of the way: I have nothing against mob aus or crime aus. I have a problem against calling them mafia AUs because in the US mafia = organized crime at large, in Italy mafia = ACTUAL EXISTING ORGANIZATIONS THAT ARE ACTIVELY HARMFUL. now that I introduced the topic I’ll c/p you the reply I gave to another anon who while discussing the issue pointed out that most writers don’t even know Italian mafia is a thing, which is pretty much on the same discourse so...

*The thing is - in the US it might not be enough of a deal anymore and I honestly do get why people make the mafia = regular mobsters, since the mafia was the first foreign organized crime being exported to the US via italian immigrants (sorry if this sounds horrible in English but I just woke up and I still didn’t have coffee) so I understand that mafia became the umbrella term.But the thing is that - as you said, these people don’t even know that there’s a mafia in Italy anymore or where the word comes from.

 I’m going to link to italiansreclaimingitaly’s tag about the mafia and its perception outside Italy because they posted about this extensively and it’s an excellent resource, but meanwhile I’m gonna do a very short bullet point list and about the topic:

Mafia might not be a big deal in the US, but it still is here. We have the beauty of four different mafias (Cosa Nostra - the Sicilian one, camorra which is the one in Campania but has tendrils spread everywhere, the 'ndrangheta which is in Calabria and the Sacra Corona Unita in Puglia) which are all active [especially camorra and 'ndrangheta] and whose actions have direct impact (negative) on our economy and on our society. Actually mafias are one of the main reasons we’re currently economically fucked up, and if I start talking about how mafia culture keeps some areas literally backwards I could talk about it for three months.

There are still people who are killed for standing up against them. These days the most prominent personality is Roberto Saviano who is a writer who dared to put together a book documenting minutely the way camorra works and he’s been living under protection for years by this point. Like, they want him dead because he wrote a book. And I’m sorta sure that he was talking about leaving Italy and going to the US after years of sticking with it here because he can’t take it anymore but I don’t know if it was a taken decision or if it’s still debating it.

It wasn’t even thirty years ago that we had the stragi di mafia - in english it’d be something like the mafia slaughters, basically around the beginning of the nineties there were a number of bombs planted by the mafia targeting people who were trying to oppose it including judges Falcone and Borsellino, actually the anniversary of Falcone’s death is like... tomorrow. And they’ve killed people for way longer than that. Here is a list of only Cosa Nostra victims including the ones from the eighties/nineties. And people are still dying because of it. The slaughters I’m referring to are just the ones in the nineties which are enough of a number.

They also perpetuate a culture where if you testify against your mafia-employed relatives you’ll be shunned forever. There are women who testified against their families and couldn’t see their children anymore never mind that they weren’t automatically considered a relative anymore the moment they sided against the mafia. Some people have committed suicide after becoming witnesses also because our police force/justice system can be terribly non-supportive in this kind of situation so they got left on their own. Never mind that back in the day - it was the beginning of the nineties? - I recall at least a particular story of - I think, correct me if I remember wrong but I can’t remember the names for the life of me - where this guy testified against the local mafia when he either used to work for them or was forced to pay them the pizzo and in retaliation his six-year old (or five? Anyway he had a son younger than ten for sure) got kidnapped, killed and thrown into acid to dispose of the body. That happened in what, 1993? 1994? It’s pretty much yesterday. And now the camorra is doing the same - there’s a list here of camorra victims among which accidental passerbys that got killed because they were in the way which I can tell just by glancing is not complete. And I’m not even going into the 'ndrangheta. That is to say, here mafia still kills people and cripples our country.

Now, I get that it’s a word, but the point was: let’s say that instead of the Italians the Japanese came to the US first and the umbrella word for organized crime was yakuza rather than mafia and let’s say yakuza was still what it was originally in Japan while in the US it stopped being a big deal and people write yakuza!AU instead of mafia AU. Let’s say someone Japanese gets angry at that and goes like 'listen the yakuza is a real deal it does this this this and that and it’s a plague in our country so can you please at least look it up before writing your fanfic’, which is what had happened way back then when this whole mafia and fanfic thing blew up. A bunch of people told us to get over it because it’s just a word and if it’s a problem in Italy it’s not in the US so why should they care? Now, if we had been Japanese (or Chinese or Russian or Mexican) would they have said the same thing? Considering the general tumblr attitude I’m pretty sure they would have received either an apology or 'this is an important deal let’s keep that in mind’ with signal boost reblogs and stuff. 

It’s the fact that we should get over people not knowing that it’s still a real problem for us and that they can’t take five seconds to google it that is the problem imo. Especially when instead of mafia au you can just say mobsters au or tag it as organized crime and everyone is a lot happier, mostly because as the tag above explains romanticising the mafia is a good thing for them because it means they can act outside Italy with less stigma because everyone thinks that the mafia is dead or not relevant anymore, if I’m explaining myself. (And it’s active outside Italy - like, there was a mafia kill in Germany in 2007 where six people died (sorry the link is in Italian but there isn’t an English wiki page, if you look the city up you’ll find something probably) and it was because of the 'ndrangheta.

I’d really like to not get worked over it because it meant it was a thing of the past y'know, but the problem is that it isn’t and I’d rather spread some awareness in hope some of these writers look it up (because it’s a good thing that people know what mafia is since as stated they have tendrils everywhere - if you read Saviano’s book the entire first chapter is about how camorra regularly deals with Chinese import/export in Italy for one) than shrug and figure that since they’ll think everything is good for fanfic then it’s not even worth my time.*

Now, ^^^ that was the c/p-ed reply that should answer most of your doubts. What I didn’t address was:

im sure many ppl romanticize it and i obvs dont agree with that but im just trying to udnerstand bc i believe fandoms are a way to explore things that we normally wouldnt.

aaaand as we say here in Italy, this is where the donkey falls (sorry we have weird sayings), because in theory there’s nothing wrong with that... except that in 99% of the mafia aus I’ve seen around the thing is that they’re supposed to be cute.

like, I see a lot of shit with TINY MAFIA BOSS STEVE ROGERS with RUSSIAN ENFORCER BUCKY (????? bucky isn’t even russian???) and the yoi thing I saw before had the japanese character being the leader of a russian mafia gang which is... like... guys it doesn’t happen it really doesn’t, and a lot of them re-use wrongly terminology taken from the godfather without context or knowing what the hell it means, and it’s always from the criminals’ pov and they’re somehow seen as criminals doing justice where the police can’t (???) and like... no. mafia bosses/enforcers/employees are bad people period, and at least here if you try to leave or repent they kill your family in retribution. like, not even ten years ago there’s been a woman who used to belong to a mafia family (or one colluded with the mafia) who testified and her entire town/family shunned her and she couldn’t take it anymore and... killed herself drinking acid if I don’t recall wrong. it’s not even special cases. this shit is not funny, it’s not cute, it’s not adorable and it’s not good fodder for your imagine your otp scenario (srsly I saw one like.. let me find it,

LIKE. just look at this shit. in a regular context, the enforcer goes to the show owner to force them to pay a monthly sum to their boss lest they destroy their shop and their lives and their family’s life never mind that mafia culture is deeply homophobic so the mafia enforcer flirting with the shopkeeper is like completely fucking out of the question. I mean, people here like to shit on the sopranos but that show was actually excellent representation of Horrid Criminals Who Were Never Supposed To Be Good People and the small arc that happened when one of tony’s friends turned out to be gay (closeted) was REALLY well done. btw, it ended that when they found out he was gay most of the crowd rejected him and thought badly of him until I think they killed him also for other reasons, but that spiraled from finding out he liked dick. and that’s american mafia that they actually based on well-done research of the culture in Italy it came from, I assure you that here it doesn’t work that differently. like. the shit above is so inaccurate and frankly offensive, it’s like... I get people romanticizing problematic stuff but the thing is that when you tell them that it’s actually offensive you get brushed off as ‘ah well you’re being too sensitive it’s just a word u__u’. now, I’m all for exploring shit we wouldn’t be into, but not like THAT, because that’s like mafia romantic comedy and that’s not how it works. now, you wanna do a fic where the mafia characters are deeply flawed and bad people and the police tries to catch them? fine, great, go ahead. you wanna do a fic where the enforcer above deals with dunno an entire life of internalized homophobia when he finds the shopkeeper attractive and feels conflicted over having to con money out of him and doing horrible shit for a living and maybe understanding that crime isn’t worth it and then he actually collaborates with the police and gets shit from about everyone he knows and loves for that? okay, awesome, go ahead. nothing bad in that.

but the shit above is not exploring things we wouldn’t/writing darkfic, it’s THINKING THAT A CRIMINAL ORGANIZATION WHICH IS STILL A THING IN OUR PART OF THE WORLD IS CUTE AND ADORABLE. and that only plays in their favor because it takes the bad aura out of the word and we really should not let that happen. like. that is what is bad about mafia aus and mafia discourse, that people don’t realize the mafia is alive and well and thriving and not a thing that doesn’t exist or a generic word for organized crime.

you wanna write the shit above? okay, CALL IT CRIME AU or mob au, not mafia au.

btw, add-on: idk if I mentioned it in the above post or not, but in case I didn’t, I said that people would balk at the idea of a mexican cartel au. sadly since then I’ve found out a fandom where not only there is one but it’s also extra cutesy and people apparently love it and it has a bunch of kudos/comments and idek I’m not even touching that with a ten foot pole but like... I’ve avoided it and everything that author wrote because to me it’s just... nope. like, nope. if you do mafia aus don’t make them fucking cute. (also: in the same fandom I had to mute a v. famous fanartist whose art I actually liked but did cutesy mafia aus and.. like... haahahhaahahahahaha nah sorry. can’t go there. nope.)

[sarcasmoverlordxo]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Captain America (Movies) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Female Character(s), Steve Rogers/Original Female Character(s) Characters: Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes, Original Female Character Additional Tags: Polyamory, Fluff Series: Part 1 of Stuck in the MIddle Summary:

Sarah is a scholarship recipient for Stark Industries where she plans on doing her pre-thesis research. But when she falls, quite literally, into the lives of two super soldiers, are her butterflies just a crush? Or something more?

This story contains mostly fluff, eventual StevexOC and BuckyxOC (poly relationship). There are no content warnings.

I’m hoping to update about once per week!

~Chapter 1~

I’d only been at Stark Industries for a week, but still hadn’t done anything other than safety training. It was so safe, in fact, that I spent the whole time at the small desk in my apartment, reading information slideshows and listening to repetitive and unnecessary lectures on eye protection. It was like I’d never been in a lab before. The pedantic voiceover droned on in the background as I read a different, and wholly unrelated book. The previous intern must have left it; a crime novel set in the fifties. The lecture had finished, and I set the book aside to take the final safety quiz. Stark Industries’ biology department had put me up in one of their many apartments reserved for visiting scientists or employees who didn’t want to commute. It was generous, and rent-free.

My first week consisted of safety training videos, watching tv, and occasionally visiting the gym. The company cafeteria, located one floor below the lobby, was well equipped and offered a variety of food options. I’d spent a fair amount of time there as well, whether it was with a cup of coffee and a book, or dinner by the television. It grew tedious, and I itched to get into that lab; I’d worked so hard to get here and my anxiety didn’t help, especially with the pressure of my thesis weighing on my mind. I kept in touch with my best friend, Kate, who kept suggesting that I explore Manhattan, but it was so intimidating, and I just kept making excuses.    

So on Friday night, at seven o’clock, I found myself sitting in the cafeteria with a plate full of food, watching Jeopardy. The cafeteria was mostly empty except for a few employees I’d seen in the hallways. I ate slowly, trying to burn more time; I had two days until I started in the lab, and though I was certain it would be another lengthy safety orientation, it was something. I’d tried earlier in the week to go out into the city, but two blocks away from Stark Tower, I panicked and returned to the quiet safety of my apartment. It wasn’t that I was afraid of people, it was the crowds, and the noise, and the overwhelming feeling of being so lost. Eventually, I figured, I’d make it out there.

Behind me, the elevator doors opened, and a few others shuffled out just as I was trying, and failing, to guess a right answer on Jeopardy. A few stragglers settled into tables throughout the room, some leaving, others relaxing as time passed. A while later, I returned my plate and searched for something sweet. Of course, Stark had an ice cream bar. Finding a bowl, I made my way across the cafeteria when suddenly, my feet slid out from beneath me. I landed with a thud on the hard floor, my bowl shattering beside me. My tailbone hurt, but I think my pride took most of the pain as I sat up. Maybe no one saw that…

“Are you okay?” Crap.

“Yeah,” I sighed, looking up, then froze. Of course I not only make a clumsy fool of myself, but I do so in front of Captain America himself. I could feel my face redden. “Yeah… thanks.” I replied, accepting his hand as he helped me up. Then, I felt the wet spot on my jeans; I’d landed in a spill. “I… should get a broom for the broken-” Pausing, I watched as another person stood from brushing the shattered bowl into a small dustpan.

“All taken care of,” He said, turning to meet me. “You alright?” His face seemed familiar, but something shiny caught my eye and it clicked: The Winter Soldier.

“Yeah, thanks,” I replied, smoothing myself out.

“You sure? You look a bit flushed,” Bucky replied.

“Yeah, just a bit embarrassed.” I chuckled nervously. “Thanks for the help.”  

Resting his hand on my shoulder, Steve smiled. “It’s no problem. I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Thanks,” I replied. “I’m Sarah, by the way.”

“Steve,” he said, and motioned to his friend: “Bucky.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” I replied.

“We were just going to get some ice cream,” Bucky said, then turned to Steve. “Because someone ate all of mine. Would you like to join us?”

“Oh, wow, thanks. Yeah!” I replied, stepping carefully around the spill. “Maybe I should get something for that?”

“I’ve got it,” Steve replied. “You guys go and I’ll meet you.” I thanked him and followed Bucky toward the ice cream where he immediately began piling nearly every flavor into his bowl. I must have looked amazed, because he shrugged, smiling bashfully back at me.

“What? My metabolism is ridiculous!”

“You should see him when he eats dinner,” Steve commented, appearing beside me.

“You’re one to talk,” Bucky parried, the two chuckling at their banter. I couldn’t help but to laugh along. Our bowls full, I followed them to a table, my palms itching with nervous sweat. I tried not to act like a crazy fangirl- I’m sure they had enough of that. I’d seen coverage of the New York invasion on the news, and footage of Bucky helping with other efforts, but never thought I’d actually run into them here.

“So are you new?” Steve asked.

“Yeah, I was just hired for the genetic research team,” I replied.

“Cool- what are you studying?” Bucky asked.

“I’m actually working here as a part of my thesis.” Bucky nodded, spooning ice cream into his mouth. “I’m studying preventative measures for terminal illnesses and rare diseases. And... I’m actually basing it off of your altered immune systems.” There was a pause, and I expected them to get up and leave, but when they didn’t I laughed. “I didn’t expect to actually meet you guys!”

“So basically,” Steve said, swallowing his ice cream, “you think that the changes to us can be useful for more than just brute strength?”

“I mean, it’s not a super original idea,” I shrugged, “there are variations of it being studied, but I’m focusing on how your immune systems work, as well as your incredibly fast healing abilities and how that can translate to vaccines and treatments. Some of the research that Stark’s company has released is really promising.”

“That sounds really cool,” Bucky smiled. “It’s good to know that something good can come from all this.” We fell into a silence that, to me, felt awkward, but they didn’t seem to mind. “So when do you start your research?

“I finished the mandatory training videos, so I start on Monday in the lab.”

“Are you going home for the weekend?”

“No,” I shook my head at Bucky. “They put me up in an apartment.”

“Ah,” Steve nodded. “So are you doing anything fun then?” I shrugged.

“Not really. I don’t know anyone here, so I was just going to stay in and review my preliminary research. Why do you ask?” Steve and Bucky exchanged glances, then Steve spoke.

“A few of us our going out tomorrow night. Why don’t you join us?”

“Us?”

“Yeah,” Bucky replied. “Nat, Bruce- if we can convince him. Maybe Stark’ll show up.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude-”

“We wouldn’t offer if we weren’t serious,” Bucky smiled. “Give me your room number and we’ll pick you up around 7.”

We parted in the elevator, stopping at my floor first. I said goodbye, promising that I’d be ready by 7, and hurried back to my room. All of the nervous laughter I’d held in poured out of me as I sat on my bed. Holy crap. As if researching at Stark Industries wasn’t cool enough, I’d just met, and had ice cream with Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes.

I texted Kate the whole story and got nothing but excited responses and questions. Were they as tall as they looked on tv? Yes! Were they attractive? Of course. They seemed so real, especially Steve; he acted like we were just regular people- friends even! I didn’t see any hint of self-righteousness that the papers said he had. But that smile, straight out of an old movie! Bucky, I haven't heard much of until recently. But even he was kind and welcoming. His playful smile wouldn't leave my mind; he probably smiled at every girl he saw like that, but it still didn’t take away my excitement. Another text made me pause: what are you going to wear?

Crap. I’d brought mostly comfortable and lab-appropriate clothes as well as one or two more professional outfits. I’d have to figure something out.

***

Saturday morning seemed to take forever as I tossed and turned. I couldn’t figure out what I was more nervous about: starting my research on Monday, or going out on Saturday night. It was definitely going out. I was confident in my knowledge and my skills in the lab. My social life? Not so much. Honestly, I wasn’t sure whether it was my lack of an outfit, or not knowing what to say. Both. The answer was both. Well there wasn’t much I could do about it, at least so early. So I climbed out of bed and got ready for the day.

The Stark gym was open twenty four hours, so I made my way there in hopes that I could burn out some of my nervous energy. After setting up my headphones and some Netflix, I settled into a rhythm on the elliptical machine. After a while, a new episode came on, and I nearly jumped out of my skin when I felt a tap on my arm. It was Steve. I pulled the headphones out of my ears and greeted him.

“I didn’t mean to scare you!” He smiled, holding his hands up.

“Sorry!” I laughed.

“Good show?”

“Yeah, definitely.” He settled himself on the treadmill beside me. “You’re up early.”

“I’m a morning person.” He shrugged as if it was no big deal.

“I hate mornings.”

“And you’re here?” I paused.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Everything okay?” His blue eyes focused on me, searching for any indication of injury.

“Yeah, I just have a lot on my mind.” Silently he tilted his head, inviting me to continue. “I’m starting my lab research on Monday which means that in a few months I’ll be starting my dissertation. It’s just a lot to think about.”

“You sounded pretty excited about it last night,” Steve replied, punching the speed into the treadmill. “I’m sure your research will turn out great and you’ll have no problem with your dissertation.”

“Thanks, Steve,” I smiled. “I really appreciate it. So what are you up to today?”

“Nothing much,” he shrugged. “Laundry. Maybe read a bit more. I’m still catching up on a few years of books right now.”

“Reading anything good?”

“Uh… Lord of the Flies at the moment,” he replied.

“I remember that one. Light reading?” He laughed.

“Yeah, I’m not a fan of it so far, but I get what they’re trying to show.” Pausing, he adjusted the treadmill again. “What about you?”

“Probably the same. Maybe watch tv or something. My friend keeps hounding me to go out, but I wouldn't know where to start.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well…” I paused. “I’ve never been here before, so it’s a bit overwhelming.”

“Never?” I shook my head. “How’s this: after we finish here, we grab some breakfast and I’ll show you around. We’re going out at 7 and it’s still early.”

“Steve, you don’t have to do that,” I replied.

“I don’t have to, but I want to,” He smiled. “What do you say?”

“Alright, you win!”

After we finished, I ran back to my apartment to shower and change. He met me shortly after, and we took the elevator down to the cafeteria together. He regaled me with stories of lost fights and how different the city was back before the war. Then, we chatted over coffee about nothing in particular. I loved watching him talk about his life before; his face would change and he’d smile, remembering his odd jobs and how Bucky used to get him out of trouble. His eyes lit up when he spoke about him and I wondered if the rumors online were true. Soon enough, Bucky appeared, joining our table with a plate full of food.

“Hey! You didn’t invite me?” Bucky asked, glancing from me to Steve.

“You were still sleeping, Buck.” Steve replied. “And I know you hate being woken up.”

“Anyway,” I added, “ you’re welcome to join us now.”

“Thanks, doll,” Bucky smiled. I couldn’t help the blush that spread across my cheeks.

“Sarah here has never been to Manhattan before,” Steve began. “I’m going to show her around a bit after breakfast.”

“Sounds like fun,” Bucky replied. “Mind if I join you?”

Steve glanced over at me, stage-whispering conspiratorially: “What do you think? Should we let him come?” I couldn’t stop a small laugh as I played along.

“I don’t know, it seems like he’d only attract trouble.”

“Me? Trouble?” Bucky gasped, holding his hands up in mock defense. “I’m an angel. Besides, has this guy told you about his fights? Trouble follows him.”

“He’s got a point, Steve,” I laughed. “Besides, seeing the city with two native Brooklyn-ites sounds like twice the fun.”

“I knew you’d come around,” Bucky teased. “Let me finish my food and I’ll get washed up.” Shortly after, I was once more in the elevator with them, but this time we made our way to Bucky’s room. Steve and I sat on the couch as he disappeared into his bedroom to change.

It was an odd yet pleasing mixture of vintage and modern. The furniture and appliances were all new- no doubt Stark’s design, but the pictures, framed newspaper clippings, and knick-knacks around the room were definitely from the 50s. Looking closer, I noticed that a lot of the pictures had Steve in them some way or another. Beside the door, two bomber jackets were hanging up, both similar sizes, but one’s name patch was slightly visible: ROG- Could that be Steve’s? I felt his gaze on me and looked away; I’d been caught staring too long.

Truthfully, I didn’t mind Bucky tagging along, although it did feel nice to have Steve’s full attention. I’d always been attracted to him- what person wouldn’t? - but to get to know him was something else. Those hopeless butterflies were starting up, and they were only getting stronger.

“So where are we heading first?” I asked as Bucky joined us.

“You’ve got a ton of options,” Steve began, “there’s museums, shops, attractions…”

Bucky chimed in: “Let’s go walk around and see what catches our eye.”

“Sounds good to me!” I replied. Once more, we made our way down the elevator and through the building’s main entrance. Steve had tucked a well-worn ball cap on his head, the embroidery indicating that it was for a World War II veteran, and settled beside me. Bucky did the same, settling on the other side.

The city was loud; there was no way to dispute that! Between the people and the music from restaurants and big, flashing billboards, it was all so much. Times Square, which I’d only ever seen on tv, was just as I’d anticipated. The warm autumn air seemed to breeze by with the cars and taxis that passed. We walked for a while, Steve pointing out an attraction or store he thought I’d like. There were, of course, less touristy places closer to Stark Tower, but the oversized windows with bright displays were fun to look at.

As the crowds grew thicker, Bucky trailed along behind us, quiet for most of the time, only adding a thought or comment on occasion. Steve, however, was practically my tour guide. He even haggled down a cheesy “I heart NY” shirt for me after taking a few pictures with the store’s owner. By the time lunch rolled around, we were in the center of Times Square. The city was still overwhelming, but it felt less so, especially having someone who knew it intimately. I wasn’t worried about getting lost or looking stupid, even when I asked Steve how avenues and blocks worked. He’d explained it without hesitation or judgement and I knew that he would be a really good friend. We stopped at a food cart which looked questionable, but the two swore that there was never a better place to get a hot dog or pretzel. We found a spot on the large set of bleachers set up in the center area and chowed down. They were right: the food was really good!

“Guys, thank you so much for taking me out today!” I said, stretching my achy feet out across the seat in front of me.

“It’s our pleasure,” Bucky smiled, tapping his foot against mine. “Everyone needs a good day in the city.”

“I’m serious- you guys make me feel so welcome.”

“You are welcome,” Steve smiled, and nudged my shoulder. It felt good to have a friend, especially two who were so kind.

“We should go to one of these places sometime,” Bucky suggested. “Maybe the wax museum?”

“Oh that’d be cool!” I nodded.

“It’s a date then.” Bucky smiled up at me.

“Was there anything else you wanted to see?” Steve asked. I looked across the massive area and a really cheesy idea popped into my mind.

“Actually…” I paused, wondering if I should actually suggest it. They seemed playful enough. “I’d like a picture with Captain America.”

Steve paused, his eyebrows bent in confusion. A moment later, Bucky started to laugh, finally seeing what I’d noticed earlier. “I think I’d like one too,” he added.

“Huh? Oh… oh!” Steve’s gaze finally settled on the costumed character across the way. Bucky’s smile turned wolfish. “No way guys, really?”

“Please?” I asked, leaning into his side. He sighed and nodded, following me and Bucky down the bleachers toward the mass of costumed characters. Fetching my phone from my purse, I flagged down the Captain America guy who smiled at three new customers.

“No,” Steve said, taking my phone away, “if I have to do this, you two are coming in the picture with me!”

“What do you think, Bucky?” I asked. He grinned, snatching Steve’s hat and placed it on my head.

“Let’s do this.” When it was our turn, Steve handed my phone to the character’s companion and we all huddled in, Steve’s arm wrapped around my shoulder while the other showed a thumbs up to match the character’s pose. Bucky handed the guy a few dollars and we made our way back toward the tower, Steve’s arm still across the back of my shoulders, his hand gently resting on the side of my arm.

There were still a few hours until we’d be heading out, so we all piled into the elevator and went back up to Bucky’s room where we promptly collapsed onto the couch. I was situated in the middle, and settled into Steve’s side, his arm staying draped across my shoulders. Bucky set the tv on a game show, and I felt myself start to drift off. The tv’s dull noise lulled me deeper and I rested my head on Steve, listening to the steady beat of his heart, and fell asleep.

***

Something shifted beneath me and I felt myself pulled into that semi-sleep, just long enough to hear someone say: “It’s alright, sweetheart. Go back to sleep.” Happy to oblige, I faded back into dreams.  

***

Thank you so much for reading!! Feedback (even a little thumbs up!) is always appreciated! I’m hoping to update about once per week!