#that doesn’t equate you to them or make you bad for liking them honey!!!!!!!!!

[inkykeiji]

(ー_ーゞ

[yallthemwitches]

Sticking the Landing

For @jilytoberfest Day 30: 🎶"where's the trophy? he just comes running over to me"🎶 - The Alchemy by Taylor Swift

I originally wrote just a little snippet pre jilytober but now it’s the longest fic of the collection!

AO3 Here

It lasts only seconds. The shock in her eyes, the warm feel of her arms wrapping around his neck, holding on as he bears all her weight. She makes a little shriek as her feet lift off the ground and momentum spins them together. As far as he is concerned, it is the greatest sound she has ever made.

But the air has to rush back into the world eventually. The minute she touches back down, her brow furrows, eyes darting towards the other side of the pitch where Sawyer stands. The bloke she’s dating stands.

Should I expect to see you in the Gryffindor stands or are you a traitor?

He had wedged the note inside her history of magic textbook. He turns around and waits, watching as her hand grazes the piece of parchment and her lips turn upwards.

Not sure, where does Switzerland sit?

It floats back to him under the table and he catches it without hesitation, not looking away from a droning Professor Binns.

I reckon somewhere in the Beaux Batons stadium.

She can’t help but chuckle at the snarkiness of it. Beside her, Sawyer makes a loud yawn, using his stretch as an excuse to lay his arm around her shoulders. All of the sudden every quippy response she thinks to write back crumbles to dust.

“Godric, this is boring. Should be illegal to have classes before a game.” She doesn’t respond to Sawyer because she knows he doesn’t actually expect one. She tries to focus on class again, and sees out of the corner of her eye James turning around, anticipating a response. With one look at Sawyer’s dangling hand, he whips back around, shoulders now stiff and set.

*******

“Woah, no way Evans. No double agent’s sitting with us on my watch.”

“Bug off, Black.” Lily sidles a little closer to Remus who shoots his mate an annoyed look.

“Er Lily, if your boyfriend is on the other team—does that mean that this is a win-win situation for you?” Peter wheedles out, looking like he’s trying to do a particularly difficult arithmancy equation. Sirius guffaws and slaps him on the back, making him give a sheepish, pink smile.

“Right you are Wormy–I guess you could say that Evans plays for both teams—Ouch!”

Remus leans over behind Lily and pulls hard on Sirius’ earring. “Stop embarrassing me.”

Sirius whimpers like a puppy and Lily can’t help but laugh. She feels bad to not sit over with Sawyer's mates in Hufflepuff, but their relationship is still new and she doesn’t know many of his friends well enough. Besides, she can’t help that the Gryffindor box is vastly more entertaining. Even before she became mates with the marauders, the boys would make a big spectacle, crooning and screaming fabricated songs, trying to get the crowd to participate in wildly ridiculous cheers— it almost made it easy to forget that there was a game going on—almost.

“Alright Evans?”

A tuft of black hair rises up from the bannister, James already on his broom and hovering up to the stands. His new captain’s uniform fits him nicely—the gold plating of his badge bringing out the flecks of honey in his eyes.

“Oi! Prongs! Where’s my good luck kiss?” Sirius starts to make wet kissing noises and Peter grabs his stomach laughing.

James smiles at his friend but his eyes remain on Lily. After years of fighting it, she is willing to admit that she likes him like this: hair actually wind blown instead of a fabricated attempt, mouth permanently set in a wide grin, eyes alight with excitement and zeal—the tight uniforms doesn’t hurt either.

“Thought you’d be sitting with the yellows.”

“Nah, figured someone needed to keep the peanut gallery in check.” Lily nods over to the boys, Sirius now lurching in an attempt to kiss Remus’ ear.

“How noble of you, a real martyr,” James winks, starting to float back to the middle of the pitch. It does something jarring to her heart. “But really–glad to see you here.”

He flies away, the words good luck sitting like a lump in her throat.

*******

THIS IS A NAIL BITER FOLKS—SAWYER DAWSON PASSES THE QUAFFLE TO AMELIA JENKINS. THE HUFFLEPUFFS ARE REALLY PLAYING WITH THE SKIN OF THEIR TEETH HERE. BUT WAIT, JAMES POTTER OF GRYFFINDOR SWOOPS IN, HE’S INTERCEPTED THE PLAY. YOU CAN TELL HE’S GOT THIS ONE IN THE BAG—MAYBE GETTING A LITTLE TOO COCKY WITH THOSE FLIPS…

THIS IS THE MOMENT OF TRUTH TO END THIS HELLISH TIE BREAKER—AH, JAMES POTTER SCORES!

James does a small victory lap around the side of the pitch, fist pumping into the air. They haven’t even won yet, but the Gryffindor stand is inconsolable, Sirius and Peter leading the crowd in a raucous chorus of We Will Rock You. Lily is infected by it, laughing and stomping along with the rest, only the glimpse of Sawyer panting and frustrated at the other end of the pitch makes her sober up.

James takes a pass by the stands and the crowd erupts in a roar ‘POTTER POTTER POTTER’. She doesn’t mean to join in, at least doesn’t consciously make the choice. Blame it on hive mentality.

The game continues, but this time there is a distinct energy shift in the Hufflepuff team. Sawyer is all offensive, making perilous moves to intercept the quaffle, barely scraping past as bludgers get aimed right for his chest.

He flies past the Gyffindor stands where Lily and all the rest are a deafening roar of team spirit, still chanting James’ name. He turns his head just enough for Lily to catch it, the twisted grimace of anger. It stops her cold.

*****

James couldn’t deny it, he felt good. It wasn’t even because they were winning, already climbing their score to the point where catching the snitch would turn into a formality. No, the real victory was the fleeting image of Lily, mouth wide open in jubilant revelry, chanting his name.

If he owned a pensive, it would be the first memory he would guard—it shouldn’t have mattered so much with the whole crowd cheering as well, but something about her flushed face, her stomping feet, her bursting voice—they could lose and he would be all the better for it.

The game kicks off again and James immediately swerves towards Hufflepuff chaser Brenda Alburn, eyes trying to juggle between following the quaffle and peeking back at the stands where Lily still watches. A sudden rush pulls beside him and Sawyer nearly clips his broom, turning around to give him a dark scowl.

It was odd for Sawyer who was usually a pretty level headed bloke. James ignores it, pushing forward towards the quaffle which is now meters ahead of him. He picks up speed, getting closer to intercept when he feels something coming in close.

He had no reason to double back but Sawyer is beside him again. As swift as flicking a wrist, he reaches out and yanks at James’ broom, sending it into a tailspin.

James feels a sickly upheaval in his stomach as he free falls, the world a blur of spinning color. Screams ring out from every corner of the pitch and he swears he can pinpoint one amongst the crowd—

It’s a gamble, a stupid, completely mental choice but he pushes himself off the broom, the world suddenly gaining clarity as the spinning ends. He has a zero second window to grab hold of his broom handle before it spins out of reach and he kicks his leg up, clipping on with his shin and the new pressure halts the broom's spiral.

The roar is deafening, mixing screams of amazement with cries of foul play, but it doesn’t matter: Gryffindor caught the snitch.

He feels nauseous, body heavy and begging to be horizontal, but he pulls himself right side up on his broom, already seeing the students from the Gryffindor stands leaking down onto the field, awaiting his descent.

Maybe it was the lingering vertigo, but it all happens too quick to digest in the moment. He feels his feet touch the soft earth. A roar of a crowd rushes around him, a blaze of red and gold like wildfire in an instant. She is there, but walking towards him or towards Sawyer he isn’t sure. His body moves on its own, quickening his pace before he can even stop to think about the consequences. A smile on her face, a smile like all the ones he’s savored from her since they had become mates.

He doesn’t need to make a decision, it is already made. He can blame it on the near death experience later. He picks up Lily and swings her in his arms.

It lasts only seconds. The shock in her eyes, the warm feel of her arms wrapping around his neck, holding on as he bears all her weight. She makes a little shriek as her feet lift off the ground and momentum spins them together. As far as he is concerned, it is the greatest sound she has ever made.

But the air has to rush back into the world eventually. The minute she touches back down, her brow furrows, eyes darting towards the other side of the pitch where Sawyer stands. The bloke she’s dating stands.

“I-I’ve got to go..I’m glad you're alright.”

He wants to address the fear that he can hear stuck in her voice, but she pulls her arms away, fingers sliding on his shoulders as she goes.

******

“Godric, Lily is so lucky. What I’d do to have the two fittest boys in school making a scene over me like that—“

“But who can blame him? Did you see how she screamed when Potter took the nose dive? She looked about ready to throw herself from the stands.”

Its hard to ignore because it’s all everyone wants to talk about. He wants to be the better person (“A game is a game—it was an honest accident—Sawyers a good bloke.”) but even his words hang hollow in the air because he knew the look on Sawyer's face too well—a look of pure jealousy.

“If it wasn’t his last year, I’d lobby to ban him—break his broom and watch as he cries..” Sirius slurs out, putting an arm around James’ shoulders.

“But hey, silver lining! Our lovely Evans was in rare form by your little tumble. I swear there were tears in her eyes.”

“Not helping Sirius.”

He wishes it would help though, because hearing Lily invested in his well being feels like a bigger win than the cup. But that doesn’t take away from the fact that she is not there—

A hush rolls over the crowd as the portrait hole swings open. Lily walks in with deliberate steps. She’s not an idiot, she knows they have all been talking about her. Not making eye contact she beelines her way to the drink table, ignoring as whispers follow her through the room.

He can tell she’s been crying—not in the way Sirius described but really crying. On one hand he wants to console her, apologize for whatever he has stirred up in Sawyer, but on the other everyone is watching. Him approaching her would just cause more uproar.

She pours herself a drink and takes a long swig before refilling it again. Turning from the table she doesn’t even wait to acknowledge anyone, just walks with her shoulders back up the steps to the dorm.

“You need to talk to her.” Remus says beside him like a voice of reason.

“Get your cloak and go up there—just for fuckssake make sure no one bloody sees you.”

Filling a new drink, he mounts the steps and finds the door slightly ajar. He’s never seen the inside of the girl’s dorm before but it’s much more put together than the boys’, records and books neatly stacked around well made four-poster beds. The record player garbles out some faintly familiar tune as Lily reclines with her eyes closed, drink still clutched in hand.

“Alright, Evans?”

She doesn’t open her eyes, but he knows she’s awake. He opens the door a bit farther but doesn’t dare to enter without permission.

“ I thought you might want a refill.” He half heartedly holds out the drink and she cracks an eye open.

“Ok Potter, price of entry granted.”

He takes a few hesitant steps in, standing in the middle of the circular space. He can’t help but feel like he’s crossing a barrier, like some infectious disease in a host body.

“Look, I just wanted to apologize,” he murmurs, unsure of how to proceed. Lily straightens up, eyes now open with suprise.

“For what?”

“I don’t know—“ he meanders, “I guess I just can’t help feeling like I didn’t something. Like this is my fault.”

“James, you could have died. Or have been easily incapacitated for the unforeseeable future. Sawyer had no right—.”

“It could’ve been an honest—“

“No, James. It wasn’t—and besides he told me.”

James feels his stomach drop in a way reminiscent of his earlier fall. “Oh.”

Lily sits up and swings her legs to hang over the side of the bed.

“I owe you an apology. It’s my fault anyhow.”

“I’m not following.”

Her eyes go suddenly glassy, the bloodshot streaks becoming more prominent as tears threaten to spill over again.

“Please don’t make me say it,” she bites out.

“Evans, I’m being serious I don’t—“

“I fancy you, ok! I fancy you and—Sawyer could tell. Unlike us he’s not a complete fool.”

She starts to say how this doesn’t excuse his behavior or that what happened at the game was warranted but James doesn’t hear it. His heartbeat is defeating, his whole body becoming red and feverish. The whole world starts to spin again but her, the clear stable focal point to everything.

He crosses the few steps it takes to be next to her and she stands up with a start, confused by his sudden energy.

“Does Sawyer—“ he lets it teeters off, knowing his question is clear.

“Let’s just say, Sawyer isn’t going to make the cut.” She snorts bitterly, eyes looking at her feet. “I should have ended it ages ago honestly.”

Maybe it’s because his body is still in shock from it all, but he lets his instincts take over, all propriety lost.

“Will you let me hug you? I would really like to hug you.”

She gives a tearful laugh and opens her arms in weak approval. He doesn’t hesitate, wrapping his arms firmly around her waist and pulling her in. This close she smells like roses and the salt of her tears.

“I’m glad you’re ok James.” Hesitant, she reaches her arms up to clasp around his shoulders, before pulling herself closer, burying her face into his Jersey.

“Who me?” He exclaims in mock shock. “Hell, I’ve never been better.”

[whatudowhennooneseesyou]

Hi beautiful, I hope your day is going well😽

So I have some 18+ ateez questions/hard thoughts if you’ll indulge me.

I’ll start with mingi since he’s my bias lol.

Switch but sub leaning mg yes?

Soooo….. my question for you is, what do you think it’ll take to get dom mg? I personally don’t think jealousy, I think he’s too soft for that.😅

I see him getting whiny and feeling heavy hearted if let’s say, his partner was to flirt with others to get a rise out of him. Rather than getting possessive and that let me remind you who you belong to energy. I feel 50/50 about teasing I think teasing him may bring out his dom side but then again it could also bring out his needy subby side…

Of course you could just ask him straight out to take charge but that doesn’t exactly equate to being dominant… I don’t think when he doms he’ll be a hard dom at all, more of a soft dom is what I think. But how would you achieve that side of him because I definitely think he has a more assertive/dom side to him but again how? what will get him to show that side, and what do you think that side would be like.

Moving onto hwa, my bias wrecker.

100% care giver energy.

with that being said do you think he’d like being taken care of and prioritized the way he would do his partner. In a non s and s context.

In a more s context do you think he’d allow himself to just enjoy whatever his partner has in store for him without reciprocating at all?

I personally don’t think so, but I’d love to hear your thoughts on it. I personally think he’d get the most pleasure from pleasing his partner in any way more than anything.

Of course I don’t think he’d hate being taken care of, I just think he’d rather be the one taking care of his partner than the other way around in general..

(Only two members because I don’t want to overwhelm you with a super long ask..)

Oooh okay so I'm on the train and I have pushed this aside so I can finally give this ask the detail and validation it deserves because these make AMAZING points and insight!

Disclaimer: These are just my thoughts, don't take it too seriously.

Why is Mingi your bias? I love learning about why ppl bias certain members and their reasoning behind it.

In my mind, Mingi is a switch with a sub leaning and I honestly do feel him getting jealous and/or possessive would flip that switch into dom!mingi territory.

The thing about Mingi though is he's a smart man and he'll figure out probably whether you're flirting with others to get a rile out of him and pls the man is a Leo sun-

So I think the chances of him flirting with another girl out of spite is more likely because the man is needy but he can also be BRATTY too.

I honestly think he has more brat tendencies in him than Wooyoung but he just hides it better.

However- I will also say that another way for him to flip into dom!mingi is maybe after a fight where he knows you're upset OR if you're feeling insecure about an aspect of the relationship.

He's the ultimate care-giver/ pleasure switch so omg you don't think he loves you enough? What has he not been doing right??

And so I feel this would push him into a headspace of seeking control as a means to 'prove himself' by being dominant and worshipping you...but still in a needy, soft-hearted way.

'My baby feels good yeah? I know you do but I want to hear you say it, it makes me so hard when I hear you hear you say it'

Ooh okay so Hwa is definitely living with that care-giver complex but he definitely needs some reciprocation and I can attest to this because I'm like an Aries stellium like him.

He's an Aries Mars and what makes them harder than a brick is FEELING DESIRED!!! They need to know you want this as bad as they do!!

It's a big reason why he becomes a different person on stage because when he's performing and he can feel the audience consumed by his presence-

Oh honey it unlocks a desire in him that's almost primal.

It's why a lot of ppl are like 'why is Seonghwa still performing after his grandfather has passed?'

And it's because the adrenaline/testosterone/dopamine effect he has whilst performing is helping him grieve and process those feelings- us Aries work well under pressure for a reason.

So yes while I feel he still prefers to give rather than receive, he has to feel like your desire and needs are matching his in the moment.

So, I do feel in moments of vulnerability that he would let you take care of him and can just lay back and just receive- he would probably have to reciprocate like a day later or so.

But sex is an important love language for him so he'd use anything as an excuse to be intimate.

You could buy him a lego set he's been anxiously anticipating for and he would say thank you by wanting to rock your world-

He's an Aries Mars after all so he prefers quickies and short sessions to an endless round of love-making.

So in summary, Seonghwa is more of an attention-whore than most people expect.

'Did you see Mommy up on stage my precious, little star mmmh?? How wet did I make you??? Is your cunt all needy because of me?'

Feel free to send in more thoughts about the other members, it'll just take awhile for me to respond haha

[jonkentt]

a little Sambucky ~

Bucky starts collecting vinyls. Sam notices them accumulate in his apartment. How very typical of Bucky to buy records while refusing to invest in a mattress. Sam glances at the pile of blankets shoved under Bucky’s couch and regrets it.

“Even thinking about you sleeping on this floor every night makes my back hurt.”

“I sleep on the couch sometimes.”

“Yeah?” Sam claps a hand on Bucky’s shoulder with a laugh. “That’s great, maybe we’ll be able to get you in a bed before the next century.”

“It’s a lot less important than you make it seem.”

“If you slept in a bed you’d see my side.” Sam squeezes Bucky’s shoulder and leans into him. “You know I’m just looking out for you.”

“I know,” Bucky says softly and Sam can tell he’s smiling.

“What’re you doing?” Sam leans over Bucky’s shoulder to get a look at the kitchen counter which is littered in tea bags of every color. It looks like Bucky just dumped them all out of the jar he stuffs them in. Why he can’t keep the different flavors in their individual boxes, Sam has no idea.

“Makin’ tea. What kind do you want?”

“Umm you pick. Something fruity.” Bucky grins. “Make sure it goes well with—”

“Honey. I know.” Bucky reaches to open the cupboard above him and pull out a honey bear for assurance. Sam gives his shoulders another squeeze before wandering over to a stack of records that hadn’t been here last time Sam came over.

Sam picks through the records on the top, wrinkling his nose at Dire Straits and Journey. He sets those aside so he can get to the box underneath and leaf through them properly.

“Buy anything good lately?”

“You ask me that as if I would buy bad music.” Sam snorts. “But yeah I found a couple European records. I guess it’s called ‘downtempo’. Café music. It’s nice.”

Sam hums doubtfully. He hears the electric kettle start and continues to look through Bucky’s music, gently pulling out one at a time to look at the covers. He doesn’t recognize a lot of these, which Sam immediately equates to Bucky’s inferior taste. God, he hopes Bucky didn’t pick up any of the stuff Zemo played on his jet.

Bucky sidles over and rests his vibranium hand gently on Sam’s hip. With the other he flicks to the back of the crate and quickly pulls out an album in black with white geometric line art on it. Sam quirks an eyebrow just to be difficult.

“If this is some weird indie shit—”

“Just let one side play out, Sam. Then pick something else if you hate it, but you won’t cause it’s good.”

As Bucky slips the record from it’s sleeve, Sam plops onto his couch. He stretches his arms and leans back, closing his eyes. This has become sort of a routine for them: Sam coming over and Bucky playing his music. It helps Sam unwind, relax, finally exhale the intensity he feels he’s always holding inside. Bucky’s one of the few people Sam can truly be at ease with. They give each other a lot of shit but it comes from a place of truly embracing one another for who they are. It’s never in question that they have each other’s backs.

Sam settles more comfortably into the couch. Whatever tea Bucky’s steeping smells lovely. Definitely fruity. Sam only half pays attention as the record spins through the first track but so far it isn’t bad. As the next track starts all smooth keyboard and mellow vibes, Sam might even dare say it’s relaxing. He opens one eye when Bucky presses a steaming mug into his hand.

“Happy Tangerine,” Bucky says with a wink. “With honey.”

Sam smiles and hums his approval, closing his eyes again. The record is unexpected. Somehow the music is both upbeat and very chill. A pleasant ambiance that inexplicably reminds him of tall evergreens against a pink sky. Sam brings the tea to his lips to blow on it.

“What’d you say this was?”

“Downtempo. Downbeat? I had to get the record shipped in from the UK. It was a whole deal.”

A laugh tickles the back of Sam’s throat. “Nerd.”

“You hate it?”

“No…” Sam considers. “It’s almost okay.”

“Mm, told you.” Bucky’s voice is low and soft. Sam can feel the heat of Bucky’s breath on his lips and his heart skips. Their faces must be so close. They’d barely have to lean in at all to close the distance.

Slowly, Sam opens his eyes. He blinks. Bucky’s face isn’t there. Sam tilts his head to look around the room but he knows what he’ll find. Bucky is sitting against the opposite wall right beside his record player, mirroring Sam with his head tilted back and eyes closed. Sam blinks again and slowly, silently, exhales. He looks at Bucky for a moment longer. His upturned face illuminated by sunlight filtering in through the window and catching the dimples of his small smile.

Sam drops his head back again. One day he’ll have to do something about this. The whole imagining what Bucky’s lips would feel like on his. The whole mistaking the steam of his tea for Bucky’s breath as if it would be just as sweet. But for now he lets their old routine play out.

for @saryasy

on Ao3

[takaraphoenix]

Matilda (2022): Review

The following is a rant about the movie Matilda, because I couldn’t let it go and ended up reading up on the book plot and now I do have thoughts about the movie. They are not good thoughts, so if you think this is the best movie of the year, maybe... don’t click on “keep reading”.

Okay, so I caved and went to the wikipedia entry for the book Matilda is based on. I gave up on finding some French angle on it, but I still... I mean, this was turned into a movie, and then into a Broadway show, and then into a musical movie. For something to get that many adaptations, it just can not be that bad.

Turns out it isn’t. And virtually every dumb and bad thing about the movie isn’t in the book, apparently. I mean, aside from one, the telekinesis is still very much a thing in the book. But even the brief wikipedia summary did a better job of establishing it and making it sound... less ridiculous... than this two hour movie did.

In general, that brief wikipedia summary sold a much more coherent story than this movie did. So I’m feeling a bit relieved that most of the incoherent nonsense are add ons. I am, however, also absolutely baffled by what kind of decision making goes into creating that incoherent nonsense.

In the book, Ms. Honey’s dad is just a rich doctor? Not an “escapologist”. That whole circus bullshit wasn’t in the books. That was the worst part of the movie! And the movie made that shit up!! I’m!

Why would you do that. Because the story itself? On the first round it seemed fine enough. An abused little girl makes up a story about a couple that really wants children. But then that nonsense escalated so quickly and suddenly, it was no longer a little girl’s imagination, suddenly it was factually true within this universe?? And we never explain how or why Ms. Honey’s past just ~came to Matilda in visions~.

That was so incomprehensibly dumb and weird. Not to mention the effect it had on the overarching story. So you’re now telling me that the villain not only is an Olympic athlete, she also ran a circus and then... uh... quit the circus business to become headmistress at a school??

I truly do feel relieved that this bullshit wasn’t part of the book because it’d make me question why this was so successful in the first place to gain that many adaptations. But, truly, why would you make all of this nonsense up?

If the movie had, instead, spent that time on actually... establishing the things that are in the book? Like, I understand that you can’t really have a movie or musical about a real five year old. I understand aging Matilda up, even though that act alone made it more nonsensical already.

But the movie completely hand-waved Matilda’s genius level intellect? She just came off as a book-work. And suddenly, she does a giant math equation so she must be a genius... according to Ms. Honey. But that’s, uh, kind of it. The movie moves on from that entirely and it just feels like a... random, unimportant Mary Sue super power?

You know, when a little kid makes up their own OC and just piles unnecessary super powers on them. That’s what Matilda felt like, with her “oh btw she is a genius and also she now has telekinesis that we don’t really explain and also she somehow has visions from the past that we also don’t explain”, it was just adding on super special talents with no rhyme or reason.

Even the short wikipedia article on the book did a better job at making this stuff sound coherent. Establishing that she is a genius by mentioning more genius-level feats - things that could have really gone into a montage in the movie, I mean, seriously it’s not that hard to show how early she learned to walk or talk or read. And to maybe spend actual time on the aftermath that would have established that she is now using her genius level intellect for better things, so the... telekinesis goes away (it still sounds dumb but it’s at least an attempt at an explanation).

But the movie? She... doesn’t come off as particularly bright or clever? Aside from that one math equation she does. And, again, there could have been time, if we just canned the insanely dumb “this is the life of Ms. Honey’s parents, the escapologist and his wife who work in the circus and do absolutely unrealistic stunts” sub-plot?

Not gonna lie, I kept expecting the librarian and Ms. Honey to turn out to be wives and they take Matilda in together. But as things turned out, honestly...? The librarian sub-plot felt unnecessary and it might have even paid off far more had they spent that time on Matilda bonding with Ms. Honey, because... there absolutely was not a strong enough bond to make the “no wait I would like to keep your daughter” sound cute and not creepy. It just came off as rushed, because the majority of Matilda’s genuine moments were spent with the librarian, not with Ms. Honey.

The whole thing just came off like it was written down in one go and never edited, like they were rushed and forced to somehow put threads together so now the headmistress is also the circus owner, even though it makes no real sense, and uuuuh Matilda just knows this story even though that makes no sense. Even the ending! The way Ms. Honey just picked up the keys and jup, now she is headmistress and now the school has its own circus in the backyard.

Whereas the book apparently appointed a vice-principal to be the new head and there was... steady and reasonable change.

I really can’t describe the rushed, weird writing with the strange, unexplained twists as anything else than feeling like the story a young child would tell quickly, in excitement, unaware of the fact that there are plotholes and that things could use some more explaining. You know, the way the circus story was acceptable as long as it was just in Matilda’s imagination and became weird when it became a real part of the story. That’s how the entire movie felt.

The fact that it was a musical was a bit of a saving grace because I do cut musicals a lot more leeway on logic than other movies - they randomly burst into songs and these song and dance numbers can be used to handwave a lot of plot happening. But the movie’s biggest problems weren’t in song form, so they still stand.

Also, the special kind of choice that goes into making a story with a 95% cast of children a musical is... it’s a choice. I mean, honestly, the group numbers performed by the kids were actually the best parts of this entire movie. But in comparison, Matilda’s solos were some of the weakest parts. Because she is a child, with a child’s voice and a child’s singing ability - I do not expect a child to blow me away with a good vocal performance. Which is why it’s a choice to turn an all-kids story into a musical.

I’m not someone to compare adaptations to their source material. Mostly because I don’t like reading much so I don’t familiarize myself with the source-material. But in this case, the movie was just so incomprehensibly bad, I had to look up the book to see if the bad writing was taken from its pages. And I wonder why one wouldn’t adapt it more closely to the book, aka in a manner that... makes... more sense.

There’s nonsensical writing that can be charming. When it has a whimsical feeling to it and there are no real stakes lost. but this is... This wasn’t charming, it just felt like infantile writing by someone who has never quite had to put a coherent story together, where beginning, middle and end properly fit, so they just glued it together with weird plot-devices and surprise reveals.

And the frustrating thing about that, and the reason I’m writing this, is that truly, the wikipedia summary of the book manages to be more coherent than this movie. Which, if that is achievable, then it should be doable to adapt a two hour movie version of that that’s at least on the same level of coherent storytelling. But if you decide to be fanciful and add a lot of utterly unnecessary and weird elements to it that make the plot more questionable, instead of filling in blanks, then... that deserves to be brought up, I think.

I will give the movie one thing and that’s the abuse and neglect and how genuinely heartfelt those were conveyed. But... quite frankly, all the bullshit around it kind of diminished that, for me. A lot.

[icarusthelunarguard]

This Week’s Horrible-Scopes

It’s time for this week’s Horrible-Scopes! So for those of you that know your Astrological Signs, cool! If not, just pick one, roll a D12, or just make it up as you go along. It really doesn’t matter. Better yet! Check out “Heart of the Game, Fredonia” and see if they can sell you those D12’s with the symbols on them. Tell them “Shujin Tribble” sentcha. And “Hail, Hail, Fredonia!” Home of the Blue Devil!

These ‘Scopes are going out at the beginning of December, so it seems only right that everyone’s is based on a random regional dessert. So hold onto your taste buds and remember; Holiday Calories Don’t Count!

Aries 

Starting us off in Central America, we’re visiting Honduras for you! And what a time to do it! Your dessert is “Rosquillas”, aka Spanish Donuts! Pair that up with some deep, rich coffee with cocoa and you’re ready to spend the afternoon napping from how stuffed you’ll be. So This Week… Brush up on your Spanish and get ready to enjoy the warm weather.

Taurus 

Jumping over the water to Africa we’re landing you in Eswatini, formally known as Swaziland. English is still a popular language there, so you’ll be able to get around fairly well. So you’ll have to order Mafetsi. The closest known desserts would be “Donut Holes”, but they’re not as sweet as what you’d get in Dunkin’ or Timmies. This Week… Don’t call attention to yourself by asking for more sugar sprinkled on your order. Just say Thank You and go on your way.  

Gemini  

Not leaving Africa yet. We’re taking you slightly West into Botswana. They call it Malva Pudding, but really it’s more like cake on your fork as you eat it. There are a number of alcoholic and non-alcoholic drinks made there, including fermented maize and berries. But if you want something you’ll find close-to-home, grab a bottle of Ginger Beer. This Week… If you want a minty tea, why not try some… and the HELL is this?! I can’t pronounce this! “Kgomodimetsing”. Ask Google Translate to pronounce it for you when you order.

Cancer Moon-Child 

Hopping over the Equator and landing in Eastern Europe we’re settling you into Belarus. What do you get when you mix wheat, berries, honey or sugar, nuts, raisins, and poppy seeds on Christmas Eve? You get a prophetic dessert known as “Kutia”. And we say “Prophetic” because you’re supposed to throw some at the ceiling before eating… and the number of grains that stick to the ceiling are used to predict the next year's agricultural prosperity. So This Week… Remember to set out a small bowl of the stuff outside for Father Christmas, or he’ll send the Krampus for you soon enough.

Leo 

This one’s easy! Follow the setting sun and you’ll eventually make it to France for your desserts. You’ll want to have a cup of Demitasse Coffee ready to sip, because your dessert is all KINDS of sugar-filled. A digestible pyramid known as “croquembouche” (KROAK - ehm - boosh), it’s a bunch of tiny pastry puffs, welded into a confectionary caltrop with chocolate as the mortar. This Week… we know you didn’t pay attention in French class in high school. You just wanted to stare at the new young teacher. Well guess what? You need to remember all those lessons you’ve forgotten. How’s THAT for, “WhEn Am I eVeR gOiNg To NeEd To kNoW ThIs?!”

Virgo 

Skipping over the Mediterranean Sea and across the Registan Desert, we stop off in Afghanistan. “Khetayee” are traditional Afghan cookies usually made with a handful of simple ingredients: flour, powdered milk, baking powder, icing sugar, oil, and ground pistachios! They’re not specific to any time of year, but they’re simple to make and are delicious. So This Week… double-check with your doctor that you don’t have a nut allergy to pistachios. That would be a bad time to find out that you do. 

Libra 

Ping-Ponging back across Europe, we’re settling into Luxembourg for you! Two out of the three common languages might be familiar to you: German & French. But the main one, Luxembourgish, might trip you up. No worries, because your dessert, “Äppelklatzen”, consists of apples that are lightly cooked with cinnamon, nutmeg, and sugar, wrapped in pastry, then baked until golden-brown. It’s about as close as you can get to a Personal Apple Pie. This Week… Well you picked a great time for this since this is especially popular during the Christmas season. Learn how to speak some Luxembourgish and enjoy the nights!

Scorpio 

Not done with Southern Africa just yet. We’re sweeping down the continent into Zimbabwe. Lots of languages to choose from, including English… and the American Dollar is also the official currency there too! You’ll get to try out “Chikenduza”, Zimbabwe Candy Cake. It’s a thick, yeast-based cake topped with a bright pink icing, shaped not too different from a large cupcake or muffin. So This Week… Find your sunglasses and wear them when you sample this delicacy - because calling it “bright pink icing” is not an understatement. 

Sagittarius 

A lot of African hits it seems. Well, let’s head to the west side of the continent and have you visit Sierra Leone. With a view of the Atlantic Ocean and a wonderful warm temperature, how about digging into Ginger Cake. The story goes that this confectionery treat is so sweet and heavy that if a driver eats it they will fall into a sugar coma and crash the car. So This Week… have a slice or two, but make sure you have a designated driver for afterwards.

Capricorn 

Back to Central Asia you’re visiting Turkmenistan. The funny part about this is, you might already know one of the local sweets already and never knew it. “Nabat” are sucrose crystals of varying sizes which are grown on threads. Yeah, it’s basically Rock Candy on a String! And if you wanted to sweeten a drink like tea, you could just dunk it in and swish it around a bit. So This Week… relive your childhood and make some Rock Sugar Strings again.

Aquarius 

Once more into the Romance Languages, we’re dropping you off in Spain with something that’s about to make you want to visit immediately. “Churros con Chocolate” is exactly what it sounds like: Churros with melted chocolate. We’ll forgive you if you wanted to use warmed Hazelnut spread instead, since it’s a Close Enough replacement. This Week… try to remember that you don’t need to use the Name Brand Stuff in your food. Generic stuff is just as good and FAR less expensive.  

Pisces  

And finally we finish you off in Zambia! One of the best parts about this country is the variety of fruits! Mangoes, watermelons, apples, oranges, papaya and pineapples get turned into smoothie drinks like crazy. And though there aren’t many local confectioneries, ice cream is very popular - especially mango as mentioned before. So This Week… learn the difference between a waffle cone and a sugar cone before you spend too much and get it all dripping on your shirt.

And THOSE are your Horrible-Scopes for this week! Remember if you liked what you got, we’re obviously not working hard enough at these. BUT! If you want a better or nastier one for your own sign or someone else’s, all you need to do to bribe me is just Let Me Know! These will be posted online at the end of each week via Tumblr, Twitter, Facebook, Discord and BLUESKY.

[ahungeringknife]

January 16

The moon’s been up for hours, running at the same schedule as the sun leaving the world in a perfect eclipse. My Jeep’s been running on fumes since then too and now and then I have to stop and coax it a bit further with sweet promises I’ll fill its tank soon. The needle on E on the gas gauge calls me a liar. The Jeep keeps going and I hang my elbow out the window opening.

Things flash by the edges of my headlights on the side of the road. Their heads turn and watch me pass but I don’t stop for them. You don’t stop for hitchhikers this deep in nightmare country unless you’re something worse than might come into your door.

I’m not entirely sure I’m not.

The radio sputters now and then. Sometimes cracking to life and playing some modern pop song or some crackling phonograph thing. My favorite is when it plays something that could be the recording of a busy town corner. Makes me feel a bit more normal. Less like a weirdo out here on this never ending dirt road on the way to see… I barely dare to even think the name. Bad luck and I need all the luck I can get. Sometimes the radio plays the sound of the ocean and that’s usually my cue to take a nap in my Jeep, leave it running and lock all the doors, turn off the headlights. I make sure when I turn them back on I don’t look out the windshield. I don’t want to see what’s out there.

I crane my head out the window like I’m seeing a mirage at the brightly lit truck stop coming up on my right. Dixie Van Gas the neon sign of a snake broadly claims. The cost of gas is in sigils I can only barely understand. My Jeep weeps under me in relief like it knows.

I pull off next to one of the gas pumps and my Jeep sputters and dies right there. Well I’m at the station so. I hop out and try to read the sigils. They’re too archaic for me. I pat down my pockets and pull out my phone with half a charge of battery. There’s no signal here. I sigh. Fucking typical.

I go into the store attached to the gas pumps. An utterly benign older woman is behind the counter where she’s snapping a piece of gum and reading a book. She looks up when I approach but doesn’t seem disturbed by my presence. “There a divination circle in this place?” I asked as nicely as I can muster.

“Men’s room,” she said and looks away again back at her book. “Hope whatever you’re going to see can help you pay. You look out of your depth, honey.”

“I’m fine,” I said as much for myself as her. She doesn’t respond and I go into the men’s room. It smells of bleach and urine cakes but it’s the cleanest gas station bathroom I’ve ever been in and the tiles aren’t even yellowed. I might be the first person to actually ever come in here. Certainly not those things on the side of the road. On the mirror over the sinks is the divination circle etched into the glass.

I pull out my keys and the small knife key chain I keep slices open the side of my finger. I write the connecting circle under the one on the mirror in my blood and evoke the circle with an equation. The mirror ripples and distorts to show me the other side of the circle.

A dark shape appears in the mirror and then a face of my fiancée. “Babe? What’s with the call?” he asks with a furrowed brow. “Also what happened to your phone?”

“I’m stuck at a gas station,” I say and hold onto the sink with both hands.

“Which one?”

“Dixie Van.”

“There? You’re so close and you couldn’t make it?”

“I only drove half way across the netherworld what do you mean?” I scolded him. “I need to buy gas. My Jeep is out.”

“I told you to just take the train-

“And I wasn’t leaving my car at home.”

He rubbed his forehead. “Okay. Usually I love when you’re hard headed but this is going to give me a headache.”

“Just help me,” I sighed.

He left the mirror and came back a few moments later. “Do not drop this. Do not open it. Just give it to the cashier,” he said holding a rather large flask full of silver fluid.

“What is it?” I asked.

“A soul. Now don’t drop it.”

“I won’t drop it.”

He reached his hand out against the mirror and I reached out as the flask passed through the mirror. “Now go put gas in your car and get here. My family’s going to be arriving before you at this rate.”

“You’re the one who waited until they were threatening to marry you off to introduce me I don’t want any lip necromancer boy,” I tease him. He makes an annoyed noise at me where he knows I’m right but won’t say it aloud. “How close am I?”

“Few more hours.”

“Then I’ll see you soon. Love you.”

“Love you too,” and the mirror returns to being a mirror. I wipe the blood off the mirror and wash my hands. A different equation heals the cut on my hand.

I go back out to the counter and the cashier looks up from her book. I pick out some snacks, they have Cheetos in a flavor I’ve never heard of (Brie? Disgusting? Interesting? Bit of both) and Gatorade of color I can’t properly describe who’s flavor is simply ‘Dream Inducing!’. “This stuff and gas for,” I lean over to see what number pump my Jeep is at, “number one.”

She takes the flask, opens it, sniffs it, and stops it back up. “High quality. You want to get other stuff? You’re overpaying by a lot.”

I look around and find some other snacks and a bottle of wine made from the blood of an angel. My future mother-in-law is a real wino from what I understand. The cashier rings me up and then I go put gas in my Jeep. I put my treats and snacks into the passenger seat, check the rest of the Jeep for hitchhikers just in case, and head back onto the road.

Text: The truck stop appears like a beacon deep into nightmare country. “Divination circle?” I ask at the coffee counter.

“In the bathroom,” replies the cashier.

[kuroosdarling]

Each Time You Fall in Love

Cigarettes After Sex (2017) series m.list

suna x reader

word count: 900 words

cw: heartbreak, big feels, hurt/ambiguous comfort ending

a/n: working on a lil side project while im doing my series hehe i needed an angsty outlet so here we go >:)

It’s only been a week since Suna suddenly dropped your heart on the pavement, leaving it lying there in the cold. He made it look so effortless, like it was something he had done before and had no problem repeating history. The two of you weren’t even dating, and yet, here you are with a broken heart accompanied by a spiraling mind.

This always happens. Always getting lost in your thoughts, letting them consume you and rip you apart from the inside. It's as if you didn’t have any control over them, all you could do was ride out the wave and hope you’d wake up from this nightmare.

The optimistic side in you always whispers sweet nothings on how it won’t last, it’ll get a little easier everyday. Desperately trying to caress your fragile heart in hopes of kickstarting the healing process.

The other part doesn’t even know why it bothers. 

Two sides, one coin. On paper, it looks pretty cut and dry. The logic is there, you can see it so easily which only makes you feel worse. Do A + B and eventually you’ll get C. But it’s not that simple. It’s not as simple as executing the equation and calling it a day. Woohoo, problem solved. No. It’s never that easy. Just getting up is hard, so how were you supposed to move on and act like everything is normal. All you could do was fixate on the fact that he isn’t here anymore. You risked your friendship and lost. What happened, happened and now you have to deal with the fallout of it. Everyone else gets to go through their life seemingly happy and content while you are frozen, stuck in the perpetual agony that is your mind.

Jealousy always made a guest appearance during these episodes. It was hard to not let the green monster take over. How was it fair that he didn’t have to sit with this heavy feeling? How do others get through it so easily? What was this big secret that no one bothered to let you in on?

And with jealousy came guilt. It nawed at your soul, making you feel guilty for things that you don’t even have control over. Telling you endless lies about how it was your fault, how you shouldn’t have gotten so attached, how you should’ve known better.

The worst part of it all was how comfortable it felt. It had been awhile since your last heartache, but it was like riding a bike. Not something you could ever forget. Settling back into your old habits, isolating yourself so no one could judge you and your chipped soul. 

Not a day goes by where you don’t curse him. How had he managed to reel you in whilst keeping you at an arm's length? All the honey-coated words he poured out for you were nothing but lies, or something he was used to spoon-feeding girls. 

But at the end of the day, you couldn't help but miss him. Miss his soft touches, miss his stupid little giggle he’d let out when it was just the two of you, miss his inncesstant need to take photos of the two of you. Someone like him was rare, he just got you in ways that no one else had. You had hoped you were the same for him, but obviously, you weren’t.

All your bad days had ended up with him holding you securely, softly whispering so many encouraging words in your ears that it flooded your mind, causing everything else to be silenced, drowned out by his comforting lullabies. And now, it ended with you under the covers alone in your bed, letting out the tears you refused to let anyone else see.

The twins had been blowing up your phone since everything went down, but you couldn’t find the strength to answer them. How could you when you were the one that made it weird, that shifted the group dynamic. Eventually, it was easier to keep your phone on do not disturb and hope that they’d wait for you.

Suna couldn’t stand it any longer. He couldn’t go any longer without talking to his best friend. He had been stupid, yes, but it was his fear that drove him away from you. Letting his fear take control while he sat back and enjoyed cruising on autopilot. It was a time where he could squash down and bury his feelings while also embracing you at the end of the day. Committing to you would’ve been a disaster, could he even be enough for you? It would’ve been selfish to keep you, to hold you back.

But he couldn’t hide it from himself anymore, he loved you. He loved you so much that it consumed him. His mind was plagued by you, tormenting him with your sweet smile and your equally sweet, loving words. The fact that he was seconds away from having you all to himself was driving him into insanity. He threw it all away and for what? Because he was scared? He decided that it was better to take a chance at his happiness instead of mulling over all the swirling thoughts that swamped his brain.

So that’s how he found himself at your doorstep, ready to give you his bleeding heart and all the fears that came with it. 

taglist: @crystal-lilac @hyeque @kennedy-brooke 

[rcksmith]

Secret — Five Hargreeves

Requests: “For Five Hargreeves — can I get 97, 91 28 and 35 for a heavy smut? And 40 from fluff? If it isn’t too much trouble!”

“If it’s not too much trouble could I do 40,53 & 91 from the smut prompts for Five ty honey 💕”

Smut prompts:

28. “Such a needy little thing, aren’t you?”

35. “Try to keep quiet. We don’t want to get caught.”

40. “I guess I’ll just get off all by myself.”

53. “Well, since you want to cum so badly, why don’t we see how many times I can make you cum right now.

91. “guess i'll just have to cum in you then’

97. “You know, you always look so much better when I mark you up.”

Fluff prompts:

40. “Come cuddle.”

A/N: We not tolerate any pedophilia here !!

I write about Five with their 20s. I write the same about the characters of Harry Potter.

I hope you guys like💖I decided to compile these two requests, since they were the same central plot. I added all the elements that were asked for individually, and made sure that all ideas were respected and written down. Good reading.

Guys, I really understand who doesn’t feel comfortable reading or writing Five’s smut. But I always say that I only write with him (any genre: romance, fluff or angst) with the notion that Five is 20 years old here. All of my fanfics mention swearing or sex, even if it is a memory or something shallow, but as I am writing with Five as an adult, it is consistent that the fic has aspects of an adult life.//

English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake.

Requests are open. Love you ❤️

Couple: Five Hargreeves / Fem! Reader.

Warnings: explicit heavy smut, swearing, fluff too.

— — — — —

It was one of those warm nights, which carry a searing and heaving sensation in the back, which had a malicious tone in the air, which stirs your body to choose bad decisions, making your hands itch and your heart racing for something...intense. It was one of those hours that passed midnight, that breath was heavy with the expectation of something extraordinary, that skin prickled just with the images in mind.

And you were in that state. Heart pounding heavily, yearning for something, caustic breathing, the environment with an energy of lust. Well, at least you was like that.

Five did not share your line of reasoning, or, if he were not oblivious to the malicious moonlight that rose in the sky, he was pretending very well. Sipping a margarita at the bar in the Hargreeves mansion, with calculations in front of him taking all his attention. Normally, you loved that he focused on his own things. But now... you were seething with something that only Five could placate.

It was a few months ago that you went from just being friends with his siblings to someone he fucked hard at night. The sexual energy between the two of you was very strong, and it was very easy to make bad decisions when the bad decision in question was so fucking hot.

Five Hargreeves did things to you. You wouldn't know how to explain it with clear phrases, but his gaze made you shiver, his body made a very specific part in the middle of your legs vibrate, and his voice and that self-centered smile... God!

It was no accident that you surrendered. You would have surrendered to that battle a million times.

“Five.” You sighed softly, taking a sip from your own drink. “Can't you do this tomorrow?”

“No. I am close to solving this.”

You controlled yourself not to roll your eyes. You were never the most needy type, especially with people as reserved as Five, but, damn it, you were on fire. It was logical that you could go out and choose someone to placate that, but that would trigger many things between Five and you. He hated that you were with someone else, even though he himself didn't assuming out to you.

It are a delicate situation, you were friends with all the Hargreeves siblings, and it would be a racket if they knew that their brother was fucking one of theys best friends.

The warm evening breeze came in through the window and collided with the chill of the drink running down your throat, awakening even more lustful anxieties.

“Five..." You purred, got up from the armchair on the counter, still behind Five and slid your hands over his shoulders "Maybe...you might want to finish this later.” You whispered at the foot of his ear.

Even without seeing him, you could feel that he was letting go of one of his arrogant and malicious smiles. Five rotated the seat to be face to face with you, his legs spread wider to accommodate you between them.

“And what are you going to do to distract me?” That same defiant, boastful voice.

But the look he gave you made a shock of desire reverberate through your body. Five wanted to play? Okay, you were going to play a game whit him.

“Why did you…” you leaned forward gently, resting one hand on his hot thigh, leaving your cleavage exposed “don't try guess?”

You realized that he had swallowed hard, even though his posture had remained unwavering. Five looked down at you cleavage, waist, and slightly elevated butt. You approached him a few more inches, your mouth a breath away, the heat of the bodies being shared without even touching.

Five could drive you crazy and screaming, but you knew it could also drive him insanity.

When you leaned over a little more and your mouths were so close to meet, you changed the direction and reached out with your free hand to pick up Five's margarita behind him. You straightened up and away, with a mischievous smile on your lips that revealed that everything had gone as planned.

Five semi closed his eyes at you, a fiery glow going through his eyes.

“Do you want to play with me?”His voice was low, dangerous “You know what happens to you when you challenge me.”

It was a warning, clear and resonant. You were a good girl for Five because you knew the strength that he could fuck you. Fuck, he could break you if he want. But now you were sexually frustrated, aroused, with a racing heart and wheezing from the expectation of something.

A night of bad decisions.

“You don't want to get out of your equations.” You turned your voice into something innocent, soft, provocative, and the strong breath that Five drew was a small victory for you "I guess I'll just get off all by myself."

Your smile was malicious, causticante, but as soon as Five got up from that chair, the perfect posture, much taller than you, and was slowly towards you, like a predator with its prey, you knew you were screwed.

“Do you want to come this much?” His fingers passed gently over your warm neck, and you let out a breath with that stupid touch.

Five moved closer, your chest glued to his, the hot, citrusy breath of alcohol hitting your nose. Something wetted you panties, making you bite the inside of your cheeks to keep from sighing any louder.

“Would you use your little toy thinking about the times that I fucked you so hard that you couldn't walk the next day?”

That was too much for your already sensitive system. Those words went directly to the thread that connected your heart and its pulsating nucleus, causing a burning note to reverberate.

“Five...”the sigh came out, while the memories of Five using your vibrator to push you to the limit, while him fucking you brutally, prowled like a wild beast in your mind.

Five slid the fingers from your neck to your cleavage, brushing the tips of her fingers across the flesh of your breasts. Five stuffed his forefinger into your cleavage and pulled you to him.

You moaned softly, in a purr.

“Such a needy little thing, aren't you?" The whispered floated in your ear, while you put down the margarita at the bar and held your hands in his arms.

You bit your bottom lip, your panties soaked, your heart beating fast in your chest, the atmosphere more wild and fiery.

“You want this?” Five slowly lowered a strap from your blouse, each second speeding up your heart even more.

“Yes...” You sighed “I really want to, please.”

Then Five's touch got rougher and he held your chin firmly, lifting you face to look him in the eye.

“Beg.” It was an order, but your body was sending millions of feelings to you that you were lost for a second "beg!”

“P-please.” You looked at him pleadingly “Fuck me so badly, please.”

His grip got stronger.

“Once again.” Now the other hand slid roughly over your body, squeezing your waist, thigh, ass, anything that Five could mark as his property.

“Please, I'm begging you to eat me.” You really were, your body needed more, and there was no denying it.

So in the blink of an eye, the blue flash swallowed you both up and took you to his room. You were dizzy for a second, you were not used to his tricks. But Five used it as a bonus and stuck his lips to yours, stunning you with the strong taste of alcohol, desire and lust.

You moaned softly, your hands working to free him from his clothes, your lips corresponding to the battle. You managed to strip off his shirt layers and fade his pants, but Five didn't have the same patience as you. He didn't wait to undress you, he tore the thin fabric and opened your bra hungry, in a hurry, as if you were his last meal.

In a second his hot mouth was on your breast, sucking and nibbling at the needy skin aggressively, his fierce hands pulling you out of the other pieces of clothing. Five was not delicate, loving and caring, he conquered, took, owned, his goal was to devour you until his savagery was sated.

“Fi-Five!” You moaned loudly, your naked body now shaking with desire, your heart exploding in your chest.

You would have said something more if Five hadn't pushed you to the bed and made you fall into it. He pulled your legs apart, exposing you completely to him. His eyes burned with a dangerous and brutal fire, and Five slapped down the inside of your thigh. You screamed, arching your back, your hands closing on the sheet.

“Well, since you want to cum so badly…” Five climbed on top of you, his mouth proving the point where he had hit you “why don’t we see how many times I can make you cum right now.”

Suddenly, in the blink of an eye, his mouth was right in the middle of your pulsating core. Eating, sucking, tasting everything you willingly offered to him so much. You moaned, or screamed, your hands tightly squeezing the sheet, digging your nails into the fabric.

Five ate you at an undisturbed pace, as if you were the last meal in the desert, clasping his hands on your waist to keep you immobile, sinking his mouth deeper into you. His tongue opened its yours walls, circled her clitoris and sucked there, leaving a hot trail of spittle. You moaned loudly, your waist trying to fight the firm grip of his hands to roll in him mouth. You felt a thread about to burst inside you and your heart started to race in your chest.

“F-Five!” You screamed when he sucked your clitoris, and he could feel you pulsing in his mouth, signaling that you were close.

“Come for me, little slut.”

The vibration of his voice in your sensitive flesh was the trigger you needed, you came intensely, your legs wobbly, your breathing heavy, but Five didn't wait for you to finish coming before climbing on top of you, lowering his pants and underwear enough and brutally get inside you in a fraction of a second.

You groaned loudly, your hands clasping his bare shoulders, your walls hypersensitive to the end of the orgasm that was still breaking free. It was too much for you, your eyes stung with tears, your heart was racing a marathon in your chest, and your whole body was shaking.

Five doesn't give you a second to get used to it, or to get down from the sensation of your orgasms, he set a rough, hard, badly rhythm, entering inside you in penetrations that pushed your body upwards. You spread your legs wider and wrapped them around Five's waist, your chest glued to his chest, skin-to-skin contact being the extra to drive you crazy.

It was too much for you to take, too much for your hypersensitive body. Five silenced your broken moans with toxic kisses.

“Try to keep quiet. We don’t want to get caught.” His voice was hoarse, breathy, broken, Five drives his dick so deep inside you as possible with every word.

“I...I can't...”You whimpered in his mouth, clasping your hands in Five's hot flesh, sobbing at the strength he put in you, you needed more.

“So let's take care of it.”

Five released an aggressive and rough hickey on your neck, putting an arm around your waist, sticking every inch of their bodies together, and his free hand covered your mouth, drowning out yours screams. You thought it was going to placate his hard rhythm, but Five started pulling your waist down, against his dick, and sinking deeper inside you.

“You wanted me to fuck you, didn't you?” Five snarled, looking into yours watery eyes "Now take it, fuck!."

His dirty words only led you further towards the second abyss. Five fucked you so hard that you couldn't answer, let alone whit the heavy hand on your mouth. Yours hands sank into the skin on his back, yours legs pulling him hips towards you, desperate to placate what was about to burst.

Five could feel yours tight walls throbbing on his dick, signaling that you were going to come any second. He groaned loudly, clenching his teeth on the skin of your neck so as not to make a noise, thrusting his dick as deep as possible into you. He replaced the hand in your mouth with his own lips, swallowing yours moans and trying to keep the sounds of you both low.

“I ... I'm going to...” You cried with pleasure, pain, desire, his rhythm hurt but it gave you so much hunger and pleasure that you could feel the liquid of your arousal soaking his dick.

Five looked at you in a way full of lust and with a very desire to break you. Oh he wanted to destroy you.

He came out of you, making you let out a loud moan of frustration and tears streaming from yours eyes. You whimpered loudly, and Five switched positions and pulled you hard into his lap, giving you no time to straighten up before he pushed his dick into you and aggressively stuck both hands to your waist.

You bit your lip hard to keep from screaming, trembling hands resting on his chest as Five pulled you up and down brutally, thrusting his dick in as deep as possible in you. He did not contain an aggressive groan at the sight of yours breasts jumping on his face, body sweaty and marked by fingers and hickeys, the inside of yours thighs already red by the force that Five shocked the body in you.

“Pl ... please!”

You begged, your face smeared with mascara and tears, your lips red from raw kisses, your hair sweaty. You looked like a goddess and Five wanted even more to destroy you.

“Do you want to come?” His voice was breathless, hoarse, fierce.

You nodded frantically, looking at Five with beg, begging him to let you come. It seemed to have an overwhelming effect on him. Five slapped your ass down, raising his hand to your back and pulling you forward, making your chest lie on his while the rhythm reached new places.

You bit his shoulder to keep from screaming, tears streaming down your face.

“If you come in this position, I will not control myself.” He snarled at you.

“I do not mind!” You begged, moving your waist to match his rhythm.

“Guess i'll just have to cum in you then” Then Five kissed you, hard, bad, dropped a hand to your clitoris and applied the trigger you needed to collapse.

You sank your mouth into the skin of his neck to muffle your scream, and soon a hot, thick liquid was filling you to the brim, taking up every inch inside you. You whimpered loudly against Five, hims hips doing the final thrusts to make sure the cum was filling you, his warm hands loosening the aggressive grip.

You both breathed loudly, your legs were shaking, your hair was stuck to your face and it took you two minutes to lift your face and look at Five. He gave you an arrogant smile of ‘I said I was going to break you and I broke’ and you laughed softly.

“I don't think I can get up.” You laughed, and Five removed a lock of hair from your face. “Do you think they heard us?”

“They certainly heard you.” He scoffed.

“Coming from your room.” You snapped and Five laughed, hims chest still heaving and heaving, covered in a mist of sweat.

“Fuck them.” Five said, gently pulling your hips up, pulling the dick out of you, making you sigh a broken moan. “You are so sensitive!” He said between his teeth, as if he had never been satisfied with you.

You laughed, and shook your head, exposing your neck full of purple tick marks.

“You know…” Five took his index finger to the marks, delicately skirting them “you always look so much better when I mark you up.”

You pushed his shoulder slightly, rolling your eyes.

“Can we take a shower together?” Five nodded at you question. “ and…”

“And?”

“You know ...” yours cheeks became more flushed "Come cuddle."

Five laughed, his eyes tame now, an open smile and satisfied energy.

“We can.” he smiled and you gave him a passionate kiss on the lips.

[guqin-and-flute]

Episode 73: Koala Chlamydia Is A Problem [My Brothers, My Sister and Me Excerpt]

[MBMSAM AU] [First Installment] [Podfics!] [Ao3 Link]

[COVER ART BY THE FANTASTIC LITTLESMARTART]

Jin Zixuan: Do we want another question?

Qin Su: Sure, yeah, got one right here. 'When I was younger, I was really skinny and weak'--hey! Hey, now, negative body talk, much! That's super judgmental of yourself!

Mo Xuanyu: And of us people who are skinny and weak right now! [teasing] Right, Yao-gege?

Meng Yao: [calmly] I'm not affiliated with you.

[crosstalk] Mo Xuanyu: [cackles]

Qin Su: 'When I was a kid, I was really skinny and weak, so I made it my mission to get as jacked as possible so people would take me seriously. I put in a lot of hard work, changed my exercise routine and diet and it worked. But now, as an adult I'm a 6 foot 7 dude--'

Jin Zixuan: [incredulous] 6 foot 7 ?

Qin Su: Just a mountain of a man. '--6 foot 7 dude with serious muscle mass--'

[crosstalk] Jin Zixuan: [sotto voce] Good God .

Qin Su: '-- and a pretty intense resting face. I routinely make children cry just by existing and everyone shoots me nervous looks in the grocery store. It gets to me sometimes. I’m not a bad guy! I just look scary. What are some ways that I can make myself less intimidating?’

Mo Xuanyu: Huh.

Qin Su: I mean, let’s see...puppies are unintimidating. Can you devise a system where you carry a few around with you at all times? Maybe in some saddle bags, everywhere you go?

Mo Xuanyu: The movies, the gym, on dates… .

Jin Zixuan: Sure, until they start pissing down your legs. Then you’re not just unintimidating, you’re the guy no one wants to stand next to at the bus stop.

Meng Yao: I mean, it still does the job, doesn’t it?

Mo Xuanyu: You could get a butterfly tattoo, like, directly on your forehead.

Meng Yao: Okay, please explain to me your thought process on how exactly that would make anyone more approachable.

Qin Su: They still want to be able to navigate human society, A-Yu.

Mo Xuanyu: Ew, why? 

Jin Zixuan: Let’s see...what makes someone approachable….Who is the least intimidating of all of us?

Qin Su: [immediately] You.

Meng Yao: [affirming] Mm.

[crosstalk] Jin Zixuan: [incredulous] What?

[crosstalk] Mo Xuanyu: Oh yeah, you’re like...you’re like a poodle. Or a--

Jin Zixuan: [highly offended] Excuse me! I'm the oldest and definitely the tallest one here!

[crosstalk] Meng Yao: [ill concealed snort]

[crosstalk] Qin Su: [pityingly] Oh, da- ge .

[crosstalk] Mo Xuanyu: Or a golden retriever.

Qin Su: Please don't tell me you think that being tall translates into you actually being scary. You’re tallest by, like, 3 inches. At most, that’s just part of the equation of being scary.

Meng Yao: And the rest of Zixuan’s equation is just filled with collared polo shirts. Which absolutely tanks the intimidation ratio.

Mo Xuanyu: That doesn't tank yours, though.

Meng Yao: I wear button downs. It’s not the same. [Vaguely disgusted undertone] Collared polos.

Jin Zixuan: Excuse you, polos are weekend wear and there is nothing wrong-- I can be intimidating!

Qin Su: [doubtfully] Ehhhhh…

[crosstalk] Mo Xuanyu: [badly stifled snickers]

[crosstalk]Jin Zixuan: I can! Just because I’ve never had to intimidate you --

Qin Su: Let's just say; citation needed

Mo Xuanyu: Please, jiejie has you beat.

Jin Zixuan: [indignant] Wha--

[crosstalk] Qin Su: He's right, gege; an unopened jar of mayonnaise has you beat. And I'm no unopened jar of mayonnaise. 

Mo Xuanyu: That shit is opened .

Meng Yao: That’s a Tinder profile quote.

Qin Su: What? 'Spicier than mayo?'

Mo Xuanyu: [half singing, half chanting] ‘My mayo brings all the boys to the yard, and they’re like-- [normal voice] this is really underwhelming.’

Meng Yao: [musing] ‘Saltier than soy sauce, spicier than mayo….’

Qin Su: Why do we always come back to food? Are our Skype calls haunted by starving Victorian ghost children? Are we possessed?

Mo Xuanyu: [mournful, high pitched, bad British accent] ‘My name is Bartholemew and I’m starving. Please, spare some mayo.’

Meng Yao: It’s your own fault if none of you bother to eat before we record. You all had the schedule.

Mo Xuanyu: [crunches loudly near mic]

Meng Yao: [falsely happy] Hey, thanks! Thank you so much, A-Yu, love the level spike on that one. Editing mouth noises out of our podcast makes my day brighter.

Jin Zixuan: [under his breath] Just...unbelievable….You all….

Qin Su: [smiling] I think we broke him.

Meng Yao: [laughing] Zixuan is limping behind the conversation indignantly, brandishing his cane….

Mo Xuanyu: [sympathetically] Awww.

Jin Zixuan: I--! I am a high powered businessman! I am trained in martial arts and archery and swordsmanship --

Mo Xuanyu: [mouth full] Oh please, gege, you’re a pod caster.

Jin Zixuan: [forcefully] I am a CEO--

[crosstalk] Qin Su: [ignoring him] I think Yao-gege is somehow the most and least intimidating out of all of us at the same time, if we're all being completely honest with ourselves and our place in the world.

Mo Xuanyu: Aww, I thought I was at least a contender!

Qin Su: Honey, you're feral. There's a difference.

Mo Xuanyu: What does a kid have to do around here to be intimidating?

Meng Yao: Learn how to chew with your mouth closed, for one.

Jin Zixuan: [indignantly] A-Yao? Are you not going to deny this?

[Brief silence]

Meng Yao: [calmly] I don't think I'm scary.

Qin Su & Mo Xuanyu: [instant uproarious laughter]

Jin Zixuan: Oh, come on! He's like...a little koala bear or something! How is that scary!

Meng Yao: [offended] Excuse me--

[crosstalk] Mo Xuanyu: [still laughing] I’m gonna pee --

Meng Yao: -- koalas have smooth brains and eat poisonous leaves all day. Are you calling me a poisonous idiot bear?

Qin Su: [wheezes] Only in private.

Mo Xuanyu: [laughter trailing off] Wait, wait, hold on. Don’t all koalas have chlamydia or something?

Qin Su: [renewed laughter]

[crosstalk] Meng Yao: [startled laugh] What?

Mo Xuanyu: Chlamydia! I think that I read--!

[crosstalk] Jin Zixuan: Oh my god, I think I’ve actually heard that. The plague, the bubonic plague, isn’t it? Or that--Some sort of--that disease people used to get where bits of you fall off?

Qin Su: Beheadings?

Meng Yao: [voice strangled from laughter] Yes, A-Su, that ancient disease the French Revolution that all koalas have--

[crosstalk] Jin Zixuan: [snickering]

Mo Xuanyu: [loud and close to mic] LEPROSY .

[crosstalk] Qin Su: Ow--

[crosstalk] Jin Zixuan: Holy shit--

Mo Xuanyu: It’s leprosy and you’re thinking of armadillos, da-ge. 

Jin Zixuan: [muttering] Aren’t we all….

Qin Su: [solemnly]  Armadillos and guillotines. Every damn minute of every damn day.

Mo Xuanyu: And I googled it, I’m right; koala chlamydia is a problem.

Meng Yao: And we’ve just found the title of this episode.

Qin Su: If most koalas have chlamydia, I feel like they have other problems they have to deal with.

Mo Xuanyu: Those pesky, promiscuous koalas!

Qin Su: Get them some damn sex ed! Use those eucalyptus leaves for protection!

Meng Yao: [pleasantly] That’s just about the worst thing I’ve heard all day.

Mo Xuanyu: Eugh, that menthol, though. Like Vicks for your dicks!

Meng Yao: I hate it.

[crosstalk]Jin Zixuan: [pained] PSA: don’t do that. Ever.

Qin Su: The voice of experience?

Jin Zixuan: I don’t think you actually want an answer to that, meimei.

Meng Yao: You people make me hate learning and also knowing things.

Mo Xuanyu: Also I've been looking it up and mountain lions are the ones that can have the bubonic plague.

Meng Yao: Choose your fighter; chlamydia ridden koala, leprosy ridden armadillo, or mountain lion with the Black Death.

Qin Su: Well, at least the mountain lion could inflict some damage. Use it like a poison delivery system, like an anthrax letter to secretly infect people.

Meng Yao: [patient teacher tone] ‘A mountain lion is to an anthrax letter, like a koala is to a…?’

Qin Su: [mock frustration] Oh, man, I know this one….

Mo Xuanyu: 'I can't come into school today, I got attacked by a mountain lion.'

Qin Su: [acting concerned] 'Oh my God, are you okay? Are you gonna have scars?'

Mo Xuanyu: 'Worse. The Plague .'

Jin Zixuan:  Okay, glad we got our animal infections all sorted out--back to what we were talking about. So, riddle me this--

[crosstalk] Mo Xuanyu: [delighted, Riddlemancer voice] Rrrriddle Me Piss, kids--!

[crosstalk] Meng Yao & Qin Su: NO!

[crosstalk] Jin Zixuan: Oh my god --

Mo Xuanyu: [laughing] I don't actually have anything today--

[crosstalk] Meng Yao: A blessing .

Mo Xuanyu: --but I'll get you next time.

Jin Zixuan: No, I need to know, genuinely, this is not a bit-- why do you think A-Yao scarier than me?

Qin Su: I mean, what's not scary about a smooth brained bear full of toxins and chlamydia?

Meng Yao: [disgruntled] Uh huh.

Mo Xuanyu: Technically, they’re not bears, they're marsupials! And I think Yao-gege is more of an armadillo--hard on the outside--

[slight crosstalk] Qin Su: --And full of leprosy on the inside. 

Meng Yao: [further from mic, keyboard tapping] 'And to Mo Xuanyu...and Qin Su...I leave... absolutely nothing, except...this bag of dog shit and...spiders…..'

[crosstalk] Mo Xuanyu: [laughing]

[crosstalk] Qin Su: Awww, A-Yu, we're being written out of his will again!

Jin Zixuan: Listeners, am I wrong? Am I crazy? He’s the size of a toddler--

[slight crosstalk] Meng Yao: [still away from mic, keyboard tapping] ‘And to Jin Zixuan...I leave--’

Jin Zixuan: He looks like a sugar glider baby that got turned into a human man--

[slight crosstalk] Meng Yao: ‘This box...of useless...tetanus filled screws….’

Qin Su: Da-ge--

[crosstalk] Meng Yao: ‘--that i...encourage him to use…--’

[crosstalk] Mo Xuanyu: [snickering]

Meng Yao: ‘As acupuncture needles.’ There. Sent to the notary. Now, what were we talking about, again?

Qin Su: Da-ge, all those things might be true--

[crosstalk] Meng Yao: [flatly] Wow.

Qin Su: But here’s a test. What would you do to someone picking on A-Yu in school?

Jin Zixuan: [immediate, sounding businesslike and slightly aggressive] I would contact their parents and set up a meeting with the school officials and make it very clear that they are never to do that again.

Qin Su: [grinning] Okay. Yao-gege, what would you do to someone picking on A-Yu in school?

Meng Yao: [calmly] Absolutely nothing you could prove in a court of law.

Mo Xuanyu: [bursts out laughing]

[crosstalk] Qin Su: I mean--

[crosstalk] Jin Zixuan: Uhhhh--

Qin Su: You see? Also-- [quick sing-song voice] 🎵 This is a joke, for legal reasons, this is a joke 🎵 [normal voice] He’s got that--that--

[crosstalk] Mo Xuanyu: [lingering laughter] Yeah, it's that menace. Da-ge, you’re like--you’re like if a duckling--okay, you remember when I brought you to Hot Topic? You were like a duckling at a Death Metal concert.

Jin Zixuan: [defensively] The music was so loud--

[crosstalk] Meng Yao: [pityingly] Oh, Zixuan.

Qin Su: You're like if a golf course got turned into a human. 

Meng Yao You're what would happen if you gave mac and cheese a social security card and keys to a lamborghini.

Jin Zixuan: [unamused] Okay.

Mo Xuanyu: [laughing] You're the lightly salted almonds of people. 

Qin Su: You're like a wholesome Hallmark movie fucked the concept of the suburbs.

Jin Zixuan: [unamused] Sure. Sure.

Meng Yao: You emanate the peril of a box of lethargic kittens.

Jin Zixuan: Wow. My own family. This is coming from the physical manifestation of a My Chemical Romance song--

[crosstalk] Mo Xuanyu: [smug] You say that like it’s a bad thing.

Jin Zixuan: -- and the woman who cries at the Land Before Time every time she watches it. I think this is a case of glass houses, here. Let ye who are intimidating... 

Qin Su: Oh, so we’re not roasting Yao-gege back?

Meng Yao: Not sure how me being compared to a STD riddled marsupial for about 5 minutes straight escaped your notice, A-Su, but alright. 

Jin Zixuan: I feel that you are all being...heinously short sighted, here. Are you seriously trying to tell me that A-Yu is scarier than me, a full grown man?

Meng Yao: I would certainly be more warranted in my concern about him stabbing me than I would about you.

Mo Xuanyu: Oh my God, gege, that was like 5 years ago and I already said I was sorry--

[crosstalk] Jin Zixuan: [loudly] What--

[crosstalk] Qin Su: Did we actually help this person? I mean--

Mo Xuanyu: We always help, jiejie.

[crosstalk] Jin Zixuan: Hold on--

Qin Su: We learned a lot about exactly how disturbing the animal kingdom is, but….

[crosstalk] Jin Zixuan: No, go back--

[slight crosstalk] Meng Yao: Dress like a middle aged accountant, share minion memes on Facebook, and buy your son a puppy so you have an excuse to talk to the dog and not people. There you go. Done.

Jin Zixuan: No, rewind--Xuanyu, you stabbed our brother? 

[brief silence]

Qin Su: [brightly] Well, that's going to do it for us today, folks--!

Jin Zixuan: A-Yu!

[crosstalk] Mo Xuanyu: It was only a little!

Jin Zixuan: How can you stab someone a little ?! 

[crosstalk] Qin Su: Thank you so much for listening in this week--

Jin Zixuan: With what ? Why?!

Mo Xuanyu: It honestly wasn’t that bad, he made it sound like--

[crosstalk] Jin Zixuan: That's not an answer --

[crosstalk] Meng Yao: [begins laughing]

Jin Zixuan: A-Yao--!

[crosstalk] Meng Yao: [still laughing]

Qin Su: [brightly]  We hope you enjoyed our enlightening romp, here! We want to thank Sister Sledge for the use of the song We Are Family. A-Yu, how about that last Yahoo?

[crosstalk] Meng Yao: [farther from mic, clearly grinning] Ohhh, boy. 

Mo Xuanyu: Okay, okay--anonymous Yahoo Answers user asks….[exaggerated, desperate voice] ‘I can’t afford a freezer. Where do I put my deer meat?’

[Outro music begins quietly]

Qin Su: [laughs] I’m Qin Su.

Jin Zixuan: [sighs, disgruntled] I’m Jin Zixuan.

Meng Yao: [grinning] I’m Meng Yao.

Mo Xuanyu: [sheepish] I’m Mo Xuanyu.

Qin Su: And this has been My Brothers, My Sister, And Me! Thank you to everyone, see you next week and remember; send your trash dad straight to jail!

[readinginthereadyroom]

it’s the queen’s gambit job (lev 4x10) and they are sitting around a table in mcrory’s eating takeout. running down the con.

and nate’s last minute addition of salt to parker’s equipment wasn’t plan b. no, it was plan m.

which is the plan hardison usually dies in. that is if he hasn’t already died in plans c, f, or m thru q. which hardison is VERY concerned about. after all that’s like 27% of the time. it’s a little too close to home.

eliot and parker don’t die in any plans, tho eliot could be permanently disfigured and blinded in one.

nate DOES NOT ANSWER for sophie.

so they are bickering and being found family (and seriously hoping this is just nate messing with them) and parker proposes a toast. to a glass eye.

and I am gonna headcanon that this becomes a kinda inside code. maybe not plan m, but bad. tho the level of bad is never discussed. after all it’s just a joke. right?

so it’s years later and parker’s the mastermind. she regularly assures hardison that there is no plan m. it’s not even in her alphabet. eliot teases her that her plans span different languages. hardison mutters about binary code and quadratic equations. there’s no m in cuniform, right?

and most the time their cons go off without a hitch. parker’s good like that. the best. her plans are like ballets spun between rotating laser beams. both planned to the smallest movement and completely on the fly. set to violin symphanies, country ballads, and christmas carols.

but sometimes the cons go wrong. eliot gets injured. hardison can’t hack the code. she gets trapped inside a building. and sometimes the cons go wrong bad. sometimes it gets bloody.

that’s when they say it. the first time was eliot. he’d been fighting with the mark’s security goons when the gunshot had rung out over the comms. followed by a grunt of pain and the sound of a body hitting the floor. then a terrible silence. parker hates that she knows what it means.

she flips around in the air duct. barely manages to keep her voice low. the cons over. I’m coming to you eliot. the only sound on the comms is the clack of hardison’s lightspeed typing. a buzzing static. do you hear me eliot? I’m coming to get you.

eliot? hardison’s voice sounds so small. that’s when parker remembers that they’d hacked the cctv footage. hardison had seen the whole thing. I-- he-- hardison stutters before rushing out he’s been shot. it’s bad. you got to get to him parker and you got to get to him. now. 

eliot’s gruff drawl interrupts them. I think this might be a glass eye scenario, sweethearts.

hardison’s typing never falters, but his breath hitches over the comms and his voice is strangled—like he swallowed his soda wrong—when he tells eliot to shut up, I am trying to save your ass. you already look mean enough without any damn glass eye.

it’s classic hardison. talking right over all his internal fears. trying to manifest his words into being. eliot’s huff of laughter tho. it’s strained but it’s also the most beautiful thing she’s ever heard.  

parker’s still in the air vent. she’s moving as fast as she can without rattling the ducts. she whispers into her comms. you should have hardison make it bionic. put a laser in it. and after dealing with a tricky corner dip, also it should be green.

more pained laughter, followed by a groan. my eyes are blue, parker. then hardison’s, guess we’ll just have to save you then. keep you from going all 6 million dollar-terminator-borg on us. keep your baby blues blue. parker smiles. she knows her boys. knew they always focus better when they are bickering.

and in the end it’s okay. parker gets to eliot with the first aid kit and patches him up. hardison hijacks them an elevator and they get out safely. eliot’s glass eye is evaded.

the next time it’s hardison. he’s snatched from lucille 5—right out from under their noses. they can hear his squawk of surprise over the comms. the shuffle of bodies and the distinct sounds of fists hitting flesh.

eliot growls deep and menacingly. parker can hear him instantly switch gears—from grifting the mark to protecting the team. his heavy footfalls are followed by offended protestations as he knocks people out of his way. the con is blown but parker doesn’t care.

because there’s snow fizzing in one ear and a polite automated error message in the other telling her all she needs to know. hardison’s gone. taken.

it’s an excruciating 28 hrs later when a text message from an unknown number chimes thru on parker’s backup burner phone. it’s only two words: glass eye.

parker sidles right up to eliot. bumps their shoulders together and shows him the message. it’s hardison. we can track his location if we move quick.

good. eliot’s voice drops from it’s usual honeyed whiskey to bloody gravel. it always does when he’s in hitter mode. tell me where he is. I swear if they’ve hurt him I’ll rip their lungs out. parker nods, hardison’s spare laptop already open on her lap. I’ll help.

hardison’s in bad shape when they find him. but not as bad as his captors once eliot’s thru with them. they’re on the highway speeding toward a hospital when hardison finally opens his eyes. parker can see him smile up at eliot in the rearview mirror before he glances up at her.

it’s my peoples. knew you’d come get me. eliot uses a corner of his bandana to wipe the blood away from hardison’s face. course we did, alec. can’t have you getting any glass eyes. wouldn’t suit you. eliot leans down and stage whispers in his ear, his voice warm and smooth again, you’re not nearly badass enough.

hardison sputters in outrage and parker lets out the breath she didn’t know she was holding. drops the hard line of her shoulders. lets up on the gas. if her boys are bickering then she knows everything is going to be okay.

hardison will be okay. they will be okay. no glass eyes today.

and eventually it’s parker’s turn. it’s not even a proper job—she’s scaling an elevator shaft for recon when a support gives way. and it’s silly. she’s fallen 3 floors and her leg is definitely broken. and she can hear eliot’s voice in her ear saying it was a very distinctive crunch but all she can think is that this is her glass eye.

she must’ve said that out loud because hardison is babbling on about scars and lasers and talking about numbers. seven and nine what? she vaguely thinks it might be some sort of new concussion protocol tho she can’t quite focus enough to make it make sense.

something warm and wet is pooling under her cheek, blocking her vision. oh and that’s it, isn’t it? hardison’s still muttering under his breath and eliot is grunting her name over the comms. c’mon parker you gotta talk to me! I’m coming to get you dammit but you gotta talk. to. me.

can I have a snowglobe in my glass eye? hardison sputters before stuttering—woman I swear you will be the death of me. and she thinks he sounds a little bit relieved. but it doesn’t stop his voice from warbling when he asks, you okay mama?

parker lifts her face out of the tacky puddle it’s in, starts to nod and then immediately throws up. she can’t focus. eliot’s don’t move parker, you have a concussion is followed by a sympathy gag from hardison.

her head is throbbing and her leg feels like it’s on fire. but she can hear her boys breathing over the comms. can hear them cajole her to talk more. they’re coming to get her.

but they’re not bickering. and that feels wrong. that feels wrong bad.

and then there’s a metal scraping sound as the elevator doors above her are pried open. light floods the shaft and parker blinks into it. I can see you she whispers. and she can. they are silhouetted in a rectangle of light above her.

and then they are setting up ropes and climbing down toward her. just like she taught them. and it’s kinda beautiful. even if it’s plan m and a glass eye. I think I broke the pretzels.

when she wakes up it’s two weeks later and she’s hooked up to a hospital bed. her left leg is in a cast and her arms are covered in bruises and rope burn. there’s a bandage blocking half her vision.

but then she sees eliot. he’s asleep in a chair next to the bed, his hand wrapped gently around hers and his head resting on hardison’s shoulder. he looks exhausted. his hair is frizzy and he hasn’t shaved. hardison doesn’t look much better. his mouth is open and he’s half snoring. his clothes are dark and rumpled.

she smiles. she’s always enjoyed catching her boys like this—soft and quiet and together. it’s the next best thing to hearing them bicker.

that’s when she sees it. a sparkle of light, almost like a diamond, on the medical cart between them. nestled in a padded velvet box is a glass eye.

[girlindelusionn]

finally finished himym!! hated the finale (of course) so here's another "most likely to" but much longer to help me cope (negate, why lie to you) with how the most awesome couple ended

(also this probably has a million mistakes but im too lazy to do something about it, having to write in english is hard man, so please ignore it:D)

most likely to: swarkles version :)

Who spends almost all their money on the other?

barney, definitely. he's not exactly the best at actually coming up with gifts so sometimes for birthdays or stuff like that he just takes her to the mall and lets her pick whatever she wants (he also makes fun of her the whole time, but i don't think it's necessary to clarify that)

Which one drives the car and which one gives them directions?

barney doesn't know how to drive and is generally better with technology, so robin drives and he gives directions and prevents her fights with the gps to get really violent

also robin is a REALLY violent driver, she doesn't go really fast but if anyone has the audacity to get in her way shes going to definitely roast the fuck out of them

"oh i know you're not honking at me… LISTEN HERE YOU LITTLE SHIT, IM GOING TO MAKE THE TURN WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT ME TO DO? YOU WANT ME TO FLY OVER YOU? GET YOUR HEAD OUT OF YOUR ASS AND LET ME GET IN THE FUCKING L– there you go, thanks!..."

Which one gives the other a piggyback ride when they're tired?

barney to robin, one of the "corny couple" million things he swore he wasn't going to do. but then robin simply looks at him with a sad face, explaining how much her feet hurt and he can't say no

Who is the most affectionate?

barney, actually

it's surprising, cause he's always been someone who likes his space but there's times, mostly in private, when he just can't keep his hands to himself. and you would think it's purely sexual but no, in the contrary, most times it's just a hand in her hair or her back, or demanding hugs and cuddles

Who falls asleep in the other's lap and who carries them to bed?

trick question! barney is who carries robin to bed, but she falls asleep in his shoulder

and he is the one who falls asleep in robin's lap, with her running her hands through his hair

Who wakes up first?

neither of them is a morning person, but usually robin works out in mornings so her. on weekends they stay in bed as long as they can

Who apologizes first after an argument?

they're both stubborn as hell so they schedule apologizes and take turns on doing it

Who is the nerd?

both of them, in different aspects. like robin likes math to the point of doing problems and equations for fun ??? and well, barney is a huge star wars, lord of the rings, that kinda books, nerd

i like to think that they have harry potter in common, they've read all the books, make marathons with the movies, they even went to the universal park! and had a lot of fun there (of course they've never told the guys that)

Who makes the other one laugh the most?

barney, he knows robin cant be mad and laughing at the same time and he uses it as an advantage

Who sleep talks?

robin 🥺

Who hogs the blankets at night?

also robin, but barney doesn't care

Who is the neat freak?

neither of them, but they manage to keep the place decent

Who likes to surprise the other with random gifts?

barney! single flowers, tiny chocolates, etc

Who buys the healthy food in the house?

robin, but it's mostly barney who does the actual cooking

Who has better music taste?

robin 😎

Who takes care of the spiders?

they do it together as a team, and if that doesn't work (aka if the spider is slightly bigger than average) they just go whining to marshall and he fixes it

Who uses more nicknames?

barney is mostly sweetie but after the wedding robin is kinda obsessed with the word husband

"so how's the most handsome husband, huh?"

"did you buyed the milk I texted you for, husband?"

"hi, husband!!"

robin is babe or sometimes honey, and after the wedding barney keeps calling her his "ex-girlfriend" (don't tell anyone, but he also LOVES the term wife, he can't comprehend how is he so lucky to have her as his wife)

(update after actually finishing the show: r-train and b-nasty!!!)

Who's the little spoon?

first year of dating? robin

after that is barney, you can't change my mind

Who suggests scary movies for film night?

robin!! but they both like them

Who gets jealous more often?

both, barney is less dissimulated about it

Who brings up kids first?

no of them, lol

Who borrows who's clothes more?

robin, she has stole the few hoodies he had and sometimes for sexy times likes using his ties

barney secretly uses some of her giganteus t shirts (he makes fun of her for buying them but he's actually glad she does) for sleep when she's away for the night

...they smell like her, okay? leave him alone

(also he loves when she uses his underwear and sometimes the only way to convince her to do it is doing the same himself, so he has wore panties)

(don't tell ted)

(please)

Who cries more during sad movies?

barney, is hard for robin to cry for movies, also he loves villains and they hardly have a happy ending so...

Who falls asleep on the other more?

robin, she falls asleep very easily

Who says I love you more?

barney :)

Who initiates kisses more?

also blondie, again he's a little obsessed with his wife

Who initiates hugs more?

robin this time

Who takes more pictures of the other?

robin, for sure. at first it was cause she wanted that bad picture of him, but then his husband is really cute with his sleepy eyes and the sun on his face, or looks so excited to watch the next episode of some lame show, or he's bringing her breakfast at bed with a big smile or looks a little too good with his new suit and she can't help but take her phone out and snap a pic of him

Who leaves notes for the other one around the house?

barney, at first it was to annoy her, like writing "you lost the game!!" at random places (i'm sorry lmao, i just realized i made you lose too, lol) or "sorry, babe! i ate it all last night" at the empty wrappers of candy in the fridge

but then one day barney found one in a coffee mug:

"wow, you didn't put much imagination in hiding this one, didn't you?" he said, his girlfriend was in the bedroom finishing to get ready for work.

"read it!!" she shot back, a little… nervous?

"i love you", the note said.

"scherbatsky?"

"yeah...?"

"come here"

"what's up?" she finally showed up to the living room, looking all tiny and scared

"love you too, loser"

Who gets drunk faster?

barney? i don't know, they both handle scotch pretty well, so i'm guessing it takes a while for them to get drunk

Who gets hit on more by strangers?

robin, but she couldn't care less

Who makes food for the house more often?

barney, he's a surprisingly good cook

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Persephone’s Symphony | Day One | Hades

Hey lovelies— here is the next part! I wanted to pause here and add a little note: the word tiny is thrown around here. I don’t want this to hinder anyone of you to not read this because you think the word doesn’t apply to you. I want to make a couple things clear. 1) All shapes and sizes are beautiful and I, myself, am a wonderfully plump lady. 2) I don’t use the word as a physical description in a way meant to limit a ‘reader insert’ type of fiction— I use it because Bucky Barnes is a super soldier and anyone would be small to him. Thus I hope you can enjoy it the same way I can— because sometimes we all just need to feel like a super soldier could rip us in half. Stay safe my lovelies and please do enjoy!

Synopsis: In which he is the bad one— the dangerous one, the clunky one, the one who only knows how to break things— and she is the good one— the fragile one, the soft one, the one who knows how to put things back together— and he has to keep her alive long enough for anyone else— anyone who can do more than kill— to save her like she deserves to be saved— to save her from him. There are no pomegranates, no three headed dogs, and no requirement to stay— that is, if they don’t count an assassin on the loose out for her neck. In that case, three days in a safe house doesn’t feel like a long time— just long enough for Persephone and Hades to remember why opposites attract.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader (third person)

Warnings: some angsty moments but overall no warnings

Word count: 4.1k

Previous | Next

Master List

She’s tiny. That’s the only thing he can think for the first couple hours. She is so damn tiny and fragile and soft and he doesn’t know how to be around a human that tiny and fragile and soft. Maybe it’s worse because he has to keep this tiny human alive. He hasn’t had to do that before— all the other tiny people in his life have been perfectly capable of keeping themselves alive. Even Steve all those years ago, when he only came up to his shoulder—barely— would have fought tooth and nail to stay alive. Even then it always felt like Bucky was just there in case. Maybe that was just Steve though.

He blinks— he doesn’t want to think about the man right now. He can’t afford to get lost in his head. Gods only know if he starts thinking about those days— the ‘good’ old days— he won’t stop. Maybe not for days. Maybe because they’ll remind him that he’s not supposed to be here— that he isn’t made to keep tiny, gentle, grilled cheese cooking, question asking things alive. Usually he’s the one hindering people from being alive— hindering life itself. Usually it doesn’t bug him this much but he can’t help but equate the girl in the Caltech hoodie with life—

“Is what they say about New York pizza true?”

— And himself with death.

“S’alright— Chicago is better.”

He watches as she flips through a book that she had picked up off the coffee table a few minutes ago. The Big Book of Dogs. Is he supposed to laugh at that? She is— giggling and flipping through pages upon pages of puppies. It isn’t aimed at him, her musical, soft sounds. She isn’t laughing at him. It only feels like she is. He’s learned to separate the difference these days— it’s just in his head. Still, he has to turn away from her, using the guise— his job— of being a bodyguard to keep his gaze moving.

From the corner of his eye he watches as she lowers the book, peaking over at him from behind a peppy looking Alaskan Malamute— yes, he knows his dogs. He is one, after all.

“You know, I think there are quite a few people who disagree with you on that one.”

Bucky pretends to ignore the way she quirks a brow at him, her eyes drifting back to the page. He also ignores the way his heart spikes at the little movement. Snap out of it, Barnes. He stands, stalking to the living room window and pulling back the heavy green curtain. Nobody is out there— he didn’t expect there would be someone, he just needed to move. How many more hours?

“Thought you were asking me.” He quips, staring out towards the bayou where the water has turned grey and choppy.

He watches as the rain pours down the window pane, tap tap tapping in front of his nose as the sunlight surrenders to the misty storm clouds. As much as he hates to admit it, Wilson was right— the rainy season’s rolling in on the dot. Even he is starting to feel the effects, his bones beginning to leaden.

As if on cue, she yawns, setting down The Big Book of Dogs and curling her legs into her chest, hiding them beneath the mountain of fabric she wears. “I was gauging. Consider it a test.”

Bucky huffs— not sure if he’s annoyed because of her questioning or because of how, despite the tension still laced through his shoulder blades like sailors knots, he isn’t that bothered by it. Annoyed because he isn’t annoyed— that’s a first. He lets the curtain drop again and turns to the TV where Netflix lays open but unused, blocking out one mind numbing haze for another. What would they even watch together?

“Oh yeah? Did I pass?”

Maybe some cheesy sit-com. That feels harmless enough and he’s been catching up on a few of them. Some of them even make him laugh. Maybe that’s in poor taste though. He’s never had to deal with someone else’s grief before— he rarely deals with his own as is.

“Maybe it would be better to just not ask that.”

He doesn’t think before he says it— he doesn’t have time to, it slips out before he can grab it and shove it back in his stupid, sentimental mouth. “You sound like Steve.”

Fuck. Her head pokes up, her doe eyes somehow managing to meet his gaze despite how hard he tries to force his neck to turn in the other direction. How does one person look so soft? He can see the question in her eyes, the way they spark with intrigue. He watches in slow motion as her lips— not glossy like they had been in the picture but still just as pink— peel apart.

“Who’s Steve?” Her voice is too sweet— too sincere. Like she actually doesn’t know. Then again, maybe she doesn’t— they never really used his name.

Bucky can’t answer. It’s too early and Steve is too long of a story. One hundred years worth of story, to be precise. How is he supposed to fit all of that into one answer? He can’t. He can’t answer but he can’t not answer either— not when she’s looking at him like she wants to know every little thing about him.

Bucky can’t answer so he doesn’t answer. “You ask a lot of questions, don’t you?”

She sinks back against the leather cushions, pulling her hands into her sweater. He almost curses when she curls her knees closer to her body. He can’t really see them from under her hoodie but he can see the movement— the way she wraps her arms around her legs so that she looks like a tiny blob of fabric and a head. His chest squeezes at the sight of her pulling away from him. Can he ever say anything right?

He told Wilson— he told him that he wouldn’t be a good fit for the job. What, a man like him? Man, dog, wolf, asshole. What’s the difference? He was right, that’s all that matters. It’s been all of five hours and he’s already making her uncomfortable all because he can’t—

“You’re the one who brought it up.” She grumbles, her soft— less sweet— voice pulling him from his unintentional staring contest with her forehead. His neck flushes with heat. Shit.

Bucky sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I know it’s just— it’s a long story, doll.”

Again, it just slips out. Instead of wanting to push the word back into his lips this time, though, he wants to punch himself in the mouth. Doll? Really? He watches as her eyes blow wide, his stomach sinking when her pink lips peel apart again, her jaw going slack but none of her honeyed words coming out this time. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Immediately he begins running through apologies in his head. Of course none of them are actually worth their weight— not in gold or anything else. Not even in the energy it would take to say them. What’s he supposed to say? Sorry the last time I spoke to a woman was eighty years ago. That would be even more explaining. Damnit, Bucky!

He tries not to groan out loud, clenching his jaw, still staring into her eyes. Look away, you idiot! He can’t. He’s about to say something— or maybe he’s about to literally throw himself out the window, he isn’t exactly sure which is going to play out just yet— but before he can do either the delicate girl in the Caltech sweater speaks first.

“I— erm—” she squirms in her seat but her eyes stay latched on him the entire time— maybe she’s a fighter after all— “we have time?”

For a moment he just stares at her, lost in the way her nose scrunches, her lips pressing together like she’s the one who said something out of line. Like she, too, is contemplating punching herself in the face. That’s when he caves. It’s to save her from a broken nose. He repeats it like a mantra. He isn’t giving in because he’s weak, he’s giving in because it’s his job to make sure she’s safe— even from herself.

He takes a step forward, only now realizing he’s been standing in the middle of the room the entire time. Has he always been this fucking awkward? Nodding his chin towards the floor, the space in front of where she’s perched, he shoots her a look he can only hope resonates as something along the lines of ‘can I sit?’. She nods and he lowers himself to the ground in front of her, leaning against the side of the couch as gently as the super soldier can muster. Despite his efforts he still lands with a thud, the couch shifting backwards a couple inches. It’s not terrible— she only slightly flinches this time and he only kind of wants to bury himself alive.

“Not that much time—” he watches as her face drops, the way her her cheek twitches like she's sinking her teeth into it, and he hurries the rest of his sentence— “but if you ask—” he tries for a smile that feels more like the right side of his face seizing than anything— “then I’ll answer.”

He waits for a beat, his gaze locked on her hands which she pulls from her sleeves only to twist together again. He has to stop himself from looking down at his own hands— from thinking again about how fragile and delicate she is. He doesn’t have to look to know that both of her hands could fit in one of his. Especially his special hand. She hasn’t asked about it. A few times he’s caught her peeking at it, no doubt a million questions swirling behind those wide eyes of hers, but those are questions she has kept to herself. He wouldn’t blame her if she did ask, though— or if she was terrified.

“Alright,” his eyes flick back to her face, meeting her determined stare and avoiding the way his chest lightens, “deal.”

He nods.

“But—”

Oh no.

“You have to ask me things too. It’s only fair— that way we both know things about each other.”

It’s only fair. He doesn’t know what to say. Again. It seems that every time he feels like he’s beginning to figure her out he gets shoved on his ass. Literally— he is quite literally on his ass right now. All because of what? A little girl? A little girl with small hands and a stare worse than his?

A little girl who thinks he of all people deserves fair. He knew life was cruel but this is worse— this is evil.

“Ask away.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Wait, wait, wait— you can’t be serious!”

Her giggles sound more like music than laughter to him. Usually he hates music— the newer stuff at least, maybe Wilson was right; maybe he is an old man— but this is bearable. This is mesmerizing.

He glances up at her from over his shoulder, fighting the same smile that’s been threatening his lips for the better part of two hours now. He isn’t sure why exactly he does it. Maybe because he knows it would be nothing compared to hers. Maybe it’s because it doesn’t deserve to be compared to hers. He isn’t a religious man but it feels blasphemous to even suggest he could exist with a margin of the sanctity she exudes. He’s committed many sins— that he can say with certainty— but to propose that he is the same as her would be the worst one of all.

Of course, that doesn’t stop him from soaking up every pious laugh into his wicked skull— he isn’t a perfect man, after all.

“Deadly serious. Steve was pissed at me for weeks. How was I supposed to know she had a husband?” He is rewarded with more giggles, ones that set his chest on fire.

Is that what happens when demons spend too much time around angels— they start to burn?

She pulls the blanket she acquired around an hour ago over her face, muffling her laughter much to his dismay. “You could have asked her!”

Bucky lifts a shoulder before letting it flop back down again. “You’re right.”

This is how it has gone since he proposed she ask him questions. She asks him her question— usually something light and easy— favourite color, favorite food, what was the last thing he bought. That one threw him for a loop but he answered anyway— Chinese food. She had giggled at that. You don’t seem like a Chinese food kind of guy. She’s not wrong. That is usually what she does after the questions, though— giggles. Giggles and teases him. Tortures him. Same thing. He doesn’t even think she knows what she’s doing.

Then, of course, he asks her questions of his own. They’re pretty much the same— favorite animal, middle name, what Passadena is like. Warm and busy. That was her answer— he’s never been to SoCal so who’s to say whether or not she was telling the truth. He really doesn’t care. He was more paying attention to the timbre of her voice— the way she makes normal words sound important. He didn’t know he could be so enthralled listening to someone talk about a cat named mittens.

For the first hour or so it was questions like that. The easy, no commitment kind. He wouldn’t have minded if they had stayed like that but, as he kept answering, she had grown more and more confident. Honestly, he didn’t mind that either. It was interesting to watch as she became comfortable around him. Well, more comfortable than before— more comfortable than he would have thought she could be around a guy like him. Her knees eventually pushed out of that hoodie and she relaxed into the couch. It was strange— completely and utterly strange.

By the second hour she had braved the first of many hard questions. It wasn’t what he thought it would be— still nothing about his arm— it was nothing close to that, actually.

It was about his mother.

Maybe it wasn’t supposed to be a hard question but it was, unexpectedly so. His mother. He hasn’t thought about his mother in years. Longer. Decades. He wasn’t expecting to feel so guilty about it but there he was, feeling like his throat was being crushed, while describing to the tiny, lovely girl— who has just lost her own mother— his mother’s lily of the valley perfume. He assumed that’s why she asked— because she misses her mother. He doesn’t blame her. He just never thought that he would miss his mother, too, today.

The rest weren’t as bad as that one. They still made his jaw ache, sure, but not like that. The ones about Steve were the only ones remotely comparable. How did you meet him? What was he like? What’s your favourite story with him in it? That was the last question— the one that made her giggle herself into a half hanging, half sprawling position over the arm of the couch— the position she is currently in right now.

He doctored the answers a little bit— he figured now isn’t the right time to tell her he’s pushing a hundred and ten— but he kept the good parts. Like how Steve and he had run through the streets of Brooklyn that night— Steve without a shirt and him in nothing but a pair of boxers that he is pretty sure to this day had belonged to her husband— being chased by the New York police. Good times.

“What, erm, what was her name?” Her voice is extra gentle— airy.

She’s nervous or maybe out of breath. He can’t quite tell, she’s too flopped over to get a proper look. She’s breathtaking either way.

All of a sudden it’s extra hard to fight back his smile. “I thought it was my turn to ask a question.”

Sitting up, she pools back into her seat. She scrunches her nose at him but doesn’t object. He can see that she wants to, though. Her eyes hide nothing. Then again he’s been trained to read people— to see the minute tick of her jaw and the invisible pulsing of her pupils. Invisible to anyone but him. Invisible to anyone who isn’t a monster— the big, bad wolf. His borderline smile dies quickly and he can’t bring himself to search for it again. This is how it should be.

Bucky clears his throat, mulling over what to ask her next. His eyes drift over the tan hoodie, the frays on the cuffs and the fact that there are no strings, and, like that, he has an idea.

“What’s the deal with that hoodie?” He tries to make it casual but he really does want to know— it’s like four sizes too big, there has to be a story.

He tries to make it casual but she still sobers. Like her hands receding once more into the cuffs of her sweater, the last remnants of the giggly girl fade from his line of sight. He chases it as far as he can, watching as her fingers disappear completely and lingering just in case it’s only a fluke. But no, they don’t come back, and he wishes he could disappear with them.

“It was—” her tongue pokes out, swiping against her pink lip and making it shine— “it was my dad’s. He, uh, he went to Caltech too. Was part of their alumni.”

The super soldier nods, pulling his legs up as well, hoping that by copying her she’ll see it as a signal to keep going. He doesn’t want to speak over her and accidentally derail her thoughts. He wants to know about her dad— her whole family actually. Whatever is important to her, like the hoodie.

“We used to go to these big alumni dinners and he would talk at them. Families like us were invited I guess— like a thank you of sorts.” Her eyes take on a faraway look, still latched on his but glassy and distant, no longer actually seeing him. It’s a look he understands too well. “One time he pulled me on stage with him. I think maybe I was thirteen? He said—” she stops, swallowing so hard her throat bobs, and he has to shove his hand under his leg to keep from reaching out— “ah, I’m sorry. He said ‘this girl right here— this is my daughter! If you think I’m good at what I do then you should see her. She’s something I tell you— Gonna be the best this school has ever seen!’”

His chest tightens— not necessarily from her story but from the way her voice cracks, her soft tone becoming scratchy. She swallows again and he hates it. He hates that he can see tears ready to fall and he hates that she’s even here with him under these circumstances.

He hates that he’s still grateful to be here anyway, being the person who she tells her story to.

“Was he right?” He knows it isn’t his question but he has to say something— anything— to make this better. He has no idea if this is it but it’s worth a shot.

Her brows push together, her head tilting slightly to the side, much too elegantly to be normal— are all women this pretty or is it just her? She blinks, clearing some of the mist, eyes drawing over his face. She traces across his brows, down his nose, stopping on his lips for a pulse— like tracing out the rhythm to a song only she can discern. Everything she does is like music. It must just be her.

“What?” She doesn’t say it rudely; she says it like she didn’t hear him— like she was too far lost in the wonderland of her memory to hear anything— and his chest tightens even further.

“You said your father told everyone you were going to be the best— were you?”

He doesn’t take his eyes off of her, slowing his words and waiting for the recognition to creep in. It takes a moment but it does, the last of the glass evaporating into something else.

“I, uhm, I don’t know—”

“You do.” He presses— he can hear the edge of that something in her tone. The downplay is scribed over her feature— lowered eyes, flat mouth, trembling fingers— she wants to say something.

“What do you even know?”

About anything going on in my head— yeah, that’s not familiar at all.

Bucky doesn’t flinch when she hisses the words at him— partly because, despite the clear ice in her words, he doubts they came out as hard as she was hoping they would. Her voice isn’t made to sound wretched. He knows she could tell him the filthiest things— tear him down to the last peg, spit his name out like a curse— and she would still sound like an angel. That makes her dangerous— or at least it would if she didn’t already have tears welling up in those big eyes of hers again.

He flicks a brow, letting one corner of his mouth tick up, telling himself that it’s only for her peace of mind— to let her know that he isn’t angry at her. That he gets it. That sometimes he feels so fucking confused and hurt and scared that he, too, wants to hiss at people because at least then they leave him alone. Yeah, it’s only for her peace of mind.

“Try slamming the ‘you’ harder next time—” he draws the word out, exaggerating the motion while keeping his features a mixture of schooled and relaxed— “usually works out better.”

Her hands— which have been tangling over the collar of her hoodie— drop into her lap with a thunk, her eyes rolling. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome— but you never answered.”

She shoots him a deadpan stare— well, sort of. She never actually stopped looking at him so her face just morphes from vexed to blank. So far it’s his least favourite expression— he would rather she just got angry. He’d rather see fire— or ice— than nothing.

“I thought it was my turn?” Doesn’t she know that the more she avoids the question, the more he wants to know the answer?

Bucky doesn’t let up— he will if she actually tells him to drop it but she hasn’t and he doubts she will— she’s too determined to win. “Consider it payment for your extra questions.”

He holds her gaze still, waiting for the moment she folds. It takes longer than he expects it would, sitting in silence with her eyes on him for almost three minutes. He almost breaks around two and a half minutes. The girl has a way of looking at him like she can see right into his head. Still, he holds, waiting, waiting, waiting until finally— there it is!

Light a light shining in the darkness, her mouth pulls into a merciful smile— well, if mercy means the coy glint in her eye, that is. “I was the best.”

The super soldier nods, finally letting his gaze drop. He doesn’t say anything— he doesn’t have to. His point has already been made. He never wanted to be right. He just wanted her to say it. Not for him but for herself. He doesn’t let himself mull over what that says about him. Nothing good. That’s the only answer. It says nothing good about him, the lengths he’s already willing to go to keep this soft, icy girl safe. Him, a monster. It only tells him that he’s selfish— but he already knew that. Those are thoughts for another time.

“Your turn.” He reminds her, leaning back against the arm of the couch, all but aware of the foot of space between his head and her hand which is scratching over the leather behind him.

There is no pause this time— no beat, moment, or minute. Just like that she’s back, moving on to the next topic, almost as though she has had the question queued for ages now, dying to know the answer. He supposes it’s only fair— she let him ask his questions.

“What was her name?”

Her voice lacks the airy note it had held the last time she asked, clearly over waiting, and he has to turn to the window to hide the way he finally cracks, his lips sloping up in a grin that’s both too alien and too familiar. It tastes too much like the old days— like peach schnapps and movie theatre popcorn. She’s not ready for that. He knows because he isn’t.

“Delores.”

_______________

Tag List: @xhollycowx @remembered-license @dumble-daddy @hellotvshowtrash @thesummerbucky (if i missed anyone I am so sorry please shoot me a message and I’ll fix it)

[starshine583]

New Girl on the Block (12)

(Are you guys getting tagged for these??? I’ve been putting all of the names on here, but it doesn’t look right.. anyway, sorry if the tag doesn’t work. I tried!!! Anyone else who wants to get tagged or asked but isn’t getting tagged, please contact me and let me know!!!)

Ch. 1 / Ch. 11 / Ch. 13 (ao3) (Journal Entries- a mini series connected to this fic)

Chapter 12: Quiet Conflictions of the Heart

Felix tapped his pencil against his textbook, staring blankly at the words that he wasn’t reading. The minutes ticked by on the grandfather clock that sat across the room next to the stairs, informing him of exactly how much time he was wasting by sitting there, and moonlight poured through the wide windows in front of him, signifying the beginnings of the evening. The fact that he started this assignment during the day and still had hardly anything done should have been frustrating, but Felix’s mind was too far lost in other thoughts for him to care.

As soon as Rosemary found out about his direct involvement with the akuma,  they sent him, along with Marinette and the others, home for the day with light homework assignments and instructions to “take it easy”. The procedure was meant to help them regain composure and process the traumatizing events, but it only gave Felix more time to think. 

And think. 

And overthink. About him hitting the ground with Marinette, about her pulling them behind the fence only to run right out again, about her shocked and panicked expression upon being picked up by the akuma. 

About her flailing body falling from the sky.

Felix set his pencil down and rubbed the bridge of his nose with a sigh. That scream still rang in his mind even hours later, sharp and blood-curdling, like a constant echo of a bad dream. He couldn’t help wondering what might have happened had Chat Noir not arrived on time, how she might have felt hitting the pavement, or if she would have survived at all. The very thought left him gripping his textbook and forcing a deep breath to relax. It hadn’t happened, after all. She was fine. Everything was fine..

And yet, no matter how many times he tried to push the gruesome images out of his mind, they continued to worm their way back in, fueled by how tame Allegra, Claude, and Allan’s reactions had been towards Marinette’s incredible risk of self. The girl almost died multiple times over the course of a single hour, and the only thing those idiots did was hug her and tell her that her actions were justified. Who cares if they were justified! Justification does not equate to rationality, and doing something for a good cause doesn’t always mean that it’s the right- or wise! -thing to do. 

Normally, he could brush it off and ignore it. The experience had been daunting, of course, but he could accept it knowing that Marinette had learned her lesson, realized how stupid her decision was, and vowed not to do it again. The problem came with the little fact that Marinette hadn’t learned her lesson. Oh, she’d apologized and admitted that her actions weren’t properly thought through, but it was clear that she didn’t intend on waiting for the heroes any time soon. He couldn’t quite explain how he knew- maybe it was how calm she looked when she returned, as though everything had been in her control the entire time, or how she only smiled when he asked her not to do it again instead of fervently agreeing to his request -but he knew. Her entire demeanor gave way to her belief that her sacrifice had been both necessary and acceptable, and it disturbed him to think of how far she might be willing to go under that belief. What if she challenged another akuma that wasn’t nearly as polite or rational?  What if she was alone next time this happened and didn’t have Allegra or Claude or himself to help her when things inevitably got out of hand? Why was she so willing to throw away her own life without a second thought?

“Felix?”

Felix flinched, his eyes snapping upwards. His mother stood next to the couch with a frown, which was odd. He hadn’t heard any footsteps approaching. How long had she been standing there?

Bridgette shot him a concerned look as she sat down next to him. “Are you alright, sweetheart? You’ve been on that same page for half an hour now.”

It’s been longer than that. He thought to himself, plucking up his pencil and closing his textbook. There was no point in leaving it open if he wasn’t going to read it. 

“It’s nothing.” He muttered. “History homework just tends to be monotonous after a while.”

Bridgette narrowed her eyes at him, though her tone remained gentle as she said, “Oh, come now. You don’t expect me to believe that. We both know that you would sit and read every history book available if you had the time. What’s wrong?”

A small, bittersweet smile tugged at the corner of his lips. She could always read him well. Too well at times. 

“Is it about the akuma attack?”

Felix felt himself stiffen, and he silently chided himself for it. That would be all she needed from him to know the answer. 

It’s not that he wanted to hide his distress from her. He was simply unsure of whether he wanted to talk about it or not. The threat was over now, meaning all of this worrying was somewhat unreasonable, and Felix didn’t want to express irrational thoughts to his mother only for them to fade away by morning. It would just make this a bigger problem than it probably was.

Then again, watching your classmate casually wave off their jumping headfirst into an akuma and almost dying was a decently sized problem.

Bridgette lightly touched his shoulder. “Felix, honey, if it’s bothering you, then you need to talk about it. You can’t let things like this weigh on your mind unattended. It doesn’t have to be with me, but communicate with someone, please.”

The amount of earnestness in her voice caused him to avert his gaze, and he began tapping his finger on the arm of the couch. Her wording could almost be considered amusing, as he had no one else to talk to aside from her and Father. Allegra, Claude, and Allan clearly didn’t care as much about the subject as he did- not to mention, he’d rather spend his days putting up ad posters for Adrien Agreste than confide in them about anything personal -and Marinette was the cause of the problem. Besides hovering around those four, Felix was a common shut-in who proudly (and happily) hid himself away in the penthouse with his books and, on pleasant occasions, Mother’s tea.

Nevertheless, he knew that Bridgette was right. He needed to get these tangled ponderings off of his chest, but to do that, he’d have to unravel them first. Where should he start? The attack seemed as though it had happened within five minutes, yet it also seemed to drag on for hours. Time is a shaky illusion when your entire body is buzzing with adrenaline.

“I just don’t understand,” He said slowly, beginning with the thoughts at the forefront of his mind, “how they can all act like nothing happened. Marinette risked her life for no reason, and they all want to treat it as though it’s an everyday occurrence.”

“Who risked their life?”

Felix and Bridgette turned towards the stairs, where Felix’s father was now standing. The man’s eyebrows knitted together as he continued his descent, similar to how Bridgette’s expression had been a moment earlier, and in a few, long strides, he was standing in front of them. 

“Oh, Francis.” Bridgette greeted with a smile. “I thought you were still working.”

“I was,” Francis replied, leaning down to give her a light peck on the lips, “but I came down to get a drink. What’s all this about someone risking their life?”

“Apparently, Marinette did during the akuma attack today.”

A disapproving hum came from him as he settled on the couch next to Bridgette. “Isn’t that the girl from school that he’s always talking about?”

Felix bristled. “I don’t always talk about her.”

A soft chuckle fell from his mother’s lips. “You do talk about her more often than anyone else, though.”

“Can we get back to the point?”

“Of course.” Francis said, lazily wrapping an arm around his wife. She leaned back against him naturally. “Start from the beginning. How did you get caught up in this akuma business in the first place?” 

Felix sighed, letting his irritation quiet down before thinking back on the attack. Where were they when it happened again?

“I believe we were exiting the café.” He said. “Claude was telling some story as we walked to our cars, so we didn’t notice the akuma flying towards us until she was landing in this gust of wind that knocked us over.”

A ghost pain trailed up his back at the memory of skidding across the pavement. He didn’t get a chance to see it during the battle, but the prickling sting of the injury told him that his shoulders and back had been scraped up immensely, especially during the second blast. If the miraculous cure hadn’t healed him, he probably wouldn’t hadn’t been able to sit up straight now. 

“As you can imagine, we were all terrified, since we’d never seen anything like this in person before, but Marinette wasn’t. She grabbed all of us and helped us hide behind a fence within the first few seconds of falling. It was like she hadn’t been phased by it at all.”

“Perhaps she’s simply more level-headed during a crisis.” His father suggested.

“I’d assume so,” Felix replied, “but it’s strange considering she’s usually someone who would jump at their own shadow.”

“True, but people with anxiety can still flourish in a stressful environment.” Bridgette remarked.

Felix tilted his head in a nod. He supposed that was true.

“The akuma said she wasn’t going to hurt anyone, only the buildings to get the heroes’ attention.” He continued. “But Marinette didn’t like the thought of that, saying the people in the buildings might get hurt or killed. So she decided to counter the claim by running out to the akuma to lure them away.”

“That’s very noble of her.” Francis commented.

Felix tisked. How many times has he heard that now? 

“Noble and stupid. She was a powerless bystander running straight into danger. Am I the only one who sees a problem with that?”

“Sometimes you have to try to do what’s right even though you might not be able to succeed,” Bridgette said softly, “but I can understand why you would be distraught about her actions. You didn’t want to see her get hurt, and that’s not a bad thing. It proves you care.”

Felix’s gaze flicked to the ground. Admitting his recent attachment to Marinette hadn’t sounded irksome before. She was a kind and compassionate person who hadn’t failed yet in giving him a sense of satisfaction after each of their conversations. Anyone with half a brain would gravitate towards her presence. After everything that’s happened today, however, a part of him was starting to resent that sentiment. Why did he have to care for the one person who would openly throw themselves to the wolves without prompting?

“What happened next?” His mother prompted, tugging him from his thoughts.

Felix drew in a breath and continued again. “She told the akuma that she could lead them to the bigger, corporate buildings, since that was apparently what they wanted. I didn’t understand it at the time, because wouldn’t that bring more death? But looking back on it now, it was probably a ploy to stall time. I doubt she actually intended on leading the akuma anywhere.”

It was quick thinking, considering they’d all gotten attacked seconds earlier, but it hadn’t been quick enough to account for the consequences. 

“The akuma accepted the offer and used more wind to carry Marinette into the air with them.” Felix paused, Allegra’s horrified cry resurfacing in his mind. “It was.. nerve wracking. We didn’t know what was going to happen or what the akuma was going to do to her later on.”

Bridgette reached forward and rubbed his upper arm, giving her silent support, and Felix leaned into her touch as thanks.

“I ran after them. I’m not really sure how, but I did.” He said, gazing absently towards the windows again. His reflection stared back at him, along with the glittering stars and illuminated city behind it. How many alleyways did he run through? Five? Seven? He knew he couldn’t see the cafe by the time he stopped, nor could he hear Allegra and the others calling. 

“I followed them for a few blocks,” He resumed, deeming the exact number of alleyways unimportant. It was what came next that shook him to his core. “I thought I had lost them at one point, but then I caught a glimpse of Marinette in the air again. She looked like she was talking with the akuma again, but I couldn’t hear what was being said. Then..”

Felix briefly closed his eyes, once again trying to push the image of Marinette’s flailing body out of his mind. 

It didn’t work.

“..Then she fell.” His voice was quieter than he expected, but he kept going anyway. “I’m not sure what happened. All I saw was this silver pole that came out of nowhere and hit the akuma, and suddenly, Marinette was falling from the sky and screaming.”

And screaming and screaming and screaming and screaming. He had to stand there and watch her fall, knowing full well that he couldn’t do a thing to save her. The feeling of helplessness that overtook him in that moment had been overbearing. 

A classmate passing away was not something he hadn’t experienced before- accidents happened every year, and sometimes, those accidents involved Rosemary students- but he’d never witnessed their deaths personally. It was something you heard about over the morning announcements or from your teacher at the beginning of class, not something you stood there and watched in a daze, and he’d certainly never lost someone that he-- someone that was so-

“I heard later that Chat Noir saved her mid-air.” He added, if only to help his parents’ nerves. The anxiety crawling across their expressions was evident. “I wasn’t aware of that until after I went to look for her, though.”

Until after he scoured the dismantled streets and ever-increasing debris for signs of her. Until after he lifted boulder upon boulder by adrenaline alone and being torn about whether he’d want to see her under one or not. Until after he called her name till his voice was hoarse and searched relentlessly for some kind of clue, like a shoe or a purse or even blood.

Gosh, he looked for blood! Felix was out there, in the middle of a terrorist attack, looking for the lifeless corpse or the splattered blood of his classmate, and everyone wanted to act like that was fine simply because she came back alright. How could any of them be considered alright after that?

“She could have died.” He stated for the millionth time it felt like. She probably will die if she keeps doing this. “But no one seems to care. They all brush it off because she’s safe now, instead of worrying about the fact that she purposely decided not to be safe beforehand.”

Bridgette let out a breath and pulled Felix into a hug.

“I’m so sorry that you had to endure that.” She whispered, her voice full of emotion. It reminded him of Marinette’s apology back at the cafe. The way she carefully held his hand, the warmth of her palm against his- it told him, in that moment, that she truly was there and that she truly was safe again. That confirmation had admittedly been one of the things to keep him from unraveling towards the end of the fight. 

Felix felt the slender fingers of his father ruffle through his hair. “You went through something that no one should have to go through, but you also made it out alive. And so did everyone else. Remember that.”

Bridgette’s cheek brushed against Felix’s forehead as she nodded. “I know it’s scary, and you have a right to acknowledge it in your own way, but don’t let yourself get carried away with the ‘what if’s and ‘what should have been’s'. You’ll never be satisfied with them.”

Felix heaved a heavy sigh and allowed his eyes to drift shut. After a full day of almost dying, almost watching someone else die, and worrying about both of those subjects for hours on end, he was officially exhausted. Felix couldn’t remember the last time he’d put so much energy into a single event.

Maybe it was best to just let it go..

~~~~~~

By the time Marinette arrived home from Rosemary, her parents were beside themselves with worry. Apparently, they saw her on the news while they were working and spent the last hour and a half trying to reach her. Marinette had been either running around as Ladybug or talking with Allegra on the phone so she hadn’t noticed her phone ringing.

They doted on her and hovered around her for a good twenty minutes, with Marinette insisting that she was fine and apologizing the entire time.

“Chat Noir saved me before I could really get hurt.” She assured, plastering on a bright smile. “And the miraculous cure healed any scratches that I might have gotten. See?-” she held her arms up and did a small twirl “-I really am fine. But I’ll try to keep my ringtone on from now on.”

Her parents’ worried looks didn’t change.

“We were hoping that transferring schools would keep you away from akumas.” Her papa lamented. “How do you keep getting caught up in these fights?”

“I don’t know, Papa.” She replied honestly. Maybe some of her partner’s bad luck had rubbed off on her. “I was hoping I wouldn’t run into any more akumas too.”

Sabine sighed and gently rubbed her daughters back. “Well, as long as you’re alright.. Would you like to see the package that came for you?”

Marinette furrowed her eyebrows, confused. “A package? For me?”

Tom nodded, a small smile returning to his features. “From a Mr. Claude Herolds. We put it upstairs in the living room.”

“Tried to.” Sabine corrected under her breath.

Marinette tilted her head slightly. A package from Claude? But what could he be giving her that he couldn’t give in perso-

“My fabrics!” She gasped, immediately shooting for the stairs. Her parents chuckled behind her, but she hardly heard them in her excitement. The fabrics finally came! How many were there going to be? What kind of fabrics? He hadn’t really specified when he talked about buying them, though she gave him as detailed of a list as she could. Oh, please, be the good ones-

Marinette threw the front door to their apartment open, coming to a dead stop as soon as she entered. The mere sight of their living room had her jaw dropping to the floor. 

Claude had indeed sent her a package of fabrics, but her parents happened to leave out exactly how much fabric he had sent. There were rolls upon rolls lining the couch and the floor, hiding in the corners of the room, sitting on the coffee table and the dining room table- it was too much to count. She was quite certain that she couldn’t see the floor!

Just- Just fabrics.

Fabrics everywhere.

Marinette turned to her parents, who had since caught up to her. They shared eager smiles as they waited for her reaction, and she quickly found herself smiling as well. In fact, she found herself down right laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. Who needs this much fabric for three suits? How did Maman and Papa manage to bring it up in the first place? What did the deliverer think as he loaded this up into his truck to take to one person? How was she going to fit it all into her room?

Nevertheless, despite the insanity of the situation, she couldn’t help being ecstatic. This was more fabric than she could have ever dreamed of having, and it was all of the highest quality. So, with the help of her parents and her steely resolve, Marinette got to work on carrying the “package” up to her room in the attic. 

It took a while, as one would expect. They had to stop several times for Marinette to rearrange her room simply so she wouldn’t be completely swimming in fabric by the time they got everything up there. They also had to make sure she could reach her trapdoor to get out of her room, her stairs to get to her bed, and her desk to work with the fabrics in general. This resulted in her creating a sort of obstacle course with the few solid things in her room that she could stand on without the fear of breaking something. 

“I can’t even believe it, Tikki.” She said to her kwami once her parents went back down to the bakery. “Look at all of this! How am I even going to use it all? This is crazy!”

Despite her words of disbelief, she had the widest grin on her face, so wide that it was starting to hurt. Claude had told her that once she was done with his suit, she could keep any of the leftover supplies, since he supposedly had no use for it. She assumed it was his own little way of paying for the outfit, even though she’d told him that she would make it for free. 

Tikki zipped around the room, giggling as she inspected the different types of fabric. “You could make him ten different suits with all of this!”

Marinette laughed. “Tikki, I could probably make him thirty five different suits and still have some leftover.” 

She walked over to the piles of fabric in front of her and plucked up the first one that caught her eye. It was a deep blue silk that sheened under her bedroom lights, and she smiled at the mesmerizing display. Marinette had used silk before, but nothing like this. This was the type of silk that she imagined royalty to have, something smooth and soft and slick as butter. It was incredible, and she couldn’t wait to start working with it.

Marinette picked out a few more fabrics, the finest of the bunch, and brought them over to her desk to compare the colors and theorize how they might look together. If Claude was going to give her the best of the best, she was certainly going to return the favor by giving him the most regal and enchanting suit she could muster. Not to mention, this was an amazing, probably once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Fabric of this quality was something she could never get on her own without saving months and months of allowance, and that was only to buy one roll. The fact that she had piles upon piles of this fabric at her disposal now was a miracle in and of itself. She couldn’t waste a piece of it.

She rolled the blue silk out across her desk to begin measuring, but just as she pulled out her sketchbook for extra notes and other things, her phone buzzed next to her, informing her that she’d received a text.

DancingQueen: Hey guys! Mom said that February eighth would work well for the sleepover if you’re all free! I think it’d be a great way to celebrate winter break.

A soft, delighted gasp passed her lips after reading Allegra’s text on the group chat. With the whole akuma battle and receiving Claude’s fabrics, she’d completely forgotten about the sleepover that they talked about earlier.

She quickly switched the calendar app to check her schedule, and her smile widened at the sight of an empty time slot. She appeared to be free that day.

Marinette found herself beginning to wiggle with joy on her rolling chair as she switched back to the messaging app. This was going to be her first sleepover with her new friends! It would also be the first time going to one of their houses! What was Allegra’s house going to look like? Would it be a mansion like Gabriel Agreste’s? She hoped it didn’t have high walls. 

Another text drew her thoughts back to her phone, where a message from Claude had just appeared.

TheBetterShakespeare: works for me! What time are we gonna come over?

DancingQueen: I was thinking right after school like usual

TrebleChild: Sounds good to me :)

Marinette perked up when Allan joined the conversation. That meant most of them were going to be there! All they needed now was Felix.

She began typing.

Our-Cinnamon-Roll: February eighth works great for me too! I’ll probably stop by the house for my clothes and stuff first though lol

DancingQueen: Of course! I can send a car by to pick you up if you want?

TheBetterShakespeare: Woohoo! Mari’s coming! All we need now is Felix

Our-Cinnamon-Roll: Oh, you don’t have to! I don’t mind walking

DancingQueen: Are you sure? The walking distance is pretty far, and I totally don’t mind sending a car! (no pressure though. If you wanna walk that’s also fine!)

Marinette pulled her lip between her teeth in thought. Whatever the walking distance, she could probably just swing over as Ladybug within a few minutes. That way, she didn’t have to bother Allegra. If she got there too fast as Marinette, though, they might be suspicious.. Well, not suspicious, but curious because getting there faster than her legs could possibly carry her would be odd.

Ugh, just take the car. She told herself. It’ll be easier than carrying your luggage around while swinging through the air anyway.

TrebleChild: You think Felix is going to respond on here?

Marinette glanced down at Allan’s text and frowned. That was a good question. 

After the akuma, Felix seemed to shut down. He hardly uttered a word to anyone, even after they were sent home early from school. She supposed he tended to be quiet in the first place, but it just felt different. It was as though he were in some trance, lost in the distant corners of his mind. He wouldn’t even talk to her all that much. Not that she was someone special to him or anything. They just.. They normally exchanged more comments to each other than they did on the way out of the school. Either way, she’d be surprised if he actually texted them back that night.

TheBetterShakespeare: Oh he’s going to have to respond when I’m done

Claude’s reply caused Marinette to suck in a breath and cringe. Oh, what was he going to do to poor Felix now?

Allan and Allegra appeared to have the same thought, as they quickly texted back.

DancingQueen: Oh dear

Marshmallow Man: Uh oh

Our-Cinnamon-Roll: Claude, maybe you shouldn’t bother Felix. He already doesn’t like the group

TheBetterShakespeare: LET’S

TheBetterShakespeare: FLUSH

TheBetterShakespeare: HIM

TheBetterShakespeare: OUT

DancingQueen: Claude, please-

TheBetterShakespeare: I’M

TheBetterShakespeare: NOT

TheBetterShakespeare: STOPPING

Marshmallow Man: Dude

TheBetterShakespeare: UNTIL

TheBetterShakespeare: FELIX

TheBetterShakespeare: DECIDES

TheBetterShakespeare: TO

TheBetterShakespeare: SHOW

Rolling-Eye-Emoji: What do you want?!

TheBetterShakespeare: HIMSELF

TheBetterShakespeare: Oh hey Felix!

Although she felt extremely bad for the blond, Marinette had to purse her lips to avoid laughing. She could practically hear the growl in his voice, and the image of Felix’s signature glare flashed through her mind. He had to be so annoyed right now.

TrebleChild: I’m surprised you didn’t just delete the app again

Rolling-Eye-Emoji:You know, that’s a marvelous idea.

The BetterShakespeare: NOOOOO ALLAN SHUT UP

DancingQueen: lol we were wondering if you were free February eighth, Felix.

Rolling-Eye-Emoji: Free for what?

TheBetterShakespeare: Can’t you just tell us if ur free or not?

TrebleChild: for the sleepover at Allegra’s house

Rolling-Eye-Emoji: We’re still doing that?

TheBetterShakespeare: Absolutely!

Our-Cinnamon-Roll: If you’re up for it!

TheBetterShakespeare: Mari that statement was way too nice for Felix

TheBetterShakespeare: You gotta drag him kicking and screaming or he’ll never do anything!

Rolling-Eye-Emoji: Why don’t you take a guess as to why?

TheBetterShakespeare: because you don’t know how to have fun and it’s our job to teach you

TrebleChild: Claude, you’re never going to get him to the sleepover that way

Rolling-Eye-Emoji: Claude, you couldn’t teach a cat how to climb a tree, and I know how to have fun just fine.

Marinette snorted towards Felix’s reply. She often wondered how he managed to perfect his sarcasm and cutting remarks to a fault. Did he read a book on it somehow or was it just practice?

TheBetterShakespeare: RUDE

DancingQueen: lol Felix, are you free on the eighth or not?

Rolling-Eye-Emoji: ..I’d have to check my schedule.

TheBetterShakespeare: Don’t laugh at him Allegra!

DancingQueen: Hey, if it’s funny it’s funny lol

DancingQueen: Do that please, Felix

TheBetterShakespeare: Betrayal!! I can’t believe I was naive enough to trust you!

DancingQueen: Oh whatever. It’s not like you haven’t laugh at me before

Marinette chuckled as she continued to set up the silk fabric. She almost worried about using her sewing machine for it in case it ripped, but hand sewing it wasn’t an option either. That would take way too long, and she wanted to finish this for Claude as soon as possible. (without cutting corners of course)

“Oh!” She gasped, straightening in her chair. She hadn’t told Claude about the fabrics arriving yet! He’d probably want to know that.

Our-Cinnamon-Roll: Hey Claude, I almost forgot to tell you but your fabric arrived today!

TheBetterShakespeare: Really?!

Marinette smiled and stood up from her rolling chair to take a picture of the room. She then sent the picture to the group with an added message:

Our-Cinnamon-Roll: I could barely fit it all in my room!

The responses were immediate.

TrebleChild: WOAH

DancingQueen: CLAUDE

TrebleChild: you sent that much?!

TheBetterShakespeare: …

TheBetterShakespeare: I may have gotten carry away

Marinette giggled and shook her head.

Our-Cinnamon-Roll: PLEASE feel free to get carried away anytime you like, I’ve literally never been happier

DancingQueen: lol

TrebleChild: lol

TheBetterShakespeare: Will do! 😉

Marinette smiled and set her phone down again, before rolling her chair over to the other fabrics to pick another one out. Her phone buzzed as she rolled back, notifying her of the new additions to the group chat. 

Rolling-Eye-Emoji: Mother said that the eighth of February would work fine.

Marinette let out a squeal. They were all going! This was going to be the best sleepover ever!

TheBetterShakespeare: Aw yisss group sleepover!!

TrebleChild : awesome, so we’re meeting right after school?

DancingQueen: Yep! Except for Mari who needs to go get her clothes. Did you want me to send you a car Mari?

Our-Cinnamon-Roll: If you don’t mind :)

DancingQueen: Nope! I’ll make sure to tell you when it’s on its way.

Our-Cinnamon-Roll: Thanks 😁

DancingQueen: Of course! See you guys at school tomorrow!

TheBetterShakespeare: See you Al!

TrebleChild: Bye A

Our-Cinnamon-Roll: See you tomorrow!

Marinette set her phone down and let out another squeal of excitement as she kicked her legs back and forth. 

Her first group sleepover with everyone!

How do you make time go faster?

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[senseandaccountability]

Hey, did you get a chance to watch season 6 of Lucifer? What did you think of the finale?

This is going to be salty (sorry) so I put it under a cut for people who prefer joyous things in the feed.

I didn’t like the final season.

To be brief: It felt like a story where the writers knew how they wanted it to end, and therefore the plot ruled over the characters. It wasn't a main plot I enjoyed at all, and it was told in a way that made it difficult for me to appreciate even the small bits I liked. (Ella reveal. Ghost Dan.) I thought it suffered from a jarring tonal shift and when it comes to several overarching themes, I felt it negated/trivialized previous seasons. In many ways it also managed to be both cheesy and cruel, often at the same time. I had the impression it was a compilation of (unfortunately rather boring) fandom wishes and tropes more than authentic storytelling.

To be anything but brief:

I dislike the season in part because it undid a lot of great things about Lucifer as a character.

By the end of 5B Lucifer had come full circle. I think that season finale is great. The Lucifer vs Michael fight was so well done thematically - he fought himself, and unlike the first fight in 5A when he wants to hurt his twin he had now reached a state of personal growth, of compassion. Not even when Michael kills Chloe does he deserve death because everyone deserves a second chance. And then the funny and pitch perfect “Oh, my me”. Ambiguous enough about the details to fuel the fandom, clear enough about the themes and the lore to offer closure. (No, Deckerstar didn’t have a date or much of a snog but I can fill in the blanks there though I am aware that many fans were disappointed by the lack of on-screen love.)

Excellent way to end the show.

Except they didn’t. S6, I feel, tried to tell the same story all over again, only not as well or even coherent.

Over the seasons it’s been pretty clear that while Lucifer can be caring, he mostly cares about the handful of people in his life. S6 even touches upon this, has him trying to care for random people in their hell loops. But S5 already did this, but better, with Michael. The family dinner with God was excellent, it showed broken people all around and had Lucifer, the self-centered drama queen of the family realizing that he’s not the only one that’s been hurt. It showed the best and worst of them all. Sparing Michael, considering Michael worthy of redemption, was peak growth for Lucifer as a character because in that moment he also considers himself worthy of the same thing. That’s when he truly forgives himself. I thought. And then season 6 shows Michael as a prisoner in Hell, just once, never to be mentioned again. Is that a second chance? Is that redemption? Is that really the symbolism they were going for or just a spiteful and stupid little addition because LOL SOME PEOPLE DESERVE HELL. (Do they? Says who? The show doesn’t answer that because the show that focuses on the neutral character the Devil and the totally untarnished place Hell doesn’t much care about such divisive matters, but more about that soon.) I dislike the season, in parts because I wasn't satisfied with the moral/quasi-theological backdrop. The system is wrong, Lucifer concluded by the end of 5B. Season 6 has him return to the system, as an Afterlife Coach of the Damned. Is that really the best they could do?

I mourn all the cool possibilities of what Lucifer, the advocate for free will and defender of desire, could have done with hell as a concept. Blown it apart, closed it, tossed the keys to someone else and rode off in the sunset. At the very least he could have altered it so that it’s no longer solitary confinement but a collective of doomed souls trying together to achieve redemption but hey, never mind me, I’m a bleeding-heart socialist and I don’t believe in revenge and I don’t believe in God but if I did, God would forgive. Otherwise, what the hell is the point?

I parsed through the season with my husband, a real-life minister who doesn't think anyone deserves hell and who gets to suffer my long-ass questions about the theological themes of popular culture a little bit too often. Because we both felt slightly insulted after watching. "Is this bullshit what they offer me?" my husband asked me as the timey wimey time travel plot unfolded. But timey wimey bullshit aside, we concluded that the real reason we were both so annoyed and frustrated with the season is because it highlighted how flat the background lore really is. I mean, I guess they wanted to be yay, neutral and non-divisive themes galore! It’s good to be good, folks! If you’re not, well, I guess you might have your spine broken by the Devil or sent to a never-ending hell loop but let’s not talk about religion! The main issue, for me, with the whole system of heaven and hell and earth on the show is that for every equation, there’s a part missing. The show has borrowed the character from the comics verse but left the entire lore and its internal logic behind. It borrows a bit of moral philosophy, but cuts away the troublesome bits otherwise Lucifer can’t both be on a redemptive path and happily slaughter people in fits of vengeance; it uses Heaven and Hell and vaguely also the concept of sin but never answers any questions about it, apart from the central message of course: it’s up to you. In fact, the show discourages questions about the lore because it has no answers. It doesn’t care. The ending of the show brushes off the much needed systematic changes of heaven and hell like it’s just another joke. (Want to know a show that has compassionate writing about morality while managing to be very funny? The Good Place. And you know what, morality should be serious. I’m a softie and again, a bleeding-heart, but it’s important to be a good person and it’s important to get a chance for redemption. It matters. It’s not just a minor detail.)

Which brings me to the damn therapy theme. I know a lot of people like it and I have also liked it a lot in previous seasons. I have. It’s been quirky. (Also highly unprofessional, but hey.) But as the key to your afterlife/redemption/second chance it’s just not good enough.

It is so very, very individualistic that it makes my skin crawl. It’s the ultimate American solution to systemic injustices and suffering - hey, it’s up to you, man. You decide if you deserve hell. You decide if you deserve Heaven. You make the difference! You can do it! Live the afterlife dream, achieve all your goals, get a hell loop that no longer loops but… stays in one static place where at least you’re moderately happy. Navel-gazing into your soul is certainly one way to get some insights into your mistakes. But it’s not redemption. Redemption is an active choice to be a better person. You don’t have to earn redemption or deserve it. And redemption isn’t the same as forgiveness either. Redemption is the opposite to pointless, everlasting punishment. It’s hopeful and it’s ugly and it’s full of purpose and the chance to be better and add something good to the world. Even Lucifer doesn’t get to do that on the show. He deals only with the already doomed. The here and now on Earth fades into the distance as Deckerstar, too, gets their happily ever after in Hell. You’ll get pie in the sky when you die. Or you get to shag on a throne in Hell. Either way, life on Earth doesn’t matter. (Here the show lean into some really dodgy Christian themes, I’d argue, but hey, it’s not about religion! It’s just a fun romp about a reformed bad boy!)

“Hell is just revenge porn for fundamentalists and other people who believe in eye for an eye. I just want there to be a level of collective forgiveness and hope, you know?” I told my husband whilst chugging down beer. As you do when you watch crap that makes no sense. “A level of hey, I’ve got this, I forgive you, you can do better. Go and do better. And then the actual opportunity to do so, even if it's just reliving your life as a ghost again and again until you figure out what went wrong.” “Honey,” my husband said. “I hate to tell you this since you’re an atheist but that level you’re talking about? That’s Jesus.” Well, screw that.

I really don’t want to need Jesus to make sense of a story. I just want decent bloody storytelling.

[c-is-for-circinate]

Thinking today about viruses, allergies, oppression, and anti culture.

(under a cut because WHOOOPS this got long)

Racism is a virus. Homophobia, transphobia, sexism, antisemitism, ableism, etc etc etc, they are all viruses--a topic that many of us have learned a great deal about in the past year. They are ideas, yes, not literal physical diseases, but the analogy holds up. They are infectious, and often spread from person to person without anyone involved realizing they have it. They can sit latent for years, never showing up because the carrier never finds themselves in a situation where the issue comes up, only to flare up and take over when you least expect it. And they mutate, just like the flu, just like the common cold; they put on a new jacket every year and slide in undetected yet again, slip past our internal sensors and bury themselves in our brains until we go in and deal with them as best as we can.

One more thing we've learned about viruses this year is how we can fight them. The viruses of oppression are a little different because they tend to hurt the people around their carriers even more than the people they've infected (although let's talk about internalized anything-ism sometime), but in a lot of ways the attack is the same. You treat the symptoms even when you don't know how to cure the disease: we invest in respirators, antiviral treatments, hospitals; we create and sponsor programs to help those who've been hurt by various oppressions, we uplift our neighbors, we try to keep people safe from violences both big and small. You work to stop the spread: we wear our goddamn masks, we stay home when we can; we train ourselves not to say racist shit that might foster a culture of hate, we stop that guy in our office from making rape jokes, we make slurs unacceptable. You pay attention to your immune system: we seek medical attention when we experience symptoms, we get COVID tests, we talk to our doctors before the symptoms get deadly; we protest and we pay attention to the people who do, we take them seriously when they tell us that something is wrong.

You vaccinate. We train ourselves and our immune systems to recognize the thing that infects us, the thing that we fear. We try to teach our children about history, bit by little bit, on fragments of dead violence the same way we train our bodies on dead virus shells, so that someday they'll recognize the live disease when they see it. We learn about slavery and Jim Crow and the Holocaust. We tell kids bedtime stories about why hitting and bullying is bad, before we ever start teaching them the specific shapes that violence so often takes. As we get older, as we get stronger, we learn about the living stuff, all the new forms that same old virus has mutated into; we educate ourselves, we listen, we read. Just like vaccines, of course, there are anti-vaxxers and denialists shouting about how racism and sexism are already dead and they don't need any propoganda besides Fox News. Hell, just like anti-maskers, there are plenty of people screaming about how political correctness is ruining the world and they demand their right to spread their virus to anyone they can. Often these are the same people.

But we try. And make no mistake, we all of us are already infected, and just like a real virus, once you've caught it once it probably won't ever go away again--but we can prepare, and we can try to lessen the severity of our cases, and we can support our immune systems of activists and protesters and our own internal sense of this is wrong, and we can work, bit by bit, if not towards eradication (not yet, not in this world, but maybe someday in another), then at least towards control.

And then there's allergies.

An allergy is what happens when a human body's own immune system freaks out over an enemy that wasn't particularly harmful in the first place. All our immune defenses--those precious immune defenses, which work so hard to protect us against all those viral, deadly ideas--go screaming into high gear. All of that fear and fury and attack power gets brought to bear all at once, against a bit of pollen or bee venom or cat dander or peanuts, and your body is left itchy and runny-nosed and gasping--sometimes literally--as it tries to keep up. Allergies are miserable. Sometimes they're life-threatening. And the biggest danger isn't the foreign agent that triggers the allergic reaction; it's the immune system trying to fight it in the first place.

Which, yes, brings us to anti culture--but not JUST anti culture. It's a good example, a little internet-centric microcosm of the same force that drives progressives to tear bloody shreds out of moderate liberal politicians. Hell, it's the same force that enables both TERFs and the Capitol rioters. It's a combination of an immune system that points in the wrong direction, flagging the wrong thing as bad, terrifying, danger, NO, and a freaked-out response that can manifest as anything from mildly irritating to absolutely deadly.

To be clear, I am not by any means equating the scale or even the source of these things, any more than hayfever is the same as anaphylactic shock. Likewise, the sources are different. Sometimes, a disease can infect an immune system and point it in the wrong direction. (Terror of the other is the absolute cornerstone of white nationalism, and when that terror gets triggered by a harmless environmental condition like, god forbid, other people asking for rights, the allergy response can be deadly.) Other times, it's the other way around. Our internal immune systems, so well trained to protect ourselves and those around us from the insidious viral ravages of prejudice and oppression, start seeing traces of it everywhere.

And they freak out. And we suffer for it.

We talk a lot of well-deserved shit about TERFs, but it's useful to remember how much their nastiness feels to them like activism. Their immune system, trained and primed and sensitized over years of exposure to misogyny and sexism, catches the tiniest whiff of something that might seem at some point to have possibly been taken for male, and freaks out, because why is that trying to get into our system. Never mind that they're wrong. An immune system that flips out over penicillin is wrong, too. It's still trying to help, and it's still doing more harm than good trying it.

So bringing this back around to anti culture, which was absolutely where I started thinking about all of this this morning: anti culture, the terror of porn and the attempt by antis to protect themselves an other people from sexual content, is an immune response. It is a trained immune response, in people who have been taught and re-taught again and again that rape culture is a dangerous insidious virus that should be fought at all costs. And, right, there's more than a bit of 'the sexism virus infected this immune system and reprogrammed it to fight itself' involved here, but look, we are all of us infected with all of the viruses at least a little bit everywhere. If we tried to direct our immune systems to rip every last shred of -ism out of every last bit of us, we'd rip ourselves apart. Which is exactly the problem.

Porn, in and of itself, is natural. As natural as environmental pollen, and living near dogs and cats, and eating wheat or nuts or citrus fruit. It's even healthy, for a whole host of reasons that belong in another essay. And citric acid and nut-based proteins and whole grains are nutritious, and pets are physically and psychologically helpful, and being exposed to lots of different environmental substances as a child can actually help train your immune system in the first place. Porn can help us figure out what we like. It can help us figure out what we don't like. And while the processes that create it are sometimes unethical and awful, we don't condemn all dogs because puppy mills and dogfighting rings exist, even if we do have dog allergies.

What we see in anti culture is often a good-faith attempt on the part of antis to attack and subdue an environmental trigger that they read as dangerous. It's a panic attack over something that is by nature harmless or mildly harmful, blown out of proportion by the very instincts that are supposed to keep us safe. It's the response of an immune system that's been taught over years and years, by everyone from parents to school systems to the activists they look up to, that negative stimulus is to be feared, avoided, and fought. Of COURSE they're going to freak out.

And of course, early exposure to controlled amounts of allergens can help prevent later allergies from developing. Of course when kids are raised with abstinence-only education, sheltered from the very concept of sex, they're going to grow up allergic to it. (Of course they're going to try to protect other kids from the same, like worried mothers who refuse to let peanuts or wheat products or dirt near their precious babies, whose kids grow up with a whole suite of allergic triggers because their bodies never learned what was okay in the first place.) And no, that doesn't mean we hand pornography to ten-year-olds any more than we should give raw honey to an infant--but of course if our culture refuses to introduce kids to the fact that sex and desire and the inside of their own brain can be messy and silly and kinky and downright weird, we're going to have a higher rate of allergic reaction to the entire concept in adults.

I wish I had a better answer for what to do with understanding that this is what's going through so many people's brains. The best I have is a prescription for allergy-sufferers, who probably haven't read this far through this wordspew of an essay in the first place--but we all get a little hayfever once in a while, and we all sometimes run into content that makes us angry. So some thoughts on how to deal with metaphorical allergic reactions, inspired by the ways we deal with literal ones?

First: we recognize that what is happening is an allergy. The thing we're reacting to might be gross, or irritating, or even unpleasant, but the danger is not and never has been the thing itself. Whether it's triggering a response because of its similarity to an actively dangerous pathogen, or our immune system just doesn't like it, our aversion to one kind of story or another universally says more about us than about it. Luckily, we have a lot more control over our social responses than our biological ones!!! If vocal activism is our sociocultural immune system firing itself up to fight an infection that may or may not exist, then we get to tell our metaphorical white blood cells to stand down. We get to decide.

Second: we get some space. The funny thing about allergies is, while early exposure to allergens can help prevent them, re-exposing yourself to dangerous allergens after you've already developed a reaction to them can make them worse. Anaphylaxis is always more likely after someone's experienced it the first time. Repeated exposure to triggers, whether biological or psychological, can make the effects worse. So stop exposing yourself.

If something makes your throat itch every time you eat it, stop eating it. If something makes you mad every time you read it, stop reading it. Obviously this can be easier said than done in a world that's a lot worse about warning labels on stories than ingredients labels on foods, but that's why fic tags exist. And: sometimes, the croissant is delicious enough that we decide we're willing to suffer through the way the almonds make us feel, just this once. Sometimes the ship or the characterization or, hell, those other kinks that we really like are tasty enough that we'll put up with the trope we hate. We're allowed to do that. But we do it knowing there will be consequences, and we don't blame the baker when they hit.

We also don't have to blame ourselves. It sucks to be allergic to shellfish when all your friends are raving about the new seafood place. But that's not our fault any more than it's theirs.

Third: sometimes, if we need one, we go to the doctor. Or a therapist. Yes, really.

Not because there's anything really wrong with an aversion or even mild breakouts of hives, annoyance, and bitching in your friends' DMs--but it sure isn't pleasant, and sometimes your doctor might have a better solution than 'avoid it and take a Benadryl' that makes you feel a little better in the long run. And sometimes, it's not a mild breakout. Sometimes it's the kind of story that lingers with you for days, makes your skin crawl; sometimes your throat swells up and it gets hard to breathe. Sometimes we get angry enough about something we've read that we can't stand down our immune system, don't want to stop ourselves from writing that angry comment, that tumblr post, that abuse report to the mods for something that didn't actually break any rules. And that's dangerous, because when our immune response can flare out of control like that, we don't always know where and when it will happen next, and the risk of what we'll do if it happens gets way, way higher.

Sometimes it really is worth getting a second opinion. Sometimes you need somebody to tell you, "actually, it is not normal to get tingly and sweaty every time you eat potatoes." There are ways to train your brain and leash your white blood cells that I sure as heck am not expert enough to address. There are, it turns out, ways to feel better. There are ways to mitigate the damage your own well-meaning defense mechanisms might do to yourself or other people along the way.

And: we can take a deep breath when someone with an allergy to something we've baked, something we've written, something we like, is lashing out trying to protect themselves and everyone around them from something they've registered as a threat. Of course they're wrong. Yes, we told them there were tree nuts in the brownies ahead of time; yes, they chose to eat them anyway. But it can be worth reminding them and ourselves that there's a difference between "this thing is toxic" and "this harmless thing has driven my own system into a defensive response that sure makes it feel like I've been poisoned." And it can be worth reminding ourselves as well as them that sometimes, that difference can be really hard to spot.