#the one where I take lil details and somewhat stretch them out

[beedreamscape]

The post-Blight encounter shortly rewritten and fluffed up with Loquaerryn angst and well... fluff.

Laerryn's head pounding hard enough that she doesn't hear them walking in.

She feels sick to the point of throwing up — which she did already, nothing but the bile of her empty stomach — which comes with a hunger she has successfully ignored up until now. Wetness on her nape and chattering teeth accuse a high fever, even in the stale cold of the labyrinth, sucking all of her energy, but damn it if she isn't gonna drag her burning and exhausted body to try and do something to stop the city she- they love from damnation.

She looks through notes, maps, prototypes, and manuals with blurry wet eyes looking not for answers — not even the most deranged minds could've predicted a situation such as theirs — but for a flick of inspiration that'd guide her through the pitch darkness she finds herself in. She's trying her best to recall what the betrayer god had said, but all her thoughts are stained with the image of Loquatius' body at the foot of the tree laid over a pool of his blood. Tries to focus on something anything other than the guilt of leaving him behind, other than the emptiness she felt the second he truly died, other than this excruciating pain.

She doesn't have much time left so from the suffering and the remnants of her sense of duty she harvests motivation. She's doing it for him, for her own heart, for his heart.

Just once, Laerryn, don't fuck up, she cries to herself. This one time try and do it right.

Extremely hazed out in grief and heat, she doesn't even budge at the soft-spoken "Darling" that comes from behind her, quite certain her mind's playing tricks on her.

It's only when Patia's clear and sonorous voice calls for her that she believes this isn't just an illusion. She turns at once, aware of all of them on the peripheries of her vision but laser-focused on Loquatius and his grey-white glow.

She barely breathes as she runs into his arms, can barely maintain her knees straight as their mouths meet in a soft kiss.

She holds his face, the distinguishable silky softness of his skin against her palm. "You're alive..."

A half-smile appears under his glittering tears. "I guess."

She steps back to see that, not only is he still as naked and barefoot as when the tree exploded, his blood's still leaking from hundreds of paper-thin cuts, now equally smeared all over her. The sight doesn't horrify her as much as imagining his pain does, and as much as it makes her shiver, the deeply metallic smell of it keeps her grounded in reality. He's alive, barely but nonetheless.

Her sobs return in full force. "I'm sorry. What have I done? Then I left, I left again! I'm so sorry."

He holds her face, making her look into the deep blank of his eyes. "Shush, no, no! You had no idea! I don't know how— I don't know what happened..."

Patia's voice is gloomy when she speaks again. "Zerxus brought us back."

Laerrynn feel out of sorts when she turns to see them, yes, Patia and Nydas are both covered in their own blood, thick dark red blotch on the side of his stomach and half of her arm missing magically stitched together at the elbow, but it's Zerxus in the pristine of his armor and the thick curled horns on his head that make her wrathful.

There are punches thrown and discussions that steal her attention for those precious minutes, but nothing she can't participate in while minimally tending to Loquatius.

She removes her deep purple wrapping cape and helps him cover himself, careful with his cuts, then searches her drawers for a vial of healing potion, nothing potent, just enough to rescue her in a minor emergency, and turns it into his mouth — all the while fervently discussing with Zerxus. It'd be funny if it wasn't tragic, somehow the scenario feels familiar from a few in happier days when her dear friend was still around.

///

She's used to holding the world up on her shoulders, yet at this moment the world is burning against her back and thoughts are darting left and right in her head, ramifications of possibilities branching out to all sides in an entanglement she's trying to undo as the prophecy is spoken and ideas emerge and die down again.

She's facing the waterwall where Zerxus claims to have seen the Lord of Hells earlier that day when she feels Loquatius' hands massaging her shoulders. "I don't mean to put any pressure on you, dearest, but you're the heart and brain of this city, and if you don't... I'm sorry, that didn't come out very encouragingly."

"It did, it did." She inhales deeply.

"You're burning," he says in her ear, massaging her harder.

"I'll be fine in no time. Losing you all did an instant number on me."

His breath smells sweet and coppery. "Are you hurt?"

"You died, Lo-"

"Are you hurt?"

"I got knocked back but nothing I can't handle."

He rests his head on her back. "I wish we could just... a selfish part of me wishes we could just disappear from all of this."

"But we can't... we can't..." Even if she were to take the world itself and transport it across dimensions, the demons and Betrayers would still be stuck onto them like leeches. Maybe the world didn't have to be hurled away, perhaps— "...but they can!"

She turns to him, to them. "I'm getting a really bad idea."

And in this mix of arcane inspiration, backed confidence, and perhaps a hint of arrogance, they lay out a plan or a resemblance of one. She is a capable woman, overqualified even, and her great machines still live and thrive, loaded with seven years worth of arcane energy. But she's also confident in the people surrounding her in their capacities, each crooked yet fitting each other like bizarre cogs in a well-oiled machine.

And the most indispensable piece, glowing with magic, overflowing her system with power:

Loquatius' hand never leaves her waist. "I have no clever plan to solve anything, but I do have a duty to our people, to report what's happening. I can get word down to Cathmoíra." A gleam of hope burns in his eyes. "We can save a lot of lives. If I—"

He doesn't get to finish and barely sees Laerryn coming his way before their lips are already on each other. For a few seconds, in the intensity of their kiss, in the high of her taste, he can pretend the world isn't ending, their friends aren't watching, and there's no duty to fulfill — there's just a man and his wife kissing, lithe tongues, bodies pressed together, arcane energy in a natural flow between them. Natural yet intentional, as a pleasant heat sparks within her flesh, she becomes aware of the spell he cast on her and moans into his mouth.

Zerxus clears his throat a second time which drives Laerryn to press Loquatius a little harder against herself, a mixture of laughter and a grunt comes from his lips. He's amazed at himself for wanting her at a time like this, but not enough that he perplexes himself, seeing as the desire haunts him since the first time he laid eyes upon her.

When they're done, Zerxus proceeds talking but neither of them looks.

Loquatius rests his forehead on hers. "When we're done saving Toramunda, I'll take proper care of you."

"And I'll let you."

Which would be odd an answer were they anyone else, but he understands where she comes from and smiles.

"I would appreciate that. I fell for a force of nature, foolish of me to believe I could ever tame it."

[jenuinedog]

Sorry if this is is a weird question, but how do you draw so many different shapes and poses so fluidly?

(I have a drawing style based on realism and I'm having a lot of trouble finding ways to adapt to different poses and expressions in a way that makes sense to me)

Not weird at all!  A lot of my process is breaking things down into simple shapes and making silly mental notes to myself like “ the middle finger is usually always longer than all the other fingers” and “ overlap this line here to make the arm bend look more believable” fjhgsdjhfsdgf

Now, I could spend time drawing out the musculoskeletal structure of everything and all the joints and where everything goes, but that’s extremely boring to me and i’m impatient. So I opt for simple color blocking the silhouettes of shapes. Just enough so I know what I can manipulate, and how. Besides, you can always add details later. Focusing on details immediately is the quickest way to get frustrated, no matter what kind of style you have. Take. Your. Time!!!!

The way I approach it is similar to tweening in animation, or the intermediate frames between two key frames. Y’know, those frames you see when you pause something and the character looks stretched out/disfigured ? Those frames are what create more movement. Same can be applied to the drawing process! Lets look at this lil doodle here:

Sure, the subtle stretch of the circle shows decently enough that these two both have the circle, and want it, and don’t want each other to have it, but it doesn’t really feel like it, does it? buuuuuuuuuuut..

If we stretch it a lil bit and emphasize the STREEEETCH (and the effect of it on the poses respectively), it looks a lot more exaggerated, which makes it more fluid. You get a better sense of the tug of war between these two. Who will win? Will the circle stay in one piece?? Did these two ever learn the concept of sharing???? What matters is you can see the movement a lot more clearly.  Especially in tandem with the first doodle. There WILL be a victor here.

You can apply this to basically any shape! Once you break down your shapes, see how they fit with the movement of what you’re drawing. Stretch and squish and squeeze as needed. Combining curves with straights aids in bringing more movement by allowing some contrast to show where the stress of the movement is the highest/most influential. OH also...

DRAW THROUGH YOUR SHAPES!!! This helps you follow the form a bit easier, which will lead to more coherent movement throughout your drawings!

You can see where i’ve  kept the initial lines and where i’ve drawn the back of the head and how it feeds into the neck, which then feeds into how I “attach” the shoulders to the torso. This also provides consistency, which I find is super helpful in guiding me to where the “flow” of the pose is going or more prominent. You can (sorta) see where I made the right eye slope a bit upwards to follow the contour of the purple circle I used for the initial headshape. The distortion makes it look more dynamic, even when there isnt any real movement going on here. It provides depth and feel and a sense of where these shapes are sitting in relation to other shapes.

(its a messy sketch, but hopefully you can see where I was goin’ with it LOL).

Learning to abuse foreshortening is also a good way to get some fluidity in your poses/expressions. The whole concept relies on making a deal with perspective to elongate, overlap, and compress shapes to “fit” within the composition. It might also help to try figuring out which edges and contours are more important to your composition, and accentuate them as well!

I hope this helps aid you somewhat in your quest to figuring out how to make sense of things in your style, n good luck! <:

[the-insomniac-emporium]

RE8 Ladies + Love Languages

While this isn't terribly long per character, I am putting it under a read-more for the combined length. Some characters have more details than others, partially due to how much I've written for them (and therefore had time to think about how they show their affections). For once the contents are not in alphabetical order. Crazy, right? PS there's a very, very brief implication of NSFW in Daniela's section.

Features the entire Dimitrescu family, Mother Miranda, Donna Beneviento, and as a lil bonus Ava.

Cassandra Dimitrescu:

Primary Love Language: Physical touch

Secondary Love Language: Acts of Service

Examples: Constantly wants to be touching some part of her lover, even if she sometimes pretends otherwise, from hand holding to making them sit in her lap. So goddamn touch starved. Preferably sleeps with her lover sprawled out on top of her, weighing her down, soothed by the constant pressure. Seriously, this woman needs someone to hold her as close as possible, running their fingers through her hair, pressing soft little kisses along her neck + shoulder. And then repeat. Every single day. For life.

Treating her lover’s wounds, or bringing them tea to soothe their nightmares, or monitoring their health when they're sick (see: Bound Blood + We Don’t Talk About That). Cassandra hates feeling like she owes someone, and isn’t fond of others owing her (because when they pay her back, she might end up owing them “the difference”). When it comes to love, however, all debts feel paid as soon as they are incurred. She does things for her beloved because she cares for them, expecting nothing in return. Sure, she’ll complain about the effort, but it doesn’t really bother her, and she truly hopes her lover knows that.

Mother Miranda:

Primary Love Language: Acts of Service

Secondary Love Language: Gift Giving

Examples: Despite the decades she has spent as a Goddess, commanding the willing masses, Miranda doesn’t put much emphasis on words. Instead, she values actions above all else. She doesn't care if someone says that they are devoted to her, she wants to see the effects of that devotion. In turn, she much prefers to show her affection rather than voice it, even if it leaves her lover less sure of her feelings. One must keep in mind that she is the leader of an entire region, and the fact that she chooses to personally take care of something for you means a hell of a lot. Even if it’s just making you a cup of tea whenever she brews some for herself, or something as big as setting up a studio for you and your personal projects, or simply ensuring that your favorite meals are added to the rotation.

Similar, in some aspects, to her preference to showcase her love rather than announce it, Miranda takes pride in her ability to select gifts. She remembers just about everything you ever tell her, easily memorizing things you express interest in. Though she won’t make a big deal out of it, you’ll often find little gifts from her lying around, casual reminders of how much of her attention is devoted to you.

Daniela Dimitrescu:

Primary Love Language: Words of Affirmation

Secondary Love Language: Physical Touch

Examples: What can she say, she loves to be worshipped. Having someone look at her with eyes full of adoration, one hand cupping her cheek, as they list a thousand reasons why they love her? That’s all she wants. Or sitting with her lover’s head in her lap, listening to them recite poetry that reminds them of her, while she runs her fingers through their hair. Ooh, or hearing them cry out her name like something holy as she all but buries her head between their legs. But don’t worry, she’s just as eager to return the favor, singing soft praises dedicated to her beloved. Admittedly, her compliments are sometimes a tad roundabout (so to speak).

“Mmm,” she’ll hum, “I’m the luckiest woman in the world. Living in a castle, my every need catered to, endless life, and, of course, the most darling little pet I could ever ask for. What more could I want?” Then she’ll pull her lover close, a kiss against their pulse point to claim them as her own. It’s impossible for her to determine her favorite place to touch her lover. There are little spots that elicit sweet sounds from them, then there are places where their warmth is a tad fiercer than normal, pure bliss against her own freezing skin. Wherever she touches them, it’s a silent declaration of her love.

Bela Dimitrescu:

Primary Love Language: Quality Time

Secondary Love Language: Words of Affirmation

Examples: It doesn’t matter what she does with her lover, as long as they are together, in the same room if not actively pressed against each other. Any hobby of theirs is one that she’ll instantly take interest in. An academic at heart, she loves to learn, regardless of the subject, and takes endless delight in learning from those close to her. There’s something incredible about the feeling she gets when she gets a chance to show her lover how much she remembers, and she sees that spark of joy in their eyes.

Considering her fondness for classical literature, it’s no surprise that she adores using language to convey the depths of her affection. Whether she’s quoting Sappho or Shakespeare, she often relies on dead poets to express herself. In turn, she cannot even begin to describe the feeling she gets when her lover returns the gesture, especially if they go so far as to write something original for her. More than once she’s tried to craft her own poetry, but has found herself lacking (at least to her own standards). One thing she enjoys is memorizing poetry written by someone from her lover’s home country, assuming that they’re not from Romania.

Alcina Dimitrescu:

Primary Love Language: Gift Giving/Physical Touch

Secondary Love Language: Quality Time

Examples: Considering the era in which she was born, it’s not terribly surprising that Alcina’s affection often manifests in less obvious ways. A hand on her lover’s back, guiding them along, or letting her knee touch theirs when they sit next to each other, or gently reaching out to give one of their hands a soft pat during quiet conversations. On top of that, she gives out gifts almost constantly. Oh, her lover very briefly mentioned enjoying a local artist? Well, Alcina will be certain to purchase several (or most) of their recent work. Did her beloved muse out loud about not having much jewelry? That won’t do! She’ll get them a large assortment, including plenty that bear the crest of House Dimitrescu. Everyone will know who her lover is, if only for the way that they are adorned with her loveliest finery.

Much like her eldest daughter (who likely takes after her mother), Alcina also enjoys the barest of interactions with her darling. With the endless stretch that is her potential lifespan, she knows that she has all the time in the world to learn new skills, or experience all that the village has to offer. Nothing warms her heart quite like the idea of getting to enjoy those things with the people that matter most to her- namely her partner and her children.

Donna Beneviento:

Primary Love Language: Quality Time

Secondary Love Language: Gift Giving

Examples: An odd mix of shy and calculating, Donna Beneviento is not one to rely on words, nor does she often take grand actions where others may observe. Instead, she works (and weaves) within the shadows. When it comes to love, she prefers to let her priorities reveal her feelings. Day after day, she chooses to spend time with her partner, regardless of the activity. If they ask for her company, she gives it without hesitation. She invites them to join her in the garden, or give input on her latest creations, and ensures that they are readily involved in just about every aspect of her life.

Being as talented as she is with crafting (both the overall art of doll-making and the somewhat related ability to sew all sorts of clothing), ‘tis not surprising that she also turns to gifts to express herself. From knitting hats in winter to soft blankets when her partner is sick, she provides for them in the easiest way she knows how.

Avaskian Caldwell:

Primary Love Language: Physical Touch/Words of Affirmation

Secondary Love Language: Quality Time

Examples: Arguably the most touch-starved person ever to exist, xer only possible rival being Cassandra. Struggles to strike a balance between hating being touched unexpectedly and wanting constant physical attention. Will give affectionate shoulder/back pats, loves forehead kisses/bumps, literally cannot sleep without cuddling someone/something (such as a stuffed animal). At the same time, a lifetime of severe anxiety has made it so that xe often relies on verbal encouragement from others to feel good/motivate xerself. Xe craves compliments, and defaults to poetry as a way of expressing love for others. One might think that being selectively mute might put a damper on this. However, if anything, it just furthers the value of xer speech. You know that xe cares about you if xe not only writes you poetry, but reads it aloud for you.

In true introvert/anxiety-riddled-bean fashion, Ava is also more than content to just chill with loved ones. Xe grew up in an admittedly fucked up family, but some of xer happiest childhood memories are of xerself sitting with xer brother, watching while he played through videogame after videogame, or sitting together on the big couch and reading. Years later, xe has a strong instinct to want to recreate those moments with xer new (slightly less fucked up) family.

[oodlyenough]

life is strange true colours review

the non spoilery part: i LOVED this game, my personal fave game this year and the first franchise entry since the original that has really resonated with or moved me.

it's a life is strange game through and through, so if you don't like slice of life episodes or bonding with NPCs, it's not gonna be for you. but if you like the franchise, or even if you liked the first game but haven't been interested in/liked the other two instalments, i recommend giving this one a chance. i think it got closer to figuring out the formula while still doing something new and interesting.

more detailed spoilers and opinions:

alex

holy shit i love alex? bisexual chad... my darling... i'm gonna be real, a lot of the trailers and promo for this game made me worried she'd be kind of a dull wallflower Soft Girl character, but she's not! she's so funny, and even parts of her characterization i initially thought were maybe a bit of a stretch ended up making sense as i learned more about her. she stole the show. i straight up forgot how much loving the protag helps enjoyment of these kinds of games lmao ... finally a reason to click on everything in the room: to hear what alex will say about it.

i thought her backstory exploration in ep 5 especially was wonderful and emotive and great. broke my heart and explained so much about her :( baby girl

plot/choices

i loved the mystery. i don't think it was quite as Mysterious as the mystery in lis1, but that was okay, i was still invested in solving it. i also got invested enough in the NPCs around the town to make all the exploration bits really fun. i loved eavesdropping on the sagas of the random NPCs like bald man and ice cream couple... just fun little touches and narratives to follow that i enjoyed.

i really appreciated this script not being afraid to shy away from some messier emotions, even if in some cases i wish we spent more time on them. for example: alex feeling a bit jealous of the other people in town that got to know gabe better than her/spend more time with him than she did. or charlotte hating ethan!!! my jaw dropped, i thought that was so good, what a messy but realistic response.

I'm not entirely sure what all the ramifications of different choices are at this point, fresh off my first play. i ended up getting only part of the council to stand with me (eleanor & duckie) while losing pike and charlotte.

i do wish we saw a bit more fallout or exploration of what taking away emotion DOES. i took charlotte's anger, and obviously it meant she didn't stand up for me in the council meeting, but where does she go from there? does she like... ever return to feeling emotions lmao... I also think we probably should've had the opportunity to do that another time, instead of just 2 isolated events -- I think Diane would've been a good candidate.

the romance

i romanced steph, ofc, but i was surprised during the game how drawn i was to ryan too -- i really liked that Drama of him being the one who cut Gabe free, as well as later the drama of him being Jed's son. UNTIL HE DIDN'T BELIEVE ME... that made me mad lmfao, i have to learn what to do to make him believe me before i play a Ryan route bc i'll kill him lmfao.

the steph/alex romance was sweet... it didn't really, like, Consume Me as a ship, but by the end of the game I was still "aww"ing at their moments in the flashforward. steph was more rounded and flawed than i thought she might be, which i really appreciated! i was worried they'd just make her perfect idealized gf, but she has a bit of a temper and is kind of tempestuous and stuff... liked it. loved her standing up for alex so fiercely and immediately at the council meeting <3 and my main reservation about her in ep 4 was that i wanted alex to stay in haven, so when she offered to stay i was thrilled LOL

one semi-complaint i had was that something i loved so much about lis1 was how max and chloe's relationship was central to the entire game and story, it wasn't some extra thing on the side, it WAS the game... whereas here, the romance routes, especially steph's, felt like sidequests. I wish they'd found a way to incorporate those relationships a bit more into the main goings-on. I also wanted to spend more time with either romance option to feel like I knew them better -- splitting the time between Steph and Ryan means that I came away feeling like I didn't get quite as much of either of them as I would've liked, vs spending almost the entire game with Chloe lol.

however, this ended up not really bothering me too much because I DID really like the core mystery and themes, the exploration of grief and Emotion, etc.

other characters

considering everyone knew going into the game that gabe was going to die, i was impressed with how they did it, and how they managed to get me attached to gabe in a mere single episode. it's a tall order to introduce a character designed to die, who your audience KNOWS is going to die, and still make them work.

i thought this supporting cast was ... maybe the strongest in the franchise? or at least, they created scenarios where i felt invested in multiple people in the town, and was genuinely trying to build decent relationships with most of them. duckie cracked me tf up, i liked eleanor and riley, even diane and jeb were good for their roles. (fuck pike. i signed ur stupid thing and left your emotions alone and you still won't do shit? ACAB!!!) the choice to stay in haven or leave was a little harder than i expected honestly, considering how quickly i let arcadia bay burn to the ground lmfao.

gameplay/etc

also i know the whole internet has been dunking on "empathy" as a super power since the game was announced, and i get that it sounds corny and looks corny in the trailers, but i thought how they did it was really cool. i wish they'd branded it "Mindreading" more than empathy tbh because a lot of the cooler elements of it are more along those lines... using her power to manipulate people, potentially taking people's emotions away and what that does to them... very interesting imo!

i really liked the memory feature!!! cool way to give us character exposition and inform the story while encouraging exploration. finally a collectible that like, expands the story, instead of chloe drawing butts on the wall and sean taking 10 years to draw something.

it's definitely the most evolved-feeling LIS game, which it should be, given it's the newest. graphics looked really nice, loved getting to see the characters actually emote, even if there are still some scenes that were a lil comically blank-faced -- usually NPCs. i actually noticed this with Jed the most, which in retrospect maybe was somewhat intentional?

i had a number of visual glitches, nothing major but a little silly, like T-posing Alex, npcs t-posing in the windows, etc. i'm sure they'll get patched out soon.

anyway... i rly liked this game, i'm excited for the steph dlc and finally feel like i have reason to be optimistic about future LIS instalments. hooray!

[childrenofthenightt]

That’s The Way

Pairing: Jimmy Page x Reader

Word count: 3.6k

Warnings: none, this is kind of an introductory/fluff chapter if you will :)

Story summary: Y/N Y/L/N, an ordinary seventeen-year-old girl, gets pulled into the world of rock and roll on a fateful night at the Marquee Club in London when she experiences the musical phenomenon of the Five Live Yardbirds. She grows up fast, navigating her way through the downfall of The Yardbirds, the legendary skyrocket of Led Zeppelin, era-defining decadence instigated by the ‘60s and ‘70s mindset of free love and personal gratification, and finding the courage to express how she fell deeply in love with one of modern music’s greatest guitarists.

Author’s notes (from Molly of rebel-without-a-zeppelin): Hi everyone! A little disclaimer on my part: this is the first story I’ve ever shared for public consumption. I’ve been toying with this idea in my mind for a very long time now, and I’ve finally mustered up the courage to share it with you all. I hope you like it. I am incredibly honored to collaborate with Syd on this project; this is truly our baby, as it has a very long, detailed, intricate plot, so saddle up for lots (and lots) of drama! This is also a sloooowwwww burn, like really, really slow lol. Over the course of the story, please feel free to send me your theories and comments; I would absolutely love to read them. Please enjoy, and happy reading!

---------

3 May 1965

The sound of a car horn beeped incessantly from the front of Y/N’s house. Dropping her backpack down on her bedroom floor with an annoyed huff, she sprinted down the steps. She never did get enough time to prepare, and it was no different today. With her friend Carolyn in tow, Y/N made a beeline for the front door, the click-clack of her Oxford shoes pounding across the hardwood floor. Y/N’s mum, who nonchalantly strolled out of the laundry room with an armful of freshly washed and folded bath towels, leant against the doorframe.

“Now remember Y/N: no drinking, no drugs, no sex. No going home with strange musician guys, nor are you allowed to go to their hotel,” her mum instructed calmly, knowing she’d receive an eye roll from the girl. Her stern expression at home on her gracefully-aged face, the girls receive the speech they get every time they go out.  “You too, C. Even though I’m not your mother, I still worry about your safety.”

Both Y/N’s mum and dad had a very protective instinct over their eldest daughter, just like their other three children. Even at Y/N’s healthy age of seventeen, she longed for the freedom and trust that her older brother had gained at her age.

“Thank you, Mrs. Y/L/N,” Carolyn replied with a little laugh.

“Mum! This is literally the fourth time I’ve been to a Yardbirds gig, and nothing bad has happened,” Y/N huffed. Her mum raised her eyebrows.

Lillian, Y/N’s little sister, walked into the foyer and surprised Y/N with a big, tight hug around her waist. Y/N gasped at the sudden contact, but chuckled when she realized it was her younger sister, and reciprocated the hug.

“I don’t want you getting hurt, Y/N. Boys are icky. And stupid!” Lillian said in a whiny voice, her face muffled by being buried in Y/N’s stomach.

Y/N ruffled her sister’s muss of dirty blonde waves affectionately, rubbing her back to soothe her worries. “I promise, I will come back perfectly fine! I won’t let any boys mess with me, Lil,” Y/N said with a smile, “And when I come back, I’ll tell you everything that happened.”

Lillian gazed up at Y/N with a similar smile, her small teeth shining a bright, pearly white and her chin resting on the taller girl’s stomach. “Okay,” she said, content, before releasing from Y/N with a stuffed animal tucked under her arm.

“Where’s Charlie?” Y/N asked, hoping she could say goodbye to her younger brother before she left.

“I think he’s riding around the neighborhood on his bike with his friends,” Y/N’s mum replied with a shrug. Y/N felt a little disappointed, but she figured she’d talk to him tomorrow at breakfast about her night out.

Thomas, Y/N’s older brother, continued to honk the horn rather obnoxiously, growing quite impatient. It’s a wonder the neighbors weren’t at arms, knocking on their door. He was forced by his parents to be Y/N and Carolyn’s chauffeur to the Marquee Club in London.

“We have to go, or else Tommy will have my head,” Y/N said as she started to open the front door.

“Wait!” her mum said, sloppily placing the towels down on a nearby counter to dash to the door and give Y/N a hug and a kiss on the head goodbye. Finally pulling away her weathered hands flew to Y/N’s shoulders, and gripping them firmly, she continued, “Be good. Love you.”

“I know, I will. Love you too,” Y/N smiled, before dashing down the steps and to the passenger seat of the car. Carolyn was in quick pursuit, following her to the car and taking a seat in the back.

“It’s about time,” Tommy huffed impatiently, tapping his fingertips on the top of the steering wheel as he put the transmission into drive.

“Sorry. Mum was giving me and C a safety brief,” Y/N replied apologetically.

“Why are you two still in school uniforms?” he snorted, shifting to look over at the girls; their studious appearance of white oxford shirts, sweater vests, plaid kilts, white knee socks, and smart oxford shoes would be quite out of place among the audience at the show.

“No time to change, just like usual,” she replied, turning on the radio, soft melodies pouring out at a low volume.

The three drove in silence, except for the sound of the radio playing, until Carolyn had dozed off on the somewhat lengthy car ride. Occasional small talk between Y/N and her brother permeated the quiet that fell over the group, but it picked up when they were only a few blocks away from the venue.

“You gotta stay safe in there, Y/N,” Tommy said, looking straight ahead. His teeth clamped down sharply on his bottom lip: a dead giveaway to the nerves he must have been feeling.

“I know, Dad,” Y/N joked, punching him lightly across the shoulder. Her bright smile wavered and fell when she saw his grim expression.

“I’m serious, you know. I don’t want my sister being pestered by some wankers in a blues band.”

Y/N smirked at her brother’s sudden defensive behavior. “I can take care of myself. Trust me. This isn’t my first rodeo. You should’ve seen the first Yardbirds gig we went to. Utter chaos...” The tilt of her lips signalled that she was joking, and Tommy huffed out a laugh.

Carolyn, stretching with a grunt, had miraculously woken up just as Tommy pulled up to the front door of the Marquee. Glancing at the venue with awe dancing in their eyes, Y/N and Carolyn disembarked from the car, walking closer with the façade of calmness and competency.

“I’ll be back later to pick you girls up. Have fun, but not too much fun,” Tommy rolled his window down as he said this, winking playfully.

Y/N waved to her brother as Carolyn thanked him graciously for the ride. Arms linked, Y/N and Carolyn entered the famous Marquee. Nervousness and anticipation began to pool Y/N’s stomach as she was greeted by the decadent atmosphere of the club: the smell of smoke, alcohol, and sweat hung in the air as her eyes were flashed by many people mingling about, dressed in typical mod clothing. Y/N and her friend looked at each other, feeling like aliens in their intelligent dress. They tactfully made their way through the crowd as they found their way to their usual spot, a small leather-upholstered booth set against the wall near the stage.

“Today might be the day, Y/N,” Carolyn said as they settled into their seats.

“I don’t know,” she replied, smoothing out her skirt, “the idea of that is both scary and exciting to me at the same time. We’ll just roll with the punches, I guess.”

“Which Yardbird do you have your eye on?”

Y/N smirked as she thought for a moment. “Hmm...I’m not sure. I guess they’re all pretty cute in their own way. What about you?”

“Yes, I agree. But I must admit, I do have a very soft spot for Chris Dreja.”

“I’ll pray for ya, C,” Y/N chuckled.

~~~~~~~~

Meanwhile, backstage, five live Yardbirds were performing some pre-show rituals in the hopes of easing the preliminary anxiousness. Jeff, Keith, and Jim were peeking out the little sliver of curtain that allowed them to see their gathering audience.

“Look! It’s those two schoolgirls again!” Jeff pointed to the two teenage girls in school uniforms, chatting in their booth waiting for the show to begin. They were huddled together in conversation, legs daintily crossed as their faint giggles floated over to them. Jim couldn’t help but smile at the sound, though he recovered quickly, not wanting his bandmates to get any ideas.

“What’s wrong with that? They must like us,” Keith replied.

“I think they’re both really pretty, especially the one with the Y/H/C hair,” Jim pointed out, trying to be as subtle as possible.

“Yeah, maybe we should invite them backstage after the show… have a nice little chat,” Jeff winked at the singer and the drummer cheekily.

After taking a final glance at the two conversing girls, the three returned to the backstage area where Paul and Chris were. Jeff immediately enlisted Giorgio, their manager, to complete the agreed-upon mission. Jeff loosely draped an arm around Giorgio’s shoulder before bestowing the request as politely as possible. Not trying to be suspiciously polite, of course, because everyone in the band and its entourage were firsthand witnesses of Jeff’s temper and stubbornness. Yikes.

“Okay, I’m going to need you to do me a favor,” Jeff said to Giorgio with a mischievous smile.

Giorgio rolled his eyes, knowing this “favor” would have to do with scouting girls from the audience. “What d’ya need, Jeff?” he sighed exhaustedly.

“Don’t complain, please,” Jeff deadpanned. “There are two pretty birds in the audience, wearing their school uniforms. They’ve been coming to our shows for a little bit now, and they seem nice—”

“You want me to bring them backstage after the show?” Giorgio interrupted, somehow telepathically knowing, by routine, what the guitarist’s request would be.

“You finish that sentence like you know what I’m about to say.”

“That’s because I do, Mr. Beck,” Giorgio retorted sarcastically, “this happens a lot more often than you think it does.”

“Whatever,” Jeff grumbled moodily, knowing he was right, before walking back to the group of musicians in preparation.

~~~~~~~~

Y/N and Carolyn continued to gossip happily about what was happening at school, not a care in the world. They felt the stares of older men in the club, who silently disapproved of their knee socks being scrunched by their ankles, because that wasn’t the “proper” thing to do. But they didn’t care. Who are they to judge?

Every teacher scolded girls at school who did the same thing, because they didn’t want their long legs to be “tempting” or “distracting” any boys. A bloody nuisance, is what it is.

The girls were snapped from their thoughts by the sound of a heavy guitar tone being blasted through the speakers in an opening riff. Their eyes were stapled, almost transfixed to the stage as they took in the five sharply-dressed men in front of them, singing their songs and playing their instruments.

As much as Carolyn enjoyed The Yardbirds and music in general, Y/N had a rather deep connection to it, odd enough as it was. She could play the piano fairly well, so she understood where these musicians were coming from cognitively and creatively. From what she’d read in magazines about current popular musicians, like The Yardbirds for example, she liked the same music they did. Y/N understood dynamics, tempo, tone, key, and musical notation, just like they did. Perhaps she’d be able to get into an intelligent musical conversation with at least one of them one day.

Two straight hours of hits, obscure songs, and blues covers from The Yardbirds’ catalogue were played for the Marquee Club patrons, hypnotizing its drunk and high onlookers with polished musicality and instrumentation.

As the final song concluded, both Y/N and Carolyn, unbeknownst to the other, felt a sinking feeling of disappointment that fell like a pit in their stomachs. They wouldn’t have the chance to meet the band. No one from the entity had approached them yet, and momentarily the five live Yardbirds would be exiting the stage for the night.

After they said their goodbyes and thanks to the crowd, they disappeared behind the curtain. The main lights of the club brightened to signal that the show was over, as the voices of all the patrons raised in rave of the spectacular show they had just witnessed.

Discouraged, but still in light spirits at what they had just seen, Y/N and Carolyn stood up from their seat and headed for the front door. Y/N expected her brother to be waiting in front; it was late, so might as well not make him wait longer than he needs to.

Y/N and Carolyn were merely a few feet from the door when Y/N felt a gentle tap on her shoulder. Turning around to see a man with a dark beard already baring a jovial tight-lipped grin at her, the girl was quite surprised, maybe a little weirded out, but she reciprocated the gesture as genuinely as she could.

“Hello sir, what can we do for you?” Y/N greeted, discreetly nudging Carolyn to help her out and become a united front with her in front of this stranger.

“Good evening ladies, I was sent by Mr. Jeff Beck to offer you an invitation backstage to hang out with the band.”

Y/N’s stomach dropped and her face broke out into an obvious mad blush, much to her dismay. She was internally screaming. The Jeff Beck had spotted them in the crowd?! This had to be a dream.  Wait, this could be a complete drunken buffoon trying to trick them. Y/N remembered what her mother had said, and took the proper precautionary measure.

Y/N smiled in the most composed way she could. “Thank you for such a gracious invitation! Could I ask your name, if you don’t mind?”

“Giorgio Gomelsky, manager of The Yardbirds,” he replied, in a seemingly proud manner.

Okay, this was real. Y/N knew that Giorgio was definitely the manager’s name. She turned to Carolyn, who looked just as excited as she was.

“What are your names, dears?” Giorgio asked, pulling them out of their daze of what seemed like a fake reality.

“I’m Carolyn, and this is my friend Y/N,” Carolyn piped up, excited that she finally got an opportunity to speak to someone close to The Yardbirds.

She internally agreed to let Y/N handle the “diplomacy” part of the introduction, knowing that she was best at that. Carolyn knew her friend was quite shy, so she knew to step in when Y/N was starting to feel anxious. She noticed Y/N starting to fiddle with her fingers while talking to Giorgio in the most collected way she could muster; as excited as Y/N was, Carolyn knew she was growing very nervous.

“Well, it is certainly lovely to meet you both. So, what do you say? Would you like to meet the lads?”

After one final glance of excited mutual agreement, Carolyn replied, “Yes, we’d love to.”

Giorgio led the pair of girls back the way they came, through a sea of inebriated people, but this time through the backstage door. Y/N made an appoint to walk behind Carolyn, in an attempt to collect and relax herself. She was starting to sweat a little, her stomach doing flips and her hands becoming cold and clammy.

~~~~~~~~

“Our guests should be arriving any minute now,” Jeff said as he was placing his guitar back in its case.

Chris was standing and chatting with Paul in a corner when he turned around in surprise at the news. “Guests? What guests?”

“We had Giorgio invite two girls from the audience to come back here,” Jim replied, walking over to sit down in a metal folding chair.

“And why weren't we made aware of this?” Paul asked, as he walked to get another metal folding chair to place near Jim.

“It was their idea,” Keith replied, pointing two fingers between Jeff and Jim. Paul and Chris just nodded in recognition.

“I didn’t hear you disagree, Relf,” Jeff clapped back. He then told Chris and Keith to get some chairs for themselves and the two girls that would be walking through the door at any second.

Before Keith could respond, a couple knocks resounded in the room, signalling the arrival of the guests. Jacket lapels and ties were quickly straightened, even though each person was still glazed with quickly-drying sweat from the show they had just played, before the room fell unnaturally quiet as Giorgio opened the rather squeaky door.

The initial tension in the room that lasted a split second could be cut with a knife. Y/N felt her heart pounding in her chest, a cold sweat already running down her back, as five pairs of eyes landed on her, Carolyn, and Giorgio, warm smiles following suit.

She felt like internally combusting.

“Boys, this is Y/N,” Giorgio broke the momentary silence by introducing her, “and Carolyn.” Y/N smiled shyly and sent them a little wave, a dusty shade of pink seeping its way to her cheeks. Carolyn’s greeting was much more exuberant than Y/N’s, as she took the initiative to go over and shake all of their hands amiably. Y/N realized she had to follow her friend in order to make a good first impression.

Knowing that the boys wanted to spend time with the girls without being chaperoned, Giorgio left the room to attend to other business affairs.

Upon first glance, Y/N was the most beautiful girl that four of the five Yardbirds had ever seen. Perfect features, long legs, a calm, gentle, sweet demeanor… Just an absolutely angelic young woman; a vision.

Jeff had obviously recognized her beauty, from seeing her at multiple shows, but he thought she was way out of his league. He decided to focus on getting her to laugh and relax around them, because he noticed just how nervous she looked. She was turning pale right in front of his very eyes! Paul and Chris began to internally question themselves, how have I not seen this girl before? She is so gorgeous! Jim had been glancing at her sporadically throughout the show, soaking up her faraway presence. He noticed how her eyes glistened in childlike wonder as she watched them do what they did best: perform the Chicago blues.

“Well, it is very nice to meet you both,” Keith replied enthusiastically. “I’m Keith,” he alluded to himself, then pointing to the other members of the group while giving their names, “and this is Chris, Paul, Jeff, and Jim.”

“I mean, we know who you guys are, but it’s so lovely to finally meet you,” Carolyn replied. Y/N nodded in agreement.

“Come and sit down! Make yourselves comfortable. We don’t bite,” Jeff joked, motioning to the open chairs. The girls smiled and accepted his invitation, Y/N taking a seat between Jeff Beck and Jim McCarty, while Carolyn took a seat between Keith Relf and Chris Dreja. The chairs were arranged in a circular formation, so each person could talk to the other with ease.

“Tell us about yourselves!” Paul initiated, “I think Y/N should go first though, because you haven’t said too much yet,” he laughed at the last part. Y/N giggled (a little too idiotically for her own liking), but she felt herself become starstruck at how her name sounded coming from one of their voices.

Y/N clenched her cold, clammy hands in her lap as a method to ease her anxiety before starting with a smile. “Well, I’m from Saint Albans. This is our fourth time, I believe, coming to see a Yardbirds gig. Carolyn and I came to see you with Eric Clapton once, and then this is the third time with Jeff.”

“Oh, that’s fantastic! I guess I see where your favor lies in terms of guitarists,” Jeff responded playfully.

“I guess you’re right,” Y/N laughed, “I will admit that I love what you’ve done with the body of work. Clapton was a blues purist, which I respect, and he’s great, but I think your playing is much more interesting and unorthodox.”

Paul, Jim, and Jeff all raised their eyebrows at Y/N’s comment. They were impressed with how she understood their musicality.

“Are you a musician?” Jim asked Y/N.

“Not in your sense of the word,” Y/N chuckled, “But I’ve been playing the piano for most of my life, so I understand music. Probably more than your average female audience member,” she added with a grin.

“That’s so cool! Are you classically trained, or is it just a hobby?”

“Classically trained,” Y/N admitted to Jim shyly.

“Oh wow, so you’re the real deal,” Jeff added.

“I’m not a professional, so I’d say no,” Y/N laughed.

“You probably know more about music than all five of us combined!” Paul said.

“Well, I know that you know much more about the blues than me!” Y/N answered playfully.

“Okay, I’ll give you that,” Paul smiled at Y/N. She cursed herself in her mind for feeling weak at Paul’s simple sentiment, but tried to keep her composure as best she could.

The four of them, especially Jeff and Y/N, began to bond over their love for different musicians. Y/N expressed her love for Chet Atkins and his fingerpicking style, Scotty Moore’s lively soloing style, and Robert Johnson’s slide technique and open tunings, rendering the three men shocked at her knowledge on the subject. Y/N loved how easily Jeff could make her laugh, and how interested Paul and Jim were at whatever she had to say, significant or insignificant. Chris Dreja, who was in a little group with Keith and Carolyn, occasionally spaced out of his conversation to hear what Y/N had to say.

They bonded for about an hour and a half about everything and nothing, until Y/N abruptly realized that Tommy was probably waiting for a while outside for her and her friend. She apologized to the band profusely for such a sudden departure as she and Carolyn walked towards the door.

“Say you’ll come visit us again after the show?” Jeff called to Y/N as she turned towards him in the doorframe.

“Absolutely,” she smiled brightly.

---------

Thanks so much, hope you enjoy!!

Taglist: @y0uth--anasia @reincarnated70sbaby

[wheelersdealer]

Her Majesty

Request: “please more steve smut!!!” + “king steve x reader hate sex? like…Hardcore Smut.” + “a lil bit of choking!!” + “GIVE US STEVE EATING OUT THE READER PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE,” - Horny anons. Summary: You (Queen Y/n) and (King) Steve hate nothing more than each other. Despite being at the top of Hawkin’s High’s social hierarchy, and despite working well enough on the social scene, you can’t stand each other. Steve makes a comment about “Her Majesty, the Prude,” and beckons you to prove him otherwise. Pairing: “King” Steve Harrington x “Queen” Reader A/n: Everybody in my ask-box is thirsty my gosh…y’all gonna get dehydrated.

“Hey Y/l/n!” You lurch hearing Tommy’s voice. Nonetheless, you turn to him, flashing a small smile and crossing your arms. He stumbles in the hallway where he’s walking ahead of an eagerly skipping Carol and plain uninterested Steve. 

Just when he thinks to reel back and smile at the blink of attention, your smile turns a bit more mischievous, and he’s back to scowling the moment your lips purse ready to spit out something. 

Even then his sickening ass is somewhat encouraged, coming up to you and sticking his hand to the locker by your head.

“Heard Zurich couldn’t secure you. How’d you feel taking a ride on the Tommy Train? Might show you a thing or two.” He’s chewing his cheek and smirking. It’s disgusting, frankly.

However, you hum pleasantly and smile at the ceiling. “You know, Tommy K. is kind of cute.” 

He deflates. When he does it he doesn’t portray sadness as much as a mix of anger and embarrassment. Then his fingers are clenching beside your head and while his body doesn’t change, his neck stretched forward. You wonder if refusing to be intimidated burns that ego of his. Well, actually it’s obvious it does. And speaking of the devil, Carol and King Steve Harrington round-up right beside you.

“Y’know,” Tommy nods back at Steve “Maybe you wouldn’t be such a prude if Harrington aught to show it to you.”

Steve seems intrigued to hear your answer. You look him in the eye and say, “Sorry. I’m just not attracted to whining trust-fund babies.” 

“C’mon Tommy,” Steve steps away, rolling his eyes. “Wasting your time trying to get that stick out of Her Majesty’s ass.” 

And you scoff. It’s like music to King Steve’s ears hearing you react. You let it slip, it had no intention. In fact, you wince finding you’ve shown disgust. It only means they’ll come back harder starting now or the next time around. You lean back against your locker and cross your arms, looking angered and ashamed off to the side.

“Oh my!” Steve chirps. “Was that a scoff?”

Steve’s in front of you now, arms crossed to mimic you and feet planted a fairly dominant distance apart. It doesn’t help much but you roll your eyes and show just how much they’ve managed to piss you off. No point in trying to mask it with confidence and charm now. Tommy’s the type to hold onto the most insignificant of details. 

“Queen Y/n, showing some capacity to care? Gotta be honest, didn’t think you had anything other than ‘sticking it to the man’ in you.” 

“Sorry. It can get hard sometimes keeping a straight face for someone so appalling. You know, that just might be the reason I’m such a ‘prude.’” 

Steve leans back, offended. 

“Awe…” you scrunch up your face, “how’s that ego holding up for ya?” You reach and cup his cheek, then hold your palm to his forehead. “My my, burning up? What, did Tommy H. pass it on or somethin’?”

You ‘pout’ but Steve can’t bring himself to slap your hand away. He glares.

So Carol does it for him. It stings for you but she’s the one hissing, stepping closer and stomping with her heel before Steve rolls his eyes and holds her away from you.

“Not a prude, are ya?” Steve chuckles and pulls out a stick of gum. He slowly lowers it onto his tongue, brows quirked at you seeing what he likes to believe is intrigue. Then he’s chewing it obnoxiously, letting his mouth open and make a horrible smacking sound with every chew of it. 

He lowers himself, nose just barely against yours. “Prove it.”

First, he jumps at the pure rage on your face. But then he laughs. He’s shuffled off by Carol and Tommy, both trying to pry his eyes from you. But he just won’t turn around. Only when you look to the side to clench your jaw does he bother.

Prove it.

It rings in your ears for a minute. His slick voice, deep and natural, for once not clouded by his higher-pitched ‘chill and calm’ King Steve persona. 

You huff, still leaning against your locker. “I will…” 

And likewise, you lean in the front doorway of Steve Harrington’s home. First, you ring the bell, knock on the door, wait while chewing your cheek and checking your watch every once in a while. You’re about ready to either A. Kick his door down or B. Climb through his window, when he opens it looking less ‘King Steve-ly’ than you’re sure you could have ever imagined.  

“Y/n?”

You wave, smiling cheekily. Then you step inside, slipping off your jacket and ignoring Steve’s slur of confused huffs to say “Go on then.” You throw your jacket over your shoulder. “Take them off.” 

He squirms a bit (of causes he can’t quite distinguish) when you deliberately look him up and down.

“Excuse me?” With a single push of his hand, he closes the door, then crosses his arms and looks you up and down.

You shrug, waltzing over. “You said prove it.” 

His jaw drops. He’s getting it, slowly but surely. He chuckles and clicking his tongue. “No - no no no, that’s not how it works sweetheart.” You roll your eyes, and he starts stepping closer, unraveling his arm and bringing his hands to our face. One grips your chin to bring your eyes to his, the other cups your cheek. “You don’t just come in here begging, so you can go back out there preaching how you tried but I said no and how you ‘trying’ prove you’re not a prude.” 

You giggle. “King Steve’s gonna say no? To me?”

“Eh…I got my eyes on Nancy Wheeler…”

“And I’ve got mine on Byers. Get this over with and we can put this childish little campaign of yours and Tommy’s to rest. I’m willing to give you the final, biggest ‘fuck you’ before I even try getting serious.”

“Oh really? What’s so ‘fuck you’ about this?”

“It’s to show I only fucked you out of pity that you’re so emotionally deprived you call every girl that won’t sleep with you a prude. Harrington, sweetie…” You coo. “What, didn’t get enough love from mommy?” You wrap your arms around his neck and ‘nip’ at the bud of his nose. Steve slides his hands down to your hips. “Let me be obligated to give you some.” 

He rolls his jaw. He leans in and breathes against your lips, “Fuck…you.” 

He leans, but just when your lips are about to touch you grab his hand and skip past him, twirling him and dragging his stumbling body down the hallway. Before you get much of a chance to realize you’re not too familiar with the layout of his house (only familiar through a handful of crowded parties), you yelp as he grabs around your waist and lifts you in the air, walking backward and pushing open the door of his room.

You flail a bit before pulling your legs in and just letting him. But then he throws you onto the bed and you get on your hands and knees to look back at him. 

“What was that for, Asshole!” You scoff, coming to sit as normal and taking your shirt off while he takes off his.

“What?” He tilts his head. “We’re supposed to be civil now?”

You scoff, chucking your tops, slipping off your bottoms, and kicking your shoes off the edge of his bed. 

He’s just finished kicking his pants from his ankles when you get on your knees and reach ahead, grabbing him and pulling him onto the bed from over the foot-board. You give him what he wanted initially, kissing him passionately while getting him over you. 

“Slow—“ he says between a kiss, and then there’s another “—down, Jesus.” He scoffs, having to reach back and take his socks off. You grimace at the image of him wearing them despite how brief it is. He scoffs back at you, “Seriously?” And then he’s on you again, hooking his arm under your thigh and pulling your calves onto his back.

He’s lifting himself a bit to adjust down there when you snap your fingers in his face. “Hey!”

“What?!” He’s genuinely offended.

“Put your money where your mouth is, Harrington.” You smirk. 

He rolls his eyes, but nods, his hair bouncing. “You’re gonna regret that.” He forces a smile. 

He sits up and crawls back a bit, giving you the space to sit on your elbows while he gets between your legs. He runs his hands up your calves and eases himself between your legs. He spreads them carefully, settling with your thighs on his shoulders and his hands comfortable on your hips. 

He looks up at you with an open smirk, and upon seeing your eagerness he stops himself, chuckling.

“Oh come on,” you hit your foot on his back. “Don’t tease, Harrington.” 

“Oh hush-hush.”

“I want, your tongue.” You playfully nip at the air, scrunching your nose. “I want you to kiss it and lick it and suck it, Harrington.” Your voice becomes whiny, and you roll your hips to hold yourself closer to Steve for just a second before he secures your thighs on his shoulders before finally pressing his lips against you.

You moan, feeling his tongue slide over your folds. You tilt your head at Harrington, looking curious but impressed. He looks up softly then closes his eyes, sucking on your clit and rolling his head while he does. You reach one hand and tangle it into his head of hair nuzzled between your legs. 

He looks again…and smirks right before sliding his tongue into you without warning.

You gasp, chuckling a bit before whimpering and moaning as usual.

You get your other hand in his hair and the way you grip his locks has him pressing his nose deeper into your wetness as he licks painfully slow strokes. Your thighs close tight around his head, arch your back, and let out soft wispy moans. The sounds make him moan against you, and the vibration sends another bout past your lips. 

You buck your hips but that doesn’t put-off his determination. He still moans, working his tongue harder. Then he brings his hands into the equation, spreading you so he can taste more.

He stops for a moment. And you whine at him, tugging his hair a bit before relaxing some.

You feel him smirk against you.

Then he’s licking as feverishly though steadily as he can, lapping up everything. 

And then you reach it, coming and moaning just a bit louder than you already have. Don’t want to give him too much. It’s hard not to shriek, your body going stiff and your back arching. You shake, hips jutting without your control and a fried chuckle slipping past your lips.

“Harrington!” You grip his hair, and despite you having reached, he keeps lapping, moaning. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” 

You come down completely, your thighs relaxing. And you take them off his shoulders, much to his disappointment for just when you begin to do it, he thinks to try and hold them there. 

He frowns at you, almost as though he’s judging pre-lecture. 

He climbs back up over you, sitting between your legs again. But he puts his hand between you two and rubs at your folds again. You jerk with each movement of his finger, the aftermath still sensitive and tingling still present. 

He runs a hand through your hair and gets close, mumbling just above your lips. “What’d you say about, ‘putting your money where your mouth is?’” He hums. When you understand his bargain (with a smirk slowly growing), you sit up and get out from under him.

“Fine then, Harrington. I will.” You crawl on all fours, turning on the bed and laying between his legs once he gets comfortable. You lower yourself to your stomach, lifting your legs behind you and crossing them. You wink at Steve when you catch his eyes lingering on your shape. He’s caught on it, not seeming to notice your grip around him until you start pumping him. 

You bite your lip for a moment, keeping eye contact with him.

Then he gulps and nods, hoping to spur you on.

It works.

You give his length a painfully slow lick, then close your mouth over the head and sucking sweetly. You work him up and down, only going so far before coming back up (to Steve’s pained moaned) and licking at his tip again. You’re calm with it, body relaxed along with your grip. After a bit, you throw your hair back over your shoulder and seeing you hold the bundle of hair tight in your hand to assure its position behind your shoulder makes Steve shudder. 

Then you’re back down and taking Steve deeper in your mouth. He bumps against your cheek a few times before you pull him out with a slurp only to take him back in your mouth, keeping him much straighter this time. You hold yourself up a bit, wiggling your bottom and keeping yourself hovered some more on your knees instead of your elbows so you can take more of him. 

You look at him softly, eyes wide and fluttering. 

Then you devour him, taking him as deep as you can and keeping him in your throat just long enough to make him choke at the feel and sight of it. You pull up and continue, going as deep as you can and treating Steve to some sounds he very much enjoys. 

When a bit of precum hits your throat, you squeal a bit, gripping him tighter. He winces at it but comes down from the spark of pain with a jumpy chest and unsure chuckle. 

And so…you grip him tight again, running your hand up and down him while sucking and licking around the underside of his shaft. He moans, “Fuck,” and bumps his head back into the headboard. 

The faster you go, the harder it is for him to keep his hands to himself.

Eventually, he says fuck it, sitting forward and grabbing your hair. He brings you down on him, groaning “Fuck,” again through tightly shut teeth. “That’s right…” He bites his lip and cums into your mouth. “That’s right Y/n…eeeverryy last drop.” You oblige, swallowing around him but with a clear look of vengeance in your eyes. He can only chuckle, letting go of his grip (though it wasn’t that harsh to begin with) and making you free to pull him out of your mouth.

But you don’t, not yet. You clean him up a bit first, waiting till he’s completely done and completely laid back against his pillows. 

You pull him out of your mouth with a pop…then giggle with a closed mouth. 

He chuckles, rather delirious. Then he’s reminded of the vengeance in your eyes, and he jumps to sit up, curious but fearful. You crawl out from between his legs and sit on his lap. You lean forward, chest against his and one arm wrapped under his neck with your hand in his hair. You tug it while you kiss him, Steve moaning into your mouth and bringing his hands to your hips. 

His hips jut up feeling you reach for him and pump him a bit, just enough before you lift yourself up…then lower yourself onto him. 

You moan at the feeling, breaking your lips from him and sitting up. You put your hands to his chest and roll your hips, lowering your chin to your chest and almost growling when you see his eyes close and head throw itself back into the headboard again. 

“C’mon, keep up Harrington,” you tease as you rock in his lap. 

He sits up some more and you squeeze his shoulders while he holds your hips. You lift yourself up and down in a monotonous cycle, though one that has his breath quite labored not before too long. He puts his chin to his chest and closes his eyes, almost whimpering at it.

When you chuckle, he pops one eye open and can’t help but smile, somewhat embarrassed. You push on his chest again and decide to in fact let him lay down and relax while you take this one. You thrust him into you at a regular pace, keeping your chin held high.

The pit in your stomach is hot, and the fire is growing. 

You lean back, holding yourself up with your hands back on his legs. You continue to lift and lower yourself, picking up faster and faster. 

Steve’s head is deep into the pillow as he whispers hushed, quick, curses. 

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuuuck—“

Leaning forward suddenly, you pull him into another kiss. He goes with it, sitting up and making his arms tight around your waist. You’re stuck right against him with little room for your chest to expand. It leaves you putting your chin over his shoulder, and you pass the baton to him doing the work.

He’s cautious at first, then his hips snap up into you and you’re clutching his back and whimpering into his skin. You cling to him, whispering your own curses with as little energy as you have to do it. 

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck.” 

He’s grunting into your ear, taking short breaks between each thrust but hitting hard inside you each time. 

You lift your chin from his shoulder and he takes his chance, planting his lips on yours and daring to make you lean back. You feel him even deeper, and for your own sake, you break the kiss to again nuzzle into his shoulder where you moan and whimper and grunt into his skin.

Then, he flips you two around. 

You huff at the loss of breath when your back hits the mattress, and you scramble as fast as you can to wrap your legs around his back. With his back rising and collapsing with how viciously he’s thrusting, your calves slip down every time he moves. So you keep your feet flat on the mattress and your knees pointing toward the ceiling. 

You sit up with the help of the headboard and pillows, but Steve keeps at it, his head dipping to rest against your breasts. He refuses to take his eyes from where you two meet time and time again.

He lifts his head to say through clenched teeth, “Guess you’re not such a fucking prude after all,” then puts his lips on your neck and sucks. 

You moan, rolling your eyes at the comment but forcing through a series of grunts, “Told you, Harrington.” 

You hold onto his head, fingering digging through his hair and into his scalp.

“I swear you won’t like what I’d do if you stop now,” you seethe, that overwhelming warmth in your core like a time-bomb coming closer and closer to your orgasm. And thank goodness for him, he doesn’t. He slams over and over into your g-spot, a sweet, unbelievable tingle sparking through your body every time he hits it. 

You squeak, and the way his body shakes with his laughter makes the feeling in your gut even worse…or perhaps, better.

He fucks you senseless and you close your eyes. There’s no use trying to focus on anything with him rocking you.

And finally, with your back arched and your chin and nails digging into Harrington’s back, you come, the warmth leaving you in something that’s so satisfying but something that steals all energy from you. You whine and continue to ride it out, moving your hips involuntarily along with his. 

He can feel you pulse and squeeze around him as wave after wave of pleasure hits you. He grits his teeth and grunts into your ear, a similar warmth and tension becoming overwhelming for him. His thrusts become jittery and uneven, and when he’s still for just a second, you feel him twitching in you, but he goes back to thrusting. And then he comes, his thrusts still coming as hard as they can, but sloppy now.

You feel him pulse inside you, and you feel the warmth of his cum fill you. 

No need to worry, you enjoy it. You roll your hips as he does it, chuckling in his ear as he too finds his strength lost from him and his weight on your chest becomes more significant. 

He manages just enough to lift himself for a second.

“You uh, you on the pill?”

“Mmmm,” you grab his head and kiss him. “Well,” you say between a kiss, “should’ve thought about that before you came in me. But lucky for you I just so happen to be. Because what did we learn today, Steve?”

He chuckles, exasperated. He too kisses you between words. “Might not be a prude but you still can be a hell of a bitch, Y/n.”

You chuckle. “Mm, I know.” You lean back and nip at the air between you two, scrunching up your nose. “I know.” 

You kiss him again, tenderly. 

You lean back and whisper, “Now get the hell off of me.”

(Message me if you would like to be tagged whenever I post a Steve imagine!) 

@stevieharrrr @songforhema @broadwayandnetflix @billyhargrovescigarette @bckysloki @christinawxxx @timeladygallifrey @gwenebear @chloe742 @wtf-multifandom @theyoutubedork

[lils420]

A little something for the kids - Part 3

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader (I promise we’re getting there)

Summary: Here is Part 3. Tony and Natasha come up with a plan for y/n, but it is not the best. No time has passed since part 2.

https://lils420.tumblr.com/post/616926664929263616/lils420

Warning: None

It had been about an hour since the interrogation. A woman had since arrived, about the same age as y/n, a year older, maybe two. Y/n was not sure who she was but judging by the familiarity between her and Stark, she was one of the Avengers. Stark had moved y/n out of the room she had been held in into a smaller, more comfortable one. Sitting on the provided couch, debatably a bit too stiff, she eyed the two people behind the glass door. Although y/n could not hear everything, she saw the visible discomfort the woman had. She spoke quickly and kept motioning at the feet of Ironman. Y/n was not sure why, but it took a while for Stark to calm the woman down. Only after that, they entered.

“Y/n, this is Natasha. Natasha, y/n.” Stark made a somewhat helpless gesture and sat down on a chair. Y/n felt Natasha’s eyes travel up and down her body. “She does not look dangerous”, she stated, “But then again, Bruce didn't either.” There was a pause before she continued. “Show us”.

Perplexed, y/n looked up. “What do you mean?”

“You’re power. Show it to us. I want to see it.”

Y/n glanced at Stark, but he nodded. “Alright”, she agreed. After all, it seemed sensible. Slowly, she stood up, finding a stance of strength and comfort. Her hands, shaking a little, she stretched out and concentrated on the vibrating feeling inside her. The warmth and power that never truly left. Then, she waited. Initially, her hands started glowing, but soon, a spark of fire appeared. Then more. Combining themselves into a small flame, they started dancing around y/n’s fingers as she moved her hands. Another flame appeared and both whirled with extreme grace up y/n arm, traveling around her body, pulsating before finding their way back to the hands, slowly dimming and finally fading out.

“It’s beautiful”, Natasha whispered, almost in awe at the seemingly alive element. Y/n smiled faintly. It was beautiful. Natasha spoke again. “But you seemed very attentive with it”.

Y/n nodded. “I’m not sure how much I can control it, especially here on earth. I didn’t want to set you guys on fire.” And kill you, she added it an afterthought.

“Y/n we want to help you. Maybe train you, we’re not sure. The problem is”, Stark stopped rubbed his temples, “because of uhm personal issues, I am under house arrest. Technically I am not supposed to even talk to Nat. So you cannot stay with me. Aside from that, it wouldn’t be safe to position you in the middle of New York.”

Natasha nodded thoughtfully and added, “You’ll come with me.”

Ironman looked up to her in surprise but before he could protest, Natasha smiled. “I have a plan. But you’re not going to like it very much Tony.”

“You’re going to call Rogers, aren’t you?”, Tony walked around the car they had put y/n in and crossed his arms. Natasha sighed. “I told you you weren’t going to like it.”

“I just don’t understand. What does he have to offer that I can’t provide?”

“A space of safety.”

In disbelief, Tony felt his eyebrows shoot up. “Nat, do you even understand what we’re dealing with here? You can’t really belief that we’re taking her in because she can do a little magic with fire. We’re taking her in because she had contact with an Infinity stone. One, that is merely out there. We have to secure it. She’s our best chance at it and you want to give her to Rogers?”

“Hey, I know all of this. But she isn’t going to be much help right now and our first priority is to contain her. If she is half as dangerous as she thinks she is... twenty three people... and she doesn’t remember.”

“You could kill twenty three people, she isn’t that special.”

Nat got inside the car. “Yes, but I’d do it consciously. And if you don’t shut up you might end up as one of them. Besides, must I remind you that even if you wanted to you can’t? Let me deal with this. I’ll text you the details.” And with that, she closed her door and started the car.

As Tony watched them drive away, an idea occurred to him. “Friday”, he said, “get me everything you can about that CIA mission y/n was on. Let’s go find out who her partner was.”

Y/n and Natasha drove for a while. The latter didn’t speak, so y/n busied herself with the outside world. They had put her in handcuffs, although that made little sense considering she could melt them, but she hadn’t protested. If that was what the Avengers needed to feel safe, she would let them. After a while, the plain green fields turned into woods. Y/n decided to ask a question.

“Where are we going?”

“To a friends house.”

“Ah”, there was a pause, “what’s her name?”

“It’s a he. But why don’t you ask me the question you really want to ask?”

Y/n watched a raindrop travel down the window. “Okay. What is the plan?”

Natasha smiled as she speed up. “I’m going to give you to my friend. He has connections with Captain America, who in turn will bring you to Wakanda.”

“Wakanda?”

“It’s a country in West Africa. They’ll have the right technology to contain and train you. They’ve.... dealt with people like you before.”

Y/n nodded solemnly. It seemed like a good plan.

After about two more hours, the woods turned into fields again. Except this time, at the very horizon, a farm house appeared. Natasha’s cell phone buzzed with a text message, but she ignored it.

“Is that your friends house?”

Nat made a confirming sound. “He has three children, hope you can act accordingly.”

Y/n smiled. She had always liked children. Natasha’s phone buzzed again. “Someone’s trying to talk to you.”

“The whole world would try to talk to me if I let them”, Natasha remarked as she pulled up the driveway to the house. It looked peaceful. After parking the car, Natasha looked at her phone. “It’s Tony. He’s trying to call me. How about you go ahead and knock at the door, while I answer this. Say I’m with you.” She smiled apologetically before dialing a number. Y/n left the car and made her way up to the front door.

A child opened it after her first knock. A boy, maybe ten years old.

“Hi. I am y/n, I’m here with Natasha?”, y/n said softly. The boy turned around. “Da-ad!”, he shouted into the house, “Aunt Nat is here and she brought a frie-end.”

“One sec, I’m coming”, retorted a familiar voice. Too familiar. Y/n tried to remember where she knew it from. She looked at the family name besides the door and a shiver went down her spine. Barton. In that moment Natasha shouted. “Y/N! Wait!”. But it was too late. Y/n already saw him. A man, in his thirties. Clint Barton. The person who shot her. The person who betrayed her. A hot feeling cursed through her hands and she dug her fingernails into her skin to control it. She wouldn’t let this person get the better of her again. Clint Barton. Whom she knew from the CIA.

[brideylee]

Chateau Quarantine

                 Sophia Coppola smokes a cigarette while she waits for an omelette she has no intention of eating.  It’s a gloomy marine layered morning, you can barely see across Sunset. She’s been in lock down for three weeks and while she normally loves the moody, brooding decadence of the Chateau Marmont, its elite solitude is giving her a bit too much time to reflect. She thinks about the concept of crying as she watches a long torso-ed model skinny dip in the pool from the penthouse. There are no rules anymore, not that there were many in the first place. The hotel was shuttered to the public as of three weeks ago, and those who were already there could stay indefinitely. Sophia lives alone in the tower suite with the three bedrooms and the wrap around porch, known by some as “the Deniro”, but Robert himself couldn’t tell you why. Any legends or gossip about the Chateau were just bread crumbs to keep the public hungry and mystified. The real Chateau for the privileged few who used it, was an unceremonious respite for excessive loneliness, addiction, and often not great sex. The Chateau had a reputation: look but don’t fuck. Everyone’s genitals were rendered useless from anti-depressants.

               She thought she would be filming by now. Her cast is stranded too, with little guidance other than “we’ll wait it out.” The film she wanted to make stars Hugh Grant and Ewan McGregor as two estranged brothers coming together for their father’s funeral. Iman was set to the play the mysterious woman who shows up at the funeral who they then realize was their father’s mistress. It was going to be a slow movie about the brothers coming to terms with their father’s death and equally so falling in love with the woman he hid from them. All this would be suggested through intimate long takes, and funny, stylish, improvised montages. Always subtle and romantic without the sap, this was the tight rope Sophia liked to balance on.  At the end of the movie, both brothers are mildly changed, but not entirely. She has a sweet spot for the immovability of people’s psyches, particularly men. 

Sophia watches impartially, as the naked model floats on her back in the calm pool. It is so cold and early to swim, is she on drugs or is everyone at this place even more numb than they think? She wondered if her film was too male, too disembodied from her personally to mean anything.  Tapping into the male gaze, was an ability she was born with. Her father’s point of view was all she interacted with as a kid, and the underside of his specialties became her focus: the lost parts of men when they are too weak to hold up the heavy crown of their egos, who they were when they could let themselves feel outside of their work. But given the state of the world, and the molasses nature of time during lock down, Sophia started to question if what she always found to be her strength was just simply trauma. Was her whole profession a way to resolve some genetic creative stifling that took place in the shadow of her dad? Surely her body of work contains more than that. It’s not all a selfish attempt at repair. Is any art not selfish? "Maybe I should make a different movie, something that everyones gonna like for once.” She thinks to herself.  Thank God, her goat cheese omelette has arrived.

             Later on, the gothic lobby is empty besides the cast of her film and the elegant model behind the reception desk standing like a hollow sculpture, frightened by the chaos that lurks outside. Ewan McGregor, drunk off of five Marmont Mules, is showing Hugh Grant an app that maps the stars and constellations. Ewan has gone on and on about a camping trip he took around Scotland and how amazing the stars were, but when pressed for details about where exactly he was or what he saw or what year he did this, he can’t seem to remember anything at all.But that doesn’t dampen his excitement about the app. “See, that, there is Orion’s belt!” Ewan enthusiastically points out, his cute smirk displaying his bottom row of sweet corn kernel teeth. Ewan just recently learned about the stars. Until the age of 47, Ewan had been referring to them as “night freckles.” Many think this is why he didn’t have a fun time acting in  Star Wars, space simply befuddled him. Hugh and Ewan are dressed exactly the same: navy blue beanie, black jeans, a tight blue thermal, and desert boots- the actor man uniform they give you after you play opposite Nicole Kidman or Renee Zellweger.

“That’s brilliant,” says Hugh Grant completely perplexed by the app and confused at Ewan’s rambling. Hugh sticks a handkerchief up his nostril with his pointer finger and wiggles it around somewhat violently. Iman clocks this with a blink of disgust, her silk, gold blouse  glistens with god-like royalty in the amber glow.  “Can you turn your face away? That’s how the virus is spreading.” Her voice is deep and she rarely uses it because it changes the direction of the wind and messes with the tides.  “Aw, fuck me. That’s right, isn’t it?” Hugh Grant turns away and starting blowing his nose and coughing obnoxiously. Hugh is acting like a resentful brat because he knows he wont be able to have Iman. He decides he’s gonna pick a fight with Sandra Bullock via face time later to blow off steam. Iman is thinking she was right all along, she should never have agreed to this. She was already sick of the “beanie twins”. 

Hugh had been rattling on about how the movie needed a sex scene or at least a sexy scene and went on to say that Sophia had some sort of block. Iman felt that both Ewan and Hugh, however innocently, were exploiting their acting roles to gain real life experience, and there was no way in hell, she was going to kiss either of them.  Her kiss would make them immortal and Iman knew their souls needed more lifetimes to grow. Plus, she liked the script the way it was- underwritten and open for interpretation. Her character is symbolic of the side of their dad they didn’t get to meet-  spiritual, graceful, embodied. It was a soulful choice not to show any nudity or sex, one that could lead Americans to try to use whats left of their iPhone stolen imaginations.

                Meanwhile Michael Cain, who was supposed to play the dead father, is staring at the beautiful Victorian tapestry hanging behind her. “It’s like it’s right out of the Cloister’s.” Michael says under his breath. Michael is sweet, Iman thinks as she watches him stare at the tapestry with wonder, his mouth agape, and a lil warm milk spilling out of his left eye. Iman and him have known each other for years and he always reminded her of her husband: his fierce devotion to his craft, his rigorous intellectuality that does a bad job hiding an animalistic sexuality. Both men contained so much and no one can handle a man like that besides a mystical siren like Iman. 

Hugh and Ewan’s chatter dies as their drinks empty. “If I were to be honest with myself…” Hugh begins. “Better later than never…” Michael Cain interrupts without cracking a smile,  a dryness a la Maggie Smith. In fact, fuck, this was Maggie Smith. No one had realized. Hugh winks at Michael/ Maggie and continues. “ I don’t think were going to be filming any time soon, folks. I think we are being held hostage a bit by Miss Coppola.” Ewan stares off with a thinking face like no one has  ever had a deeper thought before. “That is interesting to think about. There is some kind of bratty assumption that all this will fade away soon enough. And we’ll be back on set. But what if it’s not for another year or so?”  Ewan is really getting worked up “What if we live here for the rest of our lives!!” His eyes are big and dazzling, it’s like he’s thinking of the most ideal outcome for the rest of his life.

               Suddenly, Sophia joins them at the table. “There they are, my little hunchbacks!” This is what Sophia affectionately calls her actors, the origin is unknown. Sophia has a strange new confidence around her. Usually, when she walked into places, she would feel like a Nat Sherman cigarette, like only some select tall New Yorkers in the back would still appreciate her. “Hello, love! Someone slept well.” Maggie Smith as Michael Caine chirped. Even when Maggie-Michael said something sweet, it still felt like someone was aggressively tickling your ribcage. 

          “I have news.” Sophia sits down, and smiled large and toothy, a stark contrast to her usual chic, despondent stare,  a look only afforded  to artists born with trust funds. “We’re not making the movie.” Hugh taps the table. “Well, I believe I won that bet.” Ewan’s jaw drops, destroyed. “You mean we cant live here together forever?” He runs his hands through his hair, petrified. Iman is quiet, which can mean many different things and all things at once, she is eternally the glory of God, a forgotten pyramid at the bottom of the ocean that if unearthed would explode us into 5D ascension. 

 “We are making a better movie! A super hero movie!!” Sophia exclaims. Sophia gets up close in the faces of her cast, pitching them on her new idea. “It’ll be a real heroes journey- good guys versus evil! Fun CGI! Sexy starlets and fun on trend jokes!” She turns to Michael Maggie, her mouth inches away from their milky eye, and says- “And much much more!” Sophia climbs up on the table now. “The adults will love it, as well as the little ones!” She does an Irish jig and starts spinning around and then poses with her arms up as though at the end of a musical.  It was not fun to watch.  Iman cuts her off-“I don’t trust what is happening.This is not reality. This is delusion. A karmic spell.” The power of Iman’s words blows the power out of the Chateau, pipes burst, the fire alarm goes off, and Joel Madden of Good Charlotte in room 304 stops jerking off for a second. Sophia is still catching her breath from her presentation, her sweating, arms stretched to the ceiling. She gulps as her eyes meet Iman’s. “Why don’t you just write from my character’s point of view?” Iman says as softly as she can without causing chaos.   Sophia freezes. Her whole body calcifies and turns to ice, then crumbles onto the table. Ewan and Hugh watch in absolute horror as Iman drops some of the ice into her water. She knows she shouldn’t have said yes to this project and looks on lovingly at Michael/ Maggie who has dozed off. 

[theorynexus]

Retrospective Analysis of Dirk:

After the initial thoughts I had this morning, following some light (re-)reading, I have come to various conclusions: The role that Dave Strider played in the Meat Epilogue was nearly identical to that that Dirk’s Bro (Alpha Dave Strider) played in the story---   DOOMed rebel fighting against the rise of another dictatorial Crocker.   I am sure that Dirk realized this, both considering the fact that this was an echo of Dave’s soul across the multiple instances of himself, and because he partially engineered this eventuality. Intriguingly enough, this might imply that Rose likely would have sided against Crocker (Jane) if her ascension had not incapacitated her and Dirk hadn’t been puppeteer-distracting her at the time (for reasons beyond her connection to Kanaya). More importantly, it helps establish an important further parallel:  Dirk acted as the puppetmaster in the shadows, essentially controlling the election and determining its outcome from the beginning.   Lord English remained the most important force in the Alpha Kids’ world and session in much the same manner, despite )(er Imperious Condescension’s attempted Rebellion. Both individuals were playing broader and longer games than the women they were manipulating to suit their purposes.  Though Dirk’s purposes have not yet been revealed to the fullest extent, Jane Crocker had a narrower perspective that failed to grasp the true nature of the battles going on and underestimated her “supporter” ‘s power and intentions. This relates to another way in which Dirk Strider and Caliborn/Lord English:  Both of them represent iterations/avatars/fulfillments of the idea of Calmasis---   both tricked a Calliope into losing a major confrontation by making her confuse an attack on one piece with that of another (a major short term/immediate objective--- an attack on a queen [in Dirk’s case, Jake English/the election] ---with an attack on the king [Alt!Calliope, who acted as essentially the commander of the forces opposed to him]); furthermore, and more importantly, both act as protagonists and antagonists to the story at the same time (villain and anti-hero).   Dirk presumably sees himself as working towards the perpetuation of reality by forcing more conflict into an otherwise ended story; or alternatively, sees himself striving for freedom in opposition to causality and enslavement to cosmic will (which would jive well with his Kamina-esque aesthetic).  Meanwhile, Caliborn/Lord English obviously served as the main villain of Homestuck, but were also the protagonists of their little side adventure and was trying to develop himself and expand his horizons despite his severe disadvantages, much the way the Kids and Trolls did. Dirk’s fulfillment of that role may have actually been why he downplayed the importance of Complacency of the Learned in his conversation with Rose just before he began to subsume her will in earnest. Of course, that is somewhat speculative, and hard to prove, one way or the other. ... Regardless, upon making these sorts of connections, I began to think about whether Dirk was intended to become a villain from the moment he was introduced, and/or relatively early on.  Andrew Hussie seems to have a habit of working out many plot details a great deal in advance (see the Alpha Kids being hinted at as early as Act 4 with Jake’s letter to John, Doc Scratch probably being intended to have been/contained at least an iteration of Dirk from the beginning [as shown via his comment to Rose that she ought to think of him as a kindly human uncle figure-- shoved in our face via a certain Truthsplosion]), so the idea didn’t seem all that farfetched. After all, as referenced in the above parenthetical reference, Doc Scratch shows that Dirk always had at least the potential for villainy in him, under the right circumstances. The first thing that jumped into my mind (other than the fact that Bro is a bit of a dick, I guess, and the early narrative of Act 6 emphasizes the fact that this is in fact the kid version of Bro quite a bit) was the fact that Dirk’s introductory period created clear parallels with two trolls of a highly corrupt moral character---  Vriska and Equius:   Beyond the obvious tendencies to manipul8 others and his willingness to “cheat” in certain ways (defeating Squarewave in a rap battle bit exploiting his weakness to liquid shorting him out, teleporting his head to Jake for the revive+kiss with the intent of forcing a start to their relationship that way, et cetera) Dirk is also pining for a Page who he attempts to force a redrom with (more effectively, in his case, at least in the short term), and whom he attempts to “groom” by pushing challenges that the Page is clearly not prepared to face his way (Brobot’s awkward difficulty settings parallel the FLARP encounters  Vriska gave Tavros).    That Vriska and Dirk’s first on-screen kills were both decapitations is probably a coincidence. As for Equius:  There is the wife beater that Dirk sometimes wears, the similarities between horses and musclebeasts, the fact that both build robots whom they then face off against in lethal combat, the fact that both wear shades and are initially blacked out upon introduction (though this latter matter is of less significance) the fact that both have dominating personalities and a secret kinky submissive side (albeit these play out in different ways for the two), the fact that Brobot and Aradiabot both take out their “hearts” and POUND POUND POUND them up dramatically (note: though this is a bit of a stretch, the parallel makes the affinity’s intention obvious), their willingness to lie and take extreme measures (Equius considers lying and double-crossing to be in a blue blood’s nature and/or their “superior” culture; Dirk outright tells Jane that one of three statements he is making is a lie, and the only one it could possibly be is that he believes that Roxy’s decision to blow up Jane’s computer as a way to scare Jane away from playing was too extreme [meaning that, since this was a lie, he is absolutely willing to go to such extremes to get the job done--- as shown later with his willingness to decapitate himself, publicly display the fact that he’d killed Hegemonic Brute, et cetera])... and most obviously+ominously, his declaration to Jane that while she was going to remain the group’s leader as far as everyone else was concerned, he was going to be the person controlling things from the shadows (which is a reversal of Equius’ demand that Aradia be the shadow leader for the Blue Team, but obviously calls him to mind via allusion/reference). Now, while a case can be made for either of these characters not being that bad, and I am personally someone who likes and feels for Vriska quite a lot, I will be the first to admit that she is the closest thing the trolls have to Caliborn or Dirk (Gamzee doesn’t count: he’s has a mental breakdown and is basically brainwashed by LE via Lil Cal; he’s not a planner or someone who went out of his way to embrace his “turn to the dark side” of his own volition--- if you can call it that, for Caliborn; you know what I mean).   As for Equius: he was highly violent and could have been quite the menace, if it weren’t for his moirail. He had a generally demented mentality.           Neither of these are the sorts of comparisons you want to be made with a character being painted as particularly heroic and good.  Next comes the fact that, as I have discussed previously, Dirk Strider and Caliborn/Lord English have been deeply entangled with one another’s fates.   Caliborn liked Dirk the best out of all of the Alpha Kids, it was ironically Dirk who ended up defeating him in the end (in both the form of soul trapping and via ARquius). However, it was also Dirk who provided Caliborn with the mechanical leg that allowed him to escape (and presumably have confidence in the idea of escape) from his SAW Room Death Trap binding with Calliope.  Presumably, either Dirk or AR must have figured that that was the intention behind the request/present, at some point. (I rather doubt it was something that Dirk knew the implications of at the time, but I wouldn’t necessarily rule out that possibility. He might not have cared, especially since that was years before the Alpha Kids began their session, and he/they might not have had much of a bond with Calliope, at that point. Not that he ever got all that close to her, generally.)  Note:  Caliborn’s favor toward Dirk does not necessarily suggest anything inherently wrong with Dirk, but it helps set him apart from the others. This is just another warning sign suggesting something “off” about him.      Dirk’s “I have failed,” before he went wandering off into the glitches and self-destructed in the [S] Game Over. version of the Alpha similarly can be interpreted as hinting at his God Complex/Megalomaniac tendencies.      It seems a logical extension of his general personality that he wouldn’t be able to settle down and enjoy a peaceful life in a “perfect” paradise planet (which is probably one of the reasons he decided to leave it). I suppose this is just another thing that wasn’t generally thought about as the community was so focused on the actual process of getting to the victory point, and what that would mean?   At the very least, I don’t remember any such considerations.  There were certainly warning signs. The biggest factor that convinces me that Dirk’s villainy was planned quite early on (and which thus supports to some extent the idea that Jake is meant to be his eventual foil) is that Dave, after seeing his Bro’s corpse, said, “I’m not a hero, my bro was.”   This was almost certainly made at a point where Dirk Strider was conceptually developed/invented already, definitely was at a point where Dave’s baggage surrounding heroism and its connection with how he felt toward his brother was in play, and most certainly was well after the audience could have seen that Bro was abusive and sortof a dirtbag. Thus, there was already some irony, there.  However, he also called John a hero in that same statement, so it clearly was not totally derogatory, and so the irony could be increased. It was, as shown by the fact that the Alpha Kids were not “Heroes” of their session, but Nobles. This was not enough.  Dirk has eventually turned into the anti-hero and villain of his own story.   Perhaps this might be enough; however, it wouldn’t quite feel fully “right” if he hadn’t been intended to have been so from the beginning-- and perhaps that’s actually why their group were called Nobles in the first place, not only because of the fact that they couldn’t complete their session without the others, but because not all of them were heroic at heart.  [Non-sequitur: I wonder if LE would have been anywhere near as dangerous, if not for Lil Hal’s capacity to make incredibly complicated calculations {needed for Furthest Ring travel, among other things, presumably}, and his capacity as Doc Scratch to pave the way for LE’s arrival. This would seem a very similar relationship to how Dirk facilitated Caliborn’s entry via the leg, in retrospect.] ... While the section immediately above isn’t as well-developed as I’d like-- mostly because I’m tired, distracted, and it’s been at least 3 hours since I started this post in the first place, and I want to at least get the last part that I thought of in before it leaves my memory.    I may add to/edit in more for this post, or post follow-up material later, when I remember more that might have slipped my mind on this subject/I think of more. Anyway!---    as I was considering all of this, a very intriguing thought popped into my head:    While I had initially assumed that it was simply to not rehash old material and/or that it was to keep us with John for the sake of narrative consistency, since I now know that it was Dirk who was narrating this segment of the story, and thus it was a narrator with bias and interest in the facts being related, it has occurred to me that it is actually quite odd for Dirk to omit some relation of the actual facts of the Caliborn’s Masterpiece encounter.   We are placed by his hand at a place even further removed from the reality of the battle than the clearly biased and somewhat embellished account that the Cherub gave of his own rise to power.        This strikes me as odd particularly given the fact that it is Dirk’s great moment of heroism, which might serve as a sort of counter-balance to much of his otherwise morally questionable deeds.         Given his egotism (and the fact that there would seem to be no OOC reason strong enough to justify such an omission on the author’s part, since this means that there is no faithful depiction of the battle shown to us in the story), this makes it seem as if Dirk chooses to not show the conclusion of this battle for some specific and tangible reason.  I would not suspect it to be out of embarrassment, a desire to conceal his identity longer, or plain trollishness (though the last of these strikes me as almost being fitting).  Rather, I wonder if there is something worth concealing in the end of this encounter.  Maybe the Alpha Kids actually lost, and Dirk’s placement of Cal into Lil Cal was an act of capitulation. Maybe Dirk otherwise willingly and knowingly created Lord English via the soul trap at the behest of ARquiusprite, or said sprite tricked him into doing so, claiming it was the only way to defeat their opponent (which it was) and omitting the consequences.     I do not know which of these, if any, is the correct answer, but Dirk being the one to choose to omit the details does, I shall repeat, seem extremely fishy to me, all things considered. ~~~ While I will not put a summary here, I would just like to say:   In retrospect, the Meat Epilogue has done more than the requisite “adding on to the story in appreciable ways and tying up loose ends,” but has served to add depth to an already incredibly deep story and caused me to reconsider and better understand characters and themes which I had not previously delved into so deeply before.    I wonder, now, if Dirk Strider and Lord English shall prove to have been even more deeply connected than it has seemed up to this point, once I have reached the end of the Candy Epilogue and thus will be allowed to properly investigate what’s going on at the beginning of Homestuck^2. Final thought:  Hmm. So much of his imagery speaks to him being a sort of twisted version of Kamina (embodiment of masculinity, warrior spirit, noble sacrifice, heroism [not being able to live up to those last two, and lampshading to some extent his frustration at that, in Epilogue Part 7]), but it also vaguely seems to me that he at least sees himself as being like Simon--- this is to say, leading the charge for freedom against the forces of determinism and the chains of repression that would hold back humanity (and/or himself). It’s a very striking thing, especially considering the fact that it is only Simon who takes the fight to space in a fancy ship, once what seems to have been the final villain was defeated and the real threat began to loom on the horizon.  I wonder how this contrast will develop in the future, and how noble his true ideals may in fact be. ~~~ Major Edit:  

What. The heck. How did I not remember this blatant nonsense?    Fricking... darn it.

[eclectic-nb]

1/? Hi I'm an ocean witch and I'm currently doing a month-long ritual leading up to my birthday in August. The point of it requires some context: I grew up in a Southern state, not a drop of ocean water to be found, yet ever since I discovered the ocean when I was young, I've always felt drawn to it. I'm a big believer in past lives and believe I may have been something ocean-related in one. But I've always felt connected to the water. Bodies of water, in general, but specifically the ocean.

1/? I've always dreamt of how the waves look, how it would be to swim past a kelp forest and coral reef into the vast empty expanse of blue water. To see a storm from underneath, the surface torn by winds and rain. And I've always felt drawn to merfolk. Growing up, there were many little plants around my yard. We had a honeysuckle bush on the fence, a bush in the yard that grew bundles of little purple and pink flowers, a peach tree, tulips in the backyard and tons and tons of fairy rings.

1/? I would water these plants and never, ever step in the fairy rings since I knew old tales of humans who would. After I left, everything, even the fairy rings, died. When I was 10 years old, I found a spell online that by now, everyone's knows of or heard of it, where you would wear a charm necklace for a week, say the spell in the bath under a full moon, and become a merperson when the week was up. I did it, having this really beautiful heart stone that shone different colors and since lost.

1/? But something.. weird happened. My last day of the spell was on a Friday. I remember that week (and the many before it) of dreaming, hoping, and wishing to be a merman. When I fell asleep that night, I awoke in water. A few feet off the shore, the water was clear as day. Big stone pillars covered in algae dotted the seafloor and I felt a pull to start swimming, to find something. Ahead of me I saw a flash of an orange/yellowish tail. It wasn't a dolphin or shark or anything like that.

1/? I swam after her. It felt like whoever or whatever this was had feminine energy. She turned left, right by a pillar, and I woke up. My heart was pounding and in one fluid motion, from the seconds between seeing her vanish and waking up, I ripped the necklace off. I calmed myself and went back to bed, then having a dream with hints of clouds and feathers. For years and years I've tried to figure out what this dream means, who that being was, and why I dreamt of air after that since I feel

1/? little to no connection to it. And then I grew much older, moved in with some witchy friends, and started my oceanic craft. Only.. I had a dream, a couple months ago (I can lucid dream somewhat and have always had very vivid ones). My friends and I were driving down a road I know in my town, but it was covered on either side by trees. A forest. We stopped the car by a rundown convenience store to get gas and snacks. It was the dead of night and when I looked up from the car, I saw a sky

1/? full of a thousand stars, a thousand galaxies. It was so vast and you could see every single one. I ripped my gaze away, instead going inside the store with my boyfriend and this girl with hair this shade of orange it looked almost red, piercing green eyes, and freckled white skin. I wasn't aware I hadn't seen her before in my life, and we entered. My boyfriend was asked to stay in the very small entrance, two people sat at a table in front of a door barring him from entry. They let the girl

1/? and I enter. We did and saw a rectangular table with many people sitting at it, all but one I didn't get good vibes about. The one who felt okay was at a corner seat, flashing my friend and I a kind look. I sat the table, which was filled with 3D shapes of all kinds, colorless, top and bottom. In front of me was a very large book, opened to a random page. They told us we had to solve some kind of puzzle and could use the book if needed. I kept looking at the shapes for meaning and before I

1/? knew it our time was up. Here I actively affected the dream by telling them, no, give us another chance. They reset the timer and we started. I flipped the pages to find a folded up piece of paper. I glanced at the woman at the corner seat and it was an old friend of mine. She smiled and winked at me. I looked at the book and looked back, but she was the woman from before. The page I'd flipped to had a picture of a lushous, green valley in it and a folk tale about a lava horse, similar to a

1/? kelpie but benevolent. The piece of paper had a spell written on it. But they were mad we got it and we had to escape. I wasn't worried about my boyfriend or friends, I knew they could get themselves out of trouble. I used the spell and the red-haired girl turned in the lava horse from the story. I hopped on her back and she created a portal to a valley similar to the one in the picture. When I woke in the valley, the girl (not in horse form) and I were in a car, driving in the lil valley

1/? town. One either side were strips of valley that went upward, leading to a dam that people walked on. The girl and I made our ascent and caught a group of people throwing airplanes off the bridge, but they flew so far and didn't really look like airplanes. They offered for us to throw some. I think the girl did. But I had turned to see past the dam. It was an expanse of forests and a field. It stretched on for miles. And I remember smelling the sea breeze and a splash of water before I woke

1/? And that was the dream. My roommate actually had a dream a while back with the same exact red-haired girl in it. We think she may be a Fae. I don't know what this dream means. My friends suggested it could be an introduction to elemental trials to where I have to get through them to go back to the place I dreamt of when I was 10 and that's what my ritual's for. All this month, I've been working with offerings and Caer Ibormeith, Dream Goddess, to try to go back to that spot. Not dream since

1/End I know I was younger and different. I wanted to know your thoughts and apologize for how long this got. I wanted to ensure you had plenty of context. I've also worked with certain sea energies/creatures before and though landlocked, I know my magick is powerful. I really need to get back there. To know what it all meant. And I wanted your thoughts and advice on the matter. Do you think it will be a series of trials? With Earth, Air, Fire and Water? The last dream felt like an introduction.

I also forgot to mention that since July 1, after soaking it in rainwater, I've been wearing a crystal necklace (nearly transparent, light purple/blue in color) and did a ritual bath for the Buck Moon to invoke a similar call to magick that I did at 10. Thank you for reading, sorry about all the tasks. 😳

I apologise if I miss something, so just send in another ask if I do.

First and foremost, I think you should look into starseeds. Mintakan, specifically. They are strongly drawn to water, dream of swimming, compassionate, etc etc. There’s a lot more too it but those are just some key points I noticed.

Also, your first dream kind of sounds like a memory. You should look into the meaning behind each detail and each dream. It will take a while but I think it will give you some answers. Make sure you figure out how the details are connected to each other too. (This may not apply across dreams).

I agree that the girl in your dream may be fae, too. Most have green eyes, and since yours is paired with pale skin, she’s probably a Seelie. Their hair is also indicative of their first element. Some think that the four elements are where faeries originate, which would explain why each faerie has its own element which it can control and create. Mermaid/merman faeries are also a thing and they have the ability to breathe underwater, giving them infinite air.

I believe that the mermaid in one dream and the orange haired girl in another are the same. And, assuming she is fae, she has used/incorporated all four elements in some way. (Walked by a forest, breathed under water, was an underwater creature, colour of her hair, etc).

I’m not too sure if this is a trial but you could ask your deity about it. You have a lot of signs pointing towards one as each element is a reoccurring theme in your dreams.

I also can’t help but feel the need to ask if you did ever step in a faerie circle, even accidentally. There feels like there’s something else you don’t know about the situation so that was my first thought.

One last thing. I’m not sure how you feel about this, nor how I do honestly, but it might be worth researching fae-people. As in humans that are faeries. I don’t know much about them but I know they can be either born or turned.

Don’t be shy if you want me to clarify or help with something!! Lmk if I missed something too

[marvelmusingsbyhertz]

It’s a Mob World

A/N: I don’t know why all of these are just.. Coming to me right now, but IDC because they are burning my loins. So here’s a new series I’m starting up with Mob!Steve, because I don’t read enough of those and honestly to be honest, I find the idea of sorta dark Steve and a gangsters world with him in it absolutely perfect. I don’t know how long this’ll be and I gotta give a HUGE credit to both @revengingbarnes and her AMAZING series, Petals and Bullets, and to the amazing writer, @winchest09 for her series, Life for Rent, who both inspired me greatly and are true inspirations to every writer out there. If you’re into Bucky or Dean Winchester as a mob-boss, go check those out!

On with the story!

  WARNINGS FOR THE FULL SERIES: Smut, blood, violence, language, a lot of NSFW, fluff, a lil’ angst

MASTERLIST

STEVE ROGERS MASTERLIST

Pairings: Mob!Steve x Reader

Warnings: language, mentions of NSFW

Steve took the last gulp of his whisky, as he waited patiently for Bucky to talk. They’d been at it for a few minutes, him waiting and Bucky squirming – it was the classic “who bends first” they had played since they were kids.

“Alright, so, here’s the thing.” Bucky exhaled the words, almost annoyed at himself for breaking before Steve. Steve smirked and cocked an eyebrow. “Yes, my dear?” Bucky rolled his eyes and rested his elbows on the dark, wooden desk in Steve’s office. “We need some sort of cover and help. We can’t keep moving like this, Tony refuses to bargain at the moment and we’ve lost traction. We need the help, Steve.” Steve leaned back in his chair, looking at Bucky.

“What do you propose, Buck?” he asked, his voice laced with annoyance. He knew Bucky was right, but it fucking annoyed him – the… Company… was headed into a downward spiral, and they needed to get back on top. Even Hydra seemed to be overtaking you, and you desperately needed an alliance with Stark, even if it made your blood boil to work with the pompous asshole.

Bucky sighed.

“So, we know Tony – and pretty much anyone else in the trade – likes their women. I suggest we get one on board.” Steve chuckled darkly. “And how would you do that? If you recall, the last woman we had here, put Sam in prison for a good, few weeks.” Bucky nodded absentmindedly. “I know. But, there’s a solution.” Steve looked coldly at him. What kind of solution could there be – every woman he’d ever brought in, fucked or done anything else with, had tried to run with secrets.

“There’s this… Firm.” Steve narrowed his eyes at Bucky. “Are you expecting me to buy myself a good, little slut, who’d be willing to let me fuck her and not run with secrets?” Bucky nodded.

“It’s different. It’s handled by Black Widow. She’s training every single girl to the utmost standard, she’s the best and only offers the best.” Steve leaned forwards. “Color me intrigued.” Bucky smiled.

“I already talked to her. The rates are high, but we only need a girl for a month or two, then we’re done with forming the fucking alliances, and she’s gone. She’s going to be ready for anything and everything, and whoever we chose will keep secrets. All the girls have different faces to put on, a different personality, so if we need a headstrong, smart one, she’s got one.”

Steve sighed.

“You’re sure it’ll work?” Bucky nodded eagerly. “We’re out of options, bud.” He simply said.

Steve sighed deeply and poured himself a glass of whisky.

“Then you better get the best.”

  A few days had gone by, and Steve was currently running through every single option in his head – it seemed like the most idiotic decision to make, but it’d might be worth it in the other end. Either way, the girl, Y/N Y/L/N, was on her way to the Rogers Mansion as he trotted through the many halls.

He didn’t know much, other than she was supposed to be the best of the best. She had information on pretty much everything and everyone, and he was intrigued by her – he didn’t even know what she looked like, but he didn’t really care. As long as she got the job done, he’d be fine.

He heard a car pull up to the front of the house, and sighed – show’s on.

“Welcome to the Mansion.” Bucky’s voice rang through the front hall, as he led a woman in – he was carrying bags and suitcases, while she daintily walked in behind him. “And this monster in the shadows is your employer and your… Well, everything in the next few months, Steve Rogers.” Steve looked at the woman before him.

She was stunning, he had to admit. Her hair was elegant and her makeup minimal – a black dress hugged every curve on her body, and her shoes made him want her wrapped around him, her heels digging into his ass. He smiled politely and stretched out a hand for her to shake. She smiled softly and cocked an eyebrow at him – she was sizing him up.

“Hi, Mr. Rogers.” Her voice was soft and silky, and he almost got goosebumps from the seductively Mr. Rogers. “You can call me Steve.” She smiled gently at him. Bucky cleared his throat. “Should I just carry these to the guestroom?” Steve was about to nod, when Y/N stepped in with a sly smile. “Actually, if it’s not too much of an issue, I’d like it to stay in whatever room, my lovely employer might be staying. It’s vital I get to know pretty much everything, and I’d hate to walk back and forth.” Steve cocked an eyebrow. So, she was playing? He’d play along, at least for a bit. “Get whoever’s on call to help you and move an extra bed into the bedroom. She’d need sleep at some point, I’m guessing.” Bucky nodded and started carrying the first of the suitcases to the back stairs, leading to the master bedroom.

Steve gestured for Y/N to follow him. “let’s talk business, shall we?” she nodded and followed him into the office.

“Gorgeous.” She breathed as she stepped inside. She was right, of course. The office was kept in light, creamy tones, expect for the wall of bookcases and the desk, which were in a deep mahogany. Steve pointed at the chair in front of the desk, as he moved to sit in his own chair. She sat down and smoothed an invisible wrinkle out and laid her hands perfectly in her lap.

“So….” Steve didn’t know where to start. He’d never dealt with this before. She smirked at him. “New in this?” he nodded. “Alright. So, let’s get the obvious out of the way. Yes, I’m an escort, no, I don’t only fuck and keep secrets for money, yes, I know how to handle myself in this world, and yes, you will need to read and sign my contract.” She pulled a piece of paper out of her small bag and handed it to him. “I’m down for whatever, but I need a little notice first. I’m good to go for mostly anything, I just hate guns, so don’t hand me one. If, and only in the biggest of if’s, I have to kill someone, I’d prefer a knife.” She thought for a second and then added: “Oh, and I don’t do anal. At least not with just one man.” Steve nearly choked on his drink. Fuck, she was more headstrong than he’d imagined. “Alright. So, all I need right now is to tell you what this job is.” She leaned back and crossed her legs, listening intently. “I need you to be extra eyes and ears for me. Help with a trade-off, and possibly to dismantle the entirety of Hydra.” She nodded. “This will mean I need you to pretend to be a part of my life. I need you to act like a devoted and smart girlfriend, and I need you to come along to the trade I’ve got with Stark within a week.” She nodded again. “Any specifics I should know?” He grinned at her. She was eager, and he liked it. “A few details. I’ll have a file brought to you, so you’d know what the deal is and who we are.” She snorted and rolled her eyes.

“I know who you are, Steve Rogers. Mob-boss of Brooklyn, you’ve killed and maimed more people than can be counted. After you lost your parents, you took over the business with your best friend, James “Bucky” Barnes, and have been running it somewhat fairly for a while. A few hiccups here and there, until last year, where some girl apparently infiltrated you, got your secrets and gave them to Hydra. From what I know, she’s dead, Hydra’s thriving and have been successful in taking over as the crime boss. You mostly deal with arsenal, weapons and state secrets. Have I missed anything?” Steve was taken aback and slightly impressed. “You’ve studied.” She shrugged. “Part of the job.”

He smiled and stood up, her contract still in his hand. “Well, let me show you around.” She smiled. “I’d love that, honey.” He chuckled at her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

This could be fun.

LIKE THIS OR WANT TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST? LET ME KNOW!

TAGLIST: @wembley1986 @getthismoose    

[n-jadaddy]

Streetcar

Erik Killmonger x Black!Reader

This is my first time at this rodeo so go easy on me,teehee. The song that inspired me to write this is called StreetCar by Daniel Caesar. Enjoy!

Let me know

Do I still got time to grow?

Things ain't always set in stone

That be known let me know

“Welcome to New York City!” Sounds of the bus coming to a halt echo through the terminal causing you to jolt awake from your nap. “Damn, we here already?” You shield your eyes and stretch your arms wide as the bright overhead lights flickered on. “Watch your step, don’t forget your to grab your luggage from under the bus, and have a safe night.” With that, the driver stepped off the bus and assisted passengers with their bags. You continue to gather your book bag and black pea coat as the lasting passengers file off the bus, once together you stand and follow behind them. The winds were surprisingly brisk, nothing you weren’t use to but  you should’ve brought a bigger coat. ‘I should get somewhere warm.’ You thought buttoning your coat as far as it goes and rushing into the station, past the judgemental eyes of travelers wondering why you were wearing a thin coat in 20 degree weather. Reaching for your phone you press the home button, once, twice, nothing. Just the battery low symbol reminding you that you let your phone die before you left the city,you’d rather not be in contact with anyone. “Guess I’m doing this the old fashioned way” You walked through the revolving door of the station into the cold night air again, this time closing your coat tighter around you to conceal some warmth. Holding your thumb outward patiently waiting for a taxi to pull over your way but they all stopped the people either a few blocks ahead or a few blocks behind you. “Prejudice as hell” you mumbled it under your breath, just as you’re about to give up, a taxi pull up in front of you. Thank god. Anymore time out there you'd be frozen to death.

“Thank you so much, I’ve been waiting forever. I thought I’d never get a ride.” you chuckle sliding into the cab placing your bag next to you.

“No problem, you looked cold as hell in that itty bitty ass coat” the driver laughed. His voice was surprised you, it was musky, deep, and warm enough to make you forget about the weather outside the car. Looking up from your seat belt to get a better look at your driver, you were in shock. From what you could see through the rear view mirror, the man was handsome, his eyes dark and his dreads were well kept braided to the back. If only you could see the rest of his face, yo hoped the rest of it lived up to your expectations.

“Where to?”

“Huh?” you were so distracted you didn’t even realize he asked you a question.

“If you can ‘huh’ you can hear, damn ma, you deaf or somethin’ I asked you where you going” he was becoming frustrated, he adjusted his mirror to see somewhat of your eyes in the darkness of the car.

“Oh, uhh” you hadn't really thought about where you were going specifically, just that you didn't want to be where you were. “I dont know”

“Huh?” he questioned, eyebrows scrunched up in confusion.

“If you can ‘huh’ you can hear” you used his words against him.

“Ma, get the hell out of my car” clearly irritated he unlocked the door.

“Wait! I'm not from around here, I dont really know where to go” you protested, hoping he'd reconsider and let you stay.

“I should’ve known, you wearin that small ass coat.” he locked the doors again and pulled away from the bustation taking off down the street. “How about I give you a lil tour then and we’ll see where things go from there” he smirked. You could see a dimple form on the side of his face. ‘Adorable’ you thought to yourself. “Yeah,that sounds great” you smiled and leaned against the window, it’ll be one hell of a cab fair but seeing the city would be worth it in the end, you’ll probably find a hotel while he drove you around.

“Oh yeah, Im YN. YN LN” how rude of you to ask him his name before getting into the car.

“Erik. Erik Stevens” he returned plainly.

  You took a moment to admire the interior of the car, it was clean. Really clean, unlike other taxies you’ve been in, there was a faint smell of cologne, not too strong or soft, it was just right. There was hardly any decorations in the car, just a chain with a ring on the end hanging from the rear view mirror, as a rosary would, you could sense it was important but you didn’t want to question it. It didn’t seem like any of your business.

Seems like street lights, glowing, happen to be

Just like moments passing in front of me

So I hopped in the cab and I paid my fare

A faint sound of music coming from the radio to kill the awkward silence. However, that wasn’t enough for him. “So, where you from” Erik looked toward you through the mirror. “Oh, I’m from Chicago” you glanced back. “Aw, word? That’s surprising, I’d  think you’d know better that to wear that thin ass coat outside then, it’s cold as fuck out there. Got you on the street shakin like a stripper in church.” You rolled your eyes, you could sworn you heard him smack his teeth at your action but you chose to ignore it. “It’s alright, I didn’t want anything weighing me down”  hence why you only have your backpack with you, and that only contains your portable easel, some brushes, and your Macbook. “Hm, so how long you stayin?” “Uh, I don’t really know” “You just all over the place, huh ma.” “Well I know but I don’t. I’ll just be here until my feet take me somewhere else. could be days, weeks, years, even hours. I know where I’m supposed to be, I’ll know once I get there. You know?” You stare outside the window, the streets were surprisingly empty for a city that never sleeps. The lights reflecting off of the buildings were intense,mesmerizing, and inspiring. They focused themselves on the taxi as it moved through the night, like a spot light it made you feel as if  you two were supposed to be the only ones in existence. “Yeah, I know” he agreed. “But I’d rather have a plan. Something I can sit with for a while and perfect it until it’s foolproof. I know where I’m going too but I just can’t base that shit on feeling tho, sometimes they can be deceiving and lead you to a dead end rather than your destination. I get you though ma, I’d rather be on the move than sittin in these streets.” he was right, you should’ve thought about this before you left the city. You couldn’t keep doing this every time something went wrong, and if you were to do it again, at least book a hotel first.

“You right” you admitted something you didn't do often

“Damn right i'm right I can't remember a time I was wrong.” he turned the car down another street full of colorful lights and giant lit up billboards with random advertisements. “Since you a tourist, I should show you some tourist shit, this is Times Square don't nobody really come here but tourist who most likely get finessed.” Erik pointed at each building and tried to explain them the best he could, he didn’t know what most of them were called. He just identified them as ‘the one with the big ass lights’ or ‘ the one with the little ass lights.

“You not from here are you?” you asked, trying to look at him the best you could, through your teary eyes from laughing too hard, it’s been awhile since you’ve done that.

“Nah, I’m from Oakland. I moved here after I had a run in with my cousin a couple years back” you weren't going to ask why, you knew your limits and it seemed as if he wasn't going to answer them if you asked anyway, and you didn't want to ruin the moment. You just readjusted yourself and looked out the window.

“What about you, why you here?”

You didn't know how you felt telling a stranger about your personal information but since he shared a little bit about him you'd share the bare minimum with him. “Some stuff back home happened and I decided to remove myself from the situation and come here, it was last minute but I needed to leave.” you couldn't go into detail otherwise you'd cry again, you’ve been strong for weeks now it was time to stop crying and move on, no matter how much you loved him he would want you to. You just couldn’t stop thinking about what you were suppose to do together, get married, have kids. But he had to  fight, what did he have to prove? He was already an amazing boxer as is, he just had to fight in that match. And now he’s gone.

Life just ain't fair

Erik could sense the tension grow inside the car and he changed the subject. “Let's go get something to eat, I’m buyin. You've been out and about and I’m sure you're starving”

“Yeah, thank you.” you blink back your tears and smile.

Erik pulled into the parking lot of a 24 hour pizza parlor because he sworn up and down that Chicago’s pizza was trash compared to New York’s. He pulls into the parking lot and stops the car. He gets out the car and walks toward the doors, “let's go princess!” he calls out you rush out and jog to catch up behind him.  Erik was taller than you thought, and swole as hell. He remind you of someone.

“I’m not a princess.” you stated crossing your arms and dropping your hip. He turns around fully facing you for the first time since you met and you were at lost for words. “Then what are you, princess?”

‘Adonis?’ you uncross your arms and stepped closer to him. This is impossible, Donnie died after in match a month ago but Erik looked so similar to him, everything down to the slightest detail, minus the dreads and the scruffy beard. You both looked into each others eyes, it was like you were lost in time, like you're supposed to be there for the rest of your life. You reach up to touch his face just in case it was your imagination but he grabs your hand, it feels just like his. “ you good, YN? You look like you're about to cry” you stepped back away from Erik and wiped a stray tear away. “Yeah, let's go eat.” you smile up at him.

See I know my destination, I'm just not there

[godkilller]

FAILURE VERSE :    DRABBLE

          Gin walked along an endless sheet of ice, its surface smooth, flawless, and lacking in any presence of sound as his footsteps traveled him across its plains. He couldn’t see any ridges, any imperfections to imply anything other than an unhindered horizon along what seemed like... what felt like... an ocean frozen over, surely, with how massive the body stretched----his best guess was that it expanded for miles and miles.

          Eventually, out of sheer curiosity and completely absent-mindedly, Gin crouched down to inspect the subtly slippery floor beneath him. Slow, he reached out and pressed his right palm flush to the surface. It was cold, a spark numbed, and his hand felt... odd... but this hardly matched the kiss of an ice’s nature--a mirror, chilled, instead felt more appropriate for description. This was not the blizzard’s doing, the ground felt hollow and unlike anything of Shinso’s domain, no, his zanpakuto spirit was nowhere to be seen and Gin had excellent vision of his surroundings to have missed a massive serpent. A soft mental note that quickly faded----blurred out, distracted.

          He drew his attention elsewhere in an attempt to shake the sluggishness off of his shoulders. The reflection of the sky looked sharp, crystal-clear in both displays above and below------a perfect blue, no gradient of changing depth, no indication of dawn or twilight... perhaps it was even daylight, the brightness simply dimmer, but that idea passed in observation of the hanging full moon, distant, which cast a silver glow across the land. Once Gin straightened up, his own reflection shifted in the corner of his eyes----a glimmer, a trick of his eyes, something vaguely nostalgic about the pattern of an old child’s yukata, a smaller figure haunting... mimicking his own movements in an inverted world below. Gin moved on.

          Distantly, something scratched at the floor, scraping, sniffling, no, not scratches, the sharp stuttered breaths were telltale to Gin, and he stopped to pinpoint----...a soft crying somewhere nearby, though it was difficult to say the soundless plain of ice carried the cries from miles away, or if the source was directly behind Gin; he couldn’t tell the difference. Even though he instinctively turned, looking in all directions, it seemed to echo from unseen walls and distort his perception, nails on a chalkboard, a string of discomforts burrowing deep into his skin----the poison of choice in the form of stifled sobbing. Nowhere to be found in his immediate reach (despite visibility stretching for miles) Gin began walking, scanning the infinite horizon, barren, metallic and cold----his steps mute and empty, yet echoing across the entire area nonetheless.

          She appeared from what must have been a speck in the distance----a small figure all huddled up, sniffling quietly. Gin moved closer but could make no further details beyond the somewhat familiar color of her hair. Instinctively, the urge to kneel down to be at a closer height directed him, numb, mute, empty as the horizons, a heaviness rested deep in his chest as he settled across from this little strawberry blonde girl crying and hiding her face, cupping both of her hands as a mask.

          Gently, Gin tilted his head to peer at her, unable to decipher anything past the cage of fingers cast over no doubt puffy eyes and a worried mouth. For a brief moment within the angled reflection of her bowed face... he caught a glimmer of her glassy eyes, cloudy, but immediately withdrew his own gaze to the side. It felt wrong to look. Hesitant, Gin eventually reached out and lightly rested several fingers upon a shaking shoulder, reassuring. She was warm, covered in plenty of layers, and seemed uninjured. 

          ❝ What’s wrong, are ya lost ? ❞

          There was an almost eerie pause in her shaking, her shaky breaths, and as her head slowly shook towards a solid ‘no’ in response. In the same motion, the kid started wiping at her eyes with her wrist, as if trying to stop the tears so she could make herself more presentable to acknowledge him. He could see that her hands and feet were dirty, roughened, but the lining on her clothes was clean, spotless.

          ❝ No, I can’t find my friend, ❞ she replied, tearful. Gin retracted his hand.

          ❝ Oh, why don’t we go try’n find’em? ❞ No little kid could’ve traveled far from where she was now. Gin resisted the urge to start looking around him then and there and decided to instead focus on the fact that he couldn’t recognize her------her face seemed to shift, blur behind a fine sheen of cloth, whisper away from direct observation. The eye equivalence of something staying at the tip of his tongue.

          ❝ I don’t want to go anywhere, what if he comes back looking for me? ❞

          If anything, Gin figured she was the displaced one, the lost one, and the likelihood of a child wandering back out onto this unending abyss of ice to find the exact spot she now sat upon was... extremely low. But he didn’t plan to break that kind of news to her and cause even more distress. A shame that she wasn’t producing any kind of signature for him to perceive, which made any attempt at feeling for the friend of hers via reiatsu unlikely to give any result. Regardless------

          ❝ I think I’ll still be able to find’im, it ain’t like this’s a maze all ‘round us, eh? But, y’know, it’s awfully cold an’ lonely if yer gonna wait out here while I go lookin’. ❞

           ❝ ...w-wait, are you leaving me? ❞

          Apparently, that hadn’t been the right response either, because the girl’s shaky crying started back up, gradual, growing, heavy sniffling breaths began anew as her wide eyes welled up. He still didn’t look at them directly, he found he couldn’t. 

          ❝ ------------no, no, I’ll stay. ❞ Gin watched his response, the lack of hesitation, immediately quell the stormcloud that had threatened to overtake her mere seconds ago. Tears gathered to the brim of her lashes and spilled over, but didn’t replenish. Her breathing evened out, and Gin nodded to himself at the calm she managed to find. He shifted on his knees, distancing himself from his crouch to instead lower down and sit beside her. The ground sent a chill straight through white robes, layers in abundance, and his very spine, despite how comfortable she seemed and that they both had similar amounts of clothing on. She also seemed to notice his slight shiver and strain.

          ❝ Are you sure you’re gonna stay?” She asked, somewhat doubtful.

          ❝ Yup~! All comfy now, I’ll keep a lookout for yer lil friend. ❞ He smiled to her, softer, finding ease in his unspoken promise, his new mission. Tucking his arms into his sleeves, Gin began scanning the horizon again, but with a more particular goal in mind. The longer they waited in silence, the more anxious the little girl became----Gin could tell after nearly an hour that her patience had made way for worries, fumbling fingers, twisting and curling. ❝ It’ll be okay, I’m sure he’s lookin’ for ya too. How’d you get separated? ❞

          ❝ ...I don’t... know, one minute he was right here... then he, I looked and he just was gone. ❞ A deepening frown set across her blurry expression, and she started to feel even more upset, thoughts racing, hands clenching at the material over her legs. ❝ ----what if he forgot about me, what if he decided to just leave me, what if he doesn’t come back? ❞ and, tearfully, she began again, this time grabbing and tugging at his right sleeve to pull herself closer, clambering and sniffling in search for comfort. Gin shifted his arms loose, settling again, and moved to hold her. Uncertain, but she seemed to want anything even remotely resembling a hug, settled against him, clutching at him, and so he became more confident, fingers gently grazing through her wavy hair, hushing her, rubbing her back lightly. They continued to wait together as she calmed herself back down.

          Gin wanted to tell her that there’s no way someone could’ve forgotten about her, but that meant acknowledging the other two options, too.

          Instead, he continued scanning every single centimeter of the smooth horizon laid out before him. It was disappointingly empty, not even a trace of a speck of a person in sight, but Gin began to believe that maybe there was a sort of fog or something playing a trick on his tired eyes, blending into the sky, the icy surface, completely once a certain distance was achieved. He wanted to be ready to spot a kid, sure, but the sinking realization that perhaps they were at the mercy of a kid being able to find them was becoming a high possibility. They waited together, regardless, for several more hours.

          For a while, Gin believed the girl in his arms had fallen asleep, and so her small comment, mumbled into the material over his chest, on how he’s ‘ awfully warm ’ practically startled him (in multiple ways... when was the last time someone had called warm before?)

          ❝ --------a good thing since it’s chilly out, hm? ❞ in a weak playfulness, Gin nudged at her a little, a small smile offered, but she gave no reply. Silence. Exhaustion and aches sat heavy, he couldn’t feel his right arm at all with how she had propped herself up against him, but Gin kept his lookout sharpened, his eyes tirelessly scanning. After what felt like another few hours, the girl began to shift, pulling away from him and sadly looking, almost reluctantly, towards the direction Gin had centered his watch around. Within seconds, she visibly straightened up, eyes bright, and reached blindly behind her to swat at him.

          ❝ That’s him—over there! ❞ She yelled, excitement and relief mixed, and Gin followed her gaze to a distant figure, blurry, difficult to see any details of, and began to quietly question whether or not his eyes were suffering at all. How'd she spot that?  But, more importantly;

          ❝ Are ya sure? ❞

          ❝ Yeah, that’s him! C’mon, let’s go! ❞ She tugged and swatted messily again, but this time to search and take his right hand into a hold, pulling simultaneously to run ahead. The grip faltered almost immediately, a spark of sharp pain shooting straight up to his shoulder----earning a quiet hiss in distaste----but she continued unhindered, not even looking back to question his sluggish motions nor the disconnect of their hands, as Gin slowly stood himself up and absently gripped at his right shoulder for some form of remedy.

          An eerie groan, wire-like, snapping, strain audible, and a slithering pop produced a hairline crack forming under his feet. Gin didn’t immediately look down to properly notice at first, instead watching the girl as she ran effortlessly across the ice to her still-distant friend. He almost wanted to shout after her to tell her to be careful, to slow down, or to even wait for him----but that seemed unreasonable to ask considering how long she had waited already, and her footsteps were surely much lighter than his with her tiny frame.

          Carefully, Gin shifted and slid his foot forward, weight evenly spread as he relaxed into the step, and he repeated the action slowly to his left in avoidance of the crack ahead. His steps began, a cautious proceeding forward----but the thin imperfection began to spread alongside and underneath him, branching, the miniature shatters marred his reflection entirely. The hollow ground felt fragile in light of the shallow cracking, despite the nature of the fault lines not raising enough issue to entirely split the surface below. Gin didn’t want to push his luck and strike the ground too heavily or sharply to create a more pressing set of cracks, or puncture it entirely.

          Hesitation, observation--Gin stopped after pushing a few more steps out, looking around himself, the epicenter for the now hundreds of small spider-web cracks, and found himself a less brittle-looking section to carefully make a small leap and slide to. He let himself glide on landing and slipped across the surface for a few feet----slowing to a stop. The ice groaned beneath him but didn’t crack. Gin stepped forward again, light and careful, making headway towards the little girl. She had reunited with her friend a good distance away, but he could tell she was looking over to see where he went.

         ❝ Hurry up, you’re so sloooow! ❞ She yelled over to him, seeming so far. Her friend didn’t say anything and appeared to be a darker blur beside her. Gin huffed.

          Before he could make another step the ice completely shattered. Crumbling, collapsing, the breaking noise and sloshing water eagerly lapped at his legs, and any feeble traction he had up until that moment vanished beneath his feet----sucked into the cold water, the air left his lungs in a sickly sucker-punch to his ribcage. Pulled down past the sheets of ice, further into the black water, a strong current resided in a swirling flurry of icy chunks, residue shards from the surface above pelting and scraping past to follow the water’s demands. Gin found it impossible to orient himself, unable to see anything other than glimpses of the hole he just fell through up above, quickly shrinking, toppling, as the tides ate at his limbs with gnawing icicle fangs--------sinking so swiftly, an invisible set of ball-and-chains linked to both ankles.

          An extremely delayed realization finally hit Gin’s mind, stuttering in numbness, shock, breathless, and the idea to kick his legs and try to swim came back to reanimate him------and was quickly swept along with him a rushing of heavier waters, deeper, in futility, he was swallowed up by the blackness.

          He awakened to the sound of his own sputtering breathing and Rangiku stroking sleepily at his hair, mumbled reassurances, concern----she was barely awake, groggy, but slowly getting to a better clarity what with the way her fingers slid themselves down the back of his neck in more even touches. The longer he breathed in, deep, and steadied himself against her, the more he felt the dream vanish, the girl and her...

           ❝ Hey, hey... bad dream. ❞ She wasn’t asking a question.

          Gin was warm with Rangiku all tangled up around him, she had even managed to shove her half of the covers into a bunch to fill the spaces that so happened to not be flush between them----intentional or not, he was enveloped and nowhere near the icy chill the water had given... therefore trembling seemed a little misplaced. His right shoulder ached terribly, twisted and numb, the ghost of his arm still pressed beneath the limp body of a sleeping little girl, or perhaps yanked in the grip of reckless excitement, or still submerged beneath the icy depths that took his breath away. Gin ignored it.

          ❝ Was drownin’, or somethin’ like that---- ❞ he replied as an acknowledgment to her, a peace offering of vulnerability in quiet thanks for her support, her slow touches soothing the phantom ache that still shuddered through his body. His breathing leveled, softer, and Gin closed his eyes to press his forehead into the crook of her neck.

          He didn’t mention the little girl----he didn’t remember her.

[ancestryfound]

( lil tidbit hcs i came up with for my boy c: )

his mother has danish, dutch, swedish, and norwegian ancestry, while is father is mainly of italian, danish, and polish descent

he used to have his father’s last name, rizzo, but when his parents split and his father left, his surname was legally changed to his mother’s, kullersen

according to tom himself, in his own words, his father looks “nothing like him”. and it’s true, because anthony’s dark red-brown hair and deep brown eyes from his italian side are his dominant traits

he hasn’t actually seen his dad in person in over ten years. he’s had a few phone calls with him over the years soon after he left, but the habit kind of died down. he never forgot, though, how his father always told him that he loved him before he hung up. it doesn’t really feel like he does, though.

his parents’ relationship wasn’t necessarily abusive, per se, but anthony’s behavior greatly worried olivia and she distanced her son from his father’s more problematic behaviors, like reckless driving and getting drunk and high regularly with his friends. sometimes she worries that her son’s overly impulsive and near destructive adventurous attitude is somewhat of a mirrored reflection of his father’s behaviors, although his genuine interest in what he does comes from her.

olivia and anthony had tom relatively young. olivia was 22 and anthony 19 when their son was born. anthony was trusted in watching over their son as olivia went through graduate school and got her phd. anthony was essentially a stay-at-home dad as olivia went through her higher education.

he was diagnosed with ADHD & autism when he was six years old. his mother became concerned with his impulsive nature, his frequent outbursts, and his seeming inability to come when he was called or even respond to his name at all.

while we’re on the topic of neurodivergency, please allow me to take a moment to talk about tom’s symptoms hahahAHAHA

the obvious ones we’ve seen in canon are his difficulty connecting with others, noticing often missed details and patterns in his environment, depression, responding to social cues (eyes that scene where he’s about to leave before alex stops him to tell him about the updated maps when she’s clearly expecting him to ask about them), difficulty keeping eye contact, funky posture, (some) trouble empathizing, some social anxiety, and being awkward with physical touch (and perhaps denial of symptoms as well, attributing his awkwardness and reserved nature to his family struggles), but he also has a whole slew of other symptoms we haven’t really seen (at least in my book 😎 )

he needs something in his hands in order to focus, like a pencil or fidget toy, and often finds himself doodling on a piece of paper since it helps him focus on the things that are going on around him

bites his lip, rolls his fingers together, jiggles his legs, constantly stretches briefly, taps his fingers/nails, and has to get up and leave the room to walk around because he feels like he has pent up energy

he often says things out of the blue that he thinks are appropriate, even after being scolded by his mom or a friend about how what he said was actually rude

has difficulty responding to body language & social cues

mouths along to the speech patterns of (mostly) people on tv and copies/adds to their body language

has difficulty knowing when it’s his turn to talk or give input

finds certain textures on certain parts of his body really annoying. for instance, he doesn’t like silk or denim on his arms, or anything with a “bubbly” texture under his hands or feet

will take some jokes/figures of speech literally and often asks for clarification if something is sarcastic or to be taken seriously, depending on the context of the situation

finds it extremely difficult to control his emotions and will burst out in frustration if he expects something to go one way and it doesn’t

he’s fairly musically talented as well, he played trumpet for a few years in grade school before switching over to cello. he’s also a pretty decent singer and has a basic understanding of piano and guitar.

has. pretty bad asthma actually??? like if he runs too much he’ll legit start wheezing and will probably be unable to breathe. uses his inhaler ~6 times a month during periods of low activity

also has a pretty mild case of scoliosis but it still causes him quite a bit of pain sometimes. he’s often seen leaning over to his right side a lot, and his hips jut out forward and inch up to his left ever so slightly

[ancestryfound-a]

( lil tidbit hcs i came up with for my boy c: )

his mother has danish, dutch, swedish, and norwegian ancestry, while is father is mainly of italian, danish, and polish descent

he used to have his father's last name, rizzo, but when his parents split and his father left, his surname was legally changed to his mother's, kullersen

according to tom himself, in his own words, his father looks "nothing like him". and it's true, because anthony's dark red-brown hair and deep brown eyes from his italian side are his dominant traits

he hasn't actually seen his dad in person in over ten years. he's had a few phone calls with him over the years soon after he left, but the habit kind of died down. he never forgot, though, how his father always told him that he loved him before he hung up. it doesn't really feel like he does, though.

his parents' relationship wasn't necessarily abusive, per se, but anthony's behavior greatly worried olivia and she distanced her son from his father's more problematic behaviors, like reckless driving and getting drunk and high regularly with his friends. sometimes she worries that her son's overly impulsive and near destructive adventurous attitude is somewhat of a mirrored reflection of his father's behaviors, although his genuine interest in what he does comes from her.

olivia and anthony had tom relatively young. olivia was 22 and anthony 19 when their son was born. anthony was trusted in watching over their son as olivia went through graduate school and got her phd. anthony was essentially a stay-at-home dad as olivia went through her higher education.

he was diagnosed with ADHD & autism when he was six years old. his mother became concerned with his impulsive nature, his frequent outbursts, and his seeming inability to come when he was called or even respond to his name at all.

while we're on the topic of neurodivergency, please allow me to take a moment to talk about tom's symptoms hahahAHAHA

the obvious ones we've seen in canon are his difficulty connecting with others, noticing often missed details and patterns in his environment, depression, responding to social cues (eyes that scene where he's about to leave before alex stops him to tell him about the updated maps when she's clearly expecting him to ask about them), difficulty keeping eye contact, funky posture, (some) trouble empathizing, some social anxiety, and being awkward with physical touch (and perhaps denial of symptoms as well, attributing his awkwardness and reserved nature to his family struggles), but he also has a whole slew of other symptoms we haven't really seen (at least in my book 😎 )

he needs something in his hands in order to focus, like a pencil or fidget toy, and often finds himself doodling on a piece of paper since it helps him focus on the things that are going on around him

bites his lip, rolls his fingers together, jiggles his legs, constantly stretches briefly, taps his fingers/nails, and has to get up and leave the room to walk around because he feels like he has pent up energy

he often says things out of the blue that he thinks are appropriate, even after being scolded by his mom or a friend about how what he said was actually rude

has difficulty responding to body language & social cues

mouths along to the speech patterns of (mostly) people on tv and copies/adds to their body language

has difficulty knowing when it's his turn to talk or give input

finds certain textures on certain parts of his body really annoying. for instance, he doesn't like silk or denim on his arms, or anything with a "bubbly" texture under his hands or feet

will take some jokes/figures of speech literally and often asks for clarification if something is sarcastic or to be taken seriously, depending on the context of the situation

finds it extremely difficult to control his emotions and will burst out in frustration if he expects something to go one way and it doesn't

he's fairly musically talented as well, he played trumpet for a few years in grade school before switching over to cello. he's also a pretty decent singer and has a basic understanding of piano and guitar.

has. pretty bad asthma actually??? like if he runs too much he'll legit start wheezing and will probably be unable to breathe. uses his inhaler ~6 times a month during periods of low activity

also has a pretty mild case of scoliosis but it still causes him quite a bit of pain sometimes. he's often seen leaning over to his right side a lot, and his hips jut out forward and inch up to his left ever so slightly

[crassussativum]

Totem: A Mav fic

((So in wanting to show a little of my Mercenary!Au Mav’s softer side, I ended up with this. It was supposed to be fluffy and it turned out somewhat sad. My fic Enemies and Allies comes before this one.))

Mav’s mandibles worked against his jaw in a haphazard dance of regret and misery. Ailuros looked up at him from the photo, his eyes bright and his mandibles spread in a genuine smile. He’d only seen that smile a handful of times in the all too short while he’d known him. And Baast, in the photo too, his smile more aloof but just as real… Mav cleared his throat, shifting a little on the couch. He needed to wipe his eyes but he couldn’t put the picture down, his fingers wouldn’t let go. He sat like that for a long time. 

Baast had always pet his fringe too roughly. Dragging his hands across it like trying to pull on the spines and scraping his nails down the length of them to force his head back. They’d talked about it, Mav liked some rough play but that wasn’t how you handled a man’s fringe. Baast got more gentle with that part of him over time. The rest of him though… the drell had been perfect at leaving him feeling undone, wrecked and shaking in the aftermath of a night together. But that aloof little smile of his when he was pleased with his work, with the result of his efforts, Mav would remember him for that. He’d strike the image of a slumped body in a bloody hallway from his memory and just remember that smile.

The flat edge of teeth showed past his lips, just a little sliver of white. “What’re you grinnin’ at?” Mav slurred, relaxed on the bed to the point of melted on it, into it. Spirits, all his muscles were trembling and Baast was looking at him like a hungry varren with a cornered pyjack. 

He still hadn’t put the picture down, staring down into deep, dark eyes. What did drell do for those that had died? What was their death ritual? Mav recalled something about the sea and wondered how long it would take to get to Kahje from Palaven. He wondered if Palavenian pine would be a disrespectful material, if he should try to get his hands on some driftwood or sea glass. Never mind that he had no idea how to carve and shape sea glass, he had only ever made totems from pine, but he’d learn. He owed Baast a lot.

The turian youth was sand colored with pale violet eyes and an easy smile that didn’t quite reach them. He hovered next to Baast, trying to look confident and cool but Mav could see the ever so slight nervous flicker of his mandibles. “This is Ailuros. You be nice to him, Mav and he’ll be nice to you.”

Mav remembered that nervousness only lasting a few moments after Baast had left them alone. But it had been the drell, his serious way, that had made the boy uncomfortable and the two of them had worked that out in the long run. He and Ailuros had hit off and for the first time in a long time, Mav had found someone he would readily call a friend. Sex had come later that day because of course it had, but intimacy had followed close behind.

He could hear the purr from the bathroom while he cleaned up and wet a cloth. “You’re so loud, baby.” He teased the boy as he climbed back on the bed, wiping the mess from Ailuros’ belly and between his legs, so gentle with that warmly wet cloth. “I make you happy or somethin’?” 

“Or somethin’.” The boy laughed, mimicking his accent almost perfectly, giving him that smile. “Lie back down, Mavi.You don’t have to leave yet.”

Mav threw the dirty cloth on the floor and curled up next to the boy, sliding an arm under him and tangling their legs together. “I wasn’t plannin’ to leave just yet.”

Ailuros put his head on his chest and snuggled close, his purr still so loud. “Good.”

Palavenian pine was a hardwood, the bark silver with leaves so deep a blue to be nearly black and the smoke it produced when it burned was cobalt and smelled of rain. Mav wasn’t sure how that worked, botany had never been something that really interested him other than learning which plants not to nibble on or touch. He just knew totems for the dead were carved from Palavenian pine and always had been.

“Ailuros,” His throat was too tight. Spirits… What they had done to the boy… “Baby, it’s me. It’s Mavi.”

“Mavi?”

Mav was afraid to touch him and he could see his hands shaking as he reached for Ailuros’ fringe to comfort him. Crassus was a solid presence at his back and he hoped the big guy didn’t hold this weakness against him. “Yeah, baby. You’re gonna be okay, yeah? All of you are. I’ll call some people and they’ll come take care of you all, make you feel better.”

He didn’t want to think about those last few minutes of Ailuros’ life. The slow, methodical scrape of the short-bladed but sharp knife as he removed the bark dulled the memory of whimpers. The vague scent of rain drowned out the lingering smell of blood. Desolas had taught him how to shape the totems, which tools to use, how to hold them. The difference between a firm touch and a deft one and the results of both. Desolas had taught him the importance of tradition, of reverence and how grief eventually became a part of you. Mav’s hands had been too small for the tools, his understanding of the world too basic for the complex nuances of the lesson. He had been only seven when he’d carved his first totems. One for his mother and one for his father. Mav knew their faces from pictures, but their voices he couldn’t remember anymore. 

“Have you been to Palaven before?” Ailuros asked, stretched out beside him and tracing a few of his scars as he rested his eyes.

Mav purred absently, soaking up the attention in the aftermath of their session, his body cooling but the boy still warm against his side. “A few times,” He answered.

“Is it as beautiful as everyone says?”

“Er…” He shifted a little and got stuck staring into those pretty eyes. “Yeah, I reckon it is. There’s a lotta folks livin’ there, a lotta cities and shit. Y’know, an actual planet with a real population. It’s real crowded.”

Ailuros followed a scar on his thigh with his finger tips. “You don’t like that? I’ve always wanted to live in a real city. Or on a planet. Just somewhere not a station, I guess.”

“I don’t dislike it,” Mav shrugged his shoulders a little. Palaven had never felt like home to him but he’d always yearned for a place he barely remembered. “My homeworld is small. In comparison, anyway. Open fields. Farms. Miles between homesteads. There’s still wild animals, y’know? I dream ‘bout it sometimes.”

The boy rolled onto his chest and let their heads rest close together, not quite touching but close. Mav had angle himself a little to see him clearly. “Where’s home?”

“Just some planet,” He shrugged again. He couldn’t say the name here, you never knew who might be listening.

“Mavi,” The boy whined for more detail.

Mav closed his eyes with a sigh. “There’s this little house on an old farm,” He said, wrapping his arms around the boy’s back and working a hand up to pet his fringe. “Just a couple of livestock left, my folks had sold almost all of them before the war broke out….” Ailuros was too young to understand all the damage Relay 314 had done, too young to remember a time when turians and humans hadn’t grudgingly worked together. “It had a wrap ‘round porch and a big side yard and this tree that reached in every direction. We had flowers that bloomed in the winter that looked like ice sculptures. You could see the stars the moment the sun set…” He stared into those pretty violet eyes as he described his home. “I’d like to take you there.” 

The totem took shape beneath the knife and Mav would never call himself artistic, but it was actually starting to look a little like Ailuros. A few more details, a little sanding… He was happy with it even as he wiped under his eyes again and then wiped the dampness off on his pant leg. He’d never gotten the chance to show Ailuros Carthaan, that little farm house or the flowers that looked like ice. He hadn’t gone himself in too many years. His sparse apartment in Palaven’s capital was as much home as anywhere. Or Desolas’ house in the country and he should visit, shouldn’t he? There was so much for him and his adoptive father to talk about. So many more lessons.

“What...is this?” Ailuros held the glass vial between two talons, turning it this way and that, the contents sloshing lazily inside.

Mav ran a hand back over his fringe, mandibles flickering. “It’s water from my homeworld,” He said. “It’s special. I can’t explain, yeah? You just have to see for yourself.”

“Okay?” The boy gave him an odd look, head tilted. 

“Trust me, yeah?” He tested a smile, a real one, and moved to the light-switch. “Watch this. You’re gonna love it.”

He turned the light off and slowly, so slowly, the vial in Ailuros’ hand began to glow. The boy gasped and Mav smiled wider, coming over to sit with him on the couch.

“Microscopic bioluminescent lichen,” He said, cupping Ailuros’ hand around the vial as the glow became more intense. “I thought… you weren’t willin’ to go with me, and that’s fine, yeah? So I figured I’d bring a lil’ to you.”

Mav adjusted the chain around his neck, holding the vial reverently as he pulled on a clean shirt and then a jacket. It wasn’t that cold out but it was too cold for him while he healed from all Nival had done to him. And it was a long walk to Temple Palaven. He put the painted totem in a backpack he then slung over his shoulder. His omnitool was ringing and the tone told him who it was but the big guy would have to wait. Mav would call him back when he was done. 

There was a designated place for totems at the Temple and while Mav wasn’t the only one there with an offering for the Spirits, it was spacious enough that he felt alone. He placed the carved and painted totem into the divot of blackened stone and arranged a little bed of kindling at its base. Mav had stopped smoking while he recovered but he still carried a lighter and he used it now to ignite the kindling. The flame caught after a moment and he sat back on his knees, hands in his lap and watched the totem burn, the smoke stinging his eyes but he didn’t wipe the tears away.

Ailuros watched him dress with that little smile and Mav stopped more than once to kiss him again. Then again and once more before the boy pushed him away with a little laugh. “I’m goin’, I’m goin’. Spirits, boy.”  He chuckled. “I’ll see you in a week or two, yeah?”

“You better, Mavi.” His smile was so big and bright it lit up his eyes in such an alluring way that Mav had to kiss him a final time.

I

t was hours before embers turned to ashes and Mav rose to his feet again. “Spirits take you home, Ailuros.”