#the thought of marrying a man mad me more sad than feeling like an alien did. so id marry the church as a nun.

[handsomegentlebutch]

My 3 little cousins were baptized today. "Triggered" is kind of a strong word but being in a catholic church again... I'm a little fragile rn ngl.

[the-time-are-ending]

No, my father is not Elon Musk. It's almost a shame, because if that were the case, at least I would be guaranteed university, but hey, at least I don't have any blood from that phenomenon.

Your father sounds strange, and mine is too. We are a bunch of marginalized people, my whole family. Apparently, my mother and father are very obviously autistic but they never knew they were autistic and had kilos of trauma. My father didn't cheat on my mother either or so I think, he's not that kind of asshole. His mistreatment was based on emotional manipulation, emotional abuse, gaslighting and the whole misogyny package. He had many children before my mother, he is even still legally married to the mother of his first daughter! although he says that marriage is nonsense and is strongly against the government and being recognized by it.

My father is not related to money in that way, and that is what seems strangest to me. How does your father live like this? How can he breathe every second with that paranoia eating his head? Maybe it has to do with not really knowing how to relate to money. my parents are very proud radical punk anarchists and they raised us to feel those kinds of things like social justice and being part of the proletariat, hating bourgeois. I came out kind of crooked because now, I don't like things or money either (I can't stand having it nor do I covet it at all, it brings more problems than benefits) so I think maybe the experiment turned out well for them (?

oh well. All this means that when my mother got involved with him (when she was like 19 and he was 28. call the fooking cops) they experienced pure madness and decided that they would stay together for "some reason" (clearly the manipulative sociopath narcissism of that man ). , hell) and they had 4 beautiful children more autistic than Sheldon Cooper, but since they were also autistic and didn't know it, they thought that these children were totally and completely normal. They raised us practically locked up at home with just them and us to have social interactions because surprise! Neither my mother nor father have friends and they don't interact with people, much less take them to their house. so we are literally the ninja turtles, locked up and waiting for a world where we are not welcomed by strangers. piece of cake.

The strangest thing about that man is that he preaches all the values ​​of community, respect and that the people must be united. but all his actions challenge his beliefs. Whether it is his misogyny, his contempt for religious people to a sickening extreme, his paranoia with others, distrust of the society he is supposed to love… he is a different man.

I'm happy not to see him at all because he has had a personal vendetta against me since I was 4 years old because I would rather be with my mother than put up with his screams and complaints about her and us and then go for a walk with him and pretend that he is a great father ( Why would it be? It makes me sad that my siblings still depend emotionally on him and I wish with all my soul that he was a good man and father for them, but I don't think he ever will be.

and well, now I have unburdened myself very clearly. Jesus. Rereading it it sounds pathetic. I've always been a crybaby girl, I guess.

Maybe your father works for the men in black and all you know about him is loose data about all the things he has to say and pretend to do to hide the existence of aliens from you.

Are you and your family okay after all that? sounds harsh. especially with his contact being cut off. I know it can be difficult.

Sorry if you don't understand something, English is not my first language.

a drawing of Doth, the masterpiece

@thedawningofthehour

So, I was reading Third From the Son, DOTH, by Faiakishi, and I got to that infamous moment where Galois yells at Leo about his brother being dead and being consumed by crabs at the bottom of the ocean. If in itself the scene of him on the verge of a mental breakdown due to the sadness, confusion and guilt (among other emotions) that thinking about Donatello causes him and his ending brought me strong images, this definitely cements them. As is my custom, I had to use my older sibling's cell phone to draw.

I did my best, don't strangle me too hard. I tried!

I really like this work and its construction, not only of characters, but of worlds. I had made other drawings before, but I didn't dare to upload them. hope you like.

[alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer]

if this was a dream pt. 2

Part 1 | AO3 | Fanfiction Masterlist

Thomas tried to steady himself as Alastair walked - no, more like ran - away. What was he doing here, by his bedside? In what universe would his parents allow Alastair Carstairs to sit with him while they slept? He seemed to recall many nights in his youth when his mother refused to sleep at all when he was unwell. 

His mind ran through countless possibilities, each one less likely than the last, until his parents rushed into his room. He pushed those thoughts aside as mother ran to him, cupping his face in her hands and gently kissing his forehead. “We were so worried. How are you feeling?” 

Besides blinding rage? He took a moment to actually consider the question. He’d been too distracted by the Alastair fiasco to take notice of it all. Alastair said that he had been injured. “Er, my head hurts, but other than that, I feel alright.”

She smiled. “That’s good. You were attacked on patrol about three days ago, and your injuries were quite severe. There’s a Silent Brother lingering around here somewhere, we should fetch him to check on you. I’m so glad you’re feeling alright, love.” 

“Alright is one word for not being able to remember the past six months,” Eugenia commented, appearing in the doorway. 

Both of his parents looked alarmed. “What do you mean?” his father asked. 

“That’s what-” She cut herself off abruptly. “Thomas, what month is it?” 

“Um…” He thought for a moment. Now that she mentioned it, he was feeling a bit blurry. Was the engagement party last week? Two weeks ago, perhaps? “It’s August.”

His mother looked at him worriedly. 

“What?” 

“It’s February,” Eugenia answered. She was always the most blunt out of all of them.

Thomas wasn’t sure how to respond, but his mother quickly reassured, “That’s alright, dear. I’ll go find the Silent Brother now. I’m sure this will pass as your head heals.” 

She left the room and Eugenia came to the chair that Alastair had been sitting in earlier. She sighed. “I know you’re mad at him.” It took him a moment to realize she was talking about Alastair. “You should be, but also… try to keep in mind that a lot has happened over the past six months.” 

He could feel the anger rising in his bloodstream again, but there was only so much he was willing to say with his father present. “Forgive me if I find it hard to believe that…” He trailed off. What was being implied here? He had no idea what was happening at all. 

“Believe what you must, then,” Eugenia exhaled. 

“Well, what did happen in the last six months?” 

Eugenia thought for a moment. “Hm, let’s see… Well, Rosamund and Thoby got engaged. Cordelia and James got married, kind of. Matthew got a flat! And a car. And he’s trying to quit drinking now, though that’s a bit new, maybe don’t bring it up. Let’s see… There was the whole serial killer bit, we fought a couple of Princes of Hell, Lilith showed up, Lucie raised Jesse Blackthorn from the dead… Oh, I’m sure I’m missing some things. Your friends can explain it better.” 

Thomas could only stare in response. 

“See? Is your relationship with Alastair Carstairs truly the most shocking thing to have happened in the past six months?” 

Thomas’ head had ached before, but now he could feel it pounding, trying to process all that his sister had just rattled off. “I- What-” He flashed his gaze towards his father, who seemed a bit concerned, but not the least bit surprised or upset. “My- I don’t-” 

“I can see now that I’ve said far too much. You know what? It’s fine. Most of that doesn’t even matter anyways. The parts that do, well, you’ll figure them out. Besides, your memories may come back soon enough anyways. And it’s all truly not as dramatic as it sounds listed out like that.” 

Thomas closed his eyes and tried to shove all of those thoughts, his sister’s words, the many questions needing answers, into some corner of his brain to be picked up later. “Perhaps we can just… avoid that as a topic of conversation.” 

“Of course,” his sister said quickly. “By ‘that’ you mean-” 

Gideon cut her off by clearing his throat. “Genie, would you please find Bridget and request some food be brought up for your brother, now that he’s awake.” 

She shot out of her seat with nervous energy. “Of course. I’ll be back.” 

Once she was out the door, he chuckled gently. “I have no idea how she still has that much energy after staying awake for nearly three straight days.” 

Thomas bit at the inside of his lip. “It was bad, wasn’t it?” 

Gideon nodded solemnly. “You’re alright now, though, and you’re awake. That’s what is important.” He paused. “I know this has all been a lot to take in, but you needn’t worry about any of it, truly. All that matters to any of us right now is that you heal. You should try to rest, if only because Eugenia is less likely to harass you if it looks like you’re sleeping.” 

He gave him a small smile and tried to relax. He attempted, unsuccessfully, to quiet the noise in his brain. Alastair, sitting by his bedside. The look on Alastair’s face as he fled the room. How his entire family had seemingly accepted Alastair as part of his life, as his… partner? Had Alastair sat with them these three long days, hoping, praying, that he would wake? 

It didn’t make sense. Alastair had spread cruel rumors, terrible lies, about Thomas’ family. Rumors that had made his mother weep. He’d hurt Matthew so badly that the scars showed even now, four years later. He’d had a crush on Alastair in school, of course. Just a silly schoolboy crush, running after the witty and mysterious older boy with cutting words and sad eyes. Thomas had thought, for a moment, that he was falling in love with him, back in Paris. He kicked himself at the thought of it now. He’d been terribly lonely and feeling alienated, of course he would fall at the feet of the first person he connected with. 

He felt it again, though, when Alastair arrived in London, in those stolen conversations at parties or in the laboratory. He knew now that the Alastair he’d shown to Thomas was not true. It was a facade he put on to please him, a trick. That Alastair would never be able to say such terrible things about his loved ones, even as some strange, sick act. This must be another trick, Thomas thought, one that he’d seemingly convinced not only Thomas of but everyone else, too. 

Thomas silently scolded himself. There were much bigger issues to worry about than Alastair Carstairs’ games, such as the fact that he’d nearly died a few days prior or that Lucie had apparently raised Jesse Blackthorn from the dead. Those were the types of things that he should be worried about, or even the fact that this meant that it had been over half a year without his sister, or that he’d turned 19 last month and could not remember. And yet, his mind lingered. 

His mother returned soon after with Brother Shadrach. Thomas allowed himself a moment of silent relief that it was not Brother Zachariah. He had no issue with Jem, but he suspected that his presence would make it a bit difficult to keep his mind off of a different Carstairs. 

Brother Shadrach did a short physical evaluation. Thomas still had several wounds that had not finished healing, but they were reportedly improving nicely. His head injury was a different story. 

With these types of injuries, recent memories are typically more affected than older ones. Only time will tell whether the amnesia is temporary or not. It is likely that even if you begin to regain your older memories, some of your most recent memories will never return, even if that is merely the days or weeks leading up to the attack. 

Sophie thanked him for all of his help, and he left them with orders that Thomas be allowed light physical activity as he finished healing, though he should avoid anything that may make his headache worsen, such as reading. Or Alastair Carstairs, Thomas had wanted to add, though he did not. 

Over the next several hours, his family tapered off in shifts, finally allowing themselves much-needed rest and meals now that they were certain that Thomas was alright. 

It was Eugenia’s shift when he woke from a nap with too much restless energy to lie in bed any longer. “I’m going to walk around a bit,” he announced. 

She sat up, closing the book she was reading. “I’ll come with you, then.” 

“That’s alright, you don’t need to. Brother Shadrach said I’m allowed to walk around. I’m meant to avoid headaches, though, and I’d rather not have you talking my ears off.” 

Genie’s face fell. “Oh.” 

“I didn’t- That came out wrong. I only meant that I’d like some time alone.” 

“I know what you meant.” She looked back down at the book in her lap. “Go. You have until I finish this chapter, and then I’m coming to find you.” 

His wandering eventually led him to the library, though he was not meant to do any actual reading. In the library, however, was a man. 

“Why are you still here?” Thomas asked. 

Alastair looked up from the book he was holding. “I- Thomas! I didn’t realize that you were walking around.” 

“Yes, according to Brother Shadrach, my head injury has not affected my ability to walk.” 

“Right-” 

“You still haven’t answered my question. Go home, Carstairs. How many times do I need to tell it to you? Do you need it in a different language?” He was about to tell Alastair to leave in Farsi when he was cut off. 

“No, I’ll go.” He shut his book and stood up. “I’m sorry. I did not intend to bother you again, I simply-” 

“I don’t know what game you’re playing or how you’ve managed to convince my whole family of it, too, but it won’t work anymore.” 

“Thomas, there’s no-” 

“Cease constantly addressing me by my first name. We’re not schoolboys any longer. That’s what you said, isn’t it?” 

Alastair couldn’t seem to find the words to respond, though his expression was as unreadable as ever. 

Thomas could feel tears burning in his eyes. “I thought that you were different, but I was wrong. I will not allow myself to fall for your lies again.” 

“Very well, Mr. Lightwood. I will take my leave. I did not wish to upset you.” His face was still blank. 

“Really? Because you don’t seem to care all that much. We’re meant to be in a relationship, or something, according to my sister, but it doesn’t even seem like you care that I hate you.” 

There, just for a moment, was a flicker across Alastair’s face, though Thomas couldn’t quite catch what it was. He thought for a moment before finally responding. “You’re allowed to hate me, T- Perhaps you should. It matters not to me because as long as you hate me, you are awake and you are alive, and that is an easier reality to contend with than one where you are… not alive. I hope you feel better, Mr. Lightwood.” 

Thomas opened his mouth to respond, but was too flustered to find the words. He stared as he watched Alastair walk out of the library. For a moment, he thought that perhaps he would look back at him, but he simply kept walking, turning the corner towards the front entrance of the Institute.

Thanks for all of your support! taglist (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @littlx-songbxrd @dianasarrow @doitforthecarstairs @lifewouldbebetteronmars @delusioneon @bookswitchcraftandcats @jamesherondaleofficial @thomas-gaypanic-lightwood

Part 3

[theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin]

Hi! I’m a big fan of your work!! I am looking for more but unfortunately I feel like I have read all yhe good Harry Potter docs on Ao3. Do you have any recs?

Sorry for the delay, I just know that whenever I make rec list it usually ends up taking a while.

With that, Harry Potter fics are a big genre. Just saying Harry Potter in general really isn’t that specific to me so this is across genres/character focuses/you name it.

Also, as usual, I’ve been on fanfiction longer and have amassed more favorites there. Some of these are cross posted to Ao3. Similarly, a lot are unfinished, this personally doesn’t bother me but if it bothers you take heed.

Also, you’ll see my embarrassing obsession with Tom Riddle. So, heads up for that.

Stepbrother (Tom Riddle/Hermione Granger, period piece, in which the two remind me a lot of Nabokov)

Cat Among the Pigeons (Tom Riddle/Lily Evans, Psycho-Pass Detective AU, in which I am a beta actually so my promoting this goes without saying)

Til Death Do Us Part (Tom Riddle/Harry Potter, Voldemort wins AU, which for me does very well with the concept of immortality and what exactly Tom is supposed to do after he wins)

This Tangle of Thorns (Tom Riddle/Hermione Granger, modern AH AU, a full on Nabokov inspired fic which I enjoy because Lolita)

Delusional (Tom Riddle/Harry Potter, sort of. Harry wins the war, goes crazy, checks into a mental hospital. Or he’s not crazy and Voldemort is as unkillable as Palpatine.)

Harry Potter and the Natural 20 (OC insert, D&D inspired, shameless crack. I mostly enjoy the beginning of this but it makes me laugh enough to recommend.)

A Hairy Business (AU, Harry is a deer, he is literally a deer, that’s it. It’s funny.)

Animus, Anima (Tom Riddle/Harry Potter, Harry travels back in time, gets stuck in Tom Riddle’s brain, and it turns out Harry’s responsible for every terrible thing that ever happened. This one was squicky even for me, very well done, but strap in.)

Addendum, He is Also a Liar (Tom Riddle/Hermione Granger, Tom has an inexplicable ability to travel to the future, but only to this random little girl Hermione Granger)

Framed & Fractured (Tom Riddle/Harry Potter, Harry gets stuck in an evil painting back in time. Tom is creepy as usual.)

Trying for Eden (Tom Riddle/Harry Potter, Harry travels back in time to lecture Tom into morality. It doesn’t work.)

Magical Mirrors (Luna Lovegood and Severus Snape, Luna and Snape stumble on the Mirror of Erised at the same time and strike up a conversation)

Aphelion (Hermione Granger/Loki, MCU crossover, Hermione and Loki strike up the world’s weirdest toxic friendship when Hermione’s young and attending Hogwarts, this leads terrible places as Loki slides into madness and despair)

Wandering Souls (Luna Lovegood and The Undertaker, Black Butler crossover, Luna meets and strikes up a conversation with the Undertaker)

Of Lies Most Beautiful (Tom Riddle, Hunger Games crossover, Tom wins the Hunger Games becaues that’s what he does bitch)

In Wonderland (Tom Riddle/Harry Potter, Harry ends up back in the past and decides to raise Tom Riddle. This goes so poorly that the pair almost get eaten by eldritch gods multiple times.)

Rumpelstiltskin, Guess My Name (Tom Riddle/Harry Potter, Female Harry travels back in time and offers to save Merope’s life/get her Tom Riddle Sr. the non rapey way in return for her firstborn son. Merope thought Harry was joking. She wasn’t joking. In the sequel, also linked, Harry kills Morfin.)

The Eyes (Harry Potter, AU, turns out “the power he knows not” is the power humanity knows not, Harry’s ability to see eldritch abominations and cosmic gods and thus bring them far enough into our reality that they eat everything. And I mean everything.)

Mirror Mirror (Harry Potter, MCU crossover, Harry makes a huge mistake and stops Hulk in the middle of a rampage. This gets him abducted by octopus nazis.)

I See the Moon (Harry Potter and Bruce Banner, MCU crossover, Harry got brain damage from the war and wanders around the middle of nowhere. He runs into Bruce. He’s now Bruce’s only friend.)

You Will Be the Death of Me (Harry Potter and Tom Riddle, Despicable Me inspired, through a series of convoluted events Tom as the world’s worst father figure ends up raising Harry the sad adorable orphan.)

In Death, Standby (Tom Riddle/Harry Potter (sort of, the authro claims), Tom raises Harry, the only Tom raises Harry that I’ve seen done well because Tom is the world’s worst father. Harry thinks he’s a deformed snake until the age of three.)

Little Harry’s Mirkwood Adventure (Harry Potter and Dudley Dursley, Hobbit Crossover, one of the most Tolkien style crossovers I’ve actually seen and is very good)

A (Self-Imposed) Trap for a Fool (Ginny Weasley, turns out Harry Potter never existed, as in he’s a collective hallucination made up by the entire wizarding world)

McLaggen and From McLaggen with Love (McLaggen, a detective AU then a James Bond style adventure starring McLaggen, the greatest wizard who ever wizarded)

Tom Riddle’s Diary: on keeping devils in the summer (Tom Riddle, Tom Riddle’s antichrist orphan adventures involving exorcism and burning people alive)

and the fates sing (hold on, son) (Harry Potter, MCU crossover, Harry is the son of Loki and like all children of Loki he is a wretched and cursed thing)

A Faulty Master (Harry Potter and Itachi Uchiha, Naruto crossover, Itachi after the massacre of his family has a run in with a master of death Harry, who is a creepy creepy man)

Eye of Reason (Harry Potter/Jack Frost, Rise of the Guardians crossover, due to the mythos surrounding his life Harry ceases to be a man and becomes akin to a god)

Flowers for a Ghost (Luna Lovegood and Itachi Uchiha, Naruto Crossover, Luna befriends a blind ghost)

Third Time’s the Charm (Harry Potter, MCU crossover, Bruce Banner keeps trying to kill himself and MoD Harry is there to have himself a real good day)

Blind Faith (Bellatrix LeStrange/Tom Riddle, canon compliant, an in depth look at Bellatrix from the escape of Azkaban onward)

Cocktail Time (Rita Skeeter and Gilderoy Lockhart, Rita does an expose and autobiography detailing the descent of Gilderoy Lockhart and how he became what he became)

Fantastic Elves and Where to Find Them (Harry Potter, canon divergent AU, Harry thinks he’s an elf. That’s it.)

The Twine Bracelet (Colin Creevy, a look at Colin’s death) 

Legal Alien (Harry Potter, MCU crossover, Harry visits New York and an alien invasion breaks out. Culminates with the best, dumb, joke.)

The Root of Desire (Tom Riddle/Hermione Granger, Hermione travels back in time and tries to influence Tom. All this does is inspire his sexual awakening.)

Deadheads (Harry Potter/Godric Gryffindor, a romantic comedy of a kind, culminating in the best dumbest joke)

Give and Take (Tom Riddle/Hermione Granger, Hermione tries to outwit Tom, it ends in despair)

The Road to Somewhere (Harry Potter, Spirited Away crossover, Harry as MoD is in the realm of the spirits)

Absolute (Harry Potter, Harry picks up a death note, he kills everyone)

Fortunate Son (Dudley Dursleys, years afterwards Dudley looks back and writes a memoir and expose about the abuse inflicted on his cousin)

Elective Affinities (Severus Snape/Harry Potter, Harry travels back in time to discover his parents are assholes and things are more complicated than he imagined)

Juxtaposed (Bod, Graveyard Book crossover, Bod attends Hogwarts)

The Fire Omens (Tom Riddle and a look at WWII)

Broken Toys (Tom Riddle and his useless broken toys)

The Fine Art of Poisoning (Madame Zabini)

A Marriage of Convenience (Pansy and Theo get married)

Reparabilis (Tom Riddle/Harry Potter, Tom becomes a professor, he still destroys Harry Potter)

The Unforgivable Curses (Draco Malfoy, a look at the 4th year unforgivable lecture with Moody and the Slytherins)

Ugly (Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy one sided Dudley/Harry Potter, Dudley’s fat, ugly, and creeps on his cousin)

Three Can Keep a Secret (Harry Potter, on secrets and secret keeping)

Caveat Incimici (Hermione Granger, on Hermione and her terrifying wrath)

Babylon (Harry Potter and Tom Riddle, Harry never gets rid of Tom)

Wonderful Tragic Mysterious (Luna Lovegood and Albus Dumbledore, Luna Lovegood time travels and becomes a young Albus’ neighbor)

In the Clockface, Weighted and Weary (Harry Potter/Ariana Dumbledore, Harry after DH ends up back in time in Dumbledore’s childhood and witnesses the beautiful Dumbledore family dysfunction)

Eternal Return (Harry Potter and Tom Riddle, Harry is reincarnated as Tom Riddle and as a result becomes Voldemort so that a Voldemort exists)

Like Pale Fire (Harry Potter/Godric Gryffindor, the Founders are resurrected and it turns out Harry had travelled to the past and become Salazar Slytherin, turns out the Founders were more complicated than people expected.)

12 Moves Sideways (Harry Potter and Light Yagami, Death Note crossover, Light becomes the Defense Professor, for once Harry does not figure out the mystery.)

A Very Young Girl’s Record of Her Own Impressions (Ariana Dumbledore’s diary)

Night Comes Early (Moody on war)

Little Witches (The Black family women and how it all falls apart)

Paved with Good Intentions (Petunia on finding a baby on her doorstep)

Emerald Serpent for Vanity (Draco and Nagini introspective)

Blue (Tom Riddle/Bellatrix LeStrange, Voldemort wins dystopia, Tom visits Bellatrix’s grave and is very crazy)

Eighteen (Hermione Granger, on Hermione’s betrayal of her parents)

Ouroboros (Tom Riddle/Harry Potter, on what they’ve made of each other)

Not so Different (Scout, To Kill a Mockingbird Crossover, Scout reflects on the wizarding world’s raicsm)

Traitor (Hermione Granger, Hermione is captured by the Death Eaters and commits unspeakable acts to free herself)

Smashing Mirrors (Tom Riddle, introspective)

Twelve Dark Moons (Luna Lovegood/Tom Riddle, Luna becomes a captive of the dark lord)

Full Circle (Harry Potter, Harry wins and is miserable)

The Web of a Thousand Spiders (Luna Lovegood on the diary)

The Metronome (The fall of Lucius’ entire generation)

Understand (Hermione Granger and her betrayal of her parents)

Tea with the Headmaster (Severus Snape and Albus Dumbledore, the pair have tea)

This Grief Feeling (Hermione Granger and Severus Snape after the end)

After Innocence (The trio after the end)

Of Great Turmoil and Excess Stupidity (Sesshomaru and Hagrid, Inuyasha crossover, Hagrid decides to capture a demon for class)

What’s Left of Hope (Severus Snape and Albus Dumbledore, on preserving hope)

In His Keep (Severus Snape and Luna Lovegood, Snape informs Luna her father has died)

Wednesday (Petunia Evans, introspective)

In the Presence of Angels (Moody in WWII)

What He Grows to Be (Tom Riddle/Harry Potter, Harry Potter raises Tom Riddle in the past and it goes horribly wrong)

Being Cassandra (Tom Riddle/Harry Potter, Harry Potter, Tom, and their strange AU friendship)

The Girl (Tom Riddle/Harry Potter, a fem Harry Potter keeps accidentally appearing in Tom’s childhood)

Corruption (Tom Riddle/Harry Potter, Tom wins AU and female Harry slowly becomes corrupted)

One Night Stand (Tom Riddle/Lily Evans, a wonderful look on the first war, Tom Riddle, Lily Evans, the Order of the Phoenix, and terrorism)

The Voldemort Principle (Severus Snape, turns out Snape was Voldemort the whole time and Harry is a lying liar who lies)

Harry Potter and the mountain of pure diamond (Tom Riddle/Harry Potter, Harry has become an ageless god who travels worlds and decides to raise Tom Riddle. He’s disturbed when he realizes Tom is more of a person than he is)

A Road Less Travelled By (Harry Potter/Lucius Malfoy, Harry’s a veela, just read it, it’s amazing, I know I sound crazy but it is)

Transformation (Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy, Draco gets eaten by the Forbidden Forest and then Harry gets eaten too)

Rock Bottom (Tom Riddle/Harry Potter, Tom gets trapped being defense professor and has a miserable time)

[eutaerpe]

the escapades (m)

pairing — jimin x reader

genre/warnings—  smut (oral, fingering, orgasm denial) & college!au, fratboy!jimin, brief e2l, brief ewb, acr universe

summary —  the one where there’s a lot of unresolved sexual tension, until there isn’t.

notes — 8.3k words of the happiness before the storm i couldn’t write. i realised halfway through this there’s a slight plotwise change in comparison to what i wrote in acr so. yeah. sorry. kudos to you if you find it lol

The first time it happens, you’re pretending to be someone you’re not.

You’re sitting near the end of the table, crossing your legs and playing with the hem of your dress, your lips twisted into a frown. The real reason lying behind the simple decision of having a single, almost infinite table of guests doesn’t, in the slightest, cross your mind; why your idiotic brother would see this as a delightful idea really is above you, but you suppose the valuable genes in the family runs all in your DNA.

You’re playing with the table decorations while waiting for the guests to come, and it’s so fucking boring you regret telling Seulgi no, babe, what the fuck - you even shook your head and decided to sound extra mad at the idea - I won’t sneak in weed.

Too bad for you, she had answered, a cute pout on her lips, I’ll give you an hour before you’re bored out of your mind.

The truth hangs above your head, with a sheepish grin: you just needed ten minutes to be absolutely, drastically bored.

In hindsight, sneaking in weed wouldn’t have been the worst idea: your mother is talking to the in laws, gesticulating excitedly at the idea of kids right after marriage. What the fuck, you text Seulgi, at home trying to get out of bed, my brother has been married for an hour and there’s already baby talk going on at the table.

 Seulgi

[12.49]

With the baby talk comes the dick talk

 You

[12.49]

Oh no the dick talk

 Seulgi

[12.50]

man how can you survive your relatives talking about nonexistent boyfriends without my weed, damn???

 You

[12.50]

option a: I’ll tell them I’m dating you

 Seulgi

[12.50]

we kissed ONE time

 You

[12.50]

option b: I’ll tell them I’m in a relationship with Jeon jungkook

 Seulgi

[12.50]

bitch we both know you’re not in a relationship with the hottest guy on campus. he has dimples and long hair and piercings. my sources can even confirm he has a big dick. what do U Have

 You

[12.51]

i was talking about my vibrator but go off lmao

anyway I’ve had that D ;)

 Seulgi

[12.51]

you’re officially cancelled

when did this happen? I can’t believe you’re telling me over text!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 You

[12.51]

last semester!!!!! why do you think I’ve named my vib after him!!!!!!

 Seulgi

[12.52]

because you’re lusting after him like the rest of us mortals!!!!!!!!!!

 You

[12.52]

I’ve upgraded since then. I’ve leveled up. I’ve seen things People Can’t Even Imagine

 Seulgi

[12.52]

just say he got u off and go

 You

[12.52]

;p

anyway option c: I scare them away by saying controversial things. Id est: I don’t believe in love. I am choosing my partner solely judging their abilities to finger me under a table when people are around. I am secretly lusting after my brother’s wife. I am trying to get impregnated like in The Sims 2 aka I am waiting for that alien dick.

 Seulgi

[12.52]

hate to break it to you babe but that’s literally who you are

 You

[12.52]

i

I literally compliment joohyun’s boobs once and this is the treatment I get

 Seulgi

[12.52]

are we not gonna talk about your alien dick kink

 You

[12.52]

no kink shaming in this house lady

option d: I listen to their complaints and run

 Seulgi

[12.53]

option dick

man sorry I meant option d

 You

[12.53]

you didn’t

 Seulgi

[12.54]

ur right I didn’t

 Option e, also known as I’ll entertain the other guests so I don’t have to talk to you, presents itself in the form of one very hot, very ripped young man sporting the most expensive shirt in the room. You’re only human when you admit to yourself, mental sigh, that he ticked all the let’s get y/n horny requirements in less than fifteen seconds.

You can’t believe Joohyun has kept him hidden for so long from you. Such betrayal ends when your brother, Kim fucking Seokjin, hugs him tight and brushes with utter affection the nape of his neck, gracing him with a warm smile and a heartfelt laugh.

You can’t believe Seokjin has kept him hidden for so long from you.

Well. Scratch that. You can.

Suddenly, the ticked requirements disappear and a giant neon sentence with a very cheap background music impose themselves in your head. WHAT A TURN OFF! they read, the neon red words mocking you; you steal a glance at your brother’s acquaintance one more time - one last time - before slipping your phone in your hands and dedicating yourself one more time at your Instagram feed, scrolling through the most recent pics.

(You stumble upon an extremely rare Jungkook selfie, and you hate to admit you spend the following thirty seconds admiring him before tapping twice on the quality content you’ve signed up for when you joined the social)

You suppose that, even though your brother’s friends with fuckboy tendencies are signed off your let’s get to know each other better ;) list, it doesn’t mean the same goes for them.

So, when the dark-haired young man with a jawline sharper than Seulgi’s retorts after her third beer sits next to you, you reckon you shouldn’t be that surprised.

He acts all casual, you notice while discreetly looking at him; he’s busy taking off his jacket and flexing his muscles, all of this while pretending not to notice you, and you find it immensely cute.

Ah, fuckboys.

“Fuck,” he rasps, lips twisted in a crooked smile, “I didn’t think it would be this hot today.”

“Yeah, sorry, the heat is on me.”

He chuckles in disbelief at your words, eyes turning into crescents.

“Right, there’s always the girl stealing the bride’s spotlight at weddings.”

“Oh! That’s me,” you nod enthusiastically, “That’s one hundred percent me.”

“Groom or bride?” He asks, pointing at the couple with his chin.

“What do you think?”

He looks at you funny, pressing his back on the seat, pondering in silence. Cute.

“Bride. One of Bae’s sorority sisters, maybe? You seem too young to be her age, though.”

“Damn,” you exhale, crossing your arms under your chest, “I can’t believe you got it all wrong. The expectations were low, but I’m still disappointed.”

He ducks his head, still smiling. “Then it’s the groom. How do you know Seokjin?”

Your eyes twinkle with excitement at your next words, but honestly, who can blame you? You’re having fun with this lost, cute chick.

“What’s your take, officer?”

He erupts into a laugh, and you drink in his handsome features; fuck you, Seokjin, for being friends with fuckboys only.

“Alright,” he punches the bridge of his nose, scanning the room, which is slowly filling with other guests. “I’m his friend, and I know all of his friends, which can only mean one thing: option a, you’re one of his ex-girlfriends; option b, you’re one of his secret hook-ups; option c, you’re an old friend from high school.”

“Oooh,” you beam, unrealistically intrigued, “You really suck at guessing, don’t you?”

He laughs, passing a hand through his dark locks, messing his perfectly styled hair. “Ok, fair. Which one was the closest, then?”

“Option d, of course.” You nod, relaxing your features into a sheepish grin, “I’m his much more beautiful and smarter sister.”

You exam his face, now twisting into some sort of what the fuck, such betrayal look, and you take in, for the last time – really the last, this time – his attractive, sculptured face, his full lips, the smoothness of his skin. It’s awful and unfair knowing you two won’t cross paths ever again in your lives, but at least you had some fun messing with him before things could worsen.

“I’ll be sitting in the middle of the table, with my family, if you want to avoid me.”

You wink at him for good measure, and you swear to god he blushes.

 Half a wine bottle and two flutes of prosecco down, you realise you underestimated your resident fuckboy.

It happens when you’re grabbing your napkin and channelling your dreamy, happy looks towards the newlyweds, dancing in the middle of the room, their eyes gravitating only towards the love of their lives.

You sigh, pouting for the smallest of fractions, when you feel someone sitting at your side.

“You know,” Fuckboy begins, and you picture him licking his lips as he pauses, “Now I get why he never told us anything more than: I’m not an only child.”

“I know,” you exhale, turning to face him, “Seokwon is the real catch of our family. We’re really protective of him.”

“He’s married. With kids.”

“I was there when the twins opened their eyes, thank you.”

“We thought you were either a small kid or a forty years old woman.”

“Wait,” you tilt your head, “How did you know about us then? And who’s we?”

“We dug into his stuff and he caved in, admitting he had a brother and a sister.” Fuckboy looks at you, eyes dark but reflecting the dim lights of the function room, “Us. The frat guys.”

“Right, the fuckboys.”

He looks taken aback by your statement, bewildered, and you take advantage of his reaction to stand up and head away from him. It’s his words that stop you from doing so, though.

“You don’t know us—”

“—except I do know your pledges and your brothers.”

“But you don’t know me.”

“Maybe,” you shrug, “I prefer to steer away from my brother’s friends, though.”

“Right,” he says, tightening his lips in a hard line, almost hurt, “So, who am I to interfere with your judgmental thinking?” He clicks his tongue, then, a resolute exhale slipping past his lips, smothered by his own tingling despair.

The words hurt.

You don’t know what exactly pinched your senses hard, if the tone or the wallowing sadness swimming in his expression, but, as he stands up and leaves, you’re left facing the cold, hard truth.

The words hurt, you hurt, and you feel guilty.

You say nothing, glancing in the direction of the first alcoholic beverage around, and you fill yourself a glass.

Had it been someone else – had it been another sentence, another less sickening scenario, you would’ve felt proud, righteous. You’re, instead, on the other side of the feelings spectrum, all filled with crippling guilt and a nauseous, pervasive feeling you can’t quite name and pin down.

The guests are dancing around you, moving hand in hand to the rhythm of the pop love song now playing; the ballroom is packed when you let your impulsive side make a choice, eyes following the guy’s composed figure. You can drastically feel the sweat, and the heat the people are radiating, when you stand up and move towards him, the only smiling boy passing his glass from a hand to the other.

You’re close enough to tap his wrist and brush your fingers, which you do; it elicits a gasp from him, all soft, not scathing around the edges yet able to bite you, anyway. It’s the guilt, you remind yourself, looking for a sign of some sort of inclination to accept your apologies between the crease of his brows and tight jaw, and everywhere in between.

It’s sickening—this boy didn’t exist four fucking hours ago. It didn’t even cross your wildest dreams, someone like him. His shape – his silhouette – has left a print in your mind, and no matter how hard you try focusing on something else, someone else, your mind keeps going back to the shape itself.

But you’re a coward, so, while he lets you intertwine your fingers, you admit, voice loud: “I wanna dance.”

He handles you properly, kindly, before pushing you in the crowd and brushing your hips with his hands, all rings and jewellery adorning them.

He blinks twice, biting the insides of his mouth, but he manages,

“Who says I wanna dance?”

Which is a bit stupid, or hypocritic if you might, because he’s swaying you to the rhythm of a ballad the pop love song turned into. You break into the smallest of smiles.

“I want to apologize.”

He scoffs. “I don’t know you,” he says, funnily enough, “But that seems almost unlikely, coming from you.”

“Yeah, you got me there, officer. I was, uhm,” you stare blatantly at his neck, and you suppress the desire to stroke your fingers’ pads on his soft skin, “I was out of line. I’m sorry. You were right, I don’t know you. I do know your frat brothers, my own brother, but that doesn’t mean I know you.”

He hums, moving for a small fraction of instants his thumbs on your hips and it’s enough for your breath to catch into your own throat. He nods, which could mean anything, from I accept your apology to go fuck yourself, this is bullshit. You prefer the former option, if you’re being honest, which is the answer you settle for in your head, hazed and absolutely hazed and madly hazed because of his small physical contact.

To put this into the simplest terms, Seulgi’s words, you don’t like this.

“I like dancing,” his eyes tower you and gaze at the other people dancing; you wonder if he’s thinking about them, who they are to you, what role they played in Seokjin’s life, if they’ll show up to your wedding, too. These thoughts popped into your mind unannounced, before, at the table, before the not-really-fuckboy sat next to you and made you feel guilty. Such absurdity; yet here you are, in his arms. Oh god, what would Seulgi think of you if she saw you?

“Good to know, I’m awful at shoulder-hips coordination.”

“Shoulder-hips coordination?” he inquiries, lips parted.

“Uh, body rolls?”

“Oh,” he chuckles, “I see, you mean classy grinding.”

“I don’t do classy grinding, sorry,” you retort, head tilted to a side.

His smile his amused. “Too bad, shoulder-hips coordination is a nice trait to exhibit sometimes.”

“I prefer hips coordination. Well, hips rotation.”

“Hips rotation?”

“Riding? Is the term somehow unfamiliar to you?”

He flushes, biting back a grin and fixing his gaze somewhere in the crowd. How cute.

“Not at all, it’s nice to meet a hips rotation enthusiast here, though.”

“Statistics say at least a member in each family is a riding enthusiast, did you know?”

“Shit, talk dirty to me,” he licks his lips, pointing at Jin with his chin, “Didn’t peg him for a rider, though. Not at all.”

“I’m starting to think you’re not a STEM major, are you? You’re lacking basic intuition, my friend.”

“Is this your attempt of discovering my major?” – he eyes you, a flick of amusement burning in his orbs – “You’re not very smooth, you know?”

“I have my moments.”

He snorts, placing both hands on the small of your back. You’re at height level with the base of his neck, and it’s fun how your mind betrays you in such moments, providing mental images of your nose brushing against his skin, and you nuzzling in the crook of his neck. Such taunting, invasive pictures. Fuck off, you reprimand your own mind, fuck off.

“I’m Jimin.”

“Jimin,” you taste the name on your tongue, hitting the back of your front teeth. “Jin never talked about you. I’m Y/N.”

“Jin never talked about you either.”

“Of course he never did, I’m prettier than he is.”

His little dimples make an appearance. “You know, you could really steal the bride’s spotlight.”

“That was my ultimate goal all along, even though I prefer the dark side.”

“I,” he licks his lips, and you don’t know why you’re following the gesture, “I meant to say you’re beautiful.”

“Oh my god,” you whisper, eyebrows raising, “Are you a charmer?”

“I mean,” he begins, sheepish smile on display, “I never kiss and tell.”

“Touching.” He smirks. “How sweet of you.”

“You know what else is sweet?”

“Please,” you beg, meeting his eyes, “Don’t say my pussy.”

“Please,” he repeats, same mocking tone, “The possibilities are endless. Your mouth,” he scoots closer, words whispered on the shell of your ear, “Your mouth around my dick,” he almost nibbles your ear, “Your mouth screaming my name.”

“My pussy,” you add, trying not to lose your mind.

“I would never call sweet something I’ve not tasted.”

He raises a brow.

“Are you offering? You’re not very smooth, you know?”

He ignores the last question, tightening his grip. “In the middle of your brother’s wedding? Seokjin’s wedding? I’m not a dick, even though you sitting on my face would be a sight to see.”

“Right?” your voice doesn’t falter for a second, “That’s what I always say”

“Nice to see how we’ve got much in common. But I was thinking of something else, actually—” His face is once again inches away from yours, ear to mouth, hot breath fanning over you bare neck. “I wanna finger you.”

Oh.

“Under the table. Right behind you. Wanna make you whimper.”

It’s almost like being tongue-tied, fumbling for words, body flushing, but you gather somewhere the strength to form an actual sentence, which makes him smirk devilishly.

“I can be very quiet.”

He pokes his tongue into his cheek. “Bet you can’t keep your pretty mouth shut.”

“When I win,” you say, lying your words on an unrealistically high vote of confidence, even for yourself, “What do I get?”

He licks his lips, slow, savouring the moment. “You get to ride my face.”

“Not your dick?”

“I’m not a fuckboy, baby.”

A comeback of some kind is already on your tongue, but – there’s a kiss somewhere in the following seconds, all wet and tingling and perhaps filled with too many lip bites, but he can’t really blame you when you’ve been brushing your thighs together for the past minute, heat pooling down your belly. It’s enough for you to silently pledge for more, and for him to tease, because he takes a step back, smirk in place and lips reddened, and guides you towards his seat at the end of the table with a hand on the small of your back.

Downhill begins as soon as you sit down, legs barely parted, a minimum space not fitting for his plans, apparently, because the crease between Jimin’s eyebrows grows when he nudges them apart with his hand, the cold metal of his rings cooling down your flushed state. You want to gasp at the sudden intrusion, but the sound is swallowed entirely by his hot mouth on yours, distracting once again, incredibly soft and alluring. This kiss is slow, this time, like he’s taking his time tasting you and learning about the hums he draws out of you, the shyness of your previously biting tongue, and how fast you get lost in the kiss itself. You press a chaste kiss on his mouth, before creaking a space between you.

“I’m starting to think you’re all bark and no bite”

He doesn’t answer, but stares into your eyes with his hooded gaze, and he manages to sneak a hand furtively under your dress not breaking the contact. His skin is warm, but you’re warmer, and his destination is even hotter. He cocks his head, fingers brushing against the soaked, sticking material you used to call panties up until fifteen minutes ago, and he must notice—his eyes grow wider, his jaw tightens and his hand gains courage.

Fuck. This should be embarrassing, getting worked up over dirty innuendos and a kiss or two, but you’re instead feeling flushed and more. More sensitive. More open to the idea of him ruining you, even though that’s not what he’s offering. Or— is he?

The question lies unanswered when his digits rub with a sparkled intensity over both your clothed sex and your inner thighs. It’s a continuous, mellifluous melody, his fingers dancing between the two until he settles on your panties only, and that’s when you almost let out a soft moan; you don’t, he raises his brow, challenging, but you don’t, and instead glance around to notice if someone has his eyes on the both of you, sitting in the furthest region of the fucking smart, endless table.

He raises the stake, flushed: Jimin pushes your panties on one side, petting with his index your exposed self, and you suck in a breath. He continues to do so, face still, closing the distance between you two.

You don’t question the sudden kiss, instead you angle your face and close your eyes and let him press his lips on you. This feels like being drunk, or high, stretching underneath a sky dripping with stars. You cup his face with your hands, his lips so terribly soft and inviting, the smallest of smiles meeting your own chapped and curved upwards lips.

It’s when you’re merely inches away from him that he thumbs at your clit, sensitive and tingling, circling with utmost peace and no speed whatsoever. You pout at little, you realize, which makes him melt either cause of your cute frown -oh, how the tables have turned- or simply because he’s the devil himself, pressing a finger against your entrance and delving it into your heat.

“Cute,” he purrs, kissing you, “Is this okay?”

The crude, hot, nerve-wracking fingering has begun, which makes you, quickly enough, putty in his hands and ablaze with ardour for this man whose rasping voice could kill you.

“Yeah,” you breathe on his mouth, eyelids drooping closed, “Yeah, all good.”

You hum to yourself as he starts pressing kisses on your jaw and your neck, a trail of treacherous flames lighting up your skin, and you have the audacity to sigh under his ministrations, a tiny, strained sound not quite a mewl.

If he hears, he doesn’t show it. You’re biting your own lip when he enters a second finger, filling your searing emptiness.

“Want three?” he asks, voice husky and as desperate as you are under his touch. He adds it when you nod, the squelch louder than before, and you moan, rocking your hips against his fingers.

“Shh, baby,” he coos, placing his other hand on your hips, slowing your movements, “Be a good girl.”

He fucks you deep, fast, fingers clashing against the silky dress you’re wearing and sweat sparkling on his forehead. He swallows another moans of yours, sucking your bottom lip and tugging it between his teeth. You’re close. You’re so close, and it’s only been a couple minutes. You can’t hear anything that isn’t your wet pussy clenching around his fingers, his rhythm ruthless and burning.

“Too bad you’re not coming on my fingers, today,” he says before kissing your neck and emptying your dripping pussy, then proceeding to taste and lick his own fingers in his mouth. He lets them out with a small pop, and it’s the most terrifying sight you’ve ever had in front of your almost watering eyes. “I’m sorry I won the bet, though, your pussy is the sweetest I’ve ever tasted.”

That’s the high and dry story of how you first met Jimin.

/

 The second time it happens, it’s under completely different circumstances, and, substantially, against your every predictions, it really happens. It takes place, like a once in a lifetime event: there’s an orgasm involved, not due to the very charming and never disappointing Jeon jungkook the robotic version, and instead it involves a rather attractive asshole with a persistent smirk plastered on his face.

Except it’s a lot more complicated than what it sounds, and most of it is Seulgi’s fault.

Your roommate had pouted all evening, because that’s what semi adults do when they’re denied a companion for the night.

“I just wanna get wasted. It’s been one hell of a month, and you know how I get when I’m stressed.”

“I can suggest you a vibrator and a bottle of vodka. Do you settle for that, your honor?”

“The more you talk like this,” all self-absorbed and assertive and cautiously, like when talking to a kid, she begins, hands in her long, mahogany hair, “the more I just wanna push you up against the wall.”

“Sounds to me you just wanna get laid.”

“Maybe I do,” she huffs, hands on her hips, the light of your abat-jour highlighting her golden skin. “Maybe I don’t. What I know is that I wanna get wasted. Come with me, pretty please?”

“Look,” you raise your eyes from the book you’ve been holding, stretching a leg onto the unmade bed of yours, “I just wanna get this fucking paper done. I need,” you grip the phone on the bed table, checking for the white, large numbers on your lock screen, “an hour. An hour and half to edit it and I’m all yours.”

“This paper is due on Thursday, though.”

“Yeah, but I have a reputation to uphold in the family. Have to be the most beautiful and successful.”

“You’re full of shit,” are her last words, muttered with a smile as she grabs her jacket.

“Hey,” you call, stretching your neck towards her, “I don’t care if it’s two am and you’re already wasted. Call me and I’ll come to you with a whole bottle of vodka to make it up to you. Hell, I’ll even kiss you goodnight.”

“I don’t wanna make out with you, you freak.”

“You didn’t say that last time, baby!”

 Seulgi

[2.13]

wassup bitch

make out with meeeeeeeeeeeeee

[location shared]

com n get me littl nuggrt

 Not Sober Seulgi is probably the worst Seulgi you have ever dealt with. You let out a sigh, eyeing the frat dorm all lit up and vibrating to the trashy trap music the insiders are jamming to.

Of course, when it comes to Not Sober Seulgi, there’s boys involved. Frat boys involved. At first, you don’t pay attention to the details, the signs, surrounding you like blinding traffic lights signalling stop stop stop, all red and striking. The thought doesn’t cross your mind, the dots connecting in some hidden part of your brain not making your insides short circuit—instead you’re knocking on the door, then banging on the very wooden entrance until a face shows up; the dorm is dimly lit, and the face is partially lightened by a soft, hued red and, that, too, Future You pinpoints, should have been a sign.

It’s useless, anyway, because you hear the insider talk and you’re burning instantly, like after touching a steaming, hot cup of coffee, except that bitter coffee is still good coffee. Smug Jimin plus bitter you isn’t really sweet, nor a match made in heaven. It’s chaotic, a caustic explosion, and you both know it, judging from the sharp smile he offers you, after blinking lazily at your figure.

“This is a mixer party only,” his soothing voice welcomes you, “Do you have an invite?”

You press your tongue on your teeth, mouth carefully closed.

“Yeah, from Hell, I’ve come to take a fallen angel.”

“Sorry to break it to you, oh-kind-lady, but we didn’t give any invite to poor, damned souls.”

“Too bad I don’t give a fuck about your policies, then,” you move towards the small space between the door and Jimin’s body, but he interferes, placing himself right between the two. “Look, I don’t give a single fuck about this party.”

“Yeah, it sure looks like it.”

You roll your eyes. “My friend is here. She’s most certainly not sober and I’ve come to pick her up. That’s it. Do you think I want to be here, among these drunk, perverted jocks?”

He turns around, stretching his neck, his eyes darting through the crowd, inhibited by alcohol, smelling like cheap beer and weed. The moment his eyes bore into yours, though, it’s terrifying; it’s a rustled reminder of Seokjin’s wedding Jimin, and you don’t like it. You loathe it. You dread it.

“Maybe only some of us.”

He tips his head, lips curving into a timid, small smile, and you tear your gaze from his lips in a heartbeat.

“Yeah, keep dreaming of it. I just want my friend back.” You point your chin towards the amalgam of drunk party animals, “I’ll leave you to your immensely interesting activities, then.”

“What if,” he begins, “You don’t. Or—even better scenario, you leave with me.”

“Best case scenario, I leave with my friend. You stay here.”

“What’s the worst-case scenario, then?”

You cock a brow at him, crossing your arms on your chest. “I leave with my friend, you stay here. Sometime before me leaving, you’re punched. Or kicked. I don’t know. There’s a high chance I’ll throw a drink on you.”

“That implies you’ll be here long enough to grab a drink, doesn’t it? And you don’t have to ruin my shirt to get me naked, babe. Just ask nicely.”

You huff, and you’re mildly tempted to shove him against a wall. Or ruin him. Not in the funny way. More like the high and dry way, the one he knows so well. “I changed my mind, I’ll kick you.”

“Ask nicely?” His teasing tone makes your cheeks flush, and you hope the shitplace with subdued lightening can cover it. His expression shifts into an arrogant one, full smirk and little dimples out, so your cute guess is that he can see. He sees his effect on you, albeit completely unwanted and full of hatred from your side, and he enjoys it. Actually lulls in it, letting out a small laugh which, in turn, makes his eyes turn into crescents, all warm and cute—all things he’s not. All things you know he’s not.

“Ask nicely,” you repeat, rolling the words on your tongue, “Okay, babe. Let’s do this, babe. What do you want from me, babe?”

“Has it ever crossed your mind that maybe the answer is you?”

“Yes, actually,” you sigh, fingers brushing his neck, face comically close to his perfect, chiselled one, “That’s exactly what I thought when you stopped fingering me.”

“Right,” Jimin has the audacity to smile, craning his neck as if to close the distance between you in order to meet you for a kiss, “I’m a man of word, thought. You should be impressed.”

“I’m pretty sure the only thing that’s impressed is your face under the orgasm denial definition. Google it, babe, I guarantee you the meaning comes with your name and a brilliant review of one star.”

“Unlike you.” He licks his lips, eyes on your pretty pink ones, smeared with venom, “You’re not coming.” He explains, to further ignite your rage.

“And whose fault is that, babe?”

Jimin nuzzles into your neck, cupping your other cheek with his rough palm, and his thumb stills on your throat, right where your breath is stuck. He adds pressure on it, lips fondling your burning skin, his usual smirk plastered on them.

“Let me make it up to you.”

“You’re not fucking me,” you spit back, mouth now millimetres away from his, gently inviting you to kiss it, and cherish it, and biting it until you’re satisfied with the hot result.

“I’ll eat you out? Until you come.” He hums. “You’ll come.”

His voice is a mere strangled sound, wanting and dripping with need, and you snap out of it with a small smile.

“Nice offer,” your smile is wicked as you scrape his nape with a feathery touch, the slow movement rousing a flutter in your lower belly. “But get in line, babe.”

His shell-shocked face is the last thing you see before you fulfil the let’s rescue Seulgi! party.

 (“Why do you smell like softener?” Seulgi sniffs you, arms looped loosely around your neck, eyes completely shut down. It’s a nice sight, all things considered. You’re no angel, no saint, no perfect person, but you’re a nice friend, and that’s probably the most Seokjin trait you recognize in yourself. It’s your shared apartment, and it’s past 3 am and you’re the one good friend who keeps her promises. “It’s strawberry vodka, you heathen.”)

 The line turns out to be a real line, queue line, let’s get this coffee line, which, well. How can one word it, how can one phrase it fully catching the irony of it all, the distinctive je ne sais quoi of life without—

“Nice to see you here.”

It’s the perfect set for a rom-com, you notice, taking in the warm scenery around you. What else can one dream of, right? The campus coffee shop, the campus hot not-really-but-also-kinda fuckboy Jimin, partial jock to give him credit, full time attractive idiot with a tendency for orgasm denial. Really.

“What are the chances?” You exhale, voice devoid of emotions. For the sake of your parents’ integrity, you suppose, because they raised no impolite woman, of course, you turn around to face the angel-like human being, black hair partially covering his forehead, little dimples on full display. That’s—that is lack of integrity, or indecency or au-fucking-dacity. It might as well be a mix of the above-mentioned possibilities, all fitting and nurturing you because he’s gorgeous. He’s handsome. Jimin’s the most attractive human being you’ve ever seen in your life, and it’s not fair.

(Beside the fact that you’ve lived with Kim Seokjin, for fuck’s sake)

He pokes his own cheek, and you bask into the otherworldly scenario that takes place right in front of your caffeine deprived eyes. It’s a sight for sore, soft eyes, and it’s the end of the world as you know it, because it’s morning, too early to properly function like a normal human being, but there he is. There he is, Jimin, channelling his inner boyfriend material aura, oozing off boyfriend smell, nice, fresh, aftershave smell, rocking a stupid sweater and the messiest black mop of hair.

It’s honestly a tragedy, and you won’t stand for it. You will make a move—

“You’re squinting your eyes, like, real tight. Are you alright?”

Just ogling you, your drowsy mind offers, the fucking cheater.

“Yeah,” you reply, swallowing a lump in your dry throat, “Just need coffee. A latte. Anything.”

You move forward in the queue, and as you blink you realize it’s your turn, until it’s not anymore. Jimin carefully and gently moves you out of the way, brushing with the softest touch your side.

“A latte and an iced americano, please.”

The sweetened order for two turns into a hushed thank you, a tipped smile, a flutter of you heart. It’s drinks still half full, his curious gaze darting on your lips, your defences down. It’s unfair, because in a hot second all this pent-up tension shifts into a light, chaste kiss, your back pressed against the coffee shop’s restroom; your chest heaves under his tantalizing make-out session with your neck, followed by his frantic lips pressing on yours, his tongue licking lazily into your mouth, a gasp easing its way out of your warm and eager mouth. It’s a hot-blooded supercut, each frame announced by a starving moan, a content sigh, and, before you realise it, you’re on your bed, Jimin hovering on top of you.

It’s Saturday morning, you hum to yourself, fingers sliding into his hair, all’s in check. There’s a warm body slumped on yours, his tongue swerving on your lower lip and his hips shyly bucking between your open legs. Your panties are drenched, you can feel his hard on through the jeans and, really, all’s in check.

He nudges your nose with his. “Lemme eat you out.”

The answer lies sitting on the tip of your tongue, right next to an obnoxious remark that you hope will rile him up enough for him to rip your underwear, which you definitely won’t complain about. However, the words don’t come out, they slur in your craving mouth the second he gets up and shoves you toward the end of your unmade bed, spreading your naked legs open with his calloused palms.

“Nice skirt,” he comments, voice a rasp, eyeing the drenched, lilac underwear, skirt at this point gone up to cover your stomach. “I just want…”

He shuffles closer, enough for you to feel his hot breath on your core, and that’s when Jimin pulls the panties on a side, teasing you with little licks to your entrance. You’re responsive, too eager for anything to quench your thirst that you sigh happily at the barest of actions, gripping strands of his hair. Jimin chuckles, engulfing the throbbing clit in his mouth in one go and drawing desperate moans out of your cute, devilish mouth.

“Fuckboy move,” you emit, voice cracking at the pressure of his warm mouth, “Oh, oh. Fuck…”

He replies flattening his tongue on your core, then licking and lapping against your dripping folds. Jimin positively glows at the cries you let out, face slobbering with your arousal while driving you insane, fucking with his tongue like his life depended on it. It’s almost a spiritual experience, a crescendo of wails and sobs, his face drown in your pussy and his tongue paying reverence to your approaching orgasm. He can feel it in the way you writhe, in his hand splaying over your stomach, keeping you still while he eats you religiously, forehead beaded with sweat.

You come with a trembling hand in his hair, the other flicking your bare nipple, back slightly arched and a lewd mewl; Jimin takes in the way your body trembles, your breath all staggered because of him, and the sight alone is enough for him to cum in his pants with a grunt, completely untouched.

The second time it happens is, coincidentally, the first time Jimin knows there’s no turning back from this.

/

Complicated is a big word when it comes to relationship, you reckon, emitting something akin to a gasp, truly soap operas worthy material, but, for the first time in your life, you decide to name it this way.

Being with Jimin is… complicated, for starters. Especially because you’re not with Jimin, in the strict, relationship-wise meaning. He knows your favourite colour (“Why the fuck you only own purple underwear?” “It’s lilac, dick, watch your mouth.” “Watch your own mouth, babe. You’re the one on your knees.”), your favourite food (“But you like having your mouth stuffed with my cock, honey.” You sigh, blushing. “First of all, I’m talking about real food. That amazing steak kind of food—“

“I’ll show you real meat, babe.”

“Gross. Gross. How can I cancel the last five seconds of my life?”

“Come here, Jared, nineteen,” he half smiles, tilting his head, “I’ll get us fries.”), your favourite movie (“We can’t get each other off every time your ugly paper cap fits—oh,” you suck in a breath, Jimin flicking his tongue on your turgid nipple, “oh, god, don’t stop.”), your best friend’s name (“I condone you dicking her so good she sometimes cries, you know, I just don’t when I’m in the room next to hers and all I can hear is my best friend trying to formulate a single coherent word but failing because you’re pounding her mercilessly into the mattress.” Jimin chuckles, grabbing his jacket before holding the doorknob. “She begged, Seulgi.”)—so what? It’s not like you sat down and decided not to ask each other dumb questions, so that you could find out in the funny, kinky way. For fuck’s sake, you didn’t even decide on anything, didn’t even talk about talking, because the relationship related shit didn’t even cross your mind.

It’s even quite fucking hard for it to cross it, because half the time you’re together you’re either both naked – except for the time he pleaded for the tartan mini to stay – or stuffing your mouth with food—because, if there’s something you’ve learned after one too many hook-ups with him is that this kind of sex requires strength. Like, actual, physical strength, if we’re not talking about the this test is draining me please fuck me until I can’t walk sex. Which, yeah, 10/10 would recommend. That was the day Seulgi decided to invest in ear plugs while muttering capitalism, here I come.

You also came.

Funnily enough, guess who also came. Not in the funny, kinky way. Think about the grossest thing, imagine the beyond the bounds of possibility, sprinkle it with Jimin earnestly shoving his dick down your throat, stir it with a poor Taehyung brushing his teeth next to the both of you, a step away from the shower, and serve it on the most expensive plate in the kitchen, a recipe not approved by Kim Seokjin.

Yeah, you mentally roll your eyes, licking your lips clean, at eye-level with your sorta enemy with benefits’ pretty dick: the married brother of yours, former fratboy, taller than your current will to live.

In hindsight, maybe it is Seokjin’s fault. Once you’re married, you’re supposed to be committed to the cause, and sometimes, an angry little crumb in you finds the audacity to speak, the cause is made up of your four walls: ergo home, ergo your married life, miles away from the absurdity that once filled his university days. You’re being hypocritical, you realize, skin wet, body trembling. In the simplest, most hedonistic terms, you’re done with the chaos in this fraternity and just wished that hooking up was easier. It’s more than a stolen orgasm, a random spur of pleasure and free de-stresser; it’s also something not quite like art but just as peculiar. Sex with Jimin is more than nice, more than a fast rummage of clothes on the floor and panties teared, or condoms stuffed in every single pocket of his jacket.

It should also be noticed that it’s been one hell of a stressful week, okay, which means that it’s one of those times you seek for naked intimacy, in its least literal meaning. You’re looking for something sure, something silent, something earnest. Jimin gives you that in the simplest of forms, in the easiest of ways. It’s not fair for your brother to come unannounced and burst into the house with his adorable laugh and love for his own brothers. Way to ruin the moment, bro.

Jimin blinks attentively when Taehyung laughs, clapping his hands all happy and following the elder’s voice outside the bathroom.

“I’m getting you my clothes.”

“Wait, what?”

His lips part just enough for his tongue to wet them, and your eyes follow in silence the gesture.

“I mean,” he starts, grabbing a towel, “You either come out with me from this bathroom or you don’t.”

He’s concise, yet harsh, words uttered with those soft lips yet are just as hot as a slap in your face. He’s telling the truth, but you soon find out you don’t really like it.

There’s something abrupt and severe in those chosen words, so well picked out because they’re not meant to hurt, but at the same time they’re so worrying. So terrible, practically as hard as a punch in your guts.

You either come out of the bathroom with him — you had been blowing minutes before, hadn’t you? Quite the intimacy, huh? — or you don’t. You stay behind. Different rooms, a whole door to separate you while he’s out with the people he cares about.

Seems legit, but. It’s unfair. You know Jimin isn’t choosing for you, but it’s obvious he’s inclined towards an option between the two, and you’re terrified to discover whether it’s his own desire pushing or what he thinks you want.

You, instead, push the thought aside when you nod, taking the towel from his hands and covering your body from this terrific half hook-up.

Because that’s what it is—that’s what you are.

It dawns upon you like a cold breeze hitting your face in full December, suddenly, and that’s when you realize winter is near. In your mind, this hooking up scenario seemed nicer. Sounded softer, a cute bubble moving slowly in the air.

But now—well, now the bubble has burst, and it feels wrong, and this unexpected wrong doesn’t feel right in your chest, and that’s the story of how you leave the house escaping from his window, in his clothes, with vision blurred by hot, stupid, idiotic tears.

/

Seulgi is the first one to notice, and, obviously, the first one to speak.

“Something’s been bothering you,” she says, head tilted in a way that’s supposed to be emphatic and worried but comes off as stiff and terrified. “Care to share?”

It’s just a wholesome amount of terrifying stuff, isn’t it? First the shower incident, now Seulgi’s ways not working around you anymore. What’s next? Avoiding Jimin for a whole week? Blocking his number? Losing the smart and beautiful title to your obnoxious brother?

You wouldn’t be surprised, really. Shit like this always happens at the same fucking time.

“It’s nothing. A stressful couple days, maybe? Or maybe I’m getting sick. There’s a guy always coughing during Physics. Maybe it’s his fault, who knows.”

Seulgi unlocks her phone, an unreadable gaze studying you. She gives up a second later, though, her weak maybe reaching your ears when you’ve already looked down on your book.

One simply cannot be annoyed because of a half hook up. Christ. You deserve better than that. You have some dignity left, tainted by everything that’s not Jimin and his harsh, stupid words.

So, your mind offers, while you squint your eyes, I suppose there’s nothing else you could do about it.

Nothing else besides acknowledging it and moving on.

Sounds like a plan. A fireproof plan, an escape plan, something detailed and precise. Planned to work out smoothly; planned to be executed without pain or mistakes.

/

It’s seven sharp when he knocks, takeout in his left hand, eyes bulging because it’s fucking freezing outside.

“It’s fucking freezing, what the fuck.” He says out loud, indeed. What he receives as an answer is the sound of your tongue clicking, the biggest amount of interest you’ve shown towards him the whole week. He would finally exhale, weren’t it for the fact that this is still pretty traumatic, because if there’s something he’s learned while orbiting around you, is that you’re constantly awake and aware of your surroundings. Your body language says that you pay attention to him, or Seulgi, or whoever you’re talking to. You follow the guy with your eyes, and you listen and nod in all the right places during a conversation, and you search for his dark gaze when he’s fucking you in the dimly lit bedroom, the bed creaking under your sweaty sex making. He’s not admitting it, he never will, and he’ll pretty much deny this to everyone who will ask but: there’s something hot about it. Something burning with the way your body reacts to him, when your eyes follow his actions, while your voice falters when he fucks you right, and it somehow pushes him to the edge every time. It’s the equivalent of Jungkook getting a boner in the gym while catching girls and boys drooling at him, except he’s talking about you and your crazy moans, your magic aura.

And yes, okay, fucking blame him, the realization alone made him jerk off in his room like a teen, twice, yesterday. That’s a fact. That’s barely a fact, alright? This is a truth; a statement soon forgot by the knowers. Obviously.

You look spent, he thinks, if he had to choose a word, dared by some arrogant deity to define the current mess you were. He glances at your barely done ponytail, at the tiredness written all over your face. He takes in your baggy sweater, your quiet beauty, knowing this is gonna be one of those nights you take a step back.

He doesn’t say anything though, instead he brushes the hair on your forehead, not even making contact with your skin.

You grab the bag from his hands, shivering instantly and hoping he doesn’t read the signs. They’re—they’re there, you know, you’re collecting them slowly, one after another, grabbing one and looking cautiously for the following one, hoping it’s not there. Hoping it doesn’t exist.

You exhale a sigh, disguising it as cough, a noise, something distracting Jimin from his silent staring, which is, funnily enough, loud and cacophonic.

“Hungry,” you state, the single word weighting more because of the soft pout on your lips. Jimin hates that he knows what it means, that it’s gonna be just the two of you this time, no chill whatsoever, no bodies touching and melting against each-other. He’s not complaining, what the fuck, he’s not an idiot. He’s not even mad, he’s just—accepting, on a level. This is the point of no return, he guesses, following you on the couch and admiring the laptop’s screen reflected on your face.

He doesn’t say anything when you search for Brooklyn 99 on Netflix, because he’d say everything, otherwise. He’d mumble something along the lines of this feels real, we could do this all the time, or, worst of all: I like this. I like you.

So, in order: he tugs at your sleeves and scoots you closer to him, and you say absolutely nothing at the gesture. He’s ecstatic on the inside, partially terrified, mostly delusional. He pretends he’s something more when you lean on him, the slightest pressure of your head on his shoulder. He cares zero fucks about the show when he’s breathing your scent in and feels how warm you are and shuts his eyelids down when he pictures you adoring him. Liking him. Liking him a whole lot more—

He’s fucked, he realises, hours later, when you doze off and he has to carry you to bed, something you claim of loathing, which—what on earth. It’s an unfathomable absurdity, that’s what it is.

“You can stay.”

His voice falters. “What?”

You cough, eyes closed as you speak sinful words: “The night, I mean. It’s fucking freezing outside.”

His lips form a small o, and it’s hot all of a sudden. “Alright,” he manages, staring at you on your bed, hands fidgety and heartbeat accelerated for some reason, “Make space for me. Hey, fucker. I’m serious. Let me in.”

You do.

(to be continued. ily)

[justjessame]

Glorious, Before the Burden - The Sanctuary ~ 5

I couldn’t help - once we finally managed to pull ourselves free from the bubble we would forever be able to create around one another and force ourselves to leave the cottage to forage for food in the village proper - glancing up at my husband’s profile looming above me.  As familiar to me as my own, but now with the sharper angles of age, wisdom, and - with the painful tug of loss that twisted inside of me that I knew he too felt deeply - grief, he also bore a hint of the unknown and strange.  

“You know that I can actually FEEL it when you sneak those glances, don’t you?”  My teeth met my lower lip to hold back a peal of laughter.  “I swear, your eyes hold as much heat as your body.”  

“Keep talking like that,” he tugged on our linked hands and pulled me ever closer, forcing that laugh I’d been keeping prisoner from him to escape.  “We’ll never make it to the village and we’ll starve.”  He growled, or perhaps it was a groan - both actually - and shook his head as he stole a lingering kiss that promised us both a greater treat than any sweet thing I could find in any shop on any realm.  

Our first stop, since I wanted to show off my gorgeous husband and introduce him, while also finding out how Michael was - was the bookshop.  A part of me feared that the village would have been dealt heavy damage from Thanos’ Snap - that the people I’d come to grow so fond of would have been rendered gone - as gone as our, but those thoughts would do us no good.  

Opening the door after taking a deep breath, Caroline saw me before I had a chance to see her - or rather she noticed Loki first. 

“My but you’re a tall one,” I giggled and her eyes fell to me.  “Praise be,” she came out from behind the counter and pulled me into a crushing hug.  “Michael told us that you were fine, that you were simply away taking care of your own business, but -” she was sighing and relaxing as she held me and swayed.  “All that alien nonsense, we were lucky, but the rest of the world wasn’t -” she pulled back and her smile was tinged with sadness.  “Thank goodness you’re back and looking so well.”  Loki was standing next to me and she took note of it.  “I’m guessing that he might be a reason for that blush on your cheeks.”  

“A little,” a wink and her grin grew.  “Caroline, I’d like you to meet my husband, Thomas.”  Loki held out his hand and she took it easily enough, making me think that she didn’t equate him with New York at all.  “Tom and I,” his free arm wrapped around me and pulled me close.  “Well, we’ve moved back to -”

“To forget to call your grandfather,” Michael’s voice chimed from the doorway.  “Come here,” I turned and saw him grinning with the sunlight glowing around him like a halo.  “Come give this old man a hug, Margaret.”  

Pulling free of Loki and Caroline, I was wrapped up in Michael’s warmth - more familial and paternal than the parents who raised me, than He Who Remains, more even than Frigga and Odin - letting him soothe me in a way that not even my husband could after the pain and loss of our realm, people, and yes - our little one.  

“Shhh,” he hushed me, while his embrace felt less restrictive and far more comforting than Caroline’s crush had, his face pressed into my hair.  “I know, I know.”  And somehow, some way, I knew he did.  

We - Loki, Michael, and I - had lunch in a quiet place that I loved, which I knew from experience would allow for some discretion while we spoke.  

“It’s gone?” His eyes had gone wide as we waited for our food, Loki - whom he had no issue calling Tom and didn’t actually show signs of flinching even though I knew he saw past any illusion my husband was casting - had told him about Asgard.  I couldn’t. Not when the loss of our home and people was so closely aligned to the loss of our son.  

Michael sat back.  Taking in the idea that an entire realm - one of the Nine, if you only went by Asgardian legend, but he knew that there were far other planets, timelines, and on and on it went - could be erased.  Even after what he knew Thanos had done, what he had witnessed, knowing that Asgard could so easily be wiped away was something terrible and hard to process.  We could commiserate.  

“Yes,” Loki nodded, pulling his hands back when our server returned with our food.  “Thank you,” he offered to the young man, and I smiled as Michael took note of his manners.  Waiting until we were alone once more, he noticed that neither of us were taking up our utensils.  “What? Have I done something improper?”  

“Not at all,” I assured him, touching his hand gently.  “I think you surprised Michael with your lovely manners, darling.”  Winking at him with a grin, I turned back to my own lunch.  “Asgard is gone,” eyes on my plate, I sighed.  “And this is home to me, or it was at a very dark point.”

It was Michael’s turn to reassure me, again.  A soft touch on my hand, but I didn’t look up.  “It’s still your home, Sigyn.  Always.”  Swallowing down the pain of memory, why I’d been in this very village before, and why we were back - I waited for it to pass.  “I’m guessing this isn’t going to be a short stay?”  

“No,” Loki answered for us.  “No, not a short stay.”  His fingers met my other hand, and for once I had someone on both sides offering comfort and strength.  “We plan on making this our home for the rest of our lives.  If -”

“If?” Michael’s tone was laced with curiosity and challenge.  “If what precisely?”  

“If you’ll have us,” my eyes rose, finally willing to meet his again.  “I know that my husband’s past isn’t easily forgiven and that my loyalty to him isn’t easily understood -”

Michael studied me - us - for a few moments.  “I don’t know your husband,” my throat tightened painfully.  “I know you.  If you trust and love him, then I’m more than willing to give him a chance.”  The air felt like it might be coming back into the room, but he wasn’t through yet.  “However, if you go back to your former ways -” his gaze seemed to burn into Loki’s.  “I’ll not have a single issue with calling up those twats that run amok in her garden, do you understand?”  

“Absolutely,” Loki agreed, and somehow our lunch continued on.  

Michael insisted on taking us, and our shopping, back to the cottage.  He seemingly couldn’t get his fill of time in our company - mine, Loki corrected when we arrived home.  We restocked the pantry while showing Loki around, introducing him and refamiliarizing myself with the village and the people who had shown me so much hospitality when I lived among them before.  

He came inside with us, and admitted that he’d kept my cottage from growing into disrepair while I was away - even with the aura of magic that I’d added, some cracks of age were bound to push their way through.  

“Made sure I kept it aired out,” he sighed, sitting down in his spot and gladly accepting a cup of tea.  “Just in case, you know.”  

“Just in case she popped back in?” Loki was teasing, light and easy, and it eased whatever lingering tension attempted to creep back in.  “We’re lucky you thought to do it,” he pulled me onto his lap, having taken my chair for his own once I brought the tea back for Michael.  “Thank you.”  

Michael was back to studying us, how we interacted and how Loki - since he KNEW me- behaved around me.  “You aren’t much like you were in New York, are you?”  

I waited for it - for Loki to stiffen.  For anger, or shame to rear its ugly head and for his sharp tongue to snap lash out and draw blood.  Yet it didn’t happen.  Instead he sighed, quietly, and then moved his head so that his face was closer to mine, inhaling in my scent - it seemed to give him strength.  

“New York seems a lifetime ago,” voice quiet, reflective.  “I’ve tried to push it to the past, to act as if it wasn’t me at all.”  His arms, the embrace that I’d grown so used to grew a touch tighter.  “It was like a fever - and as a Frost Giant, a fever is incredibly dangerous to my thought processes.”  I listened, curious and enthralled.  Loki hadn’t truly discussed it with me, I hadn’t brought it up.  Better, I thought, to rush forward instead of pulling it apart to learn from it.  “The idea of Asgard’s throne, a throne I’m sure Sigyn told you I’d been brought up to think I had every right to, it never honestly pulled at me.  Not until -” He shifted slightly and sighed.  “We married and as I said, it became like a sickness.  The throne, ruling over our people as King in Odin’s place.”  

He was right, I realized.  Loki hadn’t shown a single urge to rule until we wed, then as I started fearing that we weren't having luck at becoming parents, he started to obsess about becoming ruler.  

“Thor, my brother, being chosen over me was a blow that cut me far deeper than it should have.”  I heard the pain of their reconciliation and now the loss of not being able to rekindle it in his words.  “It grew, the heat of it, the fever.  Thanos,” Michael’s eyebrows shot up on his forehead and Loki nodded.  “Yes, Thanos was the one who backed my bid for Earth’s downfall.  It was madness.  A fevered madness that I couldn’t seem to fight.  It’s not an excuse, truly it isn’t.  I’m simply telling you why I don’t seem like I did in New York.”

Michael sat on the information for a moment while I did the same.  

I never considered that Loki might have been infected by something foreign, some illness, but it made sense.  Not from a standpoint that I needed to give him an excuse so I could love him - I loved him regardless.  It had never made sense to me that he had become so insistent on being King, on ruling in Odin’s place - even before the Allfather was ready to step aside - and even when he’d been jealous of Thor’s attention to me, he NEVER faltered in his affection for his brother.  The rage he’d felt when Odin chose Thor - the rage he felt when he wasn’t made ruler - it made little sense then.  

And he was correct.  A fever in a Frost Giant would do horrible things to their bodies and minds.  Burning from within, the havoc would be indescribable.  It would render any chance of Frigga or me pulling him free from the clutches of madness useless.  

“I think having Sigyn with you makes a difference too,” Michael broke past my puzzle breaking.  “Of course, I think she could calm the most savage among us.”  

Loki chuckled and held me closer.  “On that we most certainly agree.” 

[zargsnake]

Leyr Burnridge and the Undead Star

Word Count: 3582

This is a story within a story. The framing device involves Star Wars characters, but if you don’t like Star Wars you can skip those parts and just read the main story. The framing device is indented.

   *   *   *

"They were older than our numbers can count, but not older than theirs could. A long time ago, they were just like us: petty, mortal, recycled, thinking from A to B, feeling from B to A, bound to an odd number of senses, and detached from answers to the biggest questions. They had found those answers -- some they figured out themselves, and some they had help from others...others who they had to leave behind. But that was a long time ago. Longer than we could count, but not longer than they could.

They knew everything, saw everything, held everything, controlled everything. They wanted nothing, guessed nothing, believed nothing, tried nothing. They boxed infinity. And for one of them, it was unbearable.”

   *   *   *

Jocasta Nu feels old herself when she looks at the name at the top of the "Year-16 [Adapted] Creative Writing Assignment." Serran's student's student's student, young Skywalker. With his light hair and quiet manner, the young man is a far reach from his great-grandteacher, that outspoken charmer who had bewitched the entire Temple. Back when the Ossus excavation was still well-funded, when the Students for Progress still held meetings with representatives from all levels of the planet, when the Jedi Exploration Corps had a full slate of planned missions -- back when things were good here, really good, because the future seemed so good, because people wanted it to be good -- Serran more than anyone.

She wishes he were still here in the Temple, with that desire and that action, because things are sadder now. The old projects were too ambitious, and people gave up. It turned out the sins of the Outer Rim were worse than anyone had thought. Now even the biggest thinkers assume controlling them is impossible. Determined capitalists can just hold important Mid Rim planets hostage now; people seem to just accept that. And what can you say against the Chancellor? It is seven years into his term, and though people are more miserable than ever, Jocasta thinks his detractors have become just as unreasonable and small-minded as his supporters. And worst of all, of course, the Sith are back. Just when the Mandalorians seemed quelled for good -- the Sith are back, lurking out there in the shadows somewhere. It is all too much. So people just don't care anymore. They just don't believe in anything.

But she knows that even if Serran were here, even if he could keep his legacy intact, so that he was not a stranger to his own direct line -- he wouldn't. Because he doesn't believe in anything anymore either. He told her so, before he left, but she knew before he told her.

   *   *   *

“Leyr Burnridge sat on her windowsill, looking out at the stars, wishing one of them would fall and die. She had an idea that the stars -- for all science says about gases and gravity -- were actually another type of people, a powerful and mysterious alien people -- and if one of them died and you saw it, then they would survive and become your slave forever. She couldn't tell you where she'd gotten this idea -- from a story, maybe, or a dream, or just a wish she'd come up with herself.

If she had an almighty starperson, the first thing she would ask for would be a ship. She did not like to stay in one place. The next thing she would want would be clothes -- she hated to look just one way. She wanted to be anywhere, looking like anything -- fitting in as well or as poorly as she pleased. If she wanted to meet the queen, the snooty courtiers would see her in her finery and let her straight in. If she wanted to plunge into a black hole, she would simply wear a strong enough spacesuit.

Leyr imagined more scenarios like that. She thought it was a very good idea. But she did not break her concentration on the stars. They were as still as her mind was wild, until -- a strike -- a fall. She saw it and smiled.

And then she felt a hand on her shoulder."

   *   *   *

Jocasta remembers the Year-16 CWAs she and Serran wrote. As with all the important or interesting projects of that time, they did them together. The assignment asks Jedi students to reach out through the Force, through all of space and time, and then try to imagine something that is perfectly and utterly impossible. Something that never has happened and never will, not even in the most obscure corners of the galaxy. The very furthest thing from reality -- to imagine that, to the best of their ability.

It is a strange assignment, but a beloved one, and quite traditional. She had asked her master, a shrewd Echani named Menoc Thebe, what the purpose of the assignment was. They told her that the assignment teaches Jedi to separate fact from fiction -- an exercise of surprising importance to their way of life. After all, between prophecies, visions, and universal compassion for every form of life from microscopic organisms to space-faring superbeasts, a Jedi's sense of reality must be bigger and more flexible than that of an ordinary person. Master Menoc had clarified that this heightened awareness has been known, historically, to take a toll on the mental well-being of Jedi knights.

She remembers recounting this exchange to Serran, and his response; he had laughed and said, "The things they do to keep us from going mad."

   *   *   *

"Leyr looked over her shoulder, expecting to see her roommate, but instead she saw a strange man. He was tall, with long silver hair and a young, sad face. His eyes were dark against his shimmering skin, and they seemed more real than the rest of him. Tiny bits and pieces of him disappeared or flickered around, and he faded away altogether half a foot before he reached the floor. Despite all this, he was quite fashionably dressed. Like a prince. Or a devil.

Leyr was not easily scared, and though he must have meant to startle her, she did not let it show. She pushed his hand off her shoulder and shifted her position on the windowsill to face him.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"Your star," he replied, "The one you saw die... You have me now."

His voice was a chorus of sounds -- different winds blowing through different tubes, none of them quite like a throat -- more like flutes and low whistles -- and soft percussion, like rain, or static.

"Do -- do you have a name?"

"... No... I am your undead star."

"Are you telling the truth?"

"Yes," he said, after a pause.

"Prove it."

"Look outside. Look down this time."

Leyr didn't like to take her eyes off the alien, but she could not resist. Outside, on top of her roommate's garden, was a sleek and beautiful spaceship -- almost exactly like the one she had been admiring in last week's catalogue, but with the improvements she had imagined in her head.

"You'll find the walk-in closet full, to your liking," he said.

She looked back at him, unable to hide her awe.

"Infinitely full, in fact."

   *   *   *

Jocasta finds great joy in reading the short stories. Over her many years as leader of the Year-16 CWA Committee, she has read thousands of them. While she does not have as much experience with the creative writing abilities of non-Jedi children, she can't imagine that they could possibly compare. Jedi reach out to the rest of the universe every day; their imaginations are, by necessity, extremely advanced. At the annual ceremony in which Jocasta explains the assignment, she always says, "Reach out into the Force, as far as you can. And then look even further, to the preposterous beyond."

She is still, even now, proud of the story she wrote herself. It was about a book which had no writer nor publisher; it simply appeared one day, on the desk of an unassuming clerk. The clerk, curious, opened it up and saw his own name there. He hesitated but kept going, and read his fictional self gamble on a fathier race and win. He looked up the next race on Canto Bight's channel, and saw every animal's name, just as it was in the book. He gambled and won, just as he was told.

He used the book as a guide to make the perfect life, and it even told him how to win the love of the man of his dreams. When they were married, he finally told his husband his secret. But when his husband read the book himself, his fictional self became sick and died. This fiction came to pass in reality, too: the young man did not last a week.

Jocasta thought it was a rather scary story, and quite clever, because it was about a story. And it was certainly impossible. Books cannot come from nowhere -- neither can fortune, nor harm. In reality, everything has a source. And it is foolish to put too much trust in a source that you do not understand.

   *   *   *

"For Leyr it was a year; for the undead star, it was barely a moment. He remembered every detail, far better than she did. He even felt it all, which he had not expected. He felt the cold of space and the brilliant sparks of her feelings -- anger, joy, drunkenness, sadness, longing. He could smell the filth of her garbage as he vanished it from existence; he could taste her lips when she kissed him. He could even burn his hand on the ship's stove or exhaust port, though it healed instantaneously. He still felt it. He could almost care.

Anything Leyr could imagine came true, even before she could finish thinking it. Her undead star knew her perfectly, better than anyone ever had, even her own family. Her silliest dreams, her darkest thoughts, her solemnest ideas.

She went around and around on accepting his gifts. Of course, it wasn't fair. She was not the worst-off person; she did not need so much help. And she was not the best person, either -- she didn't deserve it. Not like other people did, surely. But he would always say that she was the one who saw him die, and so he belonged to her.

She would ask what he wanted in return, and his answers would change, and she realized that he was only ever saying what she wanted to hear. He would say "nothing;" but when she grew uneasy with that, he would say "your company;" then after she told him she loved him, he would say "your love." Over time, she realized he didn't mean that. That realization hurt worse than anything ever had. And so she stopped asking him, but she did not stop loving him.

He felt like a breathing lightning storm, always flickering, every part of him a different heartbeat. He weighed as much or as little as she remembered he did. He arranged for her any lover she could think of -- even imaginary ones. But after a while, she stopped caring for others. All she wanted was him.

She felt they were like an electrical circuit. He was the current, and she was the ground. She realized, slowly -- slowly for her -- that he was nothing more than voltages. He had no will of his own, no direction. But she would still absorb the shocks -- if no one else was going to!"

   *   *   *

Jocasta remembers Serran's story, too. He wrote about utopia. In his perfect world, there were no rules; people did not need them. People were good all on their own. It was a world of constant change, without any loyalties at all. It was a world of absolute freedom.

The story was flimsy, something about a family escaping tyranny in their rickety ship only to crash land on his perfect world. Most of the text was the family getting shown around the planet in a grand, beautiful tour. It was inspiring. Even thinking of it now brings tears to Jocasta's eyes. The peace and happiness, the tenderness and trust.

But it will always break her heart to think that, when tasked to create something impossible, Serran created something happy.

   *   *   *

"One day she brought it up again -- that he was lying about wanting her love. He said all the right things, but she was beginning to get too smart for that. So he kissed her and held her, and though she knew she should see through that, too -- she didn't, not as well.

They lay in silence in the night, deep into nowhere. She felt alone. He felt alone, too.

"There is something I want," her undead star said, avoiding her gaze.

"Oh, really?" replied Leyr, not believing.

"Sort of," he responded. "The truth is, my people do not want anything. We evolved past that long ago, before your people existed."

"Oh." She thought about that for a while. "Do you remember when that happened?"

"Yes."

"What do you remember?"

He thought for a few minutes -- not about his answer, but how to explain it to her.

"My creator. We used to have beginnings and ends, like you do. I remember the other being, the one who created me."

"So, like your mother."

"Not really."

They were silent again.

"Did she die before you evolved?" Leyr asked.

"No," he replied. "But after we evolved, we were not related to each other like that anymore... We were unrecognizable."

"That's rough," she said. "I'm sorry."

"I appreciate that," he said, and he meant it, though she didn't think he did. He had said too many lies in the past.

"So what do you 'want,' then? As much as you can want anything."

He was silent. She felt him breathing, louder than before. It sounded like distress. It sure seemed real. She held his hand, and the feeling calmed him. She prayed that it was real.

"Do you want to die?" she asked, sadly.

"No," he said. "I don't want to end myself... I want to begin something else."

He turned to look at her.

"I came to you because you, of all people, had so many wishes. I tried to give them to you."

"You have," she said, stroking his hair. "...But they all seem so trivial, now."

"Perhaps."

He held her face and kissed her again.

"Will you have a child with me?" he asked her.

Leyr had dark eyes, too, and the alien gazed into them. He knew every thought and feeling behind those eyes; he saw her secrets plainly, churning around in chaos at his strange, abrupt question.

He thought her eyes were beautiful. He wouldn't have thought that a year ago.

"Is that possible?" was the question she prioritized. A silly question, but necessary for her linear, agitated mind.

"Anything is possible," he answered, smiling. She played the endless game, guessing if his expression was real or not. This smile seemed different than any other -- perhaps a clue to its authenticity. Certainly this conversation was different than any other. He had never asked for anything before.

"What would our child be like? Like me, or like you?"

"Definitely like you…Partially like me."

"What do you mean? How much of a part?"

"I don't know," he said, after a pause.

"What do you mean, you don't know? You know everything."

"Not this. This is the one thing I don't know."

"How?"

"Because none of my people have done it before." He had never held her hand so tightly. "Because we decided to be through with beginnings and ends, risks, love, all of it. It is forbidden. And I'm the only one of us who can't stand it anymore."

"But what if something terrible happens?" She freed her hand from his grip and held him more gently. "What if such a baby can't make it? What if its life is miserable? What if your people find it and take it away, and make it unrecognizable, anyway?"

"Then, perhaps, I would want to die."

She cradled his head.

"...You have to tell me what would happen," he continued. "I do not know. And what I don't know, I don't know. I can't guess. Only you can guess."

She supposed that made sense, though it felt very unusual.

"Was this your plan all along?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, his breath warm on her skin. "Just as you wished for me, I wished for you."

Leyr gazed up at the stars through the spaceship's great window above their bed. What kind of a choice was this? He held every advantage. He could make the whole ship vanish in a blink. But she wasn't afraid of him. She never had been. She trusted him. She loved him. He was asking to move forward in their relationship -- it was the least alien thing he had ever done.

He could not imagine, but she could. She imagined their child, its every wish granted, its every moment perfect -- just as her life had been perfect this past year. Had it only been a year?

And the alternative? To go on like this, knowing what she knows now of his great misery -- though he wouldn't call it that. Now that she finally knows the truth -- she can't just ignore it. She can't just keep wishing and adventuring, chasing whims and fantasies forever. It's one thing to have an unfair advantage over everyone else in the world -- but to have one over the person she loves most?

"Yes, I'll have a child with you," she said, after this short mental exercise. "I love you."

It was the one of the last things she ever said to him. She woke up in a small apartment in a large city. The sparse, clean rooms had no trace of her lover or anyone else. The son she had shortly after did not look alien. He didn't behave especially strangely, either -- at least, not as strangely as his father.

For a creature who knew all the answers, the undead star had left Leyr with only questions. Perhaps these are the sorts of questions we need to ask, in order to evolve beyond mortality ourselves. Perhaps this is their way to guide us along, to bring us closer to themselves. Or perhaps they will only ever leave us behind.

Leyr Burnridge sat on her windowsill and looked at the stars, wishing one of them would fall and die -- though she knew now that that whole scenario was entirely made-up to seduce her. A godlike alien read her mind and took advantage of her silly idea, all for some great, elaborate ploy to burden her with his little parasite.

Why did he bother? She wished that was the question that kept her up at night. But it was not.

The only question she really cared about was this: Did he leave her, or did they take him away?

In her nightmares, they punished him. They demagnetized the fragile bonds holding the gossamer particles of his body together. They washed the clarity out of his eyes, and ground his soul into wires and glue. They killed him, or assimilated him into whatever horrible, unfathomable thing they are.

It would be simpler to say that she was angry, but that's not the kind of person she was. It would be good to say that she was hopeful, that she believed, that she waited -- and that is a little closer to the truth. But I can't say either of those things. She was afraid -- afraid for her lover and afraid for her son, afraid of impossible creatures who she couldn't explain.

That fear sunk deep under her skin. Deeper than they could feel, but not deeper than we can.

The son of Leyr Burnridge and the undead star could fear just as deeply as his mother could...and he could count for as long as his father could.

His father was lost and his mother was forsaken. But he was born to find the answers, and, this time, to leave no one behind."

   *   *   *

Anakin wonders what to do with the second half of the story. He only sent in the first half, of course, ending at the electric circuit metaphor. It is a bit of an abrupt ending, and makes the story rather short, but he knew the old lady wouldn't mark it as incomplete since it was already getting way too inappropriate. That was a trick Aayla taught him to get away with sending in shorter projects: just make them kind of sexy. It works on most of the teachers here, though you have to be careful not to use it too much because they will tell your master.

He hadn't meant to keep writing, really, after that. He'd meant to keep it all in his head. But it just spilled out so easily and now he's got it, right here, on his stupid computer and Obi Wan -- or worse -- could access it anytime, because Padawan security locks are worthless.

Would that be so bad? ... Yeah. It would.

He wants to just delete it. The only problem is he likes it.

He downloads it onto a datarod, deletes the source document, throws the datarod under his bed and forgets about it until he gets knighted years later and has to thoroughly clean his room so he can move to a bigger one. When he rediscovers it then, at twenty, and remembers what it's about, and how it ends, he tells Artoo to blow it up. Artoo happily obeys.

[salty-ironstrange-shipper]

Don’t Lift The Veil

*kind of based on this post you might remember, also on ao3

| 

Stephen stumbled into Kamar-Taj, only narrowly avoiding breaking his skull on the floor by an apprentice sorcerer lurching forward and taking his arm.

"Master Strange?" The girl said, then, more anxiously, "Master Strange?!"

April, Stephen thought to himself, placing the voice. He tried to reassure her, but instead made an odd choking sound and blacked out. Oh well . . .

||

When he woke again, April was still there, only there was a Master of the Mystic Arts who specialized in healing magic beside her and they were in Stephen's bedroom.

April dabbed at Stephen's forehead with a warm towel. No one was sure if that was necessary, but it seemed the thing to do. "Are you alright, Master Strange?"

Stephen tried to sit up and bit back a scream when doing so put pressure on the stab wound in his stomach. "More or less."

April lightly pushed him back down on the bed. "Sir," she said gently, like she was speaking to a child, "you should rest now. You were badly hurt."

Stephen dropped his head on the pillow, sulking. "I don't want to rest. I am the Sorcerer Supreme, I can do what I want."

"Of course you can," April cooed. 

Stephen scowled, waving away the healer. Still, April refused to leave, sitting on the bed beside his knees with her legs crossed.

Stephen sighed, but didn't send her away. Perhaps he was getting soft in his old age (a thousand years was a long time even for a sorcerer), but in truth it was a weakness he had towards some of the young sorcerers. April in particular was dear to him, being the descendant of dear Peter. More than forty generations separated her from Spider-Man, but he allowed himself to believe that he could see a bit of the wide-eyed teen he once knew in her. 

Just as he was getting melancholy, April started bouncing her legs, bored. Ah, there it is. "Are you alright, April?"

". . . Yes."

It was going to be a long day.

||| 

April refused to relent, and Stephen refused to sleep. Now at a stalemate, they passed the time by playing card games and idly chatting.

April placed her card. "Skip you, I go again. The color is red, and you draw four."

"Fuck," Stephen muttered before succumbing to the will of the Uno cards.

April smirked, looking down at her own cards. "Hey, Master Strange, have you always been a sorcerer?"

Stephen was old enough that none of the living sorcerers had been there when he first came to Kathmandu. Long before April's time and after Tony's death nine hundred years ago, all the information about who Doctor Stephen Strange had been was lost. Or destroyed, rather. Now few even knew who he'd been before becoming Sorcerer Supreme, and for the most part he preferred it that way. Any immortal could tell you that memories were the enemy.

So he wasn't quite sure why he said, "No."

April quirked a brow. "Where did you come from?"

He hesitated before answering. “Before I came to Kamar-Taj, I lived in New York with my husband.” He shrugged. “Fiance, at the time.”

April stared at him, wide-eyed. “Oh my God — Master Strange, I had no idea you were married—”

“Widowed now,” Stephen said quietly before laying down another card.

April blinked, her cheeks heating and turning red. “I’m . . . I’m sorry—”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m the one who brought it up.” He frowned. “There really is no point of a Reverse card if you’re just playing with two people.”

They played in awkward silence for another minute before April asked, “Do you want to talk about it? Or, him, I guess?”

Then the strangest thing happened.

Stephen smiled.

“I could tell you everything about him. Who he was, how we met. The color of his eyes and the shape of his nose. I can see him right in front of me. He is more real to me than you.”

His smile was sad, and his blue-green eyes seemed to lose their light. He laid another card, and when he spoke again, this time about an envoy that needed to be sent to the Nat'hal dimension, it was clear that the conversation was over.

|| 

But April was never one to give up so easily. It was in her blood. She was ninety percent sure she was descended from Superheroes (considering her family bad the right Peter Parker in their tree and not some rando from the same time).

She spent over a week going through everything she could find about their current Sorcerer Supreme. It wasn't easy. He was a private person even by hero standards, and had been born roughly a thousand years ago. But that was right at the start of the information age, and though it meant sorting through piles of white noise and conspiracy theorist bullshit, she was able to find some old interviews and articles from around his time that referenced a Stephen Strange . . . and his husband, Tony Stark.

That was the most surprising part. Even children knew who Iron Man was, one of Earth's first and greatest protectors, who lost an arm bringing half the universe back to life and defeating the Mad Titan Thanos. 

But if they knew each other, why doesn't Strange ever mention him?

If her theory was correct, then they hadn't just known each other - they'd loved each other, and had been married for almost fifty years (longer, if you counted the time Strange apparently lost to Thanos). They had children together. The memory must have been painful to him, living so long without his beloved, forced to remain on Earth and carry out his duties as Sorcerer Supreme.

Oh, Stephen . . . She'd always known that their leader carried a heavy burden, but she had no idea he'd lost so much. She wanted to do something, anything to help him . . . 

And she had just the idea.

“Okay,” April said, placing the last candle and looking back at her book. “This . . . should probably work.”

There were a few days when the veils between dimensions were thin. The winter solstice was one such time. The borders had only grown weaker after centuries of attacks from aliens and other-worldly beings and. The perfect time for such a spell.

April sat in the circle of candles and crossed her legs. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them, her third eye opened too, and the silvery light of Oshtur poured forth into the room. She could see the dimensions laid over each other, and the things that lingered nearby. Some of them seemed almost familiar.

Her mouth moved almost unbidden as she spoke. “Oshtur Star-Eye, Mother of Agamotto, guide to sorcerors living and dead, I call upon you to find the soul I seek and lead it to me—” Her breath caught as the spirits started to take shape. Away and above Kamar-Taj, she could feel Oshtur looking upon her. “Bring me Anthony Edward Stark, Iron Man, Saviour of the Universe and Earth’s Defender, husband to the Sorcerer Supreme Stephen Strange, lead him here and show him to me—”

Suddenly she fell forward, the spell cut short as a breeze filled the room snuffing out all the candles. A moment later, Stephen Strange walked into her vision, knocking over the candles and using his heel to disrupt the chalk circle. When he looked at her, she flinched from his gaze. “What are you doing?!”

April shook her head, the movement slow and heavy. “I don’t . . . I . . .”

“It is the solstice, the walls between worlds are thin and weak, all sorts of things linger in the liminal spaces, waiting to break through! You didn’t even ward or purify this room, you could have invited any number of monsters and specters into this sacred place! What were you thinking, what were you even trying to do?!”

April frowned, fearing tears prickle at her eyes. “I was just . . . I was trying to find Tony for you . . .”

Stephen stared at her in shocked silence as April’s head dropped, tears streaming down her cheeks. Then he leaned down and wiped a tear away, his voice growing soft. “Go to sleep. The spell exhausted you. We’ll speak tomorrow.”

She could do nothing but obey.

| 

The next morning, April awoke to find Stephen already in her room, meditating on a mat in the corner. He opened his eyes when she saw him. “You’re awake.”

April nodded, yawning tiredly. “What, uh . . . what happened?”

Stephen uncrossed his legs, resting his chin on one hand. Even after all this time, it was still scarred and shaking. “You attempted to summon my husband from beyond the grave, and I stopped you.”

“Oh, that sounds about right.” She frowned. “Why did you stop me?”

Stephen considered it for a moment, his blue-green eyes showing nothing. “It’s quite insulting that you think I don’t know how to summon a soul. I’ve read every book here, know every spell. I can summon ghosts as easily as most people can snap.”

“Then why . . .”

Stephen shrugged. “I did. I admit now that I wasn’t always careful. I made the same mistakes as you. But twice a year for about a century, Tony and I met and were together. And that seemed like everything that mattered.” He looked away. “But we couldn’t keep going like that. It was worse than have each other for a moment and be wrenched away again than to never see each other. And it disturbed his rest, and there’s no one who deserves to rest more than Tony.”

Despite herself, April knew she was crying again. “I’m so sorry.”

Stephen smiled sadly. “So am I.” He stood up. “But I know that one day, in my time of greatest need, Tony and I will find each other again. He’s always there for me when I need him. That will have to be enough for now.” He walked to the door, opening it slightly. “I’ll see you in my class on defensive magic later, yes?”

She swallowed past the weight in her throat. “Promise.”

Stephen nodded once and left, closing the door behind him.

[aki-draws-things]

It's tiny and short and not that good but that's all I could get out this morning. Have a sad jack, and if someone wants to save him (from me) and wrap him and his husband in a blanket that's fine for me...

I will wrote the actual fic, I promise... Well, if someone wants to read it... Does someone want angst?? 😂

After the first alien invasion in New York, Jack decided that he had seen enough aliens to last for a lifetime, thank you very much and goodbye.

So when the alarm went off at the first lights of a Tuesday, calling for an emergency meeting, he almost noped out of it. No aliens for him, not one single, fucking alien for Jack rollins. Except noping out was harder than expected when the very own commander of strike was comfortably nestled on his chest, grumbling at the alarm and his, their, off day getting ruined by... Aliens. Again.

~~~°°°~~~

Jack wanted to be mad at him, real fucking mad, but there was blood streaming from brock's nose, bubbling in his throat with every breath he took, and Jack couldn't be mad at him anyway, so he sat next to him and intertwined their fingers.

"so much for our day off." he looked at Brock and tried to think of something to say back, crack a joke or... He had never been good at jokes.

"you saved the world. That makes it one hell of a off day."

"we. We saved the world, Jack. - he smiled, beamed, looking over at jack next to him. It was probably the adrenaline, or the shock, or whatever. - fuck. Fuck, i married a hero."

For some reasons, stuck i. A crashed spaceship, hoping their team or someone would find them, Jack felt his eyes get wet, he knew the truth, he knew that Brock wouldn't make it out, his chances were slim, too slim. And there he was, the idiot, his idiot, calling him a hero in between shaky breaths and coughs.

Jack dragged him closer, he held him against his chest and Brock hummed contently.

"I did the same, you know? Married a hero... Now don't let me become a widow."

"you already wear black." it was supposed to be funny, a light banter like thousand before, Jack held him closer.

"sorry I dragged you here." Brock said, suddenly serious, turning his head against his chest just enough to see him. "I was supposed to protect you, I was supposed to go alone and --"

He stopped, coughed, his body trembling even more that before. Blood trickled down his chin and Jack took a shaky breath.

"where you go, I go. That was the promise, right? You made me say that. You --"

"you crying on me, big guy?"

In another moment jack would've have said no, he wasn't crying. That wasn't any other moment, maybe they wouldn't have any other moment. So he hid on brock's head and quietly nodded.

"yeah... Don't be mean, Cross... Let your poor husband cry."

"eh... That bad, Jackie?" rumlow settled back against him and tried to take a deep breath, broken by another coughing fit.

Without moving too much jack tapped his comm.

"this is acting commander jack rollins. Does anyone copy?" beside him Brock sucked in a breath.

"oh, it really is that bad..."

"is anyone there? We--we're stranded. Crashed. Stuck in a fucking spaceship. Commander rumlow is wounded, badly, possible internal bleeding. Punctured lung. Fractured ribs. "

"my husband is most likely to go into shock within minutes out of blood loss that he has yet to notice."

Brock tried to tell over Jack's comms, getting his attention and making Jack look at his own side where blood was seeping through the vest. Fuck.

"commander rollins is already in shock. I... We need extraction, and medics. Does anyone copy?"

His last words came out strained, almost pleading. Brock put a hand over his wound.

"need to put pressure there, you're bleeding out fast."

"and you shouldn't move, Brock please."

"I need to tell you something, but don't be mad, 'kay?" keeping the hand over Jack's wound he lowered his head against his arm.

"sounds like something I'm gonna be mad about."

"promise?" rumlow asked again, his voice low, weak, Jack was scared. He, no, scratch it, he was terrified.

"okay. Okay I promise. I won't be mad at you."

Brock smiled, it was small, and tired, he let his eyes slip closed.

"I was going to hit the self destruct of the ship. - he admitted and Jack had to fight his mind, because he promised not to get mad at him. Because Brock was dying, right there, in his arms, and he didn't want his last words to be something hateful or angry, without knowing if they would be the last. - then you showed up and took the other half and helped me, and I couldn't anymore, cause you were there. I couldn't drag you down with me."

His breathing slowed as his hand fell from against Jack, and Jack had to put his head, now feeling fuzzy and light, against the metal wall.

"I'm sorry. I dragged you down anyway. It should've been just me."

"Brock, you spent way too long around Cap and his self sacrifice shit."

Because blaming someone was easier than admit that--

"sorry. Had a crush on the man long before they defrosted his ass."

"I'll hold him responsible. Both him and his ass."

Brock made a sound, a weird, wet chuckle, he looked up.

"love you. You know right? Remember, yes?"

Jack chocked a sob and nodded. Of course he did.

"is that it? The end of the line. Thought it would be longer for us, hoped it would be." when rumlow didn't answer he looked down at him, at his peaceful, pale face, eyes closed, and lips parted. He didn't try to stop the sob coming up from his throat. He held him closer, tighter, sobbing in his hair.

"rollins? Rollins, this is Rogers. Do you copy? We're closing to your position. Do you copy?"

He snatched the comm out and threw it across the room.

[kill-for-cookies]

Can i request some posessive, jealous reader this time? You're both at a royal gala on an alien planet, and the princess keeps flirting with dhawan!master all night and its driving you mad- eventually resulting in you having enough and putting her in her place, and the master being both surprised and thrilled to see how jealous you got x Thank you! x

When I read your request, I was like "AAAA, JEALOUS READER!! YOU'RE AMAZING! YOU'RE KILLING ME!" Your idea is so brilliant. So here we go. Hope, you enjoy it!

Sorry, but he is with me

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

You entered the huge light hall where the royal gala was taking place, arm in arm with the Master. Everything was decorated for 18th-century ball in the style of Marie Antoinette. And you had to admit everything looked truthful. Well, as possible for an alien planet.

To be honest, you didn't want to be here. And not just because today you wanted to stay in the TARDIS reading books or watching films. Also because you didn't like all the pomp. Of course, with the Master everything is pompous, but dressing up in ball dresses wasn't for you. Damn, it would have been better if you two had run away from the Daleks. That would have been more interesting. But you were here. And it was pointless to argue with the Master.

"Glad you did visit us, Master" the two of you turned to a voice from behind.

In front of you stood a girl in a huge pink dress with a lot of ribbons, lace and other thingies on it. She was wearing a wig as it was fashionable in 18th-century France. She reminded you of a doll. And in a bad way. Looking at the pink color and cute face, you started to get sick of all this sweetness.

So you decided to leave the Master and explore the hall. It was much more intresting and informative than listening to this small and boring conversation.

You stopped somewhere in the middle of the hall examining one of the largest paintings hanging on the wall. Well, not directly examining. Honestly, you weren't interested in it at all, looking at your watch every second. Damn, why time was so slow? Shame you can't pilote the TARDIS or you'd have skipped an hour... or hours? Oh, this is even worse!

You felt someone took your hand. Turning your head, you saw a young man with slicked-back hair and a relatively modest jacket (compared to miss "Pink dress") kissed the back of your hand. Well, at least he didn't annoy you so much.

"Why such a beautiful girl is left alone?" you gave a sad smile and turned to where the Master was talking to the cloying lady. Seriously? How long could he talk to her? Following your gaze, the young man continued. "Is this your boyfriend, right? He'll regret leaving you" it was nice to know that at least someone was on your side. It didn't matter you left the Master.

You two had a small talk moving away from the center of the room. He really was a good and nice person. Maybe you'd appreciate it if there wasn't one thing. You couldn't focus on anything. Your thoughts were only about the Master and that second Marie Antoinette. Really? What was wrong with that? They were just talking, giggling. Nothing unusual. So why did it make you so mad? Drove you crazy, honestly.

"I forgot to introduce myself. I'm prince Albert" the voice of the young man in front of you distracted you a little from these thoughts. You looked away from this sight, which caused you terrible pain.

"Wait, if I'm not mistaken, this gala is organized in honor of the engagement of prince Albert and..." when you were going to this event, you didn't really listen to the Master, but apparently something remained in your memory.

"And princess Beatrice. Yes, that is, my engagement. Oh, here's Beatrice."

Albert pointed you to... No, it couldn't be! It had to be a joke. The prince pointed to the girl in this miss "Pink dress". The Universe must be mocking you. First, this damn princess came up and flirted with the Master, and now it turned out she was getting married.

Your hands clenched and you were a little shaking with anger. Well, anger wouldn't help right now. Otherwise, it would ruin everything. Taking a deep breath, you decided to calm down and then you came up with an idea. Oh, this lady-sweetness would definitely regret getting in your way.

"I'm from another planet and don't understand local customs, but is it normal that your bride is talking to the one person for half an hour?"

"And I'm talking to you..."

"Also I think princess Beatrice likes it."

You looked at the young man in front of you and saw doubt and a little jealousy in his eyes. Great! Your plan worked. Well, almost. Now you needed to separate the pair. It wouldn't be very difficult. You were very good at arguing. You had a lot of practice with the Master.

"I'm sorry to interrupt your lovely conversation, your Highness, but he's with me. And I'd like to talk to him, too. In addition, new guests have arrived, I think you should pay attention to them" you pulled a fake sweet smile, addressing the princess.

If there weren't people around, you would attacked her. Insulted her or something worse. But unfortunately, the Universe wasn't on your side today, so you had to be patient. But that didn't mean you couldn't teach her a good lesson.

"I'm sure my fiance is already talking to them" she said it as casually as possible without even turning to face you.

Oh, that was her mistake. The greatest mistake! No one could talk to you like that. Even when you first met the Master (and you were on opposite sides of the fence), he didn't treat you like this. And we are talking about the Master.

"The one standing there and looking at us? Oh, I talked to him a little and told him that you didn't move away from Master for half an hour. Remind me, when is your wedding?" you could barely hold back your glee. You already won. She just didn't know it yet.

You quickly glanced at the Master standing motionless with round eyes. He didn't look like himself. Well, you had never seen him so surprised. His jaw was about to fall. As much as it was fun to see his reaction, first you needed to put this arrogant lady in her place.

"How dare you talk to me like that?"

"I don't care who you are. And I doubt we'll ever meet again. Now go away and get your prince back."

"Boor!" princess Beatrice picked up her many voluminous skirts and walked away.

"Thanks for the compliment!"

You were so proud of yourself. Gloating wasn't your style, but right now... Damn, you'd be lying if you said you didn't like it. But perhaps you liked more the argument between Beatrice and Albert. How they spread their hands, raising voices. You just made it clear no one should mess with you. Especially make you angry.

You didn't enjoy your victory for long, because the Master roughly grabbed your hand and led you into an empty and dark room. Your faces were only inches away from each other. The Master looked directly into your eyes full of fire. And no matter what, you wouldn't look away from him.

"Are you jealous?" he grinned and damn, you were going to strangle him right now. You wanted to complain but finger was at your mouth. "Shh, don't" he moved even closer to you, now you could feel his warm breath "Did I ever say how beautiful you are when you're angry?"

In the blink of an eye, his arms were around your waist, pulling you to him and his lips met yours. Your hands immediately went to his shoulders. You were lost in that kiss. All your tension and anger immediately disappeared as if they weren't at all. Damn, you wanted it so much. Wanted this proximity. Wanted the Master paying attention to you. Who would have thought it would end like this? Well, the conflict between you and future queen was definitely worth it.

When The Master finished the kiss, he pressed his forehead to yours. He mumbled some sweet words, but you didn't really listen. Now you were thinking about what happened. It was like it didn't happen to you, but to someone else.

You thought that because of this whole situation, the Master changed his attitude towards you. You could feel he was as much in love with you as you were with him. Damn, why lie to yourself? That exactly was. And you couldn't help but smile when you realized.

"Now let's move. We have things to do."

Well, at least something didn't change.

[toongrrl-blog]

The Mommy Myth: Mouthing Off to Dr. Spock (Part One)

American Motherhood in the 1970s was undergoing a real revolution: the country had a 9% unemployment rate, 15% inflation rate, 18%-20% mortgage rates, and President Ford wanted to whip inflation and the most rapidly growing segment of the workforce was mothers with preschool children (Hi Joan Holloway and Kevin, Hi Joyce Byers and Jonathon and Will). In 1970, 40% of married mothers worked and in 1984, 59% of married mothers worked. In 1970, only 24% of mothers with a child one year old or younger worked and in 1984 that jumped to 46.8% Black married mothers were more likely to be in the workforce than white counterparts (won’t be surprised if Mrs. Sinclair had worked outside the home in contrast to Karen) and single-parent households increased by 79% during the 1970s and 90% were headed by women. 

Back then there were few daycare centers, no maternity leave (paid or unpaid), no flex time, no after-school programs, and not the Family Leave Act (mothers still call in sick to watch a sick child) and the VCR and microwave weren’t widely available. 

“This generation of women, who are now approximately 50 years old and older, who raised kids in the 1970s and beyond--these are the ones who are great. It is because of them that companies even established daycare centers, that there are tax deductions for childcare expenses, that there is maternity and even paternity leave (however paltry), that there are now baby seats in supermarket carts. If you are one of these mothers, and your now grown children are even remotely functioning, stand up and take a bow.” The Mommy Myth (2004), Susan J. Douglas and Meredith Michaels

Media centering on motherhood, from women’s magazines to sitcoms, family films were all frozen in 1957. At the same time there was more research being performed on children and infants, to assist in advice columns for moms raising their kids in different circumstances than their parents raised them. But the columnists were often serving mom guilt and had stay in the kitchen attitudes and sitcom moms hardly got angry with their kids and were always soothing and gentle like Mrs. Brady and Mrs. Walton and unlike Flor.

Sitcoms were holding a smaller mom revolution: Maude Findlay (also a grandma), Florida Evans, Ann Romano (the OG One Day at a Time), and Alice Hyatt had feminist inspired barbs at their bratty kids, nosy neighbors, and men while advertisers came out with the supermom. Hollywood mostly focused on alienated young men like Dustin Hoffman and Jack Nicholson while movies targeting women mostly stayed stagnant. 

One movie that focused on the misery of the mid-century housewife as she dealt with being economically dependent on her husband, mindless housework, how she was expected to put her needs and wants on the back burner, and of how men acted like they were so dumb. Diary of a Mad Housewife focused on Tina Balser, a Smith alumni who is married to a man named Richard, who manages to fuse together the worst traits of Ted Wheeler, Lonnie Byers, Pete Campbell, and Don Draper together. He’s an up-and-coming lawyer who preens and condescends and insists his wife cracks ice instead of serving it cubed and dictated Thanksgiving dinner (he doesn’t cook it though) and only wanted Danson Plum preserves on his toast and starts the film complaining about Tina being too skinny and her ability to do things the way he wants and dissed her ability to make a 4 minute egg to their bratty daughters (all the combined bratty traits of Nancy and Mike Wheeler and none of the intelligence, empathy, and passion that drives these characters). 

The lesser known Barbra Striesand vehicle Up the Sandbox opens up with one mother telling another: “I’ve read all the child psych books. To be a good mother you gotta learn to eat shit” (few shit has changed it seems). Based on an novel by Anne Roiphe, the story focuses on Margaret a mother of two who loves her kids but wants to do more than stay home and is....pregnant again. She has wild fantasies that makes Doug Funnie look less...funny like debating with Fidel Castro about the status of women and having a love affair with him and blowing up the Statue of Liberty with Black militants or presumably confronting her husband’s secretary/co-worker if she’s having an affair with him. After they went to a party where busty young women fell over him because he was so interesting and he made a dismissive comment about a female Ph.D candidate who wanted to have one kid and go back to work, is where Margaret tells him off:

A woman like me works twice as hard, and for what? Stretch marks and varicose veins. You’ve got one job, I’ve got ninety-seven. Maybe I should be on the cover of Time---dust mop of the year, queen of the laundry room....(where she can’t live up to his colleagues or her mother) I’m a zero, a nothing” and when he said she can do more and be happy, she tells him off more “Did more? I sew. I squeegee. I spend hours waiting in line for a sale on baby sandals just to save a few pennies...I’m an errand boy, a cook, a dishwasher, a cockroach catcher, and you say I’d be happy if I did more.” Karen, spin that shit!

Women’s magazines had a new challenge: so you gave advice for decades about how moms can beat diaper rash, crochet covers for your toilet seats, and make a birthday cake in the shape of a character your kid liked but now there are sentiments challenging the conventions of marriage and parenthood, what do you do?

In 1973, Redbook magazine had a poll saying 9/10 respondents knew women earned less than men for the same work, 3/4 thought the media degraded women, a large majority believed women were second-class citizens, and 2/3 supported the Women’s Movement. Also more of them were working or joining the workforce, even with small children and more were divorcing and looking for childcare and to pay the bills and wanted a break. The shithead experts said no the latter. 

Mom’s can’t be overprotective but protective enough.

You can’t be over-attentive in your kid’s lives but make them feel loved and always wonderful.

You need them to be independent, but always taken care of.

Can’t be too strict or permissive.

You need to be light-hearted.

Those were the rules many mothers of Gen Xers and Baby Boomers were under (and still the same now). Dr. Spock was singled out, he was the most influential of these experts with his famous book coming out in 1946 (the first year of the Baby Boom) and his advice dominated the magazines in the 1950s and 1960s. He dished out mom guilt for working outside the home or not weaning babies before they were one year olds and that leaving kids with a “mother substitute” would make them needy (so not even date night?). Also you had to be bonding with your kids properly (all while moms were dealing with doctors up against the natural childbirth movement) and even an hour may not be enough. Also normal women were sad when kids weaned themselves off the breast! Any misstep in your kids will fuck them up!

In Part Two, I will go over Bruno Bettelheim and the backlash against the Women’s Movement and the revolution in Motherhood.

[tonystarkbingo]

Tony Stark Bingo Party Prompt Meme

http://generatorland.com/usergenerator.aspx?id=25057 -- we took tags from this random generator and then made up more detailed prompts from them. These prompts are open use, even if you’re not participating in the bingo, but please tag us if you write one, we’d LOVE to see what you did with it! nonsense + everyone is gay + denial : Tony+harem - Tony, while an incorrigible flirt, does not believe that anyone actually likes him, let alone as many as do. They come up with increasingly ridiculous ideas to ask him out or at least let him know they like him, while he innocently thinks they're all just such awesome friends superpowers + bodice-ripper + sad Stuckony - something set in the Regency(ish) era but with secret superpowers as an added bonus. Let’s of angst over trying to hide their secret powers, and wanting to save people without revealing themselves and also cause they’re gay. clones + nighttime + wishes Coulson/Strange (StrangeAgent? AgentStrange? DrAgent?) - Coulson ends up spending the night in the NY Sanctum. Some of the artifacts happen to be particularly sensitive to subconscious fantasies... and isn't it lucky that cloning himself happens to be one of Strange's powers? cruising + flashbacks + bad boys Winteriron possible future Stuckony - small warning for drinking mention - Tony is driving around to distract himself so he doesn't get drunk. He gets in an accident because he is not actually in a state to drive. The accident is comparatively harmless, the flashback to his convoy being attacked in Afghanistan is less so. When Tony wakes up in the hospital he learns that the person who dragged him from his car to safety is one James "Bucky" Barnes, resident motorbike riding bad boy heartthrob and friend/visitor of Steve "regular ER customer" Rogers, who's his hospital roommate. room service + lifeguards + sharing Tony is a lifeguard who takes his job very seriously. He's attending a convention-slash-training seminar at a posh uptown hotel, but then there's a knock at the door. He opens it to find two room service carts, both with order slips on them that indicate they're actually destined for another room. Rather than call the obviously harried and beleaguered bellboy back, he pushes them down the hall himself and knocks on the door... which is answered by none other than the hot beefcake fellow-lifeguard that's been distracting Tony all day. They end up sharing the enormous amount of food... and then maybe some more. :wink: overthinking + pity sex + customer service Tony just turned 40, he's been friends with Bucky and Nat for forever, and they'd been each other's marriage backups for the longest time, like, if they weren't married at 40, they'd marry whoever wasn't married either in their little trio. Only, two years prior, Buckynat became husband and wife and so he's having a little pity party on his floor at the Tower, drinking virgin mojitos and seriously consider a particular customer service to cheer himself up in one way or another - might as well get an orgasm, as shitty and sad as it may be, it's his birthday ffs - but then Bucky and Nat appear in his elevator, and they pull him off the couch he's been sprawled on for three hours, and Nat is the first to kiss him, and he's too stunned to react much but when he does question wtf is happening, Bucky shushes him and Tony lets him. The next morning he is evidently convinced it was all just pity sex, or a kink of theirs or whatever.... certainly nothing to do with the fact that they've been courting him forever and got tired of waiting for him to step out of ObliviousStarklandia. Of course not. wolves + romantic friendship + wigs Okay, so, someone has been doing an excellent job of hiding his baldness from someone else, with whom he's been in a long term best-friends-but-in-love not-quite-relationship. He's got an elaborate series of wigs, and over the years he's gradually been replacing them with slightly more grey ones so that someone else doesn't realise. Aaaand then someone gets bitten by a werewolf, and when he shifts for the first time he is completely bald and the secret is out. accidental relationship + butt dialing + warlocks Tony Stark is not happy with today's mission, not like there's an occasion to enjoy dealing with magic. But now he's in a relationship with Bucky, which is not bad, that man is gorgeous, but this is not the way. He's ranting about it to Jarvis and doesn't realize that he sat on his phone nor that he dialed the other supersoldier in the team until he hears a muffled laugh beneath him. He's going to kill that warlock smuggling + fear + road-trip okay, a Star Wars AU. Farmboy Peter is fleeing from stormtroopers who found out his parents were Jedi. He runs into smuggler Tony and they take off in Tony's ship for an extended road trip in space. possession + loving marriage + gardens & gardening Pepperony, Morgan insists there's a spirit possessing the garden because she's seen the plants dancing. Turns out they've accidentally created sentient plants and Tony is like nope, call somebody else, I do mechanical engineering and they call Dr. Cho to fix it. The marriage is in there somewhere I promise  idiots in love + bonding + resurrection Ironhawk - Clint tries to get Lucky back after he goes over the rainbow bridge, but he can’t actually read latin and ends up bringing back Tony from the 18th century.  And poor Tony gets Clint as his guide to the 21st.  Shenanigans and eventual fluffy ending improv + cultural appropriation + shield maidens After the Battle of New York, Tony's interviewing Thor about Asguardian tech and learns that they have all kinds of shielding devices, and gets interested in trying to replicate what Thor describes just in case aliens decide to pay a call on Earth again. Thor, for his part, is kinda shocked that Earth doesn't have any such shields, though on the other hand it is Midguard, so. You know. Tony gives it a shot and a couple weeks later he's launching the satellites into orbit for a preliminary test of the shields. He intends to test them with SI tech developed from seized Chitauri tech, but before he can get the chance an alien army shows up, guns blazing and very mad about something. The shields hold, thankfully, and the aliens send a strongly worded letter informing him that he has infringed upon their religious and cultural traditions by putting the Stark logo on them. Their planet was visited centuries ago by time-travelers that greatly influenced their culture, religion, government, etc. These time travelers carried devices with that same Stark Logo on them. The Stark Logo has become a complex cultural symbol over the centuries, and they don't appreciate him using it on war tech, even if on shields. Eventually, they figure out that the time travelers' tech was Tony's tech, and agree to leave in peace, but only after Tony spends a terrifying couple of days trying to improvise his way through a diplomatic disaster with an alien power. vampire family + slapstick + loss WinterIronWidow: So, Natasha's been a vampire for a long time, and she's lonely, so she decides to take on some mates, enter established relationship WinterIron. She vampirises them, which leads to Tony having fits about GARLIC and my god, I'm ITALIAN, you horrible woman!  And Bucky's like "I'm... CATHOLIC?? OM-- I can't even say G-- now??" awkwardness + chatting & messaging + shyness Tony doesn't understand why everytime Bucky comes into the lab, Dum-E tends to drop whatever he's holding and go hide in his charging station. Dum-E's always a bit clumsy and silly but this is more than usual and Tony's worried that Dum-E doesn't like Bucky or something like that. Anyway after much discussion, with JARVIS as translator and go-between, it turns out that Dum-E has developed a bit of a crush on Bucky's fancy robotic arm. Which ends up of course being a hilarious & awkward situation for all involved. candles + explosions + blind date tony gets bullied by pepper to go on a blind date to get out of his funk, she insists that this Matt Murdock character is the perfect date and Tony will like him. reluctantly tony goes to fancy restaurant and meets Matt Murdock and they hit it off instantly the little snarky assholes. they have a nice dinner by candle light and it's all going so well up until dessert when they order some kind of chocolate lava cake which was tragically not cooked properly and ends up exploding on both of them and bam they fall in love and live happily ever after skeleton puns + reincarnation + deus ex machina A snap, that was all it took to snuff out something so bright amidst the rubble of what was once New York City, and, with Tony gone for good, the living seem rather, well…dead. Until, one day, someone they all thought long dead returned to them, a blue cube glowing in his grip and a sweet promise of a new beginning dripping from his lips. But of course, no new beginning comes without a price laundry + tenderness + dialogue “I hate laundry,” Morgan declared after trying to refold her sweatshirt for the seventh time. “Me too kiddo,” Tony whispered back, sneaking a glance over his shoulder to Pepper who was putting clothes into the wash. “But that’s why we do it together. It gets done and we don't have to do it alone.” world domination + paranoia + everything hurts Tony knew what was coming, he knew. He’d seen the future and he knew. The Kree were coming - why would no one believe him? Not his husband, not the team, not even his own son. He kept convincing them they had to suit up and defend the planet and Steve and Peter kept telling him that a engineering professor from Cal Tech can’t do that, that this suit he talks about is only in his delusions. But he’s not paranoid. Or crazy. Or any of those other words. He is Iron Man. He just has to convince everyone else. feels + useless lesbians + Santa's workshop Toni doesn’t think anyone could accuse her of overflowing with Christmas spirit. That hasn’t stopped the rest of the Avengers from turning the “festive cheer” dial up to eleven, and Toni thinks she might just have to spend the whole next month hiding in her workshop. (Hey, she let DUM-E wear a Santa hat – that has to count for something.) Too bad Jamie Barnes – cyborg superassassin extraordinaire, Captain America’s best friend, and Toni’s big gay crush – has gotten the exact same idea. Now the rest of the team thinks they’ve got a “thing,” and Toni can’t decide which is worse: putting up with the Avengers’ not-so-subtle attempts at matchmaking, or spending all her time with the woman she loves and who she is absolutely, 100%, totally certain doesn’t reciprocate. Getting through this holiday season without having her heart broken might just take… a Christmas miracle. shapeshifting + secret organizations + nurses “C. Barton - Orderly.”  That’s what his tag said.  But only a very few people knew exactly what kind of hospital Saint Natalis actually was, and just how busy they could be during the full moon. kissing games + pirates + book stores Tony always thought that the shop had a mind of its own. The books were one thing, whispering their secrets to patrons who managed to find their way to it. Jarvis always did warn him not to touch any of the artifacts. The "DO NOT TOUCH" signs plastered all over the crates. So maybe it was his fault that he managed to summon 'Buccaneer Barnes' after touching the shiny pirate sword. "Let's play a game. If you win, I'll help you put all those runaway monsters that jumped out of the books. If I win, you owe me a kiss. Whatdaya say Stark?"

[straightouttaneptune]

Defying Death

Pairing: Thor x reader

Warning: Death, Sadness, Sad Thor, Endgame... Happy ending, fluff, the ending we all DESERVED.

Request: hi love! i was wondering if i could get a reader x thor? maybe during endgame the reader is horribly injured when she fights thanos alongside thor, steve, and tony. so everyone is happy when it ends except reader is dying alongside tony. lots of angst? maybeeee a happier ending? tysm!

A/N: Anything for you, cute thing! I apologize for how late this is, it's currently test week at school... Hope you like it! And, I added a little Irondad :)

———————————————————————

You looked out to the endless amount of monstrous beings that lined up before you. The clouds were almost black and roaring with thunder, clearly the act of your lover, Thor.

These last 5 years have been rough for the two of you, but you managed to keep him alive until today. The 5th year was the best year, where he asked you to move in with him, resulting in many happy days- much like the ones Tony found with Pepper, till, of course, it was time to fight again.

You stood beside the 3 men who were with you through it all from the beginning. All the way from 2012 to 2023, the final battle against the mad titan. There was a time when you were the only female in the big 4, also when you and Natasha were the only female Avengers. The team has come a long way since then. You were more than proud. 

"Let's kill him properly this time." With Thor's words as a command to spring into action, you opened your arms as your eyes burned white and kinetic energy formed around your fingers.

Then the fight began. It was a god, genius, super soldier and an enhanced against Thanos. It would've seemed like an impossible battle, but Thanos made it surprisingly hard.

You saw the other Avengers fighting for their lives in the corners of your eyes, making you even more infuriated. Who was he to take away so much as 5 years from those individuals? The anger fueled your powers, helping you create a glowing dome of blinding white energy, ribbons of silky white smoke burning Thanos to his death. 

Thor, Steve, and Tony watched entranced as you levitated, white smokey energy flowing around you. The light became more and more intense, and your eyes glowed an alarmingly bright shade of white. Everything around them turned white, nothing else visible.

Just when it seemed like you might actually do this, you were blown away meters and meters away from bombs raining down on the battleground. 

But you still stood back up, even though you were severely weakened. You saw the three men you loved with your life, especially a certain Norse god, all fighting with their lives. The spaceship of raining bombs was taken care of by Carol Danvers, but all you could see was Thanos holding Stormbreaker against Thor's chest. 

"Thanos!" You ignored your aching shoulder, flying over to where Thanos held your love's weapon against himself. You used up all the energy you could muster at that moment, shooting Thanos many feet away with a blast. His head crashed onto his own weapon, creating a gash at Thanos' forehead. 

"Thor." You almost fell into his chest, hand flying up to your shoulder at the sharp pain. "I love you. Just in case-" You groaned and looked up at him with your usual colored eyes. 

"Do not say that, my dove. We will defeat him." His eyes swirled with worry, you were so strong, he had never seen you so weakened. He placed a soft kiss on your lips, seeing the army of female superheroes come together. "You should be there." He said before he popped your shoulder back into place, so quick that you didn't even notice. "I love you too." He whispered, watching you fly over to the gathered females. 

The next was just fighting. A never-ending wave of disgusting creatures who chose to side with Thanos. It was unknown how long you'd gone for until many of the superheroes drifted away and started surrounding Thanos. You understood what was happening immediately. He was about to get the stones.

"We need backup!" A frightened voice yelled into your comms, from the sound of it, possibly Ant-man or Spider-man. 

“I’ll be there.” You breathed into your comms whilst round-house kicking the shit out of a monster charging at you.

Then you took off again, the white fog-like smoke you left behind choking all the aliens near.

“No, My dove. You are injured-“ Thor tried to sound calm for you, but you weren’t having it. His voice sounded raspy, and he went out cold before he could finish his sentence. Your heart ached, the pain harnessing your powers even more.

You landed right in front of Thanos, where he stood with all the stones in that god-awful gold glove. Every other Avenger was passed out, knocked into the other life by the stones Thanos used ever so nastily.

“You are no match for me.” Thanos almost laughed, seeing a tiny human being standing up to him, chest heaving from the hours of fighting, bruises visible on your cheek and arms from earlier.

“Let’s see about that.” You gritted your teeth, eyes glowing snow white once again. He took a step back, a huge mistake. He was actually scared of you. Now he had no more bombs to rain. But he looked to his stones, and a grin grew on his disgusting face. You couldn’t stand it.

A massive ball of kinetic energy formed between your hands, you thrust it down onto the ground, and the energy ripples through the ground to land a strong whirl of force into Thanos.

He falls on his knees but gets up once again, the power stone glowing violet. Your eyes narrowed as if to challenge him, daring him to use that stone on you. You’d tear it to pieces.

A sharp blade appeared in your hand, glowing much like your eyes, crackling with sparks as you threw one after the other at him, two piercing through his abdomen.

"Ooh, ouch. That looks bad." You cringed but didn't quit launching the blades.

He groaned agonizingly, now using three stones to oppress you. He actually got the upper hand this time, pinning you to the stack of burnt steel as he tried to force the air out of your lungs.

You placed your hand on his glove, trying as best as you could to destroy the damn thing. But oh, your bones were screaming. So much pressure and you couldn’t move against the hold he had on you.

You closed your eyes in pain, but you pushed through it ending up in an explosion of energy directly from you. It blew Thanos back from the force, smokey traces of white lingering in the air. You tried to catch your breath, hand trembling against the broken metal.

You held yourself up right, collecting every ounce of energy you had left. You felt the energy draining from your veins, but you continued. Until all the energy pent up blew up into an extreme explosion on Thanos. It would’ve looked beautiful, if not given the circumstances.

You fell on all fours, unable to detect Thanos’ loyal follower creeping up to you with his dying breath. You were too drained, slipping in and out of consciousness when he stabbed a dagger into your back.

Your eyes shot open with fear and pain, a small dagger like this would’ve been nothing to you if you were your usual self. But the cut was lethal to the state you were in. You couldn’t do anything as you watched Tony snap his fingers, successfully defeating Thanos- but killing himself at the same time.

You curled up near the burnt leftover of the great building, internally smiling at your lover, who was alive. Thor ran up to you immediately as he woke up, his eyes clearly showing fear.

“My dove. No, no, no, no no.” Your eyelids fell from the sad look on his face, you knew deep down inside that you’d have to leave him now.

“We need a medic- we, I, Y/N.” He was panicked. His weapons were cast aside somewhere unknown, he just crouched next to you with nothing but himself. He reached his calloused hand up to your cheek, his thumb smoothing the tears you didn’t know had fallen.

You could only see him and his radiant blue eyes, watery with tears. You could only feel him and his touch, the soft skin of his lips on yours as he kissed you for the last time. He didn’t want to admit it, you could see that in his eyes. He still hoped that you might make it. You cried from his innocence, he didn’t deserve for everyone to die. He didn’t deserve any of this.

“You can’t leave me, My dove. We were going to- get married, and, forget all of this superhero- thing.” His voice cracked as he remembered the diamond ring that sat in the drawer of your shared house, he thought he’d propose to you next month. But time, it’s always so cruel.

“I love you, Thor. Live. You know I’ll always love you, my darling.” Your voice was strained and hoarse, barely a whisper, but he heard you.

“I love you too.” He held you in his lap, caressing your hair, trying not to rip planet Earth into halves as he watched the light in your eyes fade. His skin grew goosebumps and he felt his heart crash as his breathing became erratic.

“Y/N? My love. No, you can’t. No, no, please.” He couldn’t help it anymore, storms of thunder raised hell in the sky, yelling out in pain. So much pain. He sobbed into your limp body, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably as the others watched with broken hearts.

Two Avengers, dead, and their lovers’ reactions were the exact opposite, aside from the one thing both had in common.

They were both broken.

—

“My god, Y/N.” You were suddenly at a peaceful looking beach, the ocean waves crashing against each other. Tony, you recognized, styled in all-white clothing walked up to you.

“Tony.” You smiled, the bright place made you feel euphoric. It felt so freeing. You embraced Tony in a hug, it felt strange, as if you had no physical body, but you didn’t feel the need to question it.

“We’re dead, murder princess,” Tony said bluntly, grinning out into the ocean.

“Jeez, really? I hadn’t noticed.” You raised your brow at his longtime nickname for you, until you were interrupted by a clearing of a throat.

You looked behind you, and there she was. Queen Frigga. She looked stunning as she did when you first met her, standing on the sand poised and elegance radiating off of her.

“Queen Frigga.” You stood up, Tony following.

“Y/N. Welcome to Valhalla. But, not quite yet. You will be accepted in as soon as you are officially gone. Ancient rules, you understand.” She spoke quickly, her hands fidgety as she explained. “There’s still a chance for you to return to him. And you, Tony. Just trust me, say yes and I will perform it immediately. But I’m afraid we don’t have much time to waste.”

“Yes.” You and Tony said in unison, both thinking about the loved ones you left behind.

“I hoped you’d say that. Tell Thor that I love him.” Frigga rubbed your arm warmly, taking a few steps back before giving a gentle flick into the air.

—

“Ugh!” You no longer felt at peace, or euphoric, or all that crap. Your head was banging and the pain in your ribs was agonizing. You found yourself back, alive, onto the battleground. You noticed Thor holding you tightly, still crying into your hair.

“Thor- Thor.” You grabbed his shoulders and pushed yourself away to look at him. His eyes grew wide enough that his eyes could've popped out, a relieved laugh escaping his lips with a choke.

“Your mother sends her love.” Your tears of happiness created streaks on your scarred skin, dripping onto the ashy ground. Thor wasted no time as he crashed his lips onto yours once again. The warmth of his touch burned your heart with real euphoria.

The team all celebrated with tears and laughter as you and Tony came back alive, after almost giving everyone a heart attack. Every single Avenger stood circling you and Tony, hugging and crying into each other. Thor held you on his lap, caressing your back sweetly as you conversed with Natasha, your longtime best friend. 

Tony was being caged in by Peter's embrace, chuckling brightly at his reaction. Tony was basically Peter's father, everyone knew that. 

"Mr. Stark, oh god... I thought-" 

"It's okay, kid. I'm here" 

"Y/N?" Thor raised his hand up to hold your chin softly, his eyes boring into yours. 

"Yes?" 

"I love you." 

"I love you too."

[tark-msi]

Pulchritude

The end began with a whisper in the air. The day had been beautiful and the clouds had looked like airy anvils drifting under the gleaming disc of the sun. Even then, my spirits were at their lowest, for I was about to commit a sin. The sin of murder.

I’ve been on the run for 5 years now and it finally feels like this journey is at its end. Even after all these years though, I ask myself, why did she do all this? Was acting like some agent of chaos her only motivation? Did all those families that took her in, the teachers who educated her, the children from the orphanage who played with her, meant nothing to her? All she said was “My only wish, is to remain the last person standing on earth.” Is this enough justification for destroying all those innocent lives? Perhaps, it is for the best that I never learn the answers. Perhaps it is my destiny to forever be left in the dark. But I do know this… I’m the only one that can stop this endless madness that consumes her, for she is still my daughter, and I, her father.

As I sat reminiscing, Michael, my best friend and attorney, was done putting up our tent. I had told him that was nothing more than a simple camping trip in the forest, sitting just on the outskirts of our dirty and busy city, to celebrate me being finally proven innocent in the court. Little did he know, however, that this is the place where it all began, and the place where it will all end. It was a letter that had brought me here once again, 17 years later. All it contained was a single question. A question, the meaning of which I knew all too well. “Can you end my life?”

The Reaper’s moon of autumn had begun to show its face. Its moonlight turned the leaves into a flaming patchwork of colours: scorching-yellows, lava-red and burnished browns. A lonely fox cried a mournful cry, the echoes of which fluttered through the vault-still silence of the trees. The entire scene had an alien beauty to it, and both of us just sat there, trying to etch the scene onto our minds. A furious huff of wind rose up then, violently shaking the flaps of our tent. A tinkling sound enters our eardrums, as tiny pearls of rain dropped onto the leaves. As the sounds intensified and the rain became increasingly terrifying, we quickly made our way back into the tent. No longer was it the soft, sodden, swollen drops of spring we were hearing; it was like ball-bearings were hitting the canvas roof with force. Occasionally, a kerplunk sound could be heard, caused by the rainwater falling on the ground from the tent. We huddled together and shivered in the tent. Who knew the rain could be so terrifying, yet, so beautiful?

Eventually, the wrath of the rain came to an end, and after munching on a quick meal, we decided that we should go to sleep for now. The only problem, Michael, was that my night had just begun. After a while, I opened my eyes, for it was time to act. Michael was still asleep. I bid him a quiet farewell. For all I know, I may never see the person sleeping in front of me again. I cannot let good people like him die anymore. I’d made sure that I was wearing my concealed holster with the Glock, completely loaded, before leaving. The wind was howling as if telling me that I’ll be left with nothing after tonight and that I should turn back. But you see wind, I’ll never turn back, not after all that she’d done, and I’m fully aware that after tonight, I’ll be left with nothing. Even then, I have to do what I have to do. There’s no other option.

With slow and sure steps, I finally made my way to the old safe house. The place carries a lot of history within its crumbling walls. It is rumoured that this very safe house was actually used to hold prisoners and spies during the old war. Who knows how many people, both innocent and guilty, were left here, chained to the walls, starving to death? But you see, there exists a forgotten piece of history attached to this place as well. In it, a naïve young man, striving to be an accountant, and married to a beauty, stumbled upon a small child, shivering from the cold, outside the safe house. The girl, wearing tattered clothes and barefooted, was clearly suffering from malnutrition and had an injury on the forehead. When the man approached her, the only words that could escape her small lips were her asking the man to end her life. But the man was compassionate, for he decided to take her in and raise her as his own daughter. However, nobody could have told the man back then, that it was not because of the malnutrition or the injury was the girl asking him to end her life. It was because of an endless sea of darkness that lurked within her being, waiting for the right moment, to engulf her completely. Suddenly, a line by the famous philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche struck my mind,

“When you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you.”

I crept my way into the safe house and looked around. The place looked extremely strange. It was nothing like the place I remembered from all those years ago. Back then, the floor was completely littered with rubble and moss had grown on the walls, or whatever was left of them. But now, the entire place was wiped clean. In fact, two of the 4 rooms were even furnished with some old furniture. The desolate and the dreary feeling I had when I first came here was completely gone. It was as if, the place never had any history, to begin with. All of it was kind of frightening in its own right. A wave of dread started spreading over me as I stealthily checked out each room one by one. Was my deduction wrong? Did she mean some other place in the letter? Was she even invited me to kill her in the first place? As I was thinking all this, I finally made my way to the kitchen. It was placed in the back of the house and was the last room left. I slowly pushed the door open and there she was, lying on what looked like a bed. A bed placed in a kitchen looked extremely off for some reason. Her small, well-shaped lips were tightened into a straight line. At first glance, I could discern no sign of breathing, but after staring hard I was able to make out a sight- A very slight movement- at the base of her throat. She lied with her head on the pillow as if looking up at the ceiling. She was not, in fact, looking at anything. Her eyelids were closed like hard winter buds. It was genuinely quite a sight to behold, for even in the most profound somnolence, people do not tread so deeply into the realm of sleep.

With a slow voice, I called her name, “Charlotte.” She slowly opened her eyes and greeted me with a small, sad smile. “So, you actually remembered huh?” She said. “Why wouldn’t I remember? After all, it was the night that changed my life forever.” I said, with another sad smile. “I really wish you’d let me achieve my dream you know?” She said, with a slight laugh. “I can’t let you do that. Never.” I replied solemnly. I’d been following her trails for five years, seeking to end her life. But, now that she’s finally in front of me, I just couldn’t wipe out the face of the little girl from my mind. The one I found all those years ago, with whom my fate had been entangled with as if all of it was sewn on some prophetic tapestry. “The darkness within has grown too much for me to bear. So, please, I ask of you once again. Can you end my life?” The only response I could give was with a slight nod. I unholstered my pistol and took aim. As I did this, she closed her eyes and smiled. Suddenly, all the memories I’d made with her flooded my mind, clouding my judgement. Should I really be doing this? What if I can help her? Can I really call myself human after killing her? What should I do? What should I do?! What should I do?!! WHAT SHOULD I DO?!!! Then as if to answer all my thoughts, the images of all those innocent people killed by her flashed my mind. No, I need to do this. Otherwise, the abyss within will consume her. I cleared my mind and took aim once more. She was still smiling, waiting, for her suffering to end. I slowly pulled the trigger, and the sound of the gunshot echoed through the night. It was done. Her lifeless body just lay there, still smiling. After staring at the scene for a while, I moved out of the kitchen and lumped myself onto a chair in one of the other rooms.

However, even after killing her, something felt amiss. I could neither feel any peace spreading over me, like they show in all those movies, nor could I feel any remorse. Hell, I couldn’t even feel any happiness or sadness. What is wrong? I killed her, right? Now, nobody will suffer anymore, right? As I was asking myself these questions, my right hand, still holding the gun, had changed its position. The gun was pointed towards the right of my forehead now. My hand did all the work for me and provided me with all the answers to my questions. “So, this is what I want huh?” Suddenly, I heard Michael calling out my name not far from the house. The sound of the gunshot, along with me missing, must’ve worried him.

“Well, who cares anymore?” I said, as peace finally washed over me. I placed my finger on the trigger and closed my eyes.

- Aspheosis

[krizaland]

Detention Chapter 2

First Chapter

Chapter 2 is here! things are getting spicy!

Be warned: There’s swearing and very strong flirting ahead!

Here’s the song I used btw

“Ugh! Y/N! Why didn’t you tell me to cover your cage?! You know I want to keep you for myself!” Number 1 growled as he marched up to your cage.

“I’m sorry, sir. You just seemed so mad, I didn’t want to-”

“Whatever. I’ll tell you what. I’ll let this slide if you agree to marry me!” Number 1 purred as a few drops of spit splattered against your cage.

“How about I just dance for you again instead?” You grumbled as you folded your arms.

“Oh fine! But you can’t keep rejecting me forever!” Number 1 sang as he pulled out an alien looking remote.

ZAP!

You were freed from your cage!

You glanced over at the exit only to earn a disapproving glare from Number 1.

“Y/N, you aren’t thinking about escaping again are you? I don’t want to have to electrocute your pretty face again.” Number 1 chided as he wagged his wrinkly finger at you.

“Don’t worry, I wasn’t.” You groaned as you followed Number 1 to his throne.

“Well? I’m waiting, Y/N.” Number 1 grumbled impatiently.

You sighed as you begun to dance once more. You were forever destined to preform for Number 1.

Or so you thought.

As the day went on, Majestzee ran through The Track of Fire faster than all of the other Zims!  

However, when it came time to challenge number 100, Majestzee was a bit intimidated.  

While he would never admit it, Majestzee wasn’t very confident in his weightlifting skills.

Especially when compared to the skills of a behemoth like Number 100.

Number 100 was cheerfully lifting the heaviest weights the training chambers had to offer.

Majestzee swallowed hard and cleared his throat.

“Attention Number 100! The great and glorious Number 1 has requested that I challenge you to weightlifting competition!”

“Huh, Number 2 wants to challenge Big Zim?” Number 100 asked as he stopped lifting.

“Y-Yes! Do you accept?” Majestzee stuttered as he struggled to stay calm.

“Sure, Big Zim don’t care.”

And with that, Majestzee took off his cloak, climbed onto the benchpress next to Number 100, and wrapped his fingers around his weights.

Majestzee’s arms wobbled as he struggled to lift the weight. He groaned and panted but the weight refused to move.  

Meanwhile, Number 100 lifted his weights as if they were nothing more than thin twigs! Not a single bead of sweat dripped down his face as he kept going.

Pink sweat poured down Majestzee’s face as he started to lose his grip on the weight. More grunts and groans escaped Majestzee’s throat as his arms begun to throb.

Number 1 was well aware of Majestzee’s insecurities and was gleefully watching him squirm from the comforts of his throne.

Majestzee was ready to give up when his mind wandered to think of you.

“You know, you kinda sound like Zim royalty to me. I hope we can meet again someday..” Your gentle voice echoed throughout Majestzee’s mind.

Majestzee’s eyes burst open as he tightened his grip on his weight.

“FOR THE GLORY OF Y/N!!!”

And with that, Majestzee finally had enough strength to lift his weight.

Majestzee found himself making light work of his current weight and he decided it was time to go heavier.

Pretty soon, no weight became a match for Majestzee! Whenever he felt himself grow even the slightest bit tired, all he had to do was think of your sweet smile and his energy would spike right back up.

It wasn’t long before Majestzee had finally defeated Number 100.

“VICTORY!!!” Majestzee cackled as he raised his tired arms high into the air.

Number 1 nearly fell out of his throne! That wasn’t supposed to happen! And why was he screaming out your name?!

“Y/N! You’ve got some explaining to do!” Number 1 snarled as he marched up to your cage.

“Why?! I didn’t even do anything!” You huffed as you folded your arms.

“Oh no? Then explain this!” Number 1 seethed as he played back footage of Majestzee’s outbursts.

You blinked in surprise. You didn’t realize how much of an impact you actually had on the poor Zim.

“Well?! What do you have to say for yourself?!”

The sound of Number 1’s impatient growl woke you from your thoughts.

“I didn’t do anything wrong! It’s not my fault he thinks I’m beautiful!” You countered.

“Oh so he thinks you’re beautiful does he?! I thought I told you that you belonged to me! No one else is allowed to have you! Do you hear me?! NO. ONE!!” Number 1 roared as he banged on your cage, drool firing in all directions.

“Like I said, it’s not my fault! Just because someone thinks I’m beautiful doesn’t mean we’re dating!” You snapped.

“Alright Y/N. To make up for your misbehavior, you are not only going to dance for me but you’re gonna sing too!” Number 1 cackled as he pulled out his remote.

ZAP!

Your cage didn’t open.

“Oops! Wrong button!” Number 1 chuckled as he pressed the correct button.

ZAP!

Your cage finally sprung open.

“There we go!”

Little did Number 1 know, that he had accidentally let his chamber forcefield down.

Noticing that the forcefield was down, Majestzee assumed Number 1 was ready to see him and trotted inside.

However, the moment he saw Number 1 talking to you, Majestzee soon realized that he wasn’t quite ready to see him yet.

He was about to leave when he heard something that made him stop dead in his tracks.

“Really? I gotta sing now too?” You pouted.

“Weeeell, you could always marry me instead!” Number 1 cooed as he slurped up his drool.

Majestzee felt a pang in his chest! Number 1 wanted to marry you?!

Majestzee felt like he shouldn’t be so surprised. After all, you were probably the most beautiful being in the galaxy! So it only made sense that you would be betrothed to Number 1.

Still, the mere thought of you belonging to anyone other than himself made Majestzee sick to his squeedilyspooch!

Majestzee quickly hid behind a pillar to try to regain his composure.

However, you had already noticed Majestzee and were graced with an idea.

“You know what? I think I’ve got a really good song to sing!”

Majestzee let out a sigh of relief. Clearly the whole ‘You could always marry me’ thing was simply an inside joke! Yes! That had to have been the case right?

“Aw, man! I almost had you there! Oh well! Proceed.” Number 1 smiled as he plopped down into his throne.

You took a deep breath and begun to sway your hips a bit.

“I’m not a bad guy. So don’t treat me bad if I’m feeling sad, alright?” You sang as you strutted towards Number 1.

The moment Majestzee heard you sing, his PAK sparked. What a lovely voice!

Number 1 let out an excited giggle as he watched you come closer.

“Please don’t be mad if I don’t smile back, alright?  If I fuck up my words don’t think I’m absurd, alright? Alright?” You patted Number 1’s cheek before strutting back to the center of the room.

“I’m physically exhausted, tired of my knuckles piercing. I’m chewing gum to pass this time, sadness can’t you see it? You’re too busy seeking selfish wishes. Look at how

I’m feeling! You write me up and say it’s love, and I can’t believe it!” Your movements matched the words perfectly.

“Baby, can you meet me tonight, in detention? I can feel your blood pressure rise. Fuck this tension.” Your voice was as smooth as velvet as you discreetly sent a wink Majestzee’s way.

Majestzee’s PAK sparked again as his face turned a darker shade of green.

“Let me crawl up into your mind. Did I mention? Pretending everything is alright is detention. De-Detention De-Detention Pretending everything is alright, is shh… ” You playfully put a finger to your lips.

“You’re like a teacher that doesn’t care about me. Fuck how I feel. As long as I make you happy. I let you do whatever you want to me. You’re the customer I’m chopped meat! I’m chopped meat!”  You sighed as you tried to distract Number 1 from the harsh lyrics with your sensual movements.

And your distraction attempts were indeed successful! For Number 1 was so captivated by you, he didn’t even notice Majestzee slowly poking his head out from behind the pillar to get a better look at you.

“I’m physically exhausted, tired of my knuckles piercing. I’m chewing gum to pass this time, sadness can’t you see it? You’re too busy seeking selfish wishes. Look at how

I’m feeling! You write me up and say it’s love, and I can’t believe it!” You were on the verge of tears but kept your cool.

“Baby can you meet me tonight, in detention? I can feel your blood pressure rise. Fuck this tension!” You discreetly flashed Majestzee a playful grin before falling to your knees.

Majestzee let out an excited chirp but quickly clamped a hand over his mouth once he realized he was being noisy.

“Let me crawl up into your mind. Did I mention? Pretending everything is alright is detention. De-Detention De-Detention Pretending everything is alright, is detention.” You sang as you crawled towards Number 1.

Number 1 sprung up straighter in his throne as his eyes literally lit up.

“I wanna go home but you say ‘now is not the time’ Fuck being all alone in the back of the classroom. Ah,” You sat up a bit and raised your arms above your head.

Number 1 let out a giggle as his neck spasmed with excitement, soaking the ground with drool in the process.

A shudder ran down your spine as you shielded yourself from the storm of drool headed your way.

“Please just leave me alone and stop, trying to say I’ve been out of line. When all I’ve ever asked was to go to the bathroom.” You sighed and you dramatically rose to your feet.

Despite his ever growing excitement, you could tell that Number 1 was starting to catch on to the lyrics.

You decided to turn things up a notch.

You swallowed your pride and strutted up to Number 1’s throne.

You put on the most flirty expression you could muster as you drew closer.

Number 1’s neck spasmed like crazy for a moment as another excited giggle escaped his throat.

You shielded your face from Number 1’s stream of drool as you waited for him to calm down a bit.

Once his neck stopped spasming, you leaned in as close as you could.

Expecting a kiss, Number 1 closed his eyes and puckered his slobbery lips.

However the kiss never came.

Instead you simply tickled him under his chin and strutted back to the center of the room.

Number 1’s eyes popped open as he let out an annoyed pout.

However, his annoyance melted away the moment  you started shaking your hips again.

“Baby can you meet me tonight, in detention? I can feel your blood pressure rise. Fuck this tension!”

“Let me crawl up into your mind. Did I mention? Pretending everything is alright is detention.” You sang as you playfully strutted up to the pillar Majestzee was hiding behind.

“Oh won’t you meet me tonight...” You leaned into Majestzee and gently caressed his cheek before elegantly sliding out from behind the pillar, “I can feel your blood pressure rise...”

Majestzee let out another excited chirp as his worm like tongue fell out of his mouth. His PAK sparked like crazy as he tried to steady his breathing.

You strutted back to the center of the room.

“Pretending everything is alright, is detention.” You whispered as you playfully posed.

Number 1 let out a few whistles as he rapidly applauded you.

Next

[arcanesupern0va]

Rick In The Water - Prologue

Summary: You were best friends with Beth as kids, meaning you knew her family and you developed a crush on her dad. When he left, you picked up the pieces of yourself and Beth, helping her and Jerry raise Summer. Flash forward fifteen years and Rick's back, and you're married to a shitty guy and since Rick isn't a fucking idiot he sees it right away, and despite the conclusion you came to to save yourself the heartache of his leaving, he cares. A lot. (I'm terrible at summaries.) CONTENT WARNING: I'm not kidding when I say you have a shitty husband. There are descriptions of abuse in this fic and I don't want to upset anyone so if that's something that upsets you, please proceed with caution.

A/N: So I posted this on ao3 originally so that’s why there’s an actual freaking prologue and what not. XD I’m posting here so I can hopefully get a little more exposure because I am desperate for validation. CW: Abusive husband af all chapters will be under a read more ^^ Pairing: Rick Sanchez/Reader Word Count: 1569 (don’t worry, this is the only short one.)

My ao3

Masterlist

I’d known Rick since I was a little girl. He very rarely paid me any mind, but I would see him stalk over to the refrigerator to grab a beer out and I couldn’t help but watch him intently. I had always been fascinated by him. The way his hair looked, how he knew so many multiple syllable words… I was infatuated. I was also 12 at the time and Rick was my best friend’s father. I was barely old enough to understand the feelings I had for the much older man. As I got older, I wrote it off as being awestruck. It happened to a lot of my friends, Beth even had a crush on our 7th-grade math teacher. Nothing ever came of it; it was nothing more than a crush.

Calling it a crush didn’t, however, explain the soul-crushing heartbreak that I experienced when he left. I tried to be supportive of Beth; I told myself I was as sad as I was because I could see it hurting my best friend, but my whole entire world had come crashing down. Summer had just been born and one day, he was just gone. I knew Beth blamed herself for “ruining” everything by resigning to have Summer. Whatever awestruck, schoolgirl crush I had brewing for him all but evaporated in the months after that and I went years with only rare moments of reminiscing with Beth that I would even think of her father. Her mother disappeared not long after Rick, having told Beth she needed to find Rick and bring him home.

She never came back either.

Beth, Jerry, and I actively raised Summer during her youngest years. Beth was adamant about making it through veterinary school and while I did work nights, I was there during the days and my nights off helping Jerry take care of the small human he and my friend created. Once Beth graduated, it was my turn to do something with my life. More than likely inspired by repressed memories of the man that left us, I found myself interested in mixing chemicals and making fantastic creations with them. As I hadn’t had time to go get a bachelors and a couple of PhDs, I settled for beauty school. It was minuscule in comparison to some of the things I’d seen Rick be capable of, but it satiated  that need I had to emulate things I’d seen him do.

You might be wondering right now, why I was so inspired by my best friend’s dad, as opposed to say, my own family. To put it bluntly, they weren’t the greatest kind of people. My father was abusive and my mother did little to stop this. My only reprieve was they were ecstatic to have me out of the house for days at a time. Beth’s mom seemed to understand this and maybe even see past the paper-thin lies I’d feed her about why I didn’t want to go home. They welcomed me graciously into their home, allowing me to stay as long as I needed, no questions asked. In one act of begrudging kindness, Rick relocated his work out into the garage. He mumbled something about how it’d probably be safer to have it outside of the main structure of the house, but I could see the sadness and pity in his eyes whenever he looked at me. Beth’s mom found some furniture and before I even knew it, I had a room in my best friend’s house that was completely my own. No one to come barging in unexpectedly screaming about a minor inconvenience that didn’t even involve me. I would go weeks without going “home”. My ‘parents’ barely even noticed. In the weeks leading up to me turning eighteen, I slowly started moving things that had sentimental value to Beth’s place, my new home, and on my eighteenth birthday, I said goodbye and never looked back.

Jumping forward again, shortly after I graduated from beauty school, I met a man named Ryan Dawes. He was five years older than me and a lawyer. He was kind to me and he always knew what he wanted and I was the object of his affection. I fell hard and fast and before I knew it, we were planning baby showers and a small intimate wedding. Jerry loved Ryan but Beth had always been apprehensive of him. I ignored it, telling myself she was just jealous that she wouldn’t have me at her beck and call all the time. I never came out and said this to her, but it was a thought that tickled my subconscious and caused a rift between the two of us for the longest time. Still, Ryan helped me buy the house to the left of Beth’s, cementing us central figures in each other’s lives. My daughter Madison was born and I was overjoyed. I loved her little face so much and I treasured every moment with her.

Shortly after she was born, my life seemed to be slipping out of my hands. I was suffering from a particularly nasty bout of postpartum depression and it was driving me away from my family. That was the first time Ryan ever got violent with me. I had dragged Beth out for a night of binge drinking when Madison was 3. I wanted to relive the better years of my life when we didn’t have so many looming responsibilities and we were young and free. When I came home completely plastered, Ryan was livid. He berated me for leaving him home alone with Madison while I was off galavanting with God knows who. I tried to tell him that I was just out with Beth and something about my tone warranted a heavy-handed backhand that knocked me to the ground. He began blaming me for making him do that because sometimes I just made him so mad. I apologized profusely at the time, telling him I would fix everything if he’d still have me. Looking back now, I’m disgusted with myself for valuing myself so lowly but I was in a very dark place. He promised he’d never do it again, finally apologizing after hours of listening to me sobbing..

He lied.

The next thirteen years of my life were a personal hell. As I’ve stated, he lied, and he lied hard. We kept up appearances in the neighborhood and for Beth and Jerry but at home, privately, he became a monster. Everything was my fault. I was the reason his meetings with clients would go awry. I would have made some passive aggression that he would carry through the day and wouldn’t be able to focus. He would push me around, knocking me into furniture and leaving me to cry for hours wondering how I’d left my life get this bad. I couldn’t talk to Beth about it, she was having her own marital strife with Jerry. She didn’t need my drama. I’d been here before though, except then I had the option of just disappearing. Ryan always needed to know where I was at all hours of the day.

One afternoon, during a particularly nasty fight, Beth knocked on the door, a hurried version of her identifying knock we’d made up as kids. Ryan relented, recognizing it was a neighbor who didn’t need to see our personal issues gesturing aggressively to the door and I hurried over to answer it. I was shocked to see a teary-eyed Beth smiling widely at me.

“He’s home. Dad came home” was all she said before grabbing my hand and dragging me to her house. I turned apologetically to Ryan, knowing that I would have to pay for this transgression later. I couldn’t believe my eyes when we came around the side of her garage. There he stood, looking disgruntled as ever.

Rick.

“Oh hey Nova,” he greeted me with the childhood nickname that had taken precedence over my legal name. I could feel tears welling up in my own eyes and I fought every urge I had to wrap my arms around the tall, lanky man standing in the driveway with me. My urge was quelled as I saw Ryan pop around the garage to investigate my disappearance.

“Honey…. Who’s this?” he asked evenly, looking Rick up and down. I quickly explained to him who he was and his smile relaxed as though any line of threat had been extinguished. He shook his hand sharply, Rick eyeing the man up and down as he introduced himself. His eyes flicked back to me and I could have sworn I saw a flicker of concern in his pale, tired eyes.

That night as I lay in bed, I couldn’t help but think about Rick. I was still completely and utterly shocked that he had returned. He barely looked any different than the day he left though. I would soon come to discover that this was a result of his interdimensional traveling. There were unlimited possibilities open to him and he would later explain his absence with them. It also would explain how a seventy-year-old man could look like he was barely passed his thirties. “Alien technology” was the only explanation that I got for that, but it made my heart rush. Regardless of whatever schoolgirl crush, I’d had on the man, that was gone out of the window, replaced instead by a legitimate lust.

+Ch1: Second Chance+