#there's enough horrifying shit coming out of the White House that is true enough

[loveinhawkins]

The first notes of Eddie’s guitar solo tear through The Upside Down; Steve watches in horrified fascination as the bats follow the noise, as they form a thick, black cloud, like a plague of locusts.

And it hits him then that he simply cannot set one foot inside the Creel House.

“Nance,” he says. His voice cracks.

She turns to look at him, and suddenly she isn’t a vengeful warrior with a sawn-off shotgun: she’s just a girl who lost her best friend, who has spent years haunted by ‘what if…?’

“Trust your gut,” she says firmly, and that’s all he needs.

He spends a fleeting second squeezing Robin’s hand, just to steady him, and then he’s running back to the trailer.

The one thing that reassures him is that Eddie and Dustin are perfectly on time, the song cutting off just as they planned. Now run, you two, Steve thinks, as his chest burns with the effort, get inside and be safe, be safe, be safe.

But then he reaches the trailer, and he knows that something’s wrong.

Because the bats are clustered in one spot on the roof, scrabbling over the top of one another, and it makes him think of flies descending on roadkill.

He gets past all the wire and defences, and none of them take any notice. He pushes the front door open with the force of his shoulder, slams it shut again, makes sure it sticks.

And then he hears screaming.

He whips around to find Eddie driving his spear through a bat with a guttural cry. He’s on the floor, his upper body shielding something.

And then Steve sees Dustin. Dustin on the ground. Dustin bleeding.

No.

He sprints across and covers Dustin, too, slotting next to Eddie to form a complete shelter.

“Steve,” Eddie whispers, and his face is ashen. “Fuck, it’s the vents, they’re in the fucking vents. I tried to—D-Dustin—I wasn’t quick enough, Christ, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—”

And he keeps repeating that, as if feverish, striking out again with the spear as another bat swoops for them. His aim is true, but that doesn’t matter now. It’s too late.

Steve looks down at the wound on Dustin’s thigh, at the blood spilling out relentlessly. And as Eddie cups Dustin cheek, pleads, “Stay awake, H-Henderson, you hear me? Dustin? Dustin, please,” Steve spots the bite on Eddie’s wrist. It’s barely anything, just a nick.

But it’s enough. Steve knows that it doesn’t matter how fast he is—the bats will just keep coming. They’re on the scent, to hunt. To devour. And his wounds are dried up. Old.

Fresh blood dripping from Eddie’s wrist. Dustin’s bloody leg.

Oh, you’re going to die, Steve thinks. Both of you.

Then he thinks Well, fuck that.

He flings off his jacket, wraps it tight around Dustin’s thigh. Dustin whimpers, eyelids fluttering.

“Shit, sorry, bud,” Steve whispers. “I know it hurts, I know, I know…”

Underneath the screech of more bats, he presses a brief, fierce kiss to Dustin’s forehead, pushes back his sweaty curls. I love you.

Eddie takes out another pair of bats in quick succession, slamming them with his shield—narrowly avoids their tails wrapping around his wrist. His luck won’t last forever, Steve knows that.

So he just has to be quicker.

He rips the end of his shirt with his teeth, pushes the torn fabric into Eddie’s hand.

“Eddie. Eddie, listen,” he says urgently. “It’s the blood, okay? They’re coming for the blood.”

Eddie wraps the fabric around his wrist as if on autopilot, eyes wide with fear.

“It’s the blood,” Steve repeats, as calmly as he can. “You’ve gotta stop the bleeding, okay? You can do that.”

Eddie nods jerkily, and some of his panic fades away, replaced with a white hot determination. He sets his jaw.

“Hey, Dustin?” Steve says. Tries to be gentle while raising his voice, praying it breaks through the pain-induced fog. “Eddie’s got you, okay?”

“Yeah,” Eddie chokes out. “I’ve got you, Henderson.”

His hand strokes through Dustin’s hair, too, and God, Steve trusts him. Trusts him so damn much.

Trusts him enough for this.

Steve jerks his head upwards to the gate. “Stop the bleeding. Get him home.”

Eddie nods again, but a wrecked laugh comes out. He ducks as another bat breaks in; Steve temporarily takes the spear, kills it without flinching.

“Jesus! How the fuck are we supposed to do that, Harrington? There’ll be hordes of those fuckers in a minute.”

“You’ll be fine,” Steve says. He discreetly pats at his pockets. Feels the handle of the switchblade. Touches Dustin one last time, a palm across his brow. “Look after him.”

“Hey, I—I don’t like your tone, man,” Eddie says. “We’re looking after him, together. Together, all right? Fucking promise me, Harrington.”

“You promised me first, remember? Stop the bleeding, get him home.”

“No, no, no, Steve, don’t you fucking dare—”

But Steve is already heading outside. He locks the door behind him, just in case, but he already knows Eddie can’t leave—won’t leave Dustin behind. There’s a thump at the door, a desperate jiggling of the handle. Steve shouldn’t look behind. He shouldn’t.

But, God. He can’t help it.

Through the glass, he can see Eddie standing there, breathing raggedly. Terrified.

Steve can’t hear him through the cacophony of the bats’ cries, the thunder and lightning. But he can read his lips.

Don’t. Please don’t.

Steve brings out the blade. Slashes it right across his palm.

Eddie screams.

I’m sorry, Eddie, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what else to do.

Steve runs. He grins savagely as he hears the bats following him, all of them, like he’s the fucking Pied Piper of Hamelin.

Yeah, that’s right, you sons of bitches. Steve laughs through a searing pain in his side. You’ve already had a taste. Come and get me.

[feathered-moths-ablaze]

Anyone want my Jimmy Casket headcannons?

Jimmy and Sally are two of my favourite characters out of the lot, each for the opposite side of the scale.

I love Sally the way she is. I don't have alot of headcannon for her because I just loved how she was in the videos. While she wasn't the most serious, She's not completely naive to everything around her, and could absolutely be a little shit when she felt like it. The Alyx Vance playermodel fit her so well too- my neurodivengent ass loves the 6ft waffle-loving tomboy.

Jimmy, on the other hand, is great to dip into the headcannon soup: we barely know anything about him other than his name and what he wants to do. You can pull him in so many directions! Is he a demon bent on murder or a child corrupted by death? What's his and Johnny's history? Why does he want to kill? What's the secret he's hiding? Does Gregory fit into any of this?

2016-18 me loved him for edgy reasons and 2023 me loves him for nostalgia, so here's my headcannons for him, for how he came to be, relationships with others, and any extras.

god this took like 3 days holy shit

Life

1800s

Gregory Casket was born in the 1800s, an only child, to Lacey and Nathan Casket. It was long and tedious pregnancy, with many complications, but they managed pulled through, their son in tow. After all of that, they both thought that everything would be fine, and they could take care of their little Gregory.

They were wrong. When Gregory was nearing a year old, a shaded creature attacked the parents during the night. Lacey suffered a shash to the neck and Nathan lost an arm and chest in a bid to save his family. The creature was about to leave when it heard the cries of a baby from the upper rooms. Following the cries led it to Gregory, crying from all the noise downstairs.

When police got to the house minutes later, they found two dead bodies, and a lost child. Two days later, all three were pronounced dead.

With Cardboard Friend

It fled to a rundown house, carrying the baby in its arms. It doesn't know what urged it to care for him, but now it has a kid. Making sure he was comfy enough to fall back asleep, the creature was thinking hard about the sudden task it brought upon itself. First things first, the kid can never know the truth. About his family, about it, about the outside world.

With how young he was, Gregory would never know who his parents were, so there was one thing scratched off. It had heard about some new thing made in England - Cardboard. Maybe that can help cover up some things.

Now for outside. Of course he'll get curious about what lies beyond the trees, and start asking questions... The idea sparked in its head: Lie! Just give little white lies. It'll satisfy his questions without risking more!

So Gregory grew up believing that he was dead, that he was a sort of purgatory to grow up until he was old enough to leave, and that Cardboard Friend was here to take care of him. He never questioned why CBF Never went out in the rain, or why he wasn't allowed in the woods. She was here to take care of him! She knew best!

Until she got wet, and spilled the truth. It shattered him to the core. Everything wasn't true? What about the trees? The house? Himself?! Horrified, he fled, ignoring her cries to come back. To let her explain herself better.

He ran into the woods, and never came back out. Cardboard Friend found him a week later, dead from eating poisonous berries.

1900s

Gregory was only 5 when he died for real. His ageing slowed down to a crawl, so growing up despite being dead was horrible. Unable to ask for help was just as bad, as no-one could see or hear him.

He spent time watching the world around him, trying to talk to kids of similar age to him (with no luck), having multiple Existential Crisis from being a ghost at a young age

Everything changed when he found Ghost.

He was a little younger than him, and blabbling to the cat plushie he had about anything he could think of. Casket responded like it was a conversation, not expecting him to stop and face him. They were both very surprised who he asked who he was and he responded, "er um... Jimmy!"

"... Hi Jimmy. :D"

They soon became friends. Ghost could often be seen talking to thin air or the cat plushie that his mother just caulked it up to imaginary friend, with some of her friends playfully teasing him about "your new friend" at times. Jimmy did not like those comments whenever he heard them. He isn't anything like Cardboard Friend! He is real! He just looks a little funny. Don't listen to them Johnny, please!

However, he was the one to get Johnny curious about the paranormal growing up. After all, if he is real, but only he can see him, then he's a ghost, right? So how does being a ghost work?

They stayed as friends until Ghost met Toast through a late start to school and he started hanging out with him more and more over the years. Jimmy got very jealous over this, not willing to share friendships. This jealousy only helped to drive Ghost away, and spark the argument that made Johnny tell him to leave him alone. He's done with him and his nonexistent ass. Jimmy, very hurt and angry, does so since he can't convince Ghost otherwise, but not before threatening his return.

First kill

Jimmy had become very spiteful in the time between the argument and his return. He felt hurt ok?! He's lost his only friend to some posh British dude, everyone thinks he's someone's mind figments, and he doesn't know how to prove them otherwise! God sometimes he felt like punching people in the face.

His spite and desire for violence built up and up until he couldn't take it anymore. One dusk, when Ghost was fast asleep, Jimmy came back. He borderline pounced on him in order to scare him awake - next thing he know he was in Ghost's body. It was a massive shock, seeing his brown eyes go wide back at him with a greenish hint in the mirror. After being dead for so long, having a body again was... amazing. After the shock had worn off, he started cackling, still starting at his reflection in near manic ecstasy.

But his moment was cut short when Ghost's mother, who was making dinner in the kitchen, came into the room wondering why her son was suddenly laughing like a Kookaburra.

Jimmy was not about to let go of his body after a short time, so he bolted out, trying to get away. He ended up in the kitchen, with the mother trying to talk to (who she thinks is) Johnny about what's going on with him.

The knife left on the counter was within arm's reach, and it was a split-second decision that ended up with him plunging it into her chest, killing her.

He just stared. Just yesterday, he couldn't do anything, and now he's killed someone. He has actually killed someone! Someone is Dead! Because of him!

Something in him that had been cracking for years finally snapped as the laughter came back, louder and with more ferocity. Gregory Jimmy Casket was back, and he's making damn well sure noone's forgetting him when he's done.

When he got kicked out of control, he watched as Johnny freaked out at the sight of his dead mother and the bloody knife in his hand, frantically running to the landline to call Toast, but he didn't reveal himself, drinking in his panic. What happened that night will be his own little secret.

Current days

Compared to where he started off, he's alot stronger thanks to all the murder. So strong in fact, he could just make himself a physical form and just leave Johnny, but he's gotten used to being the voice within Ghost's mind, plus it's more energy efficient, so he stays.

Physical Appearance

(Please read first: while I do have eye refs, here's no full body ref sheet because I hated how it looked, and felt that typing it out would be easier.)

Jimmy is pale, very scrawny and short, littered with scars up to the eyeballs, but makes up for it in agility and flexibility. His hair is a brown rat's nest; at first it was thick and long due to it not getting cut, but at some point it was getting in the way, so he cut it himself. He did a terrible job at it, but it stays out of the way so it works for him.

He wears very simple and comfy clothing: a jacket that definitely didn't start off as a dark crimson and a white t-shirt. Both are obviously near falling apart with the amount of damage, missing bits, stains and stitches they're embroidered with. The jeans he has are equally ruined, main details being the massive holes at knee level and the scruffy leg openings. Jimmy runs around barefoot.

He's dirty from old blood and dirt, especially around his hands, knees and teeth. It's at the point that his hands and claws/nails are permanently stained with a red and earthly hue.

His bloodshot eyes, once a soft gray blue, are now a hard red. Like other ghosts, they act like cats eyes, with pupils reflecting any light shined into them. This also carries on to possession.

Eye ref here

When a spirit, Ghost sees Jimmy as himself but more ragged and red eyed.

Attack types

Standard: the one he's most know for - chasing down victims while laughing all the way. He asks about his secret as a way to startle and distract so he can get a window to attack. It's like a game to him, and has easily won multiple times. Doesn't make the rush any less however.

Rage: this happens when he can't find his victim or by certain people. He's alot more destructive and focused, and will make more of a mess with his stabbings when he finds them. It's not a game anymore; it's a hunt.

Chill: sometimes he has the energy to kill, but not the energy to chase. So he'll stalk, staying quiet and light on his feet until he's right behind them, stabbing them fast and tight in the virals.

Relationships

Johnny Ghost - Neutral. Jimmy loves messing with him, but he also does hold a bit of fondness for him. They were friends once, after all.

Johnny Toast - Negative/Neutral. While he absolutely hates him, he has bigger fish to fry first before Toast is on the chopping block

Sally Acachalla - Negative. She's one of few who's managed to fight him off, so he both dislikes her and is scared of her. Bonus is that Jimmy won't target any of the Acachallas because of her.

Maxwell Acachalla - positive. They teamed up through scaring Ghost that one mission, and now they're friends! Through there are times where they seem to be more Father/Son.

Cardboard Friend - Negative. Never put them in the same room. Jimmy will go into a blind rage and attack her for everything she did to him. He'll be screaming in Ghost's head trying to cause a blackout just so he can get a chance for revenge.

Gavin Toast - ???. Sicko4Sicko. Jimmy is alot more friendlier and chattier with Gavin. Gavin is very suspicious about it though: does he actually like him or is this a trick to drop his guard down? Well, he's peaking his head over your shoulder; you'd already be dead if he wanted to.

Extra Info I can't fit anywhere else

Are Johnny and Jimmy related? Kinda. Nathan did have a brother that continued the Casket line, which produced Timothy Casket, then Johnny Ghost. The reason why Johnny doesn't share the same name is because Timothy took his wife's name, and offended, the in-laws disowned him. So by blood? They're distantly related through Nathan and his brother. By the eyes of the law? They're not.

He's a few inches shorter than Ghost, and doesn't get why Ghost hates being short. Your a harder target to hit why are you complaining?

He has eaten people. He will eat people. Multiple bodies have been chewed on. He was hungry. Why do you think his teeth are stained red?

He makes cat sounds. He will growl and hiss if angry/frustrated, might purr in his sleep (if lucky), and sometimes go 'mrrrp?' when something grabs his attention. Why? Because he wants to.

Can't stay still

While only Ghost and Gavin are the only ones that can see him, other can kinda sense him. If you feel eyes on your back or like your being watched, it's Jimmy.

Don't call him Gregory. Only CBF called him that, so you'll just send him into a rage, thinking that CBF is nearby.

He won't eat anything with 'Berry' in the name (Blueberry, Strawberry ect.)

Currently, Jimmy looks in his early 20s, while Johnny is in his late 20s/early 30s. Even with slow aging he has been around for over 200 years. He looked around 9/10 when 5-year-old Johnny first met him.

During Secondary school, Ghost clung onto Toast like a lifeline through all the stress he was dealing with, like the death of his mother, no home, and dealing with 'blackouts'. The classes that they didn't share (English and Biology) was when Jimmy showed up instead. English bored him so he acted out, but Biology was especially interesting to him and it became his favourite subject. It's why he's efficient at killing; he did 5 years of research.

[shinobicyrus]

So apparently a fake excerpt from Fire and Fury: Inside the Trump White House is going around describing our Illustrious Leader watching a ‘gorilla-channel’ that staffers rushed to set up for him on his bedroom TV. 

The phony excerpt was a joke, but it went viral. Right-wing newsites are harping about how gullible stupid anti-Trump liberals are and academics sigh at the supposed death of free-thought and lack of critical thinking, but I think both sides have lost the major point here:

The originator of the “screenshot,” cartoonist Ben Ward, tried to make it an obvious joke. The problem was, had it been literally any other president, it would have been.

The fact that millions of people can read a fake passage from a book detailing the President of the Goddamn United States bullying White House staff into creating a gorilla fight club channel for him to watch for hours at time isn’t a symptom of a society’s partisan echo chamber, it’s a horrifying sign that when looking at Trump’s behavior and personality, even an “obvious” parody is worringly plausible. 

[amor-immortalem]

I Could Care Less (About You)

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

A/N: I wanted to write something around the time when Arella first got to the devildom. We all know Mammon didn't like the MC very much. It's my own thoughts that he was especially mean in those first few weeks up until they made the pact and I kind of wanted to explore that in terms of his and Arella's relationship.

It all started with small acts of kindness. Taking the fall for him when items would go missing so he wouldn’t get strung up from the ceiling, saving a plate for him when he was late for dinner, letting him copy her homework when he didn’t finish his in time. Mammon can’t understand it. He and this human hardly know anything about each other but here she is, doing little things that would make his life just a little bit easier. Hell, he’d even stolen multiple objects of value from Arella and yet she never ratted him out to his brother despite knowing damn well who did it. She just let it slide.

If he’s being honest, it scares him. Did she like him that much or could she possibly want from something from him? Mammon was sure she was gearing up to ask for a favor from him. He decided whatever it was he wouldn’t do it. He may have had the task of looking after this human forced upon him by Lucifer but he wasn’t about to sit back and comply with it.

The demon made sure to let the human know what an inconvenience she was to him almost every day- most typically whenever he had to cancel his own plans to escort her around town. She took it like a champ though, never seeming to let it bother her. She was so kind it was almost annoying. Maybe it really didn’t bother her. That must be the only reason she’s pestering him now. He did have to give her credit for her persistence though.

“Come on, Mammon! Lucifer left me in charge of the grocery shopping and I can’t go out alone or I’ll get eaten.” Arella said as she trailed after the Avatar of Greed. Having only been here in the Devildom for only a handful of weeks, she was still actually afraid that a lower demon might make a snack out of her.

“Ask one of my brothers ta take ya. I got plans and you’re not ruinin’ ‘em this time.”

Had any of the other brothers been home, Arella gladly would have asked one of them, but they weren’t- not even Mr. Shut-In himself! It was just her and her insensitive guardian demon.

“They’re not home, you know that.”

“I don’t give a shit, human! You got a phone. Just text ‘em. Now scram! I got a poker game ta get to and you’re holdin’ me up.”

“B-but-”

“Diavolo almighty,” Mammon groans as he turns to her, “I guess ya didn’t hear me clear enough the first time so I’ll say it again nice’ an’ slow for ya so try to keep up, ‘kay? I do not care about you. I hate the fact that I have to babysit ya. You could get eaten and I couldn’t care less. Infact, my life would be considerably easier if ya weren’t around. Got it?”

“O-Okay,” Arella squeaked under the intensity of the white-haired demon’s gaze. “Understandable, have a good night then.... hope you win a lot.”

“Whatever,” Mammon huffs with a roll of the eyes. “I don’t need your well wishes.” With that, Mammon turns and heads out the door.

As she watched him go, Arella bit her lip to hold back the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. Once she was sure the demon was gone, the human sank down to floor, quiet sobs shaking her small frame. All she wanted was just an hour or two out of his time and he wouldn’t even give her that. She had never felt so resented before in all her 21 years of life- not even when her mother was alive had it ever been this bad. Now, as she wiped at her eyes, it really set in that she was left with no other option but to do this alone- gods forbid she ask one of the others for help and then it somehow get back to Lucifer that Mammon wasn’t doing his job. She would never hear the end of it from the greedy demon.

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

The trip to and from the store had gone smooth enough. No demons had really bothered to pay her any mind, not even when she slipped off one of the higher shelves and smacked her head on the shopping cart resulting in the ugly bruise that had formed on the outer edge of her right eye. Bruises were something Arella was used to covering up, so it would be a simple enough task. She only had a little way left to go before she made it back to the House of Lamentation, but nothing can ever be easy for Arella.

Standing at the gates, blocking her path, was a small pack of demons. She had seen them eyeing her up in the halls at RAD during the passing periods. As they turned to her, Arella panicked- her heart rate skyrocketing as her body screamed at her to run. She wanted to but her feet wouldn’t move. It wasn’t until her brain processed that they were moving did her body actually turn to run. By then it was too late, they were upon her in seconds, knocking her to the ground with a tackle as she struggled and let out a scream.”

“Lookit you,” the one she presumed to be the leader smiled as he brushed some of the hair away from her face. “You sure do look tasty. I wonder where we should start first with you... dark or light meat?” He took a hold of her wrist, pulling it toward his mouth. He was about to bite down when...

“Hey! The fuck do the five of ya think you’re doing?!” The Avatar of Greed snarls as he watches the scene unfold in front of him. He had been in a good night after having won nearly all the games he’d played tonight before decided to call it quits- now it was soured. “Ya know what? I’m feelin’ generous tonight, so I’ll give y’all five seconds to get off that stupid human before I gut ya and string ya up by your entrails.”

He only needed until the count of one and a change into his demon form before the pack of demons made the right choice and booked it. The Avatar of Greed let out an irritated sigh as he walked over to Arella and hoisted her up by the arm.

“You’re fucking lucky, ya know that, girly? If I didn’t come home when I did, you’d be dead right now. How are you that damn stupid, huh?”

“’m sorry, I-,” Her voice was small and a little bit slurred as she tried to get her footing.

“I don’t wanna hear any excuses, right now. Just get inside the house go lay down or somethin’- whatever it is that you humans do ta calm down.” He gave her a bit of a rough shove and she scrambled for the doors while he gathered up the bags she had dropped and brought them inside the house.

Arella made a beeline for her room and curled up under the covers. Her headache from the fall earlier was even worse and now her arm was hurting from the strength of Mammon’s grip when he pulled her up from the ground.

“I want to go home....” she sniffled quietly into her pillow. “I should have never done this.”

The human thought she’d find a place for herself on this exchange programme but now she thinks this was all a big mistake. She had no idea what exactly she was signing up for only that something in the back of her mind yelling at her to do so. These last few weeks had done nothing but to serve her late mother’s words as true: that she was trash and so deserved to be treated as such.

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

Out in the kitchen, Mammon is unloading and putting away the groceries that weren’t crushed or broken after the incident outside when he came across a bag filled exclusively with cup noodles. There had to have been at least twenty of them that she had managed to cram into the bag- all in his favorite flavor no less. A look of surprise crossed his face. He had only mentioned this in passing to her once before and he wondered how she managed to get her hands on them as this specific flavor was kept on the top shelf of that section. Not something that would be a problem for someone as tall as himself but for her? She was 4’11”! She would have had to scale the shelfs just to have even the smallest chance of reaching them.

Setting the package of cup noodles he was holding down, Mammon looked to Arella’s door before looking back to the noodles. Again, those questions rang in his head. Just what was her deal? He thinks, she’s always doin’ all these favors for me and never asks for anything in return from me. Well, no I can’t say that... She did ask one thing of me and that was ta go grocery shoppin’ with her because she was afraid ta go alone- for me ta do the one job Lucifer assigned me and I essentially told her ta fuck off. The demon thinks back to their earlier exchange- how he could see the fear in her eyes and the tears that were starting to form right before he left. Great.... Now I feel guilty... I should probably go apologize and see if I can get her to stay quiet ‘bout this whole thing...

Knocking on the door- something the demon hardly ever did- Mammon waited for a response. When he didn’t get one, he just let himself in. “Arella I-!” He stopped as there was there was a noticeable flinch from under the covers.

“I’m sorry!” She squeaked out, “Don’t hurt me.”

He raised an eyebrow at her response. Did she really think he was going to hurt her somehow? Well, all things considered, the demon can’t say he’s really all that surprised. He grabs the ends of the duvet and yanks it off of her, watching as Arella curls up and raises her arms to shield her head as if readying herself for blows that would never come.

Mammon knows that response all too intimately from the times where Lucifer would beat the ever-loving fuck out of him for indulging in his sin.

“Hey, calm down, okay. I ain’t gonna lay a hand on ya like that. Not only would Lucifer have my head, but I ain’t about beatin’ up on girls anyway.” He kneels down at the side of her bed and is horrified to see an ugly bruise marring the skin beside her eye. She does eventually calm down and pulls her arms away from her head after a few minutes of nothing happening. “Atta girl, now look at me,”

When Arella does open her pupils are dilated and now the demon is a little concerned. Humans’ pupils aren’t supposed to be that dilated, are they? That would mean... Mammon fishes his D.D.D. out of his pocket and shines the flashlight right in her eyes.

“What the fuck, Mammon!” Arella recoils as she hides her face once more and Mammon turns the flashlight off. “You’re such an ass!”

“I knew it.” He tsks, “When did you hit your head? Was it when those idiots tackled you to the ground or did you fall off one of the selves at the store?”

“I didn’t hit my head!” The human retorts, “I’m fine, my head just hurts.”

“Ya got a concussion, ya dumb human! Now out with it. Ya very obviously fell and I wanna know when it happened and how high you fell from!” For someone who couldn’t care less about her, he’s surprisingly concerned right now. If she slipped off one of the shelves at the store, he would be in hot water with Lucifer.

“I said I’m fine!” Arella abruptly stood up, swaying as she did, glaring daggers at the white-haired demon who looked up at her with a look of shock. Where did his docile little human go? “And what do you care anyway!? You said it yourself: You hate me and I’m just an inconvenience to you!”

“Now hold on a tick, I never said that exactly. You’re puttin’ words in my mouth. And you’re gonna fall standin’ on the bed like that. You’re already wobblin’.” he may not have said the part about hating her outright but at the very least he heavily implied it.

“Just get out of my ro-” She let out a yelp as she went toppling forward and the demon rushed to catch her. She landed slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“See I told ya you were gonna fall.” He huffed as he readjusted her while she pounded her fists against his back, struggling against his hold on her as he headed back out to the kitchen.

“Mammon, you put me down this instant! I’m not a sack of flour!”

“Stop being a brat and let me help ya!” The Avatar of Greed says as he places her on the island counter top. “Now stay there while I get you some ice for that bruise and some medicine for that headache of yours.”

Arella just sits there in shock of what he said. He wanted to... help her? That was new. She’s drawn out of her thoughts a few minutes later when she feels of bag of ice being pressed against the bruise. She let out a hiss as she tries to move away from it but it’s then that she notices his hand holding the other side of her face so she can’t move all that much.

“Quit squirming, will ya. It’s just a bag of ice.” He looks into her eyes before shifting the bag of ice over and running his thumb over the outside of her eye socket. “Doesn’t feel like anything’s busted in there. Ya got off lucky, kid... here take these.” he has a pill in his hand

“I’m not a kid,” Arella puffs her cheeks out in a pout. “Why’re you doing this when you said earlier that you didn’t care about me...?” she takes the medicine with a swig of water.

“Don’t get it twisted. I’m only doing this because if Lucifer finds out that you went to the store without me, I’ll be hanging from my toes for the next of the week. I’d rather not have a concussion of my own from getting dropped on my head when he decides I learned my lesson.”

“I won’t tell him if you don’t...” she says softly, “You don’t have to be nice to me. I know I don’t deserve it...”

“Huh?”

“N-nothing.”

“Now hold on there,” The demon says as he moves the bag back to where it was before, “You’re not gonna speed past that and act like ya didn’t just say what ya just said.”

“It’s nothing really,” Arella eyes dart around looking everywhere but Mammon’s. “Let’s just change the subject.”

“Alright, you can answer my earlier question then. How did you fall?”

“I slipped while climbing down from one of the shelving units at the store.... and smacked my head on the shopping cart.”

“No offense, but you’re kinda dumb. You were tryin’ ta get those noodles down, weren’t ya? You could have just grabbed whatever was at eye level or in your reach. You would have been an easy meal for a demon if you had passed out.”

“I know,” She sighed. “But that flavor is your favorite and I got everybody else’s favorites. It wouldn’t have been fair to not get yours.”

“It ain’t worth a concussion, short stack.” Once he’s sure she won’t move away, he lowers his hand from the side that isn’t icing the bruise and places it over hers. “Thanks though. And... I’m sorry for what I said earlier. I didn’t think you’d actually go out and try to get yourself eaten because I said I wouldn’t care.”

“I mean, that wasn’t my goal,” She sighed. “But I guess that’s the mess I got myself into huh?”

“Ya wouldn’t have if I would have done my job and gone with ya...” He scoots her over and then hops up on the island counter next to her. “I don’t get you, ya know...”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re too nice to me. I’ve been a jackass ta ya but you never seem to let it bother ya. You’re always coverin’ for me when I steal things from the house ta sell and you never said anything after I stole that necklace and other things from you. You save my plate at dinner when I don’t make it right away and you’ve lied right ta Lucifer’s face on multiple accounts for me... why? Why do you do these things?”

“I just wanted you to be nice to me. I know I just kind of got forced on you...  I thought maybe if I extended the olive branch first, we could be at least somewhat civil with each other... but no matter what I did, it didn’t change the way you treated me so I just kept pushing harder and harder to see if maybe...”

“I get what you’re sayin’...” he hummed. “Let’s start over then... I’ll look out for ya for the rest of the year if you’ll forgive me... It would be ta both of our benefit.”

She nodded as he hopped down from the counter. “Alright, let’s go then.”

“Go? Go where?”

“Back ta the store, some of the stuff ya bought got damaged when those demons attacked ya.”

“Oh... Alright... This isn’t some kind of trick, is it? You’re not going to ditch me, are you?”

“Nah, I won’t. And if anybody wants to eat ya, they’ll have to go through me, first. Got it?” he says as holds his hand out to her. She hesitantly took it and he tugged her along after him as they headed out. She hopes that maybe they could even become friends at some point. That maybe- just maybe- this is a turning point for them.

Find more writings on my masterlist

[jinpanman]

All I Want Is You(ngi)

pairing: yoongi x reader

wc: 2.5k

genre: pg15, fluff, established relationship

warnings: alcohol consumption

summary: Yoongi takes his baby out to sing karaoke the night before Christmas with the two Seoks. It’s a riot with drunken caroling (read: hollering) but he's so in love that he doesn't care.

a/n: My part of the SNOWLLAB with a super lovely bunch. Pls do yoself a favor and read everyone’s stories when they drop cause I promis it’ll be amazing. <3 A big thank you to Willow for pulling this crew together. A big thank you to Willow for the prompt inspo. A big thank you to Willow for creating the banner. A big thank you to Willow for beta reading my lil story and fixing up all the lil pieces and praising me….. So basically this is one big love letter to Willow. Thanks for being the best and most amazing little holibean 💙💚

sequel: Will You(ngi) Marry Me? 

Here he is now, currently regretting his inability to ever say no to your whims as he watches you skip with a couple of slips and twisted ankles along the way to the front of the small darkened room and snatch the mic off its stand. You’re bent over the karaoke machine, clumsily swiping the screen to find the song you want. After several more swipes, you squeal excitedly... and then he hears it. The reason for your excitement. The all too familiar jingling of church and sleigh bells elicits an embarrassed groan from him. You turn to face your small audience and after taking an unreasonably deep breath, you close your eyes and sing.

“I… don’t want a lot for Christmas. There is just one thing I need…”

“Sing it girl!” Hoseok cheers, thrusting a newly opened glass bottle into the air.

“Aaall I want for Christmas…”

“WHAT DO YOU WANT Y/N?!” Hoseok shrieks over the music.

“...iiiiiiss YOOOOUU...NGIII!!!” You hunch over to belt out the last note and your hair falls over your face but he doesn’t need to see you to know your features are scrunched up in order to sing past your lung capacity.

Yoongi very much wants to curl in the corner to hide from your unabashed love, but alas you, Hoseok, and Seokjin would never let him live it down, so instead he sits there trying (and failing) to fight the shy smile that overtakes his features. Even as the music grows louder, Yoongi can hear Seokjin laughing and slapping Hoseok’s thighs on the other side of the booth. 

Oh god. It was a bad idea. He knew it was a bad idea to have agreed to go out to karaoke with Seokjin and Hoseok, but you had begged and begged him and he was but a weak man when it came to you.

“I should have remembered it’s never a normal holiday with this crew.” He moans into his hands.

A hand roughly pats him on his shoulder. He peeks through his fingers to the portrait of a grinning Jin, now beside him. The man extends an unopened bottle of alcohol out to him.

“You sure you don’t want a drink, man? I know you drove but I don't mind chauffeuring you both home and taking a cab from there.”

“Nah, I’m good. We can’t both be stupid drunk when we get home. We might burn the house down then you’d have to waste even more money to come collect our bodies.”

Jin snorts at his remark. “Touché.”

The two of them lay back against the bench cushion and watch with horrified amusement as a wobbly Hoseok makes his way to you. The rambunctious (and very buzzed) duo up on the little stage drop to their knees and Yoongi balks at the way the two of you obscenely shake your butts to the very cheery tune of Mariah Carey’s biggest holiday hit. Sober Hoseok was always a delight. Even Yoongi didn’t mind busting out a few moves every now and then with him. Drunk Hoseok, though, he was a different animal altogether. Insatiable, he was, and he was the perfect hype man for drunk you.

Yoongi makes eye contact with you and now that you’ve got his attention, you reach out your free hand towards him and beckon him over with the curl of your finger. His heart goes a-hammering away without his permission. Yoongi, a fool in love, lets himself be pushed out of his seat and like a man lost at sea, he’s pulled closer and closer to the siren who sings the song meant to be his undoing. 

Except that the siren is you and your slurred singing is not at all alluring or seductive. He smiles at your pitiful attempt at fluttering your lashes at him. Despite your inability to entice him with your song and your sensual form, he still jumps overboard. He jumps and dives headfirst into the ocean that is your freely given love. All for him. Even a horrendous, throaty snort does nothing to unwind the unintentional spell you've cast on him. He faintly hears the two men squealing like children behind him, but all he can hear, all he can see is you.

“Make my wish come true! All I want for Christmas is you! Yoongi, baby!”

He can’t help but giggle at the way you serenade him, with your terribly exaggerated airy voice, but he loves it all the same. He loves you and all the surprises and jolly that comes with loving you.

Both you and Hoseok giggle at each other as Yoongi and Seokjin try to guide the two of you out of the building. Hoseok clings to his partner but his free hand is held tight in your grip, much to Yoongi’s chagrin. You’re both so wobbly and walking together is no help to either him or Jin. 

It’s definitely gotten chillier and Yoongi is grateful that you didn’t forget your winter coat tonight. You’re bundled and cosy beside him, with the hood wrapped snug over your head. Your eyes are still glassy and your breathing hasn’t quite recovered from your exuberant singing competition against Seokjin, but that’s okay. You know Yoongi will take care of you. That’s the only reason why you were able to let go so freely tonight anyway, and he takes pride in knowing that you trust him so entirely. He hoists you up into a more comfortable standing position and nods to Jin.

“Merry Christmas, hyung.”

“Merry Chrysler, Yoongichi. Drive home safely!”

Yoongi grimaces and mutters under his breath but Jin merely smiles bigger. With a final wave, he pulls a swaying and incoherent Hoseok close to his side and they walk to their awaiting cab. He would have waited until they got into the car, but you’ve started blowing raspberries on his neck. While he normally wouldn’t mind having your saliva on him, he can feel remnants of soggy pretzel bits flying out of your mouth onto his exposed skin and that is more than enough to kill what could have been a flirtatious mood. He pushes your head away, eliciting a squeaky whine.

“Ah, stop. That’s gross. C’mon, let’s go home.”

It wasn’t too much trouble getting you in and out of the car, but now that you have arrived home, you refuse to step inside your house. You cling onto him like a lifeline, as if you’ll fall to the ground and drown in the air that surrounds you.

“I don’t wanna go home yet, Yoongiii. I feel soooo gross!” You whine, heavily emphasizing on how gross you felt.

“That’s why we’re gonna go inside and shower, baby. So you’re not gross.”

“Oh my goood!” You sob into his shoulder. “You think I’m gross!”

Yoongi sighs and looks into the night sky, pressing his lips tightly together into a forced smile. You continue to wail out in the open and he all but clamps your mouth shut with a press of his finger against your lips.

“Do you wanna go for a walk instead?” You immediately shut up and nod eagerly. “Okay, let’s go walk, honey.”

He knows you’ll complain about the cold in a few minutes, but he’ll deal with that future Y/N when she arrives. They’ve walked a short distance around the complex when he suddenly feels a drop of cold wetness against his cheek. He looks up and notices the flakes of white falling from the sky. He squeezes your hand and points your interlaced hands up.

“Baby, it’s snowing.”

“Oh, shit it’s snowing! Okay.” You perk up at having heard that and untangle yourself from him. “Shit. Let me, let me uh, wait. Here.”

Before he could even begin to guess what you were about to do, you plop yourself right onto the cold grass. You shriek at the burst of cold against your legs but like the diva you think you are, you don’t get up and instead pose for him. Your hands are positioned entirely too close around your face that your eyes are barely visible and your skirt is hiked so far up your hunched legs that he can see your panties. You’re wearing those adorable brown bear ones he knows you think are the most comfortable pair of undies you’ve ever owned. Cute.

“Okay. I’m ready. Always gotta be ready for the camera.”

The noise that comes out of his mouth is entirely uncontrollable and he all but melts at the sight of you. The fairy lights your landlords put up around the apartments shine brightly in the night and illuminate the flakes of snow that fall from the sky. It’s a beautiful sight, but you shine the brightest. The light hovering above you highlights your subtle cheekbones and the combination of the falling snow and lights creates a sort of glowing halo around you.

You are, without a doubt, the most beautiful person he has ever laid eyes on.

The most beautiful and also the most extra because of course your first instinct would be to pose for him. That was how you met, after all. He had been out practicing street photography a few years ago when he bumped into you. You had the decency to be politely curious why he was taking pictures of strangers and after he shared his project, you agreed (even though he never asked) to let him take pictures of you. You started posing immediately and even walked around the block to pose with whatever you found interesting, whether it was the wall of a building or a newspaper stand. He probably loved you then. He definitely loves you now.

It’s too bad he doesn’t have his camera with him. His phone will have to do, so he pulls it out, angles himself and the phone at just the right spot, and takes several shots. Your eyes have shut close again, the trickle of soft snow cascading down onto your face and hair. Oh, the way his smile only widens as you bat your eyes in an attempt to blink the snowflakes away. He waves his phone and you suddenly remember what you were here for and you smile for the camera. Smile for him. 

“Sit down and take a picture with me!” You pout and pat the space next to you.

Who is he to say no? Several very blurry photos later (because what’s the point of getting drunk if you weren’t going to take blurry pics?), you were finally done with the cold. You cup his face and kiss his pink-tipped nose.

“You’re cold, Yoongi. Let’s go home.”

“Mmm… Let’s go.”

He takes your hand in his and tucks both your hands inside his coat pocket, knowing full well that you have a coat of your own with its own pockets. It’s true, his face is somewhat numb from the cold of the night, but he is quickly heating up wholly by the warmth of your shared love that the two of you have nurtured and tended to together.

“I hope you had fun tonight, baby.”

“I always have fun when I’m with you, Yoongi-poo.”

“So… what do you want most for Christmas?” He wonders if you’ll accidentally spill what you really want for Christmas but not even drunk you would sell yourself out to him.

“Didn’t I literally just sing ‘all I want for christmas is Yoooongiii’? Did I not make it clear enough?”

His lips spread into a bright upward curl and he giggles at the way you stare at him as if he was stupid for even asking such a question. As if it was obvious what you wanted. Of course, he knew you would say that. He honestly just wanted to hear you say it again. And... oh no. Now you’re singing again. Hollering, more like. Ah, well. It’s only for one night. He pulls you closer beside him and sings along with you, albeit in a much quieter tone.

Your apartment is back in eyeview and he pulls his phone out to check the time. It’s only a minute left until Christmas. He continues to watch the time pass by the seconds until there are only fifteen seconds left before midnight.

Then he starts counting out loud, in a teasing lilt that he knows is sure to pique your curiosity.

“What exactly are you counting down to?” You ask, puzzled.

You’ve sobered down quite a bit now, and you were ready to go sleep. He ignores you though and continues to count. By 5 seconds, you’ve stopped walking, although you’re still mumbling about how rude it was of him to ignore you. He reaches up to tuck your hair back behind your ears to get a better look at your face. Your stupidly beautiful face.

“I’m granting your Christmas wish in three… two… one... Merry Christmas, Y/N.”

He cups your face. It’s cold, and he makes a mental note to make sure to warm you up with a bath once you’re home. You gasp a second later and wrap your arms around him, staring up at him with a wide grin plastered on your face.

“Ohmygoddidyoubuymeapuppy??!!!”

He snorts and it’s out of sheer self restraint that he doesn’t go on an hour long tirade on the terrible idea of buying animals as holiday gifts and how he refuses to ever partake in it. He instead channels that energy into squishing your cheeks together so you don’t say anything else that could potentially ruin the mood he’s trying to set.

“Baby?”

“Whuh?”

“You make me really happy, you know that?” His voice softens up and he gently rubs your cheeks with his thumbs.

Your wide, wide eyes are still staring at him, unblinking, but he’s been under the scrutiny of your ridiculously lubricated eyes for long enough that he’s unbothered.

“And even though you’re still kinda loopy and you definitely spilled beer on me tonight, I still want you to know…”

He pauses for dramatics and chuckles when your hands fly up to grasp his hands that still cup your face.

“Yes?” You plead with him to carry on.

“I love you. I love you so much my heart is fit to burst.”

The soft inhale of breath is not lost on him and he grins at you. The sweet smile and blush that quickly overtakes your features is easily the best gift you could ever give him this Christmas.

“Oh my god. I think my heart just nutted.”

He snorts and sighs in defeat. Right. Only you could say something like that and still make his heart leap.

“I love you too. Can we go home now, though? My butt’s cold.”

“But I haven’t even gotten to the best part,” he teases.

Before you could ask what the best part was, he draws your face to his and presses his lips against yours. The warm exhale as you part your lips for him comes as a welcome surprise. You giggle into the kiss and pull him closer against you.

“You just kissed me,” you whispered as if he had committed a scandalous act.

“Baby, I always kiss you.”

“You’re right.” You grab hold of his hand and walk briskly towards your home, tugging a smiling Yoongi behind you. “Let’s go home so you can kiss me some more!”

a/n 2.0: HELLO THERE FRIENDO. how are you. happy holidays or i guess, happy day if you’re reading this in like, the summer time or something :”) thank you for reading this. did you like it? penny for your thoughts? (i will give u a pretty one forreal) isn’t yoongi the sweetest most amazing boyfriend eveerrrrr plz gush over him with me PLS

[lovenona]

it’s here, it’s wild, and it’s fun – welcome to “what happened after the art show” featuring everyone’s favorite menace art student ryomen sukuna (previous installment here and full universe here) 

(note that this does contain some references to explicit content – it will be clearly marked within the text) 

now that i've captured your attention: there are a myriad of ways this could go, really. let’s start with the basics. 

first things first: while the thought of scratching up geto’s stupid little car sounds awfully appealing to you, and while you simply wanted to accept the offer for the sake of sukuna’s unusually kind gesture, you also know that you don’t want some serious claims filed against you. geto’s a prick, as you’ve learned, and it’s best to keep things civil. 

so you politely tell sukuna as much, and while he might tease you for being a coward, you know there’s no real malice behind that impenetrable voice of his. 

but the night is not over! sukuna will take you to his car, then. it’s vintage and black and a little beat up and there’s miscellaneous art supplies and tattoo reference books strewn across the backseat, but it smells so distinctly like sukuna that it feels strangely like home. he controls the music, of course, blaring indie and punk with his windows cracked so every stoplight can hear. (he has a preference for wolf alice. he thinks the lead singer is hot.) and even better, he’s got a smirk, a real one, as he drapes one hand across the steering wheel and the other on the glove box between you. 

(you think you’d like his hand to reach further. but you’re still technically in recovery mode, so of course you won’t say it, not yet.) 

your earlier sadness melts away with every minute you spend in sukuna’s car. he’ll take you for a drive without needing to ask. he can read the vibe – it’s you. you don’t want to go home, you don’t want to go out, you don’t want to be anywhere; so he’ll keep you in that liminal space, driving in circles and turning down strange roads whenever and wherever he feels like it. he’ll pass familiar buildings on campus to make a silly little quip, drive past the grocery store to watch students filter through with their reusable grocery bags, drive past the parks that loom in the dusk shadows. you don’t need to talk, and neither does he. it’s quiet, strangely, but a silence so comfortable you hardly notice it. 

and, frankly, the most realistic ending to this night would be that sukuna drops you off at your apartment complex and lets you go home for the night with a final joke. but, of course, i know that’s not why any of us are here. 

so, of course, let’s go to sukuna’s place, instead. it’s an expected gesture, almost, and you can’t say you’re particularly surprised when you see the familiar building come into view. you’ve been to his apartment a few times now, and it’s a place you’re beginning to learn like the back of your hand. 

at this point, your night could go one of two ways. you may now choose your own adventure: safe and fun or sex and spice? 

safe and fun: (mentions of alcohol) 

you’re stumbling through the door with sukuna, arguing with him as you always do, only to find yuuji and his crew in the living room playing god-knows-what on the xbox. they’ll wave you in with a casual vigor, their loud and raucous behavior making sense once you see the array of empty white claws on the table. (many of them are mango. it’s yuuji’s favorite flavor.) 

“you’re back early,” yuuji tells sukuna with a loopy grin, a grin that suggests something unspeakable as he wiggles his eyebrows. he looks at you with that dopey little smile and you roll your eyes. 

“the art show sucked,” sukuna responds, scrunching his nose and heading to the kitchen to fix himself a drink. “you fuckers still drink that shit?” 

sukuna, you know, hates white claw. he’ll only drink hard alcohol, mixed drinks, things that make him feel like a man. you’ve seen it firsthand countless times by now. 

“you’re fourteen minutes older than me,” yuuji whines. “don’t act so high and mighty, old man.”

so sukuna will make himself a drink – a real drink, he clarifies – and offer you a glass almost instinctively. your fingers brush his as he hands you the glass. something electric runs across the surface of your skin, rustles your bones. you make eye contact, and it’s a thousand lifetimes unsaid between you. 

(you wonder if you like him. you don’t know.) 

so the night passes: you watch yuuji and his friends try and struggle to complete the missions in their silly little game as sukuna sits next to you, flexing his biceps as if he knows you’re watching from the corner of your eyes. megumi yells at yuuji who yells at nobara, and while they offer to let you play, you simply cannot break the connection between them. you like the way yuuji laughs and the way nobara smiles and the way their presence is like a soothing balm, cool and collected. 

it’s strange and comforting all at the same time, this newfound ease you feel as you settle back into the couch, your drink sweet on your lips. 

the night is a warm lilt; the silly party plays their games, you watch, sukuna acts indifferent to the spectacle and threatens to return to his room at any moment. you know, though, that he’s enjoying himself, even if only because of his posture and the smirk ghosting his lips. it’s wonderful and mundane and in this moment of pure domesticity, you can allow yourself to forget the night’s events entirely. 

you hardly remember silly geto now, you do. you know you’ll be angry as all hell when you see him in class but for now, here, it’s okay. 

and when you fall asleep, slowly, suddenly, someone – you think sukuna, but he insists he didn’t – tucks you beneath a layer of warm blankets. it’s a warm night, a comforting night, one that feels like a kiss to the forehead. you need it. 

(you think sukuna really does kiss your forehead, too, but you don’t know. when you wake on the couch the next morning, you wonder whether it could have all been a dream.)

sex and spice: contains nsfw, slight dubcon (both characters are tipsy but very much consenting and happy with their situation), oral (f! receiving), sukuna being a tease 

oh, but the second option. you’ll stumble through the door in this life to find that yuuji’s not home – the apartment is dark and quiet and full of a tension you cannot name. you’ll become hyper aware of your actions, suddenly, shyly, taking note of the exact way you take off your coat and shoes and leave them in the doorway. sukuna feels incredibly present and you don’t know why. you’ve been alone with him before, but perhaps it’s different when you’re alone like this. when it’s his home, his couch, and not a classroom. it’s different, now, when the chances of being seen by strangers have decreased significantly. 

you’ll warm up slightly, though, when sukuna offers you a drink in that teasing voice he always uses when he wants to fluster you. he’ll fix the drinks with a bartender’s ease and sit down on the couch, throwing an arm back, letting his bicep tattoos flex in the golden glow of the living room. 

it’s so quiet, and you’re trying your best, really, but you don’t know what to say. you’ll put the television on and sukuna will find something you both know you  won’t watch but lets you ease the strain. you’ll make fun of it, he’ll make fun of it, and you’ll slide back like molasses into the lazy semblance of friendship you’ve cultivated together. 

and it’ll be easier to feel normal, too, once you’ve had a drink or two – your tongue loosens up, and you find yourself able to say things to sukuna that you’ve never said before. you find yourself forgetting that you’re alone with sukuna in his house, and that you are suddenly and absolutely nervous in a way you have never been before. 

“so tell me,” he’ll ask, turning to you on the couch, brave and arrogant with a dark and stormy in his system. “how was it?”

you pretend you don’t know what he’s talking about. “how was what?” you’ll purse your lips together and suppress the butterflies in your chest. you wonder just how long you have thought sukuna to be attractive. 

he’ll shake his head. “fucking geto, you idiot.” plastered across his face is the smirk you’d know with your eyes closed. he leans in, slightly, not enough to terrify you but enough to leave you struggling to form a complete sentence as your brain shuts down. 

but you’ve had something to drink, too, and while in daylight you would have ignored his question entirely, brushing him off as a perv and a jokester, you can’t help but think there’s something different in the aura of the room tonight. you can’t help but be honest. 

“it was fine, i guess,” you tell him. you shrug your shoulders and look back towards the television. you pretend you care about what you see. 

he smells like something smoky and earthy today. “fine?” 

you try to make a joke, but your head is spinning from his undivided attention. you do not know what you are anymore. “are you always this interested in my sex life?”

sukuna, surprisingly, grins with genuine amusement. “no, but geto gives off the vibe of a limp dick film boy, and i wanted to know if it’s true.” 

“limp dick film boy,” you repeat, and a hearty laugh escapes your bubbling chest. you feel your inhibitions melt away, and your secrets fly out of you, the horrifying experience of the art show fading behind you. you’ll deal with geto in class, you think vaguely. at least he never said your name. 

you sigh, forgetting him like a bad pun. “i mean, i guess it was fine. i don’t know.” 

“you don’t know.” you can’t tell if he’s being condescending or if he’s genuinely concerned for the state of your pitiful sex life. “did he at least give good head if he made a fucking sculpture about it?”

“what?” your heart stops, your face is hot, your brain on fire. it’s not that he’s crossed a line, you think, but that that question opens something deep and unspeakable and strange. “no?” you don’t know why you answer, but something within you tells you that you must. something tells you that the world is shifting, and you must follow.

“he didn’t?” you feel the couch shift as sukuna shifts closer. “what kind of fucker doesn’t? it’s common courtesy, you know.” 

“he didn’t want to,” you respond, but you don’t know what you’re defending.

“and if i do?” 

you freeze. one of sukuna’s hands traces your shoulder like butterfly wings. it must be the rum talking, you think, because there’s no way sukuna would want you. it wouldn’t make sense, certainly, you rationalize. he must be out of his mind, this must be a joke –

“you still there?” a finger taps your forehead. 

“yeah,” you respond, returning to yourself. you curse your flailing heartbeat. you turn to look at sukuna, so close to you, and you’re met with the terrifying depth of his dark gaze. you have never seen this gaze, this look that places you at the center of the universe. your breath nearly catches in your throat. 

sukuna leans in. so do you, instinctively. you disregard geto and the sculpture and everything that came before. this, you think. this is what it should have been like. you’ve been waiting for this moment since the first time he kissed you months ago. you’re overcome with sensations you cannot name, an ache that builds and spreads through your belly. perhaps you’ll regret it tomorrow. but now, here, you want it more than anything. 

“you don’t have to,” sukuna says. his breath is hot on your cheeks. 

“i want to,” you say, and it’s a kiss for the ages. 

so he’ll push you backwards to lie on the couch, and his shirt will be off and disregarded before you can think about it. you’ll trace the tattoos on his broad chest, lines and patterns you’ve never seen until now that you will never be able to forget. you’ll memorize the feeling of his tongue in your mouth, the smooth metal of his tongue piercing sending shivers down your spine. it’s messy and crude and everything you would expected it to be – neither one of you is willing to give in to the other. neither wants to admit this is anything more than a challenge. 

(you’re in heaven, though. geto who?) 

and fuck, god, the look he gives you as he asks if he can take your pants off now: you’d paint it, frame it, place it in every art museum in the world if you could. it’s the second time you’ve taken your clothes off for someone in your life and while it’s strange and weird and sukuna, it feels right at the same time. he bites your neck when you left your hips to slide the clothes off you body and you feel dizzy with hunger. 

sukuna loves to tease. he’ll make his way down your body slowly, tantalizingly, sly, and you swear you’ll lose your mind if he waits any longer. and when he looks back up to meet your eyes, with that lustful, dangerous, blown-out gaze, you know you’re fucked. you know you’re fucked when you realize it’s ryomen sukuna hanging out between your parted thighs, asking for consent before he places a soft kiss to your clit. 

and you know, you know bitterly, that this would have been the most mind-blowing sex of your life had the key not turned in the lock because yuuji decided to come home early. 

so you scramble to get your shit together, angry and disappointed. and even though you’ve regained your clothes and your dignity before yuuji can even remove his shoes and make his mindless way to the living room, you cannot quell the fire that grows within you. you cannot stop the hunger that has already begun. and sukuna knows it, too, because his eyes have not lost the look of a predator looking for prey. 

(and, you notice, because his dick is still hard.) 

he looks at you, and you look at him. he leans in, grins, whispers, “my room?” 

[frozenartscapes]

I think Verdant Wind being added as Silver Snow copy paste dragged down the development. If VW wasn't added, then SS, CF, and AM could have all been more fleshed out (so Edelgard could have been shown killing Thales personally and Dimitri's arc would be gradual instead of him going from batshit crazy to "good boy" instantly). So I think either VW should have not been made or SS was scrapped and Claude could actually get a story about him.

So here's what I'm thinking for Verdant Wind, because honestly if it were up to me it would be a total overhaul, and if put into the context of the game's development might have had to be a DLC or something if they were as pressed for time as it seems.

You pick Claude and the Golden Deer and the first half of the game follows many of the same story beats. (Though one thing I would like to see in White Clouds is more opportunities to interact with the other Houses outside of free time, like maybe a couple missions where two houses are sent to the same place to back each other up. This would then allow for supports to form between characters who might not necessarily be in the same house).

Shit goes down, Edelgard is revealed to be the Flame Emperor, war is declared, Byleth falls into a ravine for 5 years.

You come back and things are in a similar place as they start off in VW. You meet Claude at the monastery, he fills you in on what's been going on, and you decide that action needs to taken. However, that action is not "let's go to war too" but instead more of a diplomatic move. You decide to meet with Edelgard in a parlay at Grondor and she initially accepts, but when you both arrive you discover Dimitri has come with an army of his own. Not believing this isn't some sort of ambush on Claude's part, Edelgard calls the parlay off and initiates the battle of Grondor. However, this time you and Claude decide to stop Dimitri and successfully manage to intervene in the Kingdom's attack. Edelgard and her forces still retreat back to Enbarr but Dimitri is able to be captured and (eventually) reasoned with. (In this version Dimitri hasn't fully lost it like he does in AM. He still has some old friends and supports so he doesn't end up completely feral. He's still deeply distrusting of Edelgard but he at least agrees to help Claude find out a motive before killing her).

The attack on Fort Merceus is basically the same. You succeed in seizing it only for the whole thing to be blown up by the Javelins. Everyone manages to escape, though, including notable people from Edelgard's army. They are just as confused and horrified about the strike as you and your team.

Edelgard isn't up for talking this time around so you are forced to lay siege to Enbarr. This also plays out very similarly to VW, but the end cutscene is different. First, Claude is there. Then, rather than killing Edelgard, you extend a hand out to her, instead. She's hesitant, but Claude manages to convince her that there are no schemes this time. They just want to talk. He mentions the Javelins and how even her own army didn't seem to know what they were. When she blanches at the mention, he realizes that these "allies" of hers aren't exactly the most trustworthy of people.

Edelgard then reluctantly tells you, Claude, and Dimitri about Thales and TWSITD. She's hesitant because this is all sensitive information but she doesn't have much to lose at this point, what with Claude's army basically occupying Enbarr. She reveals what happened to her and her family, why she has two Crests, and why she's been forced to work with Thales. It's Dimitri who approaches first once she's finished, moving quickly and reaching out a hand before anyone can react. Edelgard flinches but instead of going for her neck, his hand comes to rest gently on her shoulder. "Where is that monster?" Dimitri hisses, "So I can tear his head from his body."

Once the three leaders form a tentative alliance, Edelgard reveals where Rhea has been hidden. She tells them all that she tried to keep her from too much harm, but she didn't have much control over the situation. Rhea is released and initially weak from imprisonment. She is also briefed on what happened to Edelgard, and why she started the war in the first place.

With a new target in mind, the alliance of nations storm Shambhala. Rhea has been healed up enough to aid in this battle. You defeat Thales, and he responds by launching all the Javelins he can. Rhea goes on to intercept them as she does in the game, but this time things go differently. Hubert points out that as long as Thales has a hand on the rune activating the Javelins, they'll keep coming. So Edelgard charges him along with Dimitri. The two cut through any mage who tries to stop them, and ultimately Edelgard sees vengeance for herself and her family by killing Thales herself. This halts the Javelins before they become too overwhelming for Rhea, and she returns, a little hurt but ok.

Everyone returns to Garreg Mach for celebrations, and also political discussions because there are a lot of things that now need to be covered. Rhea reveals everything about the Nabateans, Crests, and the Relics. Once she learns the true history of Fodlan, Edelgard makes her case for her own goals. She still believes that society should move away from putting so much importance on Crests, especially now that she knows where they truly came from. But she admits that uniting the land under one banner and disbanding the Church entirely would be taking things too far. Dimitri agrees with Edelgard, despite some protests from Faerghus officials. But he decides that the Hero's Relics have served their purpose and it is time they let the souls of the dead rest. Claude is insistent on Fodlan opening up to other nations, to which the other leaders agree, too. Rhea also decides that it is time she steps away from being Archbishop, but she does not appoint Byleth to the role.

A messenger then interrupts with news that a strange and powerful army is currently sweeping across Fodlan. They connect the dots and realize that it is Nemesis. They all decide to confront him as a group, showing off the might of a Fodlan united under peace. Rhea, fearful of mass casualties, tells Byleth what she did when they were a baby, explaining why they have the Crest of Flames and can wield the Sword of the Creator. There isn't a lot of time to unpack all of that because Nemesis is basically at their door, but Byleth still thanks Rhea for telling them.

They confront Nemesis all as one united front and defeat him. There are many parallels in cutscenes that call back the first cutscene of the game. The difference this time is that Rhea isn't facing Nemesis alone. In the last cutscene after defeating him in gameplay, Claude's arrow fake-out kicks things off, but it also includes Edelgard, Dimitri, and Rhea charging him alongside Byleth. In the end, Nemesis is run-through by the Sword of the Creator, the Sword of Seiros, Aymr, Areadbhar, and a bolt from Failnaught. He goes down, his army dissolves into dust, and victory is finally secured.

After that it's revealed what happens in Fodlan: each nation stays as their own land. Dimitri takes his place as the King of Faerghus and works on moving the kingdom away from knighthood and militaristic practices. He devotes more time and money to revitalizing the land and towns, building better roads between cities, and expanding education and other important services. Edelgard also works on fixing and providing social services like education and healthcare to the Adrestian people. She forms a strong alliance with the other nations, utilizing the fact that Adrestia has so much viable farmland to ensure no one goes hungry. She also grants Brigid its freedom, and works closely with Seteth and Rhea in Church reformations. Claude leaves Fodlan to take his place as King of Almyra, though he promises to visit often. Lorenz takes over the Alliance, and like the other two leaders works diligently to provide a better life for his people. Rhea eventually steps away from her role as Archbishop. She does offer it to Byleth, but you get a choice as to whether or not you want to take it. If you don't Rhea says she understands and that Seteth will take on a temporary position until a human can be found to carry on the legacy. She agrees that an immortal being shouldn't hold that kind of power forever.

There's one final cinematic cutscene in which every character with a Hero's Relic solemnly returns it to the Holy Tomb, with Byleth laying the Sword of the Creator last. They glance up at the Throne with all the characters visible behind them, and they smile.

Now Sothis can finally rest.

---

A couple other fun things that could be included in this route:

Because of the mentioned supports between houses, it is possible to s-support any of the House Leaders, not just Claude in this route

To make things extra fun, every unit could potentially be playable in the final battle

Edelgard and Thales can have special dialogue where she basically tells him to go fuck himself before killing him with the axe he gave her

None of the Black Eagles who stay with Edelgard would actually die in the siege on Enbarr, but would have unique "oh no I've been captured" quotes

The cutscene with Edelgard's surrender could start exactly like it does in SS/VW so if people saw that first, they would at first think she was going to die. This would then make Byleth extending a hand out in peace that much more impactful

Every now and then Dimitri and Edelgard could make a comment about how odd it is to be working with each other, and how they are still surprised neither one of them died after all those years of war, a BIG wink to the camera regarding the other routes where one or both of them don't make it

Claude can bring in Nader and other Almyran reinforcements for the final battle, and as a result could result in unique battle quotes from Rhea and Nader with the two of them commending each other and realizing that tensions need not be so high between their nations

Because different supports can happen between houses, there isn't as much pressure to recruit everyone by the end of White Clouds

There could be different paralogues for characters, along with ones already in the game that might be route specific. Dimitri's paralogue where he takes on Cornelia can be a side event that helps strengthen the Kingdom's army in future battles. Bernadetta/Petra's paralogue would allow for allies from Brigid to join in future battles. Edelgard could get a new paralogue where they have to sweep out the last remnants of various TWS labs and lairs, and it's made clear just how bad it had been for her.

Like, I know this is a lot, and executing it as a playable section of the game would be a lot of work. This is all just hypothetical, of course. This would be what I would recommend for the game, but as I say this just know that I don't expect any of this to actually be made. These are just some ideas for how VW could theoretically be changed.

The game would still need a route for Claude, as he is one of the three main choices at the very start of the game. I don't necessarily think SS should be removed, either, because that choice of "kill or don't kill edelgard" is still an incredibly poignant moment that would be lost if SS was gone. But I do wish VW or SS played out differently or at the very least used different cutscenes. The fact that Edelgard dies the same way twice kind of sucks. (This, on top of Dimitri dying off-screen multiple times and Rhea basically being kneecapped and not useful in 3/4 routes)

But I like Claude's route being a Golden Route. It is the Golden Deer after all.

[rogerslovesstark]

Loveless

Requested by: @belovedcherry 

Can I request a fic where Steve and Reader are in an arranged marriage but he doesn’t want to be and cheats on her and eventually leaves her with no regrets? The reader is left pregnant (he doesn’t know - she wanted to tell him but he was being a dick) and eventually moves on and finds someone else who is cool and loving with her and the child. Steve ends up finding her again and being jealous, possessive, regretful, and angry because he thinks that family should have been his since they were arranged together in the first place unlike her choosing to engage/marry the new guy. I’m not sure about the ending but I think that I prefer the reader to have a happy ending and Steve left in eternal regret. Maybe her being pregnant with a second child with the new guy? Happy growing family?

You knew you weren’t stupid, Steve had found another bed to keep himself warm. Some other woman’s pussy to keep his dick wet. You just wished that he would admit it to you, so you would be able to leave. 

Crying yourself to sleep every night because the idea of the man that you love with another woman was just too much to handle. The suffocating pain and idea of him with another woman would choke you and steal all the air from your lungs as you slept in your separate bedroom.

You were truly in love with him and he couldn’t care any less about you, the mere thought of you made Steve want to throw up in disgust. All he wanted to do was party, drink, do drugs, sleep with other women. Some would say that Steve even had a problem, but you tried as hard as you could to help him.

Your families were the only thing keeping you together, the contract that you were both forced to sign that bound you two together. You had fallen in love with Steve the moment you saw him. Your father showed you a picture of him and you swore your eyes were in the shape of hearts.

His soft blonde hair, his blue eyes that could captivate you for hours on end. You couldn’t believe that he would actually be yours. Except it was way too good to be true. 

Steve was a fucking dick. When he found out he had to marry you for his inheritance to even be processed, he basically threw a fit. 

“Why can’t Bucky marry her dad, he is older than I am, what the fuck,”

“Steven, James is engaged to Dot, stop being a brat, you know that your inheritance comes once you marry, and she’s a nice girl, don’t be an ass.”

Steve was fuming at the news of this arranged marriage, he had seen pictures of you before and he was repulsed by the sight of you. Any time you had to see each other, Steve couldn’t wait till it was over to go sleep with another woman.

There wasn’t a wedding, just documents being signed in the city hall. You had worn a long white dress that complimented your skin tone, light makeup, and a casual hair-do. Both of your parents were in attendance, including Bucky, Steve’s older brother. 

You were also both forced to consummate the marriage as soon as you both went on your honeymoon. Your mother-in-law stood in the next room listening to Steve grunt lowly and you embarrassingly squeaking and moaning. He didn’t even care to make you finish. Asshole.

You both were required to have sex with each other unprotected at least once a week, normally when his mother would come over and basically force you to do the dirty. You honestly had no problem with having sex with Steve. He looked like a Greek god and he was packing downstairs. 

Steve knew that if you were to get pregnant, his mother would just leave him alone but he just couldn’t be bothered to actually finish inside of you. The thought of you actually pregnant with his child was horrifying to even think about.

Steve’s father wanted to ensure that the empire had an heir, knowing that Steve wasn’t going to settle down unless forced to do so. 

He slowly started to become distant from you, leaving for work early, coming home late, you knew he wasn’t staying loyal and it broke your heart. You would go to sleep crying every night because of the infidelity your husband was committing, and that you were completely and hopelessly in love with him and he would never love you the way you loved him.

Watching the two lines form on the pregnancy test had your heart swelling with so much joy, your smile so big. Steve was on his way home and you could finally tell him the amazing news that you would be starting a family together.

When he dropped the divorce papers in front of you, you could physically feel your heart shatter. The idea of the perfect family faded from your head as you began to become protective of your baby.

“You have an hour to get your shit and leave, get a fucking lawyer too because this is most likely going to court,” Steve spit at you from across the counter. 

He had no remorse, you were too quiet, you never wanted to go out and party, you didn’t work because you were finishing your masters in Physics. Constantly studying and having assignments to do, your fucking humming as you cooked annoyed the hell out of him.

“But Steve, I’m-“ Your words were cut off as Steve backhanded you. You remained still, not know what to do, just holding your cheek in hand, tears streaming down your cheeks.

“Y/n, shut the fuck up and get the fuck out, Selene will be here in less than 20 minutes to move in and I don’t want to fucking see your hideous face around here anymore,” Steve shouted at you, stunning you into such a thick silence you felt like you could even breathe.

You barely made it to your bedroom, heavily breathing, on the verge of a panic attack gathering all your things, making sure to leave the divorce papers signed on top of your bed. 

Looking back at Steve with tears in your eyes, you wished he would crawl back to you and apologize for saying anything hurtful and treating you like you didn’t matter to him. If he had, you would have forgiven him completely and overlooked every time he had wronged you, just wanting a small family to be perfect.

Steve smiled as your car drove off the property, the burden of you seem to finally lift from his chest, not knowing that he was throwing the best thing to ever happen to him away.

++++

You drove away sobbing in your car, you had no money and were in debt because of your master's program. You couldn’t go back to your family's house, being basically shunned by your family if they were to find out that Steve has left you.

You made it to Natasha’s apartment in one piece thankfully, only having packed limited amounts of clothes that your bag could carry. 

You knocked on her door and jumped into her arms as soon as she opened the door. Natasha stood in the door frame shocked that you were here so late, especially when it was this cold. 

“Y/n, get inside, you're going to freeze your legs off,” Natasha scolded you, ushering you quickly inside. Natasha was worried, you hadn’t called or texted her prior to coming to her apartment and she had guests over too. You didn’t look too well, eyes swollen and red, your face was puffy and you made tear streaks on your cheeks.

“Tash, I’m sorry but I need a place to stay, St-t-eve kicked me out,” You could barely make it through the sentence, still suffering from the heartbreak of your former husband. 

“Okay, I have the spare bedroom, but I have guests n/n, so hurry threw the hallway and get in the shower babe,” Natasha whispered, not wanting to embarrass you in front of her colleagues.

The spare bedroom was barely the size of a closet, but you were grateful that Natasha was generous enough to let you use it until you found an apartment. You managed to hold it together though you were hurting so deeply, just wondering what Steve was doing.

+++

Steve and Selene were laying in his bed, breathing heavily after their third round of sex, and Steve was drained. Selene reached over into her bag a pulled out a bag of white powder that she knew Steve loved. Of course, Steve didn’t decline the offer of free drugs to keep the night young and fun.

The rush that went right to his head, a floating feeling, and energy flowing through his veins. Something was off though, but Steve was too high to even identify the feeling.

+++

You walking into Natasha’s living room, seeing a few people in there, two men and another girl, you greeted all of them and stayed next to Natasha. You didn’t really talk, smiling along as Natasha’s other friend cracked jokes, you weren’t even paying attention to what they were saying, you still didn’t know what to do with your life now.

Being pregnant with his child after he told you that he didn’t want you, that he never loved you, and the only reason he married you was to get his inheritance. You felt sick to your stomach knowing you were carrying his child, but you knew that you wouldn’t get rid of it. 

You’ve wanted to be a mother since you were a young girl, seeing all those other women holding their little babies, being so loving and caring towards them.

You stood up quietly and walked towards Natasha’s kitchen, needing a glass of water, only to find one of Natasha’s friends in there already.

“Oh, sorry, I just wanted to grab a glass of water,” You murmured, not looking him directly in the eyes. He just stared at you and moved out of the way, his stature not as tall as Steve’s, he was basically the complete opposite. 

“I’m Bruce, we have thermal physics together, with professor Wither,” He said softly, his eyes kind and sweet. You noticed him before, he was older than the rest of the class, a genius too. He sat at the front of the class, always being the first to answer a question.

You never paid attention to him, only whenever he would answer a question at lightning speed. He had sweet brown eyes, a little aged but not older than 40. His hair started to salt and pepper, curling towards his face.

“I know Bruce, you really are a genius,” You smiled at him, he just stared at you, your eyes still red from crying, cheeks were swollen from the heavy crying. Bruce wondered what happens, but he didn’t want to intrude into your life. Yet still, he asked.

“Y/n are you alright?” Bruce was worried for you because you always looked so put together during class. Bruce always took note of how you looked in class, not to say he was in love with you, but he was close. Basically, his infatuation with you was so deep, if he had gotten to speak to you for even two hours, he would have fallen in love with you.

++++

Steve woke from his drunken and drug-ridden haze. Everything was blurry and he couldn’t really feel his left arm. The room smelt so strange, he couldn’t even see clearly. He didn’t know what time of day it was. 

Steve got up and walked towards the bedroom door, and towards the kitchen, he couldn’t hear your soft humming and he wanted to know if you were home. He stepped into the kitchen and he didn’t see you anywhere, where were you?

He went to the entryway and looked for your keys, only to not find them there, he opened the front door to see if your car was there. A wave of nostalgia crashed over him, remembering your face as you cried leaving in your car, Steve only felt pain now.

Tears filled his eyes slightly when he remember the hateful words he had spoken to you. You were always so sweet to him and all he did was drive you away. He walked back to his bedroom and looked for his phone. The screen showed that it was February, and Steve forced the divorce two March’s ago. Since then he and Selene had broken up.

Steve spent most of his time looking at old photos of you, where you were smiling, looking happy. You had truly loved Steve, always trying to keep him happy, cooking and cleaning for him, trying to be his rock of emotional support. 

Steve stared at a specific photograph of you, you had your bouquet of red roses from your wedding day and you were smiling so brightly at the camera. Every time Steve looked at the photo, he started to cry. The last memory of you Steve had was your crying face after he had hit you. 

Steve never felt so much pain after Selene left him because he wanted to sober up and she wanted to still party and do drugs. The night after she left, Steve had done psychedelics and the crash after was so horrible, he had gone to your old bedroom and cried while holding your pillow. 

The divorce went by quickly, you hadn’t lawyered up and didn’t take anything from Steve, you didn’t want anything to do with him. Steve had hoped you would come to the first and last meeting, just to see your face. Once he realized the depth of his mistakes, he began doing drugs and drinking recklessly, he hadn’t slept with anyone since Selene left. 

++++

You hugged Bruce after you told him the news, you were expecting again. You had been trying for about three months and you had finally succeeded. After you had spoken to Bruce for the first time in Natasha’s apartment you two hit it off so quickly, getting engaged after seven months together. 

Bruce treated you like a queen. You were the apple of his eye and both of you graduated last June, starting a small research facility that began to gain traction. You had given birth to a healthy 7 lbs 8 oz baby boy named Adam Joseph Banner. You hadn’t tried to let Steve know about anything regarding the pregnancy. You were just glad you weren’t in his life anymore.

++++

You were at the supermarket looking for pasta sauces for tonight's dinner, Adam was running around and you just smiled as he made silly faces at you.

Steve watched as you looked for the sauces. He could barely breathe as he looked at you, you looked so different and happy. Steve didn’t want to come up to you, but he wanted to know whose child that was.

Steve followed you home as you left the store.

++++

Steve watched as you hugged and kissed the foreign man, he was filled with rage. You looked so happy to see him and he just held you and smiled at you. 

The little boy hugged the man and started kissing his scruffy face. The little boy looked nothing like the man. If anything, the little boy kind of resembled Steve. Steve waited till you went inside to leave his car and walked towards your front door.

Steve knocked on your door, only to realize that he hadn’t brought you flowers, then again he hadn’t expected to come to see you today. 

You answered the door and all the air knocked out of Steve’s lungs. You looked so beautiful up close, Steve wanted nothing more than to grab you and kiss you right there. 

You looked at Steve in shock, what the fuck was he doing here. He looked like a mess, hair unkempt, eyes with dark bags underneath, his bread was slightly long and not taken care of. How the fuck did he find you?

“Steve?” You said his name, and Steve broke down, falling onto his knees, sobbing. He had missed you so much and hearing your voice after two years, it sounded like music to his ears. 

“Hi y/n,” Steve said softly, you stared at him in shock he was on his knees, looking up at you with what seemed to be like adoration. You didn’t know what to say. Literally lose of words.

“Mommy?” Adam screamed from inside the house, running towards you, jumping into your arms. He cuddled his head into your neck. You ran a hand up and down his back. Steve slowly stood up and looked act the scene in front of him.

“Is he mine, n/n?” Steve asked softly, deep down inside he was hoping that the baby was his, because if he was Steve’s child then there might be a chance that you two would be able to be together. 

“He is, and I tried to tell you that I was pregnant with your baby, but you hit me and sent me off with no money, and divorce papers needed to be signed. Why did you come here, Steve?” 

Steve didn’t know what to say, how could be explained to you that he wanted you back after everything he had done to you, the last thing you deserved was to live a life like how you used too. 

“I want you back, n/n, this was supposed to be my family, not his” Steve said softly, walking closer to you and cupping your face with his large hands, you stared at Steve, not knowing what to say. Steve leaned closer and closer to your lips, wanting to just kiss you.

“Get away from my mommy,” Adam started to yell at Steve, swinging his arms at him, trying to hit him. You quickly backed up and put Adam inside, closing the door behind you. You looked at Steve with shock in your eyes.

“Steve, I’m married now, and I’m pregnant with Bruce’s baby, you can be apart of Adams's life but I have to talk to Bruce about it,” You stated, not leaving any room for argument.

“Talk to Bruce about it? He’s my kid Y/n, I have a right to be in his life, I’m his dad,” Steve shouted at you.

“No you’re his biological father Steve, Bruce is his dad, he was there in the delivery room with me, not you, he was there when I would cry myself to sleep at night because of how sad I was about the divorce, not you, he is there when Adam cries, not you, you haven’t been apart of Adam’s life at all, so don’t you dare try to say you're his dad, because you aren’t, now stay the hell away from my family,” You screamed and slammed your door shut in his face.

He blew it, his only chance to get it back, Steve slowly walked to his car, once the door was closed Steve started to sob. It was supposed to be his family, you were supposed to be his wife and that was supposed to be his family. If only he was so filled with self-hatred, he would have had the perfect family.

[alinaastarkov]

Motherhood - Arya, Daenerys, Brienne and Sansa

So this is in response to an ask I got and it ended up really long so I thought I would post separately. I’m not great at writing proper metas but this is my poor imitation of one at least, so here goes.

Motherhood and children are key parts of Arya, Brienne and Dany’s arcs. They all act as mothers to other characters in their stories and seem to have a natural maternal instinct that you normally don’t find in female characters who are gnc because men usually just can’t write strong women. Ususally female characters get the choice between children or having skills, but Brienne, Arya and Dany get both in their arcs. On the flip side, Sansa on the outside is a prime candidate for motherhood - she dreams of having children, is romantic, traditionally feminine, etc. But GRRM deconstructs these tropes by almost making her not very maternal at all.

Sansa outwardly conforms to patriarchal gender norms but she doesn’t take joy in or have the instincts of a mother. Her dreams were usually limited to marriage and not much beyond that. She’s growing out of her superficial desires, obviously, but she always thought about romance and being a lady, and having babies was a part of that because of the society she grows up in. She never wanted to actually care for children, she was just told that was an essential part of a “happy ending” and so she bought it. Her dreams about children were only ever about babies. She wants the fantasy, not the reality of raising kids. We can see with her behaviour with Sweetrobin - though it is improving - she really doesn’t have those motherly instincts and disdains the truths of having to care for someone younger.

It was more than Sansa could stand. "Robert, stop that." Instead he swung the doll again, and a foot of wall exploded. She grabbed for his hand but she caught the doll instead. There was a loud ripping sound as the thin cloth tore. Suddenly she had the doll's head, Robert had the legs and body, and the rag-and-sawdust stuffing was spilling in the snow. Lord Robert's mouth trembled. "You killlllllllled him," he wailed. Then he began to shake. It started with no more than a little shivering, but within a few short heartbeats he had collapsed across the castle, his limbs flailing about violently. White towers and snowy bridges shattered and fell on all sides. Sansa stood horrified, but Petyr Baelish seized her cousin's wrists and shouted for the maester. - Sansa VII, ASOS

Robert's lip quivered. "I was going to come sleep with you." I know you were. Sweetrobin had been accustomed to crawling in beside his mother, until she wed Lord Petyr. Since Lady Lysa's death he had taken to wandering the Eyrie in quest of other beds. The one he liked best was Sansa's . . . which was why she had asked Ser Lothor Brune to lock his door last night. She would not have minded if he only slept, but he was always trying to nuzzle at her breasts, and when he had his shaking spells he often wet the bed. - Sansa I, AFFC

Alayne understood all that well enough, but it meant that the burden of getting Sweetrobin safely down the mountain fell on her. "Give his lordship a cup of sweetmilk," she told the maester. "That will stop him from shaking on the journey down." "He had a cup not three days past," Colemon objected. "And wanted another last night, which you refused him." "It was too soon. My lady, you do not understand. As I've told the Lord Protector, a pinch of sweetsleep will prevent the shaking, but it does not leave the flesh, and in time . . ." "Time will not matter if his lordship has a shaking fit and falls off the mountain. If my father were here, I know he would tell you to keep Lord Robert calm at all costs." "I try, my lady, yet his fits grow ever more violent, and his blood is so thin I dare not leech him any more. Sweetsleep . . . you are certain he was not bleeding from the nose?" "He was sniffling," Alayne admitted, "but I saw no blood." "I must speak to the Lord Protector. This feast . . . is that wise, I wonder, after the strain of the descent?" [...] "Just give him a cup of the sweetmilk before we go, and another at the feast, and there should be no trouble." "Very well." They paused at the foot of the stairs. "But this must be the last. For half a year, or longer." "You had best take that up with the Lord Protector." She pushed through the door and crossed the yard. Colemon only wanted the best for his charge, Alayne knew, but what was best for Robert the boy and what was best for Lord Arryn were not always the same. Petyr had said as much, and it was true. Maester Colemon cares only for the boy, though. Father and I have larger concerns. - Alayne II, AFFC

In the last quote she says she has “larger concerns” than Robin’s health. All these characters are forced into motherly roles, even if they don’t like it at first, but Sansa is the only one of them who never actually feels that instinct to care for the child over other concerns. Not all people have motherly instincts so this is not a bad thing, it is simply a truth about her character. She does not have the connection to motherhood and children that others do.

Brienne, Arya and Dany on the other hand don’t conform to gender norms but they don’t disdain traditionally feminine women and all have super maternal instincts. Motherhood and children are an important part of all these characters’ arcs. With Dany, it’s blindingly obvious, and Brienne and Arya have this on a smaller scale, but they all care for and protect people like mothers. Sometimes this means being forceful to ensure they listen and are protected, but all mothers do the same.

The fire leapt from one house to another. Arya saw a tree consumed, the flames creeping across its branches until it stood against the night in robes of living orange. Everyone was awake now, manning the catwalks or struggling with the frightened animals below. She could hear Yoren shouting commands. Something bumped against her leg, and she glanced down to discover the crying girl clutching her. "Get away!" She wrenched her leg free. "What are you doing up here? Run and hide someplace, you stupid." She shoved the girl away. - Arya IV, ACOK

They found Gerren too, but he was hurt too bad to move. As they were running toward the barn, Arya spied the crying girl sitting in the middle of the chaos, surrounded by smoke and slaughter. She grabbed her by the hand and pulled her to her feet as the others raced ahead. The girl wouldn't walk, even when slapped. Arya dragged her with her right hand while she held Needle in the left. Ahead, the night was a sullen red. The barn's on fire, she thought. Flames were licking up its sides from where a torch had fallen on straw, and she could hear the screaming of the animals trapped within. Hot Pie stepped out of the barn. "Arry, come on! Lommy's gone, leave her if she won't come!" Stubbornly, Arya dragged all the harder, pulling the crying girl along. Hot Pie scuttled back inside, abandoning them . . . but Gendry came back, the fire shining so bright on his polished helm that the horns seemed to glow orange. He ran to them, and hoisted the crying girl up over his shoulder. "Run!" - Arya IV, ACOK

"Mostly just roofs," Arya admitted, "but some chimneys were smoking, and I heard a horse." The Weasel put her arms around her leg, clutching tight. Sometimes she did that now. [...] "If we see any leg potion, we'll bring it," Gendry said. "Arry, let's go, I want to get near before the sun is down. Hot Pie, you keep Weasel here, I don't want her following." [...] "You leave Weasel alone, she's just scared and hungry is all." Arya glanced back, but the girl was not following for once. Hot Pie must have grabbed her, like Gendry had told him. [...] Lommy and Hot Pie almost shit themselves when she stepped out of the trees behind them. "Quiet," she told them, putting an arm around Weasel when the little girl came running up. [...] "She ran off when she heard you coming," Lommy said. "You made a lot of noise." And Arya thought, Run, Weasel, run as far as you can, run and hide and never come back.  - Arya V, ACOK

She would make much better time on her own, Arya knew, but she could not leave them. They were her pack, her friends, the only living friends that remained to her, and if not for her they would still be safe at Harrenhal, Gendry sweating at his forge and Hot Pie in the kitchens. If the Mummers catch us, I'll tell them that I'm Ned Stark's daughter and sister to the King in the North. I'll command them to take me to my brother, and to do no harm to Hot Pie and Gendry. They might not believe her, though, and even if they did . . . Lord Bolton was her brother's bannerman, but he frightened her all the same. I won't let them take us, she vowed silently, reaching back over her shoulder to touch the hilt of the sword that Gendry had stolen for her. I won't. - Arya I, ASOS

Arya with Weasel is such a strong example of her motherly instincts. Even though Arya is only 9/10 herself, she takes it upon herself to care for others even when everyone else is telling her not too. Like every other mother, she forces Weasel to do what’s best for her, protecting her even if it makes Weasel upset for a while. At least she’s alive and safe. And she’s good at being motherly too. Eventually, Weasel is actively seeking out Arya as her protector, clinging to her leg, and Arya holds Weasel so casually and naturally, it’s pretty much automatic. And her attachment to her “pack” throughout is just an extension of this because she is always “at the head”, the leader, the protector, the mother.

"They will not hurt me," she told him. "They are my children, Jorah." She laughed, put her heels into her horse, and rode to them, the bells in her hair ringing sweet victory. She trotted, then cantered, then broke into a gallop, her braid streaming behind. The freed slaves parted before her. "Mother," they called from a hundred throats, a thousand, ten thousand. "Mother," they sang, their fingers brushing her legs as she flew by. "Mother, Mother, Mother!" - Daenerys IV, ASOS

Dany had left a trail of corpses behind her when she crossed the red waste. It was a sight she never meant to see again. "No," she said. "I will not march my people off to die." My children. "There must be some way into this city." - Daenerys V, ASOS

Safe. The word made Dany's eyes fill up with tears. "I want to keep you safe." Missandei was only a child. With her, she felt as if she could be a child too. "No one ever kept me safe when I was little. Well, Ser Willem did, but then he died, and Viserys … I want to protect you but … it is so hard. To be strong. I don't always know what I should do. I must know, though. I am all they have. I am the queen … the … the …" "… mother," whispered Missandei. "Mother to dragons." Dany shivered. "No. Mother to us all." Missandei hugged her tighter. "Your Grace should sleep. Dawn will be here soon, and court." "We'll both sleep, and dream of sweeter days. Close your eyes." When she did, Dany kissed her eyelids and made her giggle. - Daenerys II, ADWD

The motherhood part of Dany’s arc is pretty much undeniable. She is the mother to dragons, mother to all her people. She calls them her “children”, they call her “Mhysa” and their care is her primary concern. As seen in the last quote, she agonises over not protecting them well enough, she worries constantly that she is putting them in danger when all she wants to do is keep them safe. Missandei reminds her that she is their mother and she is protecting them as best she can, and like Arya and Brienne she acts motherly in a more personal sense here, making Missandei giggle. Without a doubt, Dany is the best protector her children could have asked for. Motherhood I’m sure will only become more prevalent in Dany’s story going forward.

So far he had been true to his word, and Brienne had been true to hers. Podrick had not complained. Every time he raised a new blister on his sword hand, he felt the need to show it to her proudly. He took good care of their horses too. He is still no squire, she reminded herself, but I am no knight, no matter how many times he calls me "ser." She would have sent him on his way, but he had nowhere to go. Besides, though Podrick said he did not know where Sansa Stark had gone, it might be that he knew more than he realized. Some chance remark, half-remembered, might hold the key to Brienne's quest. - Brienne III, AFFC

Brienne had been betrothed at seven, to a boy three years her senior, Lord Caron's younger son, a shy boy with a mole above his lip. They had only met the once, on the occasion of their betrothal. Two years later he was dead, carried off by the same chill that took Lord and Lady Caron and their daughters. Had he lived, they would have been wed within a year of her first flowering, and her whole life would have been different. She would not be here now, dressed in man's mail and carrying a sword, hunting for a dead woman's child. More like she'd be at Nightsong, swaddling a child of her own and nursing another. It was not a new thought for Brienne. It always made her feel a little sad, but a little relieved as well. - Brienne III, AFFC

One of the women was very old, one was heavy with child, and one was a girl as fresh and pretty as a flower in spring. When Meribald took them off to hear their sins, Ser Hyle chuckled, and said, "It would seem the gods walk with us . . . at least the Maiden, the Mother, and the Crone." Podrick looked so astonished that Brienne had to tell him no, they were only three marsh women. - Brienne V, AFFC

"Podrick has never harmed you. My father will ransom him. Tarth is called the sapphire isle. Send Podrick with my bones to Evenfall, and you'll have sapphires, silver, whatever you want." [...] Brienne felt the hemp constricting, digging into her skin, jerking her chin upward. Ser Hyle was cursing them eloquently, but not the boy. Podrick never lifted his eyes, not even when his feet were jerked up off the ground. If this is another dream, it is time for me to awaken. If this is real, it is time for me to die. All she could see was Podrick, the noose around his thin neck, his legs twitching. Her mouth opened. Pod was kicking, choking, dying. Brienne sucked the air in desperately, even as the rope was strangling her. Nothing had ever hurt so much. She screamed a word.  - Brienne VIII, AFFC

Brienne is similar to Arya in terms of motherly instincts. She maybe begrudges her responsibility to Pod at first, but she recognises that responsibility straight away and takes it on nevertheless, protecting him, teaching him, encouraging him. Pod meanwhile seems to love Brienne, taking pride in being her squire, wanting to be at her side at all times. In the end, honour, quite possibly the most important thing for Brienne, is sacrificed to save Pod’s life.

It’s another deconstruction of classic fairy tale characters. Motherhood is associated with protection, and so the gnc women in the series taking on protector roles of the more traditional sense (ruling, wielding a sword, knighthood, etc.) are also mothers at the same time, and the classic princess is what she would realistically be like - superficial and largely without those instincts. It’s another reason to think Arya/ Brienne/ Daenerys will end the series with children of their own.

[fantasticstoryteller]

Adopt Me

“Because you’re pathetic!” roared the man.

Wade blinked rapidly at his (former) boyfriend.

{I told you we should have killed him.}

[We still can.]

No. Wade had fought the voices for a long time. There were only a few people he refused, no matter what, to kill. The voices didn’t like that; they didn’t like restrictions.

But he had to draw the line somewhere. It was his body, and they were just sharing it with him. He had the final say—even if he did, sometimes, wonder if they were right.

{Ha!}

Wade had apparently been silent for too long. He looked up into the rage filled face of the man in front of him before he was grabbed, towed to the door, and flung outside. “You useless piece of shit,” snarled the man. “Get out! See if you can find someone else to take care of you.” He slammed the door.

{Now can we kill him?}

[Forget that. We need a place to stay. A base. Those pretty little weapons of yours that are still in the bottom of that bastard’s closet.]

White had a point. Whatever happened in the future, Wade was going to need those babies—they were how he earned a living, after all. So Wade, ignoring the boxes, waited for his (former) boyfriend to leave the house before slipping in, grabbing his gear and some clothes (not a lot of clothes; he had a lot of gear), and slipping out again.

{So…where are we going to go? Weasel’s?}

[The fucker does still owe us.]

He did—but he wouldn't be happy to see Wade. He always knew that Wade coming around was a bother. In fact—in fact Wade couldn't think of a single person who would actually be happy to see him.

[Why would anyone be happy to see you? Everyone knows what you do for a living.]

{And you’re hideous. Seriously—think about all those poor people who recoil at the sight of you. It’s sad.}

Wade sniffed. It was sad. It wasn’t like he’d asked for this (well, certainly not the fucked up appearance part). Was it wrong to want someone to just—want him around? An image flashed briefly in his mind.

[I didn’t quite catch that.]

Wade ignored White as he scrambled to find some cardboard. And a marker. Definitely a marker.

[This is a bad idea…]

***

Peter fought to keep a blandly amiable expression on his face as the host of the show apologized—to the other guest. Not a word of apology to him, and he was the one who’d been insulted. Of course, he was merely an author on this week’s top-selling list. (Actually, every top-selling list for the last two years, but that would require admitting to his other pen names.) The other guest was the lead of whatever the parent-group-of-the-week was called now, and had gotten four shows canceled in the last month. Of course she was fawned over.

And Peter was very, very careful not to take his temper out on the poor people who were responsible for actually getting the talk show to run. None of this was their fault, and he cordially said his goodbyes (to them, and not the host) before he left. Without the “security” that the studio thought he needed (honestly, did they think he was five?).

Peter was smart enough to realize that most of his irritation came from his loneliness. Sure, moving had seemed a good idea at the time—he was closer to the publishing agency, had a more central base for these stupid publicity rounds his agency forced him to do to “brand” his image. (Seriously, most of his books didn’t even have his name on them, and they were selling perfectly well. Why was the “brand” so important?) So, in the interest of having a much shorter commute, he’d moved to a condo (soundproofed which—actually hadn’t been needed, but he was forever hopeful), and left his home behind him. Not entirely behind him; he still had video chats with Aunt May every weekend, and got phone calls—occasionally—from his old friend MJ (who was now in Paris managing her own brand)—but he had no one here. He couldn't even have a pet; the condo didn’t allow it.

He passed the usual bunch of people on the street with cardboard signs—begging, playing music, the usual—when a new one made him stop. He backtracked and read the sign again. In bright, shiny letters (not sure what it was written with), were the words, “Adopt me.” His eyes tracked from the sign to the large, scarred man behind it.

“All right,” said Peter looking at the sign as wheels turned in his head. “What does it mean to adopt you?”

“Well, you take me to your home, and we spend time together, and you’re happy to see me,” the scarred man said. A pause. “Well,” he growled, “it’s not like you had a better plan!”

Someone else might have cut and run—but no one had ever accused Peter of making smart life decisions. Not twice anyway. “Are you talking to yourself?” he asked curiously.

“Just the boxes,” the scarred man said cheerfully. “I have two,” he admitted. “One’s white and one’s yellow, so I call them White and Yellow.”

Not the strangest thing he’d ever heard. Back in high school MJ had sworn that Peter had a soft, silky voice, so he figured that assigning a color to a voice wasn’t that strange. And the guy was entertaining. “My name’s Peter,” he said. “Peter Parker,” he added as he picked up the cardboard sign.

“Wade Wilson,” introduced the strange, intriguing man. “Eee! We’re alliteration buddies!”

Peter gave the happy man a lopsided grin. “Is that a good thing?” he asked.

“It’s a great thing!” enthused the man—Wade.

“Great! Grab your bag,” Peter said as he noticed the duffel bag behind the man, “and let’s go.”

“Go?”

“I’m adopting you,” said Peter with a smile. He couldn't have a pet—but there was nothing that said he couldn't have a human.

The large man scrambled to his feet with surprising agility as he slung his duffel over his shoulder. “You’re taking me home?” he asked with an odd, pained hopefulness in his voice.

“First I was going to take you for something to eat,” Peter admitted as the large man (almost twice his size) fell into step beside him. “I don’t have a lot of food at home,” he admitted.

“I can make pancakes,” Wade offered.

Peter felt a grin stretch his face. He was not going to be lonely, and his new roommate (adoptee?) was offering to make pancakes. Life was good.

***

[I still think this is a mistake.]

{Yeah, why’d he choose you? You’re not exactly cuddly.}

Wade tried his best to drown out the voices by talking. True to his word, the guy (Peter) had taken him to a diner. It was a strange, hole-in-the-wall place, but Wade was not complaining. The food was good. “And you would not believe how many people just glare, or kick at, or pretend they don’t see someone on the street—holy cow! These are great! What nut got the bright idea of putting eggs on nachos? They don’t even sound like they should go together, but holy fuck these are good!”

Instead of being grossed out, or complaining about his terrible table manners, Peter just smiles. “I know,” he said. “I asked Mary Anne, the woman who owns this restaurant about it the first time I had them and she told me she first had them Down South.”

The waitress, a blond young woman about the same age, came over and refilled both their drinks. “Yes,” she said. She turned to Wade who froze mid-bite, wondering if he was going to be thrown out of the restaurant. It had happened before. A lot. Instead the woman simply jerked a thumb towards Peter. “First two weeks we were open he was here every breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Worked his way right through the whole menu.” She snorted. “Had questions about every dish. ‘What made you decide to make this?’ ‘What was your inspiration for that?’ ‘Can I please have some tea that doesn’t taste like someone dropped half a gallon of sugar into it?’ Drove us all crazy.”

Peter simply smiled. “What can I say? I used to work for Foodies Unite.”

Wade gave a low, appreciative whistle. “That magazine that tracks the best food across the city?” he asked impressed.

Peter flashed a grin. “I put the really good ones,” he said in a loud, conspiratorial whisper, “on my blog.”

Wade burst out laughing as the waitress gave him a friendly swat. “You,” he said waving an egg-crusted fork at his dining buddy, “are an absolute trip.” Peter simply grinned and sipped his coffee.

[Careful Wade. You’re going to make him run.]

{We could kill him first. Then we won’t have to see the disgust later.}

No, thought Wade firmly, desperately. No killing.

{Not yet…}

Wade shoved the voices back as he realized that Peter was speaking. “… so there should be plenty of room in the closet for your clothes,” Peter said.

“I—uh, don’t really have clothes,” admitted Wade sheepishly. He had what he was wearing and his work suit—but nothing else. Peter’s gaze drifted to the huge duffel on the seat beside Wade.

[Still can’t do anything right. He’s going to ask, be horrified, and then what?]

{Out on the streets again!}

Yellow sounds obnoxiously cheerful about that. To his surprise Peter—doesn’t ask. Instead he simply nods. “Then,” he said with a sly smile, “it’s my job to get you clothes.” He paid for the food and the next thing Wade knew he was in a store with lots of mirrors, a plush couch that Peter was reclining on (with the duffel bag to his left) wearing a small smile as Wade was swarmed by what he swore were midgets.

[I don’t think that term’s politically correct.]

{Can we call them Munchkins? I mean, they’re about the same size.}

“I think the deep azure,” one Munchkin said to another.

“Violet,” argued the other.

“Azure will bring out the eyes.”

“Hmm.” Both little people turned to stare at him with a clinical expression Wade was more used to seeing on the other end of a scalpel as more of the little people swarmed around him getting measurements.

“Peter,” said Wade anxiously.

“Don’t worry,” reassured the other man. “You’re doing great.”

The first little person smacked Wade on the arm. “Come,” he ordered. “Time to try on clothes.” The tiny humans lead him off to a room, shove clothes at him, and leave him to change. He does, shakily, and then looks at his reflection in the mirror.

The deep blue shirt does bring out his eyes—and stands as a stark contrast to his mottled skin.

{Ask for a mask. A mask might help.}

[Oh, he’s beyond help.]

Shaking slightly he walks out to see Peter standing, pacing, and talking on the phone. “I just told the truth.” A pause and Peter sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Tony Stark,” he said viciously, “is an alcoholic womanizing vampire having issues with his sexual identity. There is no part of that description that says, ‘Hey, I’m safe for kids, bring the whole family!’” Another pause. “Well, maybe it’s high time someone did.” He hung up, turned, saw Wade and—unbelievably—smiled. “You look good,” he said approvingly.

[He’s lying!]

{Aw! He cares enough to lie!]

Peter turned to the dwarf in charge. “I want four of those, another two in short sleeves, and—”

“And the dress suit will be ready in three weeks,” finished the dwarf, “all billed to your account.”

Peter grinned. “You know me well,” he said. The dwarf snorted as another one of its kind handed Peter a series of bags. Peter took the bags, slung them over his shoulder, and then hoisted the duffel in the air and towards Wade.

[Holy—twig-boy here is stronger than he looks!]

Peter smiled at Wade. “Ready to go home?” he asked.

***

Peter couldn't help but grin at how enthusiastically Wade ran around the condo, poking his head into almost every nook and cranny as he almost knocked the flat screen off the wall. “Baby Boy, you’ve got everything here!” the large man rambled as he wandered. “TV, state-of-the-art kitchen, bookcases and The Spider!” he exclaimed suddenly as he grabbed a book off the shelf. “You’ve got The Spider series!”

Peter chuckled as he pulled up and booted his laptop. It was an older model without internet capabilities, but it worked and he didn’t have to worry too much about hackers. “I have the whole series,” he said to Wade’s obvious delight as he settled down to work.

Wade gasped as he pressed the book to his chest. “Even the first three? No one has the first three!”

That was because no one had believed The Spider would be popular. Peter chuckled at the irony. “The early issues on the shelf to your left,” Peter said as he brought up the relevant file. Nothing soothed Ned like a new chapter.

Wade slammed himself down on the couch, hooking his legs over Peter’s lap. He managed to get his laptop out of the way just in time. “Oh, man, I’ve loved these since they came out,” Wade babbled. “There’s just something so wholesome about a guy working among killers and not killing anyone, you know?”

Peter smiled as he got to typing, words coming faster now that they weren’t stifled by loneliness. “Glad to hear it,” he said absently working on the newest chapter of his Stark novels. Wade’s constant commentary was soothing to hear in the formerly empty apartment.

The knocking came a shock. Even more shocking, was the way Wade was suddenly tense, in front of Peter, and pointing a gun at the door. Peter saved his work, printed the latest chapter (he was well into the next one), and gently pat Wade’s shoulder. “It’s okay,” he said. “It’s probably just my agent.”

“Okay,” said Wade, gun not wavering in the slightest.

“That I should probably let in now,” hinted Peter.

“Sure.”

“Wade? Put the gun away.” The man blinked and obeyed and only then did Peter get up to let Ned in.

“You’ve really done it now,” Ned said as he came into the apartment. He fiddled with the edges of his scarf in agitation. “You’ve gone and upset the entire group! They’re calling for your head Peter!”

“And in doing so bring my books to the attention of whomever hasn’t heard of them yet,” Peter said as he walked over to the printer. He picked up the chapter and then walked back.

Ned came to a stop as he saw Wade, leaning against the couch with a book in his lap and the gun to his right. “Who are you?” he asked with a little trepidation.

“Ned, this is Wade, my new roommate. Wade this is Ned, my agent.”

Wade waved a single finger. “Hiyas,” he said cheerfully.

“Um. Hi.” Ned turned to Peter. “Where’d he come from?” he demanded.

Peter sighed. “I adopted him.”

“What?”

“Well, he was on the side of the road with a sign that said, ‘Adopt Me,’ so I did,” Peter explained.

“Peter,” sighed Ned as he rubbed his eyes under his glasses, “you can’t just take random people home. It’s irresponsible. It’s—what’s this?”

Peter grinned as Ned finally took notice of the typing paper. “My latest chapter,” he said smugly. “Unless, you don’t want it?”

Ned glared at him before snatching the paper and beginning to read. His expression quickly changed as he flipped through the pages. “Ugh! What? Oh…” The muttering sounded almost similar to Wade’s muttering as he flipped through The Spider books. “Holy shit!” Ned whirled to look at Peter. “For real?”

Peter smiled. “See what happens when I’m not lonely?” he asked mildly.

Ned turned to Wade. “I’m sorry for every bad thing I thought about you,” he said earnestly.

“Uh—”

“I see you have a gun, do you know how to use it?”

Wade was clearly on firmer ground. “Guns, knives, swords—if it can kill people I can use it.”

“Excellent,” said Ned with satisfaction before jerking a thumb towards Peter. “That idiot pissed off the head of Parents First this morning.”

Wade, to Peter’s surprise, winced. “That bitch?” he asked.

Ned reached over and pat Wade’s shoulder. “I’m counting on you to keep him alive. The new book must be published.”

“Hey!” protested Peter.

“I will do my best,” said Wade. “What? No, I wouldn't do that!”

Ned sighed. “Only you, Pete. Only you.”

***

After Peter left to go do Author things (it’s just an interview—they’re not going to tie me to a stake and watch me burn on live television unless the stake and flames are metaphorical Wade, and I can handle that) Wade decided to take it upon himself to make sure that his new bestie didn’t get killed.

[I’m not sure you can call the two of you “besties.”]

{He certainly doesn’t seem to have a lot of self-preservation. In one day he pissed off one of the most dangerous fanatical non-religious groups in the world and took us home with him. It’s almost like he wants to die.}

Wade frowned as he paused outside his old haunt, back in gear. Did Peter have a death wish? No, the guy was too happy for that—but he did seem rather lonely. Wade shrugged. He was just going to have to make sure that Peter wasn’t lonely, that was all. He waltzed into the bar and ducked as several knives were thrown at him. “Oh! Mean!” he complained as he made his way to the bar. “Gosh,” he said as he levered himself into a stool, “you’d think that people wanted to kill me!”

Weasel, the bartender, snorted. “Everyone wants to kill you Wade,” he said calmly as he filled someone’s liquor order before putting the glass on a tray for the waiter to take to a table. “It’s just that no one can.”

Wade nodded. “True that,” he agreed as Weasel slapped a beer in front of him.

“New micro-brewer,” he said. “I’m thinking of signing a contract with ‘em.” Wade made a show of tasting the beer by taking a sip and swishing it from cheek to cheek, even going so far as to gargle with it. “And?” asked Weasel.

Wade burped. “Tastes like beer.”

“Fuck you Wade.” Weasel calmly continued to make drinks. “Heard Nate threw you out. Surprised you didn’t come crash on my couch like usual.”

[I know I keep saying the whole thing with Peter is a bad idea, but not crashing with Weasel was a good one.]

{Why didn’t we kill the ex again?}

[Because Wade has limits, and he’s one of them.]

Wade ignored the voices as he glanced up at the bounty board. Most places had a digital website. Weasel insisted that was too easy to hack, hence the blackboard. (Everyone else called him cheap.) There, at the top of the list, was the name Peter Parker. The bounty was, of course, insanely huge.

Wade hummed before he grinned at Weasel. “Well,” he said brightly, “I got tired of people not wanting to see me, so I got a cardboard box and wrote ‘adopt me’ on it!”

“Sounds like the crazy kind of shit you’d do,” admitted Weasel calmly. “Then what?”

“Then someone did!” said Wade cheerfully. “A sweet, innocent little guy named Peter.”

Weasel paused in what he was doing. “Wade—” he said half in warning, half in fear.

“Peter Parker,” continued Wade. The bar was suddenly silent as he kept talking. “And if anyone,” he sang, “tries to lay a hand on that sweet, naive piece of ass, I will destroy theirs with a cheese grater.” A soft snort got his attention and he turned to look at the young woman at the bar next to him.

[Oh. My. God. Is that who I think it is?]

{Kill her! She’s after Peter!}

Karen Wishstone. The weirdest, strangest person he’d ever met. She was almost invisible—until she wasn’t. Her skill set would have made her a good assassin if she hadn’t made it a point not to kill.

{Oh! You think The Spider was based on her?}

Weasel sighed. “What are you doing here, Karen?” he asked warily.

Karen rolled her eyes as she swished the liquid in her bottle around lazily. “Relax Weasel,” she ordered. “I’m just in town to visit friends, and I thought I’d take a look at the bounty board while I’m here. See if there’s anything small to Stalk while I’m in town.”

“And?” demanded Weasel warily.

She held out placating hands. “It’s all too grand for me. This isn’t my town.”

[She could be lying. You know what they say about her. The first you know she’s there is when you wake up in Retrieval.]

{Kill her!}

Wade paused. Everyone knew that Karen was so good at what she did because no one saw her coming. If someone knew she was in town, that person was safe. “How do you feel about meeting my roomie?” he asked.

“Peter Parker?” she asked. He nodded. “The writer?” He nodded again. She sighed. “I’m not sure he’d want to see me,” she told him. “Last time I was in town we didn’t—exactly part on the best of terms.”

[Wait. She knows Peter?]

{I don’t like that she doesn’t want to see him. Can we kill her now? Please?}

“Why don’t I ask?” Wade thought the request was reasonable, but was checking to see how she took it.

To his surprise she seemed to mull it over. Then she smiled. “Okay,” she said. “Let me know what he says. I’m sure Weasel here’s already found out what hotel I’m at, how long I’m booked to stay, and where my dog is.”

Weasel doesn’t deny it. “I still haven’t forgotten what happened the last time you were in town,” he growled.

“And if you had proof that was my fault; I would be banned,” said Karen with a grin and a salute of her bottle.

***

Peter tried not wince as Wade mentioned Karen. He remembered the last time the two of them met. It certainly could have gone worse—but not by much. He looked over where Wade was shredding lettuce for their tacos. “I remember Karen,” he said evenly.

Wade chuckled. “Yeah,” he said, “that’s how she said you’d react, but I thought you’d want to see the person who inspired you to write The Spider.”

Peter paused. “You know I wrote that?” he asked looking at Wade in surprise. His name wasn’t the one on the spine of the books.

Wade instantly looked bashful. “Well—it fits,” he said nervously.

Peter grinned. “I’m shocked,” he said. He gave a low, happy hum as he sliced the olives. “You’re the first one to figure I wrote them,” he said. “I don’t think Ned even knows.”

“Who publishes them?” asked Wade as he grabbed a block of cheese and began to scrape it against the grater.

“Same people,” admitted Peter. “They’ve just never met me, as the author of The Spider. As far as they know the author of those books is a weirdo freak that always mails in his manuscripts.” He paused. “Actually, from listening to the gossip opinions seem pretty split on whether the author is male or female.” He reached over for some of the cheese and his hand brushed Wade’s.

Peter wasn’t sure what he was expecting—but it wasn’t Wade’s reaction. The man paled between his scars and then flung himself in a corner as he tried to use his shirt to cover all his exposed bits of skin. “Wade?” he asked as he looked at the shivering figure in confusion.

“—rry. Sorry,” whimpered Wade.

“What?” asked Peter. He gentled his voice as he turned off the stove burner before going over to Wade and crouching by him. “For what?” he asked softly, gently.

“Know it’s bad,” Wade whispered.

“Wade?” Peter reached out and the other man flinched. He paused, not certain of what the best thing to do was. His instincts told him to comfort the man—but how? He reached out a little further and rested his palm—gently—on Wade’s scarred cheek. “Wade? Are you okay?” Wide, frightened eyes looked up at him. “Did I hurt you? I’m sorry, Wade.”

Wade blinked as tears began to roll down his cheeks. Suddenly he threw himself into Peter’s lap, gripping the smaller man as though he was about to disappear. Peter, hoping he was doing the right thing, gently rubbed Wade’s back. “It’s all right,” he soothed. “See? Everything is all right.”

“…not,” Wade’s voice was soft, fragile—hurting.

The change in attitude bothered Peter more than he let on. He kept rubbing Wade’s back as Wade pressed his face into Peter’s stomach. “Everything is all right.”

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” said Wade a little more clearly. He held Peter just a little tighter.

“For what?” asked Peter. Wade mumbled something. Peter could only make out a single word. “Wade? What’s disgusting?”

“Me,” whined the man.

If Peter hadn’t been on the floor already, if he hadn’t been holding Wade, he would have stumbled in shock. What had happened to make this cheerful, happy man think so little of himself? Peter’s mind flashed back to finding Wade on the street with the cardboard sign. He should have asked more.

“Wade,” said Peter gently, “you’re not disgusting.”

“I am,” cried Wade. Peter was startled to see that the larger man was actually crying. “Disgusting, revolting, horrifying.”

“No,” protested Peter. He stroked the back of Wade’s head, fingers running along the scarred tissue. Wade didn’t even look up. “You’re not,” Peter said again.

Wade gave a dry, broken laugh. “I know what I look like,” he said bitterly.

Peter’s heart broke for the man. “Hey, Wade. Look at me. Hey,” he said as he pushed Wade’s head up to force the man to look at him. “Look at me. I don’t think you’re disgusting. I don’t think you’re revolting.” He snagged one of Wade’s hands and interlaced their fingers together. “You’re wonderful just the way you are,” he said firmly.

Wade looked into Peter’s eyes and the smaller man would swear he was trying to find the lie in the words. Suddenly he chuckled—but it sounded at lot less broken. “You must be blind,” he said wearily.

“No,” argued Peter firmly. He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Wade’s head. “I just see better than other people,” he said. As Wade slowly calmed down Peter wondered: just who had taught the man to hate himself so badly?

He also wondered if he had enough to put a hit out on the person responsible.

***

“So this is where you get off to.” Peter turned, not particularly surprised to see Karen behind him. She shrugged. “Between books.”

“Karen,” he said warily as he faced one of two people who knew all his secrets. He wasn’t worried about it; Karen probably knew everyone’s secrets. She didn’t talk much.

Karen pat the seat of the bench next to her. “Have a seat. Jogging isn’t going to help,” she added knowingly.

About to ask how she knew he was trying to jog some sense into what happened with Wade, Peter sighed. She’d never tell. And she might not even be talking about Wade. “What brings you to New York?” he asked as he took a seat.

“Seeing old friends. Meeting new ones. Watching a familiar idiot get a bounty of almost four million put on his head.”

Peter didn’t assume the sentences were unconnected. “No one’s going to Stalk me, Karen,” he said wearily.

She watched him from the corner of her eye. “No, they’re not. Wade got in front of the whole bar and told them all they’d have to go through him to get you.” She chuckled. “No one can get past Wade, so it doesn’t matter how big the bounty gets; no one will be willing to try.”

“Wade did?” asked Peter. He felt a confusing combination of flattered and worried.

“Wade has his own secrets,” Karen said simply. She looked at him. “You might consider sharing some of yours. He’s one of three people who won’t judge you about what happened, Peter.”

Peter snorted. “You don’t judge me.”

“I don’t count.” When Peter opened his mouth to protest she added, “I don’t count, because you don’t care what I think.” She smiled—small, knowing. “You care what he does.” She stood up. “Keep it in mind,” she advised before walking off.

Peter sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose to stave off a headache. There was really no point in asking more questions of Karen. Not only was she gone, but she wouldn't answer. He’d have to figure out what she meant on his own.

***

Wade was worried. It was one thing for Peter to be okay with seeing his skin on a daily basis—

[The horror show that it is.]

—but it was another for the guy to actually have to touch it.

{Why do you think he was apologizing? It wasn’t his fault our hands touched.}

[Because Peter’s a nice guy and we were upset. That’s the only reason he said we weren’t disgusting to touch.]

{How far do you think that niceness goes? I mean, he did kiss us.}

[On the FOREHEAD Yellow. The same place parents use to check if their kids are running a fever.]

“Yo, Wade!” impact to the back of the head made it impossible to ignore. He turned to see—Karen?

“What’s up duck?” asked Wade curiously.

She rolled her eyes. “You wanted to introduce me to your author friend,” she reminded him.

[Didn’t she say that wouldn't go well?]

“I thought you said he wouldn't want to see you,” said Wade.

“One way to find out,” said Karen as she poked him again. “So? Where do the two of you lovebirds live?” she asked.

Wade and the boxes sputtered. “They’re—we’re not lovers!” he protested.

“And I’m not a spine,” said Karen agreeably.

{… Was that supposed to make sense?}

“I don’t understand,” complained Wade as he walked towards the condo building.

“Clearly. Have you told Author Boy what you do for a living yet?”

{Tell the writer of those sweet little books that we kill people for a living? I don’t think that would go over well.}

[I hate to agree with Yellow, but why don’t we kill this bitch?]

“Because I’d kill you and then disappear while you were fixing yourself,” she said calmly.

Wade paused. That was new. “You didn’t use to be able to hear the boxes,” he said slowly.

She shrugged. “I didn’t used to be able to do a lot of things. Now hurry up; my time in New York is coming to an end and I want to get this done.”

“You’re not Stalking Peter, are you?” asked Wade nervously as they entered the building.

“No, I’m applying the Hammer.”

“What?” They reached the condo and went inside.

Karen ignored him. “Hi, Peter,” she said calmly. She shut the door behind them, pulled a gun and blew Wade’s brains out.

***

Peter stared in shock before staring at her. “You don’t kill people!” he hissed shrilly.

She shrugged as she pocketed the gun again. “And I didn’t,” she replied calmly. “But this was taking too long.” She met his eyes as wet noises began to emanate from Wade’s prone body. “Both of you have secrets, Peter. It’s time to tell them.”

“Holy fucking shit-turds!” snarled Wade as his head visibly knit back together. “That hurt.”

Karen gave him a nudge with her foot. “Stop whining,” she advised him. “We both know you’ll be fine.”

“That hurt!”

“And you were dithering. I don’t have much time left in New York. And now,” she added firmly, “that the Hammer has been properly applied, I have a woman to see about a dog. Oh,” she said pausing before she opened the door, “there’s a chance the woman responsible for the bounty on your head might be dead tomorrow. Do with that what you will.” She turned and left.

Peter, watching the man he had just watched die get up from the floor and start muttering about bloodstains, collapsed to the couch. “What?” he asked, confused.

Wade began pacing. When Peter could see his back he could see that the back of the other man’s head was literally knitting itself together before his eyes. “No, that’s a terrible idea!” Wade complained as he rubbed hands over his head in agitation. “He’ll hate us!”

And again, Peter’s heart broke for the man. He got up, got into Wade’s way, and hugged the larger man. “I won’t hate you,” he promised.

“Peter, you can’t say that,” Wade protested. Despite his words his arms went around the smaller man and Peter quickly hugged him back. “You don’t know.”

“Then tell me,” Peter challenged. “Tell me everything.”

Wade took a deep breath. “After the Dark War,” he began, “my unit was called for some—some experiments.”

Peter could feel how Wade was shaking. “What kind of experiments?” he asked.

“They said they could make me unkillable. Impossible to defeat. Immortal.” He clutched Peter tighter. “I was young and stupid and didn’t ask—” He took several deep breaths as Peter began rubbing the man’s back, trying to soothe him. “It was—I’ll just say it was Hell. Every step of the way and when it ended—when it ended I looked like this.” Suddenly Wade gave a dry, broken laugh, eerily similar to the one he’d voiced before. “I killed them all,” he admitted flatly, no emotion coloring his voice. “But—I was trapped like this. Forever.”

“Oh, Wade.” Peter pressed his face into the man’s chest, feeling the rough scars beneath the thin fabric of the shirt. “I’m sorry you feel trapped,” he said softly. “I’m glad you’re here,” he added.

Wade hugged him tighter and pressed his face into the crook of Peter’s neck. “You’re the only one who’s ever said that,” he admitted.

***

[I can’t believe he’s still here.]

{I can’t believe we’re still here. The stick boy didn’t kick us out! We don’t have to crash with Weasel and hope the bastard forgives us!}

[We should kill him.]

{That’s what I’ve been saying!}

No, Wade thought firmly, careful not to speak. Peter had (miraculously) fallen asleep in Wade’s arms. He couldn't remember the last time anyone had. Peter was a lot of firsts for Wade. The first to purely enjoy his company, without any monetary incentives. (Even the ex had demanded partial payment of Wade’s bounties—but Peter didn’t care.) The first to make someone else happy to see him. (He still remembered the happy, accepting look on the agent’s face after thinking that Wade was a danger to Peter to realizing he would protect Peter.

{The first not to think we’re disgusting.}

Yellow seemed to be coming to like Peter just as much as Wade was. As much as Wade did.

[There is something seriously wrong with this man. We should never leave.]

Wade blinked. Those two statements didn’t seem to mesh. Before he could try to interrogate White, Peter stirred gently. “I’ve got an idea,” the smaller man said.

“What is it?” asked Wade curiously.

“Wade, exactly what happens when a bounty is brought in to Retrieval?”

[I take it back. Ditch him. Ditch him now. This is a bad idea!]

“Why?” asked Wade curiously.

Peter shifted his head so that he could grin up at Wade. “Because I’ve got an idea,” he said smugly.

***

Peter grinned as he looked around the noisy, messy room. There was a high number of corpses, but that was to be expected. People were watching the two of them warily, but that was also to be expected. After all, it wasn’t every day that the most famous (notorious) Stalker in New York brought a living bounty into Retrieval. Even rarer that the bounty and the Stalker were flirting.

The woman working the desk sighed. “Deadpool,” she said wearily, “what are you doing?”

Peter looked at the costumed man next to him with curiosity, which was fairly normal, and no fear—which, given people’s reactions, was not normal. “Deadpool?” he asked his red leather-clad friend.

“Aw it’s—it’s just a nickname,” Wade said bashfully.

The woman at the desk snorted. “He,” she said pointing at the Stalker, “once filled a pool with dead bodies. Claimed he wanted to see if it really was possible to fill a pool with blood.”

“They deserved it!” protested Wade as he remembered the incident.

“What happened?” asked Peter curiously.

Wade stilled completely for a moment. “Something bad,” he said grimly. “Trust me—death was the least they deserved.”

“They were traffickers,” the woman at the desk explained. “I don’t know the full details, but Deadpool here killed them all, piled them into the dry pool at one of their homes, and got his moniker.”

Peter nudged Wade with his shoulder. “So you were protecting people,” he said.

“Kind of. Maybe. Almost?” said Wade. “They just—all three of us were really pissed off.”

All three of them. Wade and the two voices in his head, White and Yellow. Peter leaned against his friend again. He couldn't see through the mask that the other man was wearing, but he was willing to bet that he was nervous. He wanted Wade to know that it was okay, that Peter wasn’t going to abandon him.

And, once again, Peter felt a surge of rage at whomever had.

His musings were interrupted as a woman, the woman, sauntered over to where they were. He could tell, from the smug look on her face, that she was expecting to be identifying his corpse. She was about to be in for a big shock; it was high time she learned that the world wasn’t hers to run. Peter was more than happy to be instrument teaching that particular lesson.

The woman came to a shocked stop as she looked at Peter, still breathing, sitting on the bench next to one of the most infamous Stalkers in the city—maybe, if what the woman at the desk had been hinting at all afternoon was correct, the world. Her eyes began to narrow and she opened her mouth to speak.

Peter spoke first. “Hi,” he said brightly, in the over-the-top tone that most people (stupid people) used on small children and animals. “I’m Peter. This is my boyfriend, Wade,” he said gesturing to the costumed man to his right. Wade froze again. Calling him a boyfriend hadn’t been part of the plan, and Peter would figure out if he’d offended the man later. Right now the problem was that he had to do something about this woman. Peter stood up and put his hands in his pockets as he rocked from the balls to the heels of his feet. “You know, he told me that someone had put my name on the Bounty Board and you know what I said? I said, ‘Why don’t you collect it, Wade?’ And here we are.” Peter gestured to the Retrieval warehouse that they were in. “And you know what? Each and every single time that someone puts my name on that board, we’ll be here. So he can collect his payment.”

He knew; of course he knew, that it was impossible to insist that the person on the board being brought in be dead when they arrived. She knew, and he knew that she knew, that he now had a plan in place for when that happened to him. She couldn't use the Bounty Board to kill him.

She paled, paid, and left.

Wade and Peter left shortly after, giving her a little bit of a head start on them (they didn’t want to risk running into her). Wade walked in uncharacteristic silence for a moment. “You called me your boyfriend,” he said softly.

Peter peered up at him. He wished that Wade wasn’t wearing his mask; he would like to see the expression on his face. “Do you mind?” he asked anxiously. “If you do, we don’t have to—”

“Mind?” asked Wade. He hugged Peter close. “Of course I don’t mind! I’d love to be your boyfriend!”

Peter grinned and hugged back. A slight tingle of his spine had him throwing the two of them to the side as a large fist slammed into the ground where they’d been. Wade leaped away and pulled one of his swords (was that one of the things that had been in the duffel bag?) as Peter ducked another punch and landed on a tree.

The man glared at Wade. “I see you’re keeping busy,” he snarled.

“Had to leave,” said Wade.

Peter frowned. Wade didn’t sound happy, or quippy, or sarcastic—but defeated. He glared at the large man. Was this the reason why Wade had been on the street in the first place? Why he’d been so terrified of being touched?

The man opened his mouth to growl something—and his face went slack as he suddenly toppled over. Karen popped out of the bushes behind him and pulled a dart out of the man’s butt. “You still don’t have any survival sense,” she said calmly as she tied the large man up. A puppy, it looked young but came up to her knees, danced out of the bushes and towards them, yapping. “He’s been following the two of you since you left the condo this morning. Probably thought now would be a good time to make a move.” She tightened the leather restraints.

Peter looked at her. “Being a hammer again, Karen?” he asked. He still wasn’t entirely certain what she’d meant by that.

“No,” she said absently as the puppy danced around the man as if it was showing off a kill. “If I was, I’d point out to your shiny new boyfriend there how you’re sticking to the side of an oak tree by your hands and feet.”

A chill rushed through Peter’s veins as he realized that she was right. The danger had been familiar and the move so natural that he hadn’t even thought twice about it. Of course not. Why would he? He hadn’t been in that position for a long time now. He turned wide eyes to Wade to see the whites of the mask staring at him. He assumed Wade was looking at him behind the mask, but he wasn’t sure.

Especially since Wade addressed Karen. “So—are you taking him to Retrieval? What do you get out of it?”

Karen turned to grin at the two of them as the dog lifted a leg and peed on the unconscious man’s face. “Bragging rights,” she said smugly. “I was in the bar last night, trading verbal spars with Weasel, when this idiot came in bragging about how no quote, ‘prissy little bitch who can’t even properly kill’ could get him.” She wrapped the man’s legs with another leather strip. “Best part is, I won’t even have to stay in town. No one in that bar will let him forget it—he might even end up infamous on the ‘net if he’s not lucky.”

“And you hope he’s not lucky,” said Wade with insight.

Karen looked up at them again and Peter could see the amusement glinting in her eyes. “He’s an ass,” she said bluntly before pulling something from her pocket. It unrolled into a contraption with wheels and she maneuvered the large man (almost twice her size) onto it. The puppy jumped onto the body and sat, wagging its tail.

“Who’s the dog?” asked Peter as he climbed down from the side of the tree.

“Brucie. I’m training him to replace Brutus.”

“Ah—”

“He retired.” She grabbed a handle of the folding wagon and then waved at the two of them. “Nice to see you got your relationship stuff sorted out. Have fun you crazy kids.” She pulled the wagon and left.

Wade waved back and, without turning to look at Peter again, asked, “You—do you want to talk about it?” The words were tentative.

Peter sighed. It looked like it was his turn to talk about his past. “Wade I—you know The Spider?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, he wasn’t based on Karen.” There was a moment of silence and Peter sighed again. He wondered if Wade would decide to leave after this revelation. Not that Peter could blame him. “Everything in the books are true.”

“So, there really was an evil scientist trying to recreate the Dark War?”

Peter winced. He’d looked up to Norman as a father for years and it still hurt to hear the man called that. Norman hadn’t been evil—but he had been insane. “Yeah,” he said wearily. “When—when it all happened I had to write it down. I changed the names,” he added. He hadn’t thought changing the names would be enough to fool people—but he’d been wrong. “And I wanted everyone to know what had happened so I pulled three jobs and paid to get the first three volumes published. Everything after that was older stuff, remembered stuff.”

“Oh.” Wade sidled a little closer to Peter. “Are we—are we still boyfriends?” he asked.

Peter looked at the larger man and then smiled. “Only if you want to be,” he said with a smile.

***

No one knew why Deadpool suddenly joined The Spider on his adventures in the world of fiction. And, unlike his Stark novels and despite Deadpool’s attitude, they were still made for children. They were also, to no one’s surprise, popular.

[andcontemplation]

Old Friends, New Lives

Joyce Byers saw a ghost. Right there in the produce section of the supermarket. 

Across the display of crated oranges, hovering over the bulk bins, Jim Hopper had caught her eye. She stopped in her tracks and gasped. It was clear by the shock written all over her face that she wasn’t expecting to see him.

“What are you doing here?” 

The words tumbled out of her before she bit down on her bottom lip so hard, there was no way she didn’t taste blood, and her eyes went wide. She blinked once, twice, and gave her head a little shake. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing -- was it really him?

“Getting groceries for my mom,” Hopper gave a half shrug. “What does it look like?”

He waved the list at her as if to convince her that yes -- he was indeed real, and it wasn’t really a big deal. Not like she hadn’t seen him in just a smidge over two years. 

843 days to be precise… not like either of them was keeping count.

 A smirk tugged the corners of his mouth at the sight of her floundering above the mixed nuts, but he fought it. She was still so cute when she was flustered, and to be honest, he was enjoying making her squirm—just a bit. 

Joyce just shook her head impatiently.

“No, I meant, what are you doing here? At home. We weren’t expecting you…”

Hopper glanced at his list and grabbed a box of oranges for his basket.

“I’m on R n’ R. Uncle Sam let me come home for a few weeks before my next tour.”

Joyce continued to shake her head, moving from impatience into disbelief. Or maybe hurt? Anger. Sadness.

She blinked back what looked like tears and nearly choked on her next words.

“And you didn’t think to call? Or write?”

“Well, I was going to…” Hopper shrugged again, wondering how much longer he could keep up this charade of not-giving-a-fuck. Then he reminded himself that he kinda had a reason to be distant and cold with her. 

“So why didn’t you?” she asked.

Joyce shifted her weight, and even though he couldn’t see it, he knew she had her hands on her hips behind the display. He couldn’t meet her gaze, so he glanced around the store, at the walnuts on sale, at a young family passing by pushing their baby in a shopping cart. Looking anywhere but at her.

“Didn’t think it was right to hit up someone else old lady at Christmastime,” he muttered after a second.

Joyce sighed deeply, and it drew his attention back to her. 

She was staring at him, in earnest or exasperation, he couldn’t tell. Her eyes drifted over him as if taking in his image just in case it was the last time she might see him again. It didn’t feel like much had changed since they’d seen each other last. Sure, his messy, dirty blonde mop was now cropped high and tight, and the old button-down flannel he’d got from his closet didn’t quite fit him like it used to just a few years ago back in high school. He’d bulked up from his time in the army and lost some of that boyish charm and innocence somewhere along the way to the jungles of Vietnam, and maybe she could see that too. 

She was staring into his soul now. As much as he might’ve been hurt, she was hurt too, maybe even worse. If that was even possible.

“We’re still friends, Hop,” she said, finally.

“Are we?”

Joyce nodded, her cheeks flushed. She looked down for a long moment, and when she raised her head again, he swore she looked just a little bit guilty.

“Yeah,” she said. “We are.”

Then she stepped around the bulk bin, out from behind the crates of Christmas oranges and into the open where he could see now why she might feel guilty. Just a bit.

Hopper knew about the wedding. He didn’t know about this...

Joyce pushed her cart to the side and walked closer to him, fully aware it was his turn to stare now. Her left hand fell to her belly self-consciously, and Hopper didn’t know what hurt worse: the flash of a modest gold ring on her finger under the harsh fluorescent lights or the graceful swell of the child growing inside her. 

She was glowing with her rosy cheeks, dark hair pulled up high in a bouncy ponytail, and a blue corduroy jumper dress that flattered in her condition. Motherhood looked surprisingly good on her, and Hopper struggled with the emotions bubbling up inside; that it wasn’t him who put her in the family way instead.

“Christ, look at you,” was all he managed to get out, his hardened exterior slowly starting to melt away. 

Joyce heaved a sigh and leaned against the bins. 

“Yeah.”

Hopper’s heart sank at the verbal confirmation that what he was seeing was the god awful truth. He cleared his throat and tried to talk over the lump forming there. 

“I heard from Mom that you and Lonnie…” 

He couldn’t finish. He didn’t want to think about the fact her new last name was now Byers.

“Yeah,” Joyce said again, looking sorry. “I wanted to tell you. I just… didn’t know how.”

Hopper just shook his head.

“How-- I mean… When are you… due?”

“Any day now.”

Hopper rocked back on his heels, searching for something more to say than abject stammering. The emotions were getting the best of him. 

“He treating you good?”

“Yeah,” Joyce breathed, a happy grin creeping up on her lips. “Never thought I’d say that. But Lon’s been really sweet on me since he found out he’s gonna be a dad. It was even his idea to get hitched,” she said, trailing off, “I wanted to wait…”

Anger and jealousy won, and Hopper’s lip curled, despite himself. 

“Didn’t wait very long, huh?” 

He only sort of regretted saying it the second Joyce’s grin vanished. 

“Well, good for Lonnie,” Hopper continued, trying his best not to sound too sarcastic. “Never pegged him for the marrying kind.”

The color disappeared from her cheeks then, too. Joyce set her jaw and glared. 

“At least he stays true to his commitments. Unlike some people.”

Hopper rolled his eyes. 

“Yes. Clearly, Lonnie knows where his priorities lie. Like sending his pregnant wife out to get groceries for Christmas dinner right when she’s about ready to pop.”

Joyce gripped her shopping cart and pulled it towards her in defiance. 

“Well… a wife’s responsibility is running the house, you know.”

“Not when you’re as big as a house.” 

Hopper realized what he said as it left his mouth, and he had never felt more regret in his twenty short years on Planet Earth.

“Excuse me?”

“Whatever happened to women’s lib?” Hopper tried to backpedal. “I thought you were all for getting women out of the house…”

“I am nine months pregnant, Jim Hopper--”

“I just meant you shouldn’t be on your feet right--”

But Joyce refused to hear him.

“I cannot believe you! That is the rudest--”

“I didn’t mean it like that!” 

He cut her off, raising his voice, causing the nearby shoppers to stop and gawk at the trouble brewing next to a case of apples and oranges.

“You know what?” Her hand went up, and she leaned forward over her cart handle. “I’m going to stop you right there before I take out your knee caps using this shopping cart as my battering ram.” 

Her eyebrows shot up as if she was telling him to try her. For a moment, he was actually scared of the five-foot-three mother-to-be -- she was absolutely Horrifying with a capital H when she was hormonal and angry. No Viet-Cong could send chills down his spine the way she just did.

Then, as if a switch was flipped, Joyce straightened up, looked at her wristwatch, and pressed her lips together, slowly pushing her cart away.  

“It was really nice running into you, Jim, but you’ll have to excuse me. I suddenly have more important things to do… like pick out a ham.”

“Great!” 

Hopper grabbed an apple and slammed it into his basket. He grabbed another and squeezed it, bruising the fruit as he watched her walk away. 

“Excellent. Thanks for the catch-up. Let’s do this again sometime!” He called out after her, eliciting a few more concerned glances from passers-by. 

She stopped at the next aisle, looked over her shoulder, and gave him an exaggerated eye roll and a dismissive wave.

“Have a nice life, Hop,” she muttered over her shoulder, just under her breath. Just loud enough so only he could hear her.

“Same to you, sweetheart,” he snarled, even though he was pretty sure only the bananas heard him that time. 

A few moments later, Hopper was awkwardly standing in front of the bountiful display of yams and potatoes, his shopping basket at his feet, hoping Joyce would be done with the cereal soon -- where he needed to go next -- when he heard her cuss. Expecting it to be directed at him, he turned, ready to start the argument up again but instead, his blood ran cold. 

Joyce was holding herself up against the Cheerios, clutching the shelf with white knuckles. Her face was twisted in pain. 

Hopper left the basket at his feet and crossed the produce section to get to her as fast as possible.

“You okay?” he asked as he approached, worried.

“Yeah, fine.” Joyce waved him off through a grimace. She rubbed her belly and tried to convince the both of them. “It’s just a little cramp. I’ve had them all morning.”

“Joyce,” Hopper said, reaching for her as the cramp worsened. 

“I’m fine!” She shouted, pulling her arm out of his grasp. The motion made her fall back into her cart, and Hopper caught her just in time before it rolled away on her.

“No,” he told her firmly. “You’re not!”

Joyce grimaced and whined and bore down through the pain. 

“I- I think I’m…” she stammered before it happened.

Hopper stepped back just as her water hit the floor tiles with a sickening splash. Joyce looked up at him, stunned.

Oh shit. 

“Okay,” he said, taking charge. “Let’s get you out of here.” 

“The groceries…” Joyce said in a daze, reaching for her cart as Hopper was escorting out towards the store’s front.

Just like in combat, Private Hopper never skipped a beat under pressure. All sorts of pressure. Like navigating a minefield or getting his ex-girlfriend to the hospital to deliver his arch-enemy’s baby.

“Forget the groceries,” Hopper told her before he started asking the tough questions. “Where’s Lonnie?”

“I… I don’t know,” Joyce admitted as she waddled down the aisle, Hopper helping to hold her upright from behind. She let go of his hand she didn’t realize she was holding as the wave of pain started to subside.

“He’s not at home?” Hopper asked her. Why was he even surprised?

“He said he was going to visit a friend last night, but he didn’t come home.” 

“Of course he didn’t,” Hopper snorted.

As they turned the corner towards the front doors, they passed an unavoidable crowd -- the checkout lines were full of onlookers. 

“Hey buddy, clean up on aisle three,” Hopper said to the nearest bag boy.

Everyone at the checkout lanes stopped what they were doing and stared. Some, who knew the pair, whispered between them; others smirked but averted their gaze. The bag boy, who was all of fourteen, turned white as a sheet when he realized what was going on, but the kid quickly nodded, opening the door for them out into the parking lot.

“Out of the way!” Hopper shouted to a group of smoking, loitering teens, and they scattered at the foreboding sight of the pregnant lady going into labor. 

“Where’s your car?” Hopper asked Joyce.

She stopped to catch her breath. 

“There.” 

She pointed at her mom’s beat-up old Ford Galaxie in the expectant-mothers stall and handed him the keys from her purse.

He opened the passenger door for her and all but pushed her in. If she hesitated any more, it might’ve looked like a kidnapping to any other bystanders. 

“Do you need anything from home?” he asked as he climbed into the driver’s side. “Or do you want to go straight to the hospital? Joyce?”

She had a distant look on her face, and all the color drained from it in a split second. She was going into shock. 

“Joyce!” Hopper barked like he was trying to get a new Private’s attention. “Answer me!”

“I’m fine! I’m fine.” She snapped out of it and moaned. Clutching her stomach, she closed her eyes. “Just take me to hospital. Please hurry.”

He did as he was told, and it didn’t take them long to get there. The Galaxie practically floated down Main street towards Hawkins Memorial on what was left of the suspension. Hopper drove the big pink boat like it was a Ferrari, weaving in and out of the wintery mid-day traffic, and silently practiced what he’d say if they got pulled over. But by the grace of god, they never did.

He got her to the Emergency Room in record time, leaving the car parked and running at the entrance. An orderly helped him bring Joyce to intake, and Hopper helped her answer questions through another wicked contraction. Then, as he got her comfortable in one of the waiting room chairs, with the assurance that it wouldn’t be long now, Hopper got the feeling like maybe he had done all he could, or should... 

He would park her car, call a cab to take him back to the supermarket, finish up his mother’s shopping, and go home. His job here was done. Yet he couldn’t help himself when he asked aloud:

“Do you want me to stay?” 

Joyce’s eyes were red, rimmed with tears as she tried not to cry while she contemplated his question. It felt like forever before she shook her head. 

“No…”

Hopper nodded slowly but took the answer quickly, half expecting it. He squeezed her arm and stood up to go. 

“Wait,” she said, grabbing his hand. “Can you find Lonnie? Please?” she asked. “Call Norm Brown. 0465. Or maybe Tony’s? He’s at 3112. Or was it 3113? Shit. I can’t remember…” Joyce wracked her brain for the phone numbers to give him, looking panicked, sucking in shallower and shallower breaths. She was starting to hyperventilate. 

“Hey, breathe…” Hopper said, crouching in front of her, getting her to slow down. “Just breathe. I’ll find him for you, okay? I promise. What about your mom? Want me to call her too?” 

Joyce focused on her breath, speaking between long inhales and exhales. 

“She’s not here. Taking care of aunt Darlene. It’s just Lonnie. And me right now.”

When her breathing evened out, he caught her eye, giving her one last reassurance. 

“I’ll find him. Don’t worry your pretty little head… Mom.”

Joyce laughed at the absurdity of the new name on her. 

“This is actually happening, isn’t it?” A couple tears ran down her face, and Hopper caught them with his thumb before they got too far down her cheeks.

“Yup.”

“I’m not just dreaming this?” she sputtered, followed by another short giggle.

Hopper forced a smile, even though he knew it was tinged with sadness.

“Nope.”

It looked like Joyce was about to say something more when a matronly grey-haired nurse with a wheelchair interrupted, killing the moment.

“Missus Byers? We can take you in now. Does Dad want to come in too?

Hopper stood up and let go of her hand, practically recoiling. 

“Oh, no. No. No… I’m not…”

The older nurse frowned.

“Oh.” 

Joyce smiled awkwardly. 

“He’s just an old friend.”

“A close friend of the family,” Hopper added.

The nurse raised an eyebrow. 

“Sure, whatever you kids wanna call it,” she said, then turned to Joyce. “Are you ready?”

Joyce closed her eyes and took in a deep breath.

“Yes,” she said to the nurse. As Hopper helped her into the wheelchair, she reached for him one last time. 

“Find him for me, Hop?”

“I will. Hey,” Hopper locked eyes with her and then leaned in close to whisper in her ear. “You’re gonna do great.”

“Thanks.” She whispered back, squeezed his hand, her fingers lacing with his for a brief moment in time.

Hopper swiftly kissed the top of her head as he stood up to go. Then, he watched her get wheeled off beyond the swinging double doors and into the next stage of her life while he stayed firmly planted in their old one. 

When Hopper had parked her car and left her keys with hospital reception, he found a payphone and called the numbers Joyce had given him. One was no answer. The others said they’d pass along the message to Byers, which was good enough for now. 

Then Hopper called a cab to go back to the supermarket, but he could barely focus. He grabbed the essentials from what he remembered from his mom’s list, lost somewhere along the way to the hospital, and then went home in a daze himself. 

He wondered how it was they got to this point -- former best friends, lovers, now perfect strangers in each other’s lives, except for those few moments in between when it was only them and whatever trouble they’d found themselves in. He couldn’t even begin to comprehend the merry-go-round of misunderstandings and his-and-her mistakes in life that brought them here. Any sane person would say it was time to let go, move on. 

Was a friendship even salvageable after all they’d been through? She seemed to think so, briefly before he ruined it with his bad attitude. 

Later that evening, Hopper tried to get comfortable and get some sleep, something he was sorely lacking since jetting halfway around the world only a few days prior -- he was still on Saigon time. But he could only toss and turn, thinking about Joyce. Worried that Lonnie might still be MIA, and she’d be all alone, he got up, grabbed the bouquet of lilies he’d brought home for his mom from the airport out of the crystal vase off the dining room table, tied it up with some ribbon he found under the Christmas tree and drove back to the hospital. 

He wasn’t entirely sure what his plan was when he got there. He just had the urge to see Joyce again, one more time, and tell her it’d be okay.

But when he walked through the front entrance to the Maternity ward, Lonnie was there in the waiting room just beyond the intake desk, smoking a cigar with a few buddies, looking like they’d just finished up a shift at the bar. The sight of the other man was enough to stop Hopper dead in his tracks. The last few times they had interacted ended in fisticuffs, and Hopper knew better than to engage, especially tonight. Lonnie might’ve been an asshole, but it was still his first kid. He had a right to be happy and celebrate, without anyone shitting on his parade or stirring up trouble. 

Hopper doubled back to the pretty red-headed nurse at the front desk and handed her the flowers, interrupting the paperwork she was shuffling through.

“Give these to Baby Byers. Tell the family congratulations for me.”

The young nurse nodded and smiled sweetly at Hopper as he turned to go.

“Oh, but there’s no card,” she said after him. “Who should I say they’re from?”

Hopper shrugged. 

“Just an old friend.”

[juuten]

Hey! In honor or spooky season and my recent haunted world trip, may I have the A3! Boys (any assortment up to you) reactions to a s/o whos terrified before going into the haunted house like completely horrified but then once they go in the S/O isn't afraid of anything? I found out recently that anticipation absolutely kills me, but like a actual good spooks from a quality haunted house does little to nothing to scare me lol.

Hello there! Thank you for requesting 💖 I never heard of a haunted world trip, but it sounds interesting! However, I’m easily scared so R.I.P. Anyway, I hope you’ll enjoy reading this 🥰

Advanced happy Halloween, everyone!

Characters: A3!ders (Sakuya, Tenma, Banri, Tsumugi)

You agreed to do this, but why did your feet stay in place?

Your knees trembled; your palms excessively sweat as you stared at the haunted house towering over you. Cobwebs and tattered strips of white cloths covered the humungous house. With its dark colors, it certainly brought a sense of fear. But what made you hold back was those monsters. Their arms are outstretched; their hands are in a form of claws that can mar you once in range. Some of them have their limbs mangled, scattered even. They gave you this eeriness that resulted to your arms’ hair standing.

If those horrifying things were out there, then what could be inside?

When Sakuya noticed your trembling state, he internally panicked. What should he do? Should he hug you? Kiss your forehead? Hold your hand? His forehead creased. Sakuya was almost clueless on how to soothe someone; he knew that he wasn’t reliable especially in these kinds of situations. And admittedly, he was also afraid at haunted houses, but not as much as a certain orange-haired man.

Despite those factors, Sakuya searched deep in his memories. As he played them one by one in his mind, his worry grew more. One, you were still trembling badly. And two, he still couldn’t find a worthwhile solution. All he did was earnestly reach out to the person, just like what he did with Chikage. Then the outcome naturally became good

Wait. That's it. That was his way, and, he thinks, the best help he could offer to you.

“(First Name).” Your boyfriend���s voice made you look up at him.

“I may not look reliable, but… I’m here for you.” Then he suddenly bowed. “Please let me protect you!”

“Sakuya! People are staring!” True enough, some people near you were whispering. Who knows what rumors will be created the longer he bowed?

He quickly stood up at that. “I’m sorry!”

You sighed. He made the situation so dramatic. You guessed this was one of the effects of being an actor. But then you smiled. Your boyfriend’s gesture was so like him, which was earnest and touching. It always warmed your heart, even now. Yes, the fear still lingered, though he gave you a hand to hold on to gain some courage.

You gently clasped his hand. With a smile, you said to him, "But thank you, Sakuya. I'll hold onto that.”

When both of you stepped into the house, you noticed it still had those cobwebs, mangled limbs, and teared sheets. But the only light coming from the small lanterns made the place eerie. You felt your heart race. You were uncertain what feeling was this.

At the corner of your eye, you noticed a spare lantern at the corner of the room. You were about to grab that lantern, then suddenly, a bloodied ghost jumped in front of you.

“(F-First Name), stay back!" Despite his pounding heart, your boyfriend stood in front of you.

You blinked. You didn’t feel anything at all when that ghost jumped in front of you. You didn’t even flinch.

You lightly shoved your boyfriend to the side. “It’s not scary, so you don’t need to do that.”

“Eh!” Sakuya couldn’t believe your words. It’s not because he doubted your courage, but it was because you were horrified before entering this house. Your recovery, if you would call it like that, was too quick for him.

You patted his shoulder. “What caught me out there was excitement, so no need to worry.”

Sakuya didn’t immediately respond. You felt guilt creeping into your heart. You made him worry so much for nothing.

You casted down your gaze on the floor. "I'm sorry."

Your boyfriend snapped out of his trance and shook his head. "It's fine. What matters is that you're alright now!"

He might’ve not done much, but Sakuya was relieved to find out that you weren’t afraid at all. Hence, the couple continued their journey despite the mahogany-haired boy flinching here and there.

When Tenma noticed that both of you weren’t moving at all, he patted your shoulder. “(First Name), why aren’t you moving?”

“Huh?” You said.

Tenma noticed the tremble in your voice, which made his eyes filled with concern. Based from your reaction, you were frightened to enter this haunted house. He wanted to relieve you in some way, but what was he supposed to do? He wasn’t the best person to seek for comfort, especially he worked for years in a field wherein criticisms were everywhere. However, acting taught him one thing – putting yourself in one’s shoes. Rather, both of you were wearing the same shoes. It’s just that, he controlled his nerves like a professional actor that he was. Nevertheless, Tenma completely understood your fear. Who knows what surprises and jump scares were waiting inside that wretched house?

“You do know that you don’t need to push yourself, right?” Your boyfriend said.

You gripped his arm. “I know, but this is the last stop.”

“We really don’t need to finish all of these.”

“Yeah, but-”

“No ‘buts.’” You pouted at that, which made him blush. Then he faced forward, pulling you away from that (horrid) house.

As your boyfriend dragged you farther to the haunted house, you looked back. It still appeared terrifying and humongous from afar. However, the fact that that was the only place you never tried in this trip didn’t sit well with you.

You tugged at Tenma’s arm. Tenma furrowed his eyebrows. “What’s wrong?”

“Let’s go back.”

Tenma’s face paled. He put his hands on your shoulder almost too tightly. “Are you sure? We can really go to another venue.”

“It’s the last stop. And besides, it’s the perfect hiding spot for a celebrity,” you said.

“What's that kind of reason!”

“I'm just trying to protect you from the paparazzi." Then you sighed. "But I guess you’re more afraid than me.”

At the mention of ‘afraid,’ Tenma violently reacted. “Of course not! Why would I be afraid?” Without waiting for your response, he grabbed your hand and pulled you towards the haunted house again.

When both of you stepped into the house, it still had those cobwebs, mangled limbs, and teared sheets. But the only light coming from the small lanterns made the place eerie. You felt your heart race. You were uncertain what feeling was  this.

At the corner of your eye, you noticed a spare lantern at the corner of the room. You were about to grab that lantern, then suddenly, a bloodied ghost jumped in front of you.

“Gah!” Tenma jumped behind you, gripping your shoulders as if his life depended on them.

‘Idiot, what are you doing?’ He scolded himself. He was supposed to be protecting you, his girlfriend, not the other way around.

He was about to go in front of you and glare at that monster, but then you said, “You’re not scary at all!”

While the ghost grunted, Tenma let out a loud ‘ha?’ that almost deafened you. “Are you blind? It’s bloody, no human face, and has claws for hands!”

When Tenma realized he exposed himself, he cleared his throat. “Not that I mind. But more importantly, weren’t you scared?.”

“That was just anticipation. I realized it thanks to the ghost.” You pointed at the ghost, who slowly went back to its station near the wall.

Then you mischievously grinned. You were all too familiar with Tenma’s strong front. However, you didn’t know until now that he was easily scared. That was why you wanted to tease your boyfriend. In addition, it was a reward for yourself for discovering that you weren’t afraid of these kinds of things.

“Then we could continue, right?”

“O-of course!” Tenma’s said, his voice strained.

For once, Tenma forgot his fear at the same time his poor sense of direction. At least you got to enjoy this trip with him and you were there to (protect) lead him.

Banri was about to pull you inside, but he stopped when you didn’t budge. He looked over his shoulder and was about to ask you what’s wrong, but the look on your face answered him.

Banri furrowed his eyebrows. The rides you rode in this place only made you smile and scream in glee. You weren’t even afraid when you met Sakyo for the first time (Banri knew that no horror films nor horror-themed parks can beat him). Hence, he was confused - what was terrifying of this haunted house? Everything here weren’t real monsters – they were either decorations or people in costumes. Nonetheless, he couldn’t just leave you like that. Yes, he could be a douche and prank you sometimes. However, he wasn't heartless nor stupid to ignore your fear.

He wrapped his arm around your waist, rubbing his hand on your side. “Babe, don’t freak out. You can do this, right?”

You slowly nodded. “Yeah, but I just got the chills.”

Banri hummed. “Anxiety’s killin’ you, huh?”

You nodded at that. Then suddenly, he walked towards the house, his arm making you follow his movement.

“W-wait, Banri!” You gripped his arm, trying to stop him from ushering you.

“Why would you even be afraid if you got me? ‘Sides, I can beat the shit out of ‘em.”

“It’s not their fault that they’re doing their job, Banri.”

He patted your side. “Just kiddin’.” Then his face suddenly turned serious. “But what I said first ain’t a joke.”

Your eyes widened at that. Your boyfriend can be unexpectedly affectionate, and it always caught you off guard. Before you realized, Banri pulled you inside the house.

When both of you stepped into the house, it still had those cobwebs, mangled limbs, and teared sheets. But the only light coming from the small lanterns made it the place eerie. You felt your heart race. You were uncertain what feeling was this.

At the corner of your eye, you noticed a spare lantern at the corner of the room. You were about to grab that lantern, then suddenly, a bloodied ghost jumped in front of you.

Banri instinctively put his arm in front of you. Looking over his shoulder, he said, “Babe, are you okay?”

For one moment, your face was blank. Banri was about to shake you, but then you smiled. “It’s not that scary at all!”

Banri squinted at you. Were you becoming crazy or was he becoming insane? Whatever it was, he knew your reaction before was no joke. “Weren’t you freaking out like a while ago?”

“I was not freaking out! I was just excited,” you defended.

Banri incredulously stared at you. “Really?”

You nodded. “I just didn’t realize until that ghost came.”

Banri gazed at you for a little longer before letting out a sigh. “I got worried for nothin’…”

“What?”

“It’s nothin’.” He sighed, but then he smirked. “Since you ain’t a scaredy cat, how ‘bout we have a competition?”

You sighed. “Of course, you’ll beat me.”

He pecked your cheek. “Can’t deny that.”

“Did I say I won’t try?” Then you sped off, making Banri let out a surprised ‘oi!’.

However, he did not opt to chase you. One, because he knows this haunted house was a piece of cake. And second, you were now enjoying yourself. And that’s most important.

When Tsumugi saw your quivering state, it’s like an arrow pierced his heart. It pained him to see you so afraid of something. Some may say that a haunted house was not a big deal. But based from your reaction, it certainly was a big deal. He wanted to erase that fear, but if not, he should at least soothe you.

Tsumugi clasped his hand in yours, his warmth transferring to you. “We could do another thing, (First Name). Don’t force yourself.”

You looked up, and your eyes met his. You always told him before that his eyes looked like a part of the ocean filled them. Oceans may be scary, especially when their waves raged. However, they gave you a sense of calmness whenever stilled. That was your boyfriend’s eyes. Thus, you felt your fear dissipated in the ocean of Tsumugi’s tranquility.

And because of this, you shook your head. “No, we’re going in here.”

Your boyfriend frowned. “Are you sure?”

You nodded. Then you tapped your cheek. “For protection.”

Your boyfriend immediately understood, which made him blush. He wasn’t used to PDA even though you’ve been dating for months. However, if his kiss can give you comfort, then he’ll do it.

He gave you a quick peck on your cheek and quickly turned away. You didn’t miss that tinge of pink blooming on his cheeks.

“Let’s go.”

When both of you stepped into the house, it still had those cobwebs, mangled limbs, and teared sheets. But the only light coming from the small lanterns made it the place eerie. You felt your heart race. You were uncertain what feeling was this.

At the corner of your eye, you noticed a spare lantern at the corner of the room. You were about to grab that lantern, then suddenly, a bloodied ghost jumped in front of you.

Tsumugi covered your eyes with his hand. “Don’t peek.”

He knew that you already saw the ghost. However, this was at least he can do. He didn’t want your gaze to linger further it; it may imprint itself on your mind, which he definitely doesn’t want to happen.

But then you removed his hand from your eyes, which alarmed Tsumugi. “Wait, the ghost didn’t go back-”

“I know, and I appreciate your effort. But I’m not afraid of these things.”

Tsumugi blinked. He opened his mouth, and then closed it again.

“Uh... Tsumugi?”

He rubbed his neck. “Sorry. It’s just... are you really sure you’re not afraid?”

“Yes, I’m sure! Anticipation almost killed me outside. And besides,” you tapped the spot on your cheek your boyfriend kissed. “This gives me the boost.”

Tsumugi frowned and his concerned eyes still remained. You know this look. It was the mother hen mode activating. Before he could speak, you gave him a chaste kiss.

“No nagging. Come on! I want to bust this place out!”

Tsumugi felt himself heat up. A sudden kiss in a haunted house… never mind that. What he should focus on was your sudden change. He wanted to ask numerous questions, but he can’t form the words. No, he cannot even fathom that occurrence.

Then Tsumugi saw you smiling at another ghost that popped out of nowhere. He didn’t know when, but he felt his lips curve into a smile. Well, as long as you enjoyed yourself, he was assured.

[loki-hargreeves]

Good Omens Imagine - You Summon a Demon

Warnings: demon summoning, this is honestly just a crack fic, vulgar language, a moody demon Word Count: 2K Summary: Out of boredom, you decide to summon a demon, not believing that it would actually work. You end up summoning Crowley in your apartment. A very worried angel comes looking for him as well. That’s how you meet Crowley and Aziraphale. Author’s Note: This has been on my mind for a while now. I don’t actually know how to summon a demon so please excuse how I wrote it. It’s not meant to be taken seriously. Please enjoy <3

THIRD POV

It was a silly idea, truly. Y/N and her friend had been out at the nearest bar and after a few drinks, they ended up discussing paranormal stuff. Somehow the conversation morphed into the two of them planning on playing with the Ouija board Y/N had somewhere in her apartment, possibly hidden in her closet or underneath her bed to gather dust. In their tipsy minds, it sounded like a perfect plan.

As Y/N returned home alone, she remembered that. She decided to find the board and get it ready for tomorrow. But as she found it hiding underneath her bed, she got an idea.

What if she played alone? It’s not like anything would actually happen, but it could be fun nevertheless. Surely, she would laugh at herself about it afterwards. So that’s what she did. Y/N set up the board on the floor, lit up a few candles to set the mood. She turned off all the lights and covered the mirrors in her bedroom. In order to play, she quickly read the instructions. Just like that, she was ready to get started.

As much as she was convinced that it was fake, it still made her nervous. There was always that small chance that it would work, right?

“Okay, I’m calling in good spirits. No negative entities are welcome here,” Y/N started as the online instructions had instructed her. “If anyone’s actually there, I would like to play with you.” Gosh, that sounded so wrong, she thought.

She sat on the floor with her fingers on the pointer. After a few moments of silence later, nothing happened which relieved her. She sank her shoulders and smiled, feeling much more comfortable now that it hadn’t moved. “This is so stupid, it’s not like this board could actually summon a demon,” The woman laughed by herself, giving her words zero thoughts whatsoever. 

If only she had known the power of her words.

As if on cue, something happened. The pointer began to shake underneath her fingers which startled her out of her skin. Y/N let out a scream as she got up from the floor, watching in horror as the Ouija board shook wildly. That was not supposed to happen! “Holy fuck, shit…fuck!” Y/N whimpered in horror. Her eyes were glued to the board. Once it began to levitate, she almost passed out.

Was she dreaming?

Or was she drunk? Y/N hadn’t had that much to drink either.

Her heart was pounding so hard from fear that she felt it all the way up in her throat. She wanted to run away, but her entire body was frozen in shock. Her fight or flight response seemed to betray her.

A bright light came seemingly out of nowhere. It was so bright in fact that Y/N had to close her teary eyes. A few moments later, the light seemed to vanish, and she heard that the board dropped back on the floor. Terrorized by what she saw, she still decided to look at the board. What she saw next was definitely not a Ouija board.

There was a man, a tall man in fact, standing right in front of her. He had ginger hair, an all-black outfit and round sunglasses. Although the lenses were dark, she noticed that he had yellow eyes. Yellow! The man, or whatever it was, seemed annoyed. “Aw fuck! Couldn’t this have happened a little later? I was just in the middle of something!” The stranger groaned in a…British accent?

“What the fuck are you?” Y/N cried in fear, wanting to keep a distance between her and the man. 

“There’s no need to be so rude, damn,” the ginger man, creature, whatever replied to her. Shivers ran down Y/N’s spine. In her mind, she was convinced that she had just summoned death itself into her own bedroom. She wanted to scream and cry, to run as far away as she could, but she could only stand there as her world began to spin wildly. Her vision began to brighten until she saw white. A split second later, her body failed her as she lost consciousness.

The demon, Crowley, wanted to leave. But he had been summoned and now there was an unconscious woman on the floor inf front of him. As pissed off as he was, he decided to wake her up. Surely, the candles would burn down her house if he just left her like that. “Get up, will you?” Crowley sighed and squat down on the floor right next to her. He poked her body with his long fingers, noticing the details of her appearance. He wondered why on earth she had summoned a demon and why it just had to be him! Crowley had been at Aziraphale’s bookshop as he was summoned. Surely, the angel was worried as hell over his disappearance.

When his poking didn’t bring her back, Crowley cursed under his breath. He wanted to leave, truly, but he couldn’t. He had been summoned. He had to end this ritual she had started, and he couldn’t do that when she was in an entirely different world than him.

                          Y/N furrowed her eyebrows together as her headache grew worse, so bad in fact that it woke her up. Carefully, she rubbed her temples and moaned in pain. Did she really get such a terrible hangover over a couple drinks? She opened her eyes and noticed she was in bed, although she couldn’t remember ever getting in it. Then she heard two men talking. Quickly, she was fully awake, and she remembered what happened.

The man!

Y/N got out of bed and followed the voices. Although she was terrified, she was curious. She walked out of her bedroom and looked into her living room. There were two men there, talking until they noticed Y/N. One of them was the same man that appeared out of thin air. The other one looked much kinder. He had light locks of hair, big blue eyes and beige clothes. For a moment, it was perfectly quiet in her apartment. Little did Y/N know she had a demon and an angel in her living room. She was convinced at this point that this was a fever dream.

“Someone’s finally awake! Great. Now just end what you started so we can leave,” The ginger one broke the silence. He sounded angry which was indeed horrifying. Y/N didn’t know them or what they were capable of.

It made the other man sigh, “Crowley, can’t you see she’s terrified?”

What kind of a name was Crowley? Why was the other one so considerate? Nothing made sense to Y/N in that moment.  

The same man continued, “Hello, I’m Aziraphale and this is my friend Crowley. I know you’re scared, but I promise that you’re just fine,” Aziraphale tried to ease her mind a little bit as Crowley rolled his eyes in the background and crossed his arms like a grumpy child.

“How did you…where did you come from?” Y/N managed to say something despite her worries.

“You summoned me, remember? Aziraphale just followed me,” Crowley snapped.

Aziraphale couldn’t just ignore it when Crowley vanished into thin air right in front of his nose. Of course, he followed the demon! A little curiosity went a long way. “This doesn’t usually happen. You see, in order to actually summon a demon…”

“A demon?!” Y/N breathed out in shock and her eyes widened. It sounded absurd, but it would explain what she saw.

“He’s not a bad demon! You know, he used to be an angel…” Aziraphale tried to speak, but he was cut off again.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley hissed, angry that the angel had to mention it to this stranger woman.

What the hell was going on? Had Y/N lost it? She was beginning to believe that.

“As I was trying to say,” Aziraphale raised his gentle voice ever so slightly, “summoning a demon requires a lot of spiritual power. You didn’t summon him for no reason. Now would you like to introduce yourself, dear?”

Something about Aziraphale was so calming. Yes, the situation was absolutely wild and unbelievable. Y/N was scared because there were two men in her home claiming to be demons. But this man had a presence which helped her relax. It was so overpowering, so magical. “I’m Y/N,” She said surprisingly calmly. The closer Aziraphale was, she more relaxed she became.

“Alright, Y/N. It’s nice to meet you. I’m sure we can get to the bottom of this little mishap and then we can all go on about our days,” Aziraphale smiled so cheerfully, as if this situation wasn’t terrifying at all.

Crowley sat on the arm of Y/N’s couch and he crossed his long legs, “Why did you even summon a demon if you’re so scared?”

Someone wasn’t happy to be summoned. Y/N almost felt sorry for ever touching that Ouija board. “I didn’t mean to! I just…well, I didn’t think it would work, okay?” She defended herself honestly. “Also, how am I supposed to believe you’re a demon...an angel, whatever. This is crazy!”

“Oh, you want proof?” Crowley smirked, as if she dared him to do something. He suddenly stood up straight again, getting ready to give her a little fright.

On second thoughts, she didn’t want proof. She was terrified enough and even the sheer possibility that they were speaking the truth was absurd. It would confirm to her, a human, that demons and angels existed. That kind of information would surely mess with her head. “No!” Y/N took it back.

“Oh, such a bummer!” Crowley muttered. He was already getting excited over the thought of scaring her by showing her his true form. It’s not like it mattered anymore. She had seen him appear out of thin air so what’s another supernatural experience more on top of that?

Aziraphale felt his stress levels rise as he stood between the two of them. He couldn’t believe they ended up in that situation. But somehow, he was convinced they were supposed to find Y/N. There was a very high energy radiating from her which almost told the angel that she could be useful. As risky as it was, he wanted to be friends with the mortal. Perhaps she could have something to do with the doomsday?

“Can you please just end this and then finish whatever you have to with Aziraphale? I’m tired of this,” Crowley began to get impatient.

“How do I ‘end this’?” Y/N wondered. She truly had no idea.

Crowley hung his head low as he tried to stay calm. Was she for real? “Did you read any instructions whatsoever before you decided to ruin my day?”

Aziraphale almost giggled at the situation. Although it was serious, it was a little bit amusing. But he managed to bite his lips together to stay quiet.

“I read something online,” She admitted. Y/N was oddly calm now. So far, they hadn’t made any indications that they would harm her. Besides, when she passed out, one of them had moved her to her bed. If they wanted to hurt her, surely, they would’ve done that already. So, she concluded that she didn’t have to be as terrified as she was.

“Okay then do whatever you read. I hate being trapped in here,” Crowley admitted. Wow. He couldn’t have been any harsher, now could he?

“Okay, I end this session. Whatever. Is that it?” Y/N mumbled a little awkwardly. Both Crowley and Aziraphale looked at her quietly. Nothing seemed to happen, at least nothing visible to her eyes. Did it work? Y/N didn’t even know what was supposed to happen!

That’s when Crowley cracked a smile, “See? That wasn’t so hard!” It was as if some magical bonds had let go of him and made him ten times less moody. Good for him, Y/N thought.

“Now, how about we discuss how you got him here in the first place?” Aziraphale suggested excitedly. He was naturally curious, so this was all fun and games for the angel. As long as he stayed, Aziraphale stayed. They had a conversation to finish and it didn’t matter if they did that at the bookshop or this Y/N’s apartment.

_____________________________________________

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoyed this. Your feedback would be highly appreciated  💚

[transvavsquad]

he doesn’t do it that night.

there’s no reason for him not to, of course. the darkness urges him gently that it should be fine, but when he uncorks the bottle, the smell washes over him and crashes down like a tidal wave and makes him sick to his stomach. it’s not bad. it’s just- strong. a lot of magic. a lot, and he’s not used to that. 

so he puts it off. the darkness concedes, almost... ashamed. the cat on his shoulders chirps, and presses it’s cold nose against his temple before nuzzling downwards and purring. 

that night, the darkness explains it will be back again soon enough, but without a true champion, it can’t stay. it will wait for him in the mirror realm. it knows his words, his choice. he doesn’t have to tear himself away from her. it’ll just be the potion. just the potion, and then it’s an instant switch, and the pain all blends together.

but when he wakes up that morning he finds his beacon flickering like his grief. the sadness is gone replaced by a burning anger, sharp and piercing and twisting whatever upset he still held in his heart. in a week, the gods will be coming to meet them again.

so jordan takes a deep breath, and steels himself, and becomes apathetic to what’s happening. lets tom make the jokes, throw it in his face- two ianitees, now, jor-dahn. they all laugh along but jordan just feels hollow. dec watches him carefully, as the week passes, but he never asks. 

direct lies are hard, but he never needs to do it. 

at the end of the week, the gods are in the trial house. dec stands in the front, but to the side, and the three of them come in, tom and karl in front of him, the cat around his neck, and something sitting neatly in his pocket, his hand curled around it. 

whatever they’re talking about escapes him. he thinks it has to do with the sudden disappearance of the darkness, but he spaces out the whole time, figuring out the wording, keeping himself calm. biting his lip and the inside of his cheek. the cat purrs low beneath the din of noise. every time she speaks, his hands clench at his sides, and he swallows thickly.

“captain,” ianite asks, eventually. “your thoughts?”

“my thoughts,” he says after a long pause, and he’s glad to know his voice doesn’t shake. “you’ve spent how long ignoring me, and now you want to know. my thoughts.”

“jordan-” dec warns, but he cuts him off with a bitter laugh.

“no! no. no, if you want my thoughts, i’ll give them to you- i think this is bullshit. i think it’s utter fucking bullshit that after all of this, i’m nothing to you. i don’t care if you don’t know who i am, you know what i’ve done, for your other selves, for every one of you that i’ve met. i know you do, because one of them showed you every single bit. and i knew then i was nothing to her as well.”

“jordan, mate,” karl says with a hesitant chuckle. “i don’t know if-”

“no, karl,” jordan cuts him off, “you don’t know. you have not been a part of this long enough to know. tom has! and tom doesn’t give a fucking shit about it either!”

tom looks distraught, horrified. “i didn’t realize-”

“bullshit.” jordan says in a voice that doesn’t quite feel like his own. the cat on his shoulder flicks it’s tail, but is smug, sharp eyed with slit pupils. 

“captain,” dianite says, eyes wide and sharp. “what are you doing?”

he grimaces in the mock shape of a grin, broken and angry and vengeful, his heart racing. “can’t you guess,” he says, and now his voice is shaking, nervous and prepared for what’s coming. “it’s not so hard. it’s been a long time coming. hell, you’ve been advocating for it for years.”

“jordan, wait-” declan gasps, already stepping forwards- because he knows, doesn’t he, what’s coming?

“i renounce my bond to ianite, and swear by every living and dying being in all worlds, i mean it to be true.”

the pain comes instantly.

of course he expected it, of course he knew it would hurt, but gods, he’s been hurting for so long, so why should he care? he does of course he does holy shit holy shit holy shit 

every fiber of his being is ripped apart, split in two, frayed at the edges like lightning strikes across the skin. he wouldn’t be surprised if he had the scars from a smiting spreading over his arms and back, pale and bright against him, a reminder of what he’d done. and this is why he knows tom’s confession had been a lie, because you do not split from your god so easily, you do not simply give them up. a champion pays a price both ways, gives and receives, and the ties that bind are meant to be eternal. it takes a lot to become a champion. it takes a lot to prove yourself to a god, so why would you ever want to leave them?

the world is in shattered glass, stained and shining and brightbrightbright. and still he stands, rooted, unflinching- years of service and connections snapping like bowstrings pulled too taught, like arrows splitting arrows on perfect bullseyes. he knows she feels it too- not as strongly, never as strongly, but she will feel it, and knowing her, she won’t let it show. a stumble, perhaps, but nothing beyond that, he’s sure.

when his vision clears again, every person in the building is staring, wide-eyed and scared, worry and concern and terror etched into their expression. dec steps forward first, hands up and placating, careful, careful, like jordan’s some broken, lost pet. 

“easy, jordan,” dec says, careful and quiet. “you just did something... incredibly serious, mate. you may want to sit down.”

jordan reaches up and wipes the blood from his nose and eyes, flicking it off to the side, smearing it down his once white shirt, because now he realizes there’s a purple stain dripping where his heart is, vibrant and dark, and it reminds him of the taint, almost. 

“oh, don’t worry,” jordan says, and has to spit the blood from his mouth, too. he can only imagine how horrific he must look, on death’s door, but he sure as fuck isn’t knocking yet, and he pulls out the little glass bottle, and uncorks it. “i’m not done yet.”

everyone shouts and roars in shock, but it’s too late. down the fucking hatch. 

this hurts, too, but nowhere near as bad, because while this feels like drowning, he’s done that before, and this is, in essentially, a healing potion too. he never willingly made that first connection with his lady, and assumed he had been born for it, and maybe, he thinks, maybe that’s why it hurt so much. 

this is a sharp, chilling cold against the warmth of his own tingling skin, the fire of frayed nerves soothed by iced magic, and it’s followed by something thick in his blood that hums with an energy he’s felt before, making his heart beat heavy and his ears ring. when he blinks, he sees the void, and again, the mirror realm, and again, the taint in ruxomar, and again, ianite’s dissolve, and again, tucker being controlled, and again, crashing into the ocean off the edge of the an empty island. 

once more.

his friends, home. safe. just before their final fight. at ease. at peace. together. 

once more.

his lady. his. lady. not spark’s. not this- child. 

His Lady. 

he screws his eyes shut, and lets them dissipate, and opens his eyes to the room. everyone looks horrified, and he can’t help but smile- smile at their shock, their anger. at the way the aura around him is still purple, but glaring against the pitch of the energy that now surrounds every inch of his being, a thick smoke rising from the floor, swirling around him like snakes, twisting through his legs like cats, and he laughs, incredulous and delighted. 

and someone echoes back.

everyone’s gaze flickers to the figure climbing in the smoke behind jordan as they curl their claws over his shoulder, the cat now sitting proudly on the other, and they chuckle in response to the horror they all show. 

jordan can only keep his eyes on her.

“now,” the darkness says, and jordan feels a tug in his gut like the ones he feels with chorus fruit and ender pearls, and steels himself for a landing. 

“now we truly begin.”

and then, in an instant-

they are gone.

[jlalafics]

“Baptism”-an Everlark one-shot

Hello! Was it possible? Could I fit all three requested sentence prompts into one story?

I did.

Anyway, the three prompts I was given are:

“Oh god, how can you manage to switch from cute to sexy in under a second?” (Anon request)

“What took you so long? I missed you…” (From @omercilessmoon​)

“If you don’t stop looking at my lips without doing anything about it, I will take you right here on this counter.” (Anon request)

I hope I did all of you justice.

Happy Reading!

Also, thank you to @keelaree​ for my bomb cover. Love you!

Summary: “Katniss didn’t know if it was kismet or just plain bad luck but she and Peeta Mellark always found themselves on the opposite of a baptismal font, one of them holding a white clad infant and wondering which one of their idiot friends thought they would make good godparents.”

_______

Baptism

The Baptism of Josephine Lily Hawthorne

The church bells rang atop the Church of St. Anne as people gathered inside dressed in their Sunday best. In the first few pews sat the excited parents, Gale and Madge Hawthorne, along with their families.

Madge, in a rose dress, smiled in greeting to anyone who came into the church, showing off the dark-haired Josephine dressed in a multi-tier white dress and matching bonnet. Beside her, Gale greeted everyone stoically, a hint of pride in his smoky eyes.

However as soon as they were alone, his face fell into a mask of anxiety.

“I’m going to kill him,” Gale whispered to his wife.

“Not if I get to him first,” Madge replied through clenched teeth. “Thank God, Katniss is always a stickler about being on time.”

They were twenty minutes past their allotted time. Besides them, there were two other families waiting for their babies to get baptized.

Gale turned to the entrance doors behind them just as Katniss peeked in to shake her head.

“Dead,” the man swore to his wife. “There’s going to be a funeral right after this baptism.”

++++++

In the church vestibule, Katniss paced as one of the parish attendants closed the door so the service could begin.

“Every fucking time,” she swore quietly.

Why did Peeta always do this?

On the other hand, why were they always picked?

Actually, Katniss already knew why.

She was single. Peeta was single.

Everyone else in their group of friends had already put a ring on it and then reproduced.

Finnick and Annie Odair were first, getting married right out of university. Gale and Madge’s wedding happened two years later to which she played Best Woman to Peeta’s Man of Honor.

Recently, her own sister had betrayed her by marrying Cato, Peeta’s former roommate. The two were currently finishing up their Hawaiian honeymoon while the rest of them celebrated the blessed event of watching Joey Hawthorne getting water splashed on her sweet little head.

The sounds of rushed footsteps broke her from her reverie, and she turned to see Peeta running over to join her.

Katniss crossed his arms as he slowed. “What took you so long? I missed you…”

Peeta raised a brow as he buttoned his suit jacket. “You did?”

“Fuck no! I’m just tired of freezing my tits off waiting for you to show up,” she growled at him. “They want both godparents there before they can bathe the baby!”

“Katniss, please. You’re in church and God doesn’t appreciate your filthy mouth,” he replied, his tone heavy with snark. “Though it is one of your better attributes.” Peeta grinned. “Your tits too, but I’ll only admit that because we’re in the house of God—”

He was quickly silenced as Katniss grabbed his crotch and squeezed…hard.

“Listen,” she hissed, her face inches from his. “You are a giant pain in my ass but, for some reason, we are always stuck together. I would appreciate it if you would just do me the courtesy of not making me and the entire party wait while you do whatever the hell you do.” His mouth opened in an attempt to speak and she tightened her grip. “Do you understand?”

Peeta’s face had gone stark white, though his glare was as biting as ever. “You bit—”

“Hey guys?”

Katniss quickly released Peeta from her death grip and turn to find Gale peeking his head out.

“We’re ready for you,” he said. Gale’s face suddenly went scarlet. “Also, the sound really carries through the whole church…”

Katniss’ jaw dropped. “How much did they hear?”

“How much should I donate?” Peeta asked as he tried to smooth down the creases in his pants.

“Everything and enough to pay for Joey’s first year of college,” Gale told them. “Now, get in.”

Chastised, the two followed their friend down the aisle and to the baptismal font where Madge waited with their goddaughter. The woman glared at Peeta before handing Joey to him carefully.

From across the font, Katniss watched him as he gazed down at Joey, a smile lighting up his face. In turn, Joey cooed at her godfather.

She couldn’t help but smile at the charming pair—

“Katniss?”

Her eyes went to Gale, his grey eyes panicked as he leaned towards her.

“Father just asked if you renounce Satan…and you didn’t respond.”

“Oh—" She looked to the priest. “I totally renounce him!”

Her eyes went to the ground, trying to ignore the quiet snicker coming from across the baptismal post.

Katniss didn’t know if it was kismet or just plain bad luck but she and Peeta Mellark always found themselves on the opposite of a baptismal font, one of them holding a white clad infant and wondering which one of their idiot friends thought they would make good godparents.

++++++

The Hawthorne Residence

“That shit was hilarious!” Annie cackled as they sat at the kitchen table, eating some leftover cake from the reception. “They asked you if you renounced Satan and there was twenty-second pause!”

“I am horrified.” Katniss forked a hefty piece of cake before plopping it into her mouth. She looked to the woman loading dishes into the dishwasher. “Your parents must be horrified, Madge. I am so sorry.”

“It was actually kind of funny,” Madge told her easily. “I told my side of the family that you were Gale’s first choice for godmother. Hazelle, however, has probably lit a dozen candles for you.”

“Well, she’s known me since I was kid so I’m pretty sure she’s lit more than a dozen for me,” Katniss retorted.

There was a flurry of tiny steps as Nolan Odair rushed into the kitchen, jumping into his mother’s lap and burying his little face into her chest. She, in turn, affectionately caressed his dark locks and placed a kiss atop his head.

Another set of footsteps followed as Finnick stepped into the kitchen, a smirk rising on his handsome face as his green eyes settled on Katniss.

“Hey Katniss! Do you renounce Satan?”

“If he’ll help me get rid of your annoying butt,” she deadpanned before digging in for more cake.

Gale walked into the room along with Peeta. “Be nice to him.”

The latter still held their Goddaughter in his arms and Joey, now fully awake, looked pretty content. Katniss had to admit that Peeta had that special charm about him. She watched him through their college years captivate women, both young and old.

No one was immune to Peeta Mellark.

Except for her.

“And, why should I be nice?” Katniss asked her friend.

“Because he’s going to be a Dad again,” Peeta informed her.

Annie looked to her husband. “I thought we were going to tell them together!”

“We were!” Finnick turned to Peeta. “How did you know?”

“Annie hates chocolate cake,” the man replied. “And she’s wolfing it down like there’s no tomorrow.” Leaning down, Peeta kissed their friend’s cheek. “Congratulations Annie. Here’s hoping that you’ll have the girl you want so Finnick will finally leave you alone.”

Finnick looked aghast. “How dare you. She seduced me!”

Annie grinned, looking to her husband. “It’s true. Couldn’t keep my hands off him.”

The rest of the group all congratulated the couple, each one raising a glass of wine or, in Nolan’s case, a juice box, to the second time parents.

Afterwards, they all settled back, and Katniss reached to get another piece of cake.

“This tastes amazing,” she mused, her eyes closing and a content hum vibrating against her lips. “I just want to rub up on the person who made it.”

“Oh God, how can you manage to switch from cute to sexy in under a second?” She opened her eyes to find Peeta staring, his blue eyes full of mirth at the sight of her. He handed Joey to Madge before removing his suit jacket. “Do you really mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“About rubbing up on the person who made that cake,” he replied as he unbuttoned the cuffs of his sleeves to fold them up.

Katniss watched; each fold revealed his forearms for her perusal. “Why?”

He sat across from her, taking her fork to cut a piece of cake before placing it in his mouth.

“Because I made it.”

She was faintly aware that the fork had previously been engulfed in her mouth; that she had licked chocolate off the same spears that were between his lips.

Katniss shook her head. “You lie.”

“It’s true,” Madge told her from the counter as she rocked Joey. “Peeta’s family owns a bakery.”

“No kidding.” She couldn’t help but smile as Peeta’s cheeks colored. “Why did I never know this when we were in college?”

“Because you were too busy in college to even look at me,” he replied quietly.

Katniss grinned. “If I had known, maybe I would’ve sucked up to you more.”

Peeta groaned, trying not to smile. “You’re killing me.”

“Plus, Peeta was getting enough sucking in college, if you know what I mean,” Finnick informed her gaily.

The smile fell off her face. “Moment over.”

“Damn you, Finnick!” Peeta looked to her, crestfallen. “So…no rubbing?”

Katniss snorted. “I’m afraid not today.”

However, she left with half the cake.

++++++

The Abernathy Institute of Aging

“Hello, Mags. I’m Dr. Katniss Everdeen.” She sat beside the older woman’s bed. “How are you today?”

“I’m alright, I suppose,” Mags replied softly. “Do you know when my husband is visiting?”

Mags’ husband had passed away several years ago.

“I’m not sure. I’ll have to check with the nurses—do you know what month it is?”

“September,” the woman answered.

It was July.

“Thanks for reminding me.” Katniss gave her a smile. “It’s about lunchtime. Did you have any requests?”

“I’m fine,” Mags told her kindly. “My Harris will be bringing my lunch. We eat every meal together, you know.”

“Alright.” Katniss stood up. “I’ll give you some time to get ready for your visit. Thanks for speaking with me.”

As soon as she stepped out into the clinic’s hallway, Dr. Haymitch Abernathy, her mentor, joined her side.

“How was she today?” he asked, concern in his voice.

“Better in terms of her mood as she was completely stable during our interaction,” Katniss told him before frowning. “However, she’s forgotten about Harris’ passing again. When she remembers, it’s going to be difficult.”

“If she remembers. Her memory has deteriorated quickly in the last six months.”

“I’m sorry, Dr. Abernathy,” she replied. “I know how much she means to you.”

“She was a fine neighbor who was always kind to the wayward young man next door,” he said with a grin. “And she did introduce me to her pretty niece.”

“Yeah—I mean, Effie is way too good for you,” Katniss replied with a snort.

“Watch yourself, Dr. Everdeen, or I might not be so favorable when it comes to next month’s shifts,” he told her, though a smile played on his lips. “Effie is expecting you over soon, by the way.”

“I’m off next Sunday,” she replied. “I’ll be over for brunch.”

He nodded as they reached the nurses’ station. “I have a new case that I’d like you to shadow.”

“Sure,” Katniss said easily. “Where’s the chart?”

The elevator behind them dinged. “Actually, I can just introduce you now—”

“Katniss?”

She whirled at the voice and found Peeta approaching them. He gently guided the man he was with until they stood in front of her and Dr. Abernathy.

The man looked to her and gave her a shaky, yet kind, smile. “You know my son?”

Peeta’s father—they had the same smile.

“Yes, Mr. Mellark. Peeta and I went to the same university.”

“Katniss is loads smarter than me,” Peeta informed his father. He looked her over in her doctor’s coat, her printed blouse and bootcut dress pants peeking out from beneath. “Obviously.”

“She is my prized intern,” Haymitch informed the men. “Dr. Everdeen, this is our new patient, Brian Mellark. Brian, Dr. Katniss Everdeen will be shadowing me on your case.”

Katniss took the man’s hand, clasping his fingers between hers. She felt the tremble, already knowing that she was looking at someone who was suffering from Parkinson’s. However, Katniss could tell that Brian had a fighting spirit.

“Nice to meet you officially, Mr. Mellark,” she said.

“Brian please,” he insisted. “Any friend of Peeta’s is a friend of mine.”

“Well—” Her eyes went to the man who stood beside Dr. Abernathy. “—Peeta and I just happen to share a goddaughter, so we’re practically family.” She began to guide him towards the exam rooms, making sure to follow his pace in order to gauge his current mobility. “I have a feeling we’ll be sharing another one in about seven-ish months.”

They made a slight right into the exam room and she helped Brian into a nearby chair.

“I actually really hope that they don’t pick us,” Peeta told her. “I mean, you’re practically banned from the last church we were in.”

Dr. Abernathy guffawed. “Why is that?”

“Because when they asked if she renounced Satan…she paused.”

“It was an accident,” she insisted. “I was momentarily distracted by a certain tardy godfather!”

“So, you were looking at me.” Peeta smirked at her. “Katniss, I’m flattered.”

Katniss looked to Brian. “How do you even deal with him?”

The man chuckled, briefly giving his son an affectionate smile. “He grows on you eventually.”

She raised a brow. “Like a fungus?”

“Exactly.”

“Dad!” Peeta cried out in embarrassment as they all chuckled at him.

Dr. Abernathy grinned. “I think we’re all going to have fun.”

++++++

“So, does anyone know?” Katniss asked as she and Peeta stood outside of exam room. “Madge? Finnick?”

Peeta shook his head. “It’s new.” He leaned against the adjacent wall. “My mom noticed the tremble about three months ago, so she took him to his primary doctor. He ran some tests and then recommended that we see Dr. Abernathy.”

Katniss nodded. “Your Dad is in good hands. Dr. Abernathy is the best.”

“I feel like I know nothing about you,” Peeta suddenly said. “How long have you been working here?”

“I’ve been an intern here for about two years and I hope to stay as long as I can,” she told him. “The world needs more neurologists.”

Peeta reached over, straightening her coat for her.

“I’m impressed.” His gaze went to neat braid resting against her shoulder and her breath caught as his fingers grazed the tip. “Dr. Everdeen.”

“I’m impressed by your cakes,” she offered. “I can’t bake for the life of me.”

“I guess that’s why you’re going to have to keep me around,” he quipped. “After all, the cake that I made for Joey’s christening was the whole reason I was late and earned your ire. I had to help my Dad close the bakery and then spent the night making the cake. The bakery is about two hours away from the church and I overslept.”

“You should’ve told me,” Katniss said, suddenly feeling ashamed.

Brian’s condition was serious, and it was obvious that he would have to completely cut back from working at the bakery sooner than anyone thought.

“It’s fine,” he told her easily. “I am glad that you liked the cake.”

Katniss chuckled. “I owe you a rub down, too.”

She did not just say that.

Oh God—was she actually flirting with Peeta?

A grin rose on his lips, making her forget her faux pas.

“I’m going to make you five more cakes just for saying that.”

++++++

The Baptism of Alice Riley Odair

“I’m sorry!” Katniss rushed to the front of the church, removing her coat, and tossing it on a pew before joining the rest of the group. “I got held up at work.”

Finnick went to her, placing the infant in her arms. “Isn’t she the most gorgeous baby?”

Katniss’ eyes went to the baby and she leaned down to sniff the baby’s strawberry-colored hair.

“She is very beautiful…” Her words caught and everyone looked up at her show of emotion. However, Katniss gathered herself and looked around the nearly empty church. Besides Finnick and Annie’s parents, their group—which now included her sister and Cato—was the only one in attendance. “I guess it’s a solo baptism?”

Annie smiled. “Finnick insisted that no other babies take up his princess’ spotlight.”

She nodded before her attention went to the priest to begin the ceremony.

However, Katniss knew he was watching her.

Because this time, Peeta forgot to renounce Satan.

++++++

The Odair Residence

“I brought you some cake.”

Peeta sat next to Katniss on the back steps leading down to the wide backyard of the Odair Home. Inside, the reception continued as servers walked about offering the hundreds of guests champagne and canapes.

No one even noticed the beautiful English-inspired garden outside the double doors—or the two missing godparents.

“They haven’t even started serving the cake,” Katniss replied softly. However, she took a piece from the plate that she was sure was part of the Odair family china.

“I might’ve brought an extra cake,” he told her, leaning back against the steps. “You’ve been crying.” Katniss looked to him in surprise. “Your eyes were shiny when you got to the church and your nose was a little red, like you’ve been sniffling a lot. You can talk to me if you want. I mean, I think our friendship has grown in the last few months.”

It was true.

Since his father’s first appointment, Peeta had become a constant visitor to the clinic, along with Brian. His father’s treatment was a combination of medications and lifestyle changes prescribed by Katniss and Dr. Abernathy. However, every patient usually needed some time to find the best dosage and medication for themselves; it took Brian three months before they found a working regiment.

While his father worked with her and Dr. Abernathy, Peeta had been his father’s constant companion and, after each appointment, they found themselves often talking by the nurses’ station until Brian was ready to leave.

Sometimes, she thought that Brian let them talk a little too long.

Katniss took a deep breath. “Mags died last night.”

“Katniss…I’m so sorry,” Peeta told her sincerely. “I know how much she meant to you and Haymitch.”

Her eyes welled up once more and this time, she didn’t brush the tears away.

“I knew that she was getting worse,” she explained in a thick voice. “But it just happened so suddenly. I was at the nurses’ station charting and she coded…” Her face fell into her hands. “Haymitch and I tried so hard to get her back…but we knew it was over.” She looked up at the man next to her. “I have never seen Haymitch look so defeated.”

She was suddenly engulfed in Peeta’s embrace.

“This all sounds like a good reason to cry. You cared for Mags and so did Haymitch. She will always be a big part of your life and career. She’ll be the patient that you’ll always remember.”

“I knew neurology was going to be hard. It’s all about dealing with the brain. All parts of it…the parts that effect the physical body…the parts that effect emotional parts. But Mags was more than a patient to me. I cared about her and she was my first patient at the institute.”

Katniss groaned into the balmy air in aggravation.

“Why couldn’t I have gotten into something easier? Like obstetrics?” She let out a wet laugh. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard—”

“Prim is pregnant,” he finished for her. “They made the announcement about five minutes ago.”

“I guess this is our magic third,” she told him.

“I hope it’s a boy this time,” Peeta replied. “That way Finnick can freak out over Alice possibly having a future boyfriend.”

Katniss rested against his chest. “That might just cheer me up—a panicked Finnick Odair.” She looked up at him and gave him a smile. “Thanks.”

She was abruptly aware how close they were…how Peeta’s thumb caressed the top of her hand causing a zing of electricity to surge through her body. His nose was nestled in her loose waves and Katniss found herself wishing that he would just—

She liked him.

More than liked him, really.

Katniss could almost imagine herself waking up in the arms that held her; they made her feel safe and loved. She could see a life where they would spend Sundays making bread at the family bakery so that their children could visit Brian and Peeta’s mom Miranda and cheer up their ailing Grandpa. She imagined kisses that made her forget stressful days and conversations that lasted until they fell asleep in each other’s embrace.

It all seemed wonderful.

But it wasn’t real.

Also, Peeta didn’t like her like that.

They were friends and they shared godchildren. If it didn’t work out, they would be splitting up the whole group.

She would lose him.

And her heart couldn’t take that.

Slowly, Katniss pulled away.

“We should go back in.”

She rushed away before he could even respond.

++++++

The Abernathy Institute of Aging

Katniss sat back after examining Brian; he seemed comfortable, his tremors under control. However, he did admit to struggling during workouts. She noted his discomfort but knew that it would be some time before he’d feel stronger.

“I think it’s the combination of medication that’s making you feel so tired,” Katniss told him. “Anyone taking that combination would probably feel the way you do. Give it time and continue working out. However, if you continue to feel this way in a few months, then we should consider looking into other regiments, maybe physical therapy.”

“I agree with Dr. Everdeen. Your symptoms seem to be side effects of your medications,” Dr. Abernathy told the man. “However, I also see a definite improvement with your tremors. Do you have any questions?”

“I do have some questions for you, Dr. Abernathy,” Brian replied.

The doctor nodded before looking to Katniss. “Why don’t you set up Brian’s next appointment up with Peeta?”

“He should be outside,” Brian told her with a smile.

“Nice seeing you, Brian,” she told him before giving him a quick hug. “I’ll be at the nurses’ station as usual.”

Gathering her things, Katniss stepped out into the hallway and found Peeta waiting expectantly for her. He approached as she closed the door, giving her a small smile.

“Hi.”

“Hello,” she said shyly. “I haven’t seen you since—”

“The reception,” he finished, joining her side. “Do you think we could talk…privately?”

“Sure.”

Katniss led him down the hallway towards the opposite end as Peeta followed silently behind her. It had been a little over three months since they had seen one another. She had been busy at the clinic as well helping Prim and Cato move into their new house.

“Brian told me that you’ve taken over a lot of the day to day operations at the bakery,” she said as they walked into an empty conference room.

“Both my brothers were more interested in the business and marketing aspects of the bakery,” he explained. “I enjoy baking and we were able to hire a recent graduate from the Culinary Institute to assist me. Also, my mom is helping out in the front along with Susie, my sister-in-law.”

Closing the door behind her, Katniss went to the counter where a coffee maker and hot water dispenser sat next to a sink.

“Did you want any coffee? Oh wait—you like tea,” she said absently as she filled the dispenser before opening the cabinets. “We have chamomile, black, rooibos—”

“Katniss.” She turned to find Peeta right in front of her and instinctively she pushed back against the counter. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“Maybe,” Katniss found herself admitting. She leaned back against the counter, crossing her arms. “I’m not good with vulnerability…and feelings, in general. I chose a career where I had to rein that all in.”

“Whether you like it or not, emotions tend to come out,” he replied. “Prime example is Mags. You never reined it in when it came to her, did you?”

“Towards the end I did,” she told him. “I had to introduce myself to her everyday and it broke me every time.”

“Just because you let someone in and it hurt, that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t let anyone else in,” Peeta pointed out.

Katniss met his eyes. “And by anyone, you mean you?”

“I like you!” he burst out, blue eyes frenzied. “Hell, I might even love you, but you can’t run away because you’re scared.” His hands went to her shoulders. “Katniss, you’re smart…and kind…and beautiful beyond words and I know that I don’t have a chance in hell with you—but I have to try.”

Her chest filled at his words. “You might love me?”

Peeta shook his head. “No, that’s a cop out. I do love you. Even when you hated me, I loved you.”

“I never hated you,” she said. “I might have been annoyed with your tendency to be late…and your complete lack of tact sometimes…and in college, the fact that there was always a different girl on your arm—”

“I tried and failed to compensate for the one person I wanted,” he explained. “All of us���you and me…Annie…Finnick…Gale and Madge…even your sister and Cato are so interconnected. I thought that it would go badly if I even approached you with the intent of becoming more.”

Her hand went to his cheek. “And now?”

Peeta let out a shaky breath. “I will gladly take their wrath just to be with you.”

“I wouldn’t let them hurt you,” she told him quietly. “But I am scared. It could all go to shit in a few months…or a year…or even tomorrow.”

Peeta stepped closer, his hands reaching to cup her cheeks.

“If we just have tomorrow, then we should make it a hell of a day, shouldn’t we?”

Katniss took a deep breath, her eyes tracing over his face and landing at the smoothness of his mouth before she nodded in agreement. “Okay.”

He beamed. “Okay?” His hands rested against the curves of her waist. “I’m not used to you being so agreeable.”

“Don’t get used to it,” she murmured as he gazed at her in soft reverence. “Peeta?”

“Yes?”

“If you don’t stop looking at my lips without doing anything about it, I will take you right here on this counter.”

Peeta smirked. “As much as I’d love that, I’ve waited much longer to do this—"

Before Katniss could respond, his mouth swept hers and she felt herself sag into him. Her arms reached around his neck and she anchored herself to the hard planes of his front. His tongue traced against the entrance of her mouth before gently dipping in to caress her own.

A hum escaped her mouth at the taste of him.

Peeta Mellark could be utterly annoying sometimes.

But he was also utterly addicting.

“Ahem.”

They separated quickly, righting themselves before looking to Dr. Abernathy.

“I’ve made Brian’s appointment because I couldn’t seem to find my intern,” he informed the two. His eyes went to Peeta. “However, your father seemed to think that you two needed to talk.”

“I apologize,” she replied breathlessly as she smoothed down her hair. Katniss turned to Peeta, still reeling over what had just happened. “Peeta, I’ll follow up with you about all of this…later.”

“Follow up?” Peeta chuckled before placing a kiss on her cheek. “I’ll call you tonight.” He went to the door and clapped Dr. Abernathy on the shoulder before stepping out.

Katniss looked to her mentor. “It won’t happen again.”

“Brian really didn’t have any questions,” her mentor informed her as they walked out into the hallway. “But I’m sure Effie will. She will never let it go if you and your boyfriend don’t come to dinner next weekend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” she told him. The man eyed her. “At least, I’m not sure if he is.”

“With a kiss like that, I’m pretty sure he is,” Dr. Abernathy said. “I’m happy for you.”

Katniss felt her face heat. “Thanks.”

“And, I think that Dr. Katniss Everdeen-Mellark would look very impressive on your office nameplate.”

She whipped around at him. “What?”

“When your internship is complete, I’m offering you an official spot here,” he told her with a grin.

For the first time in her professional career, Katniss hugged her boss.

++++++

The Baptism of Lennox James Sloan

“Aren’t you worried?” Madge turned to Prim, who held her son. “The service is starting in five minutes.”

“I know my sister,” Prim insisted. “She’ll be here.”

“Yes, but Katniss has been a little off these past few months,” Annie added. “Kind of distracted.”

The women stood up front while Finnick, Gale, and Cato sat in the first pew along with the Everdeens and Sloans.

“She’s fine—” The slamming shut of the church doors cut her off and the subject of their discussion hurried in along with Lennox’s godfather. “—I told you she’d be right on time!”

“Sorry!” Katniss stopped at the first pew as Peeta helped her out of her coat, revealing a peach dress that brightened her complexion. “Got caught up—”

“We expect this from Peeta,” Finnick joked. “But this is a first offense for you.”

Katniss blushed, stepping up to join the girls. Peeta followed along as Prim handed Lennox to him.

“I overslept,” she explained. “My alarm didn’t go off—here let me fix your tie, Peeta—or I slept through it.” Peeta quickly turned to Prim to give Lennox back and she gave him a quick smile as he gently placed her son in her arms.

Katniss removed the tie, smoothing it out before placing it back around the collar of Peeta’s button down. The group gawked at the fluidity of it as Katniss created a Windsor knot before patting down the collar.

“I’ve hardly gotten any sleep,” she continued distractedly, her hands brushing at Peeta’s suit jacket.

Prim couldn’t help but grin.

Katniss had insisted on keeping her and Peeta’s relationship a secret until after the Lennox’s baptism.

However, in one obviously intimate gesture, Katniss had revealed their secret.

“And, why haven’t you been sleeping?” Cato asked as he joined them along with Gale and Finnick.

He grinned wickedly at his sister-in-law.

Of course, Prim had to tell her husband that the relationship he knew would happen eventually had actually come to fruition. She didn’t know which one of them was happier.

“I’ve been…reading,” she grounded out. “A lot.”

“Then you must be reading until you can’t keep your eyes open,” Cato replied, and Prim elbowed him.

Katniss looked at him in confusion. “Um…yeah?”

Peeta turned to Katniss, his blue eyes shining at her.

“I’m sure Katniss is an avid reader. Probably one of those readers who won’t stop until they’ve finished.”

Cato grimaced. “Gross.”

“What the hell am I missing?” Gale asked.

Madge finally caught on and so did Annie, both discreetly high fiving in celebration.

“Nothing, sweetheart,” his wife assured him. “Let’s go take our seats.”

The priest entered and Prim and Cato went to greet him.

Katniss and Peeta joined them, the latter’s hand not-so-discreetly on the small of Katniss’s back, his thumb caressing the spot as they listened to the man’s instructions.

Gale’s eyes widened in realization and he turned to the group, his grin wide.

“I call godfather!”

FIN.

[goattypegirl]

Harrow the Ninth Live Read: Chapter 6-11

Con: It’s been a while

Pro: We finished part 1!

Con: this post is hella long now.

Chapter 6

Eighth House icon. Oh no. Gotta say, not a fan of the characters from the Eight House in Gideon the Ninth, whose names I now forget. There was Big Dude and Mayonnaise Twink. 

OH OK WE’RE STARTING OFF WITH SOME LOCKED IN SYNDROME SHIT. 

So, panicked person wheeling Harrow is given the title “Sacred Hand.” I vaguely recall seeing that before; is that a title given to Lyctors? Is this one of the OG Lyctors finally making an appearance? Wheeling the frozen Harrow to the Emperor to “unfuck accordingly?” Well, maybe not. Presumably another Lyctor would be able to “unfuck accordingly” themselves.

Oh disregard it is a Lyctor! And if we go back to the Dramatis Personae, this should be... Mercymorn! Originally of the Eighth House! She seems nice.

“It was his order that she not be touched.” Did the Emperor do this? But hwhy?

Calling Harrow and Ianthe babies is kind of hilarious. Aaaand Mercymorn just knocked this random person unconscious. OH wait is this the person the Emperor said to make static-y noises at? Survey says... maybe? They were called the Saint of Joy, which seems a unique title?

The whole description of the Lyctor and the way she visually dissects Harrow is so poetic, but something else catches my eye here. Harrow says her eyes did not have such a startling transition, which helps confirm my theory that Harrow is suppressing or undid the Lyctor process.

Also using the power of Cringe, Harrow partially(?) undoes the paralysis spell done to her. “An emotion was playing out over her face that was- not unfamiliar to you- but nonsensical; you discarded it.” Eh? What emotion could this be referring to? Confusion over what Harrow did? Awe? Fear? All of the above?

OH okay before I forget, Harrow formed a bone hook inside of her to do that, and she made that bone sheath to hold on to the sword, so maybe her necromancy isn’t being suppressed? Well, maybe. That feels more... internal? Like she hasn’t grown any full ass skeletons from bone dust yet.

...Why is Harrow afraid of telling Mercymorn her actual age? Why is the Body telling her to lie? Why fifteen??

Relief? That’s what flashed across Mercymorn’s face? Oh, duh, because Harrow did that and didn’t immediately die. Duh. Also she straight up said “hiss”? That is weird. Also, thinking back, it is weird there wasn’t an age requirement in the Lyctor trials. Also Mercymorn took Ianthe too???

“You’re not as pretty as Anastasia.” Anastasia being the member of the Ninth House listed with the Lyctors, but not as one of the Saints. Doing this liveread has its advantages, namely that I can remember shit that happened earlier! 

OH WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT. “AS Anastasia,” not “As Anastasia was.” Implying Anastasia’s still alive? Matches her name not being struck through in the Dramatis Personae, and Mercymorn said there were 3 OG Lyctors now. Which matches with Anastasia not having that line about being a Saint! I’ve connected the two dots!

Okay there’s a lot going on here. Why is this normal necromancer so fascinating to Ianthe and Harrow? What she’s doing is pretty dope to be fair. Mercymorn called Ianthe 12... which... huh. More on that in a second. First, I need to google what the fuck an animaphiliac is... probably in an incognito window. Oh, okay, it’s just a style of necromancy in this universe okay thank God. Mercymorn also said Ianthe wasn’t as attractive as Cyrus... which is weird... And it reminds Ianthe of being with Mummy... I assume she means her mother, comparing her to Coronabeth? Oof.

So, back to the lowballing age thing. Mercymorn assumes Ianthe is 12, probably  because she’s super old and has forgotten how mortals age. Harrow seems to have subconsciously picked up on this, which is why she lied about her age. I’m still in the camp of the Body being non-supernatural in origin. Yes, she has Gideon’s eyes, BUT, she spoke in the voice of Harrow’s mother and Aiglamene. SO, my theory is that the Body is a product of the trauma Harrow’s gone through, that’s kind of externalizing Harrow’s inner thought process. Like I said earlier, I’ve read Twig, and this is reminiscent of that.

OH hey we’re headed to the frontline apparently? Because 3 warships got shot down suddenly? Which begs the question I’ve had in the back of my mind since first picking up this series, who the fuck are they fighting??? Probably not Ressurection Beasts, given what we know about them. Other humans, probably? Dominicus (probably) isn’t Earth or humanity’s home planet. 

Okay, hold up. The Emperor is trying to get to the frontline now, Mercymorn wants him to return to “the Mithraeum”, which is presumably the capital of the Empire outside of the Dominicus system? Also, Emperor’s been on the ship for 80 years, and been away from the Mithraeum for 100... Once again, the math’s not adding up...

Okay, so God hugs Mercymorn, she freezes, he confirms that he is leaving, and that he knows exactly who shot down 3 warships???

Okay cool we’re not headed to the fronline, we’re headed to the Mithraeum, whatever the fuck that is.

Ohhh and the Cohort necromancer girl died, or committed suicide? And the Emperor brought her back? ...There’s a story there.

Ohhhh Mom and Dad are fighting.

OKAY ONCE AGAIN A LOT TO UNPACK HERE BUT THE MITHRAEUM CAN ONLY BE REACHED BY ONE MEANS???? AND IT MAY HAVE SOMETHING TO DO WITH BEING A LYCTOR???

...Hey. So. Here’s something. In the description of Mercy’s sword, it says it has a white knob at the end of, and I quote “-you didn’t know the exact technical word. It was a pommel though.” There’s a disconnect there, between Harrow’s knowledge, and the narrator’s knowledge. This has happened a few other times, like just a few pages ago, Harrow says a room is used for bodily functions, but the narrator jumps in and says no one in the universe would call it that, it’s a toilet. And this is going to sound kind of batshit, but like 6 years ago i was in to Undertale, and there was a popular theory that the narrator in that game was a separate character from the PC and... a lot of the points used in that theory kinda ring true here... even the use of second person narration...

So the narrator is a separate character from Harrow? Now, whether this narrator exists in-universe, or if this is a really cool stylistic choice, is another story. Right now I’m leaning towards... I don’t know. Well, hm. If the Body is a kind of externalization of Harrow’s inner thought process, maybe the narrator is an internalization? 

That makes no sense.

Something to keep in mind.

Anyway, the shuttle detaches. There’s a sort of irony, in God being tired of people martyring themselves for him, but giving a speech saying “hey if you die in my service I love you.”

OKAY I think we’re about to go faster than light using necromancy? This should be good. OH OKAY WE’RE TAKING A SHORTCUT THROUGH HELL. COOL.

...so what was their original method of faster than light travel that turned out to be unusable? did it have to do with neutrinos in italy?

okay I love Mercy and the Emperor’s dialogue here. Again, objectively, I’m sure they’re bad people who have committed several warcrimes... but the way they bicker is just hilarious.

I’m googling hyperpotamus, and i’m only getting other Harrow the Ninth livereads, so it appears to be a term made for the book. But I have a terrible feeling it’s a pun on hippopotamus.

There are so many quotes here that I absolutely love, including “said the Lord of the Nine Houses, who apparently existed within a complex power dynamic.”  and “The magma metaphor falls apart from here.” 

...Oh. Okay, serious time. Even at the very start, just post-Resurrection, two of the Lyctors fell to the Resurrection Beasts. Well, one died, and one was “removed from play.” Which sounds horrifying.

So we’re dipping into Hell because you can move fast there. Hell is full of angry ghosts. This explains the ghost ward. Lyctors have hacked the system, and so can kind of survive there. And we learn what happened to Cassiopeia, one of the deceased Lyctors. (Interestingly enough it says she baited physical portions of the Ressurection Beast. Not a beast. Nor is it given a number...)

ALright so entering the River physically sounds fucking horrifying. I’m very glad we only have to do it this once and it definitely won’t come back later in the book nope definitely not.

“and that you felt alone in your head.” ;_;

Chapter 7

Sixth House icon.

There’s not a lot to say here, besides how freaky this is. How much do you want to bet that the faint wail Harrow hears is coming from the coffin with Cyntherea’s body?

JOHN. GOD’S NAME IS JOHN?? #NAME LORE UNLOCKED. IM JUST SO HAPPY I FINALLY HAVE A WAY TO REFER TO HIM WITHOUT STRUGGLING TO SPELL EMPORER EVERY FUCKIN TIME.

Also, Mercymorn knowing his like actual human name further implies some stuff about the timeline of the Ressurection, which I was wondering about previously... but that’s a discussion for later because Harrow’s in Hell!

Not a lot to say here besides 

fuck.

A few things. One. I think they’re going to get out of this okay? And by okay I mean alive? We know Ianthe, the Emperor, and Harrow live up to the point of the Prologue, and I don’t think Mercymorn is going to die already. 

Two. Cassiopeia was from the Sixth House, going by her Cavalier’s last name, which explains the chapter icon.

Three. The lights? The last page or so is very metaphorical, but, at the beginning it says Harrow perceived herself as a “sickly radiance”, and that she perceived the others on the ship as a light as well. She later said she was an “ova cluster of two hundred pinpricks of light.” So I think in this deep part of the River Harrow accidentally sent herself to, souls (maybe?) are displayed as lights. Harrow’s own soul is literally made up of the hundreds of dead House Nine kids, which is. Spooky. But then, at the end, when they jump out of the River, they bring 5 lights with them. So... either something hitched a ride with them, or it has something to do with Harrow suppressing Gideon and the Lyctor ritual. Everyone else on the ship has undergone the Lyctor ritual (or something similar, in John’s case), and they only have 1 light each. At least to Harrow’s eyes. BRUH IDK WHAT”S GOING ON. 

Chapter 8

No further answers here, this is a flashback chapter! So, sheared skull = flashback. And this chapter is going to feature the Fourth House, apparently. Who was Fourth House again? Oh no it was the kids. Oh no. ;_;

So, we are continuing through Harrow’s re-imagination of the events of Canaan House, with her Ortus OC in tow.

Of course Harrow is overwhelmed by normal tea, and of course Harrow thinks dressing up skeletons is stupid. 

AND of course Harrow would have a private prayer wishing doom on anyone that looks at her with any kind of emotion.

Hold up, the Anastasian tomb? Reserved for warriors? And presumably derived from the word Anastasia, the mysterious not-Lyctor of the Ninth House?? 

I can already tell Anastasia is going to become my Pepe Silvia. 

Ohhh this is going to be a lore bomb about the timeline of the Ressurection and I’m going to need to pull out my copy of Gideon the Ninth to see if any of this shit actually happened. 

TEN? TEN NORMAL ASS HUMANS? AND FIVE NECROMANCERS?? BUT THERE WERE SEVEN LYCTORS. THE MATH DOES NOT CHECK OUT.

Okay so I checked and none of this shit actually happened! In fact, Teacher actually said there were 16, 8 necromancers, 8 cavaliers. Where the fuck is Harrow getting 10 from? Who knows! And rather than explicitly saying “hey check out the basement labs to see how to become a Lyctor,” Teacher actually said fuck if I know. Not actually. But still.

Oh of course it’s called the Sleeper!! I had Kill Bill sirens playing in my head when I first read that. 

So,  had a whole ass monologue here, but this is already very long and im sleepy, so to very quickly summarize, the Parahumans series had an entity known as the Sleeper that was intentionally very mysterious and raised a lot of questions amongst fans, and the fact that there’s another entity here known as the Sleeper is flooding me.

So, I’m spooked. Again, this entire conversation did not actually happen. Teacher’s dialogue is precious. “go where I durst not go: because I love my life, and I love noise, also.” and “I do not know the answers to any of these questions, only that, already, you are being too loud.”

So, the rest of the chapter plays out with Ortus complaining to Harrow. Intriguingly, he says that Harrow doesn’t have much of an imagination, when she says there was no one else to choose as her Cavalier... And then one of the skeletons says, “Is this how it happens?” harkening back to Parodos, when the Body says something similar. There’s a lot to unpack here. One, like I said previously, because Ortus, and apparently the entirety of Canaan House, is a product of Harrow’s mind, they can maybe give some insight into Harrow herself. However, the fact that Ortus seems to break character and chastise her for her lack of imagination is... I don’t know.

Okay, theory time. “The Work” alluded to in the letters is not only the suppression of Lyctor-hood, it’s also the erasure of Gideon, and the creation of these false memories. Meaning Lyctor!Harrow somehow crafted them; there was conscious effort behind it. Which means we can totally pick these scenes apart to gain further insight into Harrow! The skeleton and the Body asking if this is what happened, and Ortus breaking character (maybe) are her subconscious breaking through... Maybe that ties into my idea of the narrator being an internalization or compartmentalization of Harrow’s trauma? Hmm...

Chapter 9

Seventh House skull, and not a flashback. I’m guessing this is because we’re going to inter Cyntherea’s body here.

Okay, so time seems to have passed. IDK how much of the River Harrow remembers here. It seems like she recalls it like a bad dream. Ianthe’s here, and they’re in a chapel made of bone. Or at least one absolutely covered in bone. 

Here’s a question. The necromancy Harrow excels at, that’s creating a whole ass skeleton from a single bit of bone. Is she actually creating a new skeleton? Or is she reforming one. Like if she had two teeth from the same skeleton, could she use that to make two new skeletons? In the last chapter the Ressurection was described as not creating anything new... does that apply to all of necromancy, or just what the Emperor did?

Also another side note, Harrow says the stars glow with an unearthly light, which matches what the Emperor said, that they restarted the stars near the Mithraeum with thanergy, so they’re weird now. Except... wasn’t Dominicus restarted the same way? Or is the Dominicus system a hybrid of thanergy and thalergy? I’m getting my energies mixed up.

Anyway yep it’s Cyntherea’s funeral, and Harrow is checking the fuck out.

Okay we have a new Lyctor... and I’m guessing it’s Augustine, since he and Mercymorn are fighting.  

Okay and John’s giving a speech and giving more lore about the pre-Ressurrection and it’s confirmed that this guy is Augustine and-

First gen? Second gen? Sixth installation?? Valancy? ANASTASIA?

bruh im so flooded and this is supposed to be such a reverent moment.

Ohhh this is awkward now that they’re pulling Ianthe and Harrow forward. Okay we get a formal introduction to Mercymorn and Augustine. Augustine trails off before the third... and asks if he, the third surviving Lyctor, knows about the missile strikes...Is the third Lyctor the one leading the people who shot down the warships, which is sounding increasingly like a rebellion rather than a battle against others? Who’s the third again ah fuck it’s ORTUS.

ORTUS is apparently interested in “you-know-what”. Which I don’t know what. Please elaborate. 

ORTUS is here and he’s skeletal. OH AND SO IS RESSURECTION BEAST NUMBER SEVEN.

FUCK.

(bruh what the fuck is a pseudo-Beast)

Okay yep time to fight an eldritch god.

Speaking of which, God’s name is John confirmed.

And Harrow bled from the ear and fell unconscious, hearing the name ORTUS.

Chapter 10

Pog we’re almost done with part 1. Fifth skull, sheared, so it’s flashback time. 

I don’t recognize immediately where we are; apparently this is in the library in Canaan House? Though I don’t remember one from Gideon the Ninth. We see a bit of personality from Ortus, when he complains about Fifth House poetry, which is nice. 

Oh, wait, never mind, that was Magnus speaking. Ortus remains as boring as ever.

Hehehehe dick jokes.

Hey so no fake vow of silence in the false memories of Canaan House! That’s interesting. As is Magnus and Abagail being here, and them being pretty fleshed out characters. As are these cooking instructions from the Lyctors...

HOOOOOOOLD the phone here. The cooking notes mention an M and Nigella... which was the first name of Cassiopeia’s cavalier... How would Harrow know that? The easy explanation is that this is a note that Harrow actually found, and is placing here in her fake memories... The other explanation is that something funky is afoot...

Ooohkay Magnus is asking if this is how it happens now. The simulation is breaking down. AND ABAGAIL CAN TELL THAT HARROW IS A LIVING WAR CRIME. PANIC.

Okay now we’re getting Ortus emotion! He is a grown ass man Harrow. At least, he would be, were he not a figment of Harrow’s imagination.

HEEEEY

WHAT THE FUUUUCK

WE’RE CONTINUING ON THIS DYING EGGS THING

PROBABLY WILL BE RELEVANT LATER.

Okay and the simulation breaks down further when Ortus says “you did have a cavalier with a backbone, I’m not them.” Interestingly enough, it’s hours later Harrow realizes something’s weird... Huh...

Chapter 11

Seventh House skull.

Literally just a paragraph saying Harrow sleepwalked and stabbed Cyntherea’s body.

...She sleep walked... the Sleeper from the fake Canaan House...