#this is absolutely not what he or anyone else does to get or stay bulked

[cator99]

🗣do not do these things☝️this is💯retarded

[p1nkc4lyps0]

ISAT PKMN trainer assignments

i've been having brainrot recently and i havent really seen people doing pokemon trainer aus, just a lot of pokemon mystery dungeon aus which i think require different perspectives for so i figured i may as well give it a shot.

with my assignments i was making sure to think about actual symbolism and tried avoiding the canon pokemon assignments for a] more of a challenge and b] i havent really seen all of them so if i have picked some of the same pokemon my bad.

SIFFRIN

gimmighoul: tried taking siffrin's coin once, failed, now just hangs around with him and has gotten quite attatched.

minior: a pokemon he's had as long as he can remember. gets a lot of weird looks about it though and has never seen anyone else with one.

chingling: the only pokemon caught in the castle. ding ding!

popplio: what a little clown! a fool! just a litter jester doing a preformance!

hisuian sneasel: basically siffren's dagger. i picked the hisuian one over the johtonian one because it's white.

absol: not a pokemon he had before the loops and has a sneaking suspicion those two facts are related since it seems to remember them to an extent.

MIRABELLE

morpeko: i think mirabelle would like form changing pokemon and also. near the end of floor 3 mirabelle gets like, really annoyed and then eats and is fine. thats what morpeko does.

furfrou: a pokemon with plenty of styles to choose from! she hasn't been able to get it styled recently and while she is getting nervous of it not changing, she has noticed it's happier staying as it is.

indeedee: indeedees are helpful pokemon! often used as servants, i feel mirabelle would relate with this

palafin: a hero capable of change! and paladins tend to fight for a cause, often a religious one like who mirabelle is fighting as a maiden of change.

escavalier: we don't have a fencing pokemon but we do have a lancing pokemon! also the fact a shelmet has to be traded with a karrablast is something

ISABEAU

mimikyu: isabeau is constantly putting up a facade of being a bit air headed, disguisigng himself. i also think with mimkyu wearing a cloak with him being a fashion designer would make this the most stylish mimikyu the world has ever seen

leavanny: this pokemon is known for making clothes from it's silk and any leaves it finds, making it into a clothing maker of sorts, they're also super protective.

bewear: what a big sweetie! aw it loves hugging people, it can also snap your back in two... i feel like this the most fitting attacking pokemon isa with it's bulk, cuteness and hidden scariness [something we see from isabeau when he gets... very protective of the sif nickname]

ODILE

carbink: this was my first thought for an odile pokemon, it's a little rock! and with it's links to diancie, a perfect red herring for what she's studying, they're just native to ka bue. she hardly uses it in battle.

steelix: now this is her attacking pokemon! i know it doesn't cover her primary paper type technically but it does cover her use of rock and scissors type by being steel/ground. i also think she mega evolves it from time to time, for the gems theming.

relicanth: i tried to go with the theme of old pokemon for odile, not generations wise but in the way that relicanth hasn't changed in a millenia. it's also a map, which could be interesting with the island siffrin is from.

bronzong: i can't really explain this one i just think it fits with her character? maybe it's the shape language but it is another old pokemon, showing up in the ruins in arceus so once again, more red herrings for her research.

sinistcha: ka bue is very implied to be japan or at the barest of minimums asia. odile is absolutely a tea drinker to me, this might have been one of her earlier pokemon that came with her when she left ka bue. they also have similar hair

drampa: hahahahah funny grandpa dragon joke~ drampa is reported to burn down the houses of any bullies the child they've befriended, odile has said that she would do horrible things for the party. im not fucking with you. think is not just a odile is the grandma of the party joke. i am dead fucking serious when i say this is her most in character pokemon.

BONNIE

applin: i think bonnie tried to gather apples at somepoint and it turned out to be an applin, they kept it. they seem like the type of kid to enjoy bugs [im counting the none apple bit of applin a bug cause it is to me fuck off]

alcremie: a pokemon evolved completely by accident. their milcery took a strawberry from them while cooking and in an attempt to get it back, span around enough to where it evolved. just some complete loony toons bullshit

yungoose: their first pokemon! caught back in Bambouche and their main defence between themselves and sadnesses when they left. i picked yungoose over some of the other early route mammals because a] tropical and b] i fully believe that bonnie bites people.

unovian darumaka: potentially a gift from the party, more specifically odile who was curious of darmanitan's zen form. it's obviously not a darmanitan yet but it is very useful for lighting fires to cook with.

kantonian farfetch'd: it's basically THE food pokemon being a duck carrying a leek and i opted for the kantonian form over the galarian form since the galarian form is far too cool, bonnie is cringe [/pos]

smolive: cooking oil is a crutial part of cooking are you insane and olive oil is some of them best! very useful pokemon to have on hand and it's slightly more emotionally and nervous natural creates and almost parrallel to bonnie where both end in the same outcome of tears since both are young and not yet capable of fully handling their emotions.

LOOP

gimmighoul: somehow the only pokemon they kept when they gave up on the loops, unsure if it actually remembers the loops or is just a clone...

natu [multiple]: loop can't actually catch any pokemon since, no pokeballs and they'd lose it at the end of the loop. so they've been slowly learning how to befriend all the local natu in dormont, secretly on the hunt for the roundest one. they've found shinies before and would usually be more snappy and blunt after all of those loops due to loosing them. they've gotten good at befriending them all too, being able to tell them apart and what they like. they would never admit any of this though.

[puckpocketed]

30/06/2024 - The Colorado Avalanche draft Tory Pitner 185th overall.

I think that I can use my brain and really bait other players into plays that they don't want to make and then close out. Really take away time and space, and ultimately just be a prick to play against - I don't know if I can say that on this - but I think that I can defend really well.

[full draft day interview transcript + an introduction by me under the cut]

Foreword: This transcript was done by hand to the best of my ability and edited for clarity. In bold text are my highlights, parts I thought were noteworthy and interesting. I removed filler words (um's and uh's). In square brackets are where I've added words or adjusted words for clarity. In the regular parentheses are small notes for added context. Tory Pitner is a fascinating player. He does not have the high-end skill you saw go in the first round. He is foremost a shutdown d-man. But he is smart, driven, methodical in his preparation and training, and most of all a true scholar and lover of the game. If anyone has an EP Rinkside subscription, I would encourage you to read the article written about him. The bulk of it is an interview, in which he goes into vivid detail about several top draft picks from this year whom he has played against, and how he goes about shutting them down. He has their on-ice habits broken down and analysed; from their handedness to the types of shots they like to make and the dekes they like to use. He watches NHL defensemen, describing his study with the fervour of an academic, a mad scientist, and a fan all at once. He has charmed me utterly, and I think it's because we love hockey in such similar ways. I love the details of the game, I love watching good and interesting hockey above all else, and I absolutely love studying it (albeit on an amateur level). And, okay, I don't like to make bold predictions, so I won't. All I have is hope. I hope he grows and thrives, I hope everyone one day recognises how special he is, and most of all I hope he makes it. Tory Pitner, no matter who you play for and where you're playing, I will always be rooting for you!!

Q: How would you describe [your] feelings right now?

TP: It's pretty unbelievable. I mean, it's a great feeling. Colorado is a great organisation, and especially down the road from Denver [University] it's going to be really, really fun to go to a lot of games and just see the progression in the team - in my game - to hopefully one day be there.

Q: So, knowing that you were going to D.U., were you maybe kind of hopeful that it'd be the Avs?

TP: Yeah. I talked to the Avs a little bit during the year and stayed in contact with some of their scouts, so every time they picked I was kind of on the edge of my seat - but I'm happy to be here and really excited.

Q: What are the strengths in your game?

TP: I'd say that my defending is probably my biggest strength. I think that I can use my brain and really bait other players into plays that they don't want to make and then close out. Really take away time and space, and ultimately just be a prick to play against - I don't know if I can say that on this - but I think that I can defend really well.

I'd say my player comparable is John Marino; his ability to play against those top line guys and shut them down every night. I mean, you just saw him get traded so [he's] obviously a very valuable piece in the NHL, and he was a sixth round draft pick too. I'm really excited to hopefully continue that development path over at D.U. to round out all the other areas of my game to play in the NHL.

Q: So you'd say Denver is a good choice for you, for college?

TP: Yeah. I'd say, obviously, the coaching staff first of all, [David Carle] is an unbelievable coach; and then just the proven track record they have at developing NHL defensemen. Being there every day, you see all the guys that come back, and they want to be at D.U. All the guys that they've sent to the NHL, they still come back to train there - train with Matt Shaw, the strength coach, and skate on the ice. Everyone there; it's kind of a brotherhood. It's a great system for [anyone] to go through if they want to get to the NHL.

Q: Did you get a chance to speak to Jake Fisher? (Colorado draft pick #121 overall)

TP: I'm actually roommates with Fish at D.U. We moved in on Sunday and so it's kind of cool that we both got picked here.

Q: So have you talked to him since?

TP: I haven't. I gotta be honest, I put my phone down after round three and kind of tried not to go on it. But yeah, no, we'll definitely talk. I'll see Fish [on] Sunday when I land. We probably have some studying to do for our Geography class. No, it'll be good. I know he was really excited, I'm really excited, too.

Q: Have you ever been to an Avs game?

TP: I have not, no. But I heard that the D.U. guys go all the time, especially with it being right downtown, so [I'm] really looking forward to getting out there and seeing Ball Arena live. I've driven past it a few times, just heading back to campus and whatnot, but I'll be really excited to get inside and see what it's like.

Q: How did [the Youngstown Phantoms] help you develop, to get to this point? (inaudible)

TP: For sure. I mean, obviously it was great my first year, getting to experience winning the Clark Cup Championship there was super cool for me, and it was a great learning experience being able to be around great leaders like Shane Lachance and Chase Pietila - who got picked earlier today. Being able to be around those kind of guys was awesome for me. And then my second year, taking a step into a bigger role with the team, talking with [coach] Andy Contois a lot about my game, working on different areas that I need to improve, and improving on my strengths, too, [like] being hard to play against. So I think overall they helped me round out my game, and I'm looking forward to keep rounding out that game at D.U.

Q: What has your Draft Day experience been like here at the Sphere? (inaudible)

TP: Yeah, no, it was long. Woke up early, couldn't really sleep too much. Woke up, just kind of got a workout in to get moving, you know, have something to do. Then walked over here - I'm staying at a hotel that's not too far - so, walked over. Sat down after having some breakfast and then kind of just watched the draft. It's been pretty cool, though. I have my family here, my agent as well, [and] one of my coaches. It's been really nice to have everyone here supporting me.

Q: What about the way that Colorado plays defence excites you?

TP: I'd say that I love how they're pretty freeing with all their defensemen. Even down the lineup, you look at Josh Manson still getting up in the play joining as a fourth man. Sam Girard obviously loves to do that. They obviously have great defensemen like Cale Makar running their power play. [They] love being really active. I think that's something that I'm looking to add more to my game, too, and so the freedom to do that in Colorado is something I'm really looking forward to - especially at D.U. as well, having that freedom. Finding the middle in a lot of their breakouts, not a lot of off-the-glass plays or up the wall; they like to really possess the puck. I'm really looking forward to being able to hold on to the puck a little bit longer and find some middle support, which I think will ultimately help my game break down the opponent and just add another element - which will be really fun.

Q: What players did you idolise as you came up?

TP: It's kind of been a lot of different ones, but I really wanted to play defence because of Nick Lidstrom. When I was younger, one of my coaches - actually, Anže Kopitar's brother - Gašper Kopitar; he was my defense coach in LA when I played for the junior Kings when I was younger, and he told me 'If you want to be a defenseman, [go] watch Nick Lidstrom.' So I found some YouTube video - and I think I've watched it like 400 times or something like that. I've watched his NHL 36 multiple times, just to get me going or just to learn his routines. So idolising him growing up and then seeing the great person and defenseman he was; it really made me want to be [one], and I wanted to play hockey even more.

[stars-platinum]

So like I can’t get this thought outta my head so I just had to write it down

Ps this took way longer than expected and I kinda didn't like how it turned out after I had to rewrite it. But I hope you guys enjoy it! 🖤

Mine

Yandere!Jotaro x Afab reader

1,034 words

Cw: loss of virginity, non-con, dub-con, yandere, daddy kink, corruption kink, dumbification, choking

Jotaro’s hands were unforgiving as he manhandled you on your bed. His bulk suffocating as he crawled on top of you to cradle your hips between his massive thighs. You shouldn't want this, you should be fighting more. But you can't, there's no way you should be letting the school delinquent Jotaro Kujo have his way with you. A straight-A student; a teacher's pet. Yet here you were, underneath his musk, and heat and God, his muscled body felt so good pressed against yours. He moved his face closer to your ear so he could whisper “I’ve been watching you, princess. Couldn't stop thinking about what your sweet innocent face would like with my fat cock fucking your tight little cunt.” Why did that sentence make your pussy gush?

You should not be letting him do this to you! You try to struggle out of his grip, kicking and flailing but you're no match for his strength. His grip changed, both of your small hands in one of his giant ones above your head and the other wrapped tightly around your throat. “Now, now babygirl, you're gonna lay here and be a good girl for Daddy.” All your body could do was freeze. Why did you want to be a good girl for the man having his way with you? Why did you want to do whatever it was that he asked of you? “Yes s-sir I'll be g-good.” You felt the slap against your right cheek before you saw him move. Your cute little lip began to poke out in a pout and your doe eyes began to water from the sting. “That’s not what you call me, now is it sweetheart?”

“No D-addy.” You stuttered out the name that Jotaro wanted you to call him, but you couldn't stop the way your pussy clenched on nothing at the thought. “Good girl. Now let me undress you princess.” Your big glassy eyes just watched as Jotaro got your school shirt and bra off, not missing the way his eyes stayed glued to your tits. His mouth moved to bite, suck and mark your breasts, all you could do was grab his hair and hold on. “Gah, Daddy, please!” He growled into your chest at the name. “Please what babygirl?” “Please make it better.” You've never had these feelings before, never felt so hot. You just wanted him to touch you everywhere.

“I want you to touch me, Daddy!” With that Jotaro ripped your uniform skirt and cute little pink panties right off. “I’ve been waiting for the chance to take you for myself, I know that you're a virgin. Couldn't let anyone else have you, princess.” He grabs your knees and spreads them wide so he can seat himself in front of your glistening, quivering pussy. Thumb -ing apart your lips he muttered something about how cute you looked before he devoured your cunt like a man starved.

You could barely hold on for the ride, legs quaking around his head. Hands gripping his inky black hair like a lifeline, moaning like a bitch in heat. He sucked your clit to keep you oblivious to long fingers sliding inside your tight wet heat. It burned and you almost couldn't stand it, crying out and whining when he grinds into your sweet spot. Fingers moving faster, sliding against your clenching gummy walls, mouth sucking, and rubbing your cute clit. He watches you adoring the slutty look on your innocent face and the absolutely filthy noises leaving your plump lips. Reaching your peak you throw your head into the pillows, mouth gaping and drool pouring down your slack jaw, Jotaro stops everything.

“Eyes on me princess. I want to see everything on your face as I bring you to ruin.” Your head snaps up, distraught that he stopped. “Daddy please let me cuuuuuum. I’m so close.” You plead, teary eyes starting into his, lips wobbling in a pout. As much as he wants to drink you dry the first time he makes you cum, will be on his cock. He pulls away from your quivering, empty pussy, to for the first time during your ordeal to kiss you, making you taste yourself as he dominates your small form with his mouth and tongue. “Don’t you taste so good princess?” He moans deep and throaty against your soaked mouth. “Yes, Daddy.” You moan back high and reedy, and panting from your almost release. You’re completely at his mercy, not that you weren’t before; but he owned you completely now, body and soul.

“Daddy’s gonna fuck you now baby, are you ready?” He’s watching you, your eyes your face, everything, and is absolutely captivated by you. He loves his princess and wants to make you feel good. “Please Daddy, I need to feel you!” “Good girl.” Without delay, he lines up his giant cockhead with your little winking hole, and sliiiiiiiiides into the hilt, head kissing your cervix, and walls fluttering around daddy's massive dick spearing you open. You cry out fat tears leaking down your cheeks, clinging to Jotaro you beg him to move, to fuck you to oblivion, and he provides. Hips snapping against the backs of your thighs as he moves your legs to a mating press, grinding against your sweet spot. Your wet pussy squeezing and doing anything to keep his length inside. “Daddy, please ‘m so close, gonna cum!”

Jotaro is relentless, fucking into your tiny pliant body like it's his job. Grunting and growling in your ear like a beast, one hand gripping your throat, the other tightly wrapped around your waist holding you in place. “Let me feel cumming on my cock princess, that's a good girl.” You scream, letting go as you squirt around your daddy, pussy clenched to keep him inside of you. Jotaro's hips snap into yours quickly before he stills, filling your cunt with his thick seed, thrusting lazily a few times before his dick softens inside you. He wraps his arms around you cocooning you in his body heat as he tells you “You're mine, princess; I'm never letting you go.” and you find that you don't really mind that falling asleep in his embrace.

[ihatebnha]

Yes hi can I geettttttt one large Katsuki with a side of dick please?

yes ma'am coming right up....... ok its ready come pick it up at the register

keyword: LARGE katsuki... extra large... 2 XL.... 3 xl.... head go brrrrr

premise: where in which you model dynamight’s new clothing line and for whatever reason dynamight himself can’t keep his hands off of u...

enjoy <3<3 i kinda popped off lowkey (even tho i ended up using his hero name smh im sowwy)

-

It’s not like you’re small.

You think you’re a good size. Absolutely fine, of a perfect height, in a perfect body, everything. There is not a single thing about you that isn’t normal or expected, and for all the time you spend thinking about your looks, in the end, your body, for all it’s worth, is yours and actually quite comfortable.

But damn. If Katsuki Bakugo, the infamous, the incredible, Dynamight, isn’t one of the largest men you have ever seen in your fucking life.

In comparison to him, you might as well be the size of a kid. A doll.

It’s not like you didn’t know this... or at least, could have guessed. His height is broadcasted to the world in all the interviews he’s in, and mentioned in almost every hero gossip magazine like it’s the only cool thing about him… It’s just that, in real life, he’s a bit more... imposing… than you thought he would be. 

The only real images you have of him are from the sports festivals you watched when you were younger, and the blurry shots from the news that play on repeat almost every day.

Neither of which truly encapsulate the sheer size of him in comparison to you, and really, what a powerhouse of a man he actually is.

Bakugo towers over everyone, at least by a full head, and what he doesn’t have in height, he makes up for in bulk. His body is nothing less than that of a statue’s, and by all means just goes to show anyone, villain or not, that he is an absolute machine of destruction, a predator, you name it, wrapped in muscle and sinew and brutal, pink scars.

And he is currently shirtless, standing on the well-lit, white tarp of the studio background, waiting for you.

“Where’s the new extra?”

He bemoans, his expression curved into a mean scowl, practically stomping a foot in the direction of his manager, to which your stomach does flip flops and your heart sinks. Too busy caught up in watching him from afar, you rush to pull off the robe they draped you in and hurry to his side, dressed only in a Dynamight themed lingerie set and boots, held together with ridged, green garters.

“I’m here, I’m sorry, I-“

Bakugo’s eyes flit to yours, halting your nervous words instantly, before moving his gaze to look you up and down as he nods his head back and gestures to his side.

“Doesn’t matter now,” he purrs, his voice deep and rough, a hand reaching out to grab your arm, “Get over here.”

You nod, quickly, your teeth knocking together as you move into position beside him and face the camera that’s been teasing you since you got here.

Hired to model a new line of intimate, Dynamight clothing march, you know that his agency only called you because everyone else on their roster had quit. They called you because supposedly Dynamight was sick of looking at “models…” and said that out of everyone, you were the only one he had approved of… Though you know that probably just means that all the other girls were chased away by Bakugo’s mean snarl, and you were the first replacement to answer the phone.

Still…

Part of you doesn’t entirely believe that, at least if the way you feel Katsuki Bakugo practically salivating over your shoulder is anything to go by, his wide chest against your back as he very, non-discreetly presses his hips into your ass and runs his thick hand over your sides.

And when the sounds of shutters start going off, your expression now neutralized for the camera and nervousness long buried for another time, you can’t help but let yourself lean back into him, your hands moving to rest on his as he grips your waist with the strength only a hero in the Top Ten could have.

-

If you thought that Bakugo was large before… you are definitely not disappointed now.

You are on your knees in front of him, his legs spread to accommodate the way you sit between them, and your hands on his thighs as he hastily frees his cock from the cage that is his sweatpants.

You can’t help but gape, staring open-mouthed at the already hard member, which curves upward toward his belly and is surrounded by fine, blonde pubes.

“Surprised?” he mutters, a knowing lilt to his raspy voice, enjoying the sight of you going slack jawed, and he smirks at your expression, his canines bared and eyes heavy-lidded.

It’s large. So large you suddenly wonder what you’re doing, and how the hell you’re going to please him properly. He’s definitely the biggest you’ve seen probably... ever, and though the feelings are mostly overwhelmed by a twisted sense of desire, fear strikes your heart when you think about taking him in your mouth and… elsewhere.

You narrow your eyes, one hand reaching out to gently grip the shaft, the head unashamedly dripping a milky precum which you use to give him a few timid pumps before looking to his eyes for confirmation that that is what he wants.

He groans immediately, almost sounding relieved, throwing his head back onto the back of the chair as you shyly work him.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day, you know,” he says into the air, “You and that fuckin’ body.”

To be honest, it’s no surprise, especially when you consider how he practically didn’t take his hands off you the entire shoot, and think about the fact that in more than a few of the photos you took, his mouth was on some part of your body…

You can’t help but worry your lip between your teeth thinking about it, blinking up at him and staying silent.

“What, you scared of me or something, baby?”

Bakugo tilts his head toward yours, an eyebrow raised in question, aiming to close the gap between your faces but not quite entirely. 

“No, I just…” you hesitate, unsure of how to proceed. If anyone knows how attractive Bakugo is, it’s he himself, and you definitely don’t want to ruin the moment by saying something stupid.

You also don’t want him in on the information that you’ve never been with a guy so big, alongside the fact that you’ve never been with a Pro Hero of his caliber, either, afraid that maybe he’ll mock you for your inexperience or sudden petulance, and in thinking so, you settle with a shrug, a smile, and a simple,

“I’m just nervous.”

Though your hand on his dick slows to an embarrassing stop, being that you’re too preoccupied with trying to fight the urge to shy away from his intense red eyes, his smile only returns, still cocky, still Bakugo, but nonetheless quite sweet. 

And in his smile, in the way he wraps one hand around yours on his cock before leaning down to kiss you, it doesn’t take much thought to know that he’ll most definitely take care of you, big dick or not. 

He’s a hero, after all, the biggest one you know. 

-

The pictures end up being released about a month later, to which all of your friends (and almost the entirety of Japan) immediately pick up their phone to ask you about. They gush over Dynamight, telling you how lucky you are to have scored the modeling gig, to have been so up close and personal with the Dynamight himself, but you can only laugh in response.

Looking at the photos, though, you can see what they mean, as once again you are reminded of just the sheer size of him, the images doing nothing to hide the way your head doesn’t even reach his chin, or how his fingers on your waist easily dip toward your belly button in a tight squeeze.

Or the fact that in all of them, he looks at you like he’s absolutely, positively smitten.

And from the glaring, possessive look in his eyes, you are also reminded of your escapade in the dressing room, the way Bakugo smiled at you, and the large cock that will haunt your sexual fantasies for the rest of your life.  

It’s honestly no wonder that, when the Dynamight himself posts a photo from the shoot on his personal page, the caption is a bold, “call me.”

[harrieatthemet]

Mustache

He has never been keen on sharing. 

And Gemma’s mere existence, as well as the small indent on her left thumb she swears is a scar (though Harry vehemently denies it is), is living proof. 

Mr Ducky was his favorite bath time companion for a good bulk of his childhood. There were even times he’d carry it around with him in the house tied to a string like a pet, one of Anne’s fondest memories and favorite stories to tell whenever she found the opportunity. 

Maybe it was Gemma’s own fault; she was only six at the time and was foolishly under the impression that the stupid rubber toy was at anyone’s disposal, which is what led her to try and situate the duck in her backpack as she geared up for school. 

It’s also what led her to tears because Harry caught her on the way out the front door, Mr Ducky in tow, and he instinctively sunk his teeth right into the side of her hand in protest. And, okay fine, he may have bit down a little harder than he should have, but the overall message he was sending came across very clear. Gemma never touched anything he owned again for a very, very, long time; and eventually went on to tell everyone in her class she had a vampire as a brother. 

“What do we think of this little number,” your hip jut, innocent as it was, just now became a permanent memory in Harry’s brain, “too much, like.. revealing?”

You like nice in red; devilish, even, and in the best way possible. There’s nothing revealing about the dress at all. Somehow, though, he finds himself perched squeamishly at the foot of your bed in complete fucking anguish. In theory, no, the dress is not too much. It’s the perfect ensemble and flatters you so well he feels like whoever made the dress conjured it up with you specifically in mind. 

And no, it’s not too much, for literally anyone else except him. How is such a modest dress enough for him to think you up the way he is right now; bent over in front of him with your hair wrapped tightly up in his palm while that dress lays in a sloppy ball by his feet. 

“Would be nice with nude shoes,” he mules, “like, those sandals y’ave, yeah?” 

The way your eyes light up, that same way they always do when your mind starts to move at light’s speed as you start assembling a million different ideas into one, is enough to tug a grin onto his mouth. 

He didn’t really want to agree to this. When you texted first to ask he ignored it, that way you’d have just carried on without him and he could blame a busy schedule or an overrun nap on his delayed response time. It’s much easier to blame a missed text for no response. Of course it’s not in your nature to send a text, and he knew that already. So it came a son surprise when he was bombarded by 4 phone calls. By the fifth one he had picked up, succumbing to you and just the flat out unfulfilled urge he had to hear your voice at the other end of the phone.

“Seriously Harry,” your voice is like fucking honey, sweet and sullen like it always is, and he’s in euphoria listening to it as you poke your earring through the lobe of your left ear, “it’s just, y’know I don’t- I’m nervous and I appreciate you helping me do something as stupid as picking a dress.” 

“S’not stupid,” he reassures, “y’know I just like spending time with yeh, since y’so busy ’n stuff.”

Which is true. That’s the only thing that got him over here; and he rescheduled a zoom call just to sit in your bedroom for all of twenty minutes. Not one part of him regretted it, either.

“I’m busy?” You tease, “coming from the A lister who’s in London, than LA, than New York, London again, oh, than LA again oh, then ‘sorry love, m’in Tokyo.’”

Also true, he knows that, which is why he’s snickering at fault in response to your harmless teasing. He wouldn’t say it now, mainly because he doesn’t want to make it weird, but regardless of where he falls on the map he somehow still finds a way to fit you in. He’s never minded doing it, either. 

Twenty minutes isn’t enough. Maybe another twenty more could be a sufficient amount. That’s almost an hour, right? Forty minutes is almost a full hour with you and he’d love to get even that much. Or twenty more hours, even, would be that much better. It’s better for him to think of getting more time with you than to let his thoughts wander and remind him of where you’re getting ready to go off to. 

A date. It’s why he was so hesitant to come here. It’s hard enough as it is being a prisoner to his own thoughts, being around you and not getting to interact with you the way he actually wants; kiss you the way he wants, touch you the way he wants, hold you and talk to you the way he wants. Adding a new element to the mix, another man getting access to you the way he wants, well that’s just mental warfare. 

You don’t know anything about though. And thank God, because if you could get a peak into his thoughts and see just a preview of what he thinks he almost knows for sure you’d ice him out in a heartbeat. He’s got a soft spot for you, nonetheless, which is why he swallowed the massive-sized lump in his throat when you told him you needed help on an outfit for a date and b lined it over to your place.

“Who’s this guy, anyways.” He chimes, following you similar to that of a lost puppy as you start heading towards the staircase, “Like, wha’s he look like ’n stuff.”

Immediately after he asks he wishes he hadn’t. The way that pesky fucking lump reappears when you wiggle your eyebrows in response, stuffing your hand into your leather purse in an attempt to fish out your phone. A simple response like ‘handsome’ or ‘he’s a nice guy’ would’ve sufficed for him. Seriously, that’s all he needed. What he didn’t need was an entire fucking slideshow of an above average looking guy. And he had a cool mustache, to boot, which really pissed Harry off for some reason. 

“Should probably shave,” he squints his eyes at the photo you’ve got propped right in front of his face, trying his hardest to act like he isn’t so fucking jealous of that mustache, “kinda looks like a squirrel on his top lip."

“If I didn’t know you so well,” you tut teasingly, “I’d think you’re a dick.”

“You know me so well and still don’t think that?” 

He likes the way your laugh sounds, and it makes him happy that he said something amusing enough to drag it out of you. And the toothy smile you pair with it practically knocks the wind right out of him. Everything you do seems to wow him, corny as it sounds. It makes him feel so at ease, and the butterflies he gets each time gets him reminiscing to the days where he was just a kid and had the worlds biggest crush on the girl who sat three rows ahead of him in grade school. He’s giddy and he doesn’t want you to leave for this date. 

For a second he thinks about doing something elaborate; breaking his foot or faking an illness so that you literally have no choice but to hang back and look after him. That’s selfish though, and honestly just crazy and super fucked up, so he opts out of that. But he doesn’t want you to go so bad he seriously considers it, especially as you start sorting through the downstairs closet to find a coat that doesn’t clash with your shoes. 

He could just be honest. He could just tell you that he doesn’t want you to go, solely because he’s absolutely infatuated with you and for every hour he’s awake and functioning you manage to consume every thought he has. He could just be an adult and tell you he’s got feelings for you that very much surpass a platonic, friendly demeanor. That might be a better way into persuading you to stay back with him than breaking his fucking foot. 

“Ok now wait a minute,” he chokes, and there’s a painful twang that strikes his gut when you frown, “gotta tell y’somethin’.” 

“What,” you groan, and he swears he would rather die right now than do anything else, “it’s the shoes, right? They make my calves look like I’m a running back don’t they?” 

He wants to laugh but he thinks if he opens his mouth he would projectile vomit everywhere. But the thought occurs to him that if he does that than it would be an excellent excuse for you to skip the date. Though, of course, he runs the risk of grossing you out and absolutely humiliating himself all in one go of it. 

So he shakes his head no. In fact he loves the shoes, and they make your ankles look slender and really compliment your legs quite nicely. Still, he’s scrambling to string together a coherent sentence because his brain is working a lot faster than the muscles in his mouth are and it feels like someone just super glued his lips shut.

“Speak now or forever hold your peace,” you tease, and the cheeky wink you shoot him over your shoulder just edges him even more if that’s possible at this point, “Styles.”

“I don’t want y’to go on this date, (Y/N).” 

He’s well aware that he blurted that out in a way that he really, really, wish he hadn’t. Now the air in the room is stale and heavy, dense too, like someone just sucked all the air out and left the two of you here with nothing to inhale but words and unspecified tension. 

And he’s starting to get more anxious as your playful manner dissipates. He can tell your puzzled not just be the demeanor of your face, but by the stance of your body because your letting shoulders hang the way you do when you’re a little uncomfortable. 

“Oh,” you breath, and his chest starts sinking inward, “okay, I just- well why not? Do I not.. like, do I look bad or something?”

“No,” he coos, and he feels like the worlds biggest asshole when you start to frown, “No y’don’t- Christ, (Y/N) y’look amazing. Y’always look so fuckin’ amazing. It’s just-”

“What,” you huff, “than what is it, than? Why wouldn’t you want me to go?”

He’s really done it now. The proper thing to do would’ve just been to let you go, walk out with you and watch you drive off before he headed home himself. The proper thing to do would’ve been for him to just go home and think about you on a date with someone other than himself, curled up in a ball watching a Friends episode he’s already seen four times while he felt sorry for himself. But that’s not what happened, and what he should’ve done was just broke the fucking foot like he initially thought to do. That would’ve been less agonizing than this. 

“Because,” he’s frustrated now, not with you but really just himself, “I should be taking y’out. M’absolutely in love with yeh, (Y/N), and I don’t have a cool mustache but I could take y’out on a date, ’n I want to so bad.” 

There’s still that dense energy looming in the room, and his gut now too as he feels it winding up tightly in an anxious bundle of knots and twists. You’re not saying anything and the only thing he notices is that you’re breathing is vaguely staggered and your clutching onto that purse in your hand like he’s about to snatch it and run off. God, he should’ve just broken the foot!

“Please don’t go out wit him,” and now, his voice is small, “think it might kill me.”

[oliverwvvd]

the potential for chaos

For the anon who asked about Yule Ball Flintwood, this is a beginning of sorts for you. This didn’t turn out the way I anticipated originally when you presented the concept, so I offer this as version 1.0 with something softer to follow.

pairing: Marcus Flint x Oliver Wood

premise: Marcus shows up to the Yule Ball solo. So does Oliver. Neither one is especially pleased about it, and the reasons why are personal.

wordcount: 2,194 words.

The Yule Ball. Welcome to the distinct scent of too much teenage desperation in one room.

The snide thought belonged to Marcus Flint, whose dress robes fit just fine, thanks very much, not that the same could be said of some of the people attending. Weasley the younger, for example, looked like a cat crawled onto the front of his robes, rolled around, and then obligingly threw up a lacy hairball before departing. Marcus’ were, shockingly, not green, because Slytherins were in fact capable of wearing colours that weren’t the house colours. Instead, he’d gone for navy blue, and they were tailored to fit. For now, he was leaning with his right shoulder firmly parked against a nearby wall, drink in hand (liberally spiked, courtesy of Pucey’s far too innocent face which had successfully hidden very good Firewhiskey somewhere on his person), and settling into the buzz around him.

He was razor-edged, dark hair and sharp jawline identifying him in the shadows, gaze steady still despite the warm burn of the Firewhiskey, and the growing warmth of the room. The music was alright, he supposed. He could work with this. He could especially work without being forced to find a date he didn’t like just to fit in, because no one dared give him crap about it. That left him with a sour thought of a very different kind he’d already decided not to dwell on. A lot of other people were on the dancefloor, but he was good right where he was, absorbing the potential for chaos and waiting for the lights to go just a little lower and darker. That was more his speed.

Unfortunately, someone else didn’t seem to care what his speed was, when they came up behind him and spoke into his ear. “You look bored, Flint. Looking for someone?”

Marcus didn’t even turn his head, simply took a sip of his drink. “Hardly. You evidently were, if you spotted me back here. Shouldn’t you be with your date, Wood? I’m sure you had a list of invites to choose from.” The words were cool and more than a little antagonistic, holding the pointed hint that he’d been fine by himself, and that Wood was welcome to leave him be now.

The other boy didn’t so much as take the hint, instead spoke more quietly, that hint of Glasgow burr there and gravelly in his ear. “Didn’t accept an invite, so no date. You?”

A little more to drink, but then he caught a hint of Firewhiskey that distinctly wasn’t from him. “So, you’ve also been in a corner drinking from whatever enchanted hipflask you and your mates in Gryffindor came up with, then,” he observed dryly. “Please to Merlin tell me at least that it’s not one with someone’s initials on it for when they inevitably drop and lose it later, at least.”

There was a very nearly painful silence then, and Marcus snorted, soft but still audible. “It figures.” It really, really did. “You know, it’s good form to at least cast a charm to hide the initials, Wood. I’m assuming it at least doesn’t belong to you.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Marcus usually had to shut his eyes and count to ten before he bit the offending person’s head off and told them to mind their business at this stage. The Firewhiskey mellowed him out enough that it took away the edge to some degree, but it was still there.

“Good observation skills there, Wood,” he remarked, aware of other people potentially in earshot. “It’s almost as though it’s not really any of your business. Which it isn’t. But since you apparently can’t let it drop, I chose to attend solo. This is like a knock-off of all the same stuff that half of us deal with on holidays anyway.” The curse of the Sacred 28, old pureblood family gatherings and traditions and parties littered every holiday throughout the year. Inevitably, they all found ways of coping with the boredom after the age of fifteen, and usually that involved finding substances or decent company (preferably both) and vanishing from the scene entirely once it was deemed polite.

Wood moved in front of him then, there in the corner, solidly built shoulders blocking the rest of the room, mirroring the way Marcus leaned against the wall. He didn’t have any choice but to look at him then, and could only be grateful that the warm breath into his ear had stopped. If it hadn’t, he might have had to think too hard about how it made him feel, and he really didn’t want to right now.

“So you didn’t come with anyone.” It seemed like Wood was trying to make a point, but Marcus couldn’t tell what. It was frustrating, so rather than focus on that, he looked at the boy in front of him instead. He’d been lanky when they were younger, a bit skinny and coltish, but Quidditch had bulked him out and he was solidly built now at seventeen. And then there was the choice of dress robes; apparently he wasn’t the only one who made use of a tailor for once. That was a fine outline right there.

Realising he was admiring the view and that that wouldn’t do given the reason why he was in a mood in the first place, Marcus exhaled a sigh. “Obviously. What do you want, Wood?”

Wood seemed to realise he only had a finite amount of patience. That was a years overdue realisation as far as Marcus was concerned. “To dance with you.”

That made Marcus stare for a few seconds. Seeming to register that he wasn’t going to get a response unless he pushed, Oliver tilted his head at him. “One dance, Marcus. Something slow. We can stay right here in the corner for all I care, since you seem to prefer lurking in the shadows.” Then brown eyes examined him far too closely, his lips curled up into a smile that held just a hint of smirk at the edges. “Presuming you’re not too caught up in posing and sulking, of course.”

Oliver was crowding him now, just a little, and Marcus wasn’t entirely certain how he felt about it yet. His immediate response was no longer to punch the other boy in the face, that had been gone for a long while, so that was progress. “You can’t hold your Firewhiskey and you’re seriously misreading things, if that’s the best offer you can give me,” he pointed out bluntly. “So if you don’t mind, I’ll continue minding my own business right where I am. Lurking in the shadows.” That was when he leaned back and away, and took another sip of his drink. No one could see them back here. That thought made his pulse race.

Oliver (Wood, his mind stubbornly reminded him, trying to hang onto it) wasn’t necessarily going to just leave him alone, though, or so it appeared. “Then come out of here with me for a minute,” he said, voice quiet but still carrying through the space between them. “I want to talk to you about something.”

Marcus sighed exasperatedly, and drained what was left in the cup. Obligingly, it vanished the moment he set it down on a nearby table, and at this point, he’d given up arguing with Oliver. “Fine. You get two minutes.”

Once they did get outside, though, Marcus hadn’t quite registered just how much Oliver intended to make the most of those two minutes. He found himself rapidly dragged around a corner and pressed into an alcove hidden behind a statue that he hadn’t even known was there. When he went to ask what the fuck, Oliver put a hand over his mouth. “Shh, someone will hear.”

Beyond annoyed and now suspecting where this was going, neither of which he enjoyed, Marcus dragged Oliver’s hand off his mouth and hissed his next words. “What are you doing?”

Earnest brown eyes were fixed on him then, and this time, Marcus couldn’t get away or give him the cold shoulder. “Are you seriously still mad that someone tried to ask me to this thing?”

Marcus gave him a truly evil glare then. “You mean, am I pleased that someone else asked the person I’m not allowed to walk down the corridor with? I’m absolutely thrilled. Someone else walks up to you and asks right where I can hear; I kiss you in dark corners and Quidditch changing rooms for three months and get ignored when convenient.” The tone was flat, but the sarcasm wasn’t.

He saw Oliver wince, and then, completely annoyed and altogether done with the conversation, Marcus went to shoulder past him. Instead, he found himself pushed back into the stone, found himself being kissed, and he wasn’t letting Oliver think that was the last word on it. He wasn’t about to be lulled into compliance. Rather than lean into it, instead, he nipped the other’s bottom lip sharply, just enough to make him feel it, a kiss like a warning, before he reached up and sunk his fingers into his hair.

If he couldn’t have the evening, he was going to make sure Oliver went back with bruised, swollen lips, hair a mess, and every possible hallmark to show that he’d vanished with someone. Let everyone wonder who.

That it changed when Oliver seemed to yield, to surrender to being kissed rather than one doing the kissing didn’t escape Marcus either. It wasn’t until he could feel him trembling that Marcus released him, leaving him looking faintly dizzy where he stood. He smoothed out his robes then, slow and insouciant, enough to make Oliver watch the trail of his hands. “I’m not going to take whatever scraps you decide to throw me and be happy that’s all I get,” he said, words short, making sure they landed home. This was probably one of the worst sides of him. “You don’t act like it, so you don’t get to call me yours. Because I’m not.” Wasn’t that just the biggest lie he’d ever told, but it was supposed to be, because he was doing it purely to be mean and he knew it.

He lifted his thumb to the corner of his mouth then ran it along to the middle of his own lower lip, as though he could taste Oliver there. He could, Firewhiskey and everything that had become so familiar since they first crashed into trying to understand what this was. The reason he really did it, though, was to be a little bit cruel, to watch Oliver’s pupils dilate some more, to see him want to close the distance again, and then to deny him. Or at least, that’s the intention, right up until Oliver shakes his head. “Merlin help me you’re impossible sometimes,” was the set of words bitten out. “I was trying to apologise. To tell you that I only wanted to go with you, but I also wanted to protect this because it’s ours and people are incredibly nosy. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing. You might not be mine, but I want you to be.”

Those were a set of words that Marcus badly wanted to be true, and it was enough to stop him cold, to make him rein in the sulking (if he was honest about what he’d been doing, that was it) and register them. The attempts to deflect hard that his feelings had actually been hurt had all ultimately proven to be unsuccessful, and he knew better than to use kissing as a weapon, it too often backfired and this was very much a case in point.

As though Oliver sensed the weakness somehow, damn him for it, the next time he was being touched was much gentler. “We could dance right here, if you wanted.” The words were breathed between them. That was when Marcus realised that they could still hear the music from the hall.

He made a decision. “Nah,” he said, not hesitating to turn down the suggestion. “Come on. Let’s go back inside.” He gave Oliver a pointed look then, and threw down the gauntlet. “Together.” It was a ceasefire, or the closest that they’d get, because they still needed to talk about the actual feelings involved at some point.

There was no phasing a Gryffindor with that kind of challenge, though, so Oliver didn’t even bat an eyelid. Show them anything like a bet you can’t and they immediately decided that not only could they, but screw you who says I can’t. The only reply Marcus got was a hand in his. It turned out he did want to kiss Oliver softly then, so it still took a few minutes longer for them to get back to the hall. When they did, the night sky that illuminated the ceiling had darkened to hold a spill of stars, and the lights had gone down to something far lower and barely there.

Oliver got his one dance. What he also got was a truth in his ear. “I’m only yours if you’re mine. Non-negotiable. What about it?”

The night wasn’t over yet.

[fermented-writers-block]

Lus and the Human Portal Clone Theory

Even before Keeping Up A-fear-ances aired, I have been working for almost a year now on running through all the possible various suspects with wonderful folks like @sepublic​ , @anistarrose​ , and @elementalist-kdj​ . Like the post title indicates, from sheer process of elimination, the only conclusion that made sense to me was a clone made of Luz by the portal door, and I’ve been working on refining and reworking said conclusion up to the version I will lay out here.

Now, as @safetayy​ , @theowlhouseheadcanons , and @50shades-of-blue have heard from me before, the portal I've long suspected was not made to go from the Demon Realm to the Human Realm, but rather to go from the Human Realm to the Demon Realm by humans, for humans. This is because it then could tie into the hypothetical existence of a Luz clone without having the issue of asking where Eda, Lilith, and King's clones are, as the clone in this case is the result of a function of the door to create a basic level duplicate of any human that passes through it rather than it happening for just anyone that passes through.

With this, it's because the suitcase form of the portal looks as thought it indicates it was used for temporary trips to the Demon Realm, much like how suitcases were used when railways and international boats made travel more accessible for the middle and lower classes. For example:

Going by the way the door “faces” and the way it swings open, the ergonomics of the portal makes it look an awful lot like a right handed out swing door, with the Human Realm on the “inside” and the Demon Realm on the “outside.” And the arrow in the diagram depicts the general direction of traffic that such right handed, out swing doors are typically design with in mind - ergo, showing what way the portal appears to facilitate travel in.

Now, before you ask, the reason why I think the portal could have been created in the human realm in the first place is that it might require an extra component/bit of help or two from the Owl Deity which I’ve discussed before in the past as hinted by these connected designs:

I’ll explore how I feel the revelation that such a twist about the portal’s origins could play into the themes and narrative of the show under the cut, but overall, I feel these are potential significant details to keep in mind for the rest of this arc of building a new door and handling the idea of Lus having initially been made as a temporary-duration clone, hence how "Luz" comes off so uncannily in the letters as she wasn't meant for long term impersonations.

That, and why I named this the Human Portal Clone theory, for those wondering about the name.

Alongside this, my thought has been that walking back through the portal to the Human Realm basically makes the portal send a recall signal to tell the clone to return to it, where the clone would be reabsorbed into the portal and its memories are given to the original. However, with Luz going back into the Demon Realm for a brief time in YBOS, I am of the mind that it doesn’t just make another clone, but rather that doing so merely made the door turn off the recall signal and allowed "Lus" to resume the impersonation.

And as for the clone itself and why they’re writing letters to Camila, well, imagine it from Lus' perspective. To her at the time of creation, the last thing she probably knew was that she had been chasing the cute little owl that took her Azura book into the woods, and right when the bus to Reality Check Camp was about to arrive.

Also, if you think about it, Lus being the work of someone we/don’t know yet raises way more plot threads/questions than answers compared to being the work of the portal, as outlined below:

TLDR at end of post for those wondering

Belos? How and why before YBOS where he actually started paying attention to Luz for the first time and actually got his hands on a portal? 

Eda? Why would she do all this and not tell Luz she can goof around without needing to worry about her mom or the camp/in time to fool the camp, especially when it took a good amount of time for Eda to even start feeling that close to Luz? 

Hooty got ruled out from the getgo since he can’t hold pencils, King just isn’t that subtle, and everyone else that Luz knows has the major issues of just straight up not knowing about the camp in the first place. Well, that and a lack of another known method of getting to the Human Realm in the first place.

The camp? Why would they worry about a missing camper whose disappearance is all HER fault and thus would more logically result in a call to her parent than some convoluted clone conspiracy? 

And finally, some currently completely unknown third party?

If we’re talking a Changeling, A) it’d be easy for Luz to dismiss them and B) that just makes all the ominous portrayal of Lus super straightforward instead of a subversion like is the show’s shtick.

If we’re talking dimensional counterparts, A) they have to REALLY have led a very similar life to Luz’s in order for there to be enough common ground for Luz to listen, and B) dimensional counterparts aren’t even a confirmed or likely thing that people cooked up from Episode 1 side characters influenced by Amity’s concept art.

And if we’re talking some complete surprise third party group or another, it doesn’t make sense to introduce a third party and their motives and plans to the show this late in when Belos is already taking up the bulk of it all.

Hell, if anything, the continued existence of the duplicate in of itself would indicate that the target of the conspiracy is none other than Camila Noceda than anything to do with Luz or Eda, especially with the complete lack of anyone taking advantage of Luz and or Eda. 

From the getgo, Witches Before Wizards already hard-baked into the show the idea that Luz is NOT inherently special or anything into the foundations of the show from the getgo - ergo, Camila likely just is an absolutely regular human being, someone who has no justification for such a convoluted conspiracy to surround them.

That said, I believe that the idea of the portal having originated from the Human Realm could potentially play into some interesting stories to be had with Camila and Lus here, especially as the conspiracy board shot from the promo was confirmed by Dana to apparently be from S2A, not from the episodes past Yesterday’s Lie:

After all, with Luz searching the library for a way home this coming episodes, perhaps she might figure out something the next couple of episodes that allows her texts to send through, which would logically lead to the above picture. That, and Camila and Lus being confused by and trying to figure out what’s going on there.

I mean, the cabin in the woods likely has a very close connection to the portal and it’s origins given how closely tied the two structures seem to be, and as far as we can tell, Luz never mentioned the cabin in her videos to Camila, but if Lus tries to retrace her steps, that would be a natural vector to lead Camila to the cabin and thus allow us a chance to actually investigate it.

That said, all following the trail would do is lead her and Lus to a dead end at the abandoned cabin, where they would have nothing else to do except discuss their complicated relationship concerning Luz and twiddle their thumbs while waiting for Luz to finish things on her end - which while something I think would be interesting to see, I just don’t see how much of a way to keep them in the greater picture of the show without some kind of project or activity that the two of them could work together on on screen. 

And that’s what leads me to a particular train of thought here, starting with the question of what if Luz FAILS to make a working portal over the course of S2A and such?

With the possible in-universe mystery over what the heck is going on with Lus, perhaps the cabin might hold some notes from the original last human owner - if not potentially the creator - of Eda’s portal as well as potentially some of the same materials and such from previous trips.

Cue CAMILA building a working portal, following in the footsteps of the original creator and such and thus finding a reason to stay on screen, all the while potentially demonstrating both why Belos wanted the portal instead of making his own, as well as diving into the Owl Deity’s connection with the original portal. Heck, maybe the Owl Deity is only accessible in the Human Realm and that plays a part in Belos wanting to get to the Human Realm, which would bring Camila directly into contact with the magic her daughter has been interacting with.

Also, just imagine the internal conflict going on here with Lus. After all, helping Camila build a portal to get the original Luz -and hoo boy would that be a tough thing to grapple with- would most definitely do that and make both Lus AND Camila question how much the latter likes Lus vs Luz.

Like, just imagine it. There would be major chances for Lus and Camila to discuss what would happen if and when they’re finished with the portal, and what will happen to Lus’ relationship with Camila if and when Luz gets back.

Does Camila really prefer her daughter to be all more “normal” like Lus, or does she prefer the old, “weird” daughter from before the summer with Luz?

Perhaps she might be able to figure out how to strike a nuanced balance between the two, and all on a metaphorical journey to truly build a better connection between her and her daughter(s?). 

TLDR: Or in short, I can’t help but feel it would be fitting to see Camila building a bridge WITH Lus TO Luz. 

Particularly, by being the one to craft an actual working portal in the Human Realm instead of Luz in the Demon Realm, showing a parent putting in an active effort to get down to their child’s level rather than waiting for said child to try to get up to their parent’s level even if they can’t or find it incredibly hard to do so.

[the-angriestpineapple]

liability // villain!sero hanta x femreader

Rating: Explicit Characters: (Villain) Sero Hanta Inspiration: My piece for the Citrus Dome Discord server’s Hero/Villain Redemption Collaboration. Okay listen, I love Sero Hanta and this boy does not nearly get enough credit for what a good boy he is. Get ready to thirst for a tape dispenser folks. Prompt:  You’re captured by a villain/hero. This is a double whammy! The character you pick must be written with the opposite alignment. So, if they are heroes, they must be portrayed as villains. If they are villains, they must be depicted as heroes. On top of that, you (reader) or they must try and corrupt or redeem the other character! Tags: Villain!Sero Hanta, bondage, shibari, overstimulation, oral, vaginal sex,  abuse, talk of sexual assault. (The last two are not Sero and only last like, a paragraph or two.) Word Count: ~6.4k Collab Masterlist here

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The museum was dead silent with the exception of your brush making slow, careful strokes on the painting you were working on. Of course, it was expected that it was dead silent. You were at work near in the middle of the night. It wasn’t that the restoration department was noisy during the day, but there was always some sort of audio. Someone talking, other people working, someone sipping tea. And for this specific piece, you wanted absolute silence to concentrate. Not even music. Dead silence. It was the first time you’d found a piece by your absolute favorite artist and you had begged to be the one to restore it. But in order to concentrate as much as you felt you needed to, there had to be no noise. So you’d gotten permission to stay late, after the museum closed. And you were grateful. This was going to be the absolute highlight of your career. You pause to dip your brush into the specialty varnish remover and hear a noise. You pause, and glance at the clock. It wasn’t time for the security guard to make the rounds. You immediately feel on edge. No one else is supposed to be here. Maybe… maybe something just fell over in the artifact room.  You grab your cell phone, trying not to think about how utterly impossible that is, and turn on your flashlight app. You exit your offices in the restoration department and head to the next door, where the artifacts not currently on display are held. It’s possible that the security guard made rounds early. Likely more possible than something falling over. Especially since the door to the artifact room is ajar. You’d go in, see the guard, and then maybe it was time to head home. You make it only a handful of steps in before you hear something that sounds vaguely familiar, and you’re quickly wrapped in some kind of tape. You immediately struggle but lose your balance, falling to the ground. Your phone skids away from you and slides directly under a shelf. You stare at the spot in dismay and when someone speaks up behind you, you freeze at the voice.

“Hm. This won’t do. Intel said there’s only one security guard and I already took care of him.” A booted foot pushes on your bound torso to roll you over. You look up, and your captor’s eyes widen the same time that yours does. He breathes out your name in surprise. Immediate glee rises in you. He recognizes you. Sero Hanta, love of your life from middle school, recognizes you all these years later. But that giddy schoolgirl elation is shoved down when you remember that he’s a villain and is obviously here to steal from your museum. His mouth curls into a grin just as yours falls to a frown. “What are you doing here, Sero?” Not that you don’t already know. Your museum might not be the Tokyo National Museum, but it held some pretty priceless artifacts. “I would think that’s obvious, if you recognize me. How have you been?” His head tilts to the side and your frown deepens. “You look good.” I look good? Part of you feels your heart skip at the compliment. Part of you flares up in indignation, wondering how he has the absolute gall to say that to you when you’re bound from shoulders to hips in tape, on the floor of your place of work that he’s about to rob. Though if you’re behind completely honest, he looks good too. You’d always been partial to his angular face and wide smile, but now he had lean, powerful looking muscles. His hair was still long but pulled back, and the underside of his head shaved. His outfit was a parody on his hero costume, a skin-tight body suit of mostly black with white and yellow accents. He didn’t wear a helmet anymore, but did have a black face mask. Like the kind you wore when you were sick. He had an air of confidence around him that was undeniably attractive. But you guessed that one would become a bit arrogant with as many successful heists as he’s pulled off. He’d never been caught once, even though he had former classmates that were specifically looking to take him down. And now here you were, throwing a wrench in and possibly fucking it all up. As far as you knew Sero had never actually murdered anyone, but there had been a lot of thefts with no witnesses. What if there were, and he just disposed of them? What if he did that to you? Your breath catches in your throat, and you flinch away from him when he crouches down. He still has that grin on his face. “So, if you don’t mind, I’ll get back to it and figure out what I’m gonna do with you later.” He taps your nose and rises again. “You’re just going to leave me here on the floor taped up like this?!” You start to struggle again, but his tape is strong. You can barely move.  “Afraid so,” he says with a sympathetic look. “This is an important heist, and I can’t have you fucking it up for me.” He starts perusing the various artwork. You’re not sure if he is looking for something in particular, since right now he looks more like he’s shopping than about to rob the place. You watch his movements carefully, cataloging all the pieces he touches. At least, that’s what you want to pretend you’re doing. You know that you’re watching the fluid motion of his muscles through his skin tight costume. The way his eyes light up at a particularly valuable piece. The wide, friendly smile that you remember from middle school is surely under that black mask. He’d been playfully teased by your classmates for that smile, but it had always made your heart flutter. Despite his looking, Sero doesn’t seem to be finding anything of interest. He’d even picked up some very expensive pieces before putting them back down. It doesn’t take long for your curiosity to get the better of you. “Um, are you looking for something in particular?” Sero looks at you with an expression of mild surprise. It’s only a split second though before the confident grin is back on. “Why, you willing to help me out?” His eyebrow raises and you flush a little.  “Of course not,” you fire back immediately. You’re just curious if he is looking for a certain item. There’s a few things that he can think of that he might be looking for. But Sero hasn’t turned away from you.  “You know, for a small museum this is a rather large room. You might just be useful to me.” He only now shifts back to continue to peruse through the paintings. “I am looking for a piece in particular, as you said. The original Hinakuawa pond painting. I saw that it was taken off display.” It’s a good thing he’d turned away from you, because he missed the moment of your eyes widening before you forced a neutral face. That painting was taken off display because it was on loan to another museum, one hours from here. “Ah. Lotus Daydream. Yes, that painting is kept in this room when it is not on display.” Luckily the bulk of your artwork was flat pieces, so this was the largest storeroom. Maybe you could keep Sero distracted while he searched for a painting that wasn’t there, until your security guard woke up and signaled the police – and the heroes – to come save you. It was as good of a plan as any, and considering your current predicament… the only plan you really had. He glances at you when you don’t willingly point out where it is, then shrugs and keeps looking himself. He doesn’t seem inclined to keep talking. The silence gets to you after a few minutes. “So, um… it’s been a long time. I… see you on the news a lot.” You wince inwardly. What a stupid start. But Sero doesn’t seem to think so apparently. He gives you a side smirk. “Yeah? You watching me on the news?” The teasing in his tone was obvious and you flush again. “You’re on it a lot, to be fair.” Which wasn’t incorrect. Sero Hanta was on the news a few times a week with another successful theft. He infuriated the police and the heroes, especially the ones who used to be his friends. “What can I say, I’m good at what I do.” He winks at you and turns back to examining the artwork. I bet you are. The thought comes immediately, and your breath catches for a moment. It’s almost funny. The Sero you knew, that you had been hopelessly in love with, had been awkward. He smiled a lot, and he was laid back, but he didn’t have this confidence that seemed to be oozing out of this Sero. Your Sero had been lanky. Long-limbed and almost spider like. But his kindness and thoughtfulness had been what made you fall first. You had also been awkward, and very quiet. You didn’t even know if he’d known who you were. You’d been partnered with him for an English project once and you’d barely been able to communicate with him for it in person. He’d been so sweet and patient. And now… now he was the most notorious thief in Japan. With the body of a god and confidence of a rock star. It makes you squirm a little in your restraints. “And you, I didn’t expect to find anyone here, much less someone like you. Is it normal for you to work this late?” You know it’s probably just him trying to case the museum, to see where he made an error, but you shake your head anyway. “No, I was working on a piece that is very important to me.” You see an eyebrow raise, and hurry to continue. “Not Lotus Daydream. It’s another artist, one much smaller. It does not have a lot of monetary value, but he’s my favorite painter.” You get a soft look on your face when you think about it. Sero gives a tiny, indulgent smile. “Sounds important to you.” “Yeah, it is.”  “Any particular reason?” Hm. You can’t think of a good reason why he would ask that question to benefit him. And telling a story is going to take up time. You look away from Sero, focusing instead on an old painting of a rice paddy in the corner. “Well… I didn’t have a lot of contact with my father when I was younger. It wasn’t until I was in high school that I was able to talk to him at all. My mother hated him, and hated that I was just like him, so she kept me from him while telling me that he didn’t want to see me.” It didn’t bother you anymore. It did back then, but you now had good relationships with both of your parents. You’d forgiven your mother long ago. “My father is an art collector. Talking to him got me interested in it too, and my interest and skills landed me in an art restoration career.” You pause, looking up at Sero. He’s looking at you curiously. “That artist had a small exhibit near his house, and that was where my father took me as an outing the first time I’d seen him since I was five.” Sero tilts his head slightly as he digests this information. “Oh. Yeah, I can see why that’s important to you. So you didn’t have an interest in art in middle school? I always saw that you were reading, but I never saw what.” He leans against a glass case, now more focused on you than what he’s looking for. “No. I, um, I wasn’t very outgoing. I preferred to be in the back of the room with a book. I wasn’t teased or anything like that, and I was more or less happy. I just didn’t know how to talk to my classmates the way the popular kids did.” You give a small, wry chuckle. “It was even worse when it came to you, since I liked you.” What??? Your eyes shoot wide just as one of Sero’s brows raise. “You liked me?” He pulls his face mask down and now you can see as his wide mouth curls up into a grin. As much as you don’t want to dive into this topic, you do notice that all of his attention is now on you instead of the artwork surrounding you both. So you decide to play it up a little.  You lower your eyes for a moment before shyly looking up at him through your lashes and nodding. You still did, if you were being entirely honest, despite his criminal record. His grin widens even more and he pushes off the case, sauntering over to where you’re sitting. One elbow crooks and he shoots tape at the ceiling. It sticks around a beam and holds, and he tears it from his elbow only to shoot another from the other one. You’re silent as he hoists you up to a standing position and adheres the pieces to the tape on your back. Keeping you there on your tip toes, off the floor just enough that you couldn’t put your feet flat on the ground. “And you didn’t say anything back then? I would have been thrilled to know that you felt that way.” Your breath hitches. Really? Had you wasted your chance back then? And is that what you’re going to think about right now when he’s here in the middle of the night attempting to rob your museum? But Sero’s moving in closer, and your eyes widen fractionally as your toes scramble a bit in an effort to back up. He notices and smirks. “And how about now? Is what I do a turn off?” His eyes are staring into yours, his voice dropping low. “Or… is it a turn on?” Your breath hitches, and your heart is beating so hard you’re sure he can hear it. He’s so close, and you can’t get away. Though… you know that you really don’t want to. He exhales slowly, his breath ghosting over your lips, before he closes the distance between your mouths. His lips are thin and slightly chapped, but he obviously knows what he’s doing. His mouth moves slowly, almost teasingly as he coaxes your mouth to move with his. He presses in closer to place one hand on the middle of your back and slide down to the small. You aren’t sure what exactly it is – the fact that you’re bound, the fact that you’re at your job, the fact that you liked him, the fact that he’s a criminal, or maybe all of them – but this is the most amazing kiss you’ve had in a while. If ever. There is the beginning of a knot of heat in your core as his tongue licks your lower lip, your mouth immediately opening to allow him entrance. You whimper slightly into the kiss, the noise turning into a soft whine when he pulls away from you. You open your eyes to see him smirking down at you. He’s still holding your body pressed to his, and you can easily feel without your hands how firm his muscles are. How strong he is. He has to be, really, to be able to swing around on his tape as fluidly as he does. But Sero had always been strong. You remember seeing him in the Sports Festival back when he went to UA High School, remember him during the cavalry battle. How he had easily caught a young Ground Zero in mid air with one arm and tossed him back on top of their group. You’d had that in your mind for months after the fact. “I guess it’s a turn on,” he murmurs, one hand going up to tuck an errant strand of hair behind your ear. “So now the real question is… how much of a turn on is it?” He leans close, his voice dropping to a low whisper. “You gonna let me get into that dress? I’d like to know what you taste like.” Your breath hitches, a shiver going down your spine. You want it, so fucking badly, but are you bold enough to let him? Well, it’s not like you have much of a choice, you reason with yourself. Sure, it’s probable that he won’t touch you if you say no, but you’re bound. Helpless. At his mercy. You hold your breath as he pulls back just far enough to look into your eyes, and you give the slightest nod on the exhale. His mouth curls into another smirk and he lets you go to back away. You look at him in confusion until he shoots more tape at the ceiling – two strands, that he attaches to your ankles and uses to keep your legs yanked into the air. Your dress hikes up to your hips when he pushes your thighs up and ties his tape to each one. This leaves you splayed open, suspended in front of him. On display for his dark eyes to rove over. He steps close to you again, both hands running on the outside of your thighs until they reach your hips. Then he moves to his knees to put himself at face level with your core. “Mm. Already wet for me, I see,” he says in a husky, teasing tone. Before you can formulate a quippy answer the hands on your hips dig in and he pulls your forward to his mouth. His wide, flat tongue licks up your damp panties and your breath is ripped from your lungs. He lets out a pleasurable groan. “Delicious. Just like I thought. But I’m sure it’d be better without these in the way.” Sero hooks his thumb into your panties and pulls them to the side before repeating his tongue drag. This time it pulls a strangled moan from you. He lets out another groan in response and pulls back just enough to look at you from between your legs. “That’s it, make more of those noises for me.” And he pulls you back in. You’d had oral sex before, sure. Roughly half of the guys you dated did it, and a decent number of them enjoyed it. It had always astounded you how much a guy wanted your mouth on his dick but didn’t want to return the favor. Sero Hanta, on the other hand, ate you like he was starving and you were the most decedant thing he’d ever tasted. His hands kept you pressed tightly to his face to the point that you’d probably be concerned for his ability to breathe if you could string a thought together. He seems like he’s everywhere at once. His tongue lapping up your sex before dipping inside of it, back out to drag up and circle your clit. Now and then he’d suck or gently bit it, causing a sharp increase in the moans he was pulling out of you. He had you strung up in a way that you really could only see the top of his head as he worked you over, so you could never quite tell what was coming next. You let out a noise of surprise that tapers into a moan when his first finger breaches you. “Look at you,” he breathes as he presses kisses to the insides of your thighs. “Opening right up for me.” He leans back far enough to be able to catch your eyes. “Such a good girl.” He curls his long, dexterous finger up to press against the small, spongy spot inside you that has you bucking in your restraints. He grins. Sero knows exactly what he’s doing. He slides his finger out only to press two back in as he leans forward. “Cum for me, babe?” he breathes out across your sex before wrapping his lips back around your clit. The sucking sensation coupled with the press against that spot inside you has you crying out and coming apart around him. He rolls his fingers as you ride through it while gently licking at your clit, your hips jerking and trying to get away from the over-stimulation. You’re slightly dazed as he rises up, grabbing your hips again and pressing his bulge into your soaked folds. Despite how sensitive you are, you can’t help but buck back into him. “Can I use your mouth, babe?” He tilts his head slightly, grinning when you enthusiastically nod your consent. You can’t quite find words, so… body language. Sero pulls a blade out from somewhere around his hip and cuts the tape to let your legs down. More tape shoots off, more tape is cut, you don’t really have the capacity to follow what he’s doing. Then you’re being moved. Sero tilts you forward until your face is level with his hips, but your toes are still just skimming the floor again. He has your hips bound up a little higher than your head and you look at him from under your lashes. He reaches out to skim fingers down the line of your jaw. “Beautiful,” he mumbles. Your heart swells with the praise, and you bite your lip before opening your mouth, sticking your tongue out, and looking back up at him. He curses under his breath and flicks his fingers under a nearly invisible seam at the crotch of his suit, revealing a button and long zipper. How convenient, you think as he undoes both and pulls his cock out through the hole. He immediately drops it so the head bounces on your tongue, hissing at how warm your tongue is. His cock isn’t particularly wide, but it is long and slightly curved upward. And he tastes so good, you really want to close your mouth and get to work, but you wait. He rocks his hips marginally to let the head slide a few centimetres and bites his lip.  “Fuck. You are a good girl. Go ahead and close your mouth, babe.” You happily oblige, feeling a thrill at the way his head tips back when you swirl your tongue around the head. He drops a large hand on your head but instead of guiding your head further down like most of the guys you’ve been with, he winds his fingers gently in your hair. His thumb starts rubbing soft circles on your head as he rocks his hips into your mouth. You want more. You’re very confident that you can take him down to the root, and you want to try. You try to push forward but it’s very awkward with your toes scrambling on the floor. He notices once you whine a little, and looks down with a chuckle. “You want more?” He steps forward a little, letting more of his length slide in until he bumps into the back of your throat. You let out a small moan and let your tongue dance around his underside to show your approval. He makes a guttural noise and starts to rock his hips into you faster. Harder. You hollow out your cheeks as you look up at him and he moans.  “Shit, I’m not gonna last if you do that,” he rasps out with a slight laugh. He manages a few more thrusts before he’s pulling out of your mouth. He’s panting a little and looking at you with a lopsided grin. "Damn babe, you're good with that mouth." You flush a little and smile. You’d been told that before, but somehow it was so much better coming from Sero. "Thanks. You're um, you're good with your tape." Sero’s face brightens, and his mouth curls up to a wide grin as he tucks himself back into his suit. "Yeah? Think so? You haven't seen the half of it.” Before you can question what he means by that the switchblade is out again. He cuts you down and lets you find your feet. The blade gets positioned at your hip, then Sero’s wrist flicks up. It cuts you out of the tape… and out of your dress.  “Sorry babe,” he murmurs with no real remorse in his voice. You open your mouth to protest your ruined dress but Sero pulls you close, pressing your bare chest to his body suit clad one and kiss you into silence. It’s not important. You have a dress in your locker. It’s fine. As you’re kissing you feel his fingers caress the line of your panties, along your hips, before he pulls on them slightly. He’s testing to see if he can remove them, you assume. You quickly pull them further down.  He chuckles into your kiss and swiftly crouches to help you out of them before tucking them into a nearly invisible back pocket. He gives you a cheeky grin and quickly removes the tape from your ankles. Technically you’re free now, but the thought to run doesn’t even cross your mind. You just wait until he straightens up and moves back in for more kisses. After a few moments you hear his tape shoot out again three times. He pulls back as he shoots a fourth. It binds around your bare chest, just under your breasts. “The anchor,” he says with a wink.  You tilt your head in confusion, and he pulls his arm back to rest his hand on the back of his neck. He pulls more tape from his elbow, a sizable piece. He starts to twist the tape and wrap you up. He attaches the tape to the front of the strip already on you, threads it up through your breasts, and attaches it at the back almost to your hip. He repeats that on the other side. He keeps making and twisting tape, wrapping around your ankles and wrists. He steps behind you and presses your wrists together, crossing them, and quietly asks you to keep them there. You do. His fingers skimming over your skin as he works you over it so erotic. He wraps tape around your elbows, not twisted, to keep your arms straight out. Sero takes one of the tape strands attached to the ceiling and attaches it to the tape on your back. Now you kind of understand what he meant when he said it was an anchor point.  “I’m gonna lift you up, okay?”  You exhale, already shaky. “Yeah. Yeah that’s fine.” He smiles and grabs your chin, brushing a soft kiss to your lips. Your heart skips a beat. He makes another tape rope and crouches down to affix it to your ankle. He runs fingertips with a feather light touch up the side of your leg as he rises. Then he pulls, your ankle coming up. He keeps pulling higher until your thigh follows. He binds your ankle to your wrist, then ties your lower thigh and upper leg together. The position keeps your leg up and folded in. He quickly repeats this with the other side before attaching the last two tape strands he shot off at first to your ankles. You’re suspended by your ankles and the middle of your back, arms stretched out and held in place behind you. Because your ankles are also attached to your wrists, if you shift or move one of them the others move too. You bite your lip as Sero walks around to your front. He traces fingers along your jawline again but this time he doesn’t stop, tipping your face up to his by your chin. “Gorgeous,” he breathes, reverence in his voice. Your face flushes, because he’s looking at you like you’re the most breathtaking thing he’s ever seen. He runs his thumb over your lower lip and your lips automatically part. He gives you a slight smirk and crouches so he can be face to face with you without removing his fingers from your face. “Now, I’d really like to fuck you. But if you don’t want to, I can use my mouth on you again instead.” His voice was soft, eyes watching your face for your reaction. You swallow, and nod. He chuckles a little. “I gotta hear you say it, babe.” “Yeah, yeah please. I want you to fuck me, Sero,” you gasp out in a rushed breath. He leans in and softly kisses your lips. “Good girl,” he whispers against your mouth and rises. You shiver in anticipation as you lose sight of him when he moves behind you. You’re straining to hear what he’s doing, and you hear the rustle of his clothes, the tearing of a wrapper. Your eyes widen as you feel his blunt head sliding along your still soaked folds. The tease is too much and you whine again, but you can’t push back against him. He’s taken all of your possible leverage away and now you really were entirely at his mercy. Large hands grab on to your waist as the first inch sinks in. You inhale and Sero quietly asks if you’re okay. “I’m fine,” you say with impatience in your tone, “Just waiting.”  Sero chuckles behind you. “Well, who am I to keep a lady waiting?” Air is punched out of your lungs as he sheathes himself in one thrust, then slides back out. One more hard thrust, a soft groan from him, and then he’s railing into you hard and fast. While he’s not the thickest man you’ve ever had, he is still a good size and the drag of his cock on your walls is making you cry out as it rubs against the small bundle of nerves inside you. And his length is incredible. He’s bottoming out with each thrust, and his leverage on your hips has him pulling you back as he pushes forward. Hard, deep, and driving you to a second release faster than you thought possible. Sero groans again and picks up his pace. “Fuck, yeah, that’s good baby. Look at you, sucking me in like this. You feel so good around me. Can’t wait to feel you cum on my cock.” His voice is so low, murmuring the words to you, and you clench around him. He hisses at the feeling, moaning out on his exhale. “That’s right, cum on my cock baby. Just let go.” One of his hands leaves your hip and he steps closer to you. You’re bouncing on him a bit more due to gravity than his grasp, and the free hand snakes down to rub sloppy circles on your clit. Five swipes and you’re done for, crying out loudly as your walls clamp down around him. He stops moving in you, still all the way inside, gently and slowly rubbing your clit as your ride out your orgasm. He doesn’t stop though, even as you come down and the pleasure starts to be too much. “S-Sero, I can’t-” “Sure you can, babe. I know you have one more for me.” He rolls his hips fractionally, barely an inch of his cock sliding in and out of you as he keeps his attention on your clit. Your thighs pulled back as far as they are prevent you from closing them to stop him, and it only takes a few minutes before you’re sobbing as another orgasm rips through you. Only now does he pull his hand away and moves so he is standing like he’d been. His hand returns to your bare hip. “See, I knew you had it in you. So fucking good for me.” You barely have time to process his words before he’s fucking into you hard again. He’s chasing his own orgasm now, and you desperately want to give it to him. You can’t touch him though, and you can’t wrap your legs around him to pull him closer. The only thing you can do is flex your walls, make the hole he’s fucking into tighter. It earns you a moan of appreciation that makes you giddy. “Shit, babe, I’m gonna-” He cuts off into a drawn out moan as he slams into you one more time, hard. Then a few softer thrusts. Then he’s done, and you’re both just panting. Desperate attempts to fully fill your lungs. It takes a full minute before Sero pulls out and starts to move. “Well… I must admit that I wasn’t expecting this particular type of art when I came here.” Sero huffs out a laugh and you blink in your post orgasm haze. He peels the condom off and pulls a small bag from his pocket to drop it into. The bag gets closed and shoved back in his pocket. Right, he doesn’t want to leave any evidence that he was here. You bite your lip as you try to stare at him over his shoulder. “Lotus Daydream isn’t here.” Sero looks at you in surprise when you blurt out the words. “It’s on loan to another museum. It’s been gone for three days.” He blinks in disbelief, and then bursts out laughing. “You sneaky little thing.” But he doesn’t sound angry. He sounds amused, even impressed. “I guess that theft-wise my trip was a bust.” Sero runs a hand over the side of his head, smoothing back some stray hair strands. He looks at you still hanging on display as if he’s trying to figure out what to do with you. You bite your lip in consideration. “I won’t say anything about you breaking in if you just leave. Since the piece you’re after isn’t here anyway.” It’s a long shot but worth a try. He frowns a little as he studies your face. You really wish that you could at least close your legs, if not actually get back onto the floor. “Yeah. Alright. You have a deal. You don’t say anything about me being here and I’ll let you go.” Your face brightens and his grows more serious. “But if I do find out that you said something… I’ll be coming after you. And you will desperately wish that you hadn’t. Do you understand?” “Yeah. I understand.” You’re proud that your voice is firm, and the frown turns back up to his wide, trademark smile. He pulls the switchblade back out to cut his tape, gently lowering you to the floor. Only now does he remember that he shredded your dress when he cut you out of his initial containment.  “I have a spare dress in my locker,” you say quickly. Sometimes – almost daily - you get the varnish on your clothes. Most days that doesn’t matter. You don’t really leave your office. But you do try to make sure you have a spare outfit in case you have to meet someone important. You blink as he says that he’ll grab it and he heads off. Somehow you aren’t surprised that he knows where the lockers are and that he can apparently pick your lock. He returns in moments carrying your dress draped over his shoulder. He carefully peels the rest of the tape off of your bare skin. His gentleness is surprising and makes your heart flutter. He’s going slow, careful to not hurt you. He lets you dress, comes with you to pick up your bag, and walks you to the door. He looks out over the street once you’re outside. “The video feed is on a loop. I put your guard to sleep, he’ll wake up without any knowledge that he was knocked out.” Sero gives a bright grin and a small two-finger wave, then shoots his tape up, retracting it to propel up and disappears onto the roof. You watch him go in awe. Sero was amazing in your mind back when you first met him but he was just stunning now. You glance at your watch to check the time. It’s late, the trains have already stopped. You don’t live that far from the museum though, maybe a twenty five minute walk. So you set off. You get three blocks before you hear a low whistle. “Hey baby, what’re you doing out by yourself this late at night? Wanna come party with us?” Your blood runs cold at the trio of men lurking at the alley entrance to your right. The smell of cheap sake invades your senses. Your hand goes to your pocket for your phone and a cold sense of realization washes over you. It had been knocked from your hands and was currently under a shelf in the artifact room. As you’re preparing to run a rough hand grabs you and yanks you into the darkened alley. A different hand clasps over your mouth, but drunks don’t have the best coordination or reflexes. You’re able to bite down hard on one of the man’s fingers. He yells and yanks his hand back, and you take the opportunity to let out a scream. One of the other men growls at you to shut up and smacks you hard upside the head. Your head snaps forward. It dazes you, and your head rolls back. You’re dizzy and can’t seem to focus on any of them. The third man laughs. Three different voices blend together, talking about what they intend to do to such a pretty little thing like you. You’re shoved and pinned up against the rough brick of the alley wall while they argue about who goes first, who goes where. You close your eyes, waiting for the touches you don’t want. But they never come. The hands pinning you leave you and you slide down to the ground. You hear shocked shouts, and when you open your eyes and your vision starts to clear you see a black, white, and yellow figure swinging from a rope – tape! - and kicking one of them drunken men in the face. They try to fight back, but three wobbly drunks are no match for Sero Hanta. He’s too fast, too agile, too strong. Your attackers are all out cold in the alley in under two minutes. Sero, not even breathing heavily from the exertion, lands gracefully on his feet turns to you. With a frown he gently gathers you up in his arms and brings a hand up to touch where they slammed you in the head. “...I heard you scream. Are you alright?” You don’t answer right away. Instead, you bring up a hand and cup his cheek. “You saved me,” you breathe out. Sero’s face softens, and he smiles. He brings you closer and leans down until your foreheads are touching. “Yeah,” he whispers, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “I did, didn’t I? Let me get you home.”

[sailorgreywolf-legacy]

Haiiii I’m new to this blog but an avid consumer of the sailorwolf blog so I was wondering about Mexico’s relationship with spain or even a master list about them would be greattt

First thing, anon, I am so sorry for how long this took for me to answer. Between irl stuff, a mini break from Hetalia stuff, and wanting to give you a proper answer, it took me some time.

What I am going to do is give you a timeline of the relationship and try to point you to the relevant oneshots and drabbles. But the biggest caveat I am going to give you is that the best way to get their story is to read Legacy. It's the main fic on this blog; it's about Mexico's life. But it is also 60+ chapters long, so it is a time commitment. It is linked in the pinned post.

Also for reference, any time you see Ale mentioned on this blog, that's Alejandro (Mexico.)

Here is the basic outline:

Spain came crashing into Mexico's life through the conquista. Which was a kind of rocky start, but Mexico was a very charming child who Tony felt attached to from the moment he laid eyes on him (their first substantial interaction is in Tierra Firma, Mexico's baptism during the trip is here)

After a long boat ride, little Mexico came down with smallpox. Which you can find in this one. Which made Tony even more attached because he became anxious and worried.

There's some time while Mexico is in his late childhood/early teen years where Tony is just his tutor and guardian. But every single one of the colonies knew that Mexico was the favorite. Tony made no secret of the fact. (here are some oneshots of that period: When Mexico is in his early teens, At Christmas)

Then things change when Mexico hits his late teens, and Tony starts seeing him in a very different light. For Tony's realization that he's sexually and romantically interested in his colony see Forbidden Fruit.

Roderich noticed Tony's interest in this one. He didn't initially react with much hostility, since he assumed that it was natural that Tony would take interest in someone who was always close to him.

There was some time before the relationship became sexual, you can see Mexico attempting to set boundaries here.

But for Tony it quickly became an emotional affair that he prioritized over his husband, because he saw his favorite colony as his gift from God and their relationship as something with divine favor (he directly says that here and here) Roderich got increasingly frustrated with it, as you can see here.

One of Roderich's stipulations was that it had to be private, and it was anything but. Tony had a tendency to give very public gifts and be rather affectionate in public. People knew about it, as shown here.

It's a very complicated relationship, Antonio can be very affectionate like here after a nasty shock or after an earthquake or after some kidnapping on Arthur's part. But their relationship has a large age difference, and Tony has absolute power over his colonies, so it is coercive either implicitly or explicitly (this oneshot should give you a sense of that)

At times Mexico could also be quite affectionate, like this one. But all in the context of a massive power imbalance, which always underlies their relationship.

Antonio was also very jealous. He reacts poorly when Mexico gets too close to anyone else. Like Turkey or France. He can get quite abusive when he doesn't get his way, and he can with that power dynamic.

At one point after the divorce with Roderich (which was highly influenced by the relationship with Mexico), Spain did propose.

I am not going to get into Mexico's independence, since that is the bulk of what Legacy is about. But Mexico does declare independence, and the relationship ends.

They don't really discuss it much until the Spanish Civil War, where Mexico provides aid, and he stays with Spain while he recovers. (This oneshot is about that period)

If you want even more with them, here’s Spain’s chapter in the Anthology of drabbles I am compiling: link

[sinsbymanka]

Character: Bianca Davri

I’m sorry I took FOREVER to do these. <3 I hope it was worth the wait!

Break their Ass Down: Bianca Davri

How I feel about this character

I like and respect her. We don’t know a lot about her, but what we DO know is kind of badass. She’s probably about Varric’s age (40ish), and we can assume the bulk of her work has been completed in about 20 years (from her 20s through to the present day) and in that time she’s completed MULTIPLE life changing inventions that are honestly pulling Thedas into the industrial revolution if you look at OUR world history and compare what happened when similar inventions were created that revolutionized the backbreaking labor of agriculture and manufacturing. 

She is absolutely a genius, and she knows it. That confidence and her reputation/skill makes her sexy and powerful. But there’s hints that she didn’t have the power she has now in former years. I think if she had met Varric now, when she’s older and more established, their romance wouldn’t be such a tragedy. But there’s something undeniably compelling about a brilliant young woman who runs away from at least one wedding to take off with a dashing rogue before she realizes she has to do what everyone wants her to do. 

All the people I ship romantically with this character

Varric - up to a point and in canon-divergent AUs. I think their tragic romance is really beautiful when they’re young, but I think by the time it reaches DAI it’s clearly toxic for bother characters (is Bianca holding onto the one thing she ever really picked for herself to spite her family? is Varric so caught up in a story he can’t handle reality?) However - I think they’d work really well together in a universe where they don’t meet until they’re older and it doesn’t go sideways quite so badly. 

Bogdan - we know absolutely nothing about him except that he was stood up at the altar at least once and that he helps Bianca with selling her inventions. In my writing, I’ve never been able to nail down what exactly I want his character to be. I wrote him as kind of an idiot in my first Varric/Cadash fic, set him up to be a minor antagonist in GwtAT (in both fics he’s quite possibly emotionally abusive or at the very least neglectful), but I’ve always written him as forgiving and loving. I very much love the idea of a man who also wasn’t sold on marrying a woman clealy in love with someone else, but they work it out and form a strong, solid partnership. I would ship that version of Bogdan with Bianca in a heartbeat. 

Dagna - this is a crack pair I am super invested in emotionally and has been gifted to me by @jarakrisafis once. I love the rivals-to-lovers aspect of it. Two brilliant women in competition before the sexual tension escalates and then they form a brilliant partnership? sign me the fuck up. 

Nobody - I said it. In both my first Cadash/Varric fic and in GwtAT, Bianca ends up alone and free. I think that’s quite a happy ending for her - she doesn’t need a romantic interest, she lives a happy and fulfilled life making the world better free of the drama. 

My non-romantic OTP for this character

Varric - Post DAI I really like the idea of old lovers becoming friends and realizing they’re better that way. I don’t think anyone knows either of them as well as the other one does, and I find it hard to imagine that Varric ever quite leaves Bianca’s life even if it’s platonic. 

Dagna - they should be friends. that’s it that’s all. 

My unpopular opinion about this character

Bianca isn’t an asshole, fandom is just mean to complicated female characters. 

Bianca does some shady shit during DAI. That red lyrium thing was CLEARLY a mistake, and she knows it, but I don’t blame her for not admitting it right away. She’s a genius - so her mistakes are correspondingly huge as well - she doesn’t play for small stakes. She didn’t double cross Varric as much as go around him to try and help him - a thing Varric is VERY guilty of doing for his friends as well but nobody ever calls him out on it (paying off the gangs to leave Anders alone even though Anders says not to? Trying to get Fenris a job he doesn’t want? Annoying Merrill to go outside until she’s ABSOLUTELY aggravated with him?) 

Bianca’s mistake was made with good intentions, and while she may have helped Corypheus, I’m pretty sure he’d have found a way without her. In fact, it’s a little known fact Bianca actually shows up at that keep in Emprise du Lion to help clean up the red lyrium as an NPC. Check out this post by @pikapeppa to see the dialogue (thank you for compiling this by the way I’ve used it as a resource a hundred times)  

Yeah. She fucking stays with the Inquisition to clean up a mess she helped cause. The most brilliant woman in Thedas, literally two votes away from being a surfacer Paragon, stays in the worst fucking place in Thedas to help the Inquisitor.

Nobody ever takes that into consideration when bashing her. 

What I think people really don’t like is Bianca threatening to rip out your Inquisitor’s eyeballs if they get Varric hurt and using them to clean up her mistake. And you know what, fair, you don’t have to like your OC getting threatened or used. 

But Varric arguably uses the Inquisition to clean up Hawke’s mess, and if he would have threatened your OC for Hawke, I don’t think anyone would have cared. 

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon.

A lot of the information about Varric and Bianca’s relationship seems almost...optional to find? And it’s so many throwaway lines. We see Varric and Bianca at one of the worst moments in their relationship, but we don’t see how they got there. And because the moment is caused by Bianca’s mistake, she comes out looking worse than Varric, but I don’t think that’s true either. 

I truly believe that Varric and Bianca’s relationship is/should be over by the time DAI ends, it’s run it’s course, but I don’t think either of them are the SOLE cause for it being over. They both contributed to an increasingly untenable relationship and Varric got off way too easy for his part of it in game, leaving Bianca to take the hit. It’s unfair. 

I’ll still take these break the characters down asks! I’m working my way through them, but here’s who I have on deck:

Maria Cadash

Varric Tethras

And who I’ve done: 

Velanna

Bianca Davri 

[jaskiersvalley]

I'm absolutely in love with your writing and your fics! Also I ship Eskel/Lambert now so thank you for that. Might I ask for some h/c with my new favourite wolves? Hope you're staying safe and well! 💜💜💜

Yes! Welcome to the Eskel/Lambert ship! It is perfectly set up for some hurt/comfort. This one is emotional rather than physical but I’ve been dying to explore this idea for a while and you’ve given me the perfect excuse, thank you!

CW: Suicidal thoughts, mentions of child abuse (aka Lambert’s shitty childhood)

Beautiful Ghosts

It was well known that Lambert was bitter and angry at everything. Destiny, Witchers, the world at large. He was grouchy, held a grudge and never seemed to have anything nice to say. It was just the way Lambert was and everyone around him grew to accept it. However, some days he was harder to deal with than others. There were times he lashed out at anyone and everyone, heedless of whether they had earned his ire or not. Usually, Eskel could ignore it, could accept that Lambert had difficult days. During those times he spent the afternoon with Geralt instead or made himself scarce. In the evenings Lambert would appear in his doorway, mouth curled down into an unhappy pout and he’d stare, almost like a dog expecting to get beaten. Instead, Eskel would hold up his blanket in invitation and he’d wait for Lambert to crawl in, curling up against his chest. His silence was the only apology and Eskel could live with that.

Time was something they lost track of easily. One year bled into the next, it didn’t matter how many passed them by, the important thing was they’d survived another season out on the Path and they were back together. A few months locked together in Kaer Morhen to weather the worst of the winter before it was a rinse and repeat of the previous year. The cycle was never ending but that was the life of a Witcher.

Snow had settled on the mountain, winter was well and truly in full swing and Lambert was unbearable. He had snapped at Vesemir, thrown Geralt’s gwent deck in his face when he won a round and even spat vitriol at Eskel. Not ever the usual gruff and highly strung “fuck off”. This time he went for below the belt.

“Don’t expect me to come to your bed tonight. I don’t want a pity fuck and especially not from you.”

That had hurt. Eskel didn’t give Lambert the chance to change his mind. He took a blanket and curled up by the fire in Geralt’s room, knowing Lambert wouldn’t ever approach him there. If only that had been the end of it. Alas, Lambert continued to be foul.

“I see you’ve already found another bed warmer. Tell me, does his bulk and ability to truly pin you down make you actually come?” Lambert sneered. “No more forcing yourself to come, screwing your eyes shut and imagining it’s anyone but me ploughing you, right?”

Slamming his slice of half eat bread down, Eskel stalked out of the room, unable to hear Lambert talk like that. At the edge of his hearing Geralt and Vesemir’s less than friendly chiding echoed in his ears but it didn’t mean much. Not when Lambert didn’t sound the least bit sorry.

It didn’t get easier. Training had Lambert hissing and spitting curses, goading Eskel and Geralt until something snapped. Eskel had had enough. He threw his sword to the side and bodily charged and Lambert, scooping him up and pinning him against the nearest wall.

“What the fuck has gotten into you?”

“Wouldn’t you just love to snap my neck and be done with it all?” Lambert laughed bitterly. “Just do it. Put us both out of our misery.

”As though burned, Eskel stepped away and Lambert turned, face scrunched up in anger and misery “Why won’t you just do it already?” he screamed.

Thankfully, Geralt and Vesemir had the good grace to walk away and give the two the illusion of privacy. It left Eskel facing Lambert who looked like he was only standing up out of sheer spite when everything about him screamed hurting and wanting to curl up in a ball.

“Why?” Eskel’s voice broke over the simple question.

“Why not? It’s not like any other death will be better. At least you’ll make it quick.”

Eskel couldn’t breathe as he listened. In the silence he could hear both their breathing, ragged and shallow. As he continued not to say anything Lambert shifted around. He had never been good at the whole silence thing, not when there were things to be said.

“It’s just not fair.” While it didn’t yet make much sense, it was a start.

Stepping closer, Eskel reached for him. After a moment of quivering hesitation, Lambert allowed himself to be pulled in for a hug. It wasn’t quite the usual hug where Lambert held Eskel as much as he was held. Instead, Lambert all but slumped into Eskel, letting the other hold him up. As gently as he could, Eskel lowered them to the ground and pulled Lambert closer to his chest.

“Everywhere I look, it’s misery.” The words were mumbled into his gambeson but Eskel could just about decipher them. “Not a single happy memory anywhere.”

“None at all?”

Lambert shook his head and burrowed closer. “You have Geralt. Shared memories, pranks, games you played.” For a moment Lambert broke off and sniffled. “I don’t have anyone. Childhood here was punishment and bullying. Nobody wanted to be friends with the runt who was always getting the shit kicked out of him in training and then the instructors caned him for being stupid.”

Heart sinking, Eskel closed his eyes. He knew Lambert hadn’t had the easiest of lives but, when put like that, it sounded harsher than he’d dared imagine.

“What about life before training?” Because Eskel knew very little about Lambert’s life beyond what they’ve shared. The scoff and bitter laugh suggested his heart was about to break further.

“Dad was a drunk. Took it out on me and mum. He was so glad to get rid of me when Vesemir claimed Law of Surprise.” It made Eskel wince but Lambert didn’t see it and so continued. “Shit life before being dragged here, shit life while here and then punted out into a shitty world with shitty prospects. I know things are just as shit for you on the Path. But you’ve got memories, these beautiful ghosts to haunt you. Your bumblebee on a string and all that. I’ve got nothing but screaming poltergeists to haunt my every waking and sleeping moment.”

Eskel wrapped himself around Lambert more firmly. “What about more recent memories?”

“The only good ones I have are of you. But we both know that can’t last. One of us will fuck up. Won’t return one winter. Selfishly, I really hope it’s me.”

It was getting cold now that they weren’t moving around. Eskel knew how much Lambert hated the cold. With as much care as he could, he scooped Lambert up and walked them back to the keep, up the old stone stairs until they were in his bedroom. Gently, he stripped Lambert and himself before clambering into bed to curl around Lambert yet again, pulling the covers above their heads. In the warm darkness he finally allowed all the pain to show on his face.

“I’m sorry. I wish I could make you promises but we both know they’ll be broken.” There was no happy ending for Witchers. They took what little scraps of happiness and comfort they could. Until that moment Eskel had never considered himself a rich man but, in comparison to Lambert, he had so much more. “I wish I could share those happy memories with you. But all I can offer is trying to make new ones from now on.”

Maybe it would be enough to help Lambert keep coming back to him. It was a hope he had to cling to. Because all Eskel wanted was to finally be enough for someone else.

[katsidhe]

15.20 Final Thoughts

Supernatural is over, and somehow, despite itself, it did the very best it could to please me. That was always going to be an impossible task. But truly, sincerely, that finale was as close to my desires as the show could ever bring itself to come, and so, so much closer than I ever dreamed it would dare.

I am so, so glad that no other regular characters were involved (Bobby aside, but he was brief). How better to encapsulate their own emptiness? How fundamentally fitting, than in the epilogue to their final battle, wherein the entire world beyond them was erased, the wider universe is merely set dressing for them to move through. And it was so quiet this way. This finale wasn’t overcrowded or rushed. It kept its own peace. And it preserved the tangible claustrophobia that 15.19 invoked: that tangled, lovely, solipsistic, toxic conviction that these are the only two people on earth that matter.

It’s unclear exactly how much time passed between 15.19 and 15.20. I like to think it’s been at least a year, given that they’ve settled into routine and that their grief seems less fresh. (Although yes, the concept of Dean dying on his very first hunt without a resurrection available is hilarious, I must confess.) Their calm domesticity, their peace, was lovely to watch (Sam kicking the laundry machine! Sam with wet hair! Sam running! Sam cooking, Sam looking a little less bulky than usual, and happy!) But man, it really is Dean’s world, isn’t it? Even the DOG, which really, really, really could reasonably have been primarily Sam’s, was Dean’s dog first and foremost. Then on Dean’s say-so, they get in Dean’s car to drive to a pie festival for Dean. Sam is perfectly content to go along with all of it.

As if we hadn’t gotten enough delightful fanservice, we also got one last scene of Sam threatening to torture someone to death. :) what a king.

I love that Dean died to an OSHA violation while fighting a random loose end from season 1 (which, by the way, I CALLED IT, I am so proud of myself). It’s perfectly mundane. I truly and deeply do not understand anyone complaining that Dean should have gone out in a way that’s more epic. He’s been there, done that, guys, and remember how miserable it was? Now there’s no cosmic safety net. Dean died in a broken down old barn, saving some kids. Moments like these are when Dean is at his best, at his most fundamentally sympathetic: when he’s not trying to control the shape of the universe or dictate righteousness or let his anger drive himself down into a destructive spiral. He’s just putting his money where his mouth is. He’s not making a broad moral statement. He’s simply putting his life on the line to defend someone who needs defending. It is not an unworthy end. It’s so much better than going out to, god forbid, God.

Did Dean earn a lifetime of peace? The concept of just desserts is fraught. But I also don’t think it’s something Dean wanted. He wanted to keep killing things in tetanus-infested barns until he died. He got what he wanted. And while the arc of his wants has adapted over the years, MOTW hunting is fulfilling for him.

Dean’s deathbed speech was, oh man. It got me good. Like many of the things I loved in this episode, it was quiet. No desperation, no revising history (or not too much, anyway). Just, “stay with me, please. I love you. Tell me it’s okay.”

The quiet of Sam’s grief, alone in the bunker. How still his face is, until for a little bit it crumples again, and then it comes back and goes still. He’s not trying to control his reactions or press back against his sorrow. There is no work to do, nothing to avenge, no one to find, nothing to defeat. He is alone, and the washes of visible grief simply come and go in waves that he doesn’t try to fight or force.

I need the gif of him flinching at the toaster. His startle reactions are my favorite thing. He’s alone underground, there is not a living soul for miles and miles, he’s just buried his brother, not for the first time, but this time, he knows, for the last. And the goddamn toaster goes off and he cannot control the way his heart leaps up into his throat and the way every one of his muscles tightens.

Sam grows old. Sam. Grows old. Sam grows old! SAM GROWS OLD.

Ohhh my God, Sam grows old. Without Dean! Without hunting! Without Cas! With people outside that claustrophobic world, beyond the four tight walls of SPN, beyond the people approved by Dean and by Fandom, who give him peace and love and fulfillment! SAM GOT OUT. Even with the truly terrible wig the image brings me to actual tears. I cannot believe SPN would allow him to have this. I cannot believe that the show let him be happy without Dean. I want to read the set of novelizations about Sam’s recovery.

Of course this was the only way for Sam to get unwound, and of course it had to happen offscreen in flashes. Thank god for the ambiguity. There’s so much potential there, years and years, we were simply told: and at some point Sam’s life gets better, at some point his mental health improves and he feels safe enough to start a family, with someone, and at some point he has a child, and he dies peacefully, he dies loved and with people who love him, and dammit I’m getting weepy again.

Sam quit hunting. Not in a sudden jolt. We see him leaving the bunker on another job. But when he leaves the bunker, he leaves for good. He has so much knowledge, but he does not preserve the Men of Letters. He does not honor their legacy of extermination and experimentation. Maybe he gives someone else the keys, for the books. Or maybe he’s digitized it all, and maybe it’s done.

Maybe his wife is Eileen, or maybe it’s Amelia, or maybe it’s Piper or Cara or maybe it’s someone new. Maybe it’s not even a woman. And maybe she’s a hunter, but I hope she isn’t, and when Sam tells her, haltingly, in fits and starts, the bare outline of the truth, she looks at him and she believes him. And she understands the shape of the trauma he carries, even if Sam can’t quite speak the details, and maybe Sam goes to therapy. Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he wakes in pain and fear for many years, but over time, it dulls.

Sam’s son is still a young man when Sam is on his deathbed, probably in at least his eighties. Think about the mountain Sam had to climb to reach that point. How many years and years of work did it take before Sam felt safe enough to want a child? How long for him to gently conquer his terror at the legacy his blood might carry: Lucifer and Azazel are dead, he knows this, but how long before he lets himself believe it enough to permit the risk? And then he raises his child, not in fear and loneliness, but with love and support and care. And he makes sure his son is protected, that he knows to salt his thresholds and ward against demons, but his son will not suffer the way he suffered.

Maybe he untangles his thoughts about Dean, maybe he learns that to feel angry with his brother is not to betray him or to dishonor his memory, maybe he comes to a more complex understanding of their relationship. Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he simply enshrines Dean, and Dean’s memory becomes ever more golden and untarnished, and the Impala becomes truly an altar. The details of how Sam carries Dean with him—the watch, the car, the absurdly large photos, his son’s name—perhaps these are played straight, and perhaps Sam never finds a more nuanced love. In the meta sense I think we are certainly meant to think this. We are meant to see Dean deified here, canonized into a saint. We are meant to view Sam’s fifty more years of life as worship, as a dedication and an offering.

This is the long shadow of the finale. These are the things untouched by necessity and by design: this is Dean’s apology in 15.18, this is Sam not wanting an apology, and not wanting to hear Dean offer one. This difficult work was always and inevitably going to be elided. But there is so much time, decades and decades, offscreen, for Sam to come to a quieter peace.

I think he can do it.

I think Sam can do anything.

I’m crying again.

I really didn’t think I would cry much about the finale. I thought I would cry at the concept of the show ending, but not at what the ending was. I didn’t think any details would actually affect me. But then Sam got old. I am truly and genuinely hung up on the canonical image of Sam finding peace. Good god. He had GLASSES. Help.

My chief complaint (aside from that absolutely awful Carry On cover, why oh why, they should have just played the original again), if I felt at all like complaining at the moment, would be how happy this ending is. But I can’t begrudge Sam that. I can’t even get too mad at the scene that I was SO SURE I would despise: that of Sam and Dean content in a Heaven that is now apparently Great, Actually (even though a prison dimension with an open floor plan is still a prison dimension, but hey, I guess we humans can’t leave earth either). Supernatural clearly wanted Sam and Dean to not be facing down an abyssally bleak afterlife, and I think I’d be complaining about the lack of bleakness a whole lot more if it didn’t have the (perhaps unintended??) side effect of giving Sam even more freedom from Dean than SPN already deigned to give him. Sam isn’t in a shared cell with Dean. He can be with his friends and his wife and his son.

One of the fundamental questions of SPN is, would Dean ever let Sam go? And it’s a question that the bulk of s13-15 has rendered moot with Sam’s growing passivity, and one that 15.20 neatly dodged. And I’m glad it did, because I wouldn’t have liked whatever 15.20 had to say on the matter. This deflection feels true to the spirit of what the show has become.

It was impossible for Sam to find peace while Dean was still alive. And on its own that kind of says everything, doesn’t it? And Sam is still forever denied the peace he truly longed for. Sam didn’t want death to force Dean’s hand. Sam wanted Dean to want to let him go. But the only way Sam and Dean could heal is apart. The potential of their relationship on earth becoming untangled is forever precluded, explictly. And yet Sam’s freedom is validated, Sam is allowed what he sought in season 1 and season 8, Sam is something beyond a hunter and Dean’s brother, and the show let him be, the show let him grow.

Supernatural said Sam Rights, and the world shook.

[pearl-blue-musings]

Perchance to Meet pt. 2 REWRITE

Hi y'all. I'm really sad I have to do this all over again because tumblr goofed up big time. I went to edit this for tags and cleanliness and then next thing I know boom it’s gone. I know it won’t be as good as it was when I first wrote it but I will do my best to recreate what I had. This is what I get for not saving it or not doing so when I TOLD MYSELF TOO 😤 again i’m so sorry and here’s my rewrite

Warnings: suggestive language 18+, i think that’t it!

Part 3 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Aizawa Shouta is a simple man. Wore clothes that were best for him, always did his duty as a teacher and an underground hero. He was always able to do the right or best thing when it was necessary. Never afraid to back down from what needed to be done.

So why is he standing across the street on his day off from a place he’s been meaning to check out for weeks? He studies the business card in his hand that has the name and address of the building he’s currently staring at. Just for good measure he triple checks the address and store name-

“Personally Yours, Book boutique!”

Black almond eyes widen as Aizawa’s thoughts are perturbed by the loud blond next to him. He’s not sure why he allowed his best friend (don’t tell Hizashi that) to accompany him today to meet the intriguing bartender and bookstore owner. (Y/n) (L/n). That name and face has been plaguing him over the last three weeks from when they first met. The way her hair matched and reflected her personality, her amazing quirk, her willingness to make people’s lives better... 

The way her lips looked incredibly kissable and fuckable at the same time had left him with his hands down his pants many nights.

Aizawa looks to his friend as he sees Hizashi grinning widely from ear to ear, eager about what’s about to happen. It’s been far too long since the blond has seen his friend this worked up over anything, let alone a person! But he knew, deep in his friendly heart, that Aizawa would have done nothing if he didn’t intervene and tell him to go visit her.

“It’s about time you decided to go see her ‘Zawa. It’s been what, like three weeks?” 

“You don’t have to remind me.” Yes, he knew. Aizawa knew we waited two weeks and six days too long to finally reach out or do something. But could the world blame him? He’s a teacher and underground hero already looking for the next class of heroes for U.A.; the man hasn’t had a day off in far too long and now he has one. He can only hope that the lady he kept waiting would understand. But she had to, right?

With what seemed like forever, he finally managed to place one foot in front of the other and cross the street to enter the building. The outside looks quaint, almost too perfect for a bookstore in his opinion. It appears to be one story but there might be living quarters on top of it? Aizawa rolls his shoulders to relieve himself of any tension, turns back to his friend before he promptly goes inside…

And immediately regrets his decision. 

The loud sound that bombarded his ears was something he did not expect. Children. Toddlers maybe, but obnoxious nonetheless. He begins to question whether or not he should stay based on the loudness in the store. However despite the noise, he feels a sense of calmness and home-ness that he felt when he had talked with (Y/n) at the bar. The bookstore smells of cinnamon and vanilla, a combination he thinks he can get used to. The layout seems to be welcoming as well. In the middle, which he assumes is the check out and help desk, is a circular module that has different pathways leading to other parts of the store. Each pathway leads to shelves lined up with all kinds of books, lit above by medium sized lanterns that give the store its unique glow. 

Aizawa surmises that the store is an accurate representation of the bewildering woman he met a few weeks ago. Everything about the size, the layout, the aura reminds him of their plethora of conversations from just one night, and maybe more to come.

He approaches the middle desk in hopes that she would be near. Taking in his surroundings, he realizes that the bulk of the noise is coming from the back, which looks to be a cozy reading nook with bean bag and other comfy chairs surrounded by end tables and ottomans. He can feel the chaotic energy from where he stands.

Hesitantly, he pushes the bell near the cash register. 

“I’ll be right there!”

Stunned at the sound of her voice, he waits patiently but also impatiently for the woman that has been haunting his thoughts for almost a month now to appear. His eyes wander to the counter, however at that moment the sound of sneakers hitting linoleum comes closer to him.

“Hi,” she pants out, holding up a finger. “How, whew, how can I help you…”

She drawls out the last part as she finally sees who had called her attention. Seriously, couldn’t this person know that today was extremely busy? But her thoughts come to a halt when she’s met with deep almond eyes and scruff, even though she’s seen it once, could recognize anywhere.

“Aizawa-san?”

“Just Aizawa is fine. Looks like I came at a bad time?”

“Hah, that’s an understatement,” (Y/n) puffs out. Her eyes must be deceiving her. There’s no way he’s actually here. They had met almost a month ago and it was a meeting she’ll never forget. The hard-working woman is never one to make small talk with her patrons but something about him caught her focus and for the rest of the night and the most of these three weeks, was all she could think about. “Once a month we have a local daycare come in and bring their students to look and explore in the store! Helps them get better at reading and finding out what other things they may like.”

The man before her nods in understanding, unsure of what else to say. He had practiced this moment over and over but now that it’s here he’s unsure of what to do.

“I thought you were never gonna show up. But I’m really glad to see you not in a club, it feels more real I guess?” She paused briefly before beginning again. “I honestly thought I made up the whole thing, or that something was wrong with me…”

“No,” Aizawa interrupts, afraid to hear more. “It’s my fault. I’ve been busy with teaching and being a hero.”

“No I get it. I work two jobs too so I understand how busy you are. I’m glad you’re even here.”

The two of them smile at each other, taking in each others features in that present moment. The feel of familiarity reaches them once again, as if everything around them doesn’t exist and it’s just them. Most of the reason he’s never considered meeting anyone is mostly because of his schedule. Many would find it ridiculous how busy the man is but he cares deeply for what he does and bringing someone new into it would be a whole new level of stress he doesn’t think he needs. He’s married to his job essentially, and so it seems is (Y/n).

Their moment is broken when small hand tugs on the pant leg of (Y/n), stealing her eyes away from his. She looks down to see one of her daycare toddlers staring up at her. The little girl, Yuki, unfaltering in her gaze is clearly demanding attention.

“Oh! Hi Yuki, did you already pick a book to bring home?”

The little girl nods and proceeds to lift her arms above her head, making a grabbing motion with her hands. (Y/n) slyly rolls her eyes and picks up Yuki. Holding her in her arms, (Y/n) turns back to Aizawa.

“This is Yuki. She’s a little shy, soft spoken, but absolutely adorable. She’s also one of my favorites because she’s so quiet.”

Aizawa looks down to the toddler in her arms and doesn’t make any moves to approach. The toddler’s eyes widen at the strange man in front of her, eyes boring into his figure to take him in.

“Hobo.”

“Yuki!”

It takes all of the woman’s strength to not drop the child as her shoulders shake in laughter. Aizawa struggles to hide the embarrassment on his face by looking away from the scene before him. It’s not his fault he prefers to wear all black; it’s slimming and makes him feel comfortable. He’s starting to think that maybe he should have shaved and put his hair in a bun for his day off.

Once his heart has calmed down, he faces the toddler again only to see her being swayed back and forth by (Y/n) as she hums a soothing melody. He knows it’s not a possible thing but his heart skipped a beat at the sight. It was the most domestic thing he’s seen that actually makes him happy.

But at the same time he thinks about having one of his own with her and wanting to fuck her senseless against-

“So I’m guessing this is your day off?”

He stammers, “Uh, yeah. I was hoping we could do something today.”

“Hmm, do something as a date or do something as friends?”

He smirks at her sass, “I’m hoping for the former.”

“That can be arranged. I close early today so, meet me in front of the store at 7?”

“That sounds great, let me give you my number and-“

“Hobo.”

“Yuki!”

She promptly takes the child to the back and excuses herself from the desk. Aizawa searches around him for a spare piece of paper and luckily finds an unneeded receipt and a very purple pen. Once he’s done writing he sees her come back without the child.

“Sorry about that. But, ah, is this your number?”

“Yeah clearly.”

“Well geez, maybe I will put you as hobo in my phone just for that.”

“Please don’t.”

“Oh it’s happening.”

He rolls his eyes at her antics and smiles at her. He doesn’t know what it is, but something about being around her just makes him calm. “Listen, I don’t want to hold you up any longer than I have. But text me when you’re ready. 

“And maybe I’ll give you a night to remember.”

***************************************** He winks at her as he walked out and (Y/n) is left with her heart pumping in her ears. Did she really respond to what Aizawa said with “Oh yeah? Well I hope you do ‘cause maybe I’ll make those fantasies of yours come true. It has been three weeks after all.”? What was that?! She can’t just say she knows what he was thinking by the way his pupils had dilated a couple time, that’s too crazy.

Too weird, nope, she’s not weird at all.

Slapping her cheeks to re-center herself, she approaches the back of her store to meet with the children and her co-workers.

“Finally you’re back,” her co-worker, Kona, sighs. “Who was that? You were gone for a while so I know it wasn’t just another customer.”

“It was, um the guy.”

“Shut up!” he practically shouts, “he came here? After three weeks? Are you gonna see him? Please tell me you’re gonna see him?”

“Kona hush, not in front of the kids.”

He shrugs, “Oh sure, when it’s your sex life it’s all secret secret, but if it’s my sex life everyone has to know!”

(Y/n) slices her hand across her neck. “Shut. It!”

“Fine fine,” he whispers. “But you gotta at least tell me if he gave off daddy vibes at least. Big dick energy? Most guys like that do exude it.”

“You are so lucky I love you or you’d be fired.”

“You didn’t say no,” Kona whisper sang back to her. She did her best to hide the way her eyes widened at that but failed miserably.

Closing time couldn’t come quick enough.

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

here’s the rewrite! @kiribaku-queen @therealwalmartjesus @prk-pyo

[lilydalexf]

Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with Circe Invidiosa

Circe Invidiosa has 11 stories at Gossamer, but there are even more X-Files stories at her website. Some of my favs I’ve recced here before, like Make It Worse and Slap a Goatee On Me and Call Me Evil. She also made a bunch of X-Files collage art, including some cover art for fics (hers and others), which you probably saw if you were reading fic back when authors posted fics on their own websites where art could be shared. Big thanks to Circe Invidiosa for doing this interview.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)?

Well, it would surprise me if people did read my fic. As it happens, I don't hear much feedback from my fic these days. Probably because the bulk of it is on Gossamer and my own site rather than AO3. Also, I was never a BNA. I worked a lot behind the scenes – hosting other authors' sites and making fanart and dustjackets. I think that's what I'd be remembered for, if anything.

What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience?

I miss the collective excitement and discussions we had as groups. When you got in with a group in the XF fandom, you felt like you knew everybody there. Now the fandom feels a little faceless except for the people I still follow from my old groups.

Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)?

Most of my experience was on Yahoo Groups. I joined Scullyfic while it was still there and then E-muse when it became an e-mail list, which I'm still a part of. I was part of several Yahoo Groups (can't remember all of them now), where I'd post my fic, RealPlayer slideshows (remember those?!), and collages. I never really took part in discourse because I'm shy and don't think anyone cares about my opinions (still don't!). The e-mail address I used for those groups was purged a couple of years ago, so I've lost all those messages.

What did you take away from your experience with X-Files fic or with the fandom in general?

My take away is that fanfic made me a better writer, thanks to having some great betas, and it made me a better professional writer for it (my real-life work is writing but not fun writing) because I learned to take criticism.

I also used to make a lot of fanart, collages and dustjackets for fic mostly. My big take away from that was that I really got into graphics and I got super proficient at Photoshop, which helped my own artistic endeavours and photography. I didn't realize how much skill I had developed until I've had to help someone with their graphics or photo editing.

What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show?

My mother was watching X-Files before I was and she was raving about it. I don't have a great relationship with my mom, but one thing she was usually right about was TV shows. It's where I got my love of Sci-Fi.

I think the first episode I watched was Ice, which definitely hooked me. As for when the shipping started, I remember we were watching Lazarus, and when Mulder was yelling at Lula (I had to look that up) about hurting the hostage Scully, my mom said, "Oh, he's so in love with her." And I was all, "What?! Pfff." But then I could not stop thinking about it. And then I thought about it way, way too much.

What got you involved with X-Files fanfic?

I was in my late 20s, and it was around the end of S7 and I kept thinking about what if these two dumb idiots actually talked one day. And I kept thinking about dialogue in my head about what they'd actually say. The internet was still in its infancy back then, but I'd seen fan sites here and there. So I decided to search around to see if other people were talking about it and thinking about it like I was. I was such a noob I'd never even heard of fanfic. Imagine my delight when I discovered it. I found a few stories and thought, 'Well, I can do that.' And I wrote up my first story, found a place to post it (wasn't Ephemeral the best?), got some kind feedback, found a really nice person (not sure she wants to be named since she used her real name in the fandom back in the day) who encouraged me a lot and directed me to all the e-mail lists and Yahoo Groups that I needed to be on, and then, Bob's your uncle, I wrote more and more.

What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom?

Periphery. Most of my experience in any fandom is now on Tumblr because that's where my attention span is. Show me pretty pictures and funny stuff. I am old now and don't want to think hard.

Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files?

Veronica Mars was my next fandom experience. A number of my XF friends got me hooked on VM. The VM fandom was a LOT younger compared to the XF fandom. When I joined the XF fandom, I was the kid compared to most of the other fans who were all goddesses and royalty in my eyes. But in the VM fandom, I was in my 30s and the rest of the fandom were all in their early 20s if not younger. It often showed, so I stayed out of discussions and just posted my fic once I started writing it. I took a new handle (invida) when I started writing VM fic. Just in case these kids felt like my writing sucked, I didn't want it getting back to the XF fandom that I’d branched out and failed spectacularly.

By then fandom experiences had moved over to LiveJournal. I never really got involved in the discourse or the fandom fights. I knew what people were saying and where the schisms were, but I was all about the fanfic and the pretty pictures. Most of my LJ friends just discussed the episodes and posted their fic and that was good with me.

What got me writing fic for VM was Anjou's brilliant VM fic Into the Blue. Seriously, if you love VM S1, read her fic. Just so beautiful.

VM was also where started writing a WIP, which was a wild trip. I wrote a much-loved WIP called Damn, Damn the Circumstance which people still ask me about finishing to this day. Someday…*wistful sighs*

Who are some of your favorite fictional characters? Why?

Scully. She was everything! Lapsed Catholic, degrees in science, skeptic, always trying to work within the rules but still not taking crap. Yeah, she was the best.

Veronica Mars was great until she wasn't. I have a lot of issues with her beyond S2. And don't even talk to me about S4. For me, S1 was the best, I enjoyed the movie, the books were okay, but nothing else happened after that. NOTHING.

And the first character I ever loved was Princess Leia. She was also everything to me growing up. I wanted to be her. I still do.

Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully?

Now and then. Not as much as I used to. I sometimes have it on in the background when I'm doing other things. Back before the pandemic, my BFF and I would have get togethers where we would play Scrabble, eat a lot of candy, and binge several XF episodes. I miss doing that. Hopefully, we will get back to that soon.

Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom?

I am not an active XF fanfic reader right now. I will read any stories my friends put out. Otherwise, I only occasionally read some I come across on Tumblr in my feed, but I am not seeking them out. I will beta for any XF author who asks me as well.

I am reading fic in other fandoms though – Endeavour, Broadchurch, Sherlock…huh, I'm just realizing that's a lot of British stuff. I have been really into British detective series for the last few years.

Do you have any favorite X-Files fanfic stories or authors?

I used to run an XF fic recommendation site called How Will It End usually with at least one other person (I went through at least 4 partners on that project because I'm a control freak). We'd compile our recs and then I'd post them on my site. We'd also feature authors we really liked and interview them. Not unlike these interviews!

I'm terrible at giving feedback/comments. So I solved that problem by making a rec site. That way I could tell authors I loved their fics by recommending them. I didn't have to comment, I'd just say, 'I'd like to rec your fic'. And then they'd get promotion. Win-win. Back in those days, the fandom would absolutely roast you for promoting your own fic, so to get on a rec site was a big deal. Not that I had a popular rec site or anything. But I think authors really enjoyed being asked.

All that to say I've liked a lot of fics. I can pull up the archives of HWIE and show you all the faves I liked. :)

What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise?

Back in the day, E-muse would hold Improv Challenges, where other members would give you a prompt that you had to include in your fic. I was always really proud of the stories I created from those challenges (No Earthly Means and Elephant in the Room if you want to read them).

I enjoyed writing Dead to Rights which is an XF/Dead Like Me crossover because I loved the challenge of writing a crossover. It was the first crossover I ever tried writing even though I only recently published it.

Otherwise, I like re-reading In a Graveyard, Importuning Life for Life, and Some By Virtue Fall. Of my more recent fic, I like Slap a Goatee on Me and Call Me Evil because the premise was ridiculous and I think it's funny as all get out.

Probably my favourite of my VM fic was Stay Outta Riverdale. Because: 1. The title is a Simpsons reference who doesn't love a Simpsons reference? And 2. I think I was hilarious throughout it.

Do you think you'll ever write another X-Files story? Or dust off and post an oldie that for whatever reason never made it online?

I'm always open to writing more fic (and, of course, I don't mean my WIPs…don't look at me like that). Lately, my only motivation has been from writing prompts on Tumblr. I haven't had anyone give me a prompt in over a year, so here we are. I have snippets of dialogue in journals and word documents that have never found their way into stories. I'd be happy to dust off any of those and shoehorn them into a new story.

Do you still write fic now? Or other creative work?

The last fanfic I wrote was a mini-fic over a year ago (with a prompt from Lilydale!). I've written a bit of original fiction but I haven't been able to finish it. Otherwise, I do have a number of real life hobbies which are where my creative outlets lie now.

Where do you get ideas for stories?

Lately, challenges and prompts. It used to be from wanting to see more from a scene. I really had a thing for fill-in-the-blanks or scene continuations. And sometimes my motivation is just plain old spite. :)

What's the story behind your pen name?

Circe Invidiosa is the title of a painting by John William Waterhouse. Love the colours and the absolute malice on the face of the subject. It felt like a good pen name – the envious witch. That's me!

I chose it when I posted my first XF fic (which I cringe to read now, ugh so terrible) without knowing there was already a Circe in the fandom. Whoops. I tried to go by the full Circe Invidiosa or Invidiosa as much as possible after realizing that (invidiosa is my url and my username on a lot of sites, etc.). Now I think that I've been around long enough that it doesn't matter as much but I still like it.

As I said, I took the name Invida for the VM fandom which is just a shortening of Invidiosa.

Do your friends and family know about your fic and, if so, what have been their reactions?

My significant other knows and that was quite a reveal (oh how awkward). However, the SO has been very supportive and has read all my stories since the reveal and sometimes betas them. The SO also wants us to collaborate on writing some original fiction but we haven't found a project that works for both of us creatively or timewise.

My BFF knows because I dragged her into the online fandom. We've known each other since we were 14, but our love of XF really solidified our bond in our 20s. She wrote some short but sweet fics under the penname Helen Quilley which I bullied her into posting, and we wrote Of Ladies Most Deject and Wretched together. She is mostly embarrassed that she wrote fanfic now but we still fangirl together.

No one else really knows other than fandom folks I've met in real life. And some friends know I've written 'short stories' but I don't elaborate. I work in a stodgy, uptight industry where anything fun or actually having a life is frowned upon.

Is there a place online (tumblr, twitter, AO3, etc.) where people can find you and/or your stories now?

Over the first lockdown, I got my shit together and got my fic site, invidiosa.com, up and running again. My site houses fic by Rain (now @doctorhelena on Tumblr and AO3), Helen Quilley, ML (who I miss so much), Folieadeux, Shelba, TLynn, Oracle, Piper Sargasso, Diehard, and me. And I made all their dustjackets (except Folie's). The site got hacked a few years back and it was so much work to get running again that I put it off for years and years. I still feel terrible that I did not get the site back up before ML passed away, especially when ML had asked me about it a few months before she passed.

Anyway, all my XF fic is here: circe.invidiosa.com. I have 3 of my newer XF stories on AO3. And my fic-LJ also has some of my stories. Some of the newer stories are on Tumblr but the tagging is so erratic that I'd have to list several tags before you'd find them all. I don't know why I haven't moved everything over to AO3. Probably laziness.

I'm @invidiosa on Tumblr. I'm still on E-muse. I'm still on LJ. I'm always reachable by e-mail (invidiosa at gmail).

Is there anything else you'd like to share with fans of X-Files fic?

Thanks for reading, writing, and commenting. It is always appreciated.

(Posted by Lilydale on January 5, 2021)

[ghostbustermelanieking]

for the askgame 6 with jm or 13 with wtgfs! (or vice versa. choose your own adventure)

this is pre canon, probably an au but maybe not -- who's to say?? mild warning for a reference to being buried alive (it isn't portrayed at all). also can be found on ao3 here

6. things you said under the stars and in the grass

It's dark out here. Melanie thinks that after three years of running a ghost hunting YouTube channel, she'd be a little more used to the dark, but she doesn't know if she'd ever be used to darkness like this: that rural sort of darkness that stretches on forever. 

The others are back in the van. Melanie might be back there, too, but Georgie had wanted to sleep outside, and, well, Melanie hadn't felt right leaving her alone out here. She knows Georgie best, after all, had been the one to suggest this collaboration. (Boost for What the Ghost, new fans for Ghost Hunt UK, and Melanie gets to spend a night hanging out with Georgie Barker. She isn't going to complain, even with the dark and the chill and the genuinely spooky feeling that comes from this field. There's a reason it's supposedly haunted, after all.) They've already done the bulk of filming and recording (Melanie even recited a few of Georgie's awful ad spots, which were impossible not to laugh at—she thinks she busted a rib trying); they've got a camera and Georgie's phone out here, in case anything noteworthy happens, but Melanie halfway doubts it. They haven't seen much of anything all night. 

Georgie's stretched out on her back on the sleeping bag, her face turned up to the sky. "The stars out here are insane, " she says quietly. "Look at that! You don't get a view like that in London."

Melanie stretches out on her back, too, and stares up at the sky. Georgie's right; there's about a million little yellow pinpricks on the dark sky above them. It's enough to take your breath away. (Well, Melanie thinks, resisting the urge to look over at Georgie— almost enough.) "That is pretty," she offers. "This'd be a good date spot, if it wasn't in a haunted field where three people were buried alive."

Georgie snorts, turns on her side to face Melanie, her head pillowed on her arm. "What—the dark intrigue of a haunted field, the feel of a shiver down your spine… that doesn't put you in the mood?" she says, in her Podcast Host Voice. 

Melanie grins, biting her lower lip to keep from cracking up. "Are you kidding me? No fucking way! This is a job, Barker. There's nothing less romantic than a job. Do you think anyone would bring a date to an accounting firm, o-or something like that?"

"You never know." Georgie grins too, presses her torch under her chin. " Stranger things have happened. "

Melanie does laugh this time. She rolls back over, turning her face back up towards the sky. "Not used to filming places like this," she says. "This rural, I mean. We usually stay in the more urban areas."

"I'm not used to doing this at all," says Georgie. "Well, I've done a couple, but… On-location recordings aren't exactly a podcasting speciality. 

"Let me tell you, you aren't really missing out," says Melanie. "I am so sick of sleeping on the floors of abandoned hospitals or whatever. The dust does not come out of your hair. I wish we had the budget to investigate a haunted inn once in a while, and sleep in a regular bed. Haunted BnB." She's mostly telling the truth, but she's also hamming it up a little, to try and get Georgie to laugh.

Georgie does laugh. "Haunted resort, if you're lucky?" 

"Exactly," Melanie says. 

"You YouTube people. Sounds like you get all the best date spots," says Georgie. "And here I'd think camping out under the stars is a big improvement."

"Not in a field where people were buried alive, Georgie!" 

"Oh, come on, it's no worse than any of your other sites," Georgie says. "I've seen the show. You guys go to some pretty awful places."

"Hmmph. Fair." Melanie crosses her arms over her chest and pretends she isn't grinning up at the stars. (She's ridiculous. She's absolutely nauseating—but, hey, if she's going to get like this about anybody…) "I guess there is one improvement," she adds, slyly. "Don't have to share the van with that lot. You've seen it, it's not a big van, we'd be packed in like sardines. And Pete snores like a freight train."

When Georgie speaks again, she's got a tone in her voice that Melanie actually recognizes; she can tell, without looking, that Georgie's got that sideways smile (the one that makes Melanie want to kiss her all over her face). "So… it's not all bad, being out here?" she says, an edge of teasing to her voice. 

"Nah," Melanie says. Her palms are clammy, like she's sixteen and on a first date again; for god's SAKE, she thinks. She stuffs her hands under her thighs and ignores it, turns her head to look at Georgie. "You're… you're good company, you know."

It's dark, so it's hard for Melanie to see, but she thinks Georgie might be smiling. Not the sideways smile—a different one. But she can't tell. She shifts towards Georgie, turning to look better at her, waiting to hear what she'll say. She thinks (haunted field or not) that she could stay here forever, lying out in this field, looking at Georgie. 

And then a sound cuts across the silence of the field, before either of them can say anything, that makes Melanie shoot up. There's a rustling, somewhere out in the field. Almost like the sound of footsteps, or something very small running through the grass. 

Melanie shudders, in that place between fear and excitement that usually means they're about to film a great scene. "Did you hear that?" she whispers, looking back towards Georgie. 

"Hear what?" Georgie whispers back, sitting up beside her. 

More rustling, the grass parting somewhere out there. Melanie fumbles for her torch and switches it on, shining it out over the field. " That! Something is out there," she says, turning sideways to grin at Georgie. 

Georgie scoots a little closer to Melanie's sleeping bag, their knees bumping together. "It's probably just a snake or something," she says. 

Melanie bumps her shoulder against Georgie's. "Skeptic." 

There's more rustling in the field, and then… something else, something almost resembling a voice. Whispering voices, somewhere close. 

"... Okay, maybe—maybe not," Georgie says softly. "D'you want me to get the camera?"

"I dunno, I don't… maybe this isn't…" The torch flickers in Melanie's hand. " Damn it," she hisses, smacking the torch with the flat of her palm. It flickers a few more times before going out completely, the light dying in something of a little gasp, and Melanie's breath catches in her throat. (She isn't scared, she tells herself. She's a professional, she's done this kind of thing a dozen times before. Beside her, she can feel the inhales and exhales of Georgie's breaths, Georgie's warm knee against hers.) 

"Old batteries?" says Georgie. Melanie can't tell if she's laughing or not. 

"That and every other horror cliché in the book," Melanie mutters. There's more rustling, further out in the field, in larger quantities; it sounds like it's coming from all around them. She smacks the torch a few more times in frustration. "You know what, yeah, maybe we should be film—"

There's a loud shriek, from somewhere in the field. High and loud and brief, and what Melanie might honestly describe as blood curdling. 

Melanie jumps. Jumps in a way that the host of a ghost hunting YouTube show absolutely should not jump, in a way that makes her sort of glad they aren't filming (because this would be a bad addition to the episode). She jumps and scrambles backwards, and crashes full-on into Georgie, limbs banging together, all elbows and knees and the warmth of Georgie against her. "Whoa!" Georgie says, and then her arms are around Melanie's shoulders, steadying her. 

" Jesus, " Melanie hisses, coming to herself all at once—realizing abruptly that she is hanging onto Georgie's shirt. She lifts her head and finds that they're nose to nose now, Georgie grinning a little with amusement, her dark eyes shining in the moonlight. Melanie swallows hard and says, "Wh-what was that?" but she doesn't move away. Neither of them let go. 

Georgie's grin grows wider, and she bumps her forehead gently against Melanie's, briefly before pulling back. "What do you think? " 

Melanie's mouth is dry. She can't look for the ghost, couldn't look away from Georgie if her life depended on it. "I… I thought you didn't believe in ghosts," she says weakly. (Georgie's host shtick does kind of have an air of disbelief to it. When you've been in the industry long enough, you can tell.) 

"Of course I do," says Georgie, and her voice is entirely sincere. "You really thought I didn't?"

Another shriek, louder this time, and Melanie jolts forward into Georgie, pressing into Georgie's side. Georgie laughs a little, tightens her arms around Melanie. Melanie thinks of suitable things to say— This is more intense than our usual shoots or I guess I'm a little on edge tonight —but all she can come up with is a not-really-threatening, "If you tell anyone about this…"

"Our secret," says Georgie. 

Melanie scoffs, resists the urge to lean her head on Georgie's shoulder. She's moved fully onto Georgie's sleeping bag by now—the grass is rustling, like the thing is walking away, but she can't bring herself to turn and look. Andy's going to kill her when he finds out she saw something, a definitive something, and didn't get it on camera. (Then again, when he hears the whole story, maybe he'll understand.)

She doesn't let go of Georgie. They're still nose to nose, legs tangled together, close enough to whisper. Close enough that Georgie can hear when Melanie murmurs, "Are you scared?"

"No," says Georgie, and Melanie knows she's telling the truth. "Are you?"

"No," says Melanie, just before she kisses her. 

Georgie lets out a little gasp, and Melanie's about to pull away when Georgie pulls her closer, one hand freezing on Melanie's cheek. Melanie smiles into Georgie's mouth, something like laughter bubbling up in her chest. She doesn't go far when she pulls back, rests her forehead against Georgie's again, and Georgie's hand moves from her cheek to her hair, her temple, her jaw, and she whispers, "Thank god. " And so Melanie kisses her again. 

(They sleep that night in Georgie's sleeping bag, crammed in together in a way that is absolutely not cramped or uncomfortable; it's just good . And the ghost doesn't come back. 

Or at least if it does, Melanie doesn't notice.)