#this is how i choose to celebrate his glorious return

[waytoomanyhobbies]

I love Logan. He always slays me, so I'm celebrating with silly memes. I feel like I need more Logan memes in my life.

[cannedapricot]

untitled. || ljn

in which you and lee jeno were definitely friends but you were also definitely more than just friends. frankly, your friend group has had enough of the not so subtle flirting and unbearable tension.

word count: 1.4k

genre, warnings: fluff, slice of life, college!au, friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, mutual pining, profanity, mentions of heartbreak, mentions of alcohol consumption, suggestive themes but nothing 18+ happens they just make out, mentions of minor car crash

bgm: message in a bottle by taylor swift, 1 2 365 4 me by kennen, oh shit...are we in love? by valley

a/n: something small so i can get over movie jeno. bro was glorious. i've also listed some songs i listened to while writing and i think listening while reading would be a vibe - lmk how you guys feel about it!

It was a cozy Friday evening. The rain was pelting against the glass windows and you could faintly hear the shouts of your fellow students below as they hurried back to their dormitories. The candle light flickers and shadows dance along the walls. Jeno had his head on your shoulder, faintly humming along to whatever was playing on his Alexa. You were sat on his bed in one of his varsity hoodies, scrolling through social media in a desperate attempt to keep up with your acquaintances' lives.

"Wait, Dejun broke up?!"

Jeno perks up at your small exclamation, craning his neck to peek at your screen.

"How can you tell?"

"He deleted all his posts with them and is listening to glimpse of us. What a shame, I was rooting for them."

"You and your personal celebrity couples." Jeno teases, jokingly shaking his head. "Who's next?"

"Maybe if Mark grows a pair and asks his lab partner out they could be next." You snort, leaning so your head was against Jeno's.

Enjoying quality time with your friend was one of your favorite ways to spend any free time you had amongst your chaotic schedule. Between due dates and classes, you and Jeno always managed to make time for each other. Although, most times just involved one of you showing up at the other's door without prior notice.

"Jeno, have you seen my jacket anywhere? The blue denim one?" Jaemin, Jeno's roommate and self proclaimed best friend asks, opening the bedroom door without knocking. The rest of your friend group insisted on still going out for drinks, even though its raining cats and dogs outside.

"Hn, no?" You feel a weight come off your shoulders as Jeno raises his head to address the question. "Wouldn't it be in your stinky pile of laundry?"

"Hey, I did my laundry yesterday, it's not stinky." Jaemin sticks his tongue out. "Y/n, if you see it in Jeno's closet let me know okay? I swear he steals my clothes."

"Roger that."

Jaemin nods happily, closing the door before Jeno manages to land a pillow throw. As Jeno returns to his place on your shoulder you hear the rest of your friends through the thin walls.

"Did you find your jacket?"

"No. But I did find Jeno and y/n snuggling against each other."

"We should start charging y/n rent."

"Isn't our rent included in tuition though?"

"Wasn't it a separate payment?"

You choose to ignore the conversation as the boys start to argue about dormitory rent. A calm vibration comes from your shoulder and your heart skips a beat from the proximity.

"For your information, Jaemin steals my clothes."

"Whatever you say, champ."

Chenle holds in a laugh as the group bid goodbye to you and Jeno. Upon reaching the ground floor, he allowed himself to finally let it out.

The six boys didn't leave the two of you alone without purpose. They all knew about your little crush on each other. It was so blatantly obvious. The way Jeno constantly checked his phone for updates when you had gone out with an old friend, the way he paces around the common area when he expects you to come over, and, not to mention, the untitled song he wrote for you.

It was all amusing to them. How could he miss the way you looked at him with hearts in your eyes, the way you would happily spend all night in the library with him when he had an assignment due, the way your arm always found its way around his.

"They really are idiots." Jaemin had said, a fond grin on his face.

Really, it was cute, but got frustrating. Slow burn and mutual pining were never Donghyuck's favorite tropes. Watching you hide your embarrassment as Jeno fixes your hair made him want to push the two of you in a closet and scream for you guys to just kiss already.

So in order to prevent Donghyuck from committing a crime against romance, Renjun simply suggested that they give the couple more "alone time". Which leads the boys to this situation on a Friday night, heading to the pub in the rain.

"They better be dating by the time we're back." Donghyuck mutters, attempting to stay dry under Mark's hazardous umbrella holding.

"What do you even call their relationship right now?" Jisung voices over the rain, "not friends, obviously."

"A situationship?"

"No. That's what Yangyang had a while back. Remember how toxic it was?"

"Friends with benefits?"

"Chenle... Do you know what that is?"

"Guys, just leave it untitled for now. They're going to be dating soon anyway."

Jeno met you on the first day of classes. You had turned up ten minutes late, breathing heavily as you stumbled into the free seat in the last row. The seat next to him. Red in the face from running and hair messy from the wind, you looked so loveable to him. Never would he have imagined that you would be by his side like you were now. Though regretfully, as a friend. He wasn't sure how you'd react if he told you he wanted to be more.

You had your head in his lap, phone forgotten as you rambled to him about how stupid Yangyang's situationship partner was. He gently raked his fingers through your hair, reacting accordingly to your story, gaze never leaving your face.

A guitar melody meets the end of the last song and a familiar voice sounds through the room. Your story stops abruptly and confusion dons Jeno's features before he realizes what's playing through the speakers.

"No, wait, don't listen to this! Close your ears."

"I can't physically do that! And why can't I listen? You're singing! Did you write this song?"

As Jeno frantically attempts to scramble to stop the song, you wrap you arms around his torso, pulling him back on the bed. To prevent him from moving, you lie on top of him. Jeno can feel your laughs through his own body and he wonders whether you could feel his heartbeat through yours. With his strength, he could push you off and turn the song off if he really wanted to. But when it comes to you, he strength somehow never works.

"Jeno, this song is so cute. Who's it about?" You smirk down at him, "you have a crush on someone?"

You weren't asking because you were purely curious. You were asking because you had a big fat crush on the man and needed to know if he liked someone else. Though, you didn't know if you were ready for the answer. You've heard the heartbreak horror stories. They were always worse when the couple weren't dating but you couldn't help it. Somewhere along the line, you had fallen, and by that time, a platonic relationship had been established. Somehow, you convinced yourself that you'd rather stay friends than potentially losing what the two of you already had.

The rest of the friend group knew. You knew they knew. Hiding your feelings weren't your strongest point and you definitely caught Chenle making kissy faces behind you and Jeno once.

So, to say you were nervous about his answer was an understatement. But you weren't about to let him know.

"Isn't it obvious?"

Huh?

Jeno turns his head away, avoiding eye contact. A redness creeps up his cheeks and his throat feels dry.

"It's about you."

The cat's out of the bag. Jeno wants to scream in embarrassment. He can't believe he leaked his own embarrassing song about you. He can't believe this is how you find out about his feelings.

"Oh." A matching redness creeps up your own cheeks. "You think my eyes have stars in them?"

"Shut up."

Laughter settles over the both of you before your eyes meet. Jeno's eyes move down to your lips and his tongue darts out to wet his own absent mindedly.

"Can I kiss you?"

"Just our luck."

"I can't believe we witnessed a car crash?"

"At least it was a minor one. Nobody got hurt which is great news."

"Hang on, we have to tell those two we're going to be home late."

Jeno pulls away as his phone alerts him of a message received. You glance over at the screen, giggling at the content. Mark had sent a photo of the six of them posing with the police.

Just witnessed a car crash. Gonna be home late.

"Great, we can continue making out then." Jeno mumbles, throwing his phone aside and pulling you back in.

[tiodolma]

other anon child acquisition au is interesting. do you think merlin and morgana get to resolve that sexual tension eventually?

God that would be so funny coz essentially MerGana as parents is (1)their kid/charge/pet is initially in the care of one parent (2)Kid sees other priorities or is dissatisfied, (3)makes a choice, (4)then runs away to go to the other. Aithusa was like that. Mordred was funnier coz he kept switching guardians whenever he saw fit.

The way I see it... Merlin’s thing is that he keeps leaving behind and forgetting his loved ones for the sake of his liege lord while Morgana adopts everything he discards.

And this also goes for all the “morgana is unexpectedly preggers with merlin’s child” fics out there. The ones where Morgana hides her pregnancy/kid jfrom him and Merlin only finds out when the babe is born/grown. Kid grows up with the mom and totally becomes startstruck when they meet the dad only for them to return to mom coz merlin is allegiance is first and foremost to the king.

In one arthuriana if im not mistaken, morgan’s son, Yvain, was even like “Merlin is much better than you mom! I don’t want you as a mother coz you’re evil!!!” (kinda like what mordred did hehehe)

So!! With that family dynamic in place... not only will there be UST between MerGana/their kids in the eventual confrontation... there would be those moments of

-“what about us?”;

-“You have to choose between us or your master (or your cause)” ;

-“it’s either you are with us or against us”;

-“duty is the death of love”/“love is the death of duty” ;

- Rewrite the Stars (the song)

....Kind of shenanigans.

Imo UST will be resolved if they are pushed/trapped into a desperate sitquation where they have to work together. When the situation demands that they see/ acknowledge/ find a a compromise with each other’s perspective... then they will see then that deep inside both of them still care or wants what is best for their charge/pet/kid above everything else. That for all it’s worth they just wanted the same thing.

If these conditions are met I really believe that those hidden passions, their desires, their repressed hopes, dreams and attraction will be brought back into the light.

And then when it does they wouldn’t be able to stop gravititatng physically towards each other(like how it was meant to be). Bonus when the moment their hands finally touch there will be sparks and bursts of light (and then when they kiss, the magic becomes uncontrollable and there will be glorious magical chaos and celebration).

[parasite-core]

Last weekend in pathfinder, we learned about Xanthadon’s Fungal Kyonin Archers, went…TO THE LIBRARY, had an unexpected meeting with Calio’s master, killed another Crone Queen, got a powerful ex-Technic League wizard to join our cause, said wizard revived a child whose haunt we saw back at the beginning of the campaign, then we went to the Cold Forge to face our next Crone Queen. Who burst in riding on the back of a modified Annihilator robot from Numeria, so that’s not going to be an issue *at all*

@scarlet-the-girl

This is going to be a short one because I hyperfixated on a different pathfinder campaign and didn’t write more than the summary above for last week’s game and now I need to write *this* weekend game down 😂

We started out with Xanthadon proudly showing off her Fungal Kyonin Archers, who she made in Aenland’s image, ecstatic that they had killed one of Treerazor’s lieutenants. She quickly read the room that no one else was celebrating their victory. Aenland wasn’t sure how to take the fungal archers—he shoved his way into the crowd of them, looking for familiar faces. He saw a single member of his hunting party amongst them, but the rest were strangers—some likely from hundreds, maybe even thousands, of years before he’d been born. Xanthadon revealed that she gave them the choice to become this—they were all warriors that fell in battle, and she reached out to them in the Boneyard and gave them the opportunity to return to a semblance of life to fight back against the elves’ greatest foe. Some refused her—but most did not. She made no secret of who she was, or if the Demon Lord she represented. She claimed anyone who agreed to her deal knew what they were getting into, they weren’t stupid. Aenland was angry, feeling she had manipulated people who were in a corner who would obviously choose a chance to fight back one last time. But at the same time he didn’t feel like he could entirely blame the people and wasn’t sure if he was right to condemn them and take the choice away from them, when he himself chose to serve Baba Yaga in exchange for a weapon to wipe Treerazor off the face of Golarian.

Xanthadon told Aenland to think on it, then the fungal elves became a mass of writhing fungus again, and she sunk down into a sinkhole where Treerazor’s lieutenant had once been. Nestian warned us to stay back—there were spores in the sinkhole that would make an unfortunate host into another of those fungal husks. The sink hole closed itself, and we discussed what to do next. Aenland still wanted to help break the Demon Lord’s hold on Xanthadon—now more than ever, perhaps, in the hopes that he could undo what she had done to his kinsmen. The party decided to gather a sample of the spores to see if they could be researched and possibly be used to make an antitoxin or something later. Calio, being particularly resilient to poisons due to his partially undead state, collected the sample.

The party reconvened at the clocktower, got themselves disguised as upper class citizens, left their Dragonkin companions behind, and then went TO THE LIBRARY.

On the way they ran into a Winter Witch patrol, but Calio talked their way past, claiming to be members of the ruling class going to the Royal Library to conduct research. He provided his forged paperwork, and the patrol bought the lie and let the party through.

At the library Calio claimed to the receptionist that they were studying a means of countering ‘those filthy druids’ who had once created the pockets of summer in Irrisen, as a means of countering them for their ‘glorious leader’ should the need ever arise. He was informed of where the fiction and non-fiction sections were, and told if he had his papers in order he could show them to the guard at the restricted section if he required access there.

While Calio looked around, Nestian and Aenland spotted Keisuke browsing the non-fiction section in his human guise of Dren Fielder. Calio decided he was going to do talk to him. Aenland stalked off in another direction to go talk to Wuso, who they’d seen reading at a table elsewhere, and Nestian and Edeya went to the lower level of the non-fiction section to eavesdrop on Calio and Keisuke.

Calio approached his master casually, careful not to seem too intent as Edeya had also spotted three Grimm guarding the non-fiction section and Calio didn’t want to draw their attention.

Calio greeted Keisuke, apologized for not contacting him when they first arrived but he’d been running around like crazy dealing with Crone Queens. Keisuke pointed out that he should be careful what he says, glancing behind them, and Calio remembered the Grimm. He began speaking telepathically to Keisuke instead, pretending to begin reading a book over his shoulder.

He mused how amusing it would be to take control of a Crone Queen, and Keisuke noted there was one in this library. Calio agreed, sounding eager to try taking over the plague-bearing former queen. Keisuke warned Calio to be careful not to get on Urgathoa’s bad side, as the Crone Queen was up to something their patron would likely take interest in. Calio assured him that he’d been very diligent about staying in her good books.

Keisuke asked if Calio needed anything of him in particular. So Calio but the bullet and asked Keisuke about Nestian’s mother and her Eidolon. Keisuke seemed genuinely confused for a moment, then frustrated noting ‘so that’s who it belonged to’. He admitted he HAD taken the Eidolon—he was using her to power something in the Nonagon which he wanted to show Calio—and Nestian’s mother WAS in danger, but he denied it being *his* fault she was in danger. Calio at the very least believed him that he hadn’t known the people he was targeting were related to Nestian specifically—it hadn’t been done out of spite, just a very twisted coincidence. That didn’t make it better, especially because Keisuke had every intention of continuing with what he was doing since he’d already gotten this far. But at least Calio knew it wasn’t a purposely targeted attack, which told him where he stood in relation to Nestian and Keisuke.

Keisuke invited Calio to visit the Nonagon again, and told him he’d send him away with another one time pass to enter his realm safely. He had something he wanted to talk to Calio about, and something he wanted to show him. Calio agreed.

Keisuke noticed a rare tome on the bottom shelf—one that would be worth a pretty penny to a collector. He suggested that Calio could steal it if he wanted to. Calio agreed that he kind of wanted to steal it. Keisuke looked away for only a moment, and when he looked again the book was gone. The kitsune—usually the one being called The Thief—was impressed by his protégé’s quick fingers. Calio just noted that one of their shared patron Norgorber’s concerns is with theft—so he’d made sure to learn a thing or two.

Down below, Nestian and Edeya realized quickly that Calio must be conversing with Keisuke silently and that they wouldn’t be able to overhear their conversation. So instead they began searching for books that might help on other subjects. Eventually the two of them wandered over to Aenland and Wuso’s table to wait for Calio.

Aenland had talked to Wuso, and learned that she’d found a passage in a book that seemed to suggest that she needed a particular poison to counteract the spores of Xanthadon’s Demon Lord. Aenland looked over the poem she had been studying, and surmised that she needed a Cayden Cailean worshipper to brew it for her. And so the first half of the puzzle had fallen into place.

Calio returned to the party, and told Nestian he would share what he’d learned from Keisuke later.

For now, he wanted to focus on how to get into the restricted section.

He suggested he sneak through the bars using his Spirit Walk ability, with Roscoe in his bag of holding. Then he could release Roscoe to stick a crossbow to the halfling guard’s head and tell him if he makes any sudden movements he’s a dead man.

Aenland agreed with this plan, with the condition that he’d be outside with an arrow also trained on the halfling so once Calio made to leave he would still have to remain in place and quiet. Calio agreed. He handed over a potion of invisibility to Aenland, then used Spirit Walk to become incorporeal. He walked straight through the bars and into the halfling’s guard station. He released Roscoe, dropped his spirit form, and threatened the man. The halfling was terrified of the necromancer, and handed over his keys—although he did have the gumption to ask how Calio intended to leave this place alive after he made it downstairs. Calio told the man he had his ways—then he warned him that they had another arrow aimed for his head and if he made a single stupid move, he wouldn’t live to regret it. With that he put Roscoe back in the bag and used his second use of Spirit Walk to vanish back through the wall. He opened the gate and let the rest of the party through, locking the gate behind them in the hopes that it would keep the guard from calling backup once they were downstairs and no longer directly intimidating him into compliance.

The party made it down to the basement and stopped when they saw they were going to trigger a trap: a symbol of death was on the wall—it wasn’t a threat now, but they knew if they had to fight in the next room it would become a death trap. Edeya disabled it.

Calio identified the sound of a haunt coming from beyond the door—the sound of many women screaming. He surmised that the haunt in question was going to summon Banshees. He and Nestian suggested that Edeya stand back. Calio would be unaffected as virtually everything a Banshee could do was either a death effect or negative energy. And Nestian and Aenland were hardy.

So Nestian opened the door.

The party fought four Banshees and four giants. Calio made each member of the party immune to the banshees one-by-one with Oracle’s Vessel, leaving the Banshees completely defanged. The same happened to four wraiths that appeared soon after, as their negative energy attacks also fell under the effect of Calio’s curse. Calio ripped the guard’s heart out when he ran downstairs, and Aenland took out the woman from the front desk—who was actually a summoner.

While they did this, Nestian went toe-to-toe with the next Crone Queen, using his hearty constitution to keep from catching her virulent plague, and swiftly dispatching her.

Calio ended the fight by forcing the last remaining combatant sorcerers to bow to him as their new god, casting Overwhelming Presence to momentarily appear as the shadow of an unholy fusion of Norgorber and Urgathoa.

Afterwards the party looted the place—retrieved Zernebeth’s spellbook, Calio retrieved a book Keisuke was seeking, and they found information on the whereabouts of one Caigreal—Jadrenka’s mother, the Warden of Artrosa.

Upstairs they found one of the three Grimm that had been in the fiction section trapped in a time lock, and there was evidence of fireballs having gone off. He hadn’t stuck around, but Keisuke had lent his protege a hand and kept the three powerful guardians from joining the fight downstairs.

With that out of the way, the party returned to the clocktower to reconvene with the Dragonkin and return Zernebeth’s spellbook to her. They waited around for the requisite hour, and then Zernebeth said she had one thing she needed to do before she was ready to leave with us.

She went to go see Denya in his room. She took out the diamond she had told Calio she had prepared for this moment, and crushed it as she cast her spell, with no explanation given. As the Wish spell completed, Denya’s son Dominik was resurrected. Denya was crying, and hugged both his son and his old friend who returned his family to him.

With that done, Zernebeth was ready to help us in earnest.

We made our way to the Cold Forge. There, in the entryway we found no living things—and no immediate threats. Only a sign that said ‘no living creatures beyond this point’

With that in mind, Calio decided to send Roscoe to investigate the next room—as an undead thing Calio figured he’d not set off whatever might be in there.

Roscoe opened the door—and came face-to-face with four Daemons.

The party sprang into action. Talsune flew forward—and Calio got shot with an empowered Disintegrate as a result of getting too close to the warning sign. However Talsune and Calio managed to together obliterate the nearest Daemon. The rest fell like dominos, given almost no chance to act before the party was upon them. Not even their bad luck aura could keep the party from wiping them out.

Nestian opened the next door, and the party saw a room full of strange, elemental-infused machines. Amongst them were also more Rune Giants.

And in the back, astride atop a modified Annihilator Robot from Numeria, was the next Crone Queen.

[frostironfudge]

Lost In Devotion (Dark!Thor Smut)

Summary: Prayers to Thor rarely go unanswered, your complaints about him get his personal attention.

Pairing: Dark!Thor x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, DO NOT READ IF THEMES MAKE YOU UNCOMFORTABLE, non con/dub con, oral, main kink: electric stimulation, edging, nipple play, p in v, oral fem receiving, allusions to kidnapping. dom/sub dynamics, also this was to answer @stevesmewmew 's question to what do you think can happen with lightening on those fingers? also this is the first time i've written something with this much of dark elements, lmk what you think, also any hate will just be blocked cause i will do what is necessary to protect my space. sorta doing kinktober.

Main Masterlist || AO3 || Kinktober Materlist

Thor can hear them the whispers and chants, of the people that believe. The people that want a ravenous thunderstorm to end the drought. 

They pray to him, for a crackle of thunder, for thr glorious sight of the beacon of lightening. He smiles as he hears them. 

From all over Midgard, all around, for different reasons. 

Pleas. 

Prayers. 

Praises. 

Devotion. 

He stares around the warrior table, celebrating their win against another realm, cheers ring every few moments.  

Thor still feels incomplete in his victory. Something grounding, something— his thoughts halt, an angered complaint breaking past the barrier. 

‘This god that you dare sacrifice me too? He won’t end your pain.’

‘Thor my Sire see what they do to me!’ 

‘They try to take what is yours.’ 

‘Thor Odinson see what these people are attempting to do to me! You never called for sacrifice!’ 

‘What kind of God are you for allowing this!?’ 

‘Never visiting, why should I worship you?’

‘You are just like those other gods! Feeding off of our fears and yet not rewarding devotion.’

Thor blinks, his gaze roaming over the grand room he finds Loki perched in a corner, book in hand. 

“Brother.” Thor calls out an idea forming in his mind he’d pay this voice a visit. 

Loki’s green gaze lift from his book to catch Thor  gesturing to meet outside. The younger sibling was deciding to leave and this would be a good opportunity to not return to the boisterous event. 

The two brothers meet upon the quaint balcony.

“Is another battle upon your mind?” Loki muses, Thor shakes his head. 

“Midgard, they are choosing to sacrifice, I hear her pleas and complaints.” Thor explains, thumb tracing the smooth stone of the wall. 

“Ever the hero. What purpose do I serve in this grand plan? Shouldn’t you request the Bi-Frost be opened for Odin’s heir?” Loki raises a brow when It seems apparent that Thor does not want a certain all seer to know. 

“Ah, you want me to take you to Midgard.” He concludes. 

“I’d prefer that brother.” Thor wonders what Loki must be thinking, he himself never requested but there was something unfulfilled within his chest. Perhaps saving this maiden could quell it. 

“Alright brother, meet me in your chambers, however I have my own business upon Midgard.” Loki walks away cape drifting in the air as he moves. 

————-----------------------------------

Thor watches, impatience setting into his fingers, crackles of lightening dance on his palm. 

Loki opens up the portal to Yggdrasill. The tree stands with the branches, Thor searches, Loki walks the knowing path towards the branch of Midgard. 

“How many times have you traversed?” Thor wonders trailing behind his brother. 

Loki chuckles, “I’d rather you not know.” 

“Now where is this distressed damsel?” The raven haired brother enquires.

“I believe,” Thor pauses, offering Loki his hand and tapping into the prayers he heard from the snow capped place. 

“Very well,” Go towards there, Loki points to the branch displaying a snowy storm. 

“How shall I get back?” 

“Here, tap this seven times, you will be teleported back to your chambers.” Loki hands a trinket to Thor, beads tied together with .

“Alright.” Thor steps off, Loki watches turning to his own destination. 

The townspeople hold up flaming torches, borders of crowd, men grabbing onto a figure in scarce clothing. You shiver. 

Though Thor observes your eyes alit with a rage. 

“You think Thor will forgive you?!” You bellow, her voice the same as Thor heard. 

“Leave me!” You roar, thrashing the bindings on you tighten. 

“He doesn’t care, he hears not my prayers! What will he answer you!” You yell. 

The lightening crackles upon his fingers again. 

Thor admires your eyes showing fire. 

A thought crosses him. How would you look on the cusp of being broken by him?

You pause your fight, as gasps echo Thor stands on the rock you were to be tied upon. 

“My people.” His voice booms, thunder rumbling in the distance. 

Everyone falls to their knees, you stand defiant, still displeased. You still think he’s here to take you. 

“I have come to take your sacrifice. Comply and your people shall be blessed.” He looks over everyone, extending his arm to you. 

“Please.” Your voice thick.

His eyes shine with mirth when you take his hand. You have curses on the tip of your tongue for this townsfolk.

“Sire, they,” your eyes water,  shivers wreck though your form. 

“Fret not sweet devotee, I heard your pleas to save you. They shall perish for laying a finger upon your unwavering devotion.” He whispers in your ear, taking off his cloak wrapping it around you. 

His woodsy scent engulfs you with his warmth. 

“Perish?” Your brows raise, you never meant grave harm. 

Thor cups your cheek, a bright light taking over his eyes, the lighting and thunder boom above. Storm clouds settling in, “You called upon needing protection did you not?”

“Y-yes.” You admit.

“You have sworn your devotion to me have you not? No matter what I ask?” He tilts his head, observing you. 

Eyes tracing over your body. 

You pull the cloak over you, he chuckles. 

“I have, Sire.” 

“Then let me help you. You may thank me later in a way I deem fit.” Thor shifts back, turning to the people who decided to cause harm. 

“Turn around, sweet one.” Thor says, as you turn away. 

The haunting screams don’t last long. A dull buzz echoes as the silence is piercing only the howling wind drowns the remains of the screams the clearing held. 

Thor grabs you by the waist. 

“Lead me to your home.” He instructs. 

“You, they—,” you look at the singed bodies. 

“I tolerate not their horrific behaviours. My devotees know I only need prayer not sacrifice. Those are barbaric ways. I have different methods of prayer my dear, tell me your name?”

His hand is warm around you, light blue eyes mirthful. You give him your name, the God grins as you lead him to your home. The remainder of the village still asleep. 

Your home at the end of the border. Thor smiles admiring the quaintness. You open the door for him, biting your lip as you see the mess. 

“I believe I gave them way easily.” Thor clicks his tongue seeing the state of your upturned home. You drop the cloak to clear the small bedding for him to sit. 

“I, I wish I could have made you more comfortable, Sire.” You worry of his displeasure. 

“You may use my name, as you did in prayer.” He perches on the bed, a crackle of lightening on the make shift stove ignites a flame. You sigh in content at the source of warmth. 

“Would you, would you care for a meal?” You look up at him.

“I would, however, I wonder if you would deny me.” He muses, the temperature has your flesh peek through the thin fabric of sacrifice. 

“I do not understand? Do, do you want me to pray?” You wonder, eyebrows furrowed. 

“In a sense, sweet devotee.” Thor stands, making his way to you in long strides. 

“Tell me, have you laid with another man?” He questions, your skin heats. A bead of sweat trickles down your neck. 

Thor chuckles, “I am only a scarcely patient man, devotee.” 

“I have, S-sire—Thor,” you correct, his thumb brushes over your jaw, he grasps it observing your features, tilting your face side to side. 

“Lay down, I want you to pray to me. No matter what do not stop.” He instructs, “If you stop, I will not reward your devotion. Do not question me, follow my word.” 

You look at the bed, “I,” 

His eyes are alit again, “As I say devotee. Lay, down.” 

You scramble, laying on the bed, the tongue you were taught, the hymn of his praise.

Thor smiles, making his way to you, bending your knees, your words falter, he squeezes your inner thigh in warning. 

You swallow cold air greets your drawn apart thighs, Thor settles between them. 

“Th-Thor…” you pause again, as his lips trace your inner thighs.  

“Devotee. Do you not want to thank me? I protected you. I’m simply taking what is mine. What you promised to me. What you have vowed in those sweet hymns.” He explains. 

“This?” You look at him, he cups your mound, middle finger on your bundle of nerves. A current pulses from his finger on the nub you keen as the sensation travels up your stomach. 

“Continue my sweet devotee, your voice called upon me. I am simply rewarding you.” Thor’s eyes are a thin rim of blue, the electric sensation returns your hips lift. A moan escapes your lips. 

“So responsive.” He gleams, your wetness pools on his palm. His tongue greets and you fumble over your words again as he hums against your entrance. 

“Divine.” He commends, “However, I never asked you stop the hymns.” Your stomach tightens. 

“Seems you have a lot to learn.” His hands trace up your sides, you begin to sing again. 

“Continue.” He grasps your breasts, nipples hardening, his thumbs and index fingers pinch each a jolt of current moves through the nubs, you moan the words, Thor grins wickedly, watching you lose focus. 

“I see you enjoy that, making a mess of my armour.” His thigh flush against your core, the leather coated in your arousal. 

You gasp as the current jolts again, his mouth latches onto one nipple and his fingers return to your clit. He suckles on your nipple as the other and your clit are subjected to the torturous electric current, your hands move to his hair. 

Thor enjoys the struggle of wanting to push him away and pull him closer. He switches to the other side, your hips have you rut against his palm as the current evokes a need within you. 

“Keep singing sweetness,” Thor’s hands roam your body, random jolts against your clit or nipples, he enjoys each time you stumble over your words. 

The current spreading through your inner thighs, lips wrapped around your clit, your voice grows breathy, your hymn turn into begs, two thick digits enter you, your walls squeezing around him, tongue flicking over your nub. 

Preens, and whines fill your home, Thor’s groans against you, as though he begins to unravel the taught thread holding you at the seams. 

His fingers rub over a spongy spot, he chuckles, the current from his fingers cause you to moan his name, your hips lift his ministrations upon your clit do not relent. Thrusts of his fingers don’t stop every flick over the spongy spot accompanied by his electric current. 

You’re a withering mess, every time you feel he will let the coil snap allow you into bliss he stops. You beg, beg, beg. 

He relents not, enjoying the way he has you dancing along the edge with him. His own length hard, aching. 

“Do you want release, devotee?” He moves away from you. 

“Please, please, Sire.” 

“Apologise then,” he grabs your breasts, you cry out, tears escaping your eyes. 

“Sire—,” your voice breaks, his lips wipe the tears. 

“Aw, devotee, you wondered what kind of god am I? Very benevolent when I am not accused.” The fingers inside you return, the current jolts through you, thumb circling your clit, bliss is within reach you sob as he stops yet again. 

“Oh sweet thing, you tears have me so hard. Apologise. I shall give you what you want and more.”

“I-I’m sorry Sire, I didn’t I was being—,” You moan, gooseflesh raises, he isn’t touching you yet you feel the current hum, building in crescendo as the coil winds in your stomach. 

“Keep apologising.” Thor warns, watching you writhe and hips lift, cunt clenching around nothing. 

Mewls, moans and breathless apologies fall from your lips, you look so beautiful he thinks, he continues letting the electric current lead you to bliss. 

Your orgasm hits with a cry, your arousal seeps all over, coating your thighs and the sheets. 

Aftershocks wreck through you, a thin rim of blue enters your hazy vision, then you are turned upon your hands and knees. Then you feel a burning stretch. 

Thor’s girth and length massive, he sinks inch by inch. Moaning at your tightness. Hands gripping your hips. 

“Might have to keep you for myself, devotee. A cunt as sweet and tight. Oh sweet, sweet darling.” Thor chuckles, you moan as he bottoms out, he presses his palm over your lower abdomen. 

He presses a chaste kiss to your mid-back. What should be a soothing gesture only spurs on the current across your skin again. 

“Feel myself right there.” He groans as your cunt spams to squeeze his cock. 

“Want to milk me don’t you? Look at your pretty tears, all for your god, your saviour. You asked for me correct. Here I am.” He begins to move, first slow then he begins to speed up.

“Y-yes.” you whimper, his grunts only having you grow slicker, aiding his movements.

“Prayed for this haven’t you, prayed for me to fill your darkest day. Here I am.” 

Wet squelches and skin slapping he guides your hips to meet his thrusts. Your moans echo in the silent night, thunder rumbles outside. 

Thor pulls you against him, your kneeling, his cock splitting you apart, massive you can’t form a coherent thought, his hands seize your breasts playing with your nipples. 

He tugs and pulls, the current returns and he chuckles darkly. 

“Oh you love it, your cunt loves my ability, just wants to keep me inside her. Fuck,” Thor keeps thrusting into you. 

He’s going to keep you with him. His hand returns to your clit, tapping with each tap a current filled jolt. 

You scream his name as each tap on your clit is in sync with his cock hitting the spot inside you, your walls spasm pulling him back inside. Wanting to place him there permanently. 

Your lips part for a prayer of his name and plead for him to guide you to the bliss. Your arousal gushes around his cock, you moan more as the electric jolts keep spasming your clit. Arched against him lips parted in a silent cry as your orgasm takes over you, toes curling. Making you thrash in his grip. 

His warm seed coats your walls, his lips spill praises, “Such a pretty cunt, all mine for taking, milking my cock, filled with my seed. Perfect little sacrifice for a god aren’t you?” 

Thor moans into your ear, you’re breathless pleas music to his ears, you feel so full, hazed mind. Craving the release craving the reward. Craving him. He keeps thrusting as if he never reached his peak. 

“I’m not yet done, devotee, you promised. Whatever I wanted.” He cups your jaw, kissing you sloppily, hips still moving against you, his free hand taps the trinket seven times. 

You feel a softer mattress under your knees, your eyes open in the midst of his claiming kiss. Your home no longer present, the walls in colours of red, grey and gold. 

“My little devotee.” Thor chuckles, “Welcome to your new home.”

-x-

[princessmisery666]

Flirting With Mayhem

Summary: The graveyard shift is your favorite. The characters that wandered into the all-night diner are weird and wonderful, none more so than Opie Winston.

Warnings: fluff, slight smut, smidge of angst.

W/C: 2.8k

Characters: Opie Winston, Reader, Jax Teller, OC’s.

Pairing: Opie Winston x You (no descriptions of body type or ethnicity)

Bingos: @anyfandomangstbingo // @anyfandomgoesbingo Squares Filled: angst - “it’s not my blood, I swear.” // Batman Panties.

Notes: not specific to any season of the show. But Opie is single (not that being married ever stopped him anyway 😂!)

A/N: First time writing for Opie so a little nervous about this one.

Betas: @wonder-cole was a wonderful help as always // and@cockslut-padalecki saved me as always 🥰 // all mistakes belong to me.

Graphics: all by me.

Master Lists: Other Fandoms // AF Angst Bingo // AFG Bingo

The graveyard shift is your favorite. The characters that wander into the all-night diner are weird and wonderful. The regulars, Joe and Arthur, who prefer the world between midnight and dawn, have some of the most enchanting tales to tell. The stories you’ve heard a hundred times before never get old. Then there are the group of ladies that work at Harlot’s strip club two blocks over that always come in every Saturday and Sunday morning, full of energy; dancing to the music they stream from their phones and spending their tip money on mediocre coffee and whatever cake is on offer. You always make sure to bake an extra one and keep it aside especially for them.

Strangers appear every now and then. Groups of friends, families or people riding solo, just passing through, never to be seen again. Some have stories to tell, others keep to themselves and you always know how to decipher between the two. If someone wants to talk they sit at the bar, if not, they choose a booth.

Four-thirty on a typical Saturday morning. Joe and Arthur - the old-timers as you like to call them - occupy the stools at either end of the bar, frequenting the spots so often their ass groves are moulded to the faux leather. In all the time you’ve worked here, they’ve never once sat together because they are too stubborn and set in their ways to admit they are alike and crave the company of others. The ladies of Harlots, occupying their usual two booths nearest to the kitchen, are as boisterous and loud as ever, celebrating Lizzy’s engagement.

The bell above the door tinkles to announce a newcomer and you’ve become so accustomed to it; a latecomer from Harlot’s or Joe coming back in from having a cigarette, you don’t pay much attention until the room falls silent.

You pull your attention from the book you’d been reading to find the reason for the silencing in the form of a mountain of a man. As if his sheer height and overall appearance - baggy jeans, leather jacket, thick beard, beanie hat - aren’t enough to make everyone weary, the patches above the breast pockets of his leather waistcoat, emblazoned with the words ‘Men of Mayhem’ and ‘Redwood Original’, should’ve done the trick.

He reads the room, looking left to right and then spies you across the counter. He looks apologetic that he’s ruined the atmosphere and just as he twists his body to turn and leave, you give him a friendly smile and loudly ask the room, “what’s the matter?” He holds still a moment and you continue, “never seen such a glorious beard before?”

A few tense seconds pass but then it breaks; the newcomer chuckles before walking further inside, shrugging off his jacket as he goes; and everyone else returns to what they had been doing.

Mr Mayhem takes residence in a booth on the opposite side of the room to the rowdy women. Grabbing the coffee pot, you make your way over to him, and as you get closer you can feel his fatigue. You really look at him, past the clothes he wears and the stereotype your mind is stuck on knowing he’s a member of Samcro, and you see how brittle he is. He looks exhausted, not from lack of sleep but the kind of soul weariness tired of someone who’s carried the weight of the world too long and isn’t strong enough to hold it up anymore, or willing to pretend that he is.

He flips the coffee mug over when you stop at the edge of the table, and though he smiles, it’s empty in a way that makes you want to hug him until the light shines behind his eyes again.

“Thanks for that,” he nods toward the door and your previous rescue.

You wink, smiling down at him. “No problem, but I’m sure you could’ve taken ol’ Joe if he started somethin’.”

He chuckles. It lights his eyes for a moment but it burns out quickly. “I’m all out of fight, believe me.” He’s not joking anymore and you see the weight of whatever he’s carrying return in the slump of his shoulders.

“Can I get you anything else?” you ask, pouring the dark liquid into his mug, “the kitchen’s closed, but I’ve got homemade triple chocolate cake, red velvet or banana bread.”

He shakes his head. “It’s been a night,” he says with a heavy sigh, “I don’t have my wallet and I’ve got two dollars in my pocket, just the coffee is fine.”

“I’m Y/N, give me a shout if you need anything.” You give him a kind smile and leave him alone. After all, he’s sitting in a booth, which means he doesn’t want to talk, he was simply being polite for you having rescued him from an argument he didn’t want to have.

It doesn’t take long for the Harlot’s to check him out and you watch them each take a turn to ogle him and then share their opinions with the group. You can’t quite hear their assessments from where you are, which you’re grateful for as hopefully it means he hasn’t heard them either. He’s too deep in his faraway vacant brooding stare to notice much of anything else.

It’s nothing new. The girls like fresh meat to tease and play with, and it’s always a different one of the gorgeous women that has the balls to approach the latest prey unfortunate enough to have come in on a night they’re feeling especially rambunctious. Tonight, it’s legs for days Felicia, her plump lips always painted red and hair the colour of autumn leaves. She saunters toward Mr Mayhem, with mayhem on her mind, sashaying her hips and biting her lip.

She flashes you a wink on her way past and you give her a firm warning of, “don’t.”

She just wants to have a little fun but you know, even if she can’t see it, he isn’t the person for her to prey upon. She huffs and stops walking, turning a pout in your direction. Felicia and the others aren’t the types to cause trouble for you. They’ve been coming in long enough to have found a deep respect for you and you know she’ll back off if you ask her to.

“Not tonight,” you tell her softly, hoping Mr Gorgeous and Brooding doesn’t notice. “Leave him be, please.”

She rolls her eyes, “fine,” but then she hoists herself up on the counter to better lean over to plant a loud smacking kiss on your cheek. “Love you, chica,” she says and wipes her lipstick smudge from your skin before meeting her friends gathered at the door. They all call goodnight to you, Joe and Arthur and then it’s a flurry of scantily clad asses disappearing out the door into the dawn.

You clear up their table, shoving the generous tip they always leave into your apron pocket and collect their dirty mugs and plates into the tub. As always, before you need to enter the kitchen, you check on the customers who remain to ensure they have what they need until you return. Mr Broody is looking at you with a small smile and this one holds a small shimmer of light in his eyes. He has a kind and gentle smile, and for someone of his size and stature it makes you feel safe and warm instead of intimidated and afraid.

It’s that smile that makes you bold enough to put a slice of triple chocolate cake on a plate and take it to his table with the coffee pot to refill his mug.

“On the house,” you say when he begins a protest.

“Thanks, but I can’t.”

“Why not, allergic to chocolate or charity?” He chuckles and his grin remains once the lilting sound stops. “Besides you said you had no fight left in you, so no arguing Mr Mayhem.” His brow raises high and he smirks, an unasked question. “Well I don’t know your name and it’s written on your waistcoat,” you shrug, “so I made it up.”

He laughs loudly, his eyes crinkle at the corners. He really is beautiful. He lifts the waistcoat and explains, “It’s called a cut,” around his teasing laughter.

“And its owner,” you ask, “what’s he called?”

“Opie.”

You refill his coffee and chuckle. “Mr Mayhem is better.”

Someone who wears a badge declaring them as a Man of Mayhem must have a million tales to tell, but you stick to your rules; he’s at a booth and so wants privacy, therefore you leave him be once again.

Joe and Arthur leave at five fifteen, just like every other day, before the cook arrives to start preparing for the breakfast rush.

“G’night fellas,” you say when they both reach the door. Joe holds the door for Arthur to go out first and then he eyes Opie. But he’s in a world only he can see beyond the window.

“You gonna be alright?” he asks, lips pursed and a disapproving scowl.

“I’m good, Joe,” you say and love the old man that little bit more for being protective.

The exchange catches Opie’s attention and he gives a small wave to the old man. “I’m just here for some quiet.”

Joe still doesn’t look pleased leaving you alone with the brute of a man, but he accepts it, giving you one final nod and follows Arthur out.

You take Joe and Arthur’s dirty crocks to the kitchen and when you return Opie is gone, his two dollars on the empty plate that once had the cake on it. There’s not a crumb left. You hope that if he ever looks back on this night, the small act of kindness will bring him a smile.

The following shift is slow. The Harlot’s come in but only to grab a slice of cake while they wait for a cab to take them to an after after party. And you can set your watch by Joe and Arthur leaving at five-fifteen on the dot.

Though it’s not your job, you decide to set the tables for the breakfast rush, setting cutlery and mugs on all the tables. It will save Eileen a job and hopefully make her day a little easier. Your back is to the door when the bell chimes and you turn with a friendly smile to greet the customer only to see Opie staring at you.

He’s not wearing his beanie hat, hair slicked back and pulled into a tight bun, and damn you want to tug on it, use it as a steering wheel while the burn of his glorious beard scratches at your thighs.

His smile is lighter than the previous night. He holds up a ten dollar bill. “For the cake,” he says and walks to drop the cash on the countertop.

The motion pulls his cut and jacket back and you see blood stains on his shirt over his ribs.

“Are you okay?” you ask, rushing toward him. Concern clouds any rational thought and you lift his shirt up without thinking. There’s no wound but your eyes don’t quite believe it and your hand smooths down his ribs, just to be sure.

Goosebumps pepper his skin and Opie clearing his throat makes you jump. You hold still and slowly raise your head to look up at him, an apology for the intrusion ready on your tongue.

But his soft gaze renders you mute for a second. “It’s not my blood, I swear,” he whispers. In such close proximity his breath tickles the top of your head and makes a few stray hairs wave around.

“I can see that.”

He smiles, and that light you’ve been desperate to see behind his eyes is so bright and vibrant you don’t want to look away in case it disappears.

“That was so inappropriate,” you say, “I'm sorry.” Just as you pull your hand off his chest he quickly pulls it back, dwarfing your hand under his own he puts yours against his skin again.

The shrill echo of a siren sounds and the red and blue flash of the cops lights reflect around the diner walls. Opie’s face drops and he watches the car speed away out of the window.

“Are they looking for you?”

“Probably,” he replies, staring at the fading lights. “I thought I lost them.” It seems the coast is clear until the brake lights are a faraway dot then the car pulls a u-turn. “Fuck!”

You twist your hand on his chest to interlock your fingers. “Come with me, I have an idea.”

He hesitates for only a second before he nods and allows you to lead him into the back. Once the door closes, you pull off your shirt and tell him to do the same. He shrugs out of his cut and asks, “what’re you doing?”

You don’t answer, the siren is growing louder and closer. You unfasten your jeans and he watches you as you wiggle your hips to push them down.

“Do you wanna get caught?” you wonder aloud while he stares.

Opie quickly pulls off his shirt and once your jeans are off you step forward, unbuckle his belt and the top few buttons of his jeans.

“Y/N?”

The cop car is closer, there’s no time to explain.

“Trust me,” you say. He nods yes even though it wasn’t a question and you tiptoe to kiss him. It takes him by surprise, but he leans into it and his large hands grip your hips. He lifts you with ease and he carries you to sit on the nearest surface. All without breaking the kiss.

He rolls his hips and his hard cock rubs against your heated core. He’s a giant of a man, large hands pawing at your breasts, yet he’s gentle and soft.

You moan against his mouth when you grope his cock through the denim and you're glad you unfastened his jeans enough to be able to reach inside and wrap your hand around him.

His responding growl vibrates through you and he shimmies his jeans off his hips to free himself. Breathlessly, Opie breaks the kiss to press open mouthed kisses to your neck while you pump his dick.

“Fuck,” he groans against your ear.

The scratch of his beard against your skin tickles and ignites the deeper desire to feel it between your thighs. He reaches around your back to unclasp your bra and just as it pops open, the chime above the front door sounds.

It’s only now you notice the sirens have disappeared. You release your grip of him and Opie pulls you in tight against his chest. You both wait for the visitor to call out or announce themselves but there’s nothing for the longest of time.

“Yo,” someone calls, finally, “anyone around? Ope?”

Opie buries his head in your neck and laughs against your skin. He pulls back and kisses your lips quickly, “sorry,” he whispers before calling out, “yeah, in here!”

He steps back to tuck himself back into jeans and you refasten your bra. Opie finds your shirt and hands it back to you just as the kitchen door opens and a pretty blond guy appears.

“Damn Ope,” he says, shaking his head as if disappointed but his smirk says otherwise. “I leave you for five minutes.”

“Jax, Y/N, Y/N, Jax,” Opie introduces, putting on his own shirt.

“Pleasure darlin’,” Jax says, with a proud smile still in place, “he told me he was coming to pay a debt, I didn’t know it was that kinda debt.”

Opie shrugs, smiling at you but aims his statement to Jax, “I told you, it was some damn good cake.”

“Good service too,” the blond comments with a chuckle.

You roll your eyes at the exchange and jump off the countertop when Opie passes you your jeans.

“Sorry for the interruption, but I need to steal him, sweetheart,” Jax explains.

Opie sighs, “Give me a sec.”

Jax nods, checks your out head to toe once more and leaves again.

When you're both fully dressed, Opie steps closer to cup your face and kisses you. “If the cops had arrived,” he asks after a moment that isn’t long enough, “what was the plan exactly?”

You shrug and match his earlier smirk, “honestly, past kissing you I hadn’t thought it through.”

He laughs and reluctantly he leads you out of the kitchen to the main area. You walk him to the door and he kisses you breathless one more time.

You spy his money on the counter. “I didn’t give you your change.”

He smiles, bright and wide. “I’ll come get it tomorrow.”

You really hope he means it. He pushes the door open, but stops and turns back to look at you.

“One more thing,” he says, his brow raised, “are you wearing Batman panties?”

You totally forgot you’d put them on. One of the Harlot’s had brought them for you as a Christmas gag gift one year. It’s laundry day and that’s all you had left. You feel the heat under your cheeks but laugh it off. “Yes, I am. And last I checked his sidekick doesn't interrupt when he's in the middle of something.”

A rumbling laugh emits from his chest, “I’ll let my sidekick know he owes you too,” he winks and wets his lips.

“Just leave him home next time,” you suggest.

“Noted,” he agrees with a nod, “I’ll be back to collect my change tomorrow.”

“Counting on it,” you chuckle with a wink of your own.

[jamespotterthefirst]

Flirt (Ethan x f!MC)

Book: Open Heart, Book 2 Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 1.1K Premise: Who would have thought that Ethan Ramsey would one day follow Bryce Lahela's romantic advice?

Author’s Note: This takes place in book 2, sometime after the attack and before the gala when Ethan and MC are in a secret relationship. Thank you anon for the request (sorry it's so late!). Thank you @aestheticartsx for the ideas!

The beginning notes of Lahela's playlist resound around the otherwise empty gym. With a groan, Ethan releases the heavy weights, the clashing metal serving as a glorious reprieve from the electronic, fast beat of the music. From beside him, the newest member of their workout entourage groans as well, with as much disdain as Ethan. He feels a surge of vindication at the fact that, though they may disagree on music preferences most of the time, they can at least agree on this.

“Bryce,” Lilac calls out over the song. Her voice fails to carry over the music and over the sound of Lahela’s sneakers hitting the belt of the treadmill. “You’re welcome to torture yourself on that treadmill but don’t torture us too with your awful music.”

Ethan fights back a grin at the quip. Lahela, meanwhile, clutches his heart with exaggerated flare.

“Ouch, Lil. You wound me.” He punches a few buttons on the dashboard, bringing the machine to a much slower pace. In spite of the exertion, his smile remains as charming as ever, not a hair on his head out of place. “I’ll have you know this is beast mode music. It’s a running remix created at 150 BPM to optimize performance—”

“It’s overproduced garbage.” Ethan interrupts the impassioned speech.

“It’s Ice, Ice Baby,” Lilac adds.

Despite himself, Ethan snorts, which in turn elicits a lovely bout of laughter from her. He sobers up at once, too preoccupied with watching how her attractive features light up the entire room. A second too late, Ethan realizes he is gaping at her, like some kind of moron.

To his dismay, the surgeon catches this. Then again, how could he not when Ethan must have looked like an entranced imbecile gawking at her. Luckily, Lahela doesn’t comment, instead choosing to hop off the treadmill with impressive agility.

“If I would have known you two would gang up on me, I would have never invited you, Lil.”

“That’s the reason you invited me and you know it,” she returns with easy charm. “To keep you two on your toes.”

Her eyes swivel to Ethan’s and his stomach swoops pleasantly.

“As fun as this has been, I have to go stretch. I have a kink in my back I really want to get out.” She announces this quite suddenly and with a rather enthralling sway of her ponytail. She turns to go, giving Ethan a deliberate view of her curves in the colorful leggings she wears. Before she makes it further than a few steps, however, she glances at Ethan over her shoulder. “I might need some help getting it out.”

Those green eyes he dreams about on most nights are heavy on his, shining bright with promise under a fringe of dark lashes. Ethan’s throat feels suddenly very dry.

“A colleague of mine is a chiropractor,” he blurts out. “I can give you his contact information if it's a persisting problem.”

Lilac's smile falters imperceptibly, nodding once before moving to the mats and out of earshot. Ethan can't help but notice there is less enthusiasm in her gait as she goes.

From beside him, Bryce lets out a low whistle.

“What?” Ethan asks, unable to keep the edge off his tone.

Bryce takes it in good stride, laughing. “You're so lucky she's already crazy about you.”

“She's—” Ethan pauses to collect the jumble of thoughts in his consciousness. His heart, meanwhile, beats with such ferocity, he can feel the echoes of his pulse in his throat. “What makes you— I can't imagine what you mean.”

The young surgeon mops the sweat off his brow with a towel, laughing. “Lilac was totally flirting with you just now.”

“She was?”

“She wasn't exactly subtle.”

Ethan cringes internally as his mind replays that encounter and his less than stellar reply.

“And all you did in return was offer to set her up with your chiro friend?”

It sounds worse when someone repeats it out loud, Ethan realizes.

“You do know chiropractors are the most attractive doctors? Aside from surgeons, of course.”

It is the most ridiculous claim Ethan has ever heard. Yet, he pauses.

“Lilac complained about her back. She could be misaligned…”

The incredulous look Bryce stabs him with makes him stop talking.

“What was I supposed to do?”

“Offer to help her stretch?” Bryce offers as though it is the most obvious alternative imaginable. “Or better yet, offer to make it worse.”

Ethan opens his mouth to voice his confusion, but his mind catches the innuendo belatedly.

“Whatever you do, do it with confidence.”

As Ethan stands there, glancing at Lilac gracefully stretching a distance away, he is hit with the ridiculousness of the situation.

For starters, Ethan and Lilac are already in somewhat of an unofficial relationship. They haven't exactly defined it yet, but given that she spends most of her free time over at his place and steals kisses from him when no one is watching, Ethan is confident they are an item. It shouldn't be surprising that she is attracted to him, but somehow, Ethan finds himself unable to believe he'd ever be so lucky.

Also disconcerting is the fact that Ethan is receiving flirting advice from Bryce Lahela himself. The worst part is that said advice is sounding pretty reasonable to Ethan at that very moment.

“However you decide to play it, you better go do it now.” Bryce glances at the digital clock mounted in the wall. “Those guys from ICU always start their workout at six and that's in like ten minutes.”

With renewed confidence, Ethan starts towards Lilac. As a worrying thought occurs to him, however, he halts, frowning at Bryce.

“About Lilac and I,” he begins, but the surgeon is already shaking his head, grinning wide.

“Don't worry, Dr. Ramsey. My lips are sealed.” He follows this proclamation by pantomiming closing a zipper over his lips. “Plus, I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who's noticed you two pining for each other.”

“Sienna knows.”

This actually elicits genuine shock from him, which is as comical as it is uncharacteristic.

 “She never told me. I can’t believe she never said a word,” he says, already throwing on a shirt and heading for the exit, as though determined to find the tiny doctor and demand more information.

After he vanishes, Ethan moves over to Lilac, stopping at the foot of her mat. She is attempting to do a complicated maneuver with an arched back and tangled limbs. Despite her evident struggle, Ethan watches her fondly, thinking her the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

“How's your back?”

“Stiff,” she returns, giving up on the stretch and getting to her feet. “Are you referring me to your friend?”

They are alone. Ethan celebrates that fact by wrapping his arms around her, her back pressing pleasantly against his chest.

“Not a chance in hell.”

She laughs. “So you've decided to help me after all?”

“I could,” he murmurs darkly into the shell of her ear, his hands gripping her spandex clad hips. His voice dropping lower still, he says, “Though what I have in mind might blow it out instead.”

“Ethan!”

Lilac quivers in his arms, twirling around to face him when she recovers. She gives him a surprised yet impressed look before her eyes darken.

“That was…” She trails off and Ethan is pleased to see her blushing. The way she kisses him in response, hungry and hard, forces Ethan to admit that the scalpel jockey's advice had been correct after all.

*Sorry again, anon! This is over five months late.

Anon is referring to this post.

Thank you so much for reading this!

*Tagging separately!

[relicrots]

The  Cardinal's  frustrations  manage  to  come  in  waves  with  the  insult  being  the  catalyst,  despite  it  being  so  insignificant.  He  imagines  that  a  LOT  of  the  Ministry  sees  him  the  same,  but  in  his  eyes,  his  knowledge  was  plentiful,  extensive.  .  .He  was  a  scholar  whose  fruits  of  labor  were  only  a  fanciful  afterthought  and  not  his  driving  force.  Should  he  reach  them  well.  .  .then  would  time  for  celebration.  .  .but  until  then,  he'd  work  himself  to  dust  if  need  be  because  his  worth  spoke  volumes  compared  to  the  Emeritus  line  and  those  in  the  Ministry  undeserving  of  power.  His  time  would  come,  he's  sure,  so  why  rush  it  ?

❝  Mmm,  terrible  isn't  the  word  I'd  choose,  no.  .  .Perhaps.  .  .Unexpected.  I'm  a  creature  of  habit.  .  .this  shakes  things  up  in  a  way  that  I  find.  .  .annoying.  ❞  Spoken  calmly  as  he  turns  to  the  third,  his  visage  remaining  lax  despite  the  third  appearing  in  such  close  proximity.  ❝  Papa.  .  .I.  .  .❞  Words  cease  with  the  whisper  which  nearly  echo's  in  his  ear.  Darkened  brows  knit  together  as  a  gloved  hand  tightens  on  the  mug's  handle,  "  In  some  cases,  you  MAY  be  right.  But  it  is  for  ME  to  find  out.  ❞  Copia  wants  to  say,  '  Why  would  you  be  patient  when  the  universe  is  at  your  beck  &  call  ',  but  he  settles  for  a  faint  sneer  as  the  fire  brews  in  his  belly.  Only  when  Papa  steps  back  does  the  frenzy  subside,  the  ice-cold  leer  plastered  on  his  face  as  he  sips  his  coffee,  his  eyes  only  drifting  as  Terzo  pats  a  seat  aside  him.

In  many  ways  Terzo  reminds  him  of  Icarus  and,  he  knows  it's  only  a  matter  of  time  until  the  Third  has  flown  too  close  to  the  sun,  the  combustion  guaranteed  to  be  GLORIOUS.  Once  he  was  gone,  all  that  stood  in  the  Cardinal's  wake  was  an  opportunity,  which  he'd  gladly  take  on  without  hesitation.  The  Emeritus  line  was  reliant  on  Terzo's  glory,  and  he  can't  help  but  ponder  how  the  Third  could  maintain  a  playboy  personality.  .  .If  a  legacy  like  the  Emeritus  line  was  on  his  own  shoulders,  he'd  straighten  up  for  sure,  become  the  best  among  the  shadows  nipping  at  his  ankles.  The  Ministry  would  be  LUCKY  to  have  a  Papa  like  him.

❝  I  was  worried  for  you  and  thought  we  might  have  had  to  cancel  the  tour.  ❞  Despite  such  sympathy,  the  Cardinal  remains  rigid,  merely  observing  the  Third  while  attempting  to  detach  himself  emotionally⸺It  was  strange  but.  .  .even  with  such  DIM  lighting  the  Papa  had  radiated  an  aura  that  was.  .  .enticing.  Copia  finds  himself  entertaining  the  thought  of  sitting  next  to  the  Third  but  he  refuses,  the  pounding  of  his  heart  slowing  as  he  looks  away.  ❝.  .  .I  find  myself  pondering  such  strange  thoughts  while  around  you,  Papa.  .  .Like.  .  .What  is  it  that  you  are  most  afraid  of  ?  ❞  Ghastly  hues  return,  locking  with  Terzo's  own  as  gloved  digits  trace  the  mouth  of  his  mug,  ❝  And  don't  tell  me  nothing.  .  .we  both  know  it'd  be  a  lie.  ❞

relicrots·:

Fervent  clashing  droplets  aide  the  Cardinal’s  wandering  thoughts  into  a  lull  as  he  sits  tucked  into  a  booth  within  the  tour  bus,  his  gloved  digits  slowly  turning  a  titless  book  he  had  taken  from  The  Ministry  for  this.  .  .little  trip.  Truth  be  told,  there  were  far  more  things  the  brunette  would  rather  tend  to;  preparing  dinner  with  the  ghouls,  washing  Nihil’s  laundry.  .  .even  taking  care  of  whatever  errands  Imperator  was  needing  to  tend  to.  .  .and  yet  here  he  is,  inside  a  tour  bus  due  to  a  request  by  one  of  the  monstrous  giants  within  the  Ministry.  Regardless  of  his  leaps  of  authority,  it  seems  that  still  he  had  someone  to  answer  to.  Mismatched  hues  lift  from  the  book,  his  thumb  holding  his  place  in  the  text  as  he  gazes  at  Terzo  with  little  interest  and  for  a  moment  he  nearly  chuckles  in  amusement  at  the  third’s  words,  instead  providing  a  sound  that  lies  between  a  scoff  and  huff  of  annoyance.  His  eyes  are  content  with  a  slow  drift  back  to  his  book,  his  thumb  moving  so  that  he  may  return  to  his  studies.

Copia  whispered,  ❝  If  only  we  could  be  so  lucky,  Papa.  ❞,  a  smile  nearly  beckoned  at  the  thought  of  the  third  being  struck  by  lightning,  saving  him  the  bother  of  babysitting.  In  spite  of  his  concerns,  he  suspects  he  may  face  reproach  back  home  if  he  fails  to  care  for  the  Emeritus  son.  ❝.  .  .I’d  suppose  it’d  be  best  to  wait  it  out,  wouldn’t  want  someone  to  see  you  with  your  makeup  all  disheveled,  you  know  ?❞  Hints  of  amusement  lift  to  his  features,  though  they  fade  with  the  sudden  rush  of  cold  air  from  the  open  door  that  Terzo  had  abandoned.  Demands  are  made  that  cause  Copia  to  look  up  once  more,  staring  blankly  at  Terzo  for  a  pause  before  he  folds  in  a  page  of  his  book,  setting  it  down  so  that  he  may  stand.  ❝  Very  well,  your  unholiness.  ❞  Sarcasm  lingers  on  his  tongue  as  he  approaches  the  tour  bus  door.  A  gloved  digit  reaches  to  take  hold  of  the  door  so  that  he  may  shut  it.  The  brunette  peaks  out  of  the  bus  for  only  a  moment  before  slamming  it  shut  a  bit  harder  than  he  intended.

Despite  successfully  shutting  the  door,  a  gloved  hand  still  rests  on  the  door  handle  before  he  looks  over  his  shoulder  to  Terzo,  ❝  We  aren’t  exactly  in  an  area  with  many  'towers’.  Initially,  I  had  spoken  with  the  tour  director  about  getting  a  bus  with  wireless  internet  but  ah.  .  .As  I’m  sure  you  can  imagine,  Imperator  dissuaded  them  due  to  our  budget.  Should  the  storm  let  up,  we  will  be  well  on  our  way  tomorrow,  and  then  you  can  tend  to  your.  .  .social  media.  ❞  Gloved  hands  release  the  handle  so  that  he  may  move  back  into  the  long  hall  of  the  bus,  his  attention  shifting  to  a  coffee  pot  with  lukewarm  coffee.  ❝  I’m  sure  it’s  very  important  to  you.  ❞  With  his  back  turned  he  approaches  the  coffee,  his  eyes  rolling  as  he  fills  two  coffee  mugs.  Copia’s  expression  relaxes  as  he  turns  back  to  gaze  at  the  third.  ❝  All  you  need  is  to  be  patient.  .  .which  I  know  is  quite  a  challenge  for  you.  .  .Either  way.  .  .  ❞  A  forced  smile  with  an  outstretched  mug  of  coffee,  ❝  Please  try  to  relax,  you  took  a  pretty  hard  fall  at  the  venue.  ❞

It  was,  naturally,  at  his  request  that  the  Cardinal  joined  he  and  his  merry  band  of  miscreants  on  Meliora’s  promo  tour.  Ironically  enough,  and  much  to  the  third’s  bewilderment,  Copia  was  incredibly  difficult  to  book.  How  could  a  man  possibly  be  so  busy?  Perhaps  the  Cardinale  is  the  only  cleric  who  actually  works  amongst  their  ranks  while  the  others  lounge  about  and  fatten  themselves  with  the  spoils  of  the  Ghost  project.  It  is  only  fair  that  the  man  be  allowed  to  spread  his  wings,  get  away  from  the  abbey,  live  a  little.  Plus,  Copia  is  a  fish  out  of  water,  flopping  and  turning  with  new  experiences…  it’s  free  entertainment.  

Papa  had  hoped  to  see  him  flounder,  yes,  of  course…but  also  soar.  He  has  yet  to  see  the  latter,  the  man  burying  his  nose  in  books,  papers,  anything  in  order  to  avoid  the  devilish  delights  of  the  tour.  Like  slow  irritating  pinpricks,  the  third  notices  his  stubborn,  nearly  spiteful  absence.  Luckily  for  the  Cardinal’s  spirit  of  fun  and  adventure,  Terzo  is  just  if  not  more  willful.  He  will  not  stop  until  the  cleric  cracks.  Unholy  be  the  day.  

“Come  now,  Cardinal.  It  isn’t  so  terrible,  is  it?”  ‘It’  being  the  tour.  He  continues,  watching  the  younger  man  as  he  shuffles  towards  the  door.  “You  are  what  they  call  a  stick  in  the  mud,  my  friend.”  

A  small  snort  at  the  comment  on  his  makeup.  It’s  already  disheveled  enough,  it’s  true.  His  escapades  take  their  toll.  Papa’s  arms  cross,  leaning  back  on  a  guard  rail  as  his  eyes  flick  to  the  slammed  door.  The  man  is  icy,  isn’t  he?  Satanas,  he’d  rather  be  anywhere  else  it  seems.  What  a  wonderfully  rare  occurrence.  “Social  media…”  He  mocks,  a  strand  of  hair  pushed  out  of  his  face  as  eyes  roll.  “Your  accommodations  are  splendid,  Copia.  Absolutely  fine.  You  work  hard  enough,  hm?  Too  hard.”  

A  cat,  Terzo  stalks  as  the  man’s  back  turns,  smelling  coffee  on  the  damp  air.  “Take  it  from  me~”  Papa  is  close  now,  a  game  he  indulges  in.  How  close  can  he  get  to  the  Cardinal  before  he’s  dismissed  with  discomfort?  “You’ll  burn  yourself  out.”  It’s  a  whisper  in  his  ear.  

Papa  takes  a  step  back  as  the  man  turns,  accepting  his  coffee  with  grace.  “Patient?  I  can  be  patient.  I  simply  choose  not  to.”  A  smile,  and  with  that,  a  sip  of  the  coffee,  brows  furrowing  slightly  as  the  liquid  burns  his  tongue.  “Yes,  a  hard  fall  indeed.  Truth  be  told,  Cardinal,  I  thought  I  had  broken  my  spine…but  the  show  must  go  on.”  All  sighs  and  dramatics,  Terzo  sits,  patting  the  place  beside  him.  

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Stare Enough

Fandom: The Falcon and the Winter Soldier Pairing: Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes Rating: T Word Count: 4034

Summary: Bucky's got a new stare. Sam spends all afternoon and most of the evening working up the courage to meet it.

Both Sam and the food are the main attraction at this party and the problem with that situation is that it takes so damn long for one main attraction to get a second to enjoy the other.

He’s grateful—god, is he grateful—for the turnout. Friends, neighbours, the kind of people he and Sarah call family without there being any actual relation by blood, they’ve all shown up. Since the Blip, Sam’s felt like he’s always around, but this feels like a real homecoming. No sadness, nothing bittersweet. It’s a celebration and he’s at the center of it. Him and the food.

At last, Sam’s done the circuit with his plate, spooning creamy salads and grilled vegetables, stacking shellfish pink as a sunrise. There’s a fresh-baked roll perched atop a scoop of sweet potatoes and caramelized onions that smells so fucking warm and mouth-watering he has to resist walking with his nose buried in it. He collects a set of utensils furled in the middle of a paper napkin (courtesy of an efficient assembly line of old ladies, chatting and twisting neat rolls of cutlery), plate bowing into the palm of his other hand, and that’s when his damn phone vibrates in his pocket.

Sam halts and makes a sound of frustration. Nobody’s come to this thing empty-handed, so there are dishes crowding the surface of the tables, no place to set his plate down. His phone vibrates again. A teenager comes up to peruse the spread in front of him and Sam sighs, knowing what he’s about to do.

“Here,” he says heavily, offering up his beautifully arranged and wonderfully fragrant meal. The cob of corn shining with the butter he lovingly smeared over it nearly rolls over the edge. “You’re the luckiest kid in the world.”

Quickly, Sam turns away, sliding out his phone and bringing it to his ear. He doesn’t want to witness the boy digging in. His stomach growls as he greets Joaquin Torres.

“Sam,” Torres says. “Uh, I mean, sir. Mr. Captain Am… Captain Wil—”

“Take it easy,” Sam laughs. “You know me, Torres. Don’t get starstruck now.”

“Honestly, I never really got over you being the Falcon. Now that you’re Captain America… Apologies if it takes me a little while to be cool about it.” After a pause—taken while Torres attempts to become cool with Sam being Captain America, Sam assumes—he asks, “You celebrating?”

Not far from where Sam’s standing, there are two little girls singing along to their clapping game. At a table behind them, a trio of elderly gentlemen are arguing over which one of them it was that caught that 50-pound snapper off the dock back in 1978. There’s a sear of meat and fish being rotated onto and off of the grill and, bouncing over everything, music from a speaker someplace.

“Yeah,” Sam says with a broad grin. “Yeah, we are. I’d save you a plate, but I can’t even manage to hang onto my own.”

He doesn’t mention that Torres is responsible for that situation; he’s aware that, besides being a fan, the Lieutenant is a little bit infatuated with him. Sam’s trying to be gentle until the day he can respond to Torres with friendly smack-talk, the way he would Steve or Scott or Bucky. Maybe not exactly like he does with Bucky.

“Don’t worry about it,” Torres cheerfully insists. “I wasn’t calling for that, I just wanted to give you a heads up about something.”

“Alright. Let me just…”

Sam strides away from the heart of the party towards the water, seeking quiet. Kids dart in front of him and that’s nothing unusual, but when he follows them with his gaze, he sees they’re running towards Bucky. Bucky, who has his Vibranium arm extended and two kids dangling off it already, one of whom might be Sam’s nephew. Of course, Mr. Casual, Mr. Smiles, Mr. Social Butterfly, is carrying on a conversation like his arm isn’t being used as a jungle gym. A conversation with Sarah.

For just a moment, Sam stops in his tracks, considering whether he should go over there and break up any potential flirting. But then he watches them. Bucky’s just talking to her, not flicking his gaze up and down while he checks her out. And Sarah, she’s relaxed and smiling, totally at ease, like Bucky’s another member of their community. That makes him a friend. Family.

That’s one thought too far and Sam jerks himself into motion again, walking until he’d be swimming with another step.

“What’ve you got for me?”

“Well, I’ve been trying to watch as much of the coverage of the fight outside the GRC vote as I can, trying to get a sense of how they’re spinning Walker’s reappearance, the legacy of the Flag-Smashers now that Karli and her inner circle are gone… Anyway, there’s a lot of footage and you’re at the center of most of it.”

“Guess the new suit draws the eye. And the cameras.” It’s no surprise to Sam. Part of the job of being Captain America.

“Yeah, but…”

“What is it, Torres?”

“Bucky’s in the background a lot,” he explains in a voice that tells Sam there’s more Torres isn’t saying.

“Makes sense. He was in the thick of it as much as I was.”

“He’s there at the end too. When you were talking to the Senator about power and the common struggle. Man, that was a great speech. Do you think—”

“Torres. Please. The point.”

“Right, for sure, man. Bucky never takes his eyes off you.”

That flusters Sam for a second. He wasn’t expecting the blunt delivery, especially of those words. He squints down at the water where it’s lapping the side of the dock. He knew Bucky was there; they spoke right after, when Bucky tried to feed him that bullshit (and he knew it was bullshit at the time) about texting and missing the exact speech Torres is apparently still hung up on.

“So Bucky was actually listening to me,” Sam says carefully. “That’s a surprise, but it isn’t really the kind of thing that’s significant enough for you to bother notifying me about, is it?”

“I’d say that depends on what you consider significant.”

“Torres.”

“I know, but he’s not just listening! It’s how he’s looking at you!”

“Like he’s wishing I would wrap it up?” Oh, Sam remembers Bucky’s miracle from their session with Dr. Raynor.

“Like he’s totally into you! Major heart eyes. Sir,” Torres hastily adds.

And Sam should reprimand him for this. Calling with a trivial piece of information when he must know Sam’s already being very selective about which of the hundreds of recent calls (and it’d be more if more people had this number) he chooses to pick up. Calling to speculate on how Bucky was staring at Sam that night in New York.

“I don’t need to tell you this is gonna be one of those investigations we keep between you and me,” Sam states.

“For sure. I just thought maybe you’d wanna know.”

“Uh huh. You get any real news, you pass it along.”

“I will.”

Sam ends the call and turns. He looks to his right: the sparkling river. His left: his people, all the way down to the squirt with the glasses who’s hanging off a metal arm, and the man that arm belongs to.

He’s felt it, the way that Bucky stares. It’s not like it used to be though, when it irked Dr. Raynor at the police station in Baltimore, or confused Walker and Hoskins in the back of that jeep in Germany. This new stare of Bucky’s isn’t one Sam’s ever caught him doing. Bucky hasn’t quite let him. That’s actually how Sam noticed it was happening—Bucky would immediately glance away instead of leaving that dead expression on his face when Sam met his eye. Now that he has proof of it, proof he’s certain Torres would send him footage of in an instant if he asked, he’s scared to look.

Instead, he watches Bucky look at other people. Like Sarah. Like kids from the neighbourhood. His literal hangers-on disperse as Sam observes, scattered after Bucky leans towards them to say something. Sam sees half his smile and even that much has his heart swelling up in his chest. Bucky weaves through the tables and standing groups, the dancers and the kids who’ve broken out a skipping rope. (After eating from that buffet? Kids are crazy. Gonna make themselves sick.)

Without thinking too hard about it, Sam returns to the noise and the smells, trailing Bucky with a stealthy eye on his ass in those jeans. There’s no friction here between him and everybody else Sam cares about, he can see that in every short, friendly exchange someone engages Bucky in as he walks. Things flow as smoothly as the butter oozing off the corn Sam reluctantly gave up. Clearly, they remember Bucky from when he was here helping with the boat. They respect him. They like him. They’ve gotten to that last thing faster than Sam has, which makes Sam feel a little embarrassed as well as a little overwhelmed by how much the two of them have actually been through. He’s seen Bucky as a mindless killer and it almost brings a genuine tear to his eye—here on this glorious day in front of all these folks—to see the dork who rushed out to get his hands on a copy of The Hobbit in 1937 return in his current form as the dork who’ll take a fake punch from AJ and blush over brazen old women telling him how handsome he is.

Bucky stares different? Well. Sam feels different about the staring.

Sam keeps his distance until Bucky reaches the food, then his stomach gurgles a reminder than he hasn’t eaten yet. No ass is nice enough to distract him from his meal. He sidles up beside him and Bucky seems unsurprised, not even glancing over.

“Anything important?” he asks.

“What?”

“Your phone call,” Bucky clarifies, adding a heap of glossy green beans to his plate. Damn, those are some of Sam’s favourite. Bucky better not take all of them. “They need us somewhere?”

“Oh. No.”

Bucky shoots him a suspicious look after this stilted response, but he doesn’t say anything until Sam grabs a plate of his own, hungry eyes roving the feast that’s diminishing now that people have started coming back for second helpings.

“Put that down,” Bucky instructs. He doesn’t wait; he takes the plate out of Sam’s hand and tosses it back towards the pile. Thankfully, the plates are made of paper.

“Buzz off, man,” Sam tells him, reaching for the plate again. “I’m starving.”

“I figured.”

Wait.

“That’s for me?” he guesses, gazing longingly at the plate Bucky’s preparing.

“Yep.”

When Sam doesn’t reply, Bucky pauses with the plate in one hand and a serving spoon in the other and sighs.

“I didn’t want you to miss the good stuff. This party’s for you.”

“I think it might be for both of us.”

Bucky seems too self-conscious to say anything to that. He goes back to loading up Sam’s plate while Sam quietly feels his throat close up with emotion as he watches. He clears it gruffly.

“I woulda had to eat the cake you brought,” he jokes. “Pretty sure only the really little kids have eaten any. You know, people who don’t know better.”

“I was tryin’ to be a good guest.”

“I can’t believe you brought a store-bought cake,” Sam says, laughing as he grabs a set of cutlery for the second time and continuing to shuffle along next to Bucky.

“Have you ever seen me cook?”

“…No.”

“Exactly. Trust me, what I did was kinder.”

“If you say so.”

“You know what, Sam?” Bucky demands challengingly, turning to face him. “I do say so.”

Sam’s eyes go from the plate Bucky’s holding between them up to Bucky’s face. He’s close. And he’s got this look, this dancing look in his eyes that undercuts the shit out of the hard line of his eyebrows. Trying to seem all stern. All Sam can think for several seconds is that, if he just grabbed Bucky by the chain around his neck and hauled him forward, they’d never get the food stains out of their clothes. But their laundry would smell delicious.

He clears his throat.

“Then you better stay for a while.”

The corner of Bucky’s mouth twitches up and he hands Sam the plate he’s prepared for him.

“I plan to.”

When Sam picks a table to sit at, he makes sure there’s enough room for Bucky too. When Bucky sits next to him, he sits so close that their thighs press together and claims that’s all the space there is. Bucky talks and laughs when other people at the table talk to him. He’s easily drawn into conversation now and Sam feels weirdly proud of having brought this great guy home to meet everybody, even if he’s not here like that. People tells stories about last week and last century interchangeably, one old smartass making Bucky howl with laughter when they toss out a memory of Little Sam Wilson streaking from his house to the river for a naked swim. This is the danger of welcoming Bucky into the community. Sam, suppressing a smile, doesn’t really mind.

Elbows up on the table so he can eat, talk, and gesture emphatically with his fork, Sam feels Bucky’s stare creeping up on him. Slow, like the sun slides across the landscape when the clouds blow past. Bucky didn’t make this food, but Sam can feel his satisfaction as he watches Sam accept what he provided. Feels like there are grasshoppers springing around in his stomach. He still has a roll on his plate, one side soaked in family-secret barbecue sauce, and he tears it in half. While the rest of their table are caught up in some story being boisterously told by overlapping voices, Sam turns to Bucky and wordlessly offers the bread, edges dimpled where he gripped to split it. They watch each other chew and Sam’s closed mouth is smiling.

Inevitably, somebody pulls Sam back into the conversation and he does his best to laugh and heckle, covering the fact that he wasn’t listening, that he dropped the thread. The voices rise and rise and fall like water slopping over the side of a bucket.

In the next quiet moment, Bucky inclines toward him slightly and says, “You wanna talk later?”

And Sam says, “Sure.”

The day feels long, long, long, and Sam’s face gets sore from smiling, tired from talking. He does not confess that to Bucky, who’s almost always at his side. Lights go on overhead and beers come out of coolers, leftover food packed up and redistributed among neighbours, small children with drooping eyelids toted home. At first, Sam thinks Bucky’s leaning into his side because he’s drained from so much socializing too, but when he meets his eye, he just sees an invitation.

“Where are you two goin’?” Sarah asks when they slink past her carrying a too-big Cass in her arms.

“Just walkin’,” Sam tells her.

“Gotta stretch our legs,” Bucky contributes.

She looks from Sam to Bucky and back, smiling knowingly.

“Uh huh,” Sarah says.

Sam grabs Bucky by the shoulder to turn him forcibly away from his sister’s insinuations and just… forgets to let his hand fall as they wander along the water. Bucky’s steps angle towards his until his arm’s bumping Sam’s side, Sam’s arm slung around his shoulders. Is this still the body language of a couple buddies on a warm Delacroix night? Is it now, when Sam drops his arm and brushes the back of his hand across Bucky’s?

They leave the party lights on the horizon with the lazily setting sun, scrabbling off the end of the dock and onto the riverbank. Sam reaches up to give Bucky a hand down, so he won’t step in the soft mud and sink to his ankles. Bucky clasps his hand firmly and jumps.

The sound of people drops off down here and the sound of wind in grass, frogs hiding between reeds, rises.

“Are there alligators in here?” Bucky wonders, scanning the river’s edge.

Sam laughs.

“For sure.”

“And you swam here when you were a kid?”

“Even then,” Sam boasts, puffing his chest out, “my courage was legendary.”

“Yeah, and your nudity. Is there anyone within a mile of here who hasn’t seen your bare ass?”

Their eye contact holds. Oh right. Sam breaks away with an awkward, hiccupping laugh, directing his gaze at the dirt.

“The gators haven’t gathered too close to the dock in decades,” he promises Bucky. He stares out at the undisturbed water, enjoying the sun on his face. “Got skittish of the boats. Most of ’em, anyway.”

“Consider me not entirely reassured.”

“You scared of a little Louisiana lizard, man? Didn’t you grow up with Creature from the Black Lagoon?”

“Nah, that was after my time.”

“Damn, you’re old.”

Bucky snorts a laugh, refusing to look at him.

“You wanna take a dip?” Sam goads.

“No.”

But by the time Sam’s pulling his shirt over his head, Bucky’s peeling off his socks. Sam spares him a smile and keeps going, the ground soft underfoot. It could be like the few times they’ve changed in proximity to one another before, but it’s not. He senses Bucky’s eyes on him the whole time. Face hot, he takes a quick look in Bucky’s direction as he’s unzipping his jeans. His heart feels like his new suit—wings just waiting to unfurl.

When they’re down to their underwear, they wade in.

God, it feels nice. The water’s cool and the sun’s clinging to the horizon.

“Just don’t get any water in your mouth,” Sam instructs, then dunks his face and comes up squirting water at Bucky from between the gap in his front teeth, a trick he perfected as a kid. “That arm ain’t gonna rust, right?”

“You asked for this,” Bucky warns. He points a menacing finger and plunges below the surface.

Sam twists as he treads water, trying to see what’s going on down there, searching for a ripple or bubbles of released air. His legs move in twitchy kicks because that’s where he’s expecting Bucky to grab him. But the idiot is playing some kind of psychological game first, making Sam wait a full minute. Two minutes. Three.

He’s opening his mouth to call out Bucky’s name when he breaks the surface. Sam’s ready to swap the concern he was about to form into words into a taunt instead—did Bucky get down there and decide the scariest thing he could do was let Sam’s imagination take over?—until Bucky shakes his head and slicks his hair back. Then the words get caught in Sam’s throat and he just kinda stares.

“There was a really gross fish down there,” Bucky informs him. “Do you guys have eels there? Mighta been an eel. Maybe we should get out.”

“Alrighty, scaredy-cat, let’s get you to shore.”

Bucky propels himself out in front, arms moving in powerful strokes, and Sam’s hand darts out on instinct, fingers closing around Bucky’s hard calf muscle. Bucky jerks and Sam burst into loud laughter.

“Did you think that was an eel? Did you?”

“You’re lucky I…”

I’m lucky you what? Sam wants to ask when Bucky trails off, but he just swims after him.

During their game/possible eel panic (there’s no way it was an eel), they weren’t always fighting the current, so they’ve drifted downstream some. Bucky takes sloppy, sloshing steps out of the water, underwear that might’ve been light grey now dark and plastered to his ass. Sam feels like he’s choked on river water, though his mouth is dry. He lumbers out too and they begin the march back in the direction of the dock and their clothes. The water tickles as it runs down Sam’s legs; must be bugging Bucky too because he plucks his waistband away from his skin before letting it snap back. Clenching his jaw, Sam stops himself from trying to see too much.

This end of the dock is made of old boards before it transitions to pavement farther down, wood smooth on Sam’s feet when he and Bucky haul themselves up, dropping their collected clothes and shoes into a single pile. No point getting dressed until they’re dry, so they sit on the edge of the dock, feet swinging. Feels good. Feels home. They don’t speak until the sun’s set, the sky orange, then grey, then rich, velvety blue.

“You know, don’t you?” Bucky asks softly.

“Know?”

“Yeah, you know. Whenever you don’t know something, you talk and talk—”

“Sometimes I can work through a problem better if I vocalize,” Sam explains.

“But when you do know,” Bucky goes on, ignoring Sam’s input, “you’re quiet.” He looks at Sam. “You’re quiet.”

What else is Sam? Nervous. His skin’s prickling with it, and because even the warm air feels cold when he’s just climbed out of the river. There’s a wet patch spreading around him that he can barely see with evening rapidly deepening into night. He lifts a hand from the dock and sweeps it up his neck, brushing water droplets away.

Without glancing over, he says, “You’re doing that thing you do.”

“What?”

“Staring. That new stare you do.”

“Maybe,” Bucky acknowledges. A bird starts calling, the sound drifting in and away like the sway of a hypnotist’s watch and Bucky’s silent until it’s over. “Maybe I’m staring for the same reason you’re quiet.”

Sam waits. Bucky doesn’t add anything, so Sam turns to look at his face, hung with cool shadows.

“You’re not gonna say it, are you?”

“I thought you would say it,” Bucky argues defensively.

“You’re the one who’s been staring at me like that for a week. You should go first!”

“Please, you don’t even know how I’m staring at you, I only do it when you’re not looking.”

“Do it now then and see what happens,” Sam dares him.

“Fine.”

Just like that, Bucky locks in like Sam’s attention is the only handhold on a sheer cliffside. Vital and stable, a last chance, the one thing around him that wants to help him higher instead of watching him fall. A lot of that’s familiar from his regular hard stare, but then something opens up behind his eyes. Some fragile thing (that might be Bucky’s sense of caution) breaks. Suddenly, Sam’s seeing what Joaquin saw in the news footage and amateur cell phone video. Except he’s seeing it two feet in front of him. It’s intense. It makes the air a little harder to breathe.

Bucky’s lips curve into a smile, then part as he says, “I love—”

Hopefully, he wasn’t going to end that sentence with ‘store-bought cake,’ because Sam can’t really take back his reaction. The finger slipping behind Bucky’s ear as he cradles his face, the mouth sealed to his. Especially that. Thankfully, Bucky kisses him back, just as hard, and then harder.

“Thank god,” Sam pants when they break apart.

“You interrupted me.”

“I got you to stop talking? Guess we’re in my miracle.”

“I’d complain…” Bucky shrugs. “…but your miracle is pretty nice.”

“Not bad, right?”

He sighs and looks out over the water. Bucky pushes up on his fists and sits closer, offering his hand for Sam to interlace their fingers.

“Hey,” Sam prompts when it hits him that it’s super dark outside and they aren’t gonna dry much more like this, “did you book a hotel room again?”

“You kiddin’ me? I spent all my money on that cake.”

Sam laughs.

“Right, well, I guess you need a place to stay tonight then.”

“You know anything nearby?” Bucky asks with a soft smile.

Getting to his feet and bracing to pull Bucky up after him, Sam uses his free hand to motion towards their clothing pile.

“Put your pants on,” he says, “and I’ll see what I can do.”

[walkswithmyfather]

“But we are citizens of heaven, where the Lord Jesus Christ lives. And we are eagerly waiting for him to return as our Savior. He will take our weak mortal bodies and change them into glorious bodies like his own, using the same power with which he will bring everything under his control.” —Philippians 3:20‭-‬21 (NLT)

“Find Joy In All Things” Devotional (Day 4 of 5) - “A Call to Joy” By Melissa B. Kruger

“While shackled in chains, Paul rejoiced. What could have brought such joy to his heart while enduring terrible pain and unjust circumstances? Paul understood that his spiritual rescue could never be taken from him. When everything else was dark, his salvation brought him joy.

The book of Philippians calls us to a life of joy. In salvation, God gives us a joy that rests on something more secure than anything on earth. Our joy rests in Jesus: His perfect life, His sacrificial death, His miraculous resurrection.

Even though we’ve made mistakes and even though we continue to struggle with sin, if we are in Christ, nothing can separate us from God’s love. We have an eternal source of joy available to us.

Jesus faithfully reminded His followers that the basis of their joy was not their ministry success but the fact that God had rescued and redeemed them. Salvation is the greatest gift we can ever receive. Our rescue is the source of abundant joy. This is the gospel or the “good news.”

In the Greco-Roman world, the term gospel was often used by the emperor after a successful battle. He would send his envoy ahead of him, declaring the “good news” of victory. It led to rejoicing and celebration for all under the emperor’s reign.

When Paul shared the gospel of God with the people of Philippi, he spoke as an envoy of a heavenly victory. This same good news has traveled two thousand years to reach you and me today.

The sin that entrapped us, that bound us fast, has been overcome. The judgment you and I rightly deserved has been pardoned! Christ’s death on the cross paid the penalty of our sin, and His resurrection assures our victory. Just as He was given a new body, so we will be given new bodies. As He now reigns at the Father’s side, so we will reign with Him.

We have much to celebrate. No matter what happens in our lives, if we’re under the reign of Christ, victory is secured. We may face hardships, struggles, relational discord, physical illness, and other painful trials as we journey. But we will overcome in the end. All will be made right. One day we’ll be home with our King, fully at rest and secure for eternity.

How does an eternal perspective change your view of your life today?”

Philippians 1:3‭-‬11. “I thank God every time I remember you. And I always pray for all of you with joy. I thank God for the help you gave me while I told people the Good News. You helped from the first day you believed until now. I am sure that the good work God began in you will continue until he completes it on the day when Jesus Christ comes again. I know I am right to think like this about all of you because you are so close to my heart. This is because you have all played such an important part in God’s grace to me—now, during this time that I am in prison, and whenever I am defending and proving the truth of the Good News. God knows that I want very much to see you. I love all of you with the love of Christ Jesus. This is my prayer for you: that your love will grow more and more; that you will have knowledge and understanding with your love; that you will see the difference between what is important and what is not and choose what is important; that you will be pure and blameless for the coming of Christ; that your life will be full of the many good works that are produced by Jesus Christ to bring glory and praise to God.” (ERV)

[Photo by Nathan Anderson]

[josefavomjaaga]

“The object he must adore all his life”

In one of my last posts with excerpts from Hortense’s memoirs, Hortense mentions Labédoyère. So I went back to check when she mentions him first in volume 1. It was worth it, as it’s actually yet another gem in Hortense’s writings. - This takes place in winter 1806/7. Napoleon is in Poland. Hortense is technically already queen of Holland but so far has hardly spent a couple of weeks in this country. Instead she chooses to accompany Josephine to Mainz, where the French ladies hold court and let themselves be celebrated.

In Mainz, regiments were organized, called Guards of Honour [...]

[...] or rather "gendarmes d'ordonnance", as Hortense's editor corrects her in a footnote. The Guards of Honour only came into existence in 1813. But who cares what they are called as long as they are young and dashing, right?

[...], composed of young men from the best and richest families in France who, rather than starting out as soldiers in the rank and file, had formed a corps.

Not that there was any kind of elitism going on, mind you.

The Emperor had given the command to M. de Montmorency-Laval. Marshal Kellermann, in charge of the organisation, was to appoint officers from among these very young men. M. de Talleyrand asked me one day to recommend to him M. de La Bédoyère, cousin of M. de Flahaut. So many reasons to interest me in him! I obtained a brevet of second lieutenant; he came to thank me for it. The officers went to my mother's house in the evening. I spoke more to this one than to anyone else. The desire to give a good opinion of oneself to someone we love is so natural that, without being aware of our impressions, we are inclined to seek out more those who have ties of kinship or friendship with him, who can finally maintain him from us. We spend more effort on their behalf, perhaps because we have nothing to be concerned about, because if we are talking to them, we are thinking of someone else.

In other words, she did her best to charm and bewitch the poor guy. Quite by accident, of course. It's not as if Hortense would ever do that on purpose!

M. de La Bédoyère was a young man full of exaltation and romantic ideas, concealed under cold forms. He served his country against the wishes of his parents and against his own inclinations, which, though unfavourable to the Emperor, had not been able to prevent him from taking up a service honourable in his eyes.

Because as a true gentleman, you gotta serve some kind of monarch, I suppose? Even if it's some third-class self-made monarch like that Bonaparte guy?

His appearance and his figure were beautiful to notice, his character wild. An enemy of the great world, he wore a fierce air and a sometimes sharp tone. He was feared but not loved, especially by women, and seemed to them a severe and ironic censor. However, as an admirer of Mme de Staël, [...]

! o_O

[...] with whom he had played tragedy at Coppet, for he declaimed as well as Talma, his fair and elevated mind had taught him that success in the salons was not worth the honour in battle, and he had left everything for a more brilliant and glorious role. The discussions I had with him were all about elevation and generosity of feeling. I was far from foreseeing, I confess, that they would give rise to an opinion in him that was far too flattering and which, afterwards, could be detrimental to his happiness.

It's truely a tragedy how these things always seem to happen to Hortense. 

She and her mother then spend some time in Frankfurt, where Dalberg organises balls and masquerades for them. Apparently, the new courtly soldiers accompany them.

[...] On my return to Mainz, M. de La Bédoyère assured me that he had seen a mask with whom he had spoken a great deal and that he would repeat to me, if I wished, all his conversation, that he had written it down in its entirety, and that he asked my permission to hand it over to me the next day.

Which, of course, is not a weird thing to do at all. "Hey, Queen o'Holland, I've been talking to this total stranger at a masked ball, a guy whom I've never met before and who in no way resembles me, and I've noted down all he said about you. Wanna read?" - Of course somebody as modest and tactful as Hortense can only react in one way:

Curious to know if anyone had spoken about me, I received the paper and, as some banter had taken place in the salon, on my return home I began to read aloud, in front of the ladies around me, the most delicate and well-turned declaration, but so flattering and indirect that I did not dare think it for myself.

So what? Publicly reading out love letters aloud and making fun of them before our friends kinda is a family tradition among us Beauharnais ladies. So there.

For a long time, he said, he had been dreaming of an ideal perfection. The world had taught him how rare that which is worthy of being loved is. He followed the common road through the distractions with which it is strewn, with the indifference of contempt and the regret of his chimera. At the moment when he despairs of ever meeting her, she offers herself to his eyes: same goodness, same gentleness, same virtue. This, then, is the object he must adore all his life. He knows his misfortune; he knows all that keeps him away. Perfection itself is a greater obstacle than position.

Translation: Now that I have recognised you in all your perfection and unattainability, I hereby make a fervent confession of love to you and all your feminine virtue, which I hope will be enough for you to disregard the latter in my case, and thus render yourself a little less unattainable.

But at least he has found what he was looking for. His ideas will no longer be lost in vagueness, and the exaltation of his feelings will have something to settle on. She who could not hide behind a mask will now become the motive of his actions, the guide of his destiny, the only thought that will animate him for good and turn him away from evil. He would have needed to express in person what he barely dares to confide to paper. She could not have taken offence at this from the mouth of a man who was leaving, perhaps never to return. He ended by begging the person who had requested this writing to also pardon it.

Seriously now, who would tell something like this in her memoirs, and at such length? Even if this really happened, what’s the pupose of including it in such great detail, except to add another notch to your belt and to be allowed to stress how utterly perfect you are?

Particularly as this is far from the only similar scene in Hortense’s memoirs. According to contemporaries, she actually personally read out chapters from her memoirs aloud whenever she had visitors. I kinda hope this scene was never among them; it would have been very awkward.

Charles de la Bédoyère, drawn by Hortense

[amjustagirl]

Chapters: one. ~ two. ~ three. ~ four. ~ five. ~ six. ~ seven. ~ eight.

Wordcount: 2.4k

Summary: Being with Miya Atsumu is like chasing a storm - equal parts exhilaration and danger. After all, it’s impossible to tame a storm.

AO3 Link here 

Masterlist here

Their daughter enters the world squalling, tiny and pink and bloodied and somewhat wrinkled but healthy which is all that really matters), and Atsumu’s eyes widen before immediately filling with tears when the doctor places her in his arms.  

‘You did amazin’, darlin’ he whispers, running his finger against their daughter’s cheek reverently. ‘She’s perfect’. 

‘Make sure you count ten fingers and toes before you say that’, she manages to say before dropping her head back into the pillow, bone weary from her labour, and he laughs through his tears. 

They name her Shino, which means stem of bamboo. She reasons that if their daughter is going to take the Miya family name, she should in fairness have a name that represents her side of the family – and besides, she’d always been drawn to the whimsicalness of the tale of the bamboo cutter, but thought naming her baby ‘Kaguya’ might be a little on the nose. Atsumu’s grandmother isn’t terribly pleased, but her stoic father bursts into tears when they tell him, and immediately sends over a crate full of toys carved out of the bamboo from their family’s ancestral grove. 

The press has a field day when MSBY’s PR team releases news of their marriage and Shino’s birth, but thankfully the full weight of the team’s PR machine manages to twist the coverage to repackage Atsumu’s image as a wholesome family man, so the articles remain relatively positive. Still, they’re forced to sit through a number of photo shoots to keep the press happy, and she shudders at the office gossip she knows she’ll have to face when she returns back to work. 

His teammates crowd to greet Shino when she brings her out for one of their matches for the first time. Atsumu presents Shino proudly to his teammates - ‘look at what I made’,  he demands, dangling her in his hands so they can ooh and ahh over the little girl - ‘ I learnt it from one of  those kiddie cartoons I watched at night when she wouldn’t sleep!’ he tells her later when she scolds him for the precarious hold.

She has to shoo Hinata and Bokuto away when they try to hand Shino a volleyball, the ball looking comically big against the baby girl. Sakusa stands at a respectful distance away, but hands her an adorable onesie in MSBY’s black and gold, wrapped carefully in plastic. The corner of his eyes crinkle behind his mask when he tells her it’s so Shino can support them properly at their next game. 

‘Aww, Omi-omi! I always knew you liked me deep down inside’ Atsumu crows, bouncing on the balls of his feet and clapping his hands.

‘You’re insane to marry him’, Sakusa tells her, refusing to even acknowledge Atsumu’s tomfoolery.

‘Maybe I am’, she grins, warmth furling and unfurling in her chest. 

Despite her initial fears, Atsumu falls head over heels for Shino, and continues to allow their baby daughter to wrap him around her tiny finger. He wakes up without complaint for night feedings, spends nights pacing their little apartment coaxing Shino to bed, and straps her on his broad chest for what his pronounces ‘daddy-daughter’ adventures during the off-season when she’s away during the day for work. On weekends, they bring Shino to the park to watch the birds and the clouds in the sky, to the aquarium to watch the fish in the sea, and to the museum to marvel at dinosaur bones from a distant past. 

It’s at the museum that Shino says her first word, sitting between Atsumu’s legs in the museum sandbox, digging her chubby hands in the sand in search of fake fossils. 

‘Say that again’, Atsumu laughs wetly, pressing kisses to the top of their little girl’s head. 

‘Oto-san!’, Shino crows, the look on her face so reminiscent of Atsumu’s expression whenever he’s pleased with herself that she’s torn between feeling pride at her precocious little girl - and horror that she’s going to have her hands full with a mini-Atsumu. 

‘You’re daddy’s little girl, aren’t you, princess?’ Atsumu says proudly, and Shino claps her hands as he cuddles her close to his chest. He later tries his level best to empty out the museum gift store of toys to commemorate the day and she has to slap his hands from tossing in  ‘just one more toy’  into their checkout basket.  

‘Are you happy, ‘Tsumu?’ she asks him later, after they put Shino to bed. 

‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ he asks with a puzzled frown. ‘I have everything I need.’ 

‘Just checking’, she replies, her doubts forgotten when he tugs her into bed. 

For Shino’s first birthday, both their families squeeze into their apartment to celebrate by strapping a giant piece of mochi that Osamu made to her back, a tradition to rid young children of any impurities. Atsumu nearly trips over himself trying to capture a photo of the auspicious moment Shino falls over on her butt, and showers kisses on her proudly when she does not cry. 

They also carry out the erabitori ceremony, setting in front of Shino several objects symbolising the various paths she might choose in the future. Aside from the common items like an abacus, writing brush or books, her brothers insist on including a knife (sheathed, of course), earning raised eyebrows of Atsumus’s family. Osamu tosses in a kitchen spoon and Atsumu naturally places a volleyball right in the center of the spread. 

‘Cheatin’ pig’, Osamu mutters when Shino ends up picking the volleyball (attracted by its bright colours, he maintains), but Atsumu ignores him, tossing the little girl in the air in delight.

‘Darlin’, come take a look at this! Kageyama-kun’s playing his first game in Rome, and it looks like - I can’t believe this, why does his technique look better than before?! What - is the water he’s drinkin’ overseas magic or something? How’s he getting so good?’ 

‘Tsumu, could you keep it down? I just got Shino to bed, and I really need to finish the work I didn’t have time to do ‘cos I took over her pick-up today’. She replies wearily, typing furiously at her laptop. 

‘Sorry. I’ll pop over to chat with ‘Samu then, be back late!’

She nods distractedly as she hears the door click behind her back. 

‘I can’t believe I screwed up so badly at practice today’ Atsumu grouses, chin propped up on the wooden countertop of Onigiri Miya in between mouthfuls of food. ‘I kept missing my serves, and then that asshole Omi-omi dared to laugh when I ran around trying to get my head back into the game –‘ 

‘Tsumu’. Osamu cuts in, setting another onigiri in front of him. ‘As much as I want to listen to you complain about your no-good, very-bad day, could’ya help your poor wife out a little bit?’ 

‘Thanks ‘Samu’, she musters the energy to give him a distracted smile, juggling a bowl of rice porridge she’s trying to persuade Shino to eat and preventing said little girl from smearing rice grains all over the place.

Atsumu plops Shino onto his lap, and continues talking over her head. She takes the opportunity to stuff her face with food –  glorious food, and doesn’t notice when he maintains a sullen silence as they walk home. 

A hush ripples across the stands like a tsunami when Atsumu gets substituted midway during the last set of the match. She isn’t surprised, not when he started playing badly during the set – there was a little kid that screeched just as he was about to serve, and he’d hit the ball way out of bounds. That had been the start of his downward spiral during the game – his dump shots got picked up, his blocks weren’t quite on point, and worst of all – he’d somehow managed to misjudge the timing of a toss to Hinata-kun, the ginger haired spiker looking confused when the ball missed his hand. 

He’d stormed off the court the minute the referee’s whistle sounded, frustration and anger written all over his face and she’d made a beeline for the locker room, tucking a sleeping Shino into her carrier. She can hear him yelling (at himself, most likely) and the distinct sound of flesh hitting metal, and is about to burst in to comfort him when Sakusa steps neatly in front of her to block her way. 

‘Sakusa-kun’, she greets him, eyes darting towards the door. 

‘Miya-san’, he nods at her, face already hidden behind his usual mask. ‘I don’t think it’s a good idea to disturb him just yet.’ 

She opens her mouth to object, but Meian Shugo, the team’s broad shouldered, good natured captain, plants a hand on her shoulder to gently steer her away. ‘It’s not a pleasant sight when he’s in a funk’, he tells her quietly. ‘Let us deal with it, we’re used to him. Do you need me to call you a cab?’

‘He’s my husband – I should be the one to deal with him’ , she wants to say – but doesn’t, because Shino jolts awake and starts to wail. ‘It’s fine’, she does say, hushing her little girl. ‘I’ll hitch a ride home with ‘Samu instead’.

She meant to stay up to wait for Atsumu, give him his usual kiss and listen to him talk about his day, but she’s out like a light when her head hits the pillow (it’s been a long day, in her defense) , and she has to leave in the morning for work before he wakes.    

‘Everyone has their off days, but you’re an incredible setter, you know?’ she does tell him that night over dinner. Shino squeals and smashes her hand into the bowl of food. 

‘Of course I am’, he frowns at her, almost as if he thinks it’s odd for her to even feel the need to say that, and turns away to ruffle Shino’s hair.

She waits by herself in the lobby of her office building for five minutes before she gives in to her impatience and calls him. 

‘Tsumu? Weren’t we supposed to meet for lunch today?’ 

‘Oh shit – I’m sorry, doll, I promised Hinata-kun that I’ll come in for extra practice today. I’ll make it up to you some other day, ok?’ 

She sighs through her nose. ‘Ok – have fun dear’, she replies reluctantly, and he ends the call before she can say any more. 

She can feel the gaze of her colleagues on her back, and plasters a smile on her face before marching off to her favourite dessert place, comforting herself with a box of mochi. She buys an extra box for Osamu (they had a specialty flavour just for the season, and she knows he’s been dying to try that) , and drops it off on the way back home. 

Atsumu complains about only getting one piece of mochi when Osamu sends him a picture of her gift – she can imagine him gloating even though the picture is unaccompanied by any text. 

‘You don’t even like chestnut!’ she scolds Atsumu, and he sulks. 

‘Tsumu! Could you come help zip me into my dress?’ she calls, checking her watch impatiently. The babysitter should arrive in five minutes to take care of Shino for the night while they’re away at the team’s annual gala party.

‘Yknow’, we’d get there a lot faster if you hadn’t sold your old scooter’, he tells her, as he steps into the room, immaculately dressed in his best suit. 

‘I told you – it’s not practical to keep a scooter around when we have a young child’, she answers, already weary of a conversation they’ve had multiple times before. 

‘I’m just sayin’, he says lightly. ‘Oof – sorry, darlin’, the zip ain’t budgin’. 

‘But it fit perfectly fine the last time I wore it’, she frowns. 

‘You must’ve put on some weight’, he says absently, the heat of his hand burning on her hip even after he walks away. 

‘Tsumu, seriously? I told you yesterday morning that we’re out of milk powder and diapers!’ she growls into her phone, cramming her way onto the subway. ‘Fine – whatever, you go for training, I’ll deal with it myself’, she ends the call, dropping her phone like a hot stone into her pocket. 

She runs to the supermarket during her lunch break, cursing herself for wearing heels instead of more comfortable flats, picking up two packs of diapers, a double can of milk powder, and a pack of wipes on discount - all things Atsumu should have picked up last night, but he claimed he was too busy with training and club events to pay attention to a simple errand like this – 

She’s so lost in her thoughts she doesn’t notice when her foot misses the curb and lands on her knees in the dust, the contents of her bags spilling onto the road. There are scores of people on the street but no one stops to offer their assistance, so she ignores the searing pain to pick her precious supplies up before they’re lost in the crowd. 

The blood from the cuts on her knees drips down her calves, and she limps her way back to the office.  

‘Trouble in paradise?’ Yuna-san asks with a curious smirk on her face when she heads back to her seat, eyes red, knees wrapped with white bandages. 

‘No, nothing like that’, she answers the office gossip, keeping her voice deliberately light. 

Atsumu only grunts when she asks him that night how his day went, kneeling down to greet Shino with a hug. 

‘Won’t be stayin’ for dinner, got a team event at night’, Atsumu calls out to her, one foot out of the door. 

‘What? You should’ve told me earlier, I’m already halfway through preparing dinner’, she shouts back, hacking at the vegetables on the chopping board with a vengeance. 

His only reply is a slam of the door, which startles Shino enough to cry. In her hurry to get to her daughter, her hand on the knife slips, and she cuts open her hand. 

The space beside her remains empty throughout the night, and she falls asleep pretending the only pain she feels is from the bleeding gash on her hand. She’s so exhausted she does not wake until her alarm rings, not even when the surge of rain overnight batters her windows and water floods the streets. 

[letterboxd]

Wigging Out.

Choreographer and director Jonathan Butterell tells Gemma Gracewood about stepping behind the camera for Everybody’s Talking About Jamie, his love for Sheffield, and making sure queer history is kept alive. Richard E. Grant weighs in on tolerance and Thatcher.

Of 2021’s many conundrums, one for musical lovers is why the narratively problematic Dear Evan Hansen gets a TIFF premiere and theatrical release this month, while the joyously awaited Everybody’s Talking About Jamie went straight to Amazon Prime.

And yet, as the show’s lyrics go, life keeps you guessing, along came a blessing. There’s something about the film streaming onto young people’s home screens, with its moments of fourth-wall breaking where Jamie speaks straight to the viewer, that feels so important, given the content: a gay teen whose drag-queen destiny sits at odds with the less ambitious expectations of his working-class town.

Director and choreographer Jonathan Butterell, who also helmed the stage production (itself inspired by Jenny Popplewell’s 2011 BBC documentary, Jamie: Drag Queen at 16) agrees that the worldwide Amazon release is a very good silver lining. “I made the film for the cinema but, in 250 territories across the world, this is going to have a reach that—don’t get me wrong, cinema, cinema, cinema, collective experience, collective experience, collective experience—but it will get to people that it might not have got to before.

Jonathan Butterell on set with star Max Harwood, as Jamie.

“It feels as niche a story as you could possibly be. But also for me, I wanted it to feel like a universal story, that it didn’t matter where on any spectrum you found yourself, you could understand a young person wanting to take their place in the world freely, openly and safely.”

Everybody’s Talking About Jamie, with screenplay and lyrics by Tom MacRae and songs by Dan Gillespie Sells, sits neatly among a series of very specific feel-good British films about the working class experience, such as Billy Elliot, Kinky Boots and Pride. The film adds some historical weight to the story with a new song, ‘This Was Me’, which allows Jamie’s mentor, Hugo (played by Richard E. Grant), to take us into England’s recent past—the dark days of the discriminatory Section 28 laws, at a time when the HIV/AIDS epidemic was still ravaging the community.

Hugo’s drag persona Loco Chanelle (played in the flashback by the stage musical’s original Jamie—John McCrea from Cruella and God’s Own Country), sports a wig that looks suspiciously like the Iron Lady’s unmistakable head of hair. Grant confirms that was Hugo’s intention. “His heyday was in the 1980s, so as a ‘fuck you’ to Mrs Thatcher, what better than to be dressed up like that, at six-foot-eight, with a wig that could bring down the Taj Mahal!”

Richard E. Grant as Hugo, getting to work on Jamie’s contours.

In light of the current pandemic, and the fact that the 1967 legalization of homosexuality in Britain is only “an historical blink away”, Grant’s hope is for more tolerance in the world. “Maybe Covid gives people some sense of what that was like, but with Covid there’s not the prejudice against you, whereas AIDS, for the most part in my understanding, was [seen as] a ‘gay disease’, and there were many people across the globe who thought that this was, you know, whatever god they believe in, was their way of punishing something that they thought was unacceptable.

“The message of this movie is of inclusivity, diversity, and more than ever, tolerance. My god, we could do with a dose of that right now.”

Read on for our Q&A with Jonathan Butterell about the filmic influences behind Everybody’s Talking About Jamie.

Hugo in a reverie, surrounded by his drag menagerie.

Can we talk about the new song, ‘This Was Me’, and the way you directed it in the film? It’s a show-stopper, with Richard E. Grant singing in that beautiful high register, and then moving into Holly Johnson’s singing, as you go back in time to show that deeply devastating and important history. Jonathan Butterell: It felt inevitable, the shift, and necessary. Myself, Dan Gillespie Sells, the composer, and Tom MacRae, the screenwriter, we created this piece together, the three of us, and it’s a film by the three of us. We lived through that time, we went on those marches. Actually, in one of those marches [shown in flashback], Dan’s mum—actual mum—is in a wheelchair, by a young boy who was holding a plaque saying “my mum’s a lesbian and I love her”.

That is Dan with his mum back in the day, and it all speaks to our stories and it moves me, I can see it’s moving you. It moves me because I lived through that time, and it was a complex time for a young person. It was a time that you felt you had to be empowered in order to fight, and you felt very vulnerable because of the need to fight. And because of that disease, because HIV was prevalent and we lost people—we lost close people—it was a difficult time. I wanted to make sure that that story kept being told and was passed on to the next generation.

It’s so important isn’t it, to walk into the future facing backwards? It still exists, that need to fight still exists. The conversation, yes, has moved on, has changed, but not for all people and not in all communities.

What would be your go-to movie musical song at a karaoke night? My goodness. There’d be so many.

I mean, is it going to be a Cabaret, a Chicago showstopper, or something more Mary Poppins, something from Rent? I think what I would go to, which is what I remember as a little boy, is Curly singing ‘Oh, What A Beautiful Mornin’. It’s such a kind of perfect, beautiful, simple song. That, and ‘The Lonely Goatherd’, because I just want to yodel. It would be epic. Trust me.

What is the best film featuring posing and why is it Paris Is Burning? It’s always Paris Is Burning. Back in the day, I was obsessed with Paris Is Burning, I was obsessed with that world. In fact, at one moment I even met [director] Jennie Livingston in trying to make a theater piece inspired by that. I lived in New York for eleven years and I met Willi Ninja. I just adored everything about him, and he would tell me stories. And again, it was so removed from the boy from Sheffield, I mean so far. That New York ballroom scene was so removed from my world, but I got it. Those two boys at the top of the film, I just wanted to be one of those boys who just hung out outside the club.

Harwood and Butterell on set, with Lauren Patel (right) as Jamie’s bestie Pritti Pasha.

What films did you and Tom and Dan look at to get a feeling for how to present the musical numbers? Actually, a lot of pop videos, from present day to past. There’s an homage, in the black-and-white sequences, to a little ‘Vogue’ Madonna moment. Pop is very central to me in this story because pop is what a working-class kid from a working-class community will be listening to. That’s in his phone, that’s in his ears. Not that many young people listen to much radio at this moment in time, but that’s what will be on Margaret’s radio, that’s what’s coming into the kitchen. And that was central to the storytelling for me.

Bob Fosse also really influenced me, and particularly All That Jazz and where his flights of imagination take him. I felt that was so appropriate for Jamie, and again in a very, very different way, but I could see how Jamie’s imagination could spark something so fantastical that would lead him to dance, lead him to walk on the most amazing catwalk, lead into being in the most fabulous, fabulous nightclub with the most amazing creatures you’ve ever met in your life.

For me personally, the film that most inspired me was Ken Loach’s Kes, because that is my community. Both the world in which Jamie exists—Parsons Cross council estate, is my world, is my community—and the world of that young boy, finding his place in the world with his kestrel friend, I remember identifying with that boy so clearly. He was very different from me, very different. But I got him, and I felt like Ken Loach got me through him.

Ken Loach made a few films set in Sheffield, didn’t he? But also, Sheffield is a setting and an influence on The Full Monty, The History Boys, Funny Cow and that brilliant Pulp documentary. So Jamie feels like a natural successor. It absolutely does. Sheffield’s where I grew up, it’s my hometown. Although I moved away from it, I always return. To have a chance to celebrate my community, and particularly that community in Parsons Cross council estate. If you’re in Sheffield and you’re in a taxi and you said, “Take me to Parsons Cross,” they’d say, “Well, I’ll drop you there, but I’m not staying.” Because again there’s a blinkered view of that community. And I know that community to be proud, glorious and beautiful.

And yes, that community, particularly through the ’80s, really suffered because some of that community would serve the steelworks and had three generations of unemployment, so they became disenfranchised because of that. But the community I grew up in, my Auntie Joan, who lived on that road, literally on that road, was a proud, working class, glorious woman who served chips at school.

Aside from Everybody’s Talking About Jamie, what would be the most important queer British cinematic story to you? (And how do you choose between My Beautiful Laundrette and God’s Own Country?!) You can’t. My Beautiful Laundrette influenced me so much because, one, Daniel Day Lewis was extraordinary in that film, and two, because of the cross-cultural aspect of it. I went, “I know this world”, because again I grew up in that world. And it affirmed something in me, which is the power and the radicalness of who I could be and what I could be.

With God’s Own Country, when I saw that film—and that was Francis’ first film, which I thought was extraordinary for a first-time filmmaker—I knew he knew that world from the inside, from the absolute inside. And I know what that rural community was like. I read that script, because we share agents, and I was blown away by it—again, because of the two cultures coming together.

Jamie Campbell, the film’s real-life inspiration, with screen-Jamie Max Harwood.

Richard E. Grant’s character, Hugo, is such a pivotal mentor for Jamie. What did you need to hear from a mentor when you were sixteen? Don’t let yourself hold yourself back, because I think it was me who put some limitations on myself. And of course I came from a working-class community. I was a queer kid in a tough British comprehensive school. And did I experience tough times? Yes I did. And did I deal with those tough times? Yes I did. But the song that speaks to me mostly in this is ‘Wall in my Head’, in which Jamie takes some responsibility for the continuation of those thoughts, continuations of the sorts of shame, and that’s a sophisticated thing for a sixteen-year-old boy to tackle.

I also was lucky enough to have a mother like Margaret—and a dad like Margaret as well, just to be clear! And I remember my mum, at seventeen when I left home, just leaving a little note on my bed. It was quite a long letter. She said, Jonathan, you’ve probably chosen to walk a rocky path, but don’t stray from it, don’t steer away from it. That’s the path you've chosen, there may be rock-throwers along the way, but you’ll find your way through it. That stayed with me and I think that’s what resonates with me. And when I saw that documentary, Jamie: Drag Queen at 16, I felt that that sparked the need for me to tell that story.

Sarah Lancashire as Jamie’s mum, Margaret New.

We need more mums and dads like Margaret, don’t we? We do, we do. And the wonderful thing is, Margaret Campbell will say it and I think Margaret New in the film will say it: she’s not a Saint, she’s an ordinary mum. And she has to play catch up and she doesn’t understand in many ways, and she gets things wrong and she overprotects. But she comes from one place and that is a mum’s love of her child and wanting them to take their place safely in the world and to be fully and totally themselves.

Related content

Eternal Alien’s list of films Made in Sheffield

Letterboxd’s Camp Showdown

Persephon’s list of films recommended by drag queens

Passion’s list of films mentioned by Jaymes Mansfield in her Drag Herstory YouTube series

Follow Gemma on Letterboxd

‘Everybody’s Talking About Jamie’ is streaming now on Amazon Prime Video.

[danwylds]

Right okay I never actually got myself to write this fic so have my notes for the fic except I haven’t read through them since June when I wrote them and I refuse to edit anything

Right is bakery au but not

Neil either turned down the offer of exy for the foxes or for coach whatever the fuck his name was

He got caught earlier tho which is . Unfortunate

Stuart still comes in

Maybe I’ll have him move back to Britain for a while? To avoid the moriyamas n stuff

He NEVER misses a match of the ravens/foxes tho

Which leads to him seeing the frankly sickening interview of Kevin and riko

Neil is like yo Stuart let me start smth

Stuart is like Neil the only reason you’d go back to the states right now is if you did smth that you could hide and you can’t do that for shit

So Neil is like yk what I’m gonna find a way bc I’m not letting this kid go through this (Andrews quite into this idea when it’s shared)

So he says yo. Stuart. Uncle. Sir. Let me open a bakery or something in the states

Stuart is like no you fucking idiot

And Neil is like but c o n s i d e r

You can get info or smth

Just have another business in the states yk

AND I’d get out of your hair

And Stuart is like hm okay but you’ve gotta live in a complex I choose for you

And Neil is all only if I can choose where it’s gonna be

It’s a deal

He (very obviously) chooses a place near palmetto

Stuart is tired but is like he’ll be under protection n shit so I guess??? And he’s not stupid enough to start something right. Right.

Wrong.

Anyways.

It’s a bakery that starts out kinda slow

But Neil finds he likes baking and Stuart pays for his nephew to have some sort of normal life so it doesn’t matter too much

Renee starts to frequent it

At first it’s to pick up sweets for Andrew

But eventually she starts bringing Allison on dates there bc they have a cute little seating area (figure where Seth fits in? I think he’ll survive?)

Uhhh what’s a timeline

I think this’ll be around the winter holidays (Jewish neil? Look into it)

So thanksgiving will have happened . I think Andrew agreed to go Not bc he particularly wanted to but bc he cares for Nicky and knows he’ll probably go anyways

Yeah so thanksgiving. h

Andrew JUST got off his drugs and he’s so damn protective of his own that he hardly even leaves their sides

Edens is a def no for em

Meanwhile Neil is tentative friends w Renee who has brought all the upperclassmen there a few times

Allison bullies him for his clothing but it’s okay he deserves it

Renee is sweet and stops em from doing anything too drastic which Neil appreciates

Matt,, my baby,, he’s so happy he just asks Neil about random stuff

Dan is sweet too!!

Seth kinda hates him but Neil hasn’t paid enough attention to return the favor

One day close to the winter banquet the upperclassmen are like yeah Neil we’re gonna go to this thing and it should be really fun!! Oh you know what? Our teammate Nicky needs a date and his cousin doesn’t really like anyone from his class and he’s super fucking crazy abt it so if that doesn’t deter you then you should totally join !

Neil is like oh chance to fuck up Riko? Absolutely I’ll go

ALLISON DRESSES HIM

HE LOOKS SO GOOD

when he and Allison emerge from the girls room Aaron is like Who is that

And Allison is “oh nickys date (:”

Andrew gets twitchy and holds a knife to her throat

Renee is like Andrew I stg get away from my gf and Seth is like manic pixie nightmare fuel I’m gonna beat the shit outta you

And Neil is just like same shit every day I guess

And he’s like so you’re Nicky then? COMPLETELY IGNORING YK. ALL THAT

Andrew is like “he is. Don’t touch him”

And Neil straight up says I don’t think you get to set boundaries for people, actually

And Neil has no idea what the effect is of that on Andrew but it’s enough to make him glare

Which is terrifying to everyone but Neil bc again. Dumbass

Anyways Neil very purposely hooks his arm through nickys and they head off to the bus

Dunno what happens there but I’ll figure it out

RIKOOO ROASTTT **AIRHORNNNNSSS**

It’s glorious

Kevin and riko are like who the FUCK are you

And Neil is all wouldn’t you like to know weather boy

They relocate and they’re all like . Ah. That’s why you and Renee get along

It’s kinda funny ngl

Andrew doesn’t think so but fuck him

I think that they head back to the bus when this shit I’d over and wymack is like excuse me what the fuck

And Aaron in german is like thank god he never joined the team bc I could not handle more of that

And Neil in German is like would you believe me I’d I told you I was almost signed

And Andrew is like I fucking Knew it I hate it here

N e ways things go back to normal for the most part

The upperclassmen still show up

Seth has a bit of grudging respect for him

It’s later that all the foxes are getting drunk from a lose that Renee calls him and is like Neil please can I usher them inside for a bit I think they need a place to chill so we don’t get yelled at for being too loud in the dorms

And Neil is like uhh sure why not

It turns out it was not just the upperclassmen

He gives them all water bottles and whatever and lets them lounge around

Gives em some food which they pay for w the coachs card

Uhhh idk time passes and some of the foxes pass out so neil is like y’all can chill in the break room? They have couches

He stays out there bc the bakery is still open

Andrew comes out like hey fuck you but also can I get more of those pastries

Idk I want them to be in love already

Uhh yeah I think they don’t say anything until

“what happened to your face”

“A truth for a truth?”

“If you must insist”

“Fine, my father tried to kill me”

Andrew raises his eyebrow but neils like bitch you said a truth for a truth it’s your turn now

Neil asks him why he wears arm bands

We get the whole knives and scars

They’re quiet again

I don’t know man let them be in love

Uhhh okay

I think Andrew will tell neil like

“[code]”

“Huh”

“That’s the code for the court, Kevin practices at night.”

Neil is like how would you know I’d enjoy playing exy? And andrew is like dipshit that’s how we met

I’m running out of ideas oh no

Maybe they play a couple of night game things

Exchange a few more truths

OHHH OKAY COOL SO THEN NEIL CAN GO TO EDENS W THEM THE WHOLE “DOESNT MEAN I WOULDNT BLOW YOU” THING CAN STILL HAPPEN

sick okay! They start dating but since Baltimore happened earlier they never actually come out to the rest of the team

I like to think when they play against the ravens again neils like haha babe you can have as many sweets as you want if you shut down the goal

Also Neil says it’s hot which is like a big thing to persuade Andrew but shhhhh

Yeah the foxes win they celebrate by getting drunk and they all show up at neils like hello again (:

Same thing happens but this time andrew and Neil are together and basically are doing nothing but making out

At least the store is closed

Nicky comes out and just YELLS

YALLLLLL COME LOOK @ THIS SHIT

Allison wins SO much money

Yeah idk how to end this but happily ever after :3

If you want me to turn this into a fic I will!

[rpmemesbyarat]

DISNEY'S "GARGOYLES" SEASON 2 QUOTES RP MEME

Why do you read that stuff?

I like a man who brings me weapons.

Nice wake up call.

We won't have to find them. They'll find us.

Revenge, as they say, is a sucker's game.

I'll settle for tearing this jerk IN HALF!

Want to see me use both hands?

That's no way to treat a lady!

That was no lady.

Thanks for saving my bacon before it got fried.

Look, just promise you'll call if there's trouble.

Go ahead, try something!

I'd love to do that again!

That wasn't a tranquilizer dart.

It was loaded with a mutagenic formula!

You don't know anything about her!

Why are you stomping on my friend here?

I was particularly proud of my death scene.

You never let me drive.

The important thing is, you're alive.

Are you sure this is a good idea?

Something's not right here.

Then you leave us no choice!

How are we supposed to find them?

Please, I beg you, be quiet.

This isn't a good idea.

I'm best qualified to go.

My memories are clouded.

Why should I trust you?

If you can't trust me, then trust your heart.

Why do you fight me, my love?

We are destined to be together for all eternity.

I will choose who I love!

Now we'll see what this creature looks like up close.

Why stare at marks on a page when you can rent the video?

Well, I can't read and I don't think I'm missing anything.

Harrier jets! They can take off and land like helicopters. When your life's this exciting, who needs books?

Are you all right?

I had a little trouble.

This beach isn't safe after dark.

Do you need a doctor?

Come on in. I've got a fire going.

There's little I can offer in return, except my thanks.

You understand, I don't get any real pleasure from this. Well you've got courage, beastie. I'll give you that.

Funny, something about your voice made me think you were a soldier, once.

You were there.

I'm old, but I'm not that old.

I'm glad you came back.

I'm afraid I can't stay, but I think I left something on the terrace this morning.

Have you come across a large canister?

The name sounded phony.

I do know him, but he's not a friend!

A magic book?

They're worthless. No magic at all.

The written word is all that stands between memory and oblivion.

Without books as our anchors, we are cast adrift, neither teaching nor learning.

Books are lighthouses erected in the dark sea of time.

Is this how you welcome all your guests?

They have a sense of humor. You have none.

Yeah, I know, you're as relieved I am that everything's back to normal.

Wouldn't it be great to be a shapeshifter?

Well, let's just get this over with, shall we?

How can I be of service, hmm?

Out with it. I haven't got all night.

I'm sure you'll fit right in.

What is it you really want?

This just might be fun after all.

I thought everyone knew this.

Shapeshifters, elves, fairies, you mean they're real?

You mean, you thought I was ugly?

I want you to get rid of the humans. ALL of them.

Does this look like Aladdin's lamp? I have limits, after all.

Humans love a battle hearty.

I'll never get the hang of jumping off rooftops.

I'll always be there to catch you.

Do it, and you win your freedom.

It will be my pleasure. But afterwards, I'm going to need a very long nap.

There. You're free.

The sun, it's glorious! I never thought that it could feel so good.

I'm sorry about the bomb. But it proves how dangerous this case is.

When someone messes with your partner, you're supposed to do something about it.

You still haven't learned that crime doesn't pay.

A trade?

Let's just say, I don't trust you with it.

So, now you know my weakness.

Only you would regard love as a weakness.

A momentary lapse, I assure you.

Halloween! Tonight is the night!

Come on. I've wanted to stroll down a city street with you for a long time.

Marry me.

Are you serious?

We're genetically compatible, highly intelligent, and have the same goals.

You could've been hurt. I should've been with you.

Oh-well, spilt milk. Let's move on to plan B.

Don't listen to him. It's a trick! He couldn't tell the truth if his life depended on it!

Even if what you say is true, why should I help her?

Because you know what it means to lose some you love.

Not a good night for you.

You can't believe anything he says.

If someone like him can love, perhaps there is some hope for this world.

Take this as token of my love.

Upon this I pledge my heart to you forever.

Why do you need all this?

I wanted it, so I took it.

It's so unlike you to attack first.

I simply invited you here to talk.

Our past encounters have not inspired me to trust you.

It's crazy to even consider going!

I'm not interested in reminiscing!

Have you no respect for anything?

Believe me, I know exactly how you feel.

I will never be like you!

I do not wish to hurt you.

I do not wish to be you!

What am I to do?

Do nothing.

Do not worry.

Live in the moment.

Attend the petty angers and jealousies that fill your heart.

Fortify yourself with love and trust.

Fulfill the vows of love you make, for they can surely save you.

Time travel's funny that way.

Get away from me, you sentimental fool.

It's a pretty good likeness.

You know more than you're letting on.

T'was your handiwork.

very life is precious.

Take care not to become what you fight against.

Vengeance begets only a further cycle of more vengeance.

Do you want vengeance or a solution?

This is bigger than either of us has ever faced.

We'll have to work together to stop her.

Truce?

You are the cause of all this.

Humans will learn to respect you.

I would rather they fear me.

What are you doing to help?

That's one way to settle an argument.

I thought I'd rid myself of you long ago

You've forgotten about me.

You're too late. You can't save them. No one can!

I'm not here for them. I'm here for you.

I want it over between us!

I wear this as a reminder of your treachery.

Let's not start that again. You blame me, I blame you. Aren't you tired of talking about it?

I'm not here to talk.

Killing me will gain you nothing but your own death.

Death is never the answer. Life is.

I'm just so tired

Your thirst for vengeance has only created more sorrow.

I offer you one last opportunity for forgiveness and mercy.

I merely offer a sample of what you planned for me.

You have learned nothing.

I will still have my revenge!

What do we do with them?

You come in handy now and then.

I'm quite glad the plan worked.

I'm no hero, I just do my job, and my job for tonight is over.

All I want to do is hit the sack.

Why would you want to hit a sack?

How long was I out?

Even shadows must be true to their shade.

We don't need to wait for sunset.

Is it supposed to hurt that much?

Just get on with it.

Recognize the woman?

She seemed familiar, but I just couldn't place her.

You're getting real good at bypassing alarms

Don't give me credit.

It was too easy!

Maybe misery loves company.

If you're human, then you're subject to human laws.

Either way I win!

I fear no human!

There are forces at war within me.

I will return some day, if I can.

You sound like every human employee I ever fired!

Crush all of them together and you couldn't squeeze one iota of personal integrity from the lot!

No excuses, creature!

Learn to take responsibility for your own actions! And STOP whining!

Oh, I am trembling in my chair.

You believe I am not responsible. Yet I remain your prisoner?

Who said you're not responsible?

It doesn't matter that you were tricked, you know now that your actions inflicted grievous damage. Do you take responsibility for them or not?

Well, what are you going to do?

You seem distracted, having second thoughts?

We'll celebrate over breakfast.

No more excuses. I accept full responsibility for my actions. I was wrong.

Integrity is never easy. It's a daily struggle, a costly struggle.

I know I owe you a great debt for the mistake I made a year ago.

If the text wasn't new to me, it was at least worth revisiting.

All I know is I'm about to be wiped out!

It doesn't have to be that way.

I can break these chains. But only you can get me past the bars.

Automatons know nothing of betrayal or honor. They know only what they're programmed to know.

Only living beings possess the ability to change, and make new choices.

You've given me much to consider.

We are friends.

I'd rather not have your death on my conscience

You'll never reach the bridge!

You have two minutes until impact, one minute before I detonate.

I don't want any innocents hurt!

If it goes down, I'm going down with it.

I knew you wouldn't let me down.

Yes, well, you have that effect on people.

I built this company for you!

I'd probably give it to you, if you'd just stand up and ask me for it honestly!

Asking for it wouldn't be any fun at all.

'Fun' is still more important to you than honor. I can't understand that.

Well, maybe you'll have better luck relating to the next generation.

You should've heard him laugh.

Made my hair stand on end, if I had any.

Surely you know I am not in the habit of playing childish pranks or laughing maniacally in the dark.

Do you even know how to laugh maniacally?

Don't tempt me.

Typical. You do and do and do for them, and what happens? They twist the knife in you!

I think I've created a monster.

Have you ever considered the bounties of genetic engineering?

Or maybe cybernetics is more your style?

Save the horror show for Halloween.

I'm sure tired of taking punishment, and I'd love to be able to give some back

That's the source of the trouble.

I hope you not planning to eat your catch.

Now that I'm in charge, I'm not taking any more of your cracks!

You're barely our species!

I'm in charge, here!

I find him very attractive.

Well, that's sicker than usual.

I'm a partner in a freak show!

I should'a figured it was crazy to stick with this crew

And if you play it smart, there'll be plenty of lettuce for everyone!

I should get my own cable TV show.

Oh, me and my big mouth.

It is the cure! It has to be!

Of course it's the cure! You must trust me!

It was you all along! I trusted you!

You turned me into a monster and I defended you!

I'm sorry it had to turn out this way.

You always overplay your hand

Tell me something' Why me?

You're old, and getting older.

I thought you might even appreciate the opportunity.

Growing old terrifies you, doesn't it?

Nothing terrifies me, because nothing is beyond my ability to change.

True immortality isn't about living forever, man; it's about what you do with the time you have.

When all your scheming's done, what will be your legacy

You're still alive! It's a miracle!

Boy, the city sure is different when it snows.

Not a bad life, all things considered.

There is a cure. There must be!

You can't keep me in here forever!

I'll get out! Do you hear? I'll get out!

About time you came back.

Why did you kidnap me? What do you want of me?

See, it wasn't as hard as you made it sound.

Ah, you wish to be immortal.

If the procedure is successful, I'll release you.

This is just a sculpture's model. The real thing is life sized, and lifelike.

What's in this for you?

Service is its own reward.

I wouldn't even know where to start looking.

You may as well be of some use to me.

Open this cage, and I'll show you how 'useless' I am.

It's hard to top that.

What you seek demands a heavy price.

Death and old age have their price as well. And it's too expensive for me.

Without your sword, you're helpless.

Swordless? Maybe. Helpless? NEVER!

What you choose to do with your life is your own affair, as long as it's got nothing to do with me.

You're just full of surprises.

No, let him go. He's earned it.

I wish it hadn't turned out this way.

I was so close to finding out if the legend was true. Now there's no one to test it on.

Throw down your weapon!

Is this a whole city of fools and lawless ruffians?

I'm the law here, pal!

You are a guardian, like myself.

I will submit to your law.

You are learning.

It will take some time.

Prepare to do battle!

I have no fight with you.

What is this, merit badge test night?

Oh well, better make sure it's an uneven fight.

The weak are to be protected, not exploited.

Aaah, who died and made you king?

If you don't know anything, why were you shooting at us?

Do I really need an excuse to have a good time in my own home?

They say a man's home is his castle, and what fun would a castle be without a dungeon?

If it gets any more saccharine in there, I'm going to put a finger down my throat.

I'd sure like to know how you got here, but I'm programmed to shoot first and ask questions later.

I demand a favor.

Death is always pointless. That is the point.

I demand reparation! My son was cruelly and unfairly taken from me!

Death is the ultimate fairness. Rich and poor, young and old - all are equal in death.

Our planet cannot support so many lives at once.

I apologize for any trouble I caused in my efforts to reclaim it.

It seems I'm out of practice dealing directly with mortals.

It seems I am unaccustomed to dealing with a god

We have all gained rare enlightenment this night

Mmmm, what a peculiar sight.

Now, that's odd.

Do you often go wandering about at night, young lady?

My dear, are you saying you don't remember your own name?

I can't seem to remember anything. I feel lucky I know how to talk.

How did I end up in the middle of the Pacific?

I guess I could use a ride

I thought you looked familiar. We've met before.

Do you know what a scroll is?

Get your claws off me!

You might want to reconsider your request.

We're gonna die!

I will not let anything harm you.

You win. I'll behave.

I cannot believe you pulled the trigger on me.

Just shut up and land.

I just don't remember! I'm not even sure I want to remember!

I understand your words, I simply do not believe them.

You have been long expected.

This trough is filled with acid. In about ten minutes its going to do a very nasty job on that soil carving, not to mention your rugged good looks.

It's my first real stab at clichéd villainy. How am I doing?

How are you doing this? No machine can hold me!

I should sue you for trademark infringement.

I've always considered myself a trickster at heart.

History cannot be changed.

You will not win!

What are you going to do? Bite my kneecaps off?

I know from experience the transforming power of a child's love.

The future is not written yet.

I have a sunny disposition and I'm always kind to animals

I've always respected you as a fellow inmate

He's a fool, but he may be useful.

I can work with that!

Now, now! That's your friends' genetic make-up you're insulting.

You are master now?

I should've known. But why this subterfuge?

Hey, I live for subterfuge!

I do not want escape, I want vengeance!

There's no such thing as "a little" vengeance.

No catches. No tricks. No strings.

So, things have come full circle.

You know how I feel about you, right?

[hieromonkcharbel]

The Philokalia and Theosis:

After the most recent post on Asceticism, it is appropriate to consider the goal of such discipline and aim of Philokalic spirituality. Simply put, it is the attainment of union with God and what the Fathers referred to as theosis or deification. St. Nicodemus of the Holy Mountain tells us that the Philokalia is the “instrument itself of deification.” Such a view is shared among contemporary Orthodox Christians: “Thus, the Philokalia, the single most important collection of Orthodox spiritual texts is, in effect, perhaps the best guidebook, next to the Bible, to the means of theosis. Its purpose is precisely to help us fulfill our calling to theosis or union with God” (Coniaris, “Philokalia: Bible of Orthodox Spirituality”, 132).

Theosis is the foundation, purpose and goal of life. This is expressed beautifully in Kenneth Leach’s introduction to Tito Coliander’s work “The Way of the Ascetics”: “Orthodoxy is not primarily a system or a correctness in doctrinal formulations. Doxa means glory. Orthodoxy is therefore concerned with ‘right glory,’ and it is therefore rooted in the sense of theology as inseparable from human transformation. The purpose of theology is nothing less than the transfiguring of human life ‘from glory to glory.’ At the center of Orthodox theology and spirituality is the theme of theosis, deification, the raising of manhood into God. This is the aim of the liturgy, the Eucharistic celebration which stands at the center of all worship and all life.” Thus, the “resourcement”, the return to the sources of our faith that was envisioned by Vatican II also and importantly includes rediscovery of the writings of the Philokalia. Such a rediscovery is important not simply in the quest for Christian unity. “It is essential if we are to recover that lost sense of the mystical and prayerful character of all theology. All theology is mystical theology; all theology is social theology. For it is rooted in ‘the life hidden with Christ in God’ and in the social life of the Holy Trinity. . .the way of the ascetics is not a gloomy, world-denying path; it is a way of doxa, of glory, whose aim is nothing less than our deification” (Colliander, “The Way of the Ascetics, ix-xi).

Sometimes in the busyness of life, which can include a kind of Christian activism, we can lose sight of our dignity and destiny: we can lose sight of the ultimate aim of God for sending his Son into the world to become man. We must return again and again to the words of the scriptures: “For God has made known to us in all wisdom and insight the mystery of his will, according to His purpose which He set forth in Christ as a plan for the fullness of time, to unite all things in Christ, things in heaven and things on earth” (Eph. 1:9-10) and “We know that, when He shall appear, we shall be like Him, for we shall see Him as He is” (1 John 3:2). God has created us for Himself and sharing in His life is our glorious destiny - to become, by grace, partakers of the divine nature. “In other words, the mystery of union between humanity, i.e., all of us and Christ is the ultimate aim of the incarnation, the crucifixion, the resurrection - nay, of creation as a whole. Thus, union with God is the foundation of the Church and the mystery of the Gospel. It was this union with God that Christ petitioned the Father to grant in our behalf when He prayed in John 17:21, ‘. . . that they also may be one in us’” (Coniaris, 133).

Theosis is not just a beautiful word and we must not reduce it to a theological concept; rather, it must be allowed to speak to everyday life - to penetrate and illuminate our trials, burdens and struggles. “Theosis has everything to say to struggling humanity. It tells us that we have the capacity through the presence of God within us to transcend and overcome any and every difficulty in life, including the greatest of all: death. Theosis tells us that we are not paupers, or beggars but sons and daughters of God, sharing His glory, partaking of His Nature, destined to inherit His eternal kingdom. Theosis tells us that we are more than conquerors through Him Who loved us. Theosis tells us to ‘hang in there’ no matter how hard the struggle or the temptation because God has great things in store for us. As St. Paul says, ‘I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us’ (Rom. 8:18)” (Coniaris, 137).

The means to Theosis is the grace of God and all the ways that He provides to draw us close to Him and to share His life with us; the sacraments, repentance, obedience to the commandments, reading the Word of God, faith, hope, love, service of neighbor, constant prayer, and the struggle of sin and temptation.

As we embrace all of these things we come to see the preciousness of the gift of our life and why it is worth living. “It is worth living because Christ loves you. It is worth living because Christ died for you and rose again to give you life. It is worth living because with Christ, life is both eternal and abundant. But life is worth living, above all because in Christ your destiny is theosis, becoming Christ-like, god by grace. Therefore, choose Christ and live. With Christ, life can be lived meaningfully, divinely, royally, victoriously, and eternally” (Coniaris, 145).