#this isn’t cute this isn’t fun it’s not even ironically funny anymore I’m so heated these books succeed

[queer-ragnelle]

I know calling books “feminist” is a marketing ploy and not necessarily a reflection of the author’s intentions, particularly when applied to mythological retellings, but honest to god every book should be feminist automatically. Respecting women (on a subtextual level, at the minimum) is a given.

Considering a woman’s agency is in no way additional work and shouldn’t be unique in any way. This is especially important if the character is a minority of any variety—woc, disabled, trans, attracted to women, etc. It’s about dignity. Anything less than the utmost care is misogynistic.

If the women you write exist solely to tag #girlboss or #sapphic for sales, you have a problem. Reducing or even removing the male element doesn’t magically make you feminist. If you think the patriarchy is just the existence of men then you’re not a feminist you’re an idiot. Take a step back, stop writing, and read a multitude of fiction and nonfiction exclusively written by women. From all eras and parts of the world and genres, not just the current NYT bestseller list or current BookTok trend. Get some perspective before you come back or don’t come back at all.

[just-jordie-things]

Life Of The Party - Peter Parker

word count: 6579 warnings: swearing, and an almost broken hand summary: (y/n) Stark and Peter Parker are best friends, but he keeps his life at the Avengers Compound and his life at Midtown High separate.  Very separate. Until (y/n) convinces him to bring her to a party.

“So how come I haven’t got to meet any of your friends?” (y/n) asked nonchalantly as she took one of the chinese takeout boxes from the lab table.

“Because” Peter replied lamely, too focused on tinkering with his suit.

(y/n) rolled her eyes, knowing he was full of shit.

Being Tony’s daughter, she was homeschooled by the best tutors, until she was old enough to teach herself, and she technically graduated last year.  However, it also meant that the only glimpse into the real world of high school she got, was through the things that Peter would tell her about his experiences at Midtown.

“Come on,” (y/n) pleaded, mouth full of noodles.  “You could at least bring Ned around here again”

“No way,” Peter chuckled, and took one of the various boxes of food on the table.  “I bring him one time and he passes out as soon as you and Tony walk into the room”

(y/n) smiled fondly at the memory.  She’d loved getting to meet Ned, Peter talks so much about him, she had squealed with delight as soon as she’d seen him in the common room with Peter.  Ned, however, collapsed and blacked out.

“I thought it was kinda sweet,” (y/n) shrugged, picking past the vegetables in her carton.  “I was flattered to have someone pass out over seeing me”

Peter gave her a bored look, and she giggled, bashfully staring down at her food.

Since Peter Parker had become a recruit a year ago, him and (y/n) Stark had gotten along very well.  She’d call him her best friend, but he was also one of the few people her age she actually knew.  She was allowed to leave the compound as she pleased, but most of her time was spent holed up at the tower.  In the lab, in the training room, hanging out with the other Avengers, she enjoyed it there.

Since befriending Peter, however, a switch seemed to have gone off, and she suddenly was much more curious about regular teenagers.  He made her wish that she’d gone to a normal school, made normal friends, and wasn’t raised in a celebrity lifestyle.

“You think your friends wouldn’t like me?” (y/n) asked, half sarcastically.  “I find myself to be charming, funny.  I think your friends would think so as well”

“Of course they’d like you,” Peter said.  “You’re my age and you’re more popular than the Kardashians-”

“Never compare me to them again” (y/n) commented, pointing a threatening chopstick towards him.  Peter put his hands up in apology.

“And,” He continued.  “You’re pretty and wicked smart.  I think if my friends knew that I was actually friends with you, then they’d kill me to get to meet you.  And I mean legit kill me”

(y/n) giggled, and cocked her head to the side as she watched him ramble.

“You think I’m pretty and smart?” She teased, and Peter knew she was messing with him, but he could feel his neck and cheeks heat up anyways.  “Where’s my ring?”

“Yeah yeah, shut up” He muttered while she laughed so hard she nearly choked on her lo mein.

“Then at the very least, you could let me come be your wingman,” She said, and Peter furrowed his brows, looking both confused and repulsed by the offer.  “What?” She asked innocently.  “I’d be great help, and I figure you, yaknow, need the help”

“You’re ridiculous- I-I don’t need a wingman, (y/n)” Peter said, leaning back in his seat across from her and picking around in his takeout box with his chopsticks.

“Mhm.  Sure” She replied disbelievingly.

“(y/n), come on,” Peter chuckled.  “What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to convince you to let me meet your friends for once,” (y/n) pleaded.  “I’ve met Ned, I know you have other friends, and it’s high school, isn’t someone throwing a party every other weekend? Let me come with you”

“You think I go to parties?” Peter snorted, and she giggled at the sound, shaking her head a little.

“You don’t want to go to a party with me?” (y/n) asked, quirking a brow, and Peter groaned at how easy she could manipulate his words.  He swore she got it directly from Tony.

“It’s not you-”

“Sounds like it is,” She said, feigning a hurt expression.  “I’m about to start taking this personally, Parker”

Peter gave her a half hearted glare, but it was hard to hold when she was returning the look so adorably.  Brows furrowed and bottom lip stuck out in a pout, she was the cutest.

“You really want to go to a party?” Peter asked defeatedly.  Despite his let down tone, (y/n) lit up and excitedly nodded.  “Fine… I’ll see if there’s anything going this weekend” He muttered.

(y/n) grinned, getting up from her seat and leaning over the table to hug Peter excitedly.  Still holding his food and chopsticks, he wasn’t able to hug her back, but she barely gave him the chance as she pulled away.

“You’re the best!”

“You manipulated me” He replied, stuffing a piece of chicken in his mouth.

(y/n) beamed at him anyways, before going back to tinkering on his suit with him.

“I’m great at small talk too.  ‘Hey, I'm seventeen year old billionaire, and my dad’s Iron Man, care for a drink?’”

They laughed together as they finished dinner and his upgrade. ___

“And then I told her I’d take her to a party” Peter grumbled.

“That’s great!” Ned exclaimed, before seeing the wince on Peter’s face.  “Or… not?”

Peter pushed his lunch tray away from him, before dropping his head in his hand and groaned frustratedly.

“Dude! Bringing (y/n) to Flash’s party this weekend would be awesome, why are you all grumpy?”

“Because, being friends with (y/n) is like…” Peter sighed as he moved his hands around trying to figure out the right words.  “It’s like my secret”

“No, Spider-Man is your secret,” Ned chuckled.  “Being friends with (y/n) is your one way ticket to people not messing with you anymore”

Peter shook his head, mumbling something that Ned couldn’t hear.

“What?”

“I said shedoesn’treallyknowaboutthtat” He muttered in one mess of slurred words, and Ned furrowed his brows, still unsure of what his friend was saying.

“Peter I can’t hear-”

“She doesn’t know about that!” Peter said a bit too loudly, and earning a few pissed off looks from his peers at other tables.  “I didn’t tell her that stuff” He said quieter.

“You didn’t tell her… that everyone hates you?”

“Dude,” Peter mumbled.  “Not cool”

“Okay maybe not everyone, but does she think you’re popular? How did you even manage to convince her-”

“No she doesn’t think that,” Peter rolled his eyes.  “She thinks I’m just a normal guy with a couple friends,” He shrugged.  “It would’ve been weird to tell her about-”

“Flash” Ned and Peter muttered at the same time.

“It’s embarrassing,” Peter sighed.  “It’s not like I want to hide it from her, I just… I didn’t want her to think I’m… lame”

“Peter, (y/n) thinks you’re the coolest,” Ned chuckled.  “You should bring her to the party.  Flash is throwing one this weekend, and as much as he hates our guts, if (y/n) Stark came with us…”

“What if after she sees what it’s really like… what I’m really like… she doesn’t want to hang out with me anymore?”

“I really doubt that’ll happen Peter,” Ned said, and just then the bell rang, signaling the end of the lunchtime period.  The boys gathered their things, and threw out their trays on their way out of the cafeteria.  “Pretty sure that no matter what, she’s still gonna like you Peter.  You’re overthinking for nothing”

Peter shrugged limply, grasping the straps of his backpack tightly while weighing the pros and cons of bringing (y/n) to one of Flash Thompson’s parties.

“You could always tell her about it before you go” Ned suggested, before heading off to his own class.

Peter shook his head, unsure of what he should do. ___

(y/n) was tinkering around with her father’s suit, which was normal for her, and he had yet to find out about it.  She had a knack for adding more protective protocols to it’s tech, but she was too nervous to come clean about her work with her father.  He didn’t like other people messing with his things.

Realistically, he probably wouldn’t mind.  She was only looking out for him, trying to add the years back onto his life that he’d been losing on every mission.

“You look like you could use a smoothie,” A voice called, and (y/n) looked up to see Natasha Romanoff walking into the lab, kicking the glass doors shut behind her.  There was a smoothie in each of her hands.  “Luckily, I brought you one”

(y/n) chuckled as Natasha held both glasses out, letting her choose which flavor she wanted.

“Thanks, Nat” (y/n) said sweetly before taking a drink.

“So,” Natasha sighed, and pulled up a stool across from the table (y/n) was working at, plopping down and drinking her smoothie while watching (y/n) tinker with the Iron Man suit.  “What’s this I hear about you going to a party?” The question was asked innocently, but Natasha smirked and arched a knowing brow.  “With Parker?” She added slowly.

(y/n) laughed bashfully, shaking her head.

“Maybe, we’ll see,” She answered, pulling her goggles over her eyes as she saudred the chest plate back in place.  “Peter said he’d see if there are any this weekend”

“He’s really taking you, huh?” Natasha hummed, smirk still carved onto her face.  “Wow”

“I really hope so, it sounds so fun, and I’ll get to meet his friends” (y/n) beamed, quickly and easily reprogramming Friday to cooperate with the new Dad Armour protocol.

(y/n) was pretty proud of the names she’d come up with for every upgrade she secretly made.

“I can’t wrap my head around you wanting to meet Peter’s friends,” The assassin across from her chuckled, and took a sip of her smoothie.  “He’s a band geek who goes to a school made for geeks”

(y/n) shrugged a shoulder, before ordering Friday to put her father’s suit back in it’s case.  It’s autopilot sent it there right away, and (y/n) pulled the goggles off her face.

“I think it’s cute,” She said, smiling as she drank from her smoothie.  She had the confidence of her father, but the bashful parts of her mother shone through in the blush on her cheeks.  “And I barely get to see Peter outside of the facility”

“Mm… so it’s a date then?”

“What?” (y/n) whipped her head up to stare at Natasha in surprise, while the woman just laughed and set her drink on the table.  “No, of course not, we’re just-”

“You’re just friends, yeah yeah, heard that a thousand times, you’re hardly the first ‘friend’ in denial about her real feelings” Natasha waved a dismissive hand.  “Why do you want to go in the first place?”

“Because I want to hang out with Peter and meet his friends,” (y/n) shrugged.  “And I want to see what a high school’s party like.  Does everyone usually get as drunk as they do in the movies?”

Natasha laughed, shaking her head and making (y/n) giggle as well.

“You’re no stranger to alcohol, I remember the Christmas party” She teased.  (y/n) shrugged, and stared down at her smoothie as she spoke.

“I just want to spend more time with him,” She said softly.  “Get to know him better, you know? I could tell you every single mission he’s been on and every night of patrol he’s done, but I want to know Peter, not Spider-Man”

“You’re a sap, Stark,” Natasha said, and raised her glass so that (y/n) would clink her own against it.  “Hopefully you figure your shit out.  Peter’s head over onesie for you”

Although her face went red at the comment, (y/n) shook her head as though convincing herself Natasha was just teasing.

“It’s not a onesie,” (y/n) replied, deciding to ignore the comment altogether and change the subject.  “It’s actually-”

“I actually don’t care,” Natasha said bluntly.  “I just wanted to scope out where you and Peter stand.  You know, relationship wise”

“Nat-” (y/n) sighed, only to be cut off.

“You two are too cute to just be friends,” Natasha said, going back to sipping on her smoothie.  “No reason why you can’t figure it out”

“Lots of reasons, actually,” (y/n) said defeatedly.  “Number one being my dad would never be okay with it.  I’m his daughter, and Peter is his prodige.  And my dad is…”

“Crazy?”

“No-”

“...bat shit crazy?”

“I was going to say protective,” (y/n) said, giving Natasha a pointed glare.  The ex-assassin just shrugged and took a drink of her smoothie.  “And besides, we’ve been friends for a year and… nothing’s happened.  Don’t you think if he liked me, he would’ve made a move by now?”

“No,” Natasha snotred.  “Of course not, this is Peter we’re talking about, he’s probably too nervous or embarrassed”

(y/n) gave her a half smile, and stared back down at her drink.

“And I bet Tony would be fine with it because he knows Peter so well, he trusts him”

“I don’t know…” (y/n) thought about how her dad might react.  The idea of dating Peter wasn’t all that foreign, it had definitely crossed her mind once or twice or a thousand times.

Her phone went off on the table, and she eagerly picked it up seeing a notification from Peter.

[ spidey-petey ] : party on friday at 6, you still in?

“That Peter?” Natasha asked, already knowing it was from the smile on (y/n’s) face.

“Yeah,” (y/n) answered, typing back her reply.  “We’re going to the party on friday”

[ little starky ] : definitely still in!!

“So the date is set,” Natasha winked as she stood up from her stool.  Before (y/n) could protest, the woman was waving and heading back out of the lab.  “Let me know when you need help picking out an outfit” She called, and shut the door behind her.

“It’s not a date” (y/n) muttered to herself as she began to clean up her work area.

[ spidey-petey ] : okie dokie then, i’ll pick you up at 5:30ish?

She smiled to herself as she sent back a thumbs up.

Alright, so maybe she harbored a few more than platonic feelings for the boy. ___

“Where the hell are you going?”

Tony’s voice was more than confused as he watched his daughter walk past him in the common room, wearing a pair of skinny jeans and a black tanktop that had Nat written all over it.

“To a party,” She told him, pulling out her phone to check the time.  5:30.  “With Peter.  I told you about it, remember?”

Tony’s brows furrowed as he stared at his daughter.

“I honestly thought that was a joke”

(y/n) gave him a playful glare, but Tony just shrugged.

“So… is this a date? Should I be giving him a talk-?”

“Oh my god, Dad, no,” (y/n) laughed, shaking her head.  “It’s not like that at all.  I just wanted to hangout somewhere that wasn’t the lab or a literal battle field”

“Mhm,” Tony hummed unsurely, narrowing his eyes at her.  “When will you be home?”

“Don’t know, does it matter?” She asked.  

Tony had never set a curfew for her before, and it wasn’t uncommon for her to sneak into the compound at one in the morning after a ‘I Can’t Sleep’ patrol.

Tony grimaced at the question, and (y/n) smirked back at him knowing she’d caught him in an awkward spot.  He could either admit that he didn’t want her to go out with Peter Parker, of all people tonight, or he could say he didn’t mind how late she stayed out and blindly let her go to an unknown party, with a boy.

“Maybe,” Tony answered, crossing his arms over his chest.  “Who else is gonna be there?”

“Ned, and Peter’s friends from school,” (y/n) told him, suddenly lighting up like a christmas tree.  “He’s finally letting me go meet them, and-”

“Mr Stark, Peter Parker is in the lobby, should I let him in?” Tony’s receptionist said through the comms, and before Tony could speak up, (y/n) slammed her hand on the button to reply.

“I’m coming down, Joan!” She said excitedly, and was running out of the room, forcing Tony to have to run after her to the lobby.

Peter had his hands stuffed into the pockets of his khakis, looking a little nervous like he always did, but he smiled when (y/n) ran in and gave him a big smile.

“Pete!” She squealed, shoving her phone into her pocket as she hugged him quickly.  “I’m so excited-”

“Hold on, hold on!” Tony jogged into the room, pointing a finger between the two and giving Peter a look that made him instantly step away from (y/n) a bit.  “There will be rules”

“Dad-” (y/n) groaned, but Tony didn’t let her finish.

“Rule one, Happy is driving you tonight” Tony started.

Happy groaned from where he stood at Joan’s desk, rolling his eyes, but other than that not outwardly complaining.

“Rule two, if you come home drunk,” Tony said, pointing at his daughter.  “I reserve the right to kill you” His finger moved to Peter, who nodded and shrugged.

That was pretty much expected.

“And rule three, no funny business.  I mean it” He threatened, and Peter’s cheeks went pink with embarrassment.

“Got it, Dad, thanks,” (y/n) said with annoyance in her tone.  Tony could be… a bit over the top.  “I’ll keep in touch” She said, grabbing Peter’s wrist and dragging him with her to the door.

Happy looked at the two teenagers that were walking out to his car, before giving Tony a very, very tired look.

“You’re really letting her go, huh?” He asked, and Tony narrowed his eyes, looking out the large panel windows to see (y/n) and Peter talking excitedly.  Well, (y/n) looked excited, Peter looked like an anxious wreck.

“She can take care of herself,” Tony said.  “It’s Peter I shouldn’t be letting go”

Tony wasn’t blind, he knew that Peter had heart eyes for his daughter.  And if he didn’t trust them both so much, he probably wouldn’t have let them go.  A little (long) talk with Natasha had also helped him to be more open to the idea.

“You think it’s gonna go bad?” Happy asked, fumbling for his keys in his pocket.  “I think she’s gonna ruin him”

“I think she might already have” Tony said, watching skeptically as (y/n) was waving around her hands trying to get her father’s and Happy’s attention so that they could get going.  Peter was smiling at her antics, and he was probably blushing too.  Eventually (y/n) resorted to flipping off the men inside, and suddenly Peter was looking away and pretending he hadn’t seen it.

Happy gave Tony a look that just screamed, ‘teenagers.  The worst’  before heading outside, much to (y/n’s) delight.

“Your old age is starting to slow you down, Hogan” She teased.

“You take years off my life, Stark” He muttered back. ___

“Wow…” (y/n’s) eyes were wide as Happy pulled up in front of the house of the party.  

She could hear the music inside from the car, and the place seemed to be overflowing with people.  Students with red cups and bottles of soda and beer in hand all throughout the front yard.  Some of them were dancing, some of them were making out, but most were just mingling and having a good ol’ drunk time.

“Jesus Christ this is my nightmare,” Happy grumbled, putting the car in park and turning in his seat to look at Peter and (y/n).  “If something happens and you need to be picked up-”

“I’ll call you” (y/n) answered with a sweet smile.

Happy was like that cool uncle that was mean and swore he hated kids, but loved you unconditionally and would do anything to keep you safe and happy.  He always looked out for (y/n), while she was growing up, he was family.

He supposed he could extend that care towards Peter.

“Alright kid.  Be safe”

“Will do!” (y/n) said, before excitedly getting out of the car, pretty much jumping out.  She would’ve run straight inside if she hadn’t been too nervous to go in without Peter.

The boy followed after her, and shut the car door.  Happy drove off right away, not wanting to watch all the wide eyes and shocked expressions that Peter and (y/n) were about to get.

“You’re the best!” (y/n) told him, giving him a short lasting side hug as they headed inside.

“Yeah… well…” He shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets.  “Let’s just go find Ned” He suggested, and (y/n) agreed delightedly.

She wasn’t blind to the looks that she was getting.  It was obvious that everyone knew who she was.  There were a few whispers, a few awkward waves, but so far no one had said an actual word to her.

“Peter! (y/n)!” Ned said excitedly, eyes lighting up when he saw that he’d brought her.  “I wasn’t sure if you’d come!”

“Hi Ned!” (y/n) greeted, a beam on her face as she hugged him graciously.

Behind her back, Ned excitedly mouthed ‘you brought her!’ to Peter, earning an eye roll before (y/n) pulled away.

“It’s so good to see you!” She said, squeezing his shoulders.  “It’s been forever! Cool hat”

“Thanks, it gives me confidence,” Ned shrugged sheepishly, and (y/n) giggled.  “And I’ve been telling Peter that we should hang out more” He added, earning a quick glare from Peter before (y/n) put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes at him.

“I told him that too,” She said, and gave Ned a playful smile.  “It turns out he doesn’t like hanging out with me”

“That’s not-” Just as he was about to refute it, she was smiling and laughing at him, and he could tell he was joking.

“Jeez Pete,” She teased, poking his arm.  “Lighten up, it’s a party”

He gave her a tentative smile, and pulled his hands out of his pockets to cross his arms over his chest.  Being in Flash Thompson’s house always gave him the same uneasy feeling.  A reminder why he didn’t go to his parties.  And speaking of reminders-

“Well well well!” A loud voice yelled over the music, and their three heads turned to see Flash at his makeshift DJ table, microphone in hand.  “Penis Parker wasn’t lying about his Stark Internship after all!”

“What the hell did he just say?” (y/n) muttered to Peter, but he looked away from her narrowed eyes and crossed his arms tighter.

“And Penis brought a girl!” Flash went on, grinning madly and pointing to (y/n).  “Not just any girl, (y/n) Stark!”

The few people that weren’t high out of their minds or blackout drunk turned heads excitedly to see the famed daughter of Tony Stark standing there.  It was clear that the didn’t understand what she was doing with Peter Parker and Ned Leeds.  (y/n’s) bashful look turned to disgust when she realized they were murmuring about what she was doing with them.

Flash set his microphone down, rubbing his hands together eagerly as he made his way over to them.

“Wow! The real (y/n) Stark huh?” He said, looking between her and Peter.

“In the flesh,” (y/n) answered, narrowing her eyes skeptically at the greasy haired boy in front of her.  “And you’re…?”

“Flash Thompson,” He held his hand out to shake hers, and she politely did so, as much as her gut told her not to touch this guy.  “It’s a pleasure”

(y/n) hummed, pursing her lips as her eyes scanned him up and down.

Ned and Peter caught this glance, and already knew that Flash irked her.

“So, you must know Penis from his internship?” Flash said, a sly smirk on his face as his eyes wandered to where Peter was standing, just a bit behind her.

(y/n) looked over her shoulder at Peter, a similar smirk on her face as she winked at him.  And before he could silently beg her not to, she was already looking back to Flash, and putting his hand in a death grip.

He winced before trying to cover his pain with a smug look.

“Did you call Peter, Penis?” She asked him, voice dropping an octave from it’s usual sweet tone to something more threatening.

Peter recognized it as her field voice, the way she’d usually talk when in her suit and fighting criminals.  Never before had he heard her use it without a mask.

“W-well- well-”

“Look, Flash Thompson, I could break your hand right now if I wanted to,” She squeezed tighter and he let out a whimper.  “But of course I won’t, because I’m nice like that” She gave him a tauntingly cute smile, and he nodded anxiously, visibly gulping from her tight grip on his hand.

“O-okay” He whimpered out.

“But you’ll apologize to Peter, right?” She asked, cocking her head to the side.  “You know, that way I don’t have to break your hand and then later send my friend, you might know her, she goes by the name Black Widow? To shove that lame microphone up your-”

“Okay okay I’m sorry! I’m sorry Peter” Flash said, eyes wide as he started to yank his hand away from (y/n’s) death grip.

“Uh- it’s- it’s fine” Peter mumbled, placing a hand on (y/n’s) shoulder and making her step back, and release Flash’s hand.

The boy sighed in relief, holding his now bruised hand in his free one, and giving Peter Ned and (y/n) a fearful smile.

“Nice to meet you” (y/n) said sickeningly sweetly, and waved her fingers at him as he hastily made his way back to his DJ table.

“Holy shit that was so badass, I almost cried” Ned said, and (y/n) giggled shrugging her shoulders.

“Seems like a prick” She said simply.  She gave Peter a look, and he knew that she would bring it up again later to him.

“He is!” Ned replied.

“How about we get drinks?” Peter suggested, desperate to get out of the pool of tension he was drowning in.

The three made their way to the kitchen, and while Peter and Ned grabbed beers, (y/n) took a can of soda.

“Don’t you have life… a chauffeur?” Ned asked, and (y/n) shrugged as she pushed the tab through the can to open it.

“Yeah, but I don’t drink around big groups of people anymore” She said, and Peter chuckled.

“Because of the christmas party?” He asked, and she nodded, giggling with him, but was blushing from the memory.

“Wow… the Avengers have christmas parties?” Ned asked excitedly.  “That’s awesome…”

“Yeah, (y/n) got so wasted at this years, that she-”

“Peter!” (y/n) hissed before he could spill the secret.

“Aw come on, tell me!” Ned pleaded.

Peter looked to (y/n) hopefully, and gave her his best puppy dog eyes.

She was a sucker.

“Fine.  Tell him”

The next few hours were spent telling dumb stories about what it’s like at the compound, and (y/n) got to know Ned a lot better.  Peter loosened up and started enjoying himself more, and (y/n) got to enjoy a night as a real teenager, not as Tony Stark’s daughter.

They had been standing in a hall, a bit more secluded from the rest of the raging party.  It had gotten to that point in the night where if you weren’t blackout drunk, you’d already blacked out, or you’d gone home.

Ned had left the hall to wait in the long and-getting-longer-by-the-minute line for the bathroom, leaving (y/n) and Peter up against opposite walls, sipping their drinks and listening to the distant pop music playing in the living room.

“So…” (y/n) hummed, circling her soda around in her can.  “Why didn’t you tell me about that Flash guy?”

She didn’t seem upset, like Peter had expected.  He’d been waiting for the blow of her angry voice when she’d realized he’d been lying to her.  Instead, she sounded hurt, and confused.  Which felt worse.

“Because… it’s lame,” Peter said, shaking his head and staring down at his half empty bottle of beer.  It was his second one, and every time he took a drink of it he remembered why he hated beer.

Her brows knit together as she waited for him to continue, because that was not enough of an explanation for her.

“I didn’t want to tell you that people at school pick on me, (y/n), do you know how embarrassing that would have been?”

“What-?” She still seemed confused, and leaned off of the wall to stand a little closer to him, trying to hear and understand him better.

“I wasn’t going to tell you, (y/n) friggin’ Stark that I get made fun of all the time, that people call me Penis Parker- god this sounds ridiculous even now”

(y/n) shook her head at him.  “What, you think cause of my dad that I’m so shallow I wouldn’t like you?” She asked, trying not to sound as offended as she felt.  “Peter, you know me better than anyone, you know that I don’t care-”

“It’s not like that” Peter sighed, and her irritated expression fell to a softer one.

Someone brushed past them in the hall, and (y/n) stepped forward closer to Peter so that they wouldn’t rudely walk in between them.

“What’s it like then?” She asked quietly, peering up at him from under her lashes.

“I didn’t want you to think I was as… well as lame as everybody else thinks I am,” Peter said, arm gesturing out towards the living room.  “I just… you genuinely liked me without knowing all that stuff and I didn’t want you to see- well, that and realize that I am not as cool as you somehow think I am”

(y/n) felt her heart break into two, brows drawn together as she looked at him sadly.

“And by the way, it was only partially because you’re a Stark.  You were already so cool to me before I even met you and then after meeting you, you were even cooler, and I couldn’t believe someone like you would ever want to hang out with me.  You might be surprised, but I don’t get asked to parties that often.  I don’t even know why you still want to be here after Flash made it clear that nobody likes me”

“Peter…” (y/n) sighed, and she swore she’d start crying if he kept talking about himself like that.

“The thing is, (y/n), is that it doesn’t matter that no one at Midtown likes me, or that my only real friend is Ned, because you liked me.  And that was like- the seal of approval to me, that’s all that mattered,” He went on, and suddenly her broken heart was stitching back together at the sweet words.  “I don’t know,” He sighed and shrugged his shoulders.  “I don’t know what the hell you’re doing with me,” He chuckled, and finally looked down at her, seeing her staring up at him with an adorably awestruck look on her face, like she was hanging onto every word he was saying.  “You’re as cool as they come,” He told her, eyes flickering between hers as he tried desperately not to shy away from her gaze.  “I mean, you’re a genius, you would’ve outshined at my school, and it’s for geniuses.  You put Banner to shame, and he’s got seven PhDs.  And you’re badass, and scary as hell when you’re out on the field, and I guess threatening bullies you’re scary too.  I don’t know how you manage to pull that off because you’re the cutest littlest thing when you’re just being yourself, and yet you almost broke Flash’s hand tonight,”

(y/n) let out a broken giggle, not wanting him to stop talking the way he was, but she couldn’t help it. Her heart was swelling and she felt full.  She had no idea that Peter had thought all of these things about her.   Maybe Nat was right.

“And Jesus Christ you’re so goddamn pretty? You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met- and probably will ever meet, I mean, realistically speaking- inside and out you’re just absolutely stunning,”

The young Stark’s breath hitched in her throat, and at this point she wondered if Peter even realized what he was saying, or if he was just rambling like he does when he gets too passionate about something.  Either way, her stomach was doing backflips.

“You’re just this- this perfect being.  But somehow there’s got to something that’s off about you because you’re still here, with me,” Peter chuckled humorlessly, eyes wide as he glanced around them, realizing they were the only two people in the hallway.  

For a split second, he thought maybe they were the only two people in the world.

“And I just… I don’t know what the hell you’re still doing here, why you haven’t left yet-”

(y/n) cut him off before he could start talking poorly about himself again.  Leaning up on her toes, her hands reached out and clutched at the collar of Peter’s blue sweater and pulling him downwards so that their lips would meet in the middle.  She kissed him as passionately as he’d spoken, pouring every last feeling she’d harbored for him into it.

The kiss had startled Peter, he’d sooner expect her to call Happy and ditch him where he stood than to kiss him.  But he wasn’t about to complain, so instead his hands firmly grasped her hips and pulled her flush against him.  Capturing her lips in his own, he did his best to memorize every last detail of this moment.  How her lips tasted like cherry cola, soft and sugary against his own.  Her hands had his shirt in fists, like she would lose her balance if she wasn’t holding so tightly to him.  She leaned in close against him legs in between his and chest pressed into his.

When they finally parted, she pulled back agonizingly slow, eyes fluttering open, and Peter swore they sparkled a little bit.

“Peter Parker,” She murmured softly, “Is the sweetest, prettiest, coolest boy that I know,” She told him, the both of them adorning rosy cheeks.  She let go of his shirt to wrap her arms around his neck.  “You’re such an idiot sometimes, but there’s no way in hell I’m leaving”

Peter grinned down at her, his eyes crinkling as he took her face in his hands, tucking back her loose strands of hair.

“I like you a lot” He told her, and she leaned her cheek into his warm palm.

“I know,” She giggled, and he laughed with her until they were both just two idiots giggling in the hallway.  “You gave me a whole speech- where did that come from?”

“The heart,” Peter teased, and she shook her head at him.  “And also the two drinks I had” He added.

“Uh huh,” She hummed, leaning up so she could kiss him again.  “That’s what I thought” She mumbled before her lips met his softly.

One of Peter’s hands slid into her hair, cradling the back of her head as their lips met delicately a few more times.  He leaned back against the wall, lazily pulling her with him, and (y/n) giggled in between small and sweet kisses.

A year of sitting in the lab with this boy, a year of fighting side by side, how had she not kissed him sooner?

“Woah, hey guys,” Ned walked back into the hallway, only a tiny bit surprised to see (y/n) wrapped up in Peter’s arms and their lips locked.  “What’d I miss?” He asked, laughing at himself while (y/n) and Peter pulled apart.

“Thanks, Ned” Peter groaned, but (y/n) smiled between the boy, swatting at Peter’s arm softly.

“So, what else is there to do at parties?” She asked, changing the subject. ___

After winning not one but three rounds of beer pong, ordering a shit ton of pizzas in Flash’s name, and dancing like no one else was around, they called it a night, and (y/n) called Happy to come get her and Peter.

They chilled outside on the curb, overheated and exhausted from the wild night they shared.

(y/n) pulled her knees up to her chest and leaned her head against Peter’s shoulder.

“Thanks for bringing me tonight,” She said sweetly.  “It was a lot of fun”

He smiled down at her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and tugging her closer against his side.

“I’m still trying to figure out if the best part was Flash puking up pizza and rum, or (y/n) almost breaking his hand,” Ned laughed, and (y/n) chuckled with an affectionate roll of her eyes.  “Probably the hand thing, that’s the coolest thing I’ll ever see”

“You should really come by the facility more often,” (y/n) told him.  “If you think that’s cool, you should really watch Steve work out”

Ned and (y/n) laughed while Peter nudged her side with his elbow.  She gave him a teasing wink in response.

When Ned’s ride came, they both hugged him goodbye, and (y/n) made both Peter and Ned swear that he’d come by more often.

Peter and (y/n) sat together for a few more minutes before Happy pulled up.  He didn’t look all too happy about picking up two teenagers in the middle of the night, but he politely let them pick the music and asked about their night, even sounding semi-interested.

The ride to Peter’s apartment complex was nice.  They took turns making sarcastic remarks, and Peter’s hand held (y/n’s) the whole drive.  Occasionally his thumb would tap against the back of her hand to the beat of the song.

When Happy pulled up outside of the building, Peter squeezed her hand before saying goodnight, and was already stepping out of the car when (y/n) pulled on his wrist so he’d lean back in through the door.

Happy turned to see what was up just as she’d leaned up to kiss Peter.

“Goodnight” She said sweetly when she pulled away, and Peter grinned back at her, his face pink as she shut the door and he headed up to the building.

As (y/n) got settled back in her seat, she caught sight of Happy gaping at her.

“I am not telling your Dad,” He told her before she could explain herself.  “That one’s on you, got it?”

(y/n) giggled and nodded her head in agreement, knowing Happy did not need the extra talk that Tony.

“Alright, Hogan, I’ll tell him” She told him.

Tony would take it well, right?

We’ll see.

___

taglist: @writings-and-stuff​ @rofromtheashes​ @tomshufflepuff​ @steve-avengers-rogers​ @vibhati123 @dark-night-sky-99​  @hollandhours @drakonwild​ @imofficiallyobsessed​ @fussy-and-a-writer-sometimes​

xoxo ~jordie

[tarithenurse]

Girl Power Challenge

Pairing: Thor x fem!reader Content: Heavy on the tropes (haters to lovers, denial); mission; cursing; sass; humour; degrading comments; mentions of drinking; pure, filthy smut with dom/sub-inclinations. A/N: My one-shot contribution to @captain-kelli​ ‘s 500 challenge, based on a dialog prompt (bold) and a sprinkling of Thor. I hope it’s alright ;) Huge thanks to my lovely friend maladaptive-ninja-returns for betaing this one.

Stronger

No vocabulary contained the swear words you needed so desperately at that moment. A few interesting options had already passed your lips as you worked through the crumbling building, using your skill to move aside blocks of concrete as though they were tumbleweed to get to survivors. One by one, you had tunneled towards the poor victims, shaping the earth and debris to prevent any collapses, and you had actually been thrilled when you sensed the vibrations of Iron Man landing to take a dirty, shaking body from your arms.

Despair diffused into hope while you worked side by side with the Avengers.

Then the oaf showed up, tossing slabs off concrete out of the way without any consideration to the balance of the ruins.

It happened fast, almost too fast for the movement to register through your feet into your legs. Lunging forward, you managed to grab the kid you had been working towards with one hand while maintaining a thin, wobbly pillar (once the corner of the building) beneath yourself while the rest fell away. Dust and embers billowed. Your heart hammered in the throat. The rumble managed to drown out the kid’s frightened scream. Out of the raging darkness, Stark appeared just in time to grab the poor child as the dirty fingers started to slip through the strained grip – then they were gone and you could focus on your own predicament. Tired and pissed off, you would have a hard time shaping the concrete according to your will (earth would have been preferable due to the malleability).

Then the air crackled, making the little hairs stand on end. Or maybe it was simply the anger simmering from the anticipation of what was to come: a big, strong, blond oaf in a red cloak propelling himself upwards and past you yet somehow still managing to snare an arm around your waist and swish you away.

No language in the universe held the curses you needed. It might have been a hint for Thor if he had noticed how the remainder of the building crushed into itself, becoming no more than dust. He didn’t. He was too busy looking smug, a beaming smile aimed towards you even before he landed with a tooth rattling jolt.

“Fear not, fair lady,” he rumbled with more pride than you could stand, “nothing shall harm you now.”

No restraint could contain the cold words slithering off your lips. “Who asked you to intervene?”

“I…beg you pardon?” Oh, the confusion in those electric-blue eyes was perfect.

“You think you have to rescue me?!” Forcibly wriggling out of his arms, it was wonderful to have steady ground beneath your feet. “You think I can’t take care of myself?!”

He was not off the hook yet, oh no. Not once did the Asgardian God of Thunder get a proper word in as defense while you chewed him out. The only reason you eventually stopped was because Stark came over, dragging you away with the promise of a spa treatment and a party – who in their right mind would say no to that?

…   …

The party had been a small celebration with those involved in the day’s heroing: dinner at a local diner followed by drinks at a bar that Stark rented for the evening, but despite the “free” drinks and cute bartenders the Avengers eventually went back to the Tower, dragging you along with them. Were you supposed to have said no? Maybe. But of course you didn’t.

Staying away from Thor, you still managed to have a great time and had no issues ignoring the sulking glances the blond brute sent you from across the room. Drink in hand, you allowed yourself to be sweettalked into some fun and games by Natasha.

…

Who knew that superheroes amuse themselves by something as simple as “Truth or Dare”? To be honest, so far it has been hilarious (especially when Sam tried to minimize the damage he’d done to his reputation after a truth-question).

“Dare,” Thor proclaims with confidence as he stares down the redhead next to you.

A smile curls Natasha’s lips and if you had been on the receiving end then you would be scared. Thor, of course, is not.

“Kiss the person you’ve known the longest and the one you’ve known the shortest.”

There’s a beat of silence where Thor’s eyes flicker in your direction, but the tension is averted by Stark practically throwing himself at the Asgardian in anticipation of what’s to come. Two people don’t participate in the ruckus cheering filling the room: Natasha, who is leering at you…and you, who leans comfortably into the plush pillows, a leg dangling over the other to allow the foot to wiggle along to the beat of the music. Think murder, you tell yourself before meeting her gaze. Steady. Unwavering.

“So…” Your face is a perfect mask of calm innocence. “What’s the punishment when he fails?” Not if.

Although the words have been quiet, they manage to silence the room. Already, people are getting ideas as Thor recover from the first part of the Dare, his mind now also struggling with the suggestion that he, the Mighty Prince Thor of Asgard, should possibly fail.

“Oh! I know!” It might be Bruce piping up for once…or Stark if he has returned from his private heaven. “Thor’ll have to leave Mjølnir behind for research when he returns to Asgard.”

A collective “oooh” rushes through the group, undoubtedly fueled further by the blond idiot’s reaction. Perfect. He’s struggling to keep composure, nerves thrumming through his body - only finding an outlet through the punishing grasp that is threatening to tear off the armrest of the chair, and the curling of toes inside the big boots. But you? A tiny smirk tickles the corner of your mouth as you wait for the inevitable.

“Well, what a-are we waiting for?” Thor smiles falter when you do nothing but sip from the drink. “Surely, you cannot truly detest me…”

Oh, no? The slowest of looks from under your lashes tells him otherwise. Whether he has understood what he did wrong or not, it’s evident he realizes what is at stake at this moment while you have the perfect opportunity to teach him a lesson for making a situation worse by running in like a driverless bulldozer.

“What’s this?” you drawl playfully, “need me to…save…you?”

Electricity sparkles in his eyes and you know the words hit the right spot, but then he blinks and it is gone, leaving behind a man in the place of a god. “Yes. Please…save me.”

You know the others must be confused, unsure of what to make of the untamed rivalry between the two of you. Frankly, the scene has taken a turn you didn’t expect either. It’s just that…backing down isn’t an option anymore. Pushing away the knowledge of their presence, you focus on Thor and your nails.

“Funny thing, knowin’ someone wants to be rescued. Really enables a certain drive, y’know? A need to do it right and not endanger other people by rushing in like a bumbling oaf…dontcha agree?”

“Uhm…”

“Soooo…the plan’s to save you…or Mjølnir…by kissing you?”

“Yes?”

“I’ve seen rocks I’d rather kiss.”

Somewhere, in the world you’ve chosen to ignore for the moment, there are shouts and jeering. Right in front of you is a tall, muscly god with arms crossed as he towers above you. Glaring. Finally letting go of the confusion as your last insult chips away the patience he has cultivated. He doesn’t budge when you stand, chest brushing against his wiry lower arms, and the temptation to stand on the couch becomes nearly overwhelming.

“I’m no rock,” he growls, “unlike your heart.” There’s a gasp from somewhere behind the Asgardian (it distinctly sounds like the word “burn”), quickly followed by shushing. “Though…mayhaps your cold façade serves to keep yourself protected from feeling any love?”

“Nice try…but no.” The last dredges of your drink flows easily over your tongue. Time for a refill. “Now, excuse me.”

Thor allows you to pass and get all the way to the bar counter where you deposit the empty glass before he calls out to you. “I did not take you for a coward, lady [Y/N].”

“I’m not.”

“Yet you dare not share a kiss.”

You’ve frozen to the spot, back still turned to the group and hand on the fridge. I can say no…I can say no…I can…not. Nope. Not gonna chicken out. Slowly turning, it’s all too evident that everyone is holding their breath in anticipation. Some are praying for a chance to study the bloody hammer while others just want some ammunition to pester either Thor or maybe you with for at least the rest of the night.

“Now that’s a low blow, mister.” He is in trouble and the way you walk back to face him shows it. “Let’s see what you got, then.”

He delivers.

A hand cradling your neck, and arm around your waist pulling you flush up against him. There’s a brief second where your entire vision is filled by the electricity crackling in his blue eyes before his lips are upon you. Surprisingly gentle, they slot onto your mouth with ease and you’re done for. The combination of his beard prickling your upper lip and chin is the perfect contrast to the molten heat parting your lips with a sweep of his tongue to deepen the kiss. You forget to breathe, forget to hold your eyes open and your legs steady. Instead you lean into his embrace and allow your instincts to engage in a dance you hadn’t intended to perform but don’t want out of.

You are breathless when he pulls away, hands supporting you until you have got your bearings again. Want.

“See?” By some sort of miracle, your voice isn’t reduced to a gasp. “Rocks could do better.”

Thankfully, the scientific part of the group are complaining loudly enough about the missed opportunity to move the attention from you and eventually the game continues for a few rounds. It gives you time - time where you keep pulling your gaze away from the blond god repeatedly. Sometimes, you imagine feeling the electric fire of his eyes scalding your skin, each time making you check to find him studying you unabashedly.

…

By the time the party ends, you’ve been offered to sleep over rather than make your way home. Tony has already staggered off to his room, leaving Natasha in charge of finding a bed for you a few floors below the lounge and instruct you on the little stash of spare clothes hidden behind a panel in the wall.

“Most are gonna sleep in t’morrow, so don’t worry ‘bout getting up early,” she yawns. Just before the door closes behind her, she adds, “Oh, and if you hear snoring it’s just Thor…his room’s across from this.”

I didn’t hear that.

Snooping around the room and en suite bathroom entertains you for a while and even yields rather luxurious results – the hottest shower you have ever indulged in as well as overly fluffy towels and a dark blue, silk nightshirt that reaches the middle of your thighs. The place is fit for a princess. A highly modern one, but royalty, nonetheless. Even a Prince of Asgard.

Just the thought makes a delicate sweat break out on your skin. Logic and lust battles within you, painting pictures in your mind of a strong body displayed naked before you, muscles moving like sand beneath the tan skin and a stone-grip on your thighs.

I’d be weak if I give in, you pout as you toss and turn in the enormous bed…and regret it if I don’t. Caught between a rock and a hard place there’s no rest to be found while the fire burns within. The problem is not the risk of love or hurt feelings but rather to become “just another of those girls”. The kind of chicks that sigh while waiting for Mr. Right to find them; the type of female who needs a provider and protector for whatever reason. None of those are you. Strong and independent, no one is above you. Sure, you got morals (the wish to help people and not hurt them intentionally is there), but all your life you’ve followed your dreams and aspirations, ensuring you got what you wanted.

“Why not this time?”

The darkness doesn’t answer the whisper, but perhaps that is a reply in its own right.

Yeah…I want him. I’ll have him. Slipping from under the duvet, bare feet listen to the information carried like a mumble through the concrete to guide you out of the room and across the hall where a sliver of light cuts below the door. You can feel his footsteps pacing back and forth. Is he waiting? Considering his own options?

A deep breath finds its way into your lungs in an attempt to steady your nerves. Rather than knocking, you open the door resolutely, finding the god at the far end of the room in all his naked glory including a semi-hard cock. The once-over becomes a twice-over as the door closes behind you.

“Might wanna lock when walking ‘round in your birthday suit.”

The specimen of a man doesn’t seem bothered by the intrusion or nudity but minimizes the distance between the two of you with all but a yard. “My own door was of little concern,” he rumbles, “while yours became an insurmountable obstacle from which I’ve retreated numerous times…afraid my sins were irredeemable.”

Oh really? “I…could forgive you, I guess…”

“Tell me how!” The tall man literally drops to his knees before you, large hands reaching for your hips but not daring to touch. “Your wish is my command, m’lady.”

It’s a rush to be in charge of Thor, not just due to his natural alpha-vibes or his royal title but rather because he doesn’t begrudgingly follow your instruction as you order him to get up and turn to display himself. He moves with a slow purpose, flexing his limbs lazily as you carve the sight into a memory that time never will erode. Sandy skin glistens in the dimmed light while shadows shimmy across the mountains and valleys of his muscles.

“Undress me.”

There’s not a lot of clothing to remove. Nonetheless, he extends each part of the task to the infinite, making sure not to touch your skin as each button of the silk shirt is popped to allow the cool fabric to slide off your shoulders and pool at your feet. Once more, he kneels. Calloused fingers reaching for the hem of your panties.

“Wait.” His hands stop mere millimeters away. “Before you remove them, feel free to touch me as you wish.”

Even without direct eye contact, you can sense the flicker of lightning playing in the blue of his irises – a convenient explanation to why every hair on your body stands on end when you still don’t want to admit it’s pure excitement.

His first touches are featherlight strokes up and down your thighs, curving to the back where the large palms fit so well under the ass. Fingertips tug at the thin fabric of your undies, pulling them partially below the hips so only your mound remains hidden, baring sensitive skin for Thor to lavish with subtle kisses. The first tremors dance deep within you, early warnings of an earthquake only he can set off.

The grip is much stronger, needier, when his hands frame your waist to pull you flush against his chest. Nose in navel, deep breaths inhale your scent. The smile of his lips can be felt against your abdomen, growing wider as he cups one of the breasts where his fingers stroke the peak and tweak the hardening pebble to make you gasp.

“M’lady,” he murmurs against your hip, tongue tracing the shift in your flesh to where the bundled undies hinder further advances, “please allow me…?”

“Alright.”

Barely have the words left your lips before you feel the fabric slip down, reluctantly letting go where they have soaked up the wetness between your legs already. He knows. A deep sigh escapes him, immediately followed by kisses claiming the path towards your sex.

A few inches and his lips will be on your clit.

One inch.

“Enough.” The words are more ragged than sharp as intended, but Thor accepts the command. “Get on the bed.”

You follow him closely as he scoots backwards until his head rests on the pillow. Damn. Every tensed muscle you touch could be carved from sun-heated marble. Shivers erupt from where you hands glide over his skin – all running towards the proudly erect cock which in itself is a godly masterpiece that twitches in anticipation as you straddle his thighs.

It’s so obvious, the craving in those electric eyes devouring you whole, the tremble caused by self-restraint. Waiting for the order, huh? Reaching for his hands, allowing fingers to entwine as you lean down to nibble at his throat. Sensitive nipples sweep over his chest. Each stuttering breath escaping Thor tickles your ear as your lips find their way towards his until the connection finally is made and he can steal your breath away, drinking it straight from your mouth. Hips roll, his or yours – it barely matters – but you won’t let go and allow his hands to roam. Not yet at least. Tearing away, a smile plays on your lips at the whine he utters at the lack of contact.

“So eager,” you purr, “for this?”

Not once do your eyes stray from him. Your own hands are much smaller, doing little to imitate what Thor might be able to do if he was the one to cup your breasts before a hand slides to the apex of your thighs to splay the folds and spread the glistening wetness there. Blatantly taunting him, moaning and rocking against your own touch as you expertly swirl the clit. Beneath you, the man groans and you do the same when you tweak the nipples, one after the other as the hand works. There’s a distinct sound of fabric ripping when a few of your digits enter the core.

“Please. Goddess,” the desperate man gasps, “please.”

Rolling the pelvis (and shuffling slightly forward on the knees) you drag your sobbing cunt along Thor’s shaft, the tip teasing the entrance enough for him to pout as you repeat the maneuver. So tempting. All it would take is a little lift and then a slow, breathtaking slide to bring his cock inside. To feel the width and length press ever right spot as the walls of your cunt would stretch and quiver to accommodate him.

“Show me how to treat a goddess, then.”

The mask of meek desperation crumbles in seconds, revealing a predatorial greed gleaming like sharp crystals. Rather than grab your hips and guide you until you are impaled on his cock, however, he surges up to embrace you tightly. A demanding mouth captures your lips, stealing your senses by the flexing sweeps of a tongue matched by bites. When Thor’s hands begin to roam, you find yourself unable to do anything but hold on to him, nails digging into the muscly back, as your body grinds against him with a will of its own.

You’re vaguely aware of the room turning around you and the firm softness of a mattress against your back, but nothing truly stands clear until the nibbling kisses and licks travel down your body. Clavicle and shoulders, breasts where each hypersensitive nipple is treated heavenly before Thor proceeds across the expanse of your stomach.

He uses every part of his body to tease you: his voice sends vibrations into your very soul, the press of him is deliciously insistent between your legs, his reddish beard a devilish contrast to the sweetness of his lips, and his hands…oh god…his hands are everywhere. Pinching, massaging, stroking.

“O-ah!” The sound slips out of you in whimper.

Thor is paying full attention to your clit, licking broad stripes all along the folds before spelling out the alphab- wait. Each flick of his tongue does trace a letter around the tight bundle of nerves, but they aren’t random instead spelling out your name before a broad lick starts it all over until your toes curl and legs shake from the approaching orgasm and your moans have changed to keening cries for more.

In a flurry, the strong man sits back, hauling you along to ensure your legs are clenching his flanks firmly and his cock breaching the entrance to your core. Strong hands under your ass is holding you steady, allowing you to look down upon his face where your juices glisten in the beard.

“A word from your…lips is a law…in my…life,” he gasps just as eager as you.

“Give me ev’rything.”

The muscles shiver under the Asgardian’s skin from holding back as he impales you slowly. Your back arches. Your walls flutter and squeeze in a pulsating rhythm, soon matched by Thor’s thrusts and pulls at your hips the moment he shifts the hold on you. Deep, dragged out movements hitting all the right spots within and outside of your core.

No metaphor covers the sensation as you cum, riding Thor’s cock as you sit in his lap. Maybe an earthquake, a landslide that sends you flying into a void containing nothing but the two of you, his arms holding you while your body relents control in favour of unbridled euphoria. And just as it feels as though the orgasm wanes, the man’s thrusts stutter and a tingle of electricity runs through your core bringing you to a new peak together with Thor.

Breath by shuddering breath, you descend from the high wrapped in each others’ arms while foreheads rest against each other. Eventually you reach between your bodies, holding in his cum as he slips out and lies you down on the bed.

“Don’t leave, [Y/N],” he asks from the place beside you.

How could I? “Just let me freshen up.”

…

Cleaned up and watered, you’re back in Thor’s bed, allowing him to tug you closer.

“My lady…if this be the punishment for my wrongs then I may have to interfere more often…”

Hmmm…potential. “I’m imaginative,” you laugh, “so stay sharp.”

“As you wish, my queen.”

[prince-toffee]

Five Minutes

A sacrifice fic just to prepare for the inevitable.

(Sorry if there’s any grammar errors, I don’t care, I’m tired, ok I do care, consider this a first draft, I’ll fix it if something’s up.)

The doors locked. They did it. They won. The door ‘s access panel changed it’s green light to a red. The display on the panel read ‘Warning, temperature rising to dangerous levels. Clones present in WatchPoint Bay Q6.’ “Yeah, no shit.” Modulok grumbled to himself, and partially to the panel, as he sat down on the walkway next to his brothers.

“Sooooo, what- what’s happenin’? Is it working?” Vultak asked swallowing fear down his throat as he stuttered on the ‘what’. It did work, the Princesses managed to destabilise the core of the capital warship, The Velvet Glove. The She-Ra, Princess of Power, ploughed her mystical sword into the power core, which resulted in the station’s propulsion systems going offline and set the warship on a collision course with Etheria’s most populated centre, BrightMoon.

“Yeah, it worked alright.” Modulok scratched his two heads with his two left hands, “I just... I calculate that we’ve got about five minutes before either the ship burns up ooooor the all-mighty, all-powerful relic sword explodes and tears our atoms apart and flings them across the ten dimensions... maybe both, probably both.” Modulok shrugged his shoulders with a lifeless chuckle, which didn’t really comfort the perched Vultak on the walkway railing. Then again, what would possibly lighten the mood in that moment.

Hordak and Princess Entrapta managed to angle the station in a manner that it’d just nearly miss the planet, burn up in the atmosphere and use the momentum of the gravity to sling shot it into a surrounding moon. The space station was mentally linked to Horde Prime, everything was operated and controlled with his consciousness. With Prime dead, it put them into a difficult circumstance. Someone had to stay behind to make sure the ship stayed on course, someone mentally compatible with the Horde systems. Hordak was the logical choice, actually he was the only choice. He was the only High General present, meaning only he comprehended and was familiar with the warship systems. Hordak thought it was funny, She-Ra did finally kill him. A destiny fulfilled.

“Five minutes to live. That’s not a lot...” Mosquitor spoke up, giving off a an exhausted sigh. All six clones present in the room fell into tense and anxious silence. Fear and sadness blocked their throats, they weren’t used to talking, with their vocal cords, it was forbidden. Clones were only allowed to communicate telepathically and only communicate about their duties and objectives. Small talk wasn’t in the Horde dictionary. Ironically the only places where clones were able to talk and showcase their individualism was on the frontlines.

“Okay, so five minutes left of life... any last words?” Modulok asked shimming his rear to find a comfortable position to sit on the hard, cold walkway. A grated panelled pathway suspended at the centre of a deep chamber above a transparent force shield at the bottom. Which frames a view of heat and fire outside, melting and charring the metal outer casings of the ship.

“What’s there to talk about?” Despara quirked her brow at her brother’s question.

“Well, we’re clones, we don’t get this lucky. We’ve got five minutes to make up for all the decades of silence.” Modulok articulated.

To guide the warship most effectively Hordak had to observe the trajectory from a vantage point, that was where their paths diverged. Princess Entrapta protested, she held his hands in her own, massaged his knuckles with her thumbs. She raised herself up on her hair to face him eye to eye. She even gave him her signature smile, the one that melted his heart in a second. She had that look of possibility in her glistening crimson eyes, a spark of wonder and wanting that looked into multiple futures, hundreds of possibilities, a look that showed Hordak what he had to fight for, a world where that smile, those eyes and that laugh and that brilliant mind exist. A perfect world. He chose to make it, even if it was without him in it. He decided to do something his brother could never. A final gift to Entrapta, for all the trouble and confusion he caused her.

He gave her a kiss on her gloved hand, befitting for royalty, he gave her the best smile he could, and for the last time, he left her. Princess Entrapta would go on to cry for many days to come, but it was for the best. The greater good.

“Alright. I’m just gonna say it, food, not a fan. Too mushy. Has to go through your entire digestive system, which I didn’t even know existed until a few cycles back, and it has to come out th-” Modulok was cut off by Hordak, who previously was completely silent.

“You didn’t have to come with me.” He didn’t even look at them as he spoke, face down, staring at a small purple crystal in his hand, which he used to fugit with to ease his nerves.

“What are you talking about? We stay together. We’re defects.” Despara states to Hordak almost offended, all of them were through a lot, she felt offended that Hordak thought they’d abandon him now.

“We fought through war. We hold-ass across the universe. And we killed our god! Together!... Well, technically the blonde Valkyrie lady killed Prime, but still it’s the thought that counts.” Vultak shrugged, attempting to lighten the mood. Hordak rubbed circles on the purple crystal, looking down on it, his face reflected in it’s cracked surface. L-U-V-D. That’s what was etched on it. A fact. A reminder of her compassion. A wake up call. And he did wake up, from a dream world he believed all his life. A life of lies. From a hazy of toxic green to a reality of flaming red.

“I am your general. I stood at our brother’s side, you were mere soldiers, pawns. I deserve this pain, not you. You could’ve- you should have had normal lives.”

Mosquitor chuckled to himself, “Normal isn’t exactly in our dictionary.” The towering brute countered as he cradled the young hybrid in his arms, keeping Zed near his chest. As if it would make any difference when the fire broke through. “Also we’re not the kind of people the Etherians seem to want to deal with.” The statement made a wicked smile form on Hordak’s face. He enjoyed being in charge, being the one with the carrot on the stick. Having something of his own, something to his own name. They will always remember his name. Never forget. No one will ever forget.

“Then what do you think happens to our brothers? You think the Princesses kept their side of the bargain? You think their all off the ship, that they evacuated them?” Despara asked most likely imagining the worst, a possibility that there were some other poor clones still on board. That they were sacrificing lives that weren’t there own.

To quiet their minds, Hordak tiredly claimed, “No. They kept the promise. They’re honest people.” Hordak added that they had to, they were just like that, it was in their nature. Hordak knew their brothers were fine. BrightMoon had no court to try them, no holding cells and wouldn’t have enough to hold all of them for decades to come. And hopefully if Entrapta didn’t decide to hate him, she’d help them all and embrace them in her warmth. Dryl hadn’t had citizens for a decade or two, he was sure the clones wouldn’t be much of a downgrade. Add some life to the ghost town, so she doesn’t feel alone anymore.

“Yeah, well whatever they’re up to, it can’t be as bad as the predicament we’re in, heh.” Vultak flapped his winged arm around, a sharp gasp of pain escaped him as he moved his right around. No wonder either, it was bent forward, from the fight with Prime, literal minutes ago. It felt so victorious for just a moment, but life has a fun way of turning tables around.

“Plus, the Princesses, totally lame, right?” Modulok rolled his eyes as he attempted to stand up to get over to V and help his brother’s arm. But Vultak raised his left hand in protest, there was no need. It was going to be over soon. Modulok sat back down in defeat, amusement draining from his two faces. What good was a medic that couldn’t fix his fellow soldiers.

It was Mosquitor’s turn to brighten the situation, “Hah, yeah I bet they’re all clawing their ears out by now. Hehe, remember what those colour coded pansies moaned about all the time? Friendship? And rainbows? What a mucha losers, eh? Hehe... heh.”

“I remember.” Hordak stated. Never again. Never forget.

“Yea, losers.” Despara nodded.

“Losers.” Modulok and Vultak said at the same time.

“...Hmmmhehehahah- HA!” Modulok covered his face to hide his ugly laughter, forgetting about the other one expressing the same emotion.

“Mode, what the hell now?” Vultak asked, a smirk creeping up on him.

“Hehehehahahahhhh, ahhhhh man, w-heh-which one was the one that tried to hug Zed, heheheh and- and got burned. Oh lord. Oh Great Darkness. That face was priceless. HhhhhhhhHAHAHA!” The infectious mirth managed to wriggle out a small spasm out of Zed. His shoulders moving up and down, his nasal cavity wrinkling up in that cute way. Of course the young Zed contributed no sound of amusement as he was mute.

Despara shrugged her shoulders, “I don’t know. They all look the same to me.” The room shook violently, the pipes above rattled and metal panels fell off the walls and fell down through the force field below. Hordak’s realisation dawned on him, that he would be departing the mortal realm. Even thought there was an inferno forming beneath him, just outside that thin force field, even though he was surrounded by his clone brethren, his mind couldn’t help but wonder off to the thought of a certain Scientist Princess. His mind run wild with quite corny and laughable poetry, everything he wished he said to Entrapta. But didn’t.

He didn’t need her to devote her entire life to him. No. That’d be caging her. She deserved to be free, free to bend the universe to her will and bow before her beautiful intellect. He didn’t need her to lay her lips on him, she didn’t need to touch him. All he needed was just to see her smile, at him. Just for her to be with him, because that smile just for a moment saves him, just for a moment she makes him forget the endless pain he endured every day of his life. And every smile felt like an eternity of bliss. And so with just a look that woman could transport him into a perfect world, where he could live an eternity-long life.

But he didn’t say any of that to her. Hordak knew Entrapta wasn’t interested in long speechs, she had a short attention span, she was a woman of actions not words. That’s why before all this all Hordak gave Catra was a short note to give to Entrapta. He had her promise that she’d apologise to Entrapta, for all that she had done. Unfortunately, he made her apologise for the two of them. The note read ‘I’m sorry, and thank you. - Your ever loyal knight, Hordikins. Farewell My Queen.’ He could have gone on how there were no words in any dialect across the universe that could express how she made him feel, or that if she only asked he would have gifted her the universe. The note said everything it made to.

“Kinda sucks, all this. I only came on sentient a few hours ago.” Despara stated playing with her hair. The statement of dry humour pulled Hordak back from his day dream. “But I’m glad I had the opportunity to meet all of you. And... and be myself, even if it was short lived.” Despara finished. The words brought smiles to her fellow brothers, the past few Horde cycles were the craziest experiences of their lives, because they were experiencing life itself for the first time. They decided where their paths led. Especially Despara. She wasn’t always... herself. What was going to become Despara was clone DSP-772,411, whom was the detention guard overseeing Catra’s cell. ‘411 had never met an other lifeform other than clones. Dess was a servant clone. Never stepped outside the perimeter of The Velvet Glove. Her insight on the lay out of the ship came in useful to the defects in their infiltration to kill Prime. ‘411 always felt like they weren’t serving their cause properly, along side their dying brothers on the frontlines. Though not on the battlefield she risked her life every day. Prime had a tendency for violent mood swings. A dinner party for Prime’s guests could be more traumatising and devastative to a clones health than the trenches. Many clone have begged to be sent to the frontlines to escape the unspeakable horrors which occurred within the walls of the warship.

‘411 was immediately drawn to the captive Magicat. Catra spilled her heart, cried and whimpered, talked about an old flame of her’s, about how she hurt people close to her, about how the Princesses were “full of it” as she put it. And ‘411 listened to all of it. And at the end, when Catra’s tears dried up and she quieted down, all ‘411 could ask was, what a ‘she’ was. It must’ve shocked Catra, eyes wide in confusion and mouth drooping low in surprise. Hordak was there when she did, but he could’ve imagined the cat’s reaction, mostly because his first Force-Captains had the same reaction when he first asked that same question in his first years on Etheria. Captain Octavia had quite an interesting evening that day. He made her swear an oath of silence, to never speak of that embarrassing encounter.

Clones had no concept of sex or gender, things just were the way they were. As Prime intended them to be, perfect. The bodies and missions given to them by Prime were unquestionable. And it never was questioned, because none knew what other possibilities were out there. The alien armies of the Horde encountered were all different and unique, but there was no time or reason to study them. It wasn’t an objective. Prime did not care. Her brothers may have not fully understood, what Despara meant when she said she was always “this” deep down, but none argued, none protested against their new sister. She was a clone, a defect, one of them. She was a new experience. One of a kind. And as Vultak put it ever so elegantly, “Cool. I never had a sister before.”

It was ultimately her who let Catra out and helped her escape back to the Alliance. Hopefully she got that kiss she so desperately needed. Hordak met ‘411 only once before being sent off back to the frontlines, his return and the assault on the Velvet Glove, and briefly at that, on his way with a breakfast tray to Queen Glimmer’s guest room.

“Hey, hey, stop with that sappy stuff.” Mosquitor waved his hand dismissively, rolling his eyes. Moe, as his brothers called him, much like most clones including Hordak, wished to at all times seem tough. Poor MSQ-999,332 had it worse than most. He hide his defection for much longer than Hordak. The illness became so bad that eventually he could no longer use his own legs, his waist and legs lost all near all muscle mass. And so ‘332 became paralysed. He was just slowing down his platoon down, so his lower body was amputated. Of course the brother that rescued and brought Moe on board was executed for the crime of ‘Conferring with Inappropriate Machinery’. And Prime personally threw Moe out the airlock back down to the battlefield. ‘332 spent most of his days afterwards, crawling across mudded trenches. Luckily, Moe met on that some battlefield, MUD-111,117, or Modulok.

Nothing, but hatred and vengeance flew through his veins, it did for all of us. Mode managed to construct a life support system, for Moe, a walking hospital bed. Many parallels could’ve been made between it and Hordak’s own First Ones suit, created by Entrapta. Moe’s unit was twice the size of Hordak, it made him tower over even Prime, but the biggest difference was, Hordak’s suit was near indestructible, Moe on the other hand even if he had intimidation on his side the armour was more for life support than anything. Mosquitor faired better from a distance, ‘332 was an amazing snipper. The room shook more, sparks fling from wiring in the wall, the walkway holding them vibrated and shuttered. Moe took hold of Zed in his large arms, readying for the end.

The sight made Hordak thankful that Entrapta took Imp and got him to safety. The Lord of the Horde didn’t think he could’ve handled having to be forced to watch he’s own creation die... his little spy. He was safe, back on Etheria, in a loving home with a loving overseer. He only hoped that she’d teach Imp her ways, and hoped that one day Imp would grow into an intelligent man worthy enough to continue her legacy of brilliance.

Zed was the youngest of all the clones, although technically the creature wasn’t even a clone, but rather a hybrid. A prototype of the splicing initiative. A combination of Prime’s DNA and an unknown gene pool. The kid was an attempt at a creation of super soldiers, but failed. Poor kid always wanted to meet that other half of him. That other person that aided in bringing him into the world. This awful, awful world. Sadly, he never will, but he was the first to follow Hordak into the chamber. The boy did say back on the frontlines, that he’d jump into fire after him. And it was true. And to be more accurate, he didn’t say, he signed. All the defects learned the universal sign language. Zed might’ve been silent, but his voice wasn’t unheard.

He’s fate should have been a better one. He didn’t deserve this, he had a full life in front of him. Hordak never knew what drew Zed to him, why he asked so many questions, why he snuck out at night to see  him in the trenches. When Prime sent Hordak back to the frontlines, after his torturous reconditioning, he lost hope, but when he stepped out, or rather more accurately, when he was thrown out the troop dropship. Face first in a muddy trench dozens of defects thrown down with him. When he looked up from the dirt and filth, a slither of hope ignited in his belly, as a hand extended to him. Wonder in the boy’s eyes. He overheard Hordak’s mention of being trapped on other worlds.

”Hey, V you’re staring into the ceiling buddy. Talk to us.” Modulok snapped his fingers at his winged brother. Vultak didn’t turn to face him, mesmerised by the ceiling falling apart. V’s facial expression showcased a hypnotised look. As a combat aerial unit he always did look into the skies. But it probably had to do something with the impending doom below. ‘Don’t look down.’ Hordak remembered was the advise Vultak gave him when they leaped out onto the Velvet Glove from the dropship they stole, which exploded seconds later in the void of space as it filled with laser fire. VLT-441,441 was a paratrooper in the Horde military, until of course his defect began to show. He was always used to jumping into certain death, fearless in any mission. Vultak didn’t fear anything physical, nothing in the universe made him back down. But now, at the end he looked frightened, he couldn’t look down, do no more leaps of faith, for faith, he lost.

It’s true V feared nothing physical, because he had faith. He was a man of god. A believer. But what happens to a man when your god turns his back on you? Horde Prime knew defection was inevitable for many clones. No machine was perfect, especially no war machine. So Horde Prime infused prophecies and implanted messages into all clone subconscious, so that when defection occurs, all clones are compelled to return to him. Easier than hunting them down, easier to cover up the disgrace of his failures. Easier to hide his mistakes, he couldn’t afford to let those space fairing races above him mapping his progress to know about things like that. Couldn’t afford to let those higher than him know he was capable of mistakes. Perfection was expected of him. Those others above him, he tried to impress them, to have them take him in, show him enlightenment. He, all he wanted to do, was show he was worth their celestial time, he was worth something.

And now he’s nothing. He is now dead. Hordak found that he began to enjoy poetry and it’s irony more and more, in a twisted sort of way. Truly clones.

“Do you... Do you think there’s something out there for us? Up there, where ever?” The questions were deafening, everyone hoped Vultak wouldn’t have gone existential on them. But Vultak was the biggest patriot of them all, even surpassing Hordak’s obsession with their brother. And in turn he was the one most hurt by Prime’s betrayal. He was no god, no grand being, just a liar. Hundreds of thousands murdered... for him, because they believed their big brother. Hundreds of thousands, they murdered, for a lie.

“Do you think any of it was true? Do you think he believed any of it? Or was it ALL a lie?” Hordak answered V’s question in his mind, since never before was it a private place: Lie. “The Perfect World. The Grey Mound? The Hold Peck? The Great Darkness?” V grit his teeth, another wave of pain from his broken arm.

“Worried about being sent to the bad place, V?” Modulok asked, weak smile wearing.

“I’m just wondering. What’s waiting in the beyond for a guy like me. It can’t be anything good... if there even is anything up there.” Modulok decided to stand up and close the distance between him and his distraught brother. He leaned against the railing on which Vultak perched himself.

Mode gently touched V’s shoulder, it made sure V looked at him when he spoke. “I promise you, where ever you wake up on the other side, I’ll be there with you. And I’ll always fix you up after you jump into certain doom. Brother, you have my word.” It was true, the two were inseparable. Threw pure change the two met on the frontlines. While V had his head in the clouds, Mode grounded him, pulled him down to his level. Mode was a realist. He was bad at his bed side manner, he never lied to himself or his patients. He was a field medic, he saw things no one should, endured horrors unimaginable to the innocent. Modulok was the oldest to them, he was through a lot, fighting from world to world longer than any of them in Prime’s name. Over the many decades the spark of pride dulled, Mode found himself lost, fighting across the stars for a cause he no longer believed in.

Mode’s was haunting, even to other defects, whom experienced hardships and injustice. Modulok’s defection was the most dire Hordak ever seen, MUD-111,117 developed a second head, and two left arms. His genome could have been compaired to a computer glitch, untreated it just got worse. It was a miracle that Mode managed to make it to such an old age. Many species across the universe considered age to be a weakness, a disadvantage, but ‘117 always argued that with age came experience, and with experience came knowledge, which in turn led to wisdom. It was Mode who constructed Moe’s suit, led Dess’s surgery, gave V his wings and taught Zed sign language. A true veteran. He had been through it all.

But what Mode never helped Hordak with anything, ‘ 117 was a medic, he was compelled to fix others. But when Hordak first arrived at the fronts of Primus Minor, he isolated himself from everyone else, kept to himself. Hordak treated his own wounds, he worked on his armour alone. When he took the suit off, he was forced to walk on his own, no armour support system. And so he locked himself in an unused compartment of the trenches and over the course of six months, he learned how to walk. Baby steps to an adult man, who never had a childhood. Mode gathered from all of that, that Hordak was a loner. A solo act. Didn’t do well with people.

There came a day where Mode pulled Hordak off to the side and asked him why he worked through all the baggage alone? Why didn’t he ask for aid? Why did he ignore them? Hordak apologised that it seemed like he was avoiding them. And what Hordak said back in response stayed with the medic ‘til the end of his life.

“Mode... If there is good and evil.

And good is better than evil.

God has to be good... Right?”

“I suppose so.”

“So, are we good? Are we... like him?”

“What do you think?”

“I think there’s no such thing as good or evil.

But it’d be nice... to be good.”

“So, anybody got any idea how much time we’ve got left?” Despara asked looking at Modulok. Who just struggled in return, he didn’t exactly have a timer, he simply estimated the time remaining. “So that’s a no? We don’t kno- We can just blow up at any second?... Cool.” Dess combed her hair with her fingers to calm her nerves.

“You really think a timer would settle your nerves?” Moe asked unconvinced.

“I suppose not.” Dess admitted.

“I could’ve been with her.” Hordak spoke up suddenly in the middle of the conversation, honestly he was so quiet Despara forgot he was there, even though he was seated right next to her.

“What’d ya mean?”

“I could’ve saved myself... the First Ones crystal, it’s a server. To help me sync up with her new armour, Entrapta recorded my brain waves on the crystal. My memories, my thoughts, my personality, all of it... I could have given it to her when I last saw her.

But I didn’t.

I lied.

I left her.”

All five siblings turned their heads side to side take turns looking at each other and then back at Hordak. His face unmoved. Looking at the purple crystal. Zed stood up and broke free of Moe’s embrace. The young one stepped up to him. Hordak’s blood red eyes drifted up to the boy’s hands. He signed.

‘Why?’

“...Because it wouldn’t be me. Not me. A clone of me.”

The clones fell silent. Head bowing down. No more needed to be said. Every aspect of their lives had been thrown into question, into uncertainty. When the assault on The Velvet Glove happened, Hordak was leading the charge. Prime captured him and tortured him, he hurt him in front of Entrapta. He fell to his knees and crawled back to Prime, like he always did. But this time it was different, he stood up, he walked to him. Like a man, not a dog. Prime insulted and demeaned him. Prime claimed that Hordak wasn’t wasn’t a person. Clones were nothing, mere shadows of his greatness. The clones were him, just dirtier, unclean. A lesser version of what he was.

This was their stance against that. Showing that their lives meant something. That they were worth something. They were worth the world, for that was what they were saving. The scale balanced out.

The force field beneath them gave off a thunderous sound, a final warning. The bay shook one more time, the artificial gravity became disabled and the room began to tilt and shift. The metal walls crumbled like paper. The walkway began to swing and crack. Mode took V’s unbroken hand into his own. Moe embraced Zed in his arms one last time. Dess wrapped her arm around Hordak’s shoulder, and he inturn pressed his head against hers.

Modulok gave his last words in the form of a question, “...Do... Do you think... Could’ve we done something, could’ve we ended up with a happy ending, all of us? Could’ve we been good? Would it have make any difference?”

Hordak spent his last moments thinking, he didn’t realise he was thinking out loud, “Good? I think there’s no such thing as good?...

But it was nice...”

What ever this was. What it meant. What it was worth.

The force field imploded, gave in. The fire broke through. The Velvet Glove burned up in the atmosphere. And the clones were no more. And on that day all of Etheria cheered, and celebrated. For the evil was vanquished.

Ding-dong! The witches are dead.

[lonestarbabe]

Holding Out For a Hero

Chapter 4: I’m Fine (AO3)

Marjan is worried about T.K. and enlists the help of Carlos to make sure T.K. is okay. Things heat up between T.K. and Carlos... but in an angry way... for now. Carlos learns more about T.K. while T.K. starts to think that Carlos may actually care.

T.K.

It was a Wednesday, but T.K. didn’t know which one. He only knew that the pool cleaner had been outside earlier. The pool cleaner came on Wednesdays, so it had to be Wednesday. He was almost positive it was March but coming up with the month took a few seconds too long as alcohol and Oxy muted his mind. “Maybe you should slow down a little,” Marjan suggested, looking at T.K. with her usual disapproving look. If T.K. knew she’d planned on coming over, he would have saved the drugs and alcohol for later in the evening. Marjan didn’t consume either, and while she didn’t mind being around people who were drinking or maybe even smoking some weed, she wasn’t shy about telling him why he should avoid those things. She thinks I’m an addict, but I’m just having fun. As much fun as a miserable person can have, at least.

“Don’t be a kill joy Marjan.” She always wants to spoil my fun. Some best friend she is. I don’t need her to look after me, no matter what she thinks. Between her, Judd, and the new bodyguard, I’ll never get a moment to myself.

“Slow down,” Marjan told him again, pulling the bottle of vodka from his hand and putting it out of his reach. “I know you already had pills, and you shouldn’t be mixing that crap together.”

“Okay, Doctor Marwani.”

“I’m a first responder. I know a thing or two about these things, but of course, teen heartthrob T.K. Strand doesn’t like to listen to rules. It’s not cute to be a bad boy anymore.” She sounded annoyed, but her eyes were terrified. Look what I do to everyone around me. I put them through shit, and I act like an asshole, even though I’d give them literally anything they asked.

“You’re such a rule follower. Are all firefighters as boring as you?” T.K. lamented. “You can’t get anywhere if you go slow. Did Michael Phelps ever slow down?” T.K. added, grabbing a new bottle and watching amber liquid fill his glass. He took the shot of tequila just to prove a point. Stings more than vodka, and I kind of like it.

“No, he didn’t, and now you see him sitting in an empty pool in those Better Help commercials. Do you want that to be you?” Yeah, sitting in an empty pool might be pretty fun, but you can’t drown in it. Unless you find something other than water to drown yourself in. Wouldn’t it be funny to drown at the bottom of an empty pool?

“That’s because he stopped swimming. He let his feelings catch up with him. If you don’t ever stop, nothing can ever catch up to you. That’s why I gotta keep going.”

“Everyone has to stop eventually, T.K. People get old and slow. They can’t win races forever. You just better hope that you’re the one who makes that decision and that it isn’t the universe that steps in and slows you down.”

“Give me too much time to stop and think, and I’ll go crazy. There’s nothing that you, Judd, or any hot bodyguard can do about it.”

“Hot bodyguard? Don’t tell me it’s another Mr. Clean.” Oh, yes, the Mr. Cleans. So many bodyguards he’d had were bald and had an uncanny resemblance to Mr. Clean. He figured Judd just thought those guys looked responsible. Mr. Cleans were attractive, sometimes, but in a one-night stand kind of way. Let ‘em use you and then clean you away with their magic erasers.

T.K. shook his head. “This one isn’t just hot in an ironic way. He’s an ex-cop.” T.K. had done a quick— two-hour— internet search into Carlos. Carlos kept a pretty low profile, but T.K. had learned enough about him to guess how he ticked. He also knew that he had an ex-boyfriend, so he at least liked men.

“And you say that you don’t have a type.”

“He’s an ex-cop.”

“Still. Once a cop, always a cop.”

“I don’t care what he was or what he is. I’m just saying he’s hot. He hates fun just like you, but he’s hot.”

“Don’t harass him, Tyler Kennedy.”

“Don’t call me Tyler Kennedy, Marjan Marwani.”

“Marwani isn’t even my middle name.”

He stuck his tongue out at her. “Whatever. It’s not like I’m going to seduce him, anyway. I don’t do the chasing. People chase me.”

She looked at him like he was full of shit. “I’ve watched you chase plenty of guys. You practically mauled that big one last week.”

“Fucks, not dates. It’s different.”

“Yeah, because all you care about is having fun, I get it. T.K. Strand can never take anything further than a fuck,” she replied sarcastically. She doesn’t believe a single word of my bullshit, and that’s something I love and hate about her.

“I choose not to. Dates don’t like hanging out with party boys.”

“The issue is that party boys refuse to stay sober.”

“I’m sober a lot. Far too much for my liking, actually,” T.K. quipped.

“Yeah, I know. That’s exactly my point. You know, I rescue idiots like you every day. People who think they’re just having fun when they’re not having fun at all. They hate what they’re doing. They’re just being dangerous and stupid for no other reason than having a gap they need to fill.”

“I’m not dangerous. I’m really safe when I take anything. I don’t run heavy machinery when I’m high— not even my can opener. I’m careful, Marjan.”

She laughed. “Yeah that damn automatic can opener Judd got you could decapitate a person if they got their head too close.” Her face returned to concerned. “But don’t distract me with the Strand charm. I’m serious, T.K. I’m not worried about you getting other people hurt. I know you wouldn’t get in a car or endanger other people intentionally, but shit still happens. You’re going to do something to yourself that you can’t take back.”

“Maybe I’ll get a Better Help commercial out of it,” he said with a grin. When I’m washed up and the crowds stop coming to my shows, I’ll be one of those celebrities who has to resort to paid testimonials. I’ll suffer the horrifying ordeal of being known, forgotten, and known again as a relic from a time that had almost been erased from people’s memories. The voice from a song they used to love (or hate).

She punched him in the arm. “If you don’t shut up…” but she couldn’t help the smile that was on her face. “You look at the world so differently than I do.”

“Yeah, that’s for sure. Why are we even friends? I was trying to date a firefighter, not become best friends with his coworker.”

“Bob was forty-five with a wife and kids. You had to know it was never happening” Bob had a great dad bod.

“Why should that have stopped me?”

Marjan crossed her arms. “Your daddy issues are showing.”

“I don’t have daddy issues,” T.K. protested. My dad died a long time ago, and I’m totally over it. It’s not like he left me. He just left and never came back. He hugged me goodbye, went to work, and then just like that, he was gone. It wasn’t fair, but it was nothing he did. He died a hero, and now, there’s no hero left to save me. Not that I need one. I’m fine. Great even. I hate my life, but I’m surrounded by wonderful things. I would be happy if I wasn’t such a dreadful person.

“Your father was a firefighter and you wanted to date a firefighter old enough to be your father. Sounds like daddy issues to me.”

“You don’t get it because you don’t have daddy issues. I wasn’t interested because he was old or a firefighter. It was because he was hot… and looked nothing like my father for your information.”

“I’m just saying you never really dealt with your dad’s death.”

“It’s been two decades! Of course, I dealt with it. Mom made me go to therapy.”

“I’m guessing you didn’t take therapy seriously.”

“It only lasted a couple weeks before I threw a fit and convinced mom it did more harm than good.”

“See, you need to actually address your issues, T.K.”

“When did you get your psychology degree, anyway?”

“First, you tell me I’m not a doctor, and now you tell me I’m not a psychologist. You’re getting very predictable, Teek. And very defensive on top of that.”

“That’s not fair. I can’t say I’m not defensive without being defensive!”

“Sucks to be a loser.” Marjan made it her goal in life to win at everything.

“We all can’t be good at everything like you, Miss Has Gone Viral Eight Times.”

“It was only six, and I don’t think you stop going viral… ever. I always see your annoying face wherever I go— in magazines at grocery stores or billboards. I went on a date once with this girl, and when I went home with her, she had a big poster of you over her bed. Really killed the mood.”

“Any of the guys you dated have a poster of me?”

“One had a bobblehead.”

T.K. cringed. “That’s worse than a poster.”

“How? The poster is a lot bigger. I could shove the bobblehead in a drawer.”

“It’s unofficial merch,” T.K. explained.

“Oh, yes, the dreaded unofficial merch. How will you ever live without your cut of the money? You could have two Porsches by now if only you sold bobbleheads.” He didn’t mention that he could buy more than two Porsches if he wanted because he was sure she already knew that.

“The Barbie doll was nightmare enough. It looked like they glued feathers on my head.”

“I still have that doll. Just for when I need a good laugh.”

Marjan uncrossed her legs and got up to go to the kitchen.  “While I wish I could stay to talk, I have a shift in an hour, so I have to go. The captain doesn’t like my attitude as it is, which means being late would take me from his bad list to his firing list.” She shrugged. “It’s not my fault that I’m allergic to poor leadership.”

“That’s one hell of an allergy, Marj,” he shook his head at her. “If you’re trying to leave, the door isn’t in the kitchen. My mind is a little warped right now, but even I know that.”

Marjan put a water glass next to T.K. “I don’t want you to die. The hangover is probably unavoidable. But hydrate.”

“Why do you have to go? I thought your next shift wasn’t until Friday.”

“It is Friday. Hence why I have to go.” She told him impatiently. “Do you pay attention at all?”

“No, the pool cleaner came today. It’s Wednesday.”

“The pool cleaner comes on Thursdays, T.K. He came yesterday.” He checked his phone and saw that yes, it was Friday. Oof wonder where the time went.

“Fuck. Why does the week need seven days?”

“That’s it. I’m calling Judd.”

“He’s in Texas with Grace. I’m fine, Marwani. Go to work. Billy the Bully isn’t going to wait.” She sighed, looking torn about leaving him, but T.K. wasn’t going to be the reason Marjan got in trouble. Just because I can’t keep my shit together doesn’t mean I should drag everyone down into my miserable life.”

“I’m calling your new bodyguard.”

“No, you’re not.” He didn’t want the only times that Carlos saw him to be when he was indisposed. Carlos probably already hated him, and T.K., as much as he hated bodyguards, did not want to start again with a new bodyguard. If this didn’t work, Judd would probably call in a drill sergeant. Anyone but Carlos.

“I am. Maybe he can come sit with you for a while.”

“No way. You can’t call him on his day off.”

“There aren’t a lot of options right now. If he says no, he says no.” She’s so persistent. She won’t take no for an answer. Not with me, not with Carlos. “He might not be busy. He’s new to town, so he probably hasn’t made a lot of friends yet.”

“I’m not letting a hot guy see me in sweatpants and a hoodie.”

“That’s like your uniform.”

“Yeah, but it’s not for people who haven’t seen the shit show. I don’t want him to think I’m a slob.”

“Oh, so you care about his opinion? Give me his number. You know I won’t leave until you do.” She waited not so patiently for a response. “I guess I could ask Judd. Interrupt his nice trip with his wife, but you won’t make me do that, will you?” Friends are the worst.

“No, do not bother anyone. I’ll give you the number.” He sighed, fumbling for his phone. You’re a real psycho, you know that?” Marjan swiped the phone from his hands before he could even unlock it. She punched in the code. I really need to change that. “He’s listed under—”

“Hot Body Bodyguard, yeah, I got it.” She chuckled. “You’re so obvious.”

“Delete his number from your phone when you’re done.” He didn’t want Marjan talking to Carlos on the regular. That would be a disaster.

“Do you even know me?” Marjan laughed. “I still have Aaron’s number. This one isn’t going anywhere. I may delete Aaron’s though. I think it’s time.”

“Aaron?” He didn’t know who the hell that was. Was he somebody I slept with? One of Marjan’s exes?

“Mr. Clean #3.” Oh, him. He wasn’t so bad, but not at all personable. Hated the very idea of fun. Treated me like a toddler. Slightly attractive.

“Don’t remind me. He was awful.” T.K. groaned. He flipped his hand in the air to wave her away. “Go to work already.”

“Yeah, okay.” She finished up a couple of texts and stuck her phone in her purse. “I’ll see you later. Probably tomorrow, so don’t get drunk before five. No drugs either. I want you clear headed. I have boy issues to talk about.”

“I don’t get wasted every night, but okay. Cannot wait for your boy issues.”

Marjan smiled. “Good.” Before heading out the door, she turned to give him one last look. “Seriously, dude, be careful. I’d be really pissed if something happened to you.” Marjan always started throwing in “dude” when her emotions were getting the best of her.

“You’re the one who dives into fires for a living.”

“Yeah, but I do it with equipment. You dive into fires just to see if they’ll burn you.” She doesn’t understand that sometimes the burn feels better the numbness.

Carlos

Carlos’ plans were interrupted by a series of three pings on his phone. He picked his phone up, immediately having a bad feeling when he saw an unknown number. He was used to calls from unfamiliar numbers, but texts were rarer.

You need to get to T.K.’s house.

This is Marjan by the way. Marjan Marwani.

I’m T.K.’s best friend (reluctantly).

As he read the messages, Carlos stood from his couch, beginning to pace across his floor as his brows scrunched in consternation. This was not how he saw his day off going. T.K. better not be dead. I’m not going to lose that idiot if I can help it. I told Judd I’d protect him, and I don’t plan on backing down on my promise no matter how irritating T.K. can be.

What? Why? Is something wrong?

Carlos had just settled in from going to the store and was about to call his mom before cracking open a beer and watching TV. He was a worrier, so he couldn’t help thinking that something truly awful had happened. It can’t be that bad if T.K.’s friend is making jokes, Carlos reassured himself, but the chance that things might not be okay twisted Carlos’ stomach. I’m not going to let some bratty popstar ruin my evening. He’s probably just drunk and looking to do something stupid. I don’t need to deal with this.

Is it an emergency?

I’m not on duty, so I can’t just go over there if he doesn’t want me to.

Carlos had a bad feeling that his curiosity and worry would get the best of him, and he’d end up at T.K.’s mansion that was far too large for just one person. T.K. was difficult, but there was also something infectious about him. You couldn’t help but root for him or worry that he might not be okay.

He’s drunk and high. He shouldn’t be alone.

Please, just stay with him. He hates being alone.

I would but my boss is an asshole.

Please. Judd is away, and there’s no one else to call. He doesn’t have a lot of real friends.

He doesn’t even like me.

There was a thirty-minute delay before another text came in, and Carlos sat in suspense, worrying about all the things that can happen in thirty minutes.

Sorry. I was going to work. He likes you fine, and even if he didn’t, he’ll let you in because I told him to.

You’ve got blackmail on him or something? I barely know him, but I know T.K. doesn’t like being told what to do.

What you need to know about T.K. is that he doesn’t give a damn about himself, but he’d throw himself in a fire after taking a bath in gasoline to make sure the people he loves aren’t hurt.

Well, damn, he couldn’t argue that. Couldn’t say no to someone who clearly loved her friend so much. Couldn’t say no to T.K.

It would send the wrong message to spend his time off with T.K., but he hated the thought of T.K. overdosing or going out to find assholes to hang out with. He hated the thought of T.K. hooking up with some man who would take advantage of him. T.K. was a pain in the ass, but he was also a national treasure. Fangirls would never forgive Carlos if he let something happen to T.K. (He would never forgive himself.) This job is getting too messy. For whatever reason, I’m already too far in. Captivated by those green eyes and that lopsided smiled. I need distance because T.K. Strand is doing his best not to stay alive, and getting too close will set me up for a world or hurt.

He sighed, grabbing his keys from the hook by his door and heading out to his car. He sent Marjan a quick text.

Fine, I’m going over.

Good. I have to go. My bad boss is calling.

Keep him safe.

Carlos wasn’t sure if that last part was a best friend’s threat or a desperate plea, but either way, he didn’t want to screw this assignment up. I’ll keep him safe. But he couldn’t make promises because he couldn’t save T.K. from himself no matter how much he wanted to.

I’ll do my best.

Putting his car into gear, Carlos back out and zoomed down the highway until he got to a mansion set apart from the other houses. He wouldn’t admit to anyone how much over the speed limit he had gone. If he’d had sirens, he would have used them. Fuck T.K. for being such an endearing jackass.

He entered the code at the gate and haphazardly parked his car in the first place he could find. It wasn’t like him to be so impulsive. He liked order and control, and any lack of those things made him antsy, but he didn’t even notice that his car was 1 inch into the grass. He rushed up to the door, thoughts of T.K. being hurt or dead rising into a heart-pounding climax. What if I’m too late? What if I was too slow? What if I’m powerless to save him? What if I fail at this job?

The tension dropped from Carlos’ shoulders as he heard the deadbolt click open and saw T.K.’s head when the door swung open and Carlos was instantly relieved to see that T.K. wasn’t unconscious on the floor. In fact, T.K. mostly seemed fine.

T.K. gave a long, exaggerated sigh, and Carlos felt his breath momentarily constrict again. He looked good. Anyone with eyes could see that, but Carlos had self-control. He didn’t act like an animal just because he spotted a pretty person. He’s a ten, but he’s also off limits. He’s narcissistic and obnoxious. Maybe a little sweet, but he’s not good for me. He’s danger, and I had enough of that when I was a cop. I flew too close too the sun, but this guy, he’s flying in the center of the sun.

For someone who was supposedly in danger, T.K. looked like he had complete command over his situation. He wore a hot pink and baby blue striped button down with black skinny jeans that hugged his lean legs in ways Carlos didn’t allow himself to think about too much. He averted his eyes, being sure to look at T.K.’s face, which was just as overwhelming. Carlos noticed T.K.’s eyes were bloodshot with deep bags underneath. A person can hide under clothes, but the eyes, those emerald eyes, always tell the truth.

T.K. looked markedly too nice for a night in, looking and smelling like he was about to go on a date. Freshly misted cologne hitting Carlos’ nose— vanilla, cinnamon, and sandalwood. There was an underlying bitterness to his scent—cloves— but it was just enough to offset what would be otherwise cloying. “Are you okay?” Carlos finally asked.

“Yeah, but I have a little alcohol and Marjan thinks I’ve gone off the deep end.” That’s a can of worms that I am not even going to begin to unpack. “I’m obviously fine.”

“Fine or not, I’m here now. Might be nice to have a little company.” The more Carlos looked at T.K., the less fine he seemed to be. He didn’t seem as outwardly wasted as when they first met, but T.K.’s uncontrollable smile and aimless eyes told Carlos all he needed to know. The blissed-out look was chillingly familiar to him, so much so that he had the instinct to get in his car and speed away, but his sense of duty was too strong, and even as his past chased him, Carlos couldn’t look away from T.K. Maybe things can be different than they were with Taylor. Maybe not, but how can I in good conscience give up before I try? “I’m here,” Carlos reiterated. And I’m not going anywhere.

“I see that.” T.K. gave him a once over, licking his lips. “And you look very good doing it.” He’s just a flirt. I can’t let it get to my head. I have to protect him. Not fuck him. T.K.’s words were dripping with forced pleasantness, and Carlos couldn’t quite figure out what T.K. was really feeling beyond the happy highness. Silence fell between them.

T.K. bit his lip, looking down a little. The mood shifted. “I know you don’t want to be here. Don’t worry, Judd will pay you for your babysitting.” Carlos wanted to argue that he wasn’t here for the money or insist that he did care, but the air between him and T.K. had turned so suddenly sour that words swirled in his head with nothing to ground them into cohesive sentences. The smell of cloves was trapped in his nose and he tried to search for the vanilla and cinnamon, warm and pleasantly biting. “I’m sure Marjan will report back to him when he gets back from his trip. He’ll fret over me because it would be such a shame if I died and couldn’t make him any more money.” T.K. cracked a mechanical grin that clashed with the bitter tone in his voice. “He’d probably be relieved not to have me bothering him.” He’s got it all wrong, but I can’t tell him that. I barely even know him.

Carlos wanted to shake T.K. and tell him that Judd would be devastated if something happened to him, but he knew if he was too sincere, T.K. would retreat into the safety of humor and lightheartedness. He would become the happy and carefree T.K. that substances created to hide the sorrow. I have to learn to roll with his jokes and self-deprecation, even hearing it horrifies me. “I’ve heard that posthumous sales aren’t half bad. The initial spike… might be something to consider,” Carlos replied wryly. When there was more silence, Carlos wondered if he’d made a fatal misstep. Maybe I don’t have as good of a grasp on the situation as I thought. What if I’m losing him?

A flash of shock came over T.K.’s face before his lips upturned slightly and his head tilted to the side with curiosity. “You really busting my balls right now?”

Carlos kept the impassive look on his face, forcing his lips not to turn up. “I suppose I am.”

T.K. shook his head, the dark cloud lifting from his features just a little. Back to carefree T.K., and Carlos wasn’t sure if it was for the best or the worse. I can’t tell if he’s genuinely happy. “I can’t believe that of all the bodyguards in the bodyguard factory, you’re the one they sent me.” Back to joking, the cold tone dissipated in the early evening air.

“And I can’t believe that of all the popstars in the popstar factory, you’re the one I got sent to,” Carlos countered. He could keep up with banter if he needed to. He could even throw in some harmless flirting if it helped get through to T.K., but he couldn’t cross any lines beyond that. I know all about how crossing one line can lead to crossing more. I need boundaries if this is going to work. I must be careful for T.K.’s sake and mine.

“Rockstar,” T.K. corrected.

“You don’t sing rock music, popstar,” Carlos reminded him.

“It’s a—”

“State of mind. I know. Now, are you going to let me in? Or do I have to stand out here all evening fighting with you about the definition of a rockstar?”

T.K.’s head tilted again, this time in thought. “I don’t think I have much of a choice. Marjan will kill me if I make you stand on the porch,” T.K. answered, opening the door wider and leading Carlos into the living room. The stench of alcohol immediately hit Carlos’ nose and bottles were sprawled on a chair.

“That’s a lot of bottles,” Carlos commented.

“Some of them are old.” Some, not all. Not even most. Some. “It’s funny because sometimes when it’s dark, there’s so many of them there that it almost looks like a person sitting in the chair. I’ve gotten startled a couple times by it. Sometimes, though, it’s nice not to feel alone.” The honesty of the words struck Carlos. He’s got so many demons I haven’t even seen yet. He opened his mouth but quickly closed it again in the absence of having a meaningful response.  T.K. caught on to what he had said and backtracked. “I didn’t mean that seriously, you know. It was just a joke. I mean, there’s always people around me. Celebrities can’t escape people. I’m not really lonely.” The only people who feel the need to insist they are not lonely are the ones who are, in fact, lonely.

Carlos forced a laugh. “Right, a joke. You tell a lot of those.”

“Maybe. It’s more fun that way. I’m really funny when I’m not sober, so funny that people think I’m serious. It makes me a man of mystery I guess.” Oh yes, a mystery I’m afraid to investigate but desperate to know.

“Speaking of not sober, how much alcohol did you have?” He wanted a grasp on how bad the situation was.

“I’m fine.” Carlos had been a cop. He was used to dodgy answers, but they still frustrated the hell out of him. He’s testing me. Trying to see if he can make me mad. I won’t let him. I have to be patient and keep my temper in check.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Fewer than all the bottles on that chair.” T.K. added, “A lot fewer. I’m not trying to die tonight.” Tonight, that’s what I’m worried about. What about the other nights?

“How much?” Carlos asked with his no nonsense cop voice. It’s been a while since I’ve used that.

T.K. looked unimpressed at the question. “Several shots. I didn’t even have a full bottle of tequila. But shots are just bad if you only do one, so you have to keep going until you feel something. By the time the first one kicks in, you realize that the rest will be by shortly to hit you with a fucking hammer.” Carlos fought the headache that T.K.’s drunken logic was creating. He rubbed a hand across his temple, wiping the sweat and stress from his brow. He forced his facial features to relax. I need to keep those emotions in their place or else I won’t be able to understand what he’s saying. I have to listen.

“Pills?”

T.K. shrugged, looking at his hands cagily, which gave Carlos a pretty good idea of what he was dealing with. An addict who will try getting high on pretty much anything.

“T.K., I need to know.” He wasn’t quite sure what he’d do with the information, but it seemed like something he should know in case anything happened.

T.K.’s voice was quiet, and Carlos barely heard it over the murmuring of the central air working hard to cool the huge house. “Some Oxy. My favorite.” Carlos would put that piece of information into the T.K. file that he was compiling in his head, all the things that might come in handy someday when the inevitably awful stuff happened.

Yawning, T.K. plopped down onto the couch, and Carlos went to the kitchen and grabbed a recycling bin. He began loading the empty bottles into it. “You don’t have to do that,” T.K. protested. “It’s not your job.”

“I know, but it doesn’t help you to keep these here,” and to be honest, they were driving Carlos a little crazy.

“Why are you so nice?” It sounded like an accusation, skeptical and angry.

“I’m not.” I’m just bad at sitting around helplessly. I need something to keep me busy, and I hate looking at all those bottles and seeing him like this. “I like to keep my hands busy.”

T.K. winked, a sloppy wink. “I can think of a better use for those hands.” Oh, no. He did not just go there.

Carlos panicked. His jaw clenching. “Do not do that.”

“Do what?” T.K. asked as if he was completely innocent.

“Hit on me.”

“You weren’t supposed to be so hot.” Shut him up. Shut him up!

“I’m not hot. I’m just a guy, okay? Just a normal guy.”

“Normal, yeah, okay. Did you know that I’m really good with my mouth? I mean more than singing and stuff. I put enough junk in it to know how to use it.” T.K.’s eyes filled with hunger. He’s not thinking clearly. He doesn’t actually want me. He’s just horny. Carlos felt like putting his fingers in his ears and screaming “la, la, la, la, la.”

“Stop it. You’re not thinking clearly.”

“But if it was sober? Would you be interested?” He’s so desperate to be wanted. He doesn’t even care who wants him.

“It would still be a no.”

“Why? Aren’t I attractive?” Oh yes, far too attractive for your own good.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m your bodyguard. I can’t be blurring those lines.”

T.K. raised his eyebrows. “The more you know my body, the better you can guard it.”

“I said no. You can respect that, can’t you?” Carlos’ voice was agitated. His anger radiated through the room and spread to T.K.

“I don’t force anything on anyone,” T.K.’s voice was sharp. “I wouldn’t want to fuck someone with a stick up his ass anyways.”

“You don’t get to be an asshole just because things don’t go your way. Maybe try facing your feelings instead of getting mad and acting like a diva when any semblance of a bad feeling enters your mind.” So much for containing my temper.

“Wow, Mr. Nice Guy does have a backbone, after all.”

“I know what you’re doing.”

“Being an asshole?”

“You’re trying to see how many buttons you can push before I get up, leave, and never come back.”

T.K.’s face fell. “Why does everyone think they have fucking psychology degrees?”

“What?” What in the world is he talking about?

T.K. didn’t explain. “You don’t have to stay. I don’t care either way. I’m happy enough alone. Just leave me alone.”

“I don’t have to leave.” He took a breath. It’d been a long time since he had tried to handle someone so self-defeating and so scared to let anyone get too close. “I don’t want to leave.” Part of him wanted to run for the hills and stop the attachment he was feeling for T.K. Like T.K., Carlos was scared of letting anyone get too close. He was scared of knowing people too well, which was why he’d planned on spending his Friday alone. But I don’t want to be alone.

“You should want to leave.”

“But I don’t want to.” If only I could get it through his thick skull that some people just want him around. They don’t care if he is a singer or famous or a party boy. They just want to have him. Judd, Marjan, even me. We want him to be the person he’s happiest being and not this person who can’t stand to look himself in the mirror or the person who never shows the real him because he’s afraid no one will like it.

“What made you so stubborn?” T.K. paused to think. “Or should I say who?” Don’t think about Taylor. Now’s not the time. No need to make unnecessary comparisons.

Carlos crossed his arms as if it would help him keep all the feelings rushing through his body contained. “I was born a week late and put my mom through eight hours of labor. I was born stubborn.”

“Yeah, well, I was born a good person. Now, I’m a piece of shit, so how we come into this world doesn’t have much to do with how we go out.” Hopefully, we won’t be going out any time soon. Hopefully, he doesn’t want to.

“What do you like most about yourself?” Carlos asked, and it felt abrupt, but he had wanted to catch T.K. off guard.

“Why does it matter?” T.K. was already defensive, and the question made him more resistant.

“No questions, just tell me.”

“Oh, bossy. I like it,” T.K. said more biting than flirty.

“Favorite part of yourself?” Carlos pushed.

T.K. was quiet for a few moments. His tone softened. “Hard choice there’s so much to like,” he tried to act confident, but Carlos could hear his voice cracking. “but I guess the thing people like most about me is that I’m fun, the life of the party.” Is that all he’s got?

“Why is it that you love to talk about yourself until I actually ask you to tell me something about yourself and then all you can talk about is what other people think.”

“Here’s the thing, Carlos. Contrary to popular opinion, I’m not that interesting. I’m not that deep either. I’m just a vapid popstar who people like to think they know.” It sounded like defeat, and Carlos didn’t think the word popstar could ever sound so sad.

“You know what,” Carlos concluded. “Maybe you’re a rockstar after all.” T.K. looked up from his hands, eyes looking hopeful. Then, to make it sound less serious Carlos added, “Rockstar is a state of mind, after all.”

T.K. grinned at the inside joke, perking up a bit and letting a tentative grin appear on his face. “But I do play pop music,” he said. “So, maybe I’d rather be a popstar.” His eyes lingered on Carlos, “That stays between us, though.”

“Okay, popstar,” Carlos said clapping T.K. on the shoulder, and T.K.’s eyes flickered with something Carlos couldn’t quite make out. There’s so much to learn about T.K. Strand, so much that even his most devoted fans have even discovered. There’s a good person in there beneath all the layers of bravado. You don’t even have to dig that far to find them, but I want to bring that person out. I want to show him that there’s a place for the T.K. who can be happy.

[bi-bi-richie]

Riptide by vance joy stanlonbrough and friends to lovers?

Here it is!! Finally!! I’m so sorry it took so long but I really loved this prompt and I’m so glad you gave it to me! 

Also I’m not gonna add the link to the prompt list because I’m not going to take them anymore. I don’t have enough time so we’re just gonna finish what we have here and if I change my mind later I’ll reopen it!

Word count: 5,048 

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16339352

Derry is a small town, everyone who lives there knows it. News travels fast, everyone knows everyone’s business and there’s nothing anyone can do to avoid it. Mike assumes that’s why everyone knows who he is, where he lives, and his lack of common education that every other boy gets. Everyone knows who he is. It’s scary.

What’s scarier than everyone knowing everything is their complete ignorance towards it all. Mike watches missing signs get replaced by another missing sign every week. Kids being snatched up without a trace only to be forgotten when the next one is gone. He particularly remembers a boy named Georgie, Georgie Denbrough. He was one of the first missing, he had the most people looking for him because of it.

Though, that’s not why Georgie sticks in his mind, well, it’s not the only reason. Months after Georgie was forgotten and replaced by a new kid, Mike saw his brother. His brother, Bill Denbrough, was holding an old missing poster with his brother’s face on it. He had been giving them out when the news was still fresh and terrifying, but now he holds it in his hands and stares at it longingly as he walks. Behind him are three other boys. One of them has neat brown hair and a fanny pack, he’s bickering with a taller boy who has wild black curls and huge glasses. The other boy is staring down at a book in his hands, he kind of looks like a combination of the two boys, he has wild blonde curls but a clean look to him, ironed clothes and a belt to hold his khaki shorts up.

They don’t stay in Mike’s line of sight for long, but he does think the blonde haired one spared a glance in his direction.

Mike lays in bed thinking about Bill and the blonde boy. His light is on and brightening up the whole room, it’s midnight. He’s scared of the dark now, with another kid missing he doesn’t think he can turn the light off even if he tried. While he’s laying there, he thinks about how he wanted to actually talk to those boys. Considering they’re running around with their friend who still thinks his long-lost brother is still alive, they probably wouldn’t judge him. They didn’t seem like the rest of the town, Bill doesn’t let things go easily, and the blonde boy didn’t seem bothered by that fact. He considers talking to them the next time he sees them, but he knows he’s too scared to start conversations.

He drops the thought and goes to sleep.

…

Mike stares at his wall recalling that night. It’s been five years since then, Georgie was found but he still thinks about Bill Denbrough and the blonde boy. Except, the blonde boy isn’t the blonde boy now, he’s Stan Uris and he has Mike’s heart even if he doesn’t know it. A shudder runs through Mike’s body, Stan isn’t the only boy either. Bill had Mike wrapped around his finger, he doesn’t know because he doesn’t abuse that privilege.

A lot had happened in those five years, The losers had changed a lot. Bev moved away, and gradually Bill stopped feeling anything for her. Mike had started attending a regular high school with the rest of the losers, his grandpa sent him to do so because he couldn’t continue to teach him on his own. Eddie had come out as gay to the losers and a few weeks later he started dating Richie.

Currently, Mike has come to the conclusion that he’s fallen in love with two boys. That conclusion has brought him to tears on occasion. He doesn’t usually sleep with his light on anymore, but when he loses himself in his thoughts about the two boys, he finds that the darkness is all too frightening.

How could he be in love with two boys? He couldn’t even imagine the hell he’d go through if anyone out of the losers club found out. For all he knows, they’d have him killed in the middle of town. How could he do this to himself? In such a racist, homophobic town like Derry.

But it’s not the thoughts of what the town would say that keeps his light on through the night, it’s the fact that he doesn’t understand his feelings. How can he be in love with two people? How does that work? He’s never even heard of that before, can you love two people at once? Hypothetically, what if he did start dating one of the boys? The other would still be in the back of his mind, he’d still think of the other and how he wants to be with them too. But that’s unheard of in Derry, it’s a boy and a girl or nothing. Not a boy, a boy, and a boy.

He sleeps with his light on.

…

“Mikey?” Stan whispers. He had his eyes focused on a blue jay that seemed to have been staring back at him. His gaze never leaves that bird, they’ve been maintaining eye contact for four and a half minutes. Mike feels weird knowing the exact time, but he’s been staring at Stan the whole time. Mike almost doesn’t respond because he’s staring.

“Yeah, Stanley?” Mike’s voice comes out smooth, it always does. Even when he’s nervous, his voice doesn’t stutter. He doesn’t stutter like Bill, and his voice isn’t timid like Stan’s will tend to be. He’s not like the two of them, and yet, he wants both of them.

As Stan waits to find the right words to say, Mike takes all of Stan in. Stan has quite the exterior to him. He’s beautiful, neat, all in all, a well-oiled machine when you think about it. But any of his five closest friends can tell you that there’s more to such a prim and proper looking boy. He makes jokes to himself on the side that no one understands, he’s in third place for biggest trash mouth behind Eddie, and Richie. He’s a big bird nerd, loves them so much. Just as he has fun hidden qualities, he has some that haunt him every day. One of them being that he has trust issues. He doesn’t like to share secrets all that much, he keeps them to himself. It’s actually impressing Mike that he’s willing to choke out these words right now.

“I… I don’t like girls…” Stan tears his gaze away from the blue jay to look into Mike’s eyes, the blue jay flies away. The tension was thick around them, anticipation hung in the unshed tears that danced at the rim of Stan’s eyes. It smacks Mike in the face when he realizes that Stan is scared. Stan is so scared, so vulnerable, he’s been taken to the dark side. The dark side, as in actually believing what the homophobic people in Derry say about them. Stan looks lost, stuck. It crushes Mike.

“You mean you’re gay?” Mike asks for clarification. He doesn’t wanna get this wrong, he needs it to be right, for Stan.

Stan nods.

Mike smiles warmly, something that would brighten the whole field if it wasn’t already lit by the sun. He reaches over and grasps Stan’s shaking left hand.

“I am too.” Then Stan is crying. He chokes out a loud, ugly, relieved sob that breaks Mike’s heart. He wraps both his arms around the smaller boy and pulls him into a tender hug, there Stan cries out of what Mike hopes is happiness, and Mike thinks about how he wishes he could tell Stan that he’s gay for him too.

…

That day in the field is never brought up again, Mike is half convinced it was all his imagination. He tries not to think about it, but he can’t help dreaming about it. He’s spent countless nights dreaming about that exact moment. They all start the same, Stan tells Mike that he doesn’t like girls, and from there Mike will either recreate what happened or do something different. Most of the time he holds Stan’s face in his hands and kisses him. But after every dream, he wakes up to his illuminated room and sighs, wishing he really did kiss him.

He goes back to sleep and leaves the light on.

…

Mike has to admit, he’s kind of obsessed with watching Bill paint. When Bill paints, he listens to music. He has a playlist that Mike has grown familiar with over the years, it hasn’t changed since a few months ago when Bill added a new song.

Today, Mike is watching Bill paint a glass of water, and this glass of water has the water shining on it just right to make a rainbow reflect from it. Mike thinks a piece of it is poetic, in a painting sort of way.

Bill’s humming along to the song that’s playing, it’s funny how his voice is all stutters when he’s talking, but it’s graceful and smooth when he’s singing. Mike thinks Bill has a nice voice, it’s not the best out of all the losers, but it’s up there. Bill gets some words mixed up sometimes, but Mike doesn’t mind. In fact, he thinks it’s cute. He’d never tell Bill that he sang the words wrong, he’d keep that to himself.

“Mike… You ever liked someone before?” Bill asks slowly, his eyes never leaving the painting.

Mike feels his face heat up, spreading across his face like wildfire. He hates thinking about liking people, especially when one of the guys he likes is right in front of him.

“I… I suppose I have, maybe once. Why’re you asking me? Didn’t you kinda, sorta date Bev?” Mike asks as he fidgets with a paintbrush Bill had tossed to the side. Bill’s concentrated expression visibly falters for only a second, but it’s long enough for Mike to immediately wish he didn’t say anything about Bev.

“I’m just asking, Mikey. I wanna ask someone out and… I’m nervous to do that. I just want some advice.” Bill ends his sentence with a light shrug.

Mike only stares at him, he’s not exactly sure what to say now. How can he give advice on that? He doesn’t know anything about it, hell, he can’t even accept his feelings for one person.

“Well, who is she?”

Bill’s breath noticeably hitches and his hand twitches just enough to drop his brush to the ground. Suddenly Mike understands it all at once.

“It’s a boy, isn’t it?” Mike asks carefully, knowing that this must be hard for Bill to comprehend.

Bill still doesn’t say anything, he just hesitantly nods his head. Mike leans in slowly to Bill, close enough to see into his eyes, and feels his heartbreak. His eyes are filled with tears that are threatening to spill, and the sorrow behind them makes Mike wanna cry. Slowly, he places his hands on Bill’s cheeks.

“Just… ask them to the quarry. If they say no, or call you disgusting or something terrible, we’ll protect you. Losers stick together, Bill.”

Bill snaps his head to look at Mike, he blinks his tears away and the sorrow that had been in his eyes was gone. Now there was hope.“Y-you d-don’t think I’m d-disgusting?” He asks with a slight quiver in his voice. Mike chuckles a bit, closes his eyes and smiles.

“That’s awfully hypocritical, isn’t it?”

Bill looks confused, but then he laughs, then Mike laughs. They dissolve into a content laugher, and for a minute, Mike thinks he’d like to be the guy Bill is talking about.

…

“Did you hear about Staniel and Billiam?” Richie asks as he pops a piece of gum in his mouth. He and Eddie are helping Mike deliver fresh meat around town today, all the losers do it at least once a week, the only people who haven’t yet that week are Stan and Bill.

“What about them?” Mike asks, tilting his head to the side. Come to think of it, Mike hasn’t really spoken to either of them in quite a while. He’s seen plenty of the other losers, he always does, but not them. Specifically them.

“Bill told little ol’ Eds here that he tapped Stan’s ass,” Richie said with a classic smirk.

“Beep Beep stupid! That’s not what I said!” Eddie cried out.

“Whatever, he’s gonna tap that ass now that they’re together.”

“God, you’re such an asshole!”

“You love me.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that you’re an asshole-”

Mike didn’t bother to pay attention to the rest. His mind was focused on Bill and Stan.

…

Mike goes home immediately after finishing his deliveries with Richie and Eddie. The sun is going down anyway but there was supposed to be a movie night at Bill’s. He was looking forward to it but now he’s lying in bed, staring at the wall, confused. Usually, when your crush dates someone you get jealous, what do you do when both the people you like start dating? He lets out a huff of air from his nose, what do you do when you like two people?

How can he not be jealous? Both of them have the two things he wants the most, and yet, it doesn’t bother him. What bothers him is that he can’t be a part of it, and that’s a thought he’s buried deep inside of himself. How could you wanna be apart of two people’s relationship? Do other people feel like that? He assumes not considering the only relationships he ever sees are between two people. A girl and a boy and yet here he is, pining after two boys and wants to be in a relationship with them.

This is his luck obviously. Nobody in Derry even liked him before the losers, they’re not gods who can ward off all bad luck. He hates to think about it, but he does think he’s cursed to like or be the things that Derry discriminates against. First the racism, soon the homophobia. Life is a real battle for Mike Hanlon.

He sleeps with his light on.

…

Mike has never been one to avoid tough situations. He usually faced them head on because he didn’t see the point in putting it off. This time was so different than any other time though, the situation is just designed to be stressful, he’s overwhelmed.

It’s been three weeks since he got the news about Stan and Bill, it’s also been three weeks since he’s talked to either of them. Anytime they showed up he was making a lazy excuse to go back to his farm. Whenever someone said they’d be hanging out with them, Mike would suddenly be busy that day and go home. Whenever it was Stan or Bill’s turn to help deliver meat from the farm he’d ask Ben or Eddie to tell them that he wasn’t doing it that day, and then he’d sneak his way around town to do his deliveries.

He tells himself that this is good, and this is how it should be every time he ditches them. Every time he rests his head against his pillow, when he knows the other losers are meeting up, he tells himself he’s okay with it.

When salty tears leak from his tightly shut eyes, he tells himself he’s okay. When his body shudders with quiet cries, he tells himself he’s okay. Even when he holds a framed picture of Bill and Stan on their bikes close to his heart, he tells himself he’s okay. Even as he’s swept to the dark side, Mike Hanlon says he’s okay.

He sleeps with his light on.

…

It’s been four weeks. Four weeks of being okay.

At this point, Mike prefers to just stay home and avoid the losers altogether. He’s only been doing it for three days so he doubts anyone has really noticed yet and it leaves him wondering if they ever will.

“Michael.” A stern voice commands. Mike turns his head to look at his grandpa who has a large bag on one side of him and a couple ropes in his hand. Mike knows what he’s gonna say but he knows he’ll get the reminder anyway.

“Don’t mess with anything while I’m gone, nobody should be here while I’m gone so if you see anybody outside, don’t be afraid to grab the shotgun.” Mike can rehearse this in his head over and over again if he had to. His grandpa had been planning to make a trip a few states over to get a new horse so he can start breeding them with the other horse they have. He’s been trying to find someone who manages to raise a healthy horse and has low prices. It all comes down to Mike having the house to himself for three days for the first time in six years.

“Yes, sir.” He mutters politely. He knows nobody will actually show up in that field, only one or two people drive down the street in a week. Nobody is very interested in seeing what some farmers do anyway.

It was only a few minutes more of talking before Mike was left alone to stare down into his bowl of cereal alone in his house.

…

It’s the second night of being alone and it’s just as lonely as Mike had predicted. He thought about inviting his friends over to fill the empty silence but he knows that he’d have to see Stan and Bill if he did that. He spent the first day watching tv and reading books.

…

There’s a loud knock on Mike’s door on his third night alone, Mike jumps out of his skin and almost drops his book in shock. He whips his head to look at the door to see who freaked him out so hard. There’s only a silhouette of a curly haired boy and for a moment he thinks it might be Richie. When he flicks the switch to the porch light he sees that it’s not Richie at all. It’s Stan.

Stan has tears trickling down his cheeks and dripping off his chin. Mike feels his heart crush the moment he sees how broken Stan looks. The edges of his eyes are tinted red and the bags under his eyes are darker than normal and Mike knows he’s been crying for a while.

There’s a moment when they only stare at each other, but it’s over when lightning strikes the land behind Stan and thunder shakes the house seconds later.

Mike jumps to get at the door and quickly pulls it open, almost immediately he’s being pulled into a hug. Stan lets out a loud sob when Mike returns the hug, it’s such a powerful sob it even shakes Mike to tears.

“Stan? Stan, what’s wrong?” Mike asks frantically, fear bubbles up in his stomach making him feel sick instantly.

“Everything Mikey!” Stan cried out, tightening his grip on Mike’s torso. “Everything is so wrong and I don’t know what to do anymore!”

Mike shushes him gently, he presses a kiss to the curls on top of Stan’s head, making him stutter in his cries. Mike guides both of them to the couch while holding his arm around Stan’s shoulders. Stan curls up onto Mike’s lap and keeps crying, Mike wonders if he can feel the rapid increase of his heartbeat.  

“Stanley, I need you to calm down okay? You’re okay.” He coos as he rubs Stan’s back. But Stan doesn’t seem to be listening, he only shakes his head and cries harder.

“I’m not okay.” He whispers. He pulls his body off Mike and looks dead into his eyes.

“I’m not okay Mike! I finally go out with Bill, things are amazing until I realize you’re avoiding us? You don’t come around Mike! You cancel plans with us and only hang out with Richie and Eddie or Bev and Ben! Never me, Mike!” Stan is moving so frantically, yanking his head from side to side and throwing his hands in the air. It’s so much movement but Mike can see how hurt Stan is. How much Mike hurts him.

“You really threw me for a loop, Mike. You don’t even get it, you don’t get how scared I was about dating Bill because I’ve been in love with you for years Mike. What’s worse? I love Bill too. I’m so in love with both of you, it hurt to choose who to be with, and I didn’t! I went out with Bill because he asked me! I would’ve done the same if you did too!” Stan pauses to take a breath. Mike takes a breath too, that was a lot of information at once and he’s barely keeping up with it.

“But if I went out with you, I’d still have this empty void in my heart. I’d want Bill too, a-and if I had none of you…” His voice is cracking and tears are running down his cheeks again. A few tears slip from Mike’s eyes as well, quite frankly, he can’t figure out why.

“I love you too, Stan,” Mike whispers. Stan whips his head to look at Mike, his eyes are wide like two moons, his crying stopped too. Stopped dead in its tracks.

“I… I was too scared to tell anyone, Stan. I wanted to, I promise I did, but I love Bill too.” Mike takes in a shuddery deep breath, “we’re in the same boat, Stanny.”

Stan doesn’t dare say a word. He just watches Mike, conflicted, probably scared too. There’s so much to unpack in those few words, it’s amazing how Stan’s face can stay so still. Mike thinks he’s watching his face to search for any sign that he’s lying. Mike knows Stan trusts him, probably trusts him the most out of all the losers, but Mike isn’t one to forget his trust issues.

“Mike… What do we do?” He sobs out, then he collapses on top of Mike. Mike is quick to pull him into a comforting hold, even if he thinks he might need the same amount of comforting. Eventually, Stan’s cries reduce to whimpers and then to quiet breathing. It even relaxes Mike to know that Stan has stopped crying.

“Let’s go to bed,” Mike whispers into Stan’s ear. Stan slowly nods his head, Mike gives him a little smile then hoists himself up along with Stan. Carefully he pulls Stan into a bridal style hold and starts carrying him to his bedroom.

When he reaches his bed, he’s quick but gentle to put Stan down and tuck him in. He presses a single kiss to Stan’s forehead then goes to start making a bed for himself on the couch. But he doesn’t even get two steps away because a smaller hand is reaching out and grabbing at his bicep.

“Don’t go, Mikey. Please don’t go.” Stan’s eyes are still closed, Mike kinda wonders how he knew he was walking away in the first place. He stands and considers it, could he do that? Sure they loved each other, but Stan had a boyfriend, right? But they loved the same guy…

“I won’t go, Stan.”

They sleep with the light on.

…

Mike woke up that morning only feeling pieces of content. He had one of the most beautiful boys in his arms, snuggled up to him with his full lips parted ever so slightly. Mike wanted nothing more than to lean down and kiss them, but Stan wasn’t his. God, he wanted Stan to be his, but he didn’t want just Stan. He wonders if he should consider himself lucky that Stan wants him too, him and Bill.

Carefully, he pulls himself up, trying not to wake Stan up. He’s too big to not wake him up though, in a minute Stan is blinking and yawning himself awake. Mike’s heart melts a little, he’s never seen anything look so precious before. Stan then looks up at Mike, his eyes are tired, but now the whites of his eyes have no hint of redness anymore, even his eye bags have lightened up.

“Mikey?” Stan whispers quietly. His voice is so tired too, a little raspy but Mike would consider himself lucky to wake up to it every day.

“Stan?” Mike responds just as quietly.

“I really love you… I’m sorry it took all this for me to tell you.”

“H-hey Stan… a-and Mike!” Bill greets, his voice gets a bit higher as he realizes Mike is behind Stan. Mike feels his face heat up when he realizes that Bill was excited to see him. The moment is short lived though, Bill doesn’t miss the anxious look on his boyfriend’s face.

“Hey, w-what’s wrong?” He asks with confusion in his voice. Mike feels his nerves rise up in his throat when he sees the way Stan flinches at his concern.

“Bill… We need to talk.” Stan whispers, not meeting his gaze. Bill tears his gaze from Stan and looks over at Mike for answers, but Mike only nods.

Slowly, Bill takes a step back to allow Mike and Stan to walk into his house. Stan goes first, he shuffles in as quick as he can with his eyes looking towards the ground and his head hung low. Mike goes next but he watches Bill the whole time, watching for his emotions. Bill goes in last and closes the door behind them.

“My family isn’t home right now, so we can… talk.” Bill informs the two with a hesitant tone.

Stan takes a seat on a big white armchair in the Denbrough living room. By the look of it, he’s trying to sink directly into the couch. Bill is quick to get to him, he kneels at his side and places a hand on Stan’s knee.

“A-are you okay?” He whispers with a sliver of hope in his voice, but Stan shakes his head.

And then, he speaks.

“Bill, I love you okay? Don’t get me wrong I really really love you, but I can’t lie to you. I love Mike too. I’m so fucking in love with both of you it drives me insane, I don’t know what to do because I love you Bill, and I wanna be with you. But fuck, I wanna be with Mike.”

Mike is almost afraid to see Bill’s reaction. Bill wears his heart on his sleeve most of the time so both Mike and Stan know that if he’s not happy, they’ll know immediately. When Mike does look up, he’s shocked. Bill is looking right at him, not with anger or betrayal, but… longing?

“Stan… W-why didn’t you t-tell me?” Bill whispers, his voice sounds confused, but not hurt. Mike looks over at Stan, who also looks very, very confused.

“I didn’t know how to tell you, Billy… Last night I- I went over to Mike’s and told him everything. I wouldn’t have even considered this if he didn’t tell me that he loved you too and-”

“Wait, M-Mike?” Mike looks back over to Bill, and he doesn’t need a mirror to know that his own eyes are filled with fear. In the corner of his eye, he sees Stan look at Mike in horror like he made a mistake.

“That’s- No wait Bill I-”

“Yes,” Mike says, there’s false confidence in his voice and his facial expressions betray him, but he says it. Bill stares a Mike for what feels like forever, then he looks back at Stan, then back to Mike.

Slowly, Bill walks over to Mike without saying a word. He’s watching Mike though, his eyes are softer than before. Despite his slightly off-putting walk towards him, Mike’s never felt so intrigued before. When Bill is at Mike’s feet, he kneels down to eye level and rests his hand on Mike’s cheek.

“Can I k-kiss you?” He whispers, and Mike feels his heart leap into his throat. He lets out a little gasp, then looks over at Stan for permission, as if at this point he needs it. Stan smiles and nods his head. That’s all Mike needs before he’s leaning in and pressing his lips to Bill’s.

Mike is sure he’ll never feel anything as amazing as that moment ever again. The pent-up feelings and frustration finally flooding out of Mike like a river. The feeling of his warm lips slotted against Mike’s just felt so right, it made Mike melt. He wraps his arms around Bill’s neck and pulls him as close as he can. It’s funny, Mike thinks, how someone so chaotic could have such soft lips. But he doesn’t dwell on that, he focuses on how good it feels to kiss the boy he loves. Oh, how Mike loves him.

When they pull apart for air, Mike looks over at Stan. He extends his arm to Stan, beckoning him closer. When Stan is finally in arm’s length, Mike grabs at Stan’s hip and pulls him closer, making Stan trip a little bit right at Mike’s lips. He presses his lips to Stan’s and kisses him too. The kiss is almost the same, but less like fireworks and more like a comforting, loving feeling. Stan laughs into the kiss, just a giggle but enough to make Mike’s heart flutter. When they break away, all three boys shift their gazes to one another. There’s dead silence before Bill breaks out into a full blown laugh, then Stan laughs again, and then Mike.

“I love you guys,” Mike whispers.

…

Mike lays between Bill and Stan that night. They have their arms around his chest and they connect their fingers. Their heads are rested on Mike’s shoulders and they’re dead asleep.

A single tear escapes Mike’s eye. The feeling in Mike’s heart, the blossoming, loving feeling is all he’s ever wanted. He lets out a huff of a laugh and smiles, he’s got everything he’s ever wanted. Sure, he’ll probably get in trouble the next morning when his family comes home and finds him gone, but at that moment he can’t care. He only cares about his two boyfriends who rest on his chest. His two boyfriends, the two he loves, and the two who love him back.

That night he sleeps with the light off.

[jkl-fff]

JKL I cannot stress this enough. ANSWER ALL OF THEM.

Heh. Why pick when you can just request all of them, right?Here we go, then (and thanks for the asks!)

Slightly Invasive Gay Asks

1. What’s your gender?

Hmm … Since I find the idea ofconceptual genders rather poetic (not recognized terms, but abstractdescriptions), I’ll give one of those: quirky and enthusiasticlanguage-literature-writing teacher who unironically uses a lot of Uncle Irohgifs and giggles like Scooby-Doo when someone make a particularly potent pun. Also, I’m a cis man with inclinations more towards non-toxic masculinity.

2. What are your pronouns?

He/His Grace, preferably, thoughI’ve no problem with people using Him or They/Them, I suppose.

3. Is your family accepting?

I’m fortunate enough to say theyare. Mom’s still worried about my spiritual and emotional well-being—about mefinding happiness, and worrying it might not happen like this—but that’s justwhat moms do.

4. What do you wish you could tell your past self?

Righteousness and Wickedness aresocial constructs propagated and perpetuated by authority figures to maintainan ideology which benefits them. So is “God the Father” (and Jesus Christ andthe Holy Ghost) as you conceive of them, or as anyone else ever conceives ofthem. You are *free* to do *whatever you want* so long as it doesn’t infringeon the freedom of others.

This means, boyo, that being gay isn’t a sin.Which is good, because you are gayer than a fruit bat. Just embrace it already,and you’ll be a lot more at peace with yourself and the universe.

5. What is your sexuality?

Hella gay,my dudes. Hella gay.If I wanted to expand further,I’d add placiosexual (I get off on pleasuring other people more than being pleasured).

6. Favorite color?

A deep and rich purple, like Tyrianor Imperial purple. Though I am increasingly fond of light pinks. And black is always in season.It’s funny, but as a kid I’d always say dark blue because I didn’t want peopleto think I was gay. Naturally, purple was the gay color, while blue was a safe“boy’s color” … for reasons … Isn’t heteronormativity absolutely silly?

7. Sun Gay or Moon Gay?

Moon, I guess? The sun is sogarishly bright. Even harshly so. But the moon is tastefully understated—just reallyelegant, y’know?—and also gentle and cyclical.

8. When did you find out your sexuality?

This is a rather difficult questionto tackle thanks to the cognitive dissonance imposed by heteronormativity … 

Onsome level, I *had* to have known since I started masturbating regularly (atage 13 or 14), because I only ever fantasized about other boys and guys. And I *was*aware of this on some level. However, the very idea of being gay was soinconceivable for a mormon boy (and socially stigmatized thanks to thepejorative use of the word “gay” to mean basically “stupid” from elementarythrough high school), that I refused to recognize it for years. Like, I was soinvested in being a good, mormon boy that I truly fully planned to follow themormon track of serving a religious mission for 2 years, marrying a woman inthe temple (big thing for mormons, that temple marriage), and probablyeventually having a kid or two (though I’ve never actually wanted to havechildren).

Ergo, it wasn’t until I was 19 and on a mission in France, working and livingnonstop with other guys (most of whom were quite good-looking AND had notrouble lounging around in their underwear when we were at home), that I couldno longer lie to myself. That was when I consciously recognized and consciouslybegan to struggle against “the burden of Same Sex Attraction” (as mormons insiston calling it) through “the power of faith” in Ja-eeee-sus Chrys’theLORD.

You can extrapolate from the present-day contents of my blog (and the abovesarcasm) how successful that was. Honestly, I’m rather surprised thepsychological distress such internalized and slow-toxic homophobia caused neverdrove me to take a leap of faith off a building at some point between ages 20and 25.

But those dark days were over when, at 25, I fell in love for the first time,and decided that there wasn’t much sense in being miserable, self-loathing, andlonely anymore. That’s when I started the process of coming out.

So … take your pick, I guess: it’s 13, 19, or 25.

9. How was your day?

Apart from sleep deprivationweighing me down (which is my own fault, as I stayed up late writing, then hadto get up early to lesson plan), it was grand! Went to work in the afternoonand got a good workout there moving freight, then went to teach my French classin the evening and had a ball while doing it!

10. Do you have any gay friends?

Bitch, at this point, I’m wonderingif I have any *straight* friends.Seriously, though, I do have some straight friends. But my closest friends areall openly queer in one way or another.

11. What’s your favorite hobby?

Taekwon-Doand writing.

12. Who’s the best gay icon in your opinion?

Garnet, anthropomorphicrepresentation of a now-married, WLW couple WHO KICKS ALL OF THE ASS BECAUSESHE IS MADE OF LOVE A N D  I T  I S S T R O N G E R   T H A N  Y O U,  J A S P E R!

13. Which Pride flags do you like the most design/colorwise?

Hard not to love the classic Gay Priderainbow, since it accessorizes with everything, though I prefer one thatexplicitly makes sure to include PoC, such as this one:

(Does anyone know who made this one?I saved a copy when I first saw it, because it’s fantabulous,but have never seen the post for it again.)

For the colors, the Bi and theTrans flags are quite lovely combinations, too.

14. Are you openly out?

You tellme:

Yeah, I wear this everyday becauseI got tired of people even contemplating the possibility that I might bestraight.

15. Are you comfortable with yourself?

More-or-less, and I think more thanless as time goes on. There are still bad days, but … once I understood thatbeing kind to people *also* means being kind to *myself*, it became a loteasier to become comfortable with myself. AND also easier to actually recognizeand work constructively on the parts of me I wished to improve.

16. Bottom or Top?

As a matter of principle, I striveto at least *be willing* to be verse—strive to never ask for anything I’m notwilling to give back, but … I definitely prefer to take charge and Top (evenwhen, or especially when, still giving manual or oral pleasure).Who knows, though? Maybe I just haven’t been topped right.

17. Femme or Butch?

Bold of you to assume I have aconsistent style.Seriously, though, im be Butch, I guess? I don’t really seek to present in afeminine way, so by default that make me Butch … Right? I dunno.

18. Do you bind?

Only myroot foot to strengthen it against a lingering ankle injury when I go to work.

19. Do you shave?

Only when I have to tidy up mybeard. No one shall see all of my face EVER AGAIN!

20. If you could date anyone you wanted, who would it be?

Right now, it’d be a coworker ofmine named Justin. He’s just … such an adorkable nerd with a really upbeatpersonality, and I find him very cute. And physically attractive, too. Like,damn, have you *seen* his assets? (obviously you haven’t, but trust me, they’requite pleasing assthetically)Unfortunately, he’s already married to another guy, who I hope knows he’sdamned lucky.

21. Do you have a partner (s)?

Alas, I donot. I’ve been somewhat unlucky in love.

22. Describe your partner (s)?

Hidden from me—hidden somewhere outthere, hopefully searching for me as I search for him … hopefully soon to crossmy path …

23. Have you ever dated anyone of the same sex?

I thinkabout 10 different guys. Obviously, none of them worked out.Some of them might have, but Iwasn’t ready at the time, and now it’s too late …  Oh well. Life goes on.

24. Anyone of another sex?

Technically, I suppose I’ve been ontwo dates with women. For the first (a double date) we were theoretically goingto a high school dance … but none of us were really into that when we gotthere, so instead we just drove around in her truck and made her stuffedpenguin heckle other drivers. The second was a few years later, and we went to a young, single adults gameevening after having dinner with her family. Annnnnd … that’s it.

25. Pastel Gay or Goth Gay?

I ain’tgoth, that’s for sure. But I’m not sure I’m pastel, either …

26. Favorite dad in Dream Daddies?

While I’ve never played the game,the most physically attractive one to me is the redheaded bear. Mostly becauseanyone else who might be physically attractive to me ruins the effect with amustache (THEY HAVEN’T BEEN STYLISH SINCE THE 70s, AND EVEN THEN THEY LOOKEDSTUPID!) or by being unrealistically sculpted (and I am *not* into that; I likemy men to look like they actually exist in the real world).

27. Tell me a random fact about yourself.

I have, like, over 20 neckties leftover from my mission days. I hardly ever use them anymore because I loathedressing up … but I have used them for some fun with other guys, and hope I getto do so again, soon.

28. Do you own any Pride flags/merch?

Just the rainbow bracelets picturedabove … and also a pair of rainbow socks, though those were actually procuredfor (not by) me … so I could officiate a *straight* couple’s marriage,ironically.

29. Have you ever been to a Pride Parade?

I’ve been to three. The first twowere … alright, I guess. Like, it was exciting to go to something so openlyqueer—so loud and proud—the first time (even if I had to hurry home for churchstuff for my little brother’s mission homecoming … let me tell you, that was a dayof extremes). And fun to go with my then boyfriend for the second.But … I dunno … There was a big crowd, and a lot of noise and heat (what withit being the middle of June). Introverted ol’ me wanted to go home—or at leastsomeplace quiet an cool—after about an hour, because the novelty had worn offby then.

The third, however …I was visiting my aunt in Washington D.C. That Sunday morning, we were walking tosome of the Smithsonian museums when we just happened, entirely by accident, tocross paths with the advancing Pride Parade. So we stopped and watched it for,like, half an hour … I suppose it was more of a March than a Parade,technically, which might be why it resonated with me more than the other twohad. But all the same …Here’s more on that event: http://jkl-fff.tumblr.com/post/161753611614/dc-pride

30. Any advice to someone who isn’t out, or who is exploringthemselves?

Two things: Go with what feels right for you. Your labels might or might not change, butyour understanding of what they mean for you definitely will develop and deepenover time (this is part of what “gender is fluid” means; it isn’t fixed and unchangeable,because *your identity* is neither fixed nor unchangeable). Be truthful enough withyourself to let it happen. Because in the end, the only wrong answer … is adishonest one.

Also, learn as much sympathy, empathy, compassion, and compersion as you canfrom your negative experiences. Like, it is inevitable that you will suffer inlife, so learn how to be aware of and kind towards the suffering of others.Exclusionists absolutely disgust me, because after suffering discrimination andoppression … they decide to put others through the same kind of needless pain.Gods above, life is hard enough as it is, so don’t go out of your way to makeit harder for others. Let your negative experiences motivate you to make sureno one else has to go through such bullshit ever again.

Thanks again! These were a lot of fun!

[fandomwritingsgalore]

Heads Up for A Fairytale (Chris Evans x Reader)

Pairing: Chris Evans x Female!Reader

Warnings: Cavity inducing fluff, slight cursing

Part: 1/??, Read more here

Description: Reader and her friend take a trip to Walt Disney World and happen to run into one Chris Evans while waiting in line to board Space Mountain. To pass the time you decide to play the game “Head’s Up.” From pop culture references, flirty looks and Chris being his silly flirty self, you never thought waiting in a line could be so much fun. But the Disney magic has to end eventually...doesn’t it?

Author’s Note: This isn’t my best imo, but I’ve been out of writing for a while and wanted something cute and fluffy to ease my way back in. And I’ve had this idea for a while and wanted to finally get it out. This is pure Evans loving Disney self indulgent fluff. Y/N = Your Name, Y/F/N = Your Friend’s Name

Word Count: 4,410

“How crazy would it be if we ran into someone famous while we’re here?” Y/F/N asked dreamily.

“I thought you wanted to find Walt Disney’s frozen head?” you laughed as you strolled through the mass of people down Magic Kingdom’s Main Street. It was the first day of your week long Walt Disney World trip and you were already acting like kids. The Disney magic making you silly with excitement and anticipation for all the fun times ahead.

They grinned mischievously, “Who says we can’t do both?” You rolled your eyes affectionately and shook your head at the conspiracy theories. “Besides I heard celebrities have their own secret entrance to rides so they can avoid the public. Maybe we’ll see Robert Downey Jr.”

“If it’s a secret entrance then how would we possibly know they’re here? Besides, you still have a better shot at walking onto Flight of Passage with no line than running into Chris Hemsworth here.”

“Jason Momoa would be fine.” She eyed the surrounding crowd in front of the majestic Cinderella castle as though expecting to immediately spot the tall actor. Reaching up to adjust the Jack Skellington Mickey ears on their head, they whined, “These damn things are always so painfully tight. I don’t know why Disney can’t just make them looser instead of my head being squeezed to death.” She pulled them off and massaged the area where the ears were on.

You reached up to make sure your own Captain America shield ears were still in place.You were determined to get a photo with Baby Groot and Star-lord when you park hopped over to Hollywood Studios later in the day. Cap was your favorite, but they were the only Marvel characters currently in the parks, and you’d heard they were a really great meet.

“They probably do it so you can wear them on rides without worrying about them flying off,” you said dodging out of the way of another triple seat stroller barreling towards the entrance to Fantasyland and Seven Dwarves Mine Train, not caring which ankles they took out along the way. 


“You wanna hit up Space Mountain or Haunted Mansion before the crowds start picking up?” Despite wearing your sunglasses, you shielded your eyes from the blinding Florida sun to gaze to the right of the plaza as though you could see how long the wait time was from here.

“Space. I didn’t get to ride it on our last trip because it was shut down.” You turned in the direction of Tomorrowland and took off.

“The infamous purple wall,” you pointed out excitedly, passing the pastel purple instaphoto spot. “I’m going to be as Disney basic as possible later.”

You both gazed in awe of the future looking land as you made your way towards the ride. Even though you’d arrived at Magic Kingdom for rope drop the wait time was already at 30 minutes, but knew it would probably be the shortest wait for the day. You passed under the large arch into the silver and blue entrance.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love me some Space Mountain, but how incredible would it be if they would turn this into a Marvel Avengers ride through space or something,” You gushed sliding your shades off and placing them in the cross body purse you wore.

“And Cap would call you ma’am?” she snickered.

“I mean I’m not opposed to that plot point. But seriously though, you could get put in the Iron Man suit or pick your favorite Avenger and either gain their powers or work with them and fly around New York and have the Avengers talk you through a mission. It would be an immersive type ride experience.”

“You could even punch Loki at Stark tower.”

“Or give him a much needed hug!” You countered, feigning offense. “But, a Marvel land would be a kick ass expansion.”

“You just want to save the world with 4D Chris Evans,” she laughed, knowing you all to well.

You continued winding your way through the long line. Hopefully, 30 minutes actually meant a 10 minute walk to the loading stations, but either way you were willing to wait. Space Mountain was one of your favorites. “I’m excited for the new Tron roller coaster they’re building though,”  you noted.

“Yes!” She all but moaned. “The concept art looks insane!”

“So does that new outer space restaurant over in Epcot,” a male voice behind you added.

It wasn’t unusual for people in long lines at Disney to form a sort of temporary solidarity with those around them while waiting, which is why you weren’t that put off by his eavesdropping on your conversation. It was something you enjoyed about the parks. Meeting people from so many different walks of life.

You deepened your voice and spoke like an announcer, “Space…the final frontier.”

“Traitor,” Y/F/N shouted thrusting a fist into the air, “Star Wars or bust!” You heard the guy laugh at your banter as you finally rounded the final corner and reached the end of the line.

You turned around, wanting to mention the new Star Wars hotel, but the words became lodged in your throat as you took in the chiseled jaw and piercing blue eyes, hidden under a Nasa baseball cap, of the man behind you. You heard Y/F/N gasp in recognition next to you.

Chris freaking Evans was your mystery eavesdropper.

“I like your ears,” he commented, with a knowing smirk. You immediately felt the heat rise up your neck in embarrassment not only because of the ears, but he’d clearly heard your previous fangirl conversation. Oh God, he also heard Y/F/N’s 4D comment. No! Of all the ways you’ve imagined running into a celebrity, particularly this celebrity, this was not one.

He’s just a person. A very famous and funny and breathtaking beautiful person, but still a person.

What a person…

Dear lord, get a grip! You chided yourself. “I thought you have a secret passage?” You blurted out suddenly. And here you thought you couldn’t be any more embarrassing. Apparently your mouth was on a mission separate from your brain.

“Sure do,” His eyes sparkled playfully as he held back a laugh, “it’s goes right past Walt’s frozen head.”

“I knew it,” Y/F/N whispered reverently.

He couldn’t keep his laughter in check anymore and as he braced himself on your shoulder, he doubled over doing that laugh that only he has. The one that is so distinctly Chris Evans that fans have made thousands of memes and gifs of. The one where he has to physically touch someone because he wants them to share in the humor as though it’s the funniest joke in the world. 

Although you were intensely aware of his hand touching a part of your body, you couldn’t help but join in, because his laugh was infectious. You wanted to make him laugh again and again because it was one of the best sounds you’d ever heard. It made him and this situation seem more real somehow? Like you could actually exist at the same time and in the same place as this man.

“Y’all are so mean to get my hopes up like that,” Y/F/N pouted before chuckling, too.

“Seriously though, don’t you have unlimited ‘skip the line’ access for being, well…you?” You met his bashful smile as he shrugged, suddenly really shy.

“I mean, yes, but I, uh…I kind of like to play the games in this line,” he rubbed the back of his neck and chuckled embarrassed. “Not very cool, right?”

“Are you kidding? I am a hardcore, Space Mountain pre-ride gamer who takes no prisoners,” You said fiercely, lightly punching his shoulder. “Prepare to get your ass throughly kicked Evans.”

He grinned wolfishly, “Oh, you’re so on.”

The heads in front of you slowly moved as the line pushed forward a few inches every few seconds. The three of you moved forward as one. It seems Chris Evans had officially joined your group.

“So, obviously you two know who I am, but what are your names?” He pulled his hat down lower acutely aware that he could be recognized by more people.

“I’m Y/N, and this is Y/F/N,” you nodded your head in her direction and she threw up a peace sign, making him smile. “What are you doing here on your own? Isn’t that a bit dangerous?”

He rolled his eyes annoyed. “Technically I’m here with my family, but they’ve all ditched me to go ride It’s a Small World.”


“It isn’t that bad,” Y/F/N shrugged, at the same time you shuddered.

“Small World before 9 am should be illegal.”

“Thank you!” his eyes widened in relief.  He swept you into an over-exaggerated dramatic hug like an excited puppy, “Finally someone understands!” He pulled back grinning and leaned down so that you were eye level.

The part of your mind that had left your body the moment he hugged you noted that when it came to Chris, the old saying that boys were unfairly blessed with incredible lashes was true. The rest of you down on earth froze as you could suddenly count every single one of those eyelashes framing his wickedly gorgeous blue eyes. He was in your personal space and you didn’t know what to do with yourself. He was just so close.

“We have to stick together, or they’ll get us with their singing dolls before breakfast,” he whispered conspiratorially with those damn kissable lips inches from your own. Your eyes were drawn down to them briefly before flicking back up to meet that hypnotizing gaze again. Being pierced by them in person was a lot more shiver inducing than through a screen. Something shifted and you realized he’d caught you staring at his mouth. The urge to pull him closer and give him a reason to have that stupid smug look on his face was overwhelming.

The line began to move again, and the moment passed. He dropped his hands from your shoulders and straightened as you all shuffled forward a few more inches. It certainly felt like you’d been in this line longer than 30 minutes already, but it could’ve been you secretly hoped the wait time would increase. 

You knew eventually you would reach the loading station and your time with Chris would be up and you weren’t quite ready for this crazy experience to end yet, or ever…definitely the denial taking over.

“Honestly, you two are the worst drama queens ever,” Y/F/N huffed, annoyed at the unspoken connection Chris and you seemed to form. You caught him grinning in your direction and quickly dropped your gaze to your feet trying to hide an embarrassed smile. He bumped your shoulder affectionately before chuckling and leaning back with both arms on the railing behind you.

“So, what do you two like to do while waiting in long lines?” He asked curiously.

Before you had time to second guess yourself, you leaned back against the railing so that your back was pressed against his arm and met his gaze challengingly. He quirked an eyebrow appreciatively at the bold move and slouched down a bit so that you were effectively tucked into his side. You couldn’t help the self satisfied smile that spread across your face.

“Well, it depends. Sometimes we’ll catch up with family and friends back home if it’s later into a trip…”


“Do you have, uh, someone in particular to catch up with back home,” he asked guardedly. He pulled and adjusted his hat and you realized this was a nervous habit of his.

“No…”

“Good.” You heard him whisper huskily to himself.

You felt your heart rate pick up and your skin start to buzz at the way he said the single word.

He had to be seeing someone. Probably someone much more gorgeous and interesting than someone like me, you thought to yourself. I mean he was Chris Evans. Hollywood A-lister and you were letting your feelings for him as an actor get mixed up with the reality that someone like him would ever date someone like you. Right?

“You?” You asked quietly.

He slowly shook his head, ‘no.’

You swallowed and tried to keep your voice level as you replied, “Good.”

The flash of a smug smile graced his features as he looked down suddenly extremely interested in his shoes.

“We also like to play ‘Head’s Up’ to kill time,” Y/F/N volunteered. She was watching in amusement as the two of you fumbled over yourselves.

“I love that game!” Chris exclaimed excitedly. “My family likes to play it during the holidays. Do you have it on your phone?”

“Yes!” You could literally see her bouncing in place in excitement at the thought of playing your favorite theme park game with the Captain America.

She pulled out her iPhone and got the app ready. “We usually play the Disney edition or the Mar…” she paused and glanced up with a giggle.

His eyes scrunched up as he beamed, “Oh, fuck yes. Let’s go Marvel.” She laughed and started flipping through to find the right category.

“I want to guess first!” You rushed over excitedly as Y/F/N handed the phone over and you swapped places. You loved to see how many Marvel characters you could guess and this way you’d have an excuse to look at Chris without it being weird.

As the timer ticked down from where you held the phone on your forehead, he rubbed his hands together in anticipation and winked flirtatiously, “Ready for this babe?”

“Bring it capsicle,” you said with a fervent grin.

“Oh!” Chris shouted excitedly. “It’s uh, fuck!” He scrunched his eyes and made that fanning hand motion trying to think of words to describe the character as he looked to Y/F/N for help.

“Um he’s the one who does the-“ she did a swatting motion with her hand and made pew pew noises.

“Guys, really?” You laughed. “Is it Iron Man?”

“No!” Chris said snapping his fingers. “It’s the one that rides the motorcycle and flame!” He made a whoosh sound at the end of his sentence.

“Ghost Rider!” You shouted excitedly. They cheered and signaled to hurry as you quickly tilted the phone up to the next character.

“Um, ok this one’s in X-Men,” Y/F/N began before pausing, “Can we say what movie they’re in?”


“I think so as long as it isn’t the name of the character, too. Like Thor,” you hurriedly answered. “Is it Wolverine?”

“No, the red head.”

“Jean Grey!”


“No her alter ego,” Chris said stretching and reaching forward as though he could draw the answer from your thoughts.

“Phoenix!” You tilted the phone.

“Woo, we’re on a roll,” He gave a big grin as he read the next name, “Fuck, um, Seb!” He waved his hand trying to make his mouth catch up with his thoughts.

“Sebastian’s character! The sad one!”

“Bucky!”

“Yes!”

“The sad one?” You laughed.

“It’s the truth,” he grinned.

After Bucky the characters seemed to be mainly ones who appeared in the movies and Chris quickly figured out the best way to have you know the characters was to simply shout the actors names as you continuously moved another few feet forward in line. Y/F/N would sometimes shout the actor at the same time as Chris, which would cost all of you seconds from laughing.

“Mackie!” He yelled laughing at you as you almost dropped the phone in haste as you shouted back, “Falcon.”

“Downey!”

“Iron Man!” Phone tilt.


“Crap he’s the big bad,” Chris was breathing hard with adrenaline as the timer started ticking down. He held his head in frustration as he tried to think of who the actor was.

“PURPLE THUMB!” Y/F/N screamed excitedly.

“Thanos!”  And that was the final phone tilt as the game ended. The older couple in front of you had been watching in amusement since the game started and they now joined in on celebrating the fun before turning back around.

Chris wiped tears from his eyes. His whole body shook from laughter. “Purple thumb? Really? I can’t believe that’s what made you think Thanos. That’s the best fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”

“It’s true though,” you said, playfully nudging him in the side. “Ok, Y/F/N’s turn.” You handed her the phone and as she quickly walked over to take your position.

You wiped the tears from your own eyes and fanned yourself to cool off. 

“Here,” Chris breathed, goofily speed fanning you with his hands before you did the same to him. You giggled as the timer started.

“Uh…Chadwick and Wakanda and…” you shouted trying to remember more Black Panther things. The thing about Head’s Up was that in the heat of the game it was like your mind would draw a blank even though you knew the topic, no matter which one it was.

“T’challa!” Y/F/N shouted excitedly tilting the phone.

“Elizabeth,” Chris said.


“Uh…” Y/F/N looked lost. “Who?”

“Crap, the red lady wizard…the one with the magic and leather coat,” you rambled off.

“Scarlett Witch!” Phone tilt.

Chris clapped his hands. “Oh, uh, Margot Robbie played her in the Suicide Squad movie.”

“Harley Quinn?” Y/F/N questioned confused.

“Yes!” He said frantically. 
“What is Harley doing in a Marvel game?” You chuckled.

“Focus babe,” Chris hip bumped you with a wink. You felt your skin light up at the contact and his nickname. You liked it more than you cared to admit.

With a glance at the screen as the next character flashed, the words, “My favorite character!” were out of your mouth before you realized it.

“Loki!”



“I’m wounded,” Chris clasped his heart in mock hurt and wiped a pretend tear from his eye. “And here I thought you were a good girl with a thing for the golden boys.”

“I have an inner bad girl Evans,” you whispered brazenly. “You just haven’t seen it yet.”

You saw his sharp intake of breath and the way his pupils dilated at the words, and chuckled darkly at the effect you had on him. You heard him mutter “fuck me” under his breath as you returned to the game.

The timer showed 5 seconds left as you quickly shouted, “Fast metal!” at the same time Chris yelled “Aaron!”

Y/F/N was laughing so hard she didn’t guess before the game ended. “What the hell was that last one?”

“Quicksilver,” you giggled.

“How many?” you all turned to the cast member to see you had finally made your way to the front of the line. It was almost time to board.

“Oh,” Chris said sadly. Your heart clenched. No, you weren’t ready for this moment to end yet! You didn’t even get to really talk with him… it can’t be over yet.

For the first time in your travel history, you wanted to have to wait longer for something.


“I kind of wish the ride would break down so that we could talk more,” he murmured longingly and echoing your thoughts as you followed behind Y/F/N to the final line.

You peered up into those striking blue eyes and saw your own feelings reflected in his. You smiled wistfully, “Me too.”

“Hey can I sign your ears before we get on the ride?” he asked quickly.

“Oh, uh, you don’t have to do that. It was just really nice to meet you and have this memory,” you said sincerely. You were slightly confused. You had honestly forgot to even ask for a signature or photo by this point and didn’t want him to think you only cared about “Chris Evans the Actor” and not “Chris” the sweet line guy

“Please? I’d really like to leave you a note so you can remember today,” he said with an earnest smile.

“Sure, I guess…” You mumbled humbly. “Although I doubt I’ll forget it.” You slid those Captain America ears, that had brought you so much luck, off your head and dug around in your bag for the permanent marker you had for meeting characters. You handed both over. “I need to save them up before the ride anyway.” He started scribbling on the back sides of the ears where it was mainly just red and blue fabric.

“Do you guys want to do silly faces for the picture?” Y/F/N asked softly, sensing your sadness. She met your eyes and squeezed your hand as a comforting gesture. You knew she was trying to cheer you up.  

Everyone made their way towards the three seated car and you felt the zipper on your bag open. You looked over your shoulder to see Chris slide the ears inside.

“Sorry, just wanted to make sure those beauties were secure.” He gave that bashful smile that you were starting to expect from him and pressed his hand onto the small of your back as he led you forward and into the car.

“Yeah, funny faces would be cool,” Chris grinned as everyone clambered in. “But nobody tell the other what they’re doing and we’ll all be surprised.”

Y/F/N got the front seat, you got the middle and Chris got in the back. You heard a groan and stretched your head as much as you could to see his long legs scrunched up in the small confined area and giggled at his predicament at being so damn tall. He playfully stuck his tongue out as the ride moved forward and you sat back in your seat.

The car moved into the dark expanse of “space” and prepared for the start.  As the ride took off, you got into your pose for the photo as the flash went off and then held on for your life. Space Mountain was equal parts terrifying and exhilarating since it was an indoor dark roller coaster that always made you feel like you were going to fly out of the seat. But, that was what made it fun. You screamed and laughed as you went around turn after turn and you could heard Chris’ whoops of glee behind you. 

And just as quickly as it started, the ride was over.

You were all breathing hard and buzzing on adrenaline as Chris quickly got out and extended a hand first to you and then to Y/F/N to help get out of the low seats. You couldn’t wipe the smiles off of your faces as you made your way to the photo section to see how the picture turned out.

Upon viewing it, the only thing you could do was hide behind your hands in embarrassment. Chris laughed and pulled you into his side as everyone stared at the pic.

Y/F/N had done a duck face with crossed eyes, you had both hands up in the rock and roll sign with your tongue sticking out and Chris blew the camera an exaggerated, scrunched up nosed kissy face with his hand under his chin. 

“I look absolutely crazy,” Y/F/N barked out holding her side in laughter. 



“You? I look like I’m possessed.” You pointed to your face again.

“That is my favorite Space Mountain photo of all time,” Chris said eagerly tapping his magic band to the Mickey eared device on the wall. Y/F/N and you did the same.

“I’m going check out the gift shop,” Y/F/N suddenly said with a mischievous wink in your direction.

“I really think I’m going to print this and hang it in my house,” Chris said glancing up at the photo again.


“Don’t you dare!” You chided with a scared laugh. “I can’t have your people thinking I’m a psycho.”

“Oh yeah definitely a psycho,” he glanced out the corner of his eyes to see your narrowed glare, before pulling you closer and kissing the top of your head. “But a cute psycho.”

The two of you stepped away from the wall of TV’s as the next round of people started swarming around. He pulled his hat down lower and grabbed your hand and you followed him into a quiet corner of the store.



“Thank you for that. It was honestly one of the best times I’ve ever had waiting for a ride,” he said tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ears. You felt your heart stutter at his close proximity and tried to control your breathing. He moved his hand to cup your cheek as he ran his thumb over your bottom lip. That dark look was back in his eyes. “I should meet back up with my family. They’re probably waiting for me.”

“It was really nice meeting you,” You whispered, not wanting him to leave. You knew that your Disney magic was about to run out.

He smiled shyly, and leaned down to press a chaste kiss on your lips and you felt your heart swell. And then, he was leaning back and you knew that time was up.


He ran his index finger once more down your chin, “I’ll see you around Y/N.”

He dropped his hand and took a step towards the sliding doors of the store shoving his hands in his pockets as he glanced back over his shoulder. You dazedly waved a hand in farewell and he beamed. His eyes shot open in remembrance, “Oh! Don’t forget to put your ears back on!”  And with a final wink and a wave he was swallowed by the crowd.

Y/F/N suddenly appeared by your side with a broad grin. “Chris freaking Evans just kissed you!”

“I don’t even know what just happened,” you let out a breathy laugh as you made your way out into the Florida sunshine.

“So, where to next? Although I don’t think anything will top that on this trip.”

You reached for your bag to see what Chris had written on the ears. And as you pulled it out and read the writing, you gasped. He’d created his own Head’s Up category.

On the left ear was a scribbled phone number and on the right ear was

Chris Evans. The one who likes you.

It seems the Disney magic was just beginning…

My Masterlist

[kidsviral-blog]

The Misery Of Being Rich, White, And Married On TV

New Post has been published on https://kidsviral.info/the-misery-of-being-rich-white-and-married-on-tv/

The Misery Of Being Rich, White, And Married On TV

How HBO’s Togetherness is the apotheosis of hipster family awfulness.

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Jaimie Trueblood / HBO

There was a disturbance in the force last night. Did you feel it? As if millions of voices cried out, and then were silenced? That was the sound of average American viewers, wailing and weeping into their hands over the tragic plight of the hip L.A. parents on HBO’s Togetherness. That poor couple! Michelle (Melanie Lynskey) and Brett (Mark Duplass) didn’t feel like frolicking with their adorable children in their million-dollar restored Craftsman, and they didn’t feel like having sex with each other under an 800-thread-count sheet in a boutique hotel room, either. No, they wanted to be back at home, binge-watching House of Cards on their big-screen TV. Or better yet, flirting with strangers on the street or sucking tequila shots out of nubile young belly buttons somewhere. But, oh no, they can’t do stuff like that anymore, because they’re over 35 and married! Surrounded by cute children and grassy lawns and flanked by a schlubby buddy (Steve Zissis) and a tacky (see also: non-L.A.-hipster) sister (Amanda Peet), all they can see is darkness and regret. Did I mention that their local elementary school is not very good, either? Life is so cruel to upper-middle-class white people!

Welcome to the aging-hipster-parent dramedy, an awkward affair in which a gaggle of grumpy, spoiled humans endlessly curse the gods for the interminable sorrows and frustrations of their cushy domesticated existences. There have been plenty of shows recently to walk down this angsty middle-aged road — FX’s Married, Showtime’s The Affair, NBC’s Up All Night and Parenthood, ABC’s Notes From the Underbelly, Amazon’s Transparent. Many have redeeming characteristics — actual plots, believable characters, scenes that feel like the best of indie film instead of the worst of it. Many of these shows also share certain flaws — whiny overgrown children, awkwardness and spite as stand-ins for actual dialogue, moody silence as a stand-in for dramatic conflict.

But HBO’s Togetherness represents the culmination of several bad trends in one, the apotheosis of discontented hipster-family awfulness. Created by Jay and Mark Duplass, Togetherness features the misadventures of four overgrown children fumbling their way through their respective midlife crises via clumsy flirtations, friend-zoning frustrations, New Age creepiness, bad sex, and most of all, unfocused self-pity. Like a grown-up version of Girls where instead of saying, “Yeah, I remember that,” you say, “Why haven’t they figured this shit out by now?,” Togetherness is what you would get if you crossed a bad episode of Thirtysomething with a bad Judd Apatow movie, then cut out all of the jokes and made each scene last two times too long.

But who needs humor or character development or dramatic conflict when you can just send your characters to a movie premiere where they can feel bad about not mattering enough, and then harass a successful movie producer for the rest of the episode? Who needs high stakes when you can send your L.A. hipsters to the park to play kick the can with some younger L.A. hipsters, so they’ll feel all torn up inside over the total no-fairness of being older than some other people in the world? What’s up with Taylor Swift and vaping and high-waisted jean shorts anyway, guys?

Wait, that can’t be a line from Togetherness, because even half-assed jokes aren’t allowed on the show. The main point of each episode seems to be to make all of the characters deeply unhappy. This means that the plot possibilities are infinite! Next time, why not have one of your characters order a sandwich that doesn’t have aioli on it, like it’s supposed to? Why not make their washing machine break down, so then they’ll have to sit in the laundromat just like regular human beings?

And maybe once your cool white L.A. mom is done flirting with a Latino charter school activist, she can conclude that sleeping with him would be way more fun than gracelessly fumbling with her passive, neurotic husband. But she can’t screw the new guy just yet. First she needs to get naked and roll around with her husband until they’re yelling at each other over how challenging it is to try to have sex in an expensive hotel room instead of watching television at home. Then one of them can say, “I’m not in love with having sex with the same person after 10 years, either!” and they can stutter sullenly like they’re reenacting an episode of Tell Me You Love Me, and that way, average Americans who don’t live in L.A. can turn off their TVs and have sex or eat a sandwich or argue or do other things that are a million times more interesting and tragic and funny than what’s on their television screens.

Remember when TV shows were about average people in average places? No, not the lovable salt-of-the-earth working-class types depicted on The King of Queens and Mike and Molly. Forget heartwarming lessons from blue-collar cuddle bears. The antidote to the awkward hipster dramedy plague is TV shows about grouchy, dissatisfied regular people with regular jobs and regular lives. Every day, ill-informed, dysfunctional types. You know, reality.

Or, if you prefer, All in the Family. Because, contrary to development executives at HBO and AMC and Amazon and everywhere else, not everyone is charmed by stories about wealthy L.A. marrieds who are super anxious about filling out their private school applications. Maybe it’s time to bring back characters like Archie and Edith and Sally and Meathead instead. The Bunkers never went to Hollywood premieres or played kick the can ironically. They didn’t have to. They had a script that was interesting and odd and funny, and they delivered their lines in lively, unexpected ways. They even changed their facial expressions occasionally, so they didn’t all look and sound like angry Muppets.

One of the things that’s engaging about regular people is that they have very good reasons for their misery. They don’t feel miserable simply because they can’t get through their Insanity workout videos or they can’t handle the inconvenient paperwork required by pricey private schools. Regular people are unhappy because their husbands are condescending, racist assholes, just for example. They’re depressed because they can’t afford their heating bill, or their son-in-law has an unkempt mustache and a beef with Nixon. Regular people go shopping at a grocery store and they accidentally let go of their shopping cart and it rolls away and a can of cling peaches dents the hood of someone else’s car, and their husband is furious at them for it.

Video available at: http://youtube.com/watch?v=HoIMvOUM3po.

See how irritating Edith is? That’s the thing about regular people. They don’t always dress well and they aren’t very cool but somehow they capture our interest anyway. They need help. They’re a little naïve sometimes. They’re not exactly admirable, but it’s hard not to be curious about what they might say next. Even when they’re complete assholes, they win some begrudging affection from viewers. They’re aggravating and all too familiar. They’re like family, in other words.

Edith was always a little depressed. Why wouldn’t she be? Her husband was a legitimate nightmare. Regular people are difficult, which is why regular people mostly sit around at home trying to get along with each other. They don’t put on fishnet stockings and bum cigarettes from teenage skateboarders and spank their husbands out of the blue then pout when their husbands don’t love it. They don’t give each other pep talks that revolve around the lyrics to Rush’s “Tom Sawyer” then sit in the car re-enacting the drum solo to the song together, feeling faintly reassured by how adorable they are.

It’s not like absurd storylines featuring self-indulgent assholes can never work, of course. Look at Larry David. Sure, he’s super rich and still depressed on Curb Your Enthusiasm, but we understand his anger: He’s an isolated jerk who is hopelessly spoiled but only cares about himself. Fair enough! Like Archie Bunker, everyone around Larry constantly reminds him (and us) that he’s a complete dick. Hell, even the characters on Married, pathetic as they are, have clearly been built for maximum patheticness. Only occasionally entertaining, yes, but not disturbing.

What really doesn’t work is the miserable spoiled jerks of Togetherness, who don’t recognize that they’re miserable and spoiled and jerks. Trying to make lazy, whiny, wealthy, middle-aged people sympathetic isn’t comedy. It’s like an episode of Desperate Housewives without the plinky piano and the Teri Hatcher, tripping in her tall shoes.

And regular people don’t summarize the sweeping themes of their lives when they’re arguing with each other. They argue about trivia, like Archie and Meathead debating how to put on your socks and shoes on every morning. They weren’t yelling, “I hate you!” the way the characters on Togetherness would. They were actually furious about socks and shoes. That’s Dramatic Writing 101: Don’t explain every single thing your characters are going through. Let them argue about the spaghetti or the dog or the flat tire instead.

Video available at: http://youtube.com/watch?v=ZFuniFSP2fo.

The comedic beats of that scene are perfectly timed for maximum effect. There’s not a lot of awkward dead air. And when Archie says, “Don’t you know that the whole world puts on a sock and a sock and a shoe and a shoe?” he’s not just getting worked up over nothing, he’s laying out his entire worldview. “If something seems logical to me, then I’m sure everyone does it, and anyone who disagrees is a giant loser.” Not only do few of today’s TV characters have such courage of conviction, but they rarely speak of something trivial in ways that shed a light on their driving motivation. Tony Soprano did this. Al Swearengen did it. Rust Cohle did it. Hell, even the women on Broad City do it sometimes. But most of the other characters on TV today tell us way too much about what they’re thinking and feeling, leaving nothing to the imagination.

That’s not interesting, and regular people don’t talk that way. Regular people are rarely aware of what they’re really saying or what they really want or what it all means. They’re blind to themselves. As Archie Bunker once said, “I ain’t paranoid! Why are youse all against me?” Regular characters speak in tongues, and we have to sort it out. That’s why reality TV, when it’s even remotely real, captures the interest of so many viewers these days. We get to do a little work to unpack what those people really mean when bizarre words come out of their mouths.

So let’s stop the madness. Put some regular people on television — some Roseannes and some Edith Bunkers. Maybe a noncriminal version of Omar from The Wire, or a non-mob version of Carmela Soprano. Instead of Thirtysomething meets Tell Me You Love Me, how about Broad City meets Getting On? Regularness is next to godliness. Why not start today? Or as Archie Bunker himself said, “You can start doing it that way tomorrow morning, and then do it that way for the rest of your life!”

Read more: http://www.buzzfeed.com/havrilesky/dire-straights

[purplesurveys]

128

How do you feel about fire drills? They’re necessary at least for us since the Philippines has been a hotspot for earthquakes recently - but I just get so lazy every time classes have to be cut off because we have to gather outside and deal with sirens and firetrucks. Do your socks usually match? Yeah, I make sure they do. The idea of them mismatching is unsettling for me. Would you date your best friend? I already am. It’s turned out pretty damn well, I think. Whats your favorite weather like? I love love love when it’s dark and the air is cold. Rain or no rain is fine - I live mostly for the cold. How do you determine if a band is good or not? What do you look for most? There’s no one thing I’m looking for, really. As long as I find the song catchy and finding myself wanting to listen to it, and even that’s unpredictable every time. Are you addicted to anything? If so, what? No. That’s a sensitive word… What’s your favorite movie genre? Horror, drama, romantic comedy. Have you ever had an inside joke based on a quote from a movie, book, etc? Sure, I may have a few of those with Gabie. What do you want to do as a future career? I’m not looking for a particular path anymore at this point. Just something useful I can do with my journalism degree would be great. If you were pregnant right now what would you do? Who would be the father? Highly impossible. But in a very hypothetical sense, I would keep the kid. Whether I would raise it or give it up for adoption is something I can’t see anymore; but abortion isn’t an option for me. As for the father, fuck knows lol. Would you rather bake or cook a meal? Bake. It’s more precise and more prone to mistakes, but I have more fun doing it and at least I don’t have to deal with being splashed on with oil. If you could have anything in the world right now, what would it be? Job security. LOL. I’m getting so old so fast. What’s going to be the first song at your wedding? I really REALLY love Flightless Bird, American Mouth by Iron & Wine. Twilight did a good job making it such a feelsy song. But I don’t know if that’s still suitable for a wedding ten or fifteen years down the line haha. What’s something only you think is cute/funny? I don’t think there is anything; there’s always at least one other person who agrees with me when it comes to things like that. What do you find attractive in the opposite sex? Our guy friends sometimes treats us food, which is nice. Otherwise, none. Do you ever compare yourself to members of the same sex? Like in general? It’s unavoidable. What’s the perfect snack when you want to relax? Pizza. Would you rather have a few friends over & order in a pizza or go out? I always love going out with friends. Staying in with pizza is only good if it’s happening at Chelsea’s house. They have a veranda reserved for parties, her dad is a jokester and her mom makes food for us too so it’s always fun. Not to mention she has the sweetest 1 year old German Shepherd, too. If you could change any situation in your life what would it be? Having a conservative, homophobic family. Like if they tilt their views *just a little bit*, it would greatly help. Do you listen to music while you work/study? Nope. That doesn’t work for me. Describe a person you wouldn’t be able to live with? Someone who starts their sentences with, “well not all men…” “what men like is…” anything of the sort. I’m kind of heated about that now, since I’m seated at Starbucks and have no choice but to listen to a woman give such misogynistic advice to her fellow woman friend who has husband issues. Definitely not someone I’d want to ask advice from. What’s your favorite thing to do in your spare time? I like watching videos on YouTube. They provide enough distraction for me. If you could learn the subjects you wanted to what would they be? World history, geography, biology, Spanish, Korean. What’s a weird food only you like to eat? I eat mayonnaise with my tilapia, and thought it was normal until my friends were repulsed when they saw me eating it. If you could relive one memory what would it be? This is different on any given day, but right now I’d want to go back to any good memory I had in high school. Those geneuinely mean a lot. What super power do you want most of all? Time travel, but to be invisible for all of it so I don’t mess anything up. Is there a celebrity that you’d be willing to have a one night stand with? Hahaha. I always say I’m game for Kristen Stewart, but I think I’ll be too intimidated for real. Describe the perfect concert-lineup, arena, weather, w/e? I have a vast taste in artists, so I think if they'reput together it would really suck. Like I’m pretty sure putting Kendrick Lamar and Against Me! and St. Vincent in one show will never work. Do you like family restaurants or really fancy ones? I like both. Great food is what I’m here for. Are you more of a city person or a country person? why? City, because I’ve never experienced living in the province (closest thing the PH has to what the US calls ‘country.’) I’ve been around long enough to be fully reliant on internet and electricity and kitchen appliances that moving to the province would entail a really big adjustment. Do you want to live in your current town the rest of your life? Hell no. I’ll get a job, save up enough, and move out the first chance I get. What’s a negative thing about your town? Nothing ever really happens here. It’s the city right beside Metro Manila where everything takes place, so this is just pretty much where everyone passes through. Nothing special. A positive? Everyone lives near each other so that’s convenient. Would your rather drown to death or burn to death? Drown. They say burning is the most painful way to go, so I’ll have to pass on that. How many years longer are you hoping to live? 81. What song describes your typical mood? Or your current mood? I don’t think there’s any song that says “I have to pee and the table beside me is way too noisy. Also when is Gabie coming back?” If you found out today your best friend was gay what would you do? I found that out three years ago. I simply told her 'okay,’ because it’s the sort of thing that should be normalized. Congratulating is fine, but I prefer not to do that especially with Gab. I know she wouldn’t like if I made it a big deal and told her congrats, I’m proud of you, happy for you, etc. Describe the perfect kiss or date. I’m dying to have a fine dining date. With our actual hard-earned money. Do you have a special material item you hold sentimental value to? There are lots of items I view that way. Would you ever throw a dart at a map and go where it lands if you could afford it? Yes, if I had the time and money. Where would you hope it lands? (Continued from last morning) Chicago, although I have to have a good aim to hit just Illinois lol. Do you take care of yourself or do your parents help you out financially? I don’t have a job as of yet, so they take care of everything money. If you could get a pet for free today-what kind/what name? A golden ret named Theo. If you won 100 million dollars what would you do with it first? LOL maybe settle everything my parents have to (house, cars, etc.) because I’m sure they will nag me as if I owe them anything. Once they’re off my back I’ll probably save the rest of it, since it’s stupid and impractical to just run away with it. How many people have you slept with? One. Does true love wait? Hold on there, Disney. I mean yeah I guess it does but idk this is too poetic lol. What’s a huge turn off? Being too Catholic, based from 19 years of experience in a predominantly Catholic country. Or smoking. I can’t pick. Do you dig people with lots of body mods? Tattoos, yeah. If you could pick up on any instrument what would you choose? PIANOOOOOO. Any language? Japanese would be a huge help. Also want to learn Korean and Spanish. If you had your own business, what would it be? Nope nope nope. Do you ever wish you had a family business to become a part of? Kind of, yeah. It would admittedly be more convenient because at least I have something to fall back on if something doesn’t work out. What’s the most gruesome way you could come up with to kill someone? I dunno, look up people like Ed Gein or John Wayne Gacy or that dude who used a pre-recorded tape before he murdered his victims. Ask them. Do you think anyone deserves to die that way? Just those serial killers and anyone as heinous as they were. If you had to fight for survival, what would your weapon of choice be? Meh. Maybe the invincible tanks from GTA San Andreas so I can be untouched. Omg! Zombies are attacking. Where do you go, who do you find, whatta ya do? I’ve watched The Walking Dead long enough to know that I just wanna be one of the first to go lol. What’s in it for me in the end? All I will see are guts and undead loved ones and broken down cars and expired food. What cellphone is the best in your opinion? I dunno. I’m happy with my iPhone, but Apple can be so problematic and I know it’s not the best one out there. I’m sure there are better models, but just don’t know enough about phones to pick which one. Do you flip your pillow over to lay on the cool/cold side? Sometimes. I never picked it up as a habit. Stop playing with yourself! What are you going to do now? Finish my breakfast then maybe another survey.

[prince-toffee]

Five Minutes

A sacrifice fic just to prepare for the inevitable.

(Sorry if there’s any grammar errors, I don’t care, I’m tired, ok I do care, consider this a first draft, I’ll fix it if something’s up.)

The doors locked. They did it. They won. The door ‘s access panel changed it’s green light to a red. The display on the panel read ‘Warning, temperature rising to dangerous levels. Clones present in WatchPoint Bay Q6.’ “Yeah, no shit.” Modulok grumbled to himself, and partially to the panel, as he sat down on the walkway next to his brothers.

“Sooooo, what- what’s happenin’? Is it working?” Vultak asked swallowing fear down his throat as he stuttered on the ‘what’. It did work, the Princesses managed to destabilise the core of the capital warship, The Velvet Glove. The She-Ra, Princess of Power, ploughed her mystical sword into the power core, which resulted in the station’s propulsion systems going offline and set the warship on a collision course with Etheria’s most populated centre, BrightMoon.

“Yeah, it worked alright.” Modulok scratched his two heads with his two left hands, “I just... I calculate that we’ve got about five minutes before either the ship burns up ooooor the all-mighty, all-powerful relic sword explodes and tears our atoms apart and flings them across the ten dimensions... maybe both, probably both.” Modulok shrugged his shoulders with a lifeless chuckle, which didn’t really comfort the perched Vultak on the walkway railing. Then again, what would possibly lighten the mood in that moment.

Hordak and Princess Entrapta managed to angle the station in a manner that it’d just nearly miss the planet, burn up in the atmosphere and use the momentum of the gravity to sling shot it into a surrounding moon. The space station was mentally linked to Horde Prime, everything was operated and controlled with his consciousness. With Prime dead, it put them into a difficult circumstance. Someone had to stay behind to make sure the ship stayed on course, someone mentally compatible with the Horde systems. Hordak was the logical choice, actually he was the only choice. He was the only High General present, meaning only he comprehended and was familiar with the warship systems. Hordak thought it was funny, She-Ra did finally kill him. A destiny fulfilled.

“Five minutes to live. That’s not a lot...” Mosquitor spoke up, giving off a an exhausted sigh. All six clones present in the room fell into tense and anxious silence. Fear and sadness blocked their throats, they weren’t used to talking, with their vocal cords, it was forbidden. Clones were only allowed to communicate telepathically and only communicate about their duties and objectives. Small talk wasn’t in the Horde dictionary. Ironically the only places where clones were able to talk and showcase their individualism was on the frontlines.

“Okay, so five minutes left of life... any last words?” Modulok asked shimming his rear to find a comfortable position to sit on the hard, cold walkway. A grated panelled pathway suspended at the centre of a deep chamber above a transparent force shield at the bottom. Which frames a view of heat and fire outside, melting and charring the metal outer casings of the ship.

“What’s there to talk about?” Despara quirked her brow at her brother’s question.

“Well, we’re clones, we don’t get this lucky. We’ve got five minutes to make up for all the decades of silence.” Modulok articulated.

To guide the warship most effectively Hordak had to observe the trajectory from a vantage point, that was where their paths diverged. Princess Entrapta protested, she held his hands in her own, massaged his knuckles with her thumbs. She raised herself up on her hair to face him eye to eye. She even gave him her signature smile, the one that melted his heart in a second. She had that look of possibility in her glistening crimson eyes, a spark of wonder and wanting that looked into multiple futures, hundreds of possibilities, a look that showed Hordak what he had to fight for, a world where that smile, those eyes and that laugh and that brilliant mind exist. A perfect world. He chose to make it, even if it was without him in it. He decided to do something his brother could never. A final gift to Entrapta, for all the trouble and confusion he caused her.

He gave her a kiss on her gloved hand, befitting for royalty, he gave her the best smile he could, and for the last time, he left her. Princess Entrapta would go on to cry for many days to come, but it was for the best. The greater good.

“Alright. I’m just gonna say it, food, not a fan. Too mushy. Has to go through your entire digestive system, which I didn’t even know existed until a few cycles back, and it has to come out th-” Modulok was cut off by Hordak, who previously was completely silent.

“You didn’t have to come with me.” He didn’t even look at them as he spoke, face down, staring at a small purple crystal in his hand, which he used to fugit with to ease his nerves.

“What are you talking about? We stay together. We’re defects.” Despara states to Hordak almost offended, all of them were through a lot, she felt offended that Hordak thought they’d abandon him now.

“We fought through war. We hold-ass across the universe. And we killed our god! Together!... Well, technically the blonde Valkyrie lady killed Prime, but still it’s the thought that counts.” Vultak shrugged, attempting to lighten the mood. Hordak rubbed circles on the purple crystal, looking down on it, his face reflected in it’s cracked surface. L-U-V-D. That’s what was etched on it. A fact. A reminder of her compassion. A wake up call. And he did wake up, from a dream world he believed all his life. A life of lies. From a hazy of toxic green to a reality of flaming red.

“I am your general. I stood at our brother’s side, you were mere soldiers, pawns. I deserve this pain, not you. You could’ve- you should have had normal lives.”

Mosquitor chuckled to himself, “Normal isn’t exactly in our dictionary.” The towering brute countered as he cradled the young hybrid in his arms, keeping Zed near his chest. As if it would make any difference when the fire broke through. “Also we’re not the kind of people the Etherians seem to want to deal with.” The statement made a wicked smile form on Hordak’s face. He enjoyed being in charge, being the one with the carrot on the stick. Having something of his own, something to his own name. They will always remember his name. Never forget. No one will ever forget.

“Then what do you think happens to our brothers? You think the Princesses kept their side of the bargain? You think their all off the ship, that they evacuated them?” Despara asked most likely imagining the worst, a possibility that there were some other poor clones still on board. That they were sacrificing lives that weren’t there own.

To quiet their minds, Hordak tiredly claimed, “No. They kept the promise. They’re honest people.” Hordak added that they had to, they were just like that, it was in their nature. Hordak knew their brothers were fine. BrightMoon had no court to try them, no holding cells and wouldn’t have enough to hold all of them for decades to come. And hopefully if Entrapta didn’t decide to hate him, she’d help them all and embrace them in her warmth. Dryl hadn’t had citizens for a decade or two, he was sure the clones wouldn’t be much of a downgrade. Add some life to the ghost town, so she doesn’t feel alone anymore.

“Yeah, well whatever they’re up to, it can’t be as bad as the predicament we’re in, heh.” Vultak flapped his winged arm around, a sharp gasp of pain escaped him as he moved his right around. No wonder either, it was bent forward, from the fight with Prime, literal minutes ago. It felt so victorious for just a moment, but life has a fun way of turning tables around.

“Plus, the Princesses, totally lame, right?” Modulok rolled his eyes as he attempted to stand up to get over to V and help his brother’s arm. But Vultak raised his left hand in protest, there was no need. It was going to be over soon. Modulok sat back down in defeat, amusement draining from his two faces. What good was a medic that couldn’t fix his fellow soldiers.

It was Mosquitor’s turn to brighten the situation, “Hah, yeah I bet they’re all clawing their ears out by now. Hehe, remember what those colour coded pansies moaned about all the time? Friendship? And rainbows? What a mucha losers, eh? Hehe... heh.”

“I remember.” Hordak stated. Never again. Never forget.

“Yea, losers.” Despara nodded.

“Losers.” Modulok and Vultak said at the same time.

“...Hmmmhehehahah- HA!” Modulok covered his face to hide his ugly laughter, forgetting about the other one expressing the same emotion.

“Mode, what the hell now?” Vultak asked, a smirk creeping up on him.

“Hehehehahahahhhh, ahhhhh man, w-heh-which one was the one that tried to hug Zed, heheheh and- and got burned. Oh lord. Oh Great Darkness. That face was priceless. HhhhhhhhHAHAHA!” The infectious mirth managed to wriggle out a small spasm out of Zed. His shoulders moving up and down, his nasal cavity wrinkling up in that cute way. Of course the young Zed contributed no sound of amusement as he was mute.

Despara shrugged her shoulders, “I don’t know. They all look the same to me.” The room shook violently, the pipes above rattled and metal panels fell off the walls and fell down through the force field below. Hordak’s realisation dawned on him, that he would be departing the mortal realm. Even thought there was an inferno forming beneath him, just outside that thin force field, even though he was surrounded by his clone brethren, his mind couldn’t help but wonder off to the thought of a certain Scientist Princess. His mind run wild with quite corny and laughable poetry, everything he wished he said to Entrapta. But didn’t.

He didn’t need her to devote her entire life to him. No. That’d be caging her. She deserved to be free, free to bend the universe to her will and bow before her beautiful intellect. He didn’t need her to lay her lips on him, she didn’t need to touch him. All he needed was just to see her smile, at him. Just for her to be with him, because that smile just for a moment saves him, just for a moment she makes him forget the endless pain he endured every day of his life. And every smile felt like an eternity of bliss. And so with just a look that woman could transport him into a perfect world, where he could live an eternity-long life.

But he didn’t say any of that to her. Hordak knew Entrapta wasn’t interested in long speechs, she had a short attention span, she was a woman of actions not words. That’s why before all this all Hordak gave Catra was a short note to give to Entrapta. He had her promise that she’d apologise to Entrapta, for all that she had done. Unfortunately, he made her apologise for the two of them. The note read ‘I’m sorry, and thank you. - Your ever loyal knight, Hordikins. Farewell My Queen.’ He could have gone on how there were no words in any dialect across the universe that could express how she made him feel, or that if she only asked he would have gifted her the universe. The note said everything it made to.

“Kinda sucks, all this. I only came on sentient a few hours ago.” Despara stated playing with her hair. The statement of dry humour pulled Hordak back from his day dream. “But I’m glad I had the opportunity to meet all of you. And... and be myself, even if it was short lived.” Despara finished. The words brought smiles to her fellow brothers, the past few Horde cycles were the craziest experiences of their lives, because they were experiencing life itself for the first time. They decided where their paths led. Especially Despara. She wasn’t always... herself. What was going to become Despara was clone DSP-772,411, whom was the detention guard overseeing Catra’s cell. ‘411 had never met an other lifeform other than clones. Dess was a servant clone. Never stepped outside the perimeter of The Velvet Glove. Her insight on the lay out of the ship came in useful to the defects in their infiltration to kill Prime. ‘411 always felt like they weren’t serving their cause properly, along side their dying brothers on the frontlines. Though not on the battlefield she risked her life every day. Prime had a tendency for violent mood swings. A dinner party for Prime’s guests could be more traumatising and devastative to a clones health than the trenches. Many clone have begged to be sent to the frontlines to escape the unspeakable horrors which occurred within the walls of the warship.

‘411 was immediately drawn to the captive Magicat. Catra spilled her heart, cried and whimpered, talked about an old flame of her’s, about how she hurt people close to her, about how the Princesses were “full of it” as she put it. And ‘411 listened to all of it. And at the end, when Catra’s tears dried up and she quieted down, all ‘411 could ask was, what a ‘she’ was. It must’ve shocked Catra, eyes wide in confusion and mouth drooping low in surprise. Hordak was there when she did, but he could’ve imagined the cat’s reaction, mostly because his first Force-Captains had the same reaction when he first asked that same question in his first years on Etheria. Captain Octavia had quite an interesting evening that day. He made her swear an oath of silence, to never speak of that embarrassing encounter.

Clones had no concept of sex or gender, things just were the way they were. As Prime intended them to be, perfect. The bodies and missions given to them by Prime were unquestionable. And it never was questioned, because none knew what other possibilities were out there. The alien armies of the Horde encountered were all different and unique, but there was no time or reason to study them. It wasn’t an objective. Prime did not care. Her brothers may have not fully understood, what Despara meant when she said she was always “this” deep down, but none argued, none protested against their new sister. She was a clone, a defect, one of them. She was a new experience. One of a kind. And as Vultak put it ever so elegantly, “Cool. I never had a sister before.”

It was ultimately her who let Catra out and helped her escape back to the Alliance. Hopefully she got that kiss she so desperately needed. Hordak met ‘411 only once before being sent off back to the frontlines, his return and the assault on the Velvet Glove, and briefly at that, on his way with a breakfast tray to Queen Glimmer’s guest room.

“Hey, hey, stop with that sappy stuff.” Mosquitor waved his hand dismissively, rolling his eyes. Moe, as his brothers called him, much like most clones including Hordak, wished to at all times seem tough. Poor MSQ-999,332 had it worse than most. He hide his defection for much longer than Hordak. The illness became so bad that eventually he could no longer use his own legs, his waist and legs lost all near all muscle mass. And so ‘332 became paralysed. He was just slowing down his platoon down, so his lower body was amputated. Of course the brother that rescued and brought Moe on board was executed for the crime of ‘Conferring with Inappropriate Machinery’. And Prime personally threw Moe out the airlock back down to the battlefield. ‘332 spent most of his days afterwards, crawling across mudded trenches. Luckily, Moe met on that some battlefield, MUD-111,117, or Modulok.

Nothing, but hatred and vengeance flew through his veins, it did for all of us. Mode managed to construct a life support system, for Moe, a walking hospital bed. Many parallels could’ve been made between it and Hordak’s own First Ones suit, created by Entrapta. Moe’s unit was twice the size of Hordak, it made him tower over even Prime, but the biggest difference was, Hordak’s suit was near indestructible, Moe on the other hand even if he had intimidation on his side the armour was more for life support than anything. Mosquitor faired better from a distance, ‘332 was an amazing snipper. The room shook more, sparks fling from wiring in the wall, the walkway holding them vibrated and shuttered. Moe took hold of Zed in his large arms, readying for the end.

The sight made Hordak thankful that Entrapta took Imp and got him to safety. The Lord of the Horde didn’t think he could’ve handled having to be forced to watch he’s own creation die... his little spy. He was safe, back on Etheria, in a loving home with a loving overseer. He only hoped that she’d teach Imp her ways, and hoped that one day Imp would grow into an intelligent man worthy enough to continue her legacy of brilliance.

Zed was the youngest of all the clones, although technically the creature wasn’t even a clone, but rather a hybrid. A prototype of the splicing initiative. A combination of Prime’s DNA and an unknown gene pool. The kid was an attempt at a creation of super soldiers, but failed. Poor kid always wanted to meet that other half of him. That other person that aided in bringing him into the world. This awful, awful world. Sadly, he never will, but he was the first to follow Hordak into the chamber. The boy did say back on the frontlines, that he’d jump into fire after him. And it was true. And to be more accurate, he didn’t say, he signed. All the defects learned the universal sign language. Zed might’ve been silent, but his voice wasn’t unheard.

He’s fate should have been a better one. He didn’t deserve this, he had a full life in front of him. Hordak never knew what drew Zed to him, why he asked so many questions, why he snuck out at night to see  him in the trenches. When Prime sent Hordak back to the frontlines, after his torturous reconditioning, he lost hope, but when he stepped out, or rather more accurately, when he was thrown out the troop dropship. Face first in a muddy trench dozens of defects thrown down with him. When he looked up from the dirt and filth, a slither of hope ignited in his belly, as a hand extended to him. Wonder in the boy’s eyes. He overheard Hordak’s mention of being trapped on other worlds.

”Hey, V you’re staring into the ceiling buddy. Talk to us.” Modulok snapped his fingers at his winged brother. Vultak didn’t turn to face him, mesmerised by the ceiling falling apart. V’s facial expression showcased a hypnotised look. As a combat aerial unit he always did look into the skies. But it probably had to do something with the impending doom below. ‘Don’t look down.’ Hordak remembered was the advise Vultak gave him when they leaped out onto the Velvet Glove from the dropship they stole, which exploded seconds later in the void of space as it filled with laser fire. VLT-441,441 was a paratrooper in the Horde military, until of course his defect began to show. He was always used to jumping into certain death, fearless in any mission. Vultak didn’t fear anything physical, nothing in the universe made him back down. But now, at the end he looked frightened, he couldn’t look down, do no more leaps of faith, for faith, he lost.

It’s true V feared nothing physical, because he had faith. He was a man of god. A believer. But what happens to a man when your god turns his back on you? Horde Prime knew defection was inevitable for many clones. No machine was perfect, especially no war machine. So Horde Prime infused prophecies and implanted messages into all clone subconscious, so that when defection occurs, all clones are compelled to return to him. Easier than hunting them down, easier to cover up the disgrace of his failures. Easier to hide his mistakes, he couldn’t afford to let those space fairing races above him mapping his progress to know about things like that. Couldn’t afford to let those higher than him know he was capable of mistakes. Perfection was expected of him. Those others above him, he tried to impress them, to have them take him in, show him enlightenment. He, all he wanted to do, was show he was worth their celestial time, he was worth something.

And now he’s nothing. He is now dead. Hordak found that he began to enjoy poetry and it’s irony more and more, in a twisted sort of way. Truly clones.

“Do you... Do you think there’s something out there for us? Up there, where ever?” The questions were deafening, everyone hoped Vultak wouldn’t have gone existential on them. But Vultak was the biggest patriot of them all, even surpassing Hordak’s obsession with their brother. And in turn he was the one most hurt by Prime’s betrayal. He was no god, no grand being, just a liar. Hundreds of thousands murdered... for him, because they believed their big brother. Hundreds of thousands, they murdered, for a lie.

“Do you think any of it was true? Do you think he believed any of it? Or was it ALL a lie?” Hordak answered V’s question in his mind, since never before was it a private place: Lie. “The Perfect World. The Grey Mound? The Hold Peck? The Great Darkness?” V grit his teeth, another wave of pain from his broken arm.

“Worried about being sent to the bad place, V?” Modulok asked, weak smile wearing.

“I’m just wondering. What’s waiting in the beyond for a guy like me. It can’t be anything good... if there even is anything up there.” Modulok decided to stand up and close the distance between him and his distraught brother. He leaned against the railing on which Vultak perched himself.

Mode gently touched V’s shoulder, it made sure V looked at him when he spoke. “I promise you, where ever you wake up on the other side, I’ll be there with you. And I’ll always fix you up after you jump into certain doom. Brother, you have my word.” It was true, the two were inseparable. Threw pure change the two met on the frontlines. While V had his head in the clouds, Mode grounded him, pulled him down to his level. Mode was a realist. He was bad at his bed side manner, he never lied to himself or his patients. He was a field medic, he saw things no one should, endured horrors unimaginable to the innocent. Modulok was the oldest to them, he was through a lot, fighting from world to world longer than any of them in Prime’s name. Over the many decades the spark of pride dulled, Mode found himself lost, fighting across the stars for a cause he no longer believed in.

Mode’s was haunting, even to other defects, whom experienced hardships and injustice. Modulok’s defection was the most dire Hordak ever seen, MUD-111,117 developed a second head, and two left arms. His genome could have been compaired to a computer glitch, untreated it just got worse. It was a miracle that Mode managed to make it to such an old age. Many species across the universe considered age to be a weakness, a disadvantage, but ‘117 always argued that with age came experience, and with experience came knowledge, which in turn led to wisdom. It was Mode who constructed Moe’s suit, led Dess’s surgery, gave V his wings and taught Zed sign language. A true veteran. He had been through it all.

But what Mode never helped Hordak with anything, ‘ 117 was a medic, he was compelled to fix others. But when Hordak first arrived at the fronts of Primus Minor, he isolated himself from everyone else, kept to himself. Hordak treated his own wounds, he worked on his armour alone. When he took the suit off, he was forced to walk on his own, no armour support system. And so he locked himself in an unused compartment of the trenches and over the course of six months, he learned how to walk. Baby steps to an adult man, who never had a childhood. Mode gathered from all of that, that Hordak was a loner. A solo act. Didn’t do well with people.

There came a day where Mode pulled Hordak off to the side and asked him why he worked through all the baggage alone? Why didn’t he ask for aid? Why did he ignore them? Hordak apologised that it seemed like he was avoiding them. And what Hordak said back in response stayed with the medic ‘til the end of his life.

“Mode... If there is good and evil.

And good is better than evil.

God has to be good... Right?”

“I suppose so.”

“So, are we good? Are we... like him?”

“What do you think?”

“I think there’s no such thing as good or evil.

But it’d be nice... to be good.”

“So, anybody got any idea how much time we’ve got left?” Despara asked looking at Modulok. Who just struggled in return, he didn’t exactly have a timer, he simply estimated the time remaining. “So that’s a no? We don’t kno- We can just blow up at any second?... Cool.” Dess combed her hair with her fingers to calm her nerves.

“You really think a timer would settle your nerves?” Moe asked unconvinced.

“I suppose not.” Dess admitted.

“I could’ve been with her.” Hordak spoke up suddenly in the middle of the conversation, honestly he was so quiet Despara forgot he was there, even though he was seated right next to her.

“What’d ya mean?”

“I could’ve saved myself... the First Ones crystal, it’s a server. To help me sync up with her new armour, Entrapta recorded my brain waves on the crystal. My memories, my thoughts, my personality, all of it... I could have given it to her when I last saw her.

But I didn’t.

I lied.

I left her.”

All five siblings turned their heads side to side take turns looking at each other and then back at Hordak. His face unmoved. Looking at the purple crystal. Zed stood up and broke free of Moe’s embrace. The young one stepped up to him. Hordak’s blood red eyes drifted up to the boy’s hands. He signed.

‘Why?’

“...Because it wouldn’t be me. Not me. A clone of me.”

The clones fell silent. Head bowing down. No more needed to be said. Every aspect of their lives had been thrown into question, into uncertainty. When the assault on The Velvet Glove happened, Hordak was leading the charge. Prime captured him and tortured him, he hurt him in front of Entrapta. He fell to his knees and crawled back to Prime, like he always did. But this time it was different, he stood up, he walked to him. Like a man, not a dog. Prime insulted and demeaned him. Prime claimed that Hordak wasn’t wasn’t a person. Clones were nothing, mere shadows of his greatness. The clones were him, just dirtier, unclean. A lesser version of what he was.

This was their stance against that. Showing that their lives meant something. That they were worth something. They were worth the world, for that was what they were saving. The scale balanced out.

The force field beneath them gave off a thunderous sound, a final warning. The bay shook one more time, the artificial gravity became disabled and the room began to tilt and shift. The metal walls crumbled like paper. The walkway began to swing and crack. Mode took V’s unbroken hand into his own. Moe embraced Zed in his arms one last time. Dess wrapped her arm around Hordak’s shoulder, and he inturn pressed his head against hers.

Modulok gave his last words in the form of a question, “...Do... Do you think... Could’ve we done something, could’ve we ended up with a happy ending, all of us? Could’ve we been good? Would it have make any difference?”

Hordak spent his last moments thinking, he didn’t realise he was thinking out loud, “Good? I think there’s no such thing as good?...

But it was nice...”

What ever this was. What it meant. What it was worth.

The force field imploded, gave in. The fire broke through. The Velvet Glove burned up in the atmosphere. And the clones were no more. And on that day all of Etheria cheered, and celebrated. For the evil was vanquished.

Ding-dong! The witches are dead.