#when i saw the America art for the first time i had to double take bc WHAT IS HAPPENING

[cryystallos]

Question why did Hima draw gangsta America with his clothes ripping off. Are we bringing back the clothes ripping series but with the other gangsta designs??? Bc I saw some sneak peaks for the next illustrations and I can only fear for what those look like

[consanguinitatum]

For One Night Only: David at the RSC Fringe Festival (oh, and one other thing he probably didn't do...)

For today's post in "obscure things David Tennant did way back when," we'll need to travel back in time to the late 1990s. It was a busy time for David. By May 1997, he'd just wrapped up his first Royal Shakespeare Company repertory season (in which he simultaneously played Touchstone in As You Like It, Jack Lane in The Herbal Bed, and Alexander Hamilton in The General From America). This set of three plays had begun their runs in Stratford in early- to mid 1996; they then transferred over to London's Barbican Theatre, where they had ended their runs by mid-1997.

Programmes for The Herbal Bed, As You Like It, and The General From America

Next on David's theatre agenda was the role of Mickey in Hurlyburly (a play I've talked about before) which ran at the Queen's Theatre in London from August to November 1997. He then performed a one-off staged reading of Derek Jarman's Blue at the Chelsea Arts Theare on 16 November 1997 (which, by the way, is another little-known DT performance I want to explore!)

That was it for 1997, theatre-wise.

Then, beginning in March of 1998 - as I've explored previously - he began his run as Moon and Brindsley Miller in The Real Inspector Hound/Black Comedy. This double bill ran first at the Yvonne Arnaud Theatre in Surrey and then in London, first at the Richmond Theatre and then at the Comedy Theatre. That play finally wrapped in August 1998.

But a month before wrapping The Real Inspector Hound/Black Comedy, David had popped over to Stratford to do something interesting, something that's the focus of this thread. It was called For One Night Only, and - as it says on the tin - it was, indeed, for one night only!

First, though? A little history!

Around 1990, the RSC began to hold an annual summer festival called the Royal Shakespeare Company Fringe Festival. Intended as a showcase for RSC talent, it included a mix of events: short plays, devised pieces, stand-up comedy, concerts, etc., as well as new works making their Stratford debut. The festival lasted two weeks and saw actors, directors, stage managers, musicians and staff all taking part in more than 25 events. All the events were either on Sundays, or timed around RSC productions, so audiences could go see fringe shows after seeing the actors perform in their usual RSC roles.

Most of the events for 1998's festival took place in a specially adapted 100-seat rehearsal room at the RSC's 'alternative' theatre, The Other Place. But not all of them. Their opening night event - on Sunday, 19 July - was to take place at the Swan Theatre.

That opening night event? For One Night Only!

Starring Desmond Barrit, Emma Handy, and Amanda Harris as well as David, the launch event cost £4-£12 and began at 7:30 pm. It was called a "curtain raiser" as well as "aptly-named."

And just what was it about? Well, um....I know it was organized and compiled by its star, Desmond Barrit...and that it was supposed to take its audience on a journey through the theatre. These articles say so.

But that's about all I know. I wish I had more details.

I am, however, supremely lucky to own a piece of ephemera about this one night only event.

Here's the front and back of my For One Night Only flyer, and as I'm sure you'll notice, it promises "an evening of theatrical prose and poetry...and a little gossip!"

Great. Could you tell us a bit more, thanks?

While researching For One Night Only, I came across something else of interest, which I thought for a moment David might have been involved in - an event staged nine days before For One Night Only. But after researching this event in more detail, I don't think he was involved, after all. Such a shame, really. He would've been perfect!

On Friday, 10 July 1998, at 1 pm in the afternoon, some Royal Shakespeare Company members got together to do a fund raiser and preview of the upcoming Fringe in the forecourt of the Other Place. Called a Sonnetathon, this three-hour event featured various RSC members reading all 154 of Shakespeare's sonnets!

Now a Sonnetathon would've been right up David's alley, am I right? He'd have loved it! But I'm about 99% certain he wasn't there - and here's why. That Friday night at 7:30 pm, David was onstage in The Real Inspector Hound/Black Comedy at the Comedy Theatre in London, that's why!

But here's why I say 99%. It's not impossible to imagine he got up early that Friday (after doing a show the night before) and took the train in to Stratford to do the Sonnetathon - wrapped it up by 4pm, then hopped on another train back to London in time to make the 7:30 curtain up for The Real Inspector Hound/Black Comedy.

But you have to admit, it seems unlikely.

But The Real Inspector Hound/Black Comedy wasn't showing on Sunday, 19 July 1998, so David was able to get to Stratford and go onstage as part of 'For One Night Only' to open the Fringe...and then get back to London in time to go onstage once more the following night.

So now you know what I know about For One Night Only.

Of course I'll keep looking for more!

[wishingicouldfly]

Harry Styles is a Mermaid

Disclaimer: I am sure I’m not the first to report and share these links and images. I thought people would find this interesting, so I’m sharing my foray down this rabbit hole. I’d welcome any additional links or thoughts related to Mermaids and the LGBTQ community.

If you know anyone that should be credited for pictures here, let me know. None of them belong to me.

***

In November 2014, Harry Styles had the image of a mermaid tattooed on his left forearm. The bare-chested siren joined multitudes of other nautical themed tattoos that litter his body. 

A few days after the new tat appeared, he responded to a question at a meet and greet. 

“I am a Mermaid,” he said. 

I started the research on this post when I saw the gif with his quote about being a mermaid. Rest below the cut.

Harry Styles’ Mermaid Tattoo — The Real Reason Behind His New Ink – Hollywood Life 

I’m not going to tell you why he said he’s a mermaid. I don’t know what it means to him. I have no idea. Maybe he simply likes mermaids. Maybe he feels like it matches the themes of his and Louis’ other nautical tattoos. I can't pretend to know.

“Mermaid” as a theme, though, has a decades long association with the LGBTQ community. And I think that’s interesting in light of the imagery that Harry himself has shared and seems to connect to.

Like, that time he wore a shirt with a famous line from The Little Mermaid.

Or in 2019, when he dressed as Ariel for a Saturday Night Live photoshoot.

Did Harry Styles REALLY say 'I am a mermaid'? Truth behind viral photo and his Ariel look for 'SNL' | MEAWW 

Or his his whole video for Music for a Sushi Restaurant: 

I’ve seen the Little Mermaid probably dozens of times. My child and I watched it a lot when she was growing up. And while I always knew it was an allegory for being different, I didn’t think about the deeper meaning as it relates to the LGBTQ community until more recently.

According to this article from the Smithsonian, 

The central story of The Little Mermaid is, of course, 16-year-old Ariel’s identity crisis. She feels constrained by her patriarchal mer-society and senses she doesn’t belong. She yearns for another world, apart from her own, where she can be free from the limits of her rigid culture and conservative family. Her body is under the water, but her heart and mind are on land with people. She leads a double life. She is, essentially, “in the closet” (as symbolized by her “cavern”—or closet—of human artifacts, where the character-building song “Part of Your World” takes place).

Source: 'The Little Mermaid' Was Way More Subversive Than You Realized | Arts & Culture| Smithsonian Magazine  https://www.smithsonianmag.com/arts-culture/little-mermaid-was-way-more-subversive-you-realized-180973464/

The Disney version was written by writer-producer-lyricist Howard Ashman and composer Alan Menken. 

The character of Ursula, though, is the real LGBTQ icon. “Conceived by Ashman, Ursula is based on the famous cross-dressing performer Divine, who was associated with the openly gay filmmaker John Waters. As scholar Laura Sells explained in a 1995 anthology of essays, Ursula’s “Poor Unfortunate Souls” song is essentially a drag show instructing the naive mermaid on how to attract Prince Eric (who is conspicuously uninterested in Ariel and most content at sea with his all-male crew and manservant Grimsby). “In Ursula’s drag scene,” Sells wrote, “Ariel learns that gender is performance; Ursula doesn’t simply symbolize woman, she performs woman.” (same source as above).

A gay man in 1980s America, Ashman had personal experience with the culture wars over “family values” and gay rights. The “Reagan Revolution” marked the arrival of the long-brewing marriage of the Republican Party with conservative Christians and included a platform that was unfriendly to gay rights, to say the least. President Reagan ignored the AIDS epidemic that swept the nation (refusing to appropriate any federal funds for research or treatment), and Republicans in general claimed the “gay plague” was God’s punishment for homosexuality. Ashman saw the film as an opportunity to advance a social message through the medium of “family entertainment.” The last thing Americans would expect from Disney was a critique of patriarchy, but sure enough, Ashman’s The Little Mermaid is a gutsy film about gender and identity—a far cry from the staid Disney catalog. (same source).

Anyone who was around in 2015 knows about RBB/SBB. But if you didn’t, the Rainbow Bears (RBB/SBB, largely assumed to be created and curated by Harry and Louis) mentioned Divine on December 1, 2015. Just after they posted about her, Harry tweeted a lyric that alluded to Divine. See below. 

Credit to @SkepticalLarrie

There’s a whole other rabbit hole you can go down about John Waters (openly gay film director) and Divine and Pink Flamingos (Pink Flamingos: A Queer Beginner’s Guide to Family, Style and Not Giving a Sh*t | by Joe Corr | Medium. https://mandysweats.medium.com/pink-flamingos-a-queer-beginners-guide-to-family-style-and-not-giving-a-sh-t-fa9aa3e6c96f

Here’s another article that talks about The Little Mermaid being important to the LGBT community.

How The Little Mermaid Found A Place In The Hearts Of LGBTQ Fans | HuffPost UK Entertainment (huffingtonpost.co.uk) 

There was a lot of speculation about Harry being potentially cast as Prince Eric in a live action version of the Little Mermaid. I’m not sure how serious those rumors were, but I can imagine based on all of this research, that he might have found the Prince wasn’t the character he related to most.

Harry Styles fans upset over 'Little Mermaid' reports | CNN https://www.cnn.com/2019/08/14/entertainment/harry-styles-little-mermaid-trnd/index.html

To go even further down the rabbit hole, go all the way back to the original story. The Hans Christian Anderson version has a tragic ending, that doesn’t end with the mermaid happily ever with the prince. There is some speculation that the story was an allegory for an unrequited love that Anderson had toward a straight acquaintance.

The Little Mermaid Is Really About Unrequited Gay Love | by Tamara Mitrofanova | Lessons from History | Medium 

I also want to point out that Mermaids is a UK based charity organization, that “supports transgender, nonbinary and gender-diverse children and young people until their 20th birthday, as well as their families and professionals involved in their care.” About Mermaids - Mermaids (mermaidsuk.org.uk) https://mermaidsuk.org.uk/about-us/

All of this could be coincident to the true purpose behind what Harry’s tattoo means to him. We will likely never know its exact meaning to him. 

But as time passes, and we see Harry waving various LGBTQ flags and hinting at being in the community himself, I think it might bear remembering that he said he WAS a mermaid. And I think that’s beautiful, Harry.

[wakandaiscoming]

Ryan Coogler’s statement on Chadwick Boseman’s death has gutted me again. “He’s an ancestor now.”

Before sharing my thoughts on the passing of the great Chadwick Boseman, I first offer my condolences to his family who meant so very much to him. To his wife, Simone, especially.

I inherited Marvel and the Russo Brothers’ casting choice of T’Challa. It is something that I will forever be grateful for. The first time I saw Chad’s performance as T’Challa, it was in an unfinished cut of “Captain America: Civil War.” I was deciding whether or not directing “Black Panther” was the right choice for me. I’ll never forget, sitting in an editorial suite on the Disney Lot and watching his scenes. His first with Scarlett Johansson as Black Widow, then, with the South African cinema titan, John Kani as T’Challa’s father, King T’Chaka. It was at that moment I knew I wanted to make this movie. After Scarlett’s character leaves them, Chad and John began conversing in a language I had never heard before. It sounded familiar, full of the same clicks and smacks that young black children would make in the States. The same clicks that we would often be chided for being disrespectful or improper. But, it had a musicality to it that felt ancient, powerful, and African.

I learned later that there was much conversation over how T’Challa would sound in the film. The decision to have Xhosa be the official language of Wakanda was solidified by Chad, a native of South Carolina, because he was able to learn his lines in Xhosa, there on the spot. He also advocated for his character to speak with an African accent, so that he could present T’Challa to audiences as an African king, whose dialect had not been conquered by the West.

I finally met Chad in person in early 2016, once I signed onto the film. He snuck past journalists that were congregated for a press junket I was doing for CREED, and met with me in the green room. We talked about our lives, my time playing football in college, and his time at Howard studying to be a director, about our collective vision for T’Challa and Wakanda. We spoke about the irony of how his former Howard classmate Ta-Nehisi Coates was writing T’Challa’s current arc with Marvel Comics. And how Chad knew Howard student Prince Jones, who’s murder by a police officer inspired Coates’ memoir Between The World and Me.

I noticed then that Chad was an anomaly. He was calm. Assured. Constantly studying. But also kind, comforting, had the warmest laugh in the world, and eyes that seen much beyond his years, but could still sparkle like a child seeing something for the first time.

That was the first of many conversations. He was a special person. We would often speak about heritage and what it means to be African. When preparing for the film, he would ponder every decision, every choice, not just for how it would reflect on himself, but how those choices could reverberate. “They not ready for this, what we are doing…” “This is Star Wars, this is Lord of the Rings, but for us… and bigger!” He would say this to me while we were struggling to finish a dramatic scene, stretching into double overtime. Or while he was covered in body paint, doing his own stunts. Or crashing into frigid water, and foam landing pads. I would nod and smile, but I didn’t believe him. I had no idea if the film would work. I wasn’t sure I knew what I was doing. But I look back and realize that Chad knew something we all didn’t. He was playing the long game. All while putting in the work. And work he did.

He would come to auditions for supporting roles, which is not common for lead actors in big budget movies. He was there for several M’Baku auditions. In Winston Duke’s, he turned a chemistry read into a wrestling match. Winston broke his bracelet. In Letitia Wright’s audition for Shuri, she pierced his royal poise with her signature humor, and would bring about a smile to T’Challa’s face that was 100% Chad.

While filming the movie, we would meet at the office or at my rental home in Atlanta, to discuss lines and different ways to add depth to each scene. We talked costumes, military practices. He said to me “Wakandans have to dance during the coronations. If they just stand there with spears, what separates them from Romans?” In early drafts of the script. Eric Killmonger’s character would ask T’Challa to be buried in Wakanda. Chad challenged that and asked, what if Killmonger asked to be buried somewhere else?

Chad deeply valued his privacy, and I wasn’t privy to the details of his illness. After his family released their statement, I realized that he was living with his illness the entire time I knew him. Because he was a caretaker, a leader, and a man of faith, dignity and pride, he shielded his collaborators from his suffering. He lived a beautiful life. And he made great art. Day after day, year after year. That was who he was. He was an epic firework display. I will tell stories about being there for some of the brilliant sparks till the end of my days. What an incredible mark he’s left for us.

I haven’t grieved a loss this acute before. I spent the last year preparing, imagining and writing words for him to say, that we weren’t destined to see. It leaves me broken knowing that I won’t be able to watch another close-up of him in the monitor again or walk up to him and ask for another take.

It hurts more to know that we can’t have another conversation, or facetime, or text message exchange. He would send vegetarian recipes and eating regimens for my family and me to follow during the pandemic. He would check in on me and my loved ones, even as he dealt with the scourge of cancer.

In African cultures we often refer to loved ones that have passed on as ancestors. Sometimes you are genetically related. Sometimes you are not. I had the privilege of directing scenes of Chad’s character, T’Challa, communicating with the ancestors of Wakanda. We were in Atlanta, in an abandoned warehouse, with bluescreens, and massive movie lights, but Chad’s performance made it feel real. I think it was because from the time that I met him, the ancestors spoke through him. It’s no secret to me now how he was able to skillfully portray some of our most notable ones. I had no doubt that he would live on and continue to bless us with more. But it is with a heavy heart and a sense of deep gratitude to have ever been in his presence, that I have to reckon with the fact that Chad is an ancestor now. And I know that he will watch over us, until we meet again."

[kohanayaki]

.:Time and Time Again:. (Marauders Era x Reader) Ch 7

Severus looks back on everything that went wrong.

tw: non-consensual kissing/harassment, trauma responses

LINKS:   CH 1   CH 2    CH 3   CH 4   CH 5   CH 6   CH 7   CH 8

________________________________________________________

Ch 7 .:Things Unforgivable and Things Left Unsaid:.

Graduation day at Hogwarts was supposed to mark the beginning of a new adventure for you. Instead, it marked the day you decided that whatever it was between you and Severus Snape, friendship or otherwise, it was over.

Or at least that's what you had thought. Of course, the universe just loved making things more complicated for you. You were working with Charlie in Romania when you had gotten word that Severus defected from the death eaters and was now working as a double agent at Dumbledore's behest. He continued teaching Potions at Hogwarts, and was even indited as a member of the Order. If anything, that only solidified your decision to go to America instead of staying in London. You didn't even know what to think. Of course you trusted Dumbledore, confusing as the man was, but you didn't know if you could really trust Snape again. You had worked towards forgiving him; over time you moved past what happened, but it was difficult to really say it was 'resolved' when you quite literally haven't spoken a word to each other in over a decade. You didn't even know where to start.

For the entirety of your seventh year, you didn't speak a word to Severus. It was hard to imagine that such a tight knit trio like the one you, him, and Lily had formed could crumble in an instant, but that's exactly what happened.

The end of your sixth year at Hogwarts was a quarter Snape would never forget, no matter how hard he tried. It was when everything fell apart. . .

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   1976  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“James!” you yelled, running to the top of the hill where he and the rest of the Marauders had Snape held upside down.

“What are you doing?” you said, immensely hurt and trying to keep your voice steady, “You said this would stop, you promised. . . you swore.”

“(Y/n), I. . .” James trailed off, immediately feeling guilty. As he turned to you Snape dropped to the ground, attempting to scramble to his feet but finding his ankle twisted.

Sirius moved towards you to say something but you put your hand up firmly.

“No,” you said, “not a word out of you, Black.”

Sirius stared at you, wide-eyed, shrinking back as you called him by his last name for the first time in a long while. Not Sirius, not Pads. Black. As if your whole friendship had just been reset.

“And you two,” you said, addressing Remus and Peter, “how could you let this happen?!”

All four boys looked at you in shame, none of them daring to verbally respond.

Suddenly, Lily came running up the hill, having fallen behind you in your quick pace.

“Severus!” she panted, rushing over to him, “are you alright?”

Snape was in an angered daze, not even registering the words being said around him. The blood rushing through his veins felt like lava, his heart pounding in his ears, his chest, his tongue. His face burned with humiliation and hatred. Pure fucking hatred for James Fleamont Potter. For Lily to see him like that. . . for you to see him like that, pathetic, helpless, in need of your help once again. He wouldn't have it. He was a master of the dark arts now, he didn't have to fucking take this. He would curse Potter into the next century, he would—

“Severus!”

Snape's eyes snapped open, not even realizing they were closed. The world came rushing in around him and he was suddenly acutely aware of Lily's hand on his arm. He reeled back at her touch as if he'd been burned.

“Don't touch me!” he screeched, startling the redheaded girl. Her eyes were filled with concern, but all Snape could see was pity.

“Sev—“

“I don't need any help from you, you filthy Mudblood!”

And everyone in the clearing stilled.

The color drained from Snape's already pale face as he realized what he'd just said.

“Lily. . .” Severus whispered; pleading, desperate.

“Don't come any closer,” Lily said, her voice stone cold as tears welled up in her eyes.

“I'll kill you,” James said lowly.

“Prongs, no—”

“I'll kill you, you slimy bastard!” James growled, Remus moving quickly to hold him back.

You stood in the middle of it all, staring at Severus. Severus, who'd always told Lily that blood status didn't matter. Severus, who you and Lily always stood up for no matter what. Severus, who you thought you had feelings for up until this exact moment.

Without even thinking you stepped forward, grabbing Lily's hand.

“Let's go, Lils,” you said, your expression unreadable as you looked down at Severus. Lily squeezed your hand back gratefully, fighting the sobs racking her chest as she turned around and took off with you.

“(Y/n), wait—” Snape tried to get up but found himself shoved back down to the ground by Sirius.

“No,” he said sharply, “you don't get to say anything to either of them, you hear me?”

“I—”

“What?” James spat, “you're sorry? Well sorry doesn't cut it! You say a word to her after what you called her and you'll wish you'd never have been born.”

Snape's head hung low, that wish already present in his mind.

“Leave him,” Remus said, this time not out of mercy, but malice; letting Snape wallow in his own misery as he left with his friends, looking for you and Lily.

Soon, Severus was left alone. Just as he began, and just as he should have never hoped for anything different. Was this it? That's how it was going to end? One mistake, and the only two people he'd ever cared about were ripped away from him.

No. He decided he had to apologize properly, consequences be damned. If those Marauders wanted to beat him to a bloody pulp afterwards, that was fine by him. He just needed to talk to Lily one more time. To tell her how deeply sorry he really was.

He took off down the hill, sprinting towards the castle and completely ignoring the burning pain in his ankle. He rushed through the grass, ignoring the looks he received from the other students walking by. He ran past the oak tree, through the castle gates, flying through the corridors and cutting across the courtyard when he skid to a stop at what he saw.

Lily and James stood in the center of the garden, her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer as his lips captured hers. Her eyes were still wet with tears, the tears that he had caused. Severus didn't do a thing. His presence remained unknown to them as he slunk away back to his common room, heart silently breaking.

He was too late.

Nothing was the same after that.

Lily insisted that if you wanted to remain friends with Snape, as she now referred to him, she wouldn't hold it against you, but she made it very clear that she would never forgive him herself. But it wasn't as easy as wanting to stay friends with him or not; he'd changed that day.

After some time to let things settle down you tried to approach him, but he only became more and more hostile towards everyone, including you. You hardly saw him anymore. The only time you occasionally spotted him was when he was walking around school with Malfoy, Mulciber, Wilkes, and Avery, unable to look you in the eye lest you see the utterly crushed expression on your face as he fell deeper and deeper into the dark side.

You held your books tightly to your chest as you made your way to Hagrid's hut for one of your last Care of Magical Creatures class. You were being paired up with a few lower classmen to teach them the ropes for feeding all the creatures Hagrid kept in the meadows. You were a tad late, having been preoccupied at lunch, speedwalking to try and arrive on time when you saw a flash of silver-blue light emit from inside the forest. You could hear warbled shouting and laughter coming from the same direction, and your instincts told you to run.

However, because your nerves were on high alert, that also told you someone in there was in danger, and you couldn't just walk away from that. You drew your wand, abandoning your books by a rockface and moving towards the commotion, the distorted shouting soon becoming words.

“Oh come on, you little runts, you lot can do better than that!” you recognized Mulciber's voice.

A young girl shrieked as a giant acromantula barred its fangs at her, its front legs raised and poised to attack. Her friends were huddled in a corner, more students who couldn't have been older than second or third years, being forced to watch by Avery and Wilkes.

“How's this for Care of Magical Creatures, eh?” Mulciber taunted as he walked over to the other students, pulling a young boy out from the group.

“No!” the girl cornered by the spider cried, “please, don't!”

“Aw, how cute,” Mulciber drawled, “is this your little boyfriend, huh? Shame.”

The boy screamed in fear as he was suddenly lifted into the air by his ankles, forced to hover right above the spider just out of its reach. You wanted to wretch as you watched the scene unfold, unable to keep yourself hidden any longer.

You leaped into the clearing, a quick flick of your wrist relieving Mulciber of his wand. You did the same to Wilkes as he turned to you.

“Well well, why am I not surprised?” Avery scoffed. Right behind him stood Severus, his expression vacant.

“Grab this, and get to Professor McGonagall immediately,” you shouted to the younger Gryffindor students, tossing them a gold galleon. As soon as they touched the coin, the portkey shot them all back to the castle.

“Why are you always the one spoiling our fun?” Mulciber sneered.

“Someone's gotta do it,” you said, putting up a brave front although you were under no illusion as to your situation. You weren't fourth years anymore, and you were alone this time. They'd been studying the dark arts for the past two years. You knew you were outmatched, even with your dueling skills.

“Oh, come on, (Y/n), don't be a bore.”

You turned around at the sound of the familiar voice to see Rosier, an easy grin set into his face. Your heart dropped.

“So you too, huh?” you chuckled bitterly, “and here I thought you were one of the few good ones left.”

“You're not really that naive, are you?” he tutted, “you had to have known I would be inducted eventually. Might even get Barty to join us, even if he is a little nutty.”

You went for a stunning spell but found your wand spinning out of your hand before you even saw him move.

“Not so fun to be on the receiving end, is it?” Rosier said, “you're not the only one versed in non-verbal magic, (Y/n). In fact, I'd even go so far as to say we've surpassed you. Lucius will be furious, but I like you a lot, so I'll re-extend his old offer for him. Join us.”

You had no wand, no backup, no way out of this, but you stood your ground nonetheless.

“Eat shit,” you seethed. Rosier glowered at you, taking a few menacing steps forward. He grabbed your jaw firmly and you grit your teeth.

“I don’t think you heard me—”

He reeled back as you spit right in his face,

“You bitch,” he growled, wiping his face in disgust, “clearly no one ever bothered to train you.”

Without your wand you were really only left with one option, ready to defend yourself by revealing your animagus form, but you never got to take the first step forward.

“Imperio!”

You stopped in your tracks as a veil of what could only be described as pink fluff drifted over your mind. A smile immediately appeared on your face, and a giggle rose in your throat.

Severus looked at Rosier with horror, the rest of his crew looking among themselves uneasily.

“What do you think you're doing?” Snape hissed, “are you trying to get us all expelled?”

“So what?” Rosier said, “we've used the killing curse loads of times.”

“On insects, you loon,” Snape shot back, hoping his concern for you was masked enough.

“Don't worry, I'm not gonna hurt your precious (Y/n), Sev.”

The nickname made his stomach churn. You used to call him that. Lily used to call him that. No one else did. No one else got to.

“Release them,” he said, raising his wand, “now.”

“Put that away,” Rosier's eyes narrowed, a smirk sliding back onto his face as he got an idea, “hey, (Y/n)?”

“Yes?” you answered, your voice dripping with honey.

“I don't think Severus likes you being under this spell,” Rosier said, “but you like it don't you?”

“Mmm hmm,” you nodded, your head feeling like it was floating, “it feels so nice.”

“You know what else would feel nice?” Rosier goaded, “if you gave our friend Sev here a kiss.”

Severus' heart dropped to his stomach.

“You're sick, Rosier,” Snape said, his voice close to tremmoring.

“You don't have to act like you don't want it,” Evan chuckled, “we've watched you putz around (L/n) like a fool for years. Besides, they want to. Isn't that right, (Y/n)?”

“He's right,” you said, your voice deceptively melodic, “I love you, Severus. I've always loved you.”

And in that moment, Snape had never hated himself more. Because he didn't care that Rosier was making you say the things you did. He didn't care that you were under the influence of a curse. All he could hear was the words he longed to hear spill from your lips, over and over like a skipping record.

I love you, Severus. I love you, Severus. I love you, Severus.

He played the words on repeat in his head. His heart was beating almost painfully in his chest, so much so that he hardly even noticed you slowly walking towards him, wrapping your arms around his neck like Lily had done to James. And when you leaned forward to kiss him, his selfish desires held him in place.

It had lasted a fraction of a second, but he didn't pull away. It was the greatest regret of his life that he didn't walk up to Rosier, break his nose, and curse every single person in that clearing instead of doing nothing, knowing full well you had no control over your actions.

When his eyes drifted open and met yours and his stomach twisted into ugly knots, fear and panic wracking through his spine. Your eyes were completely empty, irises a vacant white, and in that moment it felt as if he were kissing a corpse.

Suddenly the color returned to your eyes, and fear immediately filled them. Snape grunted as he was shot away from you, unable to move when he hit the ground. The other Slytherins looked around for the assailant, but they had no time to react when every single one of their wands was pulled from their hands. McGonagall stood there, expression the same as ever but clearly brimming with fury.

“(L/n), come,” she said, ushering you over and taking you protectively in her embrace, “we'll get you to Madame Pomfrey.” Her eyes narrowed dangerously as she regarded Snape and the rest of their group, “As for you,” she said, “Mr Filch, secure them in the dungeons until the Headmaster calls for them. And put all of their wands in the lockbox.”

“With pleasure,” Filch said, almost blending in with the trees behind her.

“Are you alright?” McGonagall asked you as she helped you back towards the castle.

“No,” you said, honestly, “n-no, I don't think I am.”

“No amount of apology could ever equate to the remorse I feel that this happened to you, (L/n),” she said earnestly, “I am truly sorry. This was completely unacceptable, and I will see to it that the proper measures are taken for their punishments. Expulsion would suit just fine, but even if the Headmaster disagrees, I will personally ensure you never come into contact with any of those boys again.”

“Thank you,” you said, your voice sounding hollow in your own ears.

You didn't remember walking the near half-mile to the infirmary. Madame Pomfrey's words felt so far away, as if she were speaking underwater. You just remembered laying down in the hospital wing bed as she checked you for any lasting damage, and as soon as she'd turned her back you'd just wept.

________________________________________________________

That night, Snape found himself in the Prefect's bathroom, leaned over the sink and watching the water rush into the drain. His hands clutched the marble sides of the basin so hard his knuckles turned white, every breath catching painfully in his chest before he forced it out to take another shaky inhale. He was an idiot, he knew. There was no fixing this. Not really. First Lily, now you. Was he just predestined to lose everyone in his life?

He paused. No, he didn't deserve to think like that. Everything that had gone wrong was his own doing.

When he heard the door to the bathroom open he whipped around, ready to curse whoever dared to interrupt him until he saw you standing there, your eyes red from crying and the Marauder's Map clutched in your hands like a vice. He was half certain you were a hallucination, but as soon as he pulled himself to the present, he rushed to apologize. You had to know how horrible he felt about what he did, even if you would never forgive him. He made the mistake of being too cowardly to properly apologize to Lily, he wouldn't make that mistake again.

“(Y/n), I'm—”

“I know you're sorry,” you said callously, “and I know you mean it. That's not the issue.” you took a breath to collect yourself before you continued. This was so much harder than you thought it would be. Maybe this wound really was too fresh right now. You thought you'd be able to handle this conversation, but your prior feelings weren't making this any easier.

“Why did you do it?” you asked quietly, “Better, why did you do nothing? You were my friend, Severus.”

Whatever was holding back the flood of emotions in him, it snapped at your words.

Were. Past tense.

“I don't know what I was thinking,” Snape said in exasperation, though it came off more as anger directed at himself. His hands threaded through his messy black locks, his eyes nearly manic. You'd never seen him unravel quite like this. He was desperate to fix this, to keep you in his life. “No, I wasn't thinking at all, (Y/n). I couldn't, not when you were . . . not when I. . .”

Don't say it, don't say it, don't say it—

“Not when I've fancied you for years.”

Snape knew immediately that he had made a mistake. The expression on your face made his stomach twist, and he knew there was no taking back what he said.

“No,” you said, tears welling in your eyes, “Severus Snape, don't you dare say that. What, do you think that just makes this all okay? You're an oblivious idiot, you know that?”

Your heart ached so bad it felt as if you couldn't breathe.

“Do you know how many times I wished you would have kissed me?” you said shakily, not bothering to hide the hurt in your voice.

Snape was sure his breathing had stopped, eyes wide with shock. He couldn't have heard that right. Did you really feel the same way about him? But reality hit him in the face when he saw your expression. This was no heartfelt confession on your part.

“For you to just. . . for it to happen like that,” you said, still struck with betrayal and disbelief, “If you've ever respected me, you never would have let that happen. I was under a curse, Severus. And you took advantage of that— of me. All because you were too much of a coward to just tell me how you felt. And then you go on and say you've liked me this whole time as a last ditch effort to save our friendship? How the hell did you expect me to react?”

He had nothing to say to that. He blamed himself entirely. Every verbal blow you struck he gladly took, he would have sat there still as stone if you hexed him, but you refused to draw your wand at him. You just stood there, staring straight through him with unbelievable hurt in your eyes.

“I can't do this, Severus,” you said, “please, just. . . just leave me alone. I'm not saying I'll never forgive you, but right now I can't even begin to think about that. Not now.”

You looked like you wanted to say something more, but your mouth snapped shut, and Severus saw the finality in your eyes. He stayed glued to the spot where he stood long after he watched you leave, his eyes trained on the door you'd slammed shut.

If you thought Snape had made himself scarce after what he said to Lily, after what he did to you he practically vanished. He no longer sat underneath the tree that had become so symbolic of your former trio. He no longer roamed the Slytherin common room, or even the Great Hall for meals. Instead he would walk through the forbidden forest alone, or hole up in some empty corridor purposely hiding but hoping you would walk up to him. You never did.

The people who did find him in the few days that followed were the newly named Marauders, though incomplete as they arrived without you. As he glanced down at the parchment in Lupin's hand he had no questions about how they'd located him. Snape grimaced, not bothering to get up from his seat beneath the stone pillar. Anything they did to him was what he deserved.

James stepped forward from the group first. His expression was unreadable, but Snape saw the way his jaw was set firmly in place, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. The Slytherin had expected Potter to come at him guns blazing, sending a flurry of verbal attacks and hexes his way. However, James Potter simply stared down at his former enemy with a look that met in the intersection of barely contained anger and utter disappointment.

“You didn't deserve them,” he said coldly, his voice oddly level.

“I know,” Snape glared, but not feeling very self-righteous.

“No, you don't,” James said, his voice rising steadily, “you will never know what you put them through. You sat there while your lunatic friends used an Unforgivable Curse on them, and you took advantage of them. I don't care if you know, I'm going to throw it back in your face, because it's what you deserve.”

“I think it's clear that (Y/n) doesn't wish to speak with you any longer,” Remus said, “if for some inconceivable reason they want to in the future, they'll approach you. Don't you even think about going about it the other way around before they're ready and willing to talk. If they ever are.”

“It's settled, Severus,” James said simply, “you're officially not worth our time anymore.”

Snape blinked up at him, trying to recall a time when Potter had ever called him by his actual name.

“Don't get us wrong,” Sirius glared, “the only reason we aren't throwing you to the Womping Willow is because we know the last thing (Y/n) would want is her friends getting expelled because of them.”

“We'll leave you alone now,” Peter said grimly, “just like you've always wanted.”

And they were telling the truth. They left him completely alone, not speaking a word to him after that; 'they' now including you and Lily, which destroyed him more than any amount of bullying had before. He watched from afar as you grew closer and closer to the Marauders. . . no, you were a Marauder. It was only natural that you became almost like a family in your seventh year. You, James, Peter, Sirius, Remus, and Lily had become as inseparable as Snape thought you, him, and Lily were, but he'd ruined that. He had ruined every good thing that had ever happened to him and pushed away every important person in his life.

The last time he saw you was graduation day. Everyone was running around excitedly, dressed in the ceremonial jewel-toned robes of their respective houses as they awaited Dumbledore's speech. You had been sitting with your group as usual, now having carved out your own spot at the Gryffindor table, when you noticed that Snape was nowhere to be found.

You frowned, wondering why he of all people had to slip into your mind on a day like today.

“You alright, Fangs?”

Sirius' voice snapped you out of your thoughts.

“Yeah, I'm fine. . .”

His handsome features contorted in concern, but that easy grin slid back onto his face as he nudged you with his shoulder.

“What, you worried you're gonna miss us?” he smirked, “this isn't goodbye, you know. We'll all see each other at the Order meetings—”

“Which you always seem to talk about at an extraordinary volume,” Remus shushed him pointedly. Sirius brushed him off with a roll of his eyes.

“(Y/n), are you sure nothing's wrong?” James asked from across the table.

“I'm alright, Prongs,” you said, “I just. . . you know what? I just remembered I left something in my dorm, I'll be right back.”

Your friends exchanged worried glances as you got up from the table, taking off towards the Slytherin common room. It wasn't a total lie, but your intentions went against your better judgment. After today there was a very, very good chance you would never see Severus again. What he did wasn't okay by any means, and it would take more than an apology or a simple conversation to forgive him, but you needed closure at the very least. Not for him, but for you. You deserved that much.

You swiped the map off your bedside table and opened it fully, your eyes quickly picking out Severus' name near the cellars only a few rooms away from where you were. You took off quickly down the hall, reaching the intersection where all the dungeon's corridors converged when you spotted him. Your heart stopped.

His left sleeve was rolled up to his elbow, as was the person's standing across from him, their back to you. Even though you couldn't see the second person's face, you recognized who it was immediately.

Evan Rosier.

He wasn't on the map before. . . how had he gotten in?! He'd been expelled after the day he cursed you. Did he somehow find a way to bypass the anti-apparition charm?

You felt your breathing hitch, fear creeping under your skin. There, on both of their arms, was a tattoo of a skull, a serpent weaving its way through the mouth and eye sockets in an undeniable pattern.  You stopped breathing all together. You knew Severus had fallen into the dark arts, but to actually be a death eater? To be proudly showing off that awful display of radicalism along with the person who had used an Unforgivable Curse on you, who had invaded your free will and taken over your body. . .

Severus must have felt you even from the opposite side of the hallway, because something pricking at his skin told him to look up, and when he did he wished he never had. You were looking at him for the first time in over a year, your eyes full of terror. Rosier followed his gaze, but when he looked over his shoulder there was no one there.

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

Severus sighed, trying to push the less than pleasant memories out of his head. He knew by now he was likely the last person left in the house besides you, Harry, and Sirius who were all staying here. Something like hope had sparked in his chest when he saw the faintest ghost of a smile on your lips as you saw him for the first time since graduation. He wanted to talk to you, to tell you he knew he deserved nothing from you, but he would spend the rest of his life trying to make it right if you would only give him a chance after all this time. In truth, he missed his friend. With Lily gone, you were one of the closest things he had to that left.

Against his better judgment, Severus made his way up the stairs, silent as a thestral as he headed for your room, but he stopped in his tracks when he reached the top. Sirius' door was cracked open the slightest bit, and what Snape saw inside made his blood run cold. You were sitting next to Sirius on his bed, your head resting gently on his shoulder. As you craned your neck to look Sirius in the eyes, that's when Severus saw it— the way the Marauder looked at you. The way his face seemed to light up, the spark that returned to his gray eyes, the utter adoration in them.

And just like that, Snape was a seventeen year old boy again, transported right back to that courtyard garden, watching Lily and James share their first kiss on the day he had made one of the biggest mistakes of his life. His heart shattered silently, though his departure was not so quiet as he took off down the stairs as quickly as he could. He grimaced at his own feelings, ones he knew he had no business owning.

As he was about to open the front door to leave, his instincts suddenly screamed at him to turn around, and he was just barely able to cast an invisibility charm as you began to come down the stairs. He held his breath as he looked at you. He knew he had no right to think so, but you were still beautiful like this; dressed in pajamas, hair disheveled, eyes still sightly puffy and red. He saw you look around, knowing you had no doubt heard his rather noisy descent of the staircase, and he cursed himself for not leaving sooner. Your eyes searched what should have appeared to be the empty space in front of you, but he saw you look him in the eyes, and he knew that you knew.

“Severus?” you called his name out softly, and the sound felt like a strike to his face.

He wanted nothing more than to say something to you, talk to you, hold you. But his mind flashed back to the way you had been with Sirius, and his words died in his throat. He said nothing, trying to remain unphased at your hurt expression as you turned around to walk back up the stairs. As soon as your back was turned to him, he left, unable to bring himself to do anything more.

Once again, he was too late.

Read chapter 8 here!

Taglist:  @sleep-i-ness, @blackpinkdolan, @parker-natasha, @ornella0910 @undertaker1827 @thatwierdo-koemi @nxstalgicnxbxdy @calaryssia @aleksanderwh0r3 @juggysgirlfriend @beautifulsweetschaos @kattirin @mialupin1 @crazy-obsessed-fangirl, @youcantbesirius​

[mysticalrambling]

Ommmmgggggg i just read your lates story of steve rogers arrange marriage. And it was the most heartbreaking story evern written. It was really good although my heart got broken reading it😞I read you will take time in fulfilling request, so you can take a lot of time but I m making a small request🙃Like you have written lots of arranged marriage tropes but they all were angsty in the beginning, can you write something from your perspective on steve rogers arrange marriage which has no angst only lots and lots of fluff. like they are still in arranged marriage but there is no angst they are both trying for their marriage because after all the angst i guess a fluff treat would be nice☺only if you want to

A/N: Thank you so much lovely and the plot line is great. I loved writing about it and I made a few additions to the story. Hope you like it.

Perfect Life (S.R)

Steve Rogers Fan Fiction (Fan fiction Masterlist)

Summary: Steve and you get married and you decide to give your marriage a fair chance. You both soon fall in love and you are really happy together. You get pregnant and it is all perfect till the very end.

Warnings: Some mention of blood and angst but otherwise it is all fluff.

._._._._._.

Steve and you were informed by Fury that there will be an arrange marriage. He didn’t give much explanation but simply stated that the government demanded it and you both simply had to oblige. When you were recruited by the Avengers, you were a super soldier just like Bucky under the influence of Hydra. It took a lot of work to get you back from the brain washed state and Steve played a big role in that. You both were partners in the field and best of friends. Many people thought that you both would oppose the idea but you didn’t. Sure, you were confused but you couldn’t fight it if the government ordered it. No one could so you thought you would give it a shot.

You simply asked for sometime to discuss it by yourselves and Fury reluctantly he agreed. He was prepared for a screaming match and being beaten to a pulp by the Captain and the super soldier. However, he was met with calm expressions and thoughtful gazes. It would be a lie if you said that you didn’t feel attracted to one another. So when he left the meeting room, Steve asked you out for dinner. Privacy was needed to discuss this matter and he wanted to do it outside of the compound.

“Are you ready to go, (Y/N)?” Steve knocked on your door at exact eight o’clock. Captain America never liked to be late.

“Yes, I am.” This was the first time he had seen you in a dress. It hugged your curves just right and the maroon dress contrasted beautifully with your skin. You simply looked like an angel. A devil disguised as an angel that it.

“Let’s go.” Steve took you to your favorite restaurant and you felt a little flutter in your heart when you realised that he took notice of the little things.

Clearing your throat, you started to come to the point of the dinner, “So what do you think about this marriage?”

“Um... I am okay with it, I guess. What about you?”

“Same here. I have actually liked you for sometime now and I would be willing to give this marriage a try.”

“I like you as well and same here.” You chuckled when you saw a light blush appear on your partner’s cheek. He found your confidence endearing and that was one of the things that he first noticed about you.

“Okay, good. I just want a simple ceremony with our friends present. Is that okay with you?” There was no point in beating around the bush and so you started the discussion of the wedding arrangements.

“I was thinking the same thing. Let me just text Fury that we are going ahead with the marriage and then we can discuss the rest.” You both enjoyed the dinner to the fullest whilst making small conversation. This was the first time that you actually had fun on a date after hydra and same goes for Steve. They couldn’t keep up a conversation with you when they didn’t know the things you go through on daily basis.

“Do you want to get ice cream? There is a really good ice cream parlor down the street.” Getting out of the restaurant, he helped you get in to your jacket.

You always had a sweet tooth and you were a sucker for ice creams. Steve and you were going to make a good couple because of your similar taste. “Yes, I would love that. So do you know anything about the mission tomorrow?”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y detected some illegal shipment coming from one of the abandoned hydra facilities. We think that it is being occupied and you and I are just going to go there and install some cameras for surveillance.” He ordered two scoops of butterscotch and you decided to take a walk while eating.

“What if we encounter some hydra bastards? Do we get to kill them?” You rubbed your hands together in excitement at the thought of ridding the world of hydra scum.

“No, we don’t. We can’t engage so don’t get too excited about it.”

You both reached the compound and all your friends were waiting for you in the lounge. They all pounced on you as Fury had already informed them about the marriage. Natasha had already planned out the bachelor party while Pepper had booked an appointment with the world’s known fashion designer. You kept laughing at all their thrilled expressions and you were feeling sure of your choice by the minute.

The night passed like it and before you know you were off to the mission. Steve was extra protective this time as he won’t let you move a step forward before double checking the hallways first. You just rolled your eyes but you still found it pretty darn cute. No one has ever cared for you like this. But what you didn’t realise was that there was a secret doorway in one of the halls that you passed and you were quickly ambushed by four hydra agents. You got into your super soldier mode and took on the two to your right while Steve went for the left ones.

“Are you okay, (Y/N)? Cap?” Tony’s voice filtered through the comms.

“We have been ambushed but we have it under control.” You talked while slicing the jugular of a blonde six foot man and kicking the other in the shin. Steve also had it under control as he deflected all the attacks with his shield and threw punches when he got an opening.

“Okay. I have agents on standby if you need them.”

“Copy that.” After about five minutes, you had dealt with all of them and got away with only a couple of cuts and bruises.

“Let’s go to the infirmary together.” Steve purposed the idea when you refused Tony’s order to go get checked by the doctors. He didn’t want you to feel like he was ordering you around but he cared about you a lot.

“Only if you insist and Cap, we are getting married at the end of this week.” Kissing him on the lips, you left for the infirmary while he stood there with his mouth agape.

The whole compound was a mess for the whole week and Tony had benched you and Steve because apparently, the bride and groom can not be injured on their wedding day. You were over the moon about this new chapter in your life and so was your fiancé. This was the best thing that has happened to you in a while and you were glad. The ceremony was over before you even knew it with you both reading out your own vows and kissing sweetly when the priest announced you as husband and wife. You loved every minute of it but you were glad when it was over.

“I just wanted to tell you that we can take it slow if you want to.” As soon as Steve entered the room, he tried to clear things up before they got uncomfortable.

“I don’t want to. I told you I had feelings for you and they have grown ever since.”

“I love you, (Y/N). I know it might be too early but-”

“I love you too. Now, kiss me.” You spent the night with your husband and it was perfect. He made you bed in breakfast the next morning and you just enjoyed the whole day with your husband. It was truly a blessing to have Captain America as your husband because he was truly an honest and a moral man.

The next few days for you were spent as a newly married wife and it was perfect. Your friends threw parties and took you both out for dinners; their treat. You didn’t go back to your job for a couple more days and safe to say, it was peaceful. The days were spent with your friends as you all lounged around in the theatre room. At night, it was just you and your husband and it was much more entertaining.

“(Y/N), I have to go on a classified mission with Buck. Are you going to be okay at home, all alone?” Steve kissed the top of your head as he placed the pancakes in front of you.

“I am not going to ask what it is about but I need guarantee that you are going to back to me in one piece.” You mumbled while shoving pancakes in to your mouth. A girl needs her food.

“I will, promise. Love you, babe.”

“Love you too.” There was a moment of silence before you contemplated about what to do with your day.

Entering the kitchen, Tony asked. “What are you doing?”

“Just resting.”

“I am in mood of some homemade cupcakes. Want to bake them with me, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, I suppose. Have nothing else to do.” You were worried about Steve because it had been a long while since he had gone on a mission without you.

“Cap is going to be just fine and Bucky is with him. No one can win against that metal arm. My invention is state of the art.” Seeing you distracted, he tried to ease your worries. Pretty soon, you indulged into the whole baking thing and time passed you by.

“Hey, I am home.” Steve was shocked to see the whole kitchen filled with baked goods; counter, oven top, coffee table and chairs. Tony and you might have gone a little overboard with the whole baking thing. It was a good distraction so no one should blame you.

“Hi. You are alright.” A sigh of relief escaped you as you crushed him into a hug.

“I never back down from a promise, princess.” He tucked you under his left arm and picked up a muffin with his right. “What do you want to do today?”

“I was thinking we can go to the amusement park today.” You turned in his arms to give him your puppy dog eyes. He could never say no to you then.

“As you wish, princess.” You both quickly got ready with you wearing a sundress that reached your mid thigh and Steve in a simple black t shity and jeans.

The amusement park had been fun up until you decided that you wanted to go on the roller coaster. The moment it fell downwards from the sky, you looked pale and horrified. For someone who was reluctant to go on the ride, Steve was quite enjoying himself. When it stopped, you found the near trash can and hurled violently. Afterwards, you decided to stick to the slower rides. By the end of the day, you were on a ferris wheel with your husband by your side and your favorite ice cream in your hand. You kissed on top of the ferris wheel. Cliche but that was exactly what you were going for. This was all perfect and you wouldn’t change it for the world.

“I love you so much.” You whispered lazily as you laid in the bed with the blankets wrapped around you snugly. Today was wonderful but tiring.

“I love you too. (Y/N), have you thought about kids?” He asked reluctantly as he knew that it had only been a month in your marriage. It was a little too early but he just wanted to know.

“I know that they are in my future but I want to wait a year or two. I want to spend sometime with you alone.”

“This is the same thought that I had. Just wanted to get this out of the way.” Kissing you sweetly, he called it a night and dozed off to sleep.

Three years passed you by like they were nothing, Maybe it was because you were too happy. Of course there had been lows in your life like when you and Steve were on the verge of divorce because you were starting to drift apart. But you both worked through it and you were happier ever since. You almost died once in a mission and you weren’t able to get off the bed for three moths. It was painful and Steve was with you every step of the way.

However, there were too many good things that tipped the scale in your favor. Like when Steve brought a puppy as a gift for your first anniversary, Milo. Your love from him only grew afterwards and when you both found out that you were pregnant with your first child, you were over the moon. A tiny version of you and Steve was growing inside of you and it was the best feeling in the world. Labor was extensive but you got her as a reward. Rebecca Grant Rogers.

“Can you please go see her? I fed her about an hour ago.” You kicked your husband out of bed and he whined before getting up. Sleepless nights were finally getting to you both.

Gently cooing to the three months old, Steve picked her from the crib. “Hey bubs. What happened? Did you have a nightmare?”

“Mmmmm” Becca babbled on as she saw her favorite person in front of her. The four month was attached to his hip and you loved the bond between them.

“Let’s go to our room and try to sleep again.” You had drifted to sleep but you stirred awake when he came back to bed with your daughter in his arms.

“She is not going to sleep?”

“No, this little bug just wants to spend time with her parents.” A toothless grin adorned her face as she kept her icy blue eyes on her parents.

“Do you want me to make you laugh, huh, baby?” Tickling her, you got a smile on your face as she laughed out whole heartedly. She was the mini version of Steve but there were hints of you in her as well, like her chin or her smile.

Time passed by and soon it was 3 in the morning. “Let’s sleep now.”

“Yes. We have to go on a mission tomorrow and Nat and Wanda have said that they will babysit Becca for the day.”

“That’s nice.” Steve laid your little girl in the middle of the bed and you both put your arms around her. It was peaceful and you were content with your life.

“I love you.”

“Love you too, babe. Sweet dreams.” You thank Fury everyday for the decision of getting you two married. Your life was just perfect now and nothing could change that.

Hope you guys enjoyed it!!

._._._._.

A/N: I loved writing about Steve and I am open to requests now. I will be working on my own drafts alongside it. You can send in requests but it will take some days for me to get to them:) Love you guys and do tell me if you want to be added to my taglist.

Tag list: @justile

Like, comment and reblog.

[londonspirit]

“I inherited Marvel and the Russo Brothers’ casting choice of T’Challa. It is something that I will forever be grateful for. The first time I saw Chad’s performance as T’Challa, it was in an unfinished cut of CAPTAIN AMERICA: CIVIL WAR. I was deciding whether or not directing BLACK PANTHER was the right choice for me. I’ll never forget, sitting in an editorial suite on the Disney Lot and watching his scenes. His first with Scarlett Johansson as Black Widow, then, with the South African cinema titan, John Kani as T’Challa’s father, King T’Chaka. It was at that moment I knew I wanted to make this movie. After Scarlett’s character leaves them, Chad and John began conversing in a language I had never heard before. It sounded familiar, full of the same clicks and smacks that young black children would make in the States. The same clicks that we would often be chided for being disrespectful or improper. But, it had a musicality to it that felt ancient, powerful, and African.

In my meeting after watching the film, I asked Nate Moore, one of the producers of the film, about the language. “Did you guys make it up?” Nate replied, “that’s Xhosa, John Kani’s native language. He and Chad decided to do the scene like that on set, and we rolled with it.” I thought to myself. “He just learned lines in another language, that day?” I couldn’t conceive how difficult that must have been, and even though I hadn’t met Chad, I was already in awe of his capacity as actor.

I learned later that there was much conversation over how T’Challa would sound in the film. The decision to have Xhosa be the official language of Wakanda was solidified by Chad, a native of South Carolina, because he was able to learn his lines in Xhosa, there on the spot. He also advocated for his character to speak with an African accent, so that he could present T’Challa to audiences as an African king, whose dialect had not been conquered by the West.

I finally met Chad in person in early 2016, once I signed onto the film. He snuck past journalists that were congregated for a press junket I was doing for CREED, and met with me in the green room. We talked about our lives, my time playing football in college, and his time at Howard studying to be a director, about our collective vision for T’Challa and Wakanda. We spoke about the irony of how his former Howard classmate Ta-Nehisi Coates was writing T’Challa’s current arc with Marvel Comics. And how Chad knew Howard student Prince Jones, who’s murder by a police officer inspired Coates’ memoir Between The World and Me.

I noticed then that Chad was an anomaly. He was calm. Assured. Constantly studying. But also kind, comforting, had the warmest laugh in the world, and eyes that seen much beyond his years, but could still sparkle like a child seeing something for the first time.  

That was the first of many conversations. He was a special person. We would often speak about heritage and what it means to be African. When preparing for the film, he would ponder every decision, every choice, not just for how it would reflect on himself, but how those choices could reverberate. “They not ready for this, what we are doing…” “This is Star Wars, this is Lord of the Rings, but for us… and bigger!” He would say this to me while we were struggling to finish a dramatic scene, stretching into double overtime. Or while he was covered in body paint, doing his own stunts. Or crashing into frigid water, and foam landing pads. I would nod and smile, but I didn’t believe him. I had no idea if the film would work. I wasn’t sure I knew what I was doing. But I look back and realize that Chad knew something we all didn’t. He was playing the long game.  All while putting in the work. And work he did.

He would come to auditions for supporting roles, which is not common for lead actors in big budget movies. He was there for several M’Baku auditions. In Winston Duke’s, he turned a chemistry read into a wrestling match. Winston broke his bracelet. In Letitia Wright’s audition for Shuri, she pierced his royal poise with her signature humor, and would bring about a smile to T’Challa’s face that was 100% Chad.

While filming the movie, we would meet at the office or at my rental home in Atlanta, to discuss lines and different ways to add depth to each scene. We talked costumes, military practices. He said to me “Wakandans have to dance during the coronations. If they just stand there with spears, what separates them from Romans?” In early drafts of the script. Eric Killmonger’s character would ask T’Challa to be buried in Wakanda. Chad challenged that and asked, what if Killmonger asked to be buried somewhere else?

Chad deeply valued his privacy, and I wasn’t privy to the details of his illness. After his family released their statement, I realized that he was living with his illness the entire time I knew him. Because he was a caretaker, a leader, and a man of faith, dignity and pride, he shielded his collaborators from his suffering. He lived a beautiful life. And he made great art. Day after day, year after year. That was who he was. He was an epic firework display. I will tell stories about being there for some of the brilliant sparks till the end of my days. What an incredible mark he’s left for us.

I haven’t grieved a loss this acute before. I spent the last year preparing, imagining and writing words for him to say, that we weren’t destined to see. It leaves me broken knowing that I won’t be able to watch another close-up of him in the monitor again or walk up to him and ask for another take.

It hurts more to know that we can’t have another conversation, or facetime, or text message exchange. He would send vegetarian recipes and eating regimens for my family and me to follow during the pandemic.  He would check in on me and my loved ones, even as he dealt with the scourge of cancer.  

In African cultures we often refer to loved ones that have passed on as ancestors. Sometimes you are genetically related. Sometimes you are not. I had the privilege of directing scenes of Chad’s character, T’Challa, communicating with the ancestors of Wakanda. We were in Atlanta, in an abandoned warehouse, with bluescreens, and massive movie lights, but Chad’s performance made it feel real. I think it was because from the time that I met him, the ancestors spoke through him. It’s no secret to me now how he was able to skillfully portray some of our most notable ones. I had no doubt that he would live on and continue to bless us with more. But it is with a heavy heart and a sense of deep gratitude to have ever been in his presence, that I have to reckon with the fact that Chad is an ancestor now. And I know that he will watch over us, until we meet again.”

[ashintheairlikesnow]

For Vampire Chris! What if he and Jake went to a museum and came across some of Tooley's paintings? And Chris has a panic attack! We would finally get some Jake comfort. And maybe Chris would reveal more horrible things that Tooley had done to him.

CW: Discussion of death, blood, vampire whumpee, caretaker and whumpee

The sun sets early in the winter, and it's the only reason they can make this work.

Chris is barely awake even so, sipping from a coffee cup Jake filled with the contents of one of his blood packs, hoping he doesn't trip and spill and lead to Jake having some very awkward, panicked explanations to make to anyone nearby.

He'd slept in the truck Jake borrowed from Nat most of the way over here, curled in the passenger seat. He looks for all the world like any high schooler who stayed up too late the night before, dragged out by his family, forced to go learn when all he wants is rest.

Chris is draped in a hooded sweatshirt pulled on over his head, hair mussed from sleeping in the closet in the little nest-bed he made for himself in there. It sticks out like stray from beneath the hood he's pulled up, coppery strands occasionally covering his eyes and making him shove them out of the way with a snort that has no right to be as adorable as it is, considering the monster who makes the sound.

Not a monster, no. Not really.

Or his monster, anyway, the same way his mother is his mother. Jake is starting to understand the little vampire - more than three times his own age - has chosen him for family now.

The sweater he wears is kind of a joke, actually. Jake bought it weeks ago from a website that puts the covers of books on clothes, and it's an old cover image from Dracula.

Jake thought it was funny, anyway. Nat was less amused. Chris only smiled and said something about being happy the hairy palms thing isn't true.

The air is chilly, and Jake shivers a little as they head in from the parking lot across a small sidewalk next to a park and toward the museum itself, but of course Chris doesn't even notice. He seems to be enjoying it, the way it blows around his hair as they make their way slowly up the steps and past the row of Grecian-style columns that mark the entrance.

Jake has to visit for one of his classes, an extra-credit something-or-other, and Chris had asked to go along with him.

Jake had been hesitant, but seeing the way the vampire's green eyes sparkle as he moves around in public like any other person, well... he feels like he made the right choice to bring him along now.

"Finish up your drink, you can't take anything in once we pay and get past the lobby," Jake says, and Chris nods, gulping the last of the blood as fast as he can as they push through wide double-doors. Jake tries not to imagine how it must feel, swallowing thick congealing cooled blood. Someone's life, someone's heartbeat, down your throat...

Really, is he that much different? Jake has eaten a dozen cows' worth of beef in his life.

Does Chris see them all as just livestock? He doesn't act like it, but then, there are people who treat pigs or cows like pets and not like food...

His stomach flips a little and he forces himself to look around, up at the chandelier at the high ceiling, the heavy wooden desk they have to walk to off to the side to get their tickets. To stop trying to understand if Chris is a sort of stray they've adopted, or if he's a higher-level predator living with prey.

Once Chris drops the cup into a trash can, Jake throwing a couple wadded-up tissues on top so no one can accidentally see the smear of red around the edge of the lid, they buy their tickets, and wind their way through and past the little velvet ropes that mark off the entrance.

The museum opens before them into a grand hall, with paintings the size of two-story buildings on either side, permanent installations in the museum. Commissioned for its opening, sometime back in the 70's.

Jake picks up a brochure so they know which way to go - LGBTQ+ Art in Pre-War America is the temporary exhibit he's here to see, traveling work that is usually housed in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City.

"Oh, nice, it's on the first floor. Looks like you go through a couple of 'specialty' rooms, just showing off stuff from the in-house collection. Sounds cool, right?"

Chris, looking from side to side at the gigantic paintings that hang on the walls in the opening hall, hums softly, a tuneless constant sound. He doesn't answer Jake's question. He hums often, and Jake barely notices any longer, but there's something edged to it, now. As if just being around the paintings is making him nervous.

"Okay, little man, let's go over here." He touches Chris's arm, lightly, through the thick fabric of his sweater. The vampire looks over at him, smiling with his lips pressed together to hide his teeth from any potential prying eyes.

He follows easily, but he sticks closer to Jake than he normally does, and his eyes are constantly roving. They move through an exhibit of Pre-Colombian pottery first, on their way to the room in the back where the temporary showcase is.

Jake watches Chris's fingers twitch with the urge to touch, to learn by feeling the bumps and ridges in the ancient clay, and how he holds back as best he can. His urge to lift the clear protective plastic boxes right off the pottery so he can get at it is nearly physically painful.

Jake pretends not to see it when Chris's fingers trail along a column, settling for the white-painted rectangle the pottery is balanced on, taking in the rough texture smoothed by the matte paint.

"Did you ever meet anyone like you that was old enough to have made stuff like this?" Jake asks, stopping in front of a water jug in the shape of a man playing a flute with a dog at his feet. The dog wears a carved smile marked with disturbingly human-looking teeth. The paint it must have been covered in is worn by time, leaving the reddish-brown of the clay behind, with the faintest streaks of white still in the crevices.

"No," Chris replies, tilting his head, making direct eye contact with the statue in a way he never quite can do with any real person. Not comfortably, anyway. Jake has seen him force it and shudder afterwards, overwhelmed. When he'd asked about it, Chris had said he never liked looking at anyone's eyes, even before, when he was alive. It's too much, was all he would say. It's always too much. "None, um, none of us live that long."

"Why not?" They're alone in the room. It's the only reason Jake feels safe asking.

Chris's tongue runs over the sharpening bumps of his growing-in fangs, pressing against them, easing the itch and the ache of their return. After a second, he pulls a plastic bat on a cord from inside his sweater and puts the bat into his mouth, chewing on it idly, jaw working. "I, I, I don't know. That's just what what what my, my, my pack told me."

"I thought vampires lived in covens."

"No." Chris doesn't elaborate on this one. He can be weirdly secretive about how he lived before he came to Nat's, before he was pulled out of a basement, a living drug for a wealthy asshole.

Secretive, or just forgetting whatever wasn't essential.

He moves away to another pedestal, a shard broken off of a larger vessel, marked with a deep white and intense black angular design. He hums again, and Jake takes the hint and leaves him alone.

They spend several more minutes looking over the pottery before they head through a second room full of what must just be the favorite pieces of museum employees, as there doesn't seem to be much rhyme or reason, and each little card with the name of the piece and its maker has a paper next to it with a note on why each employee loves this piece in particular. Chris lingers around older things, a woven tapestry from medieval England, landscapes from the 19th century. He stares for a while at a painting called The Country Path by Joseph Poole Addy, a pale watercolor of winter trees with bare branches breaking the line of sky and a woman bundled in a coat carrying a basket down an equally colorless road.

Chris's humming getting louder, and he rocks a little, forward and back, his eyes moving again and again through the lines of the painting.

Jake wonders what it is about this one specifically that catches Chris like that, and when the vampire finally moves on he checks the employee's statement. Joseph Poole Addy, Irish painter in the 19th and 20th centuries, blah blah, something something countryside... Jake frowns, and glances over at Chris, who isn't looking back. He's moved on to something else.

Jake decides to ask him later.

They make it to the exhibit they're here to see, and Jake whistles under his breath as he enters. There are vibrant, saturated paintings lining the walls, a couple of large sculptures on the floor that still are taller than he is, a few smaller ones on pedestals. The work is mostly figurative, although there's some early abstraction there, a hint of the contemporary push to take even figurative work out of simply being an echo of a real life thing.

Chris looks at a sculpture, his head cocked so far to the side it looks almost birdlike, not quite human. Jake thinks his own neck would ache for days if he tried to do that. "Must've been, um, later," He mumbles to himself.

Jake files that away in his mental list of things to talk to Chris about later.

He walks slowly along the line of paintings. The whole point of being here is that he's supposed to pick a specific piece and write a short essay about it and the artist who made it, prove he saw it in person.

The class itself is about how to encourage better outcomes for healthcare in marginalized populations - but if she's giving out extra-credit for looking at queer art, well, Jake is happy to spend an hour in a museum.

After his dismal performance on the last test, he could use whatever credit he can get. Besides, the exhibit is actually kind of cool with that in mind. Every one of these artists was in some way outside of the sort of het ideal, and Jake smiles a little as he catches the heaviness of a look between two men seated across a table from one another, looks over the clasped hands of women, sitting with everything from shoulder to hip touching, who are listed as 'friends visiting the riverbank'.

Art that celebrates, hidden in plain sight. Art that rebels by sliding details in under the surface where only those looking for them will find them.

Each piece has another little paper, although this just has details about the artist and their work, what they were known for. He can use it as a jumping-off point for his paper, anyway.

"You, you, you finished her," Chris whispers, standing in front of a sculpture of a woman with her head thrown back as if in uproarious laughter, a woman with curls expertly carved so that her hair seems to have been there before the stone it's made of somehow. "I wonder if she, um, if if if she saw it."

"What'd you say, Chris?" Jake blinks, pulled out of his own internal reverie.

"Nothing," Chris responds, and walks slowly around the statue. The woman's smile is a shining light in the room. No one could carve like that without being at least a little in love with the subject.

Jake wanders away and then comes to an abrupt stop before a large painting, probably taller than Chris is. The background is near-total darkness with only a suggestion of stone, a single beam of light shining down to illuminate the central figure.

A naked boy clothed only in scraps of torn cloth that only emphasize his nakedness everywhere else is crouched in terror. His knees are bent and his feet are on the floor, one hand holding his weight with fingers slightly curled, his spine bent and arched as if he is caught in the midst of turning to look up to find the direction of the light. His other hand is thrown out, as if trying to ward off an attack.

He bleeds from a dozen or more places, the blood curving perfectly around his form, giving it extra weight and heft that makes it seem like he'll step out of the canvas, grab Jake, and shake him.

Jake's heart starts to race as he stares.

There are bones littering the ground around the thin, wasted boy, not bleached but sort of yellowed, marked with little notches as if cut with a knife. There might still be bits of skin attached to some of them, a hint of muscle. The detail makes Jake sick, but his panic, that comes from something else entirely. Just behind the panicked boy there is a body, as if just fallen, the eyes still open in the final terrified throes of death. The body's fingers are still dug into the dirt floor as if the dead man had been trying to pull himself somewhere, to escape.

A skull watches with eerie cheer from one corner of the painting, a few teeth missing and knocked out from its garish grin.

Barely visible, a thin wash of grayish-white, there is a pale, gnarled hand near the bottom reaching out from the background as if to grab the boy's ankle and drag him into the darkness.

Count Ugolino's Last Son, oils, 1932, reads the little plaque beside the painting. Its faint brassy shine glints in the carefully calibrated light. Edward Tooley, 1907 - 1936.

Jake swallows, but the lump in his throat doesn't budge, and he swallows again. And again. He can't take his eyes off the boy's painted hair, a dirtied copper, strawberry-blond badly in need of a wash. The wide green eyes with their terror writ large and clear, painted with lovingly perfect detail.

The boy in the painting is the perfect identical twin of the vampire who is still staring at the sculpture on the other side of the room. The fear in his face is so expertly done as to seem more photographic than painted in oil. The blood that drips to the ground follows his anatomy with absolute perfection. The bones are not bleached by they so often are in paintings, no, these...

These...

Jake holds his phone up and takes a photo, and then another of the little plaque.

"Chris." His voice cracks and Jake clears his throat. His heart is still pounding. "Chris, come look at this."

"Yes, Jake," Chris answers, sounding a little faint, and then he seems to simply appear at Jake's elbow, the teenage boy who has seen two world wars and a half-dozen smaller, stupider ones.

He goes still at Jake's side when he looks up. Jake looks over, just slightly, glancing sidelong to see a look of something like... wistfulness on the vampire boy's face.

"Tooley," He breathes. His hand goes up, and out, and he would have touched the canvas if Jake hadn't reached out and grabbed on to stop him. Chris jumps a little and turns to meet Jake's gaze. His eyes are pink-tinged in the whites, as if he's holding back tears. "Is, is, is he famous?"

"I guess. He's... he's here, isn't he?"

"He always wanted to, um, to to to to be famous." Chris's eyes move over the details, but it's not with surprise, it's with easy familiarity. He's seen this painting before.

He's been this painting before.

"That's you, isn't it?" Jake asks in a hushed voice. "Like, that was really you."

Chris looks away again, a faint flush in his cheeks. He's full enough of blood for it to happen, and you'd never know he isn't alive if you didn't already. "Yes," He whispers, and wipes at the corner of his eye with one hand. "That, that, that's me."

"Were you his model?" Jake blinks, looking back over the painted twin of the vampire beside him. The fear in the boy's face, woven in with a kind of awful resignation. It's all so perfectly rendered.

"Yes. Sort, um. Sort of. He, he, he kept me in a room." Chris exhales, slowly, and his eyes shift over to the paper with the little bit of biographical information on it. Edward Tooley's early works focused on landscapes or retreads of common historical subjects, only to find greater excellence and focus when he began to paint, again and again, the same figure - a representation of the darkness of the human soul - he stated appeared to him and demanded to be portrayed... art historians believe Tooley was driven by the demons of the Great War that had taken his family from him one by one to seek out uncomfortable subjects that force viewers to see the damage humans do to one another...

Chris's nose wrinkles as he reads, his lips moving slightly with the words as he takes them in. "I never did that. Never, um, wanted to be painted. Also, um this, um. He was... wasn't... he wasn't... wasn't like the paper says."

Jake looks over, reads it himself. Gregarious, sociable, popular with the libertine art crowd... he frowns. "What part is wrong?"

"This." Chris points, this at least he can safely make contact with, and presses the pad of his finger under a sentence that reads took inspiration from the ugly side of the city hidden under its shining lights. "He, he, he he didn't care about anyone in the city. He thought everyone who, who who who who-who wasn't him was, um, was stupid."

"What did he care about?" Jake imagines telling his professor that instead of an essay, he's going to bring in a vampire who literally knew one of the artists in person. How she might react.

Probably call the cops and report an unsecured vampire loose on the streets. But maybe she'd listen to what Chris had to say first.

"Blood," Chris says, softly. His voice is getting lower and lower, until it's barely more than a whisper. "Pain. Fear. Being... being the the the the last person who, who saw someone. He, he, he, he liked to lay them out and paint them, liked me to, to, to... arrange them for him."

Jake's eyes go unwillingly back to the dead body behind the scared boy in the painting. The grasping fingers, the open eyes that look sightless, lifeless, at nothing at all. When he looks, he can see - more suggestion than made clear - that the body's throat is torn open, as if by an animal's teeth.

Now, only now that he's looking for it, does he realize there is the slightest hint of red tears on the cheeks of the painted boy, a sheen of pink on his teeth where he begs for mercy from the grasping singular hand coming out of the dark.

His stomach flips again. "Chris, are you saying-"

"His, his, his name was Ben." Chris nods at the dead body in the painting. "I asked. Before..." He gestures, a little vaguely. "That."

Jake feels a sudden, wild urge to look up missing persons cases from New York City in 1932. See if there's anyone named Ben on there. He knows without having to do so that there definitely will be.

"What happened to him... after?"

"I don't know. I, I, I was never let out when Tooley was gone. I... wonder how, how, how many of me there are." Chris looks up at the echo of his own face, his head tilting again. His lips tremble, just a little, and then part to show the hint of white teeth wet with pinkish saliva. "On walls, in houses, in... in places like, um. Like this. How many there are... is, is, is, is that what I still look like?"

Jake clears his throat again, looks down at his feet. This feels, suddenly, like he's walked in on someone looking down at his own dead body in a funeral home. Interrupting a moment so immensely private it shouldn't even exist.

"Yeah," he says, a little gruffly. "Yeah, that's it. More or less. Except I hope I scare you less than that. Also you wear a lot more clothes with us."

Chris laughs - it's a huff of sound, barely-there. Then he turns away from himself. "We, we, we can't see ourselves, in mirrors," He says, and he's got the little plastic bat back in his hand, rubbing his thumb over the carved silicone. "But I have mirrors everywhere. On these walls."

He goes suddenly terribly still. He isn't breathing.

He doesn't have to, but the realization that he isn't even pretending is a jolt of awareness of exactly how dead Chris is. He leaves the exhibit, and Jake is left to scramble after him, struggling to catch up to someone he should be able to easily outrun.

He breaks into a flat run when they get outside the double-doors, jumps the steps three at a time with grace, and runs across the grass and towards the stand of trees halfway across the park. Even Jake, who works out four days a week, is breathing hard and has a hitch in his rib by the time he catches up.

He finds Chris curled up under a tree in the evening dark, the stars starting to twinkle overhead as the sun finally allows them a clear night sky to shine in.

Jake drops to his knees, ignoring the damp that seeps into his jeans from soil that still hasn't dried since yesterday's rains, and he leans over, putting a warm hand to either side of the vampire's face.

Chris looks up, his eyes glinting like a cat's briefly in the dark, and there are trails down his cheeks, his lips pulled back from his teeth in a snarl that is anything but angry.

No, this is grief.

This is loss.

Jake knows the feeling.

"Talk to me," Jake says softly. "Tell me what it was like, what it's been like for you. Tell me about the life you've lived before I knew you."

"It, it, it hurt," Chris whispers, and his own hands cover Jake's. They're the same temperature as the air around them, and Jake shivers a little. It's almost a chill. "Every time. I, I, I try not to kill, Jake, I try so hard, but but but he would keep me so hungry and I couldn't-... stop..."

Jake thinks about the robbers Chris killed - for him, to save him from them - and how he'd locked himself in the closet afterward. Had he cried like this, over taking lives even when in defense?

"The museum thing said this guy Tooley died in 1936. He was only, what, twenty-nine? Did... did you-"

"Yes." Chris's voice is thick but it's not quite with regret. "I was hungry. He, he he he he didn't bring food. I was so hungry... then I was, um, was alone for a while... then, then, then, then then then I was taken for, for, for the, um, the trade, for my v-venom, and..."

"Got it. I got it, Chris. It's okay," Jake says, softly. "It's going to be okay. You're with us, now. And we'll never, ever make you hurt someone that way. We'll never make you go hungry. We'll never hurt you or use you."

Chris ducks his head, rocking forward until it knocks into Jake's shoulder, and Jake slides his arms around the vampire's shoulders, listening to his soft, muffled sobs, wondering how red his shirt will be stained by the time the vampire's tears have been cried out.

The same mouth that tore out the throat of a dead body that lays in a painting on the wall is so close to his neck it would take less than an inch for him to bite down. Even without fangs, he could lock his jaw and break the skin.

The same dangerous monster that has killed likely dozens to stay alive, the same stalking predator that has been the last sight of far too many, cries in his arms. Just a teenage boy who has been lonely, and terrified, and hurt for too long.

A teenager... and a monster that hunts prey after dark. Jake tightens his arms around Chris, holds him tighter.

It doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter how long he's been alive, not really.

He's just Chris.

That matters more.

-

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @insaneinthepaingame @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @newandfiguringitout @astrobly @endless-whump @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @doveotions @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @what-a-whump

[sacredsorceress]

Paint || Peter Parker

pairing: peter parker x reader

summary: peter sees a figure walking through the trees during his run and investigates only to meet a girl named y/n painting in the woods.

a/n: requested by anon! a short and sweet meeting story.

word count: 2.1k

warnings: none, fluff

masterlist || request

Peter was almost regretting his decision to join the Avengers at the moment. Nearly getting himself killed dozens of times by adversaries was nothing compared to the run Cap had him and the other Avengers going on in what he considered to be the middle of nowhere. Although he had superhuman abilities that had definitely aided in his run at the beginning, he could feel himself struggling for air and his legs beginning to ache.

A few of the others had already fallen behind a while back and Peter felt himself about to trip over his own feet as he began to run slower.

“Getting tired?” None other than Steve himself asked, running up behind him.

Peter jumped, but then began to push himself to run faster. “N-no. No sir.” Peter huffed. “This... is... easy.”

Cap eyed Peter. “You should take a breather, kid. There’s no harm in that.”

Although Peter was always one to go out of his way to impress the Avengers- especially Captain America- he could barely breathe and his whole body felt like it was just begging for him to take a break.

“A- are you... sure?” Peter asked in between breaths.

“You know your way back?” Steve asked, matching Peter’s pace.

Peter, running out of breath, no longer able to speak just nodded.

“Alright kid. I’ll see you back at the Compound.”

And with that, he picked up his pace, leaving Peter behind. Peter slowed to a stop and doubled over with his hands on his knees, heaving and struggling for breath. He attempted to salute in Cap’s direction, but he had already run past Peter’s point of view.

Still breathing heavy and exhausted, Peter stumbled over to the side of the road and flopped down on his back onto the grass. He turned his head to the side and as he did he saw a figure making their way through the trees.

He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “H- hey!” He called, but no one answered.

Peter pulled himself up, balancing himself on his elbows to get a better look before calling again. “Hello?”

After he once again did not receive an answer, he pulled himself onto his feet. He questioned whether he really did see someone or if the figure was just a figment of his imagination. He was unable to ask any of the others for reassurance since they either fell behind a while ago or they were ahead with Steve. Deciding to trust this own instincts, Peter began walking through the woods, using his “Peter tingle” as Aunt May liked to call it, to know where to go.

He stopped when he heard the snap of a twig and the rustling of leaves. Following the noise, he carefully walked over the branches scattered across the ground, not trying to alarm whoever he had just followed into the woods. As he approached where the noise had come from, he stopped and attempted to hide himself behind a tree.

In front of him he saw a girl pulling a chair up and off from the top of a table, onto the ground. He watched as she sat down in the chair, opening the bag at her side and pulling out a pad of paper, along with a tray of what he assumed to be paint and brushes. 

He knew he probably should have turned around and that this was an invasion of privacy, but he couldn’t help but watch as she painted. He was lured in by how peaceful she seemed. Around them was a peaceful quiet, with only the sounds of birds and the breeze flowing through the trees able to be heard. 

It was so much different than what he had been used to. Even before he discovered that he had superpowers, he had lived in the city and there seemed to never be a moment of complete silence- from sirens at all hours of the day to groups of people chatting outside his window at all hours of the night. He thought he had found peace in the noise, but he had barely known the peacefulness of quiet.

Now that he was Spider-Man, it was even harder to find peace whether he was in the city protecting locals or tagging along with the Avengers to save humanity. He was so busy all of the time, it was difficult for him to find peace and quiet, never mind the serenity he felt around him in this exact moment.

Just as he was becoming lost in his own thoughts, he was pulled out of them by the snapping of a twig beneath his feet. As he did, his eyes went wide and he watched as the unnamed girl, jumped from her seat to her feet, scattering brushes and papers along the ground.

He threw his hands up in the air. “I’m sorry!” He spoke.

“Who are you?” She asked. “Did you... did you follow me?”

He could tell her heart rate was speeding up, worried that some random boy had followed her into the woods. That’s fair, he thought.

“No!” He said, quickly. “I mean yeah- yes. But not in a creepy way! I just saw someone walk into the woods and I called and no one said anything so I- I just wanted to make sure that everything was okay.”

She just stared at him.

“You know what? I should go. Yeah. I’m gonna leave you alone.” He said, about to turn around.

“Wait.” She called, finally speaking up and stopping him. “Are you... an Avenger?” 

Now his heart was the one racing. “What? No!” He chuckled nervously. “Why... what would make you think that?”

She smiled, pointing at his t-shirt. “Because you have their logo on your shirt and it’s the only place out here for like a mile.”

Peter glanced down at the gray t-shirt he was wearing with the Avengers logo printed across his chest. Quickly, he attempted to spin a lie. “Oh this? No. Nope.” He shook his head. “I just... work... at the Avengers Compound. I... hand out waters and stuff to um Thor and ya know... other... people.”

There was a pause as the they stared at each other.

“I’m Y/n.” You told him, moving your hand out to shake his.

He calmed down as you introduced yourself and your own heart settled, knowing now that you weren’t scared of him- meaning you either believed what he said or just simply accepted his lie about working at the Avengers Compound. It wasn’t a whole lie, he told himself though. He did “work” there and occasionally, as the youngest person there, was asked to fetch water from time to time.

“Peter.” He said, taking your hand. “So... what are you doing out here?”

You then remembered what you had come out here for in the first place. You spun around turning back to look at your set up. “Oh!” You exclaimed. “I come out here sometimes to paint. It's really peaceful, you know?”

Peter nodded. He had just been thinking the same thing before he first saw you. It had been difficult for him to know peace for a long time, but here he felt as though he could breath even if it was for a short time.

“I know what you mean.” He told you, then glancing at the mess he had caused when he first spooked you. “Let me help.” He smiled, gesturing to the paint brushes and loose papers scattered along the floor.

You turned around, looking at the mess behind you. “You don’t have to. It’s okay!” You told him, striding over to your workspace and beginning to haphazardly organize the area.

Despite your assurances that you could clean up yourself, Peter followed behind you and began picking up your scattered paintings on the ground.

“You did all of these yourself?” He asked.

You watched as Peter stared at each of your quick paintings in his hand. He, admittedly, did not understand much about art, but he was in awe at the work he saw in front of him. The paintings he held in his hands depicted what he believed to be fairies sitting light as a feather on flowers and hidden in the trees. The design itself was soft and gentle and he was afraid to ruin something so precious in his hands. 

“Yeah,” You chuckled.

“They’re really good.” He told you, impressed. “I wish I could do stuff like this. How do you even do this?”

You smiled. A part of you was always nervous showing your paintings to someone else, especially a stranger, but it made you feel warm inside to have this cute, sweaty boy complimenting you on your art and impressed with your skill.

“Everyone has their thing.” You told him. “What about you?”

Peter then thought about his abilities, but for obvious reasons he couldn’t divulge on his strengths without the risk of exposing his identity. Although he couldn’t share that part of himself with you- someone he just met- it made him remember who he was without his abilities- the skills and talents he possessed without the assistance of an accidental spider bite.

“My friend and I build lego sets.” He shrugged.

“That can’t be it.” You laughed. “Come on! What are things you’re good at?”

Peter hadn’t been asked that question in regards to just himself in a while. He felt that people only cared about him recently because he was Spider-Man, not because he was Peter Parker. It felt good for someone to care about him for more than the things he couldn’t control.

“Sciency stuff I guess.” He told you as the two of you stood up and he handed you back your paintings.

You smiled, accepting the pages back and placing them on the table. “See! And you thought you weren’t good at anything.”

Peter smiled before scratching the back of his neck. “So... do you always hang out here in your free time?”

You sat back in your chair, this time organizing your desk space again. You placed your current work-in-progress in front of you and set out your paints. Taking a brush from one of those scattered across the table and dipping it in your desired color you laughed. “Not all the time. Why do you ask?”

Peter felt himself stiffen up. He knew why, but he didn’t want to say it out loud. It wasn’t often he met new people and felt comfortable enough around them, but around you, there was a carefree air. Although he had barely learnt anything about you besides your name and your inclination for painting in the wilderness, he wanted to learn more about you.

“Oh... well... you know...” He began. “Maybe we could hang out sometime? Not in the woods I mean. Not that there’s anything wrong with it! I just- you know-”

At that he heard the strokes of your brush halt on the page as you lifted it and set it down in the glass of water in front of you. You turned back in your chair to look at him, leaning your arm over the back of it. “Like a date?” You asked, cutting him off.

Even though Peter had been through a lot that most teenagers his age had never experienced- that some would even claim required an excessive amount of bravery- he still got flustered when you asked him whether it was a date or not. He thought you were interesting and wanted to get to know you regardless. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t interested in going on a date with you, but he also didn’t want to risk facing rejection and embarrassment.

What do you have to lose? He asked himself.

“I’m sorry if that was forward-” You began as he took a bit longer than you had anticipated for him to answer.

“Yeah. Like a date.” He cut you off. “If you want to anyway... you don’t have to.”

For what felt like the hundredth time since you first met him a few minutes ago, you smiled. “I’d like that.”

And with that you and Peter exchanged numbers before he insisted you go back to painting and that people would begin looking for him soon if he didn’t get back to his run. When his feet hit the road to start running again, he felt a new bolt of energy and pride rush through him as he thought about the cool painter girl’s number he had just gotten in the woods and the date he would share with you that upcoming weekend.

[forthegothicheroine]

The King in Yellow, 1949

Much of this story is true.  Warnings in the tags.

When I had pneumonia in my early teens, my mother brought home an armful of VHS tapes from the library to alleviate my misery.  Knowing my snobbish preferences, she had grabbed copies of whatever she found in black and white.  I remember something musical that I suspect was Busby Berkeley, I remember Mildred Pierce (a bad choice, as it turned out- the plot includes a young girl dying of pneumonia), and I remember a period piece called The King.  I faded in and out of consciousness while I watched it, but it soothed me while I was awake and filled my fever dreams with sparkling images.  I could never find it at the library again, nor at Hollywood Video or even early Netflix (once my father got the subscription service where you could order practically every DVD.)  It was a bit odd that it seemed to be so obscure, given that it starred old Hollywood legend Ingrid Bergman (and, although I initially forgot it, Marlene Dietrich.)  But even big stars make films that fall by the wayside in public memory, and it seemed that this was one of them.  Google was no help, and at the time that was that.

I didn’t see the film again until I was watching Turner Classic Movies at my grandparents’ house.  I loved watching that channel with them while filling out the crossword puzzle that came in their little TCM catalogue (all of it based on movie trivia, the only kind of crossword puzzle I’ve ever been any good at.)  I recognized a certain scene where Bergman stood on a balcony, looking sadly at the moon.  Her face had an expression of unutterable melancholy, and the crescent moon reflected in each of her eyes, giving the impression of two moons in one sky.  I had very little time to catch up on what I’d missed before we had to go meet my cousins at the local Italian restaurant.  I knew logically that the movie would be long over by the time we returned, but I turned on the channel anyway.  Of course it had moved on to the lesser known Alfred Hitchcock film Stage Fright, but then I heard Marlene Dietrich sing before I could reach the remote to turn the tv off in disappointment.  I knew that I had heard her sing before, and I knew it had been in The King.

Dietrich’s singing often comes across as somewhat campy today, with its Rs pronounced as Ws and it’s up-and-down tone.  Madeline Kahn parodied it brilliantly in Blazing Saddles, such that it was a bit of a disappointment when I finally saw Dietrich’s western Destry Rides Again and found it to be lifeless and inconsistent next to the parody.  Still, we remember her voice for a reason, and when I remembered it that night, I knew that its sardonic loneliness had rung through The King and made me shiver in my dreams.

The TCM schedule didn’t list The King in its time slot, but something else.  If I had taken down the name, maybe it would have helped me find it.  Sometimes the same movie runs under multiple names.

I didn’t see the film all the way through for many years, after I graduated college.  I had found a web page that listed public domain film noir, including one called The Masked Guest.  The website described it as a costume noir, and I curiously clicked on the link.  Once I took in the credits running on the youtube window, my eyes grew wide and I did not move from my place on the bed until the movie had run its course.

The credits did indeed list it as The Masked Guest, but I recognized the strange repeating design on the title cards.  They told me that in addition to starring Dietrich and Bergman, it was directed by Fritz Lang, and a character called The King was credited to “???”  (I hadn’t seen that kind of credit since the first Karloff Frankenstein.)  When the King finally appears on screen, though, it is unmistakably Orson Welles’s voice that booms out from behind his elaborate costume.

Here are the things I understand about The King, or The Masked Guest, or The Man in Yellow, or any other title I’ve found for it on public domain archive searches.  Dietrich and Bergman play princesses named Cassilda and Camilla, respectively.  Though Dietrich’s accent is German and Bergman’s is Swedish, they blend together to give the film the impression of being set somewhere on the map that I can’t quite find.  The scenery and camera angles are very Freudian, with a great deal of archways and pillars.

The first act of The King involves frankly dull romantic plotlines, and the only thing that really saved it was the feeling that the suitors were supposed to be insipid, a suspicion lended credence by the fact that the love interests were listed so low on the credits.  Dietrich is the scandalous sister and Bergman is the responsible one, though each takes on aspects of the other as the film goes on.  Dietrich sings her song at a party, dressed in a fake 17th century gown and leaning against a piano.  Although just a moment ago she had been laughing and joking with her gentleman friends, her song takes an abruptly serious tone (not seductive, not sentimental) as she tells the story of a city lost to time and memory.  Bergman slips away from the party and onto the balcony, where we see that wonderful shot of the moon in her eyes.  Is she mourning?  Is she longing?

Dietrich cuts off the song by abruptly screaming “Not on us, King!  Not on us!”  She flees the party weeping and shaking, and from there on the film goes mad.

Though uncommon, it is not unknown for movies to switch between black and white and color, done most famously in The Wizard of Oz.  The film The King recalls here is the silent Phantom of the Opera, which had a masqued ball scene tinted in shades of red and green that tried to provide a whole spectrum of color.  The effect is even odder in the masqued ball scene in The King- the only color that appears is yellow, highlighting things like candlelight, Dietrich’s hair, a passing gown, a vase of tulips.  It also highlights one particular masked figure, whose expressionless mask was decorated with a black pattern against a sickening yellow canvas- the same pattern I had seen in the opening credits.  The color of his costume causes him to stand out from the crown even when he is far off in the background, just one head among many others.  It must have taken long and painstaking hours of work to color in every frame.

Dietrich still seems broken up days after her song, though Bergman tries to coax her into joining the dance.  Finally, at midnight, Dietrich goes out to face the party, but only to demand that every guest remove their mask.  The yellow man with a voice that once warned America about a Martian invasion tells her that he wears no mask.  Bergman reacts with disbelief, but Dietrich starts laughing like a woman unhinged.  As she laughs, the yellow hue seeps out of the King’s clothing and face- if that really is his face- and begins to color the entire ballroom crowd.  I think that what follows is bloodshed, but if there is any carnage (doubtful under the Production Code censorship), the blood must be tainted yellow and splashed across the camera like daubs of paint.  Dietrich’s laughing face is doubled and tripled on screen until it dissipates, but even when it has faded offscreen, it feels as if her ghost continues to watch the proceedings.  

By the end of the scene (filled with German Expressionist camera angles and mad violin screeching), only Bergman remains alive, cowering behind a grandfather clock.  It does not hide her for long.  The King steps towards her and extends his hand.  Reluctantly, but with a fatalistic expression, Bergman takes his hand.  They walk away together hand in hand.  The screen shifts back into black and white, and then the credits roll before we can get a good look at all the bodies in the scene.  The credits say it was based on a play called The King in Yellow, although Raymond Chandler of all people apparently had a hand in the screenplay.

As I said, that’s what I think I understand.  It’s an oddly experimental art film for the era, and it may be awaiting rediscovery by the film festival crowd.  I feel as if I alone know about it, though that obviously isn’t true.  It is my little secret; I tell myself that my husband doesn’t need me to show it to him, it would be too odd for his taste.  I’ve rewatched it many times, even if it seems like each time I search for it I have to find a different video platform or torrent.  Naturally, no subscription site has it available.  Maybe I am the last person who will ever watch it.  Maybe no one will ever think to look for it again after me, and it will be completely forgotten.

When I was hospitalized, they let me use my laptop at night before I went to sleep (no power cord, though, in case I tried to hang myself.)  I found a youtube link for The Man in Yellow, and I watched it every night.  It wasn’t a soothing sort of movie, but having it in my mind all day and then watching it in the evening allowed me to think as opposed to crying endlessly while the other patients shot me awkward looks.  I clutched the childhood stuffed animals my mother brought me when she visited, and I always held them extra tight when the masquerade scene started.

I watched the movie when I had to move away from my beloved San Francisco.  I watched the movie when I lost the last of my grandparents.  I watched the movie when a doctor unwisely took me off my medication and I couldn’t manage to eat for a month.  I watched the movie when the whole world got sick and we all locked ourselves away from each other.  I don’t mind that I don’t entirely know what it means.  I don’t mind the nightmares.  In the hospital they kept telling us about mindfulness exercises, and maybe the fact that I can focus on every aspect of the film so closely that all else falls away is the reason I keep coming back to it.  I’m being mindful.  I’m not letting any stray thoughts invade my head.  I’m just watching and waiting for the next beat of every scene, leading inexorably to that yellow-stained bloodbath.

Streaming media doesn’t last forever, and each time I find The King, I worry that it will be the last time I ever can find it.  My efforts to download it have so far been unsuccessful, odd considering that it is in the public domain.

When I watch The King, I am once again a child in my bedroom being cared for in the throes of agonizing sickness.  I am once again sitting on the couch with my grandparents in front of the tv, both of them alive and lucid again.  I am once again in the hospital, all alone except for my stuffed animals and the staff trying to keep me alive.  The film reflects in my eyes like the crescent moon in Ingrid Bergman’s gaze.  It sings to me.

I am determined to find a way to obtain The King under any name so that I never have to worry about losing it.  During some of the worst times in my life, it is the only thing that has kept me sane.

[instasiswetrust]

"Guys! Oh, I'm so glad you're here!" Dustin risks bowling over Mike, Lucas, and Will with the exuberance of his hug but there's no way he can keep quiet about this. Not after what he had done the night before. "I have a secret and I'm dying to tell somebody else."

They all seem confused for a moment before Lucas' eyes widen.

"You got Suzie pregnant?"

"What? No!" He makes a face, jokingly punching his friend on the shoulder. "Jesus, Lucas, why would you even think that?"

"If it's not that then what?" Mike sounded annoyed but then again, he kind of always sounded like that.

Dustin wasted no time in pulling out the leatherbound journal he had found the night before, leading his friends to an outcrop near the docks, shadowed by trees. He opened it to the first page, where Steve had scrawled his name in neat calligraphy.

"Is that Steve's diary? Dustin, what the hell?"

"It's from the summer of '85 guys! You know what that means?"

"Uh, that you shouldn't be reading your older brother's teenage thoughts?" Lucas fixed Dustin with a light glare, which he ignored.

"No, idiot. Summer of '85 was the last time Steve ever dated someone! You know, the same year he moved here? When mom took him in?"

"I'm not following. What does this have to do with your wedding?" Mike crossed his arms over his chest, Will peeking over Dustin's shoulder to scan the pages.

"Well, wouldn't it be nice if Steve got to be happy too? He's been taking care of me since my mom died. He's the only family I have and if Suzie and I leave the Villa, who will help him?"

Lucas and Mike don't seem convinced with Dustin's reasoning but at least they stop glaring accusingly at him. In the end, is Will who breaks the staring contest between the three of them.

"So what did you find?"

"Uh, okay so listen to this." Dustin flipped some pages from the journal stopping at a page and grinning.

I keep being surprised when Mama doesn't show up to the important events in my life but I guess I should be used to it now. Robin insists I forget her, Nancy asked if I was planning to go back, and that's when I told them about my plans. Both of them are sad to see me go, we're the Dynamos after all, but they were supportive and saw me off at the airport.

My flight did a stop in France. I met Tommy there when he confused me for one of the staff workers. He's kind of a dick but in a charming way, and he's got this adorable smattering of freckles covering his face. He told me about growing up in London and how his dad was a banker, how his mom had his whole life planned out for him as soon as he graduated from college.

We went out for a few drinks and friendly banter turned into drunk 21 questions. Tommy told me how he's always wanted to but he's never been with another guy before. And look, I'm never like this! But we were pretty drunk, and I was curious if those freckles went all the way down! So one thing led to another and we ...

"I'm not sure if I wanna keep listening to this," Lucas said, making a face.

Mike, on the other hand, took a seat next to Dustin trying to see what was written on the journal. "Well, I do."

"What's dot dot dot?" Will asked, eyebrows furrowed.

"Oh, that's just a euphemism for having sex," Dustin said waving a dismissive hand as he flipped through more pages. "Okay, okay, now listen to this."

After almost missing the ferry, I finally reached Scopello this afternoon. The turqouise waters and the approaching sunset must have been one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen in my life. I think, that maybe I could stay here. Forever. Oh, but I'm not sure, it would mean rarely seeing Robin and Nancy, dropping all dreams of singing in the big stages, all those dreams...

I don't want to worry about this now. This place is too beautiful and I want to make the most of it.

There was a storm the other night. I've been staying on a rundown farm at the edges of town and during the storm heard a loud sound downstairs. There was a horse there, probably scared from the thunder but the ceiling collapsed and I couldn't get to it. I wasn't really thinking when I decided it would be a good idea to try and run back into town to get help. Luckily, this guy had been out driving (who rides out a Camaro in a thunderstorm??) and he helped me get to the horse and calm him down.

His name is William, Billy for short (the guy, not the horse), and I've never met a guy more infuriating than him. Or as hot, either. Good gods, he looks like he walked straight out of an art museum or something.

We’ve spent this whole month together, going out to swim at the beach (he tried teaching me to surf and I almost twisted my ankle on some rocks), then to a local bar (I actually got a new job singing there, who would've thought?), some picnics. It's been awfully romantic despite Billy’s brazenness and cocksure attitude.

And I think that I... I think that I might love him.

"But if they were so into each other, what happened?" Will pipes up again, a frown on his face as he tried to read over Dustin's shoulder with little results.

"I still think you shouldn't be doing this, dude. What if Steve finds out? He's going to be so mad at you!" Lucas interjects, picking another rock from the sand and making it skip over the surface of the water.

"He would kill me for sure," Dustin shrugs, offering a toothy grin. "But only if he finds out."

"Dustin, c'mon! What happened next?" At this point Will looks like he's about to rip the journal out of his friend's hands and read it himself.

"Jesus, you're pushy. Okay, so-"

Billy's engaged. Didn't even tell me, I had to find out for myself while I was making him breakfast and accidentally stumbled over some documents he had left laying around. My chest hurts, and I haven't stopped crying since he left this morning but I'm just so angry!

Fuck, I feel so dumb. This is all my fault. All because I was being a stupid reckless little slut.

Ugh. I sound like my mom. At least Robin and Nancy called to say they would arrive this week. I've truly missed them, can't wait to see them.

The girls came to see me during one of my shifts at the bar where I was singing. Robin couldn't stop laughing at Nancy's surprised face. She thinks I've changed a lot since I left but in a good way. I don't really believe her and I think she knows that. With them here, at least the ache from Billy's departure barely makes itself present.

Oh! Before I forget to write this again, today I saw Jonathan again. He was this nice photographer who slowed the ferry's departure so I wouldn't miss it. We talked a lot on our way and he's such a nice guy. He came to the bar today and we got talking again, he asked if I would be okay with modeling for him tomorrow. Nancy and Robin insisted that I tell him yes, as a chance to try and forget Billy by "getting some".

I told them it's an awful idea but I accepted Jonathan's offer either way. He's quiet but caring, and I really enjoy talking with him. We talked about his family back in America, his mom and his little brother. Honestly, if something were to happen tomorrow, I wouldn't be opposed to it...

"Wait." Will leans back, a confused expression on his face that slowly morphs into astonishment. "Dustin, does Steve ever say the last name of this Jonathan guy?"

"Uh," Dustin frowns, flipping through the pages. "Yeah, they are here somewhere. Let me look for them."

"Will, you don't think-" Mike starts, having caught onto his best friend's train of thought.

"Jonathan took a trip to Italy when I was fifteen." He says simply, biting on the pad of his thumb.

"Oh shit." All eyes turn to Dustin who's got his eyes fixated on the journal in his lap. "Byers. The guys last name is Byers."

"Holy shit Will, your brother hooked up with Dustin's brother." Lucas tries to tamper down his laughter but it's a futile endeavor, his lips curling up before he can control them. "I can't believe this."

"But wait," Mike turns to Dustin who's expression has turned troubled. His eyes narrow. "You still haven't explained what this has to do with your wedding. What did you do?"

Dustin stays quiet for a minute or two before he lifts his gaze to his friend's, a sheepish smile on his lips. "I uh, I invited all three of them to the wedding but made it look like Steve sent the invites. And they uh... they all said yes?"

This time Lucas doesn't even bother hiding his laugh, doubling over as he nearly cackles at the stupidness of this whole situation.

"Dude, you're so fucked when Steve finds out."

[shoechoe]

what are your opinions on sbr so far?

any character that stood out to you, any character that you don't like?

favorite arc until now?

I just hit chapter 40 yesterday. I have not gotten any further today yet (I was busy, but now I am not so I want to complete some more later).

So far, I really like it. The plot is pretty investing, although I don't think I understand how the whole 'holy corpse' thing works just yet. I like how there's kind of a double-plot going on with both the race and also the corpse parts they need to collect before Funny Valentine gets them. I also like how there are multiple characters with understandable motivations instead of being 100% focused on Johnny and how you're led to want them all to succeed (kinda like what I said earlier).

A big thing that stuck out to me was how good the art was. There are so many detailed close-ups of character's faces and the general artwork and colored scans are just... very pleasing to look at. It's nice.

I think the whole setting of a race in 1890's America is pretty fun as well. I always liked horses and cowboys and having most of the fights take place on horseback is an interesting change of pace from the other parts. In particular, the fights between Diego and Gyro (and Gyro's 'arc' that he went through in learning how to beat him) actually got me going "Alright. That's pretty cool."

This might be pretty obvious by now, but Diego is the character that's standing out to me the most currently. I really like the way that he's being handled. When I first saw him, I just thought "Oh. This is just DIO 2.0." But then we see his backstory, powers and character, and he really began to separate himself from the original DIO and become his own character (in my mind, anyways). While he's still an antagonist, he's not evil. I actually started getting a little annoyed at Johnny when he was saying stuff like "Diego's a manipulative greedy monster and we shouldn't trust him or show him any sympathy!!" He was making me go "No, dude! You've got it all wrong!!" It's also very cute to me how Diego seems to have a close tie with certain animals (having taken care of horses since he was little, referring to his horse as his "beloved" and having the ability to turn into a dinosaur), especially compared to how we know the original universe DIO treated animals. (Again, I'm only on chapter 40 so I don't know exactly how Diego's character progresses, but this is what I'm thinking about him so far.)

As for characters that I don't like... ehh, I don't have a ton, but probably Mountain Tim and Steven Steel due to how they treat Lucy. I get that it's the 1800s and girls were often handed off to significantly older husbands at extremely young ages, and I don't think it's being portrayed in a positive light, but holy shit. It makes it very hard to enjoy any time that they are on screen, especially if it's with Lucy. (At least Mountain Tim just died.)

My favorite arc so far is the True Man's World fight with Ringo Roadagain. Not only was it character development for Gyro that I got super into, and I really liked Ringo and his ability, but the art and coloring in this fight specifically was absolutely gorgeous. (I also found it interesting how Ringo had the ability to rewind time, since time-related abilities are usually exclusively used for major villains.) I also think that Hot Pants looks like an interesting character, but I don't know much about them yet, so I'll hold off commenting on them until later.

Overall, Steel Ball Run feels a bit more... planned than other parts? It feels significantly more thought-out, as opposed to other parts where it gave me the feeling that a lot of the plot points and fights were just being made up along the way. It comes across a lot cleaner in general, which is nice and makes me excited as to what will happen next. All in all, it's pretty good so far. I will continue reading it.

[sturchling]

Salt-Fic September Day 30: Escape

Marinette’s parents had noticed the change in their daughter over time. Marinette had grown very quiet over the last few weeks. They realized that things had gotten worse at school since the expulsion incident. They went to the school during lunch one day and spoke with Marinette’s teachers. Mrs. Bustier was reluctant to give them any details, but Mrs. Mendeleiev told them everything she could. They were horrified to learn about how bad the liar had become and how the class had turned on their daughter.

They couldn’t understand how the class would turn on their daughter. They all seemed like such good friends. They knew that it was all the liar’s fault. They also noticed how much more time Marinette spent sketching and designing. It had become a way for her to cope with the loss of her friends. Her parents decided to get her out of Paris for a while. Just for a bit, to get her away from all the drama. Mr. Dupain called an old friend.

 ------------------

When he was in college, Tom had a friend named Xavier Calaman. He was studying art and wanted to open an arts academy in America. After they had graduated, Tom opened the bakery and Xavier moved to Gotham and opened his academy. While Marinette couldn’t go to the school full time, Tom knew that Xavier had also started offering a month-long summer camp for people who couldn’t attend the academy.

  ------------------

Tom reached out to his old friend and sent him some copies of Marinette’s sketches and designs as part of the camp application. Tom received word from his friend a few weeks later, that Marinette had been accepted and could attend the camp that summer. Tom and Sabine were thrilled. Marinette was excited when they told her, but later that night realized it could be a problem since she is Ladybug. But after discussing it with Tikki and Master Fu, it was decided that she could use the horse miraculous to come back and forth as needed.

  ------------------

With that settled, Marinette was excited for the school year to end. No one from her class spoke with her for the rest of the year, so none of them realized that she wasn’t in Paris that summer. Which Marinette was fine with. She knew that Lila would find some way to make Marinette attending an arts camp be some horrible insult to the class.

  ------------------

After the school year ended, Marinette left for Gotham the next day. It had been arranged that she could stay in the on-campus dorms while she was there, since she didn’t have anyone close to her in the area. The camp activities started the day after she arrived, and she was having a blast. She became friends with everyone, but in particular, she became close with a boy named Damian. She had no idea who he was or that he was a Wayne, but she like his quiet atmosphere, it was so different from what she was used to. He mainly focused on digital art, but was also a talented painter. They would spend hours every evening just working on their projects in a quiet garden on the school grounds until it was time for him to go home.

  ------------------

This went on for several years. Marinette would attend the camp in the summer and see her friends every year. No one in Paris knew where she went every June, and she liked it that way. Gotham became her escape, the one place she truly found some peace.

  ------------------

Her second year of attending the camp is when she found out Damian was a Wayne. He was pleasantly surprised that she didn’t try to win his affections as many other girls did once they found out who he was. Instead, Marinette continued to treat him as she always had. It was refreshing, and this camp soon became an escape from him as well. An escape from the social climbers that would try to use him to advance their social status.

  ------------------

Soon, their friendship turned into a relationship and the two became a very happy couple, albeit a long distance one. It also wasn’t long after that, that the couple learned about each other’s heroic activities. Marinette was at the manor for dinner one night when an akuma alert came across her phone. She thought she was alone when she transformed and went to Paris to deal with the akuma. She hadn’t seen Damian and Dick standing at the door to the study she had ducked into.

  ------------------

When she returned, they asked her what they had seen. She tried to stutter out an excuse, but they stopped her, explaining they also had secret ID’s. Soon, the whole family knew Marinette’s secret and she knew theirs. Now that they knew, Marinette would often use Kaalki to visit during the school year, escaping the drama to Gotham more and more.

  ------------------

She also was encouraged by the Waynes to tell her family at least about being Ladybug. They reasoned that her parents would want to know, in case something happened to her. So, she told them about being Ladybug, and while they were worried for her, they were also proud of her for being Ladybug.

  ------------------

It wasn’t long before Hawkmoth was discovered and defeated, now that she had the help of the world’s greatest detectives. They quickly identified him and helped her and Chat Noir defeat him. While the immediate threat was over, Marinette made the decision as guardian to keep the miraculous active to help maintain the balance of the universe.

  ------------------

After a few years, the year before Marinette was going to graduate, she was just coming back from Gotham, the camp having just ended for the summer. When she arrived back at the bakery, she was greeted by a crowd of her classmates standing outside the bakery. She hadn’t even been able to put her bag down in the bakery yet, having been stopped as soon as she got back from the airport. She braced herself for whatever they were about to say, remembering the lessons Damian gave her in keeping her cool.

  ------------------

Alya stepped forward with a questioning look. “Girl where have you been the last month? What’s with the suitcase?” Marinette kept a cold look on her face, trying to get them to end the conversation. “I was in Gotham. I just got back.” They all looked at her in shock. Nino was the first one to recover his composure. “What do you mean? Why were you in Gotham? Since when did you go there?” Marinette looked at them and saw for the first time how truly distant they had become over the years. She couldn’t even call them her friends anymore.

  ------------------

“I have been going to Gotham every June for several years. I attend an arts camp at the Calaman Academy every summer.” The class just rolled their eyes. Lila had convinced them that Marinette was actually the liar, just trying to steal the spotlight back for herself. Lila chose this moment to remind the class of that story. “Marinette you don’t have to lie to your friends. I’m friends with the founder of that academy and she would never let you in. She has a strict no bullying policy and I told her all about you.” The class chuckled, thinking that Marinette had finally been caught in a lie.

  ------------------

What they didn’t know is that Tom was listening from just inside the bakery, and that Xavier Calaman had come to offer a full scholarship to his academy for Marinette for her last year of school before college. When the two men heard these comments, they stepped out to speak to the class. Xavier approached with a grim look on his face. “Actually, HE, is happy that Marinette has been attending the camp for the last several years. She is a promising student. So promising that he came all the way here to offer her a scholarship to attend the school full time next year.” Marinette was shocked to see Mr. Calaman here and even more shocked to hear about the scholarship offer, but kept her cool in front of the class.

  ------------------

Lila didn’t know who she was talking to, so she doubled down on her claims. “I don’t know who you are, but a woman founded that school and I am very close to her. I would know if Marinette was attending that school. Mr. Calaman turned to Alya, “Humor me. Look up Calaman Academy and a picture of the founder.” Alya looked up the school, determined to prove Lila right. But when she did, a picture of the man in front of her stared back at her. “Judging from the look on your face, you see my picture there. So now you know that your friend over there is a liar. And miss? I highly suggest that you stop lying about me and my school or I will have to take legal action against you.” The class descended into chaos as they turned on Lila. They don’t notice Marinette and her family slip into the bakery and lock the door.

  ------------------

After they were inside, Mr. Calaman repeats his offer of a scholarship for Marinette. Marinette and her family eagerly accept. Marinette would go to one of the best art schools in America and she would be close to her friends and boyfriend. Marinette’s parents also thought it would be good to get her away from the toxicity of the class.

  ------------------

Marinette left soon after and moved to Gotham. She loved attending the Calaman academy. She loved her classes and was having a great time being close to her friends from camp and Damian. She was happier than she had been in a long time. Gotham had been her escape from Paris for several years. Now Gotham was her home.

Hope you guys liked it! @maribat-central-official

[donutloverxo]

Nude

Run through - Steve wants to try new things so he takes a painting class with a nude painting subject. Only the woman he has to paint are you, Peppers assistant and his crush.

Pairing - Steve Rogers x reader

Word count - 2k

Masterlist is linked in the bio!

Steve Rogers was many things. He was an artist, an amateur cook (who really does try), a loyal friend, a good citizen, a soldier. Yet when people looked at him, they only ever saw the captain. His friends called him cap. He'd go weeks without hearing his own name. Sometimes he felt the lines were blurred. When did Steve Rogers end and Captain America begin?

He had a big wake up call when he confronted Tony, saying he wasn’t iron man, it was an alter ego. To which Tony said that Steve was basically captain America. And Steve couldn’t argue or disagree, because it was true. He didn’t want to lose himself in his work anymore than he already had. His therapist told him to make healthy boundaries, which is what he’s going to do.

So he ordered some colors and pencils online and got to work on his art, for the first time in a long time. It was exhilarating and freeing. He could lose himself in it, go on for hours without thinking and seeing anything but the colors and his canvas. Which was extremely rare for him. He could rarely ever shut his brain off or run from his traumatic memories.

Everyone could see the visible change in him. How he seemed happier. Clint even joked about it saying

“Cap must be getting some”

To which Steve only snorted. There was no room for anything as complicated as a relationship or sex in his life, not right now.

But wouldn’t it be nice? To have a woman to hold and to paint. To love and care for. He didn’t let himself delve too much into that fantasy. Because even if it was a nice escape once in a while, he knew that while Steve Rogers might make a good partner, Captain America would certainly not. He would never subject any woman to deal with either of them.

With some encouragement from Sam and his old friends he started attending painting classes at his alma mater, the Brooklyn College, every Saturday evening. It helped him make some friends. He didn’t know if he could call them friends. Most of them were too different from him. They seemed like different types of 'tortured artists'

When he heard that there would be a nude subject to paint the next class, he was a little bit hesitant. Such a thing would’ve been scandalous in the 40s. But he was trying to open himself up and that meant pushing his comfort zone, even just a little bit.

When he set up his canvas, oil colors and brushes that Saturday he expected male subject. He didn’t however expect to hear a woman’s voice. He was too focused on his set up to look up, whatever. He didn’t care if it was a man or a woman. There wouldn't be anything erotic about it. This was strictly professional and educational.

He looked up to take a good look at his subject, when he felt as if his soul was knocked out of him. There you stood, his crush, Pepper Potts' assistant, and the woman who turned him down.

“You know back in my day they used to play elevator music” He said to drown out the awkward silence. Even after all this time, he still didn’t know how to talk to women. He had had a crush on you since the moment he laid eyes on you. You were always so funny and sweet. Asking him and everyone about their day, if they were doing well. Always willing to help others.

When he let it slip that he likes banana bread, you baked him a whole loaf of it, which chocolate chips so ‘so you think of me when you have them. They’re my signature of sorts' you had said proudly. Of course he’d be thinking of you when he ate it. Overthinking actually. Wondering If you like him as he likes you, or if you’re just being your sweet self.

“Oh we still have that!” You chirped “but not in um professional or business buildings like these”

He just nodded. Tapping his foot impatiently. You would get off in just six floors it was now or never. “Hey uh – what are you doing this Friday?” he asked shyly.

“Oh just watching some Gordon Ramsay with my dog probably. I have no life” you laughed at your own self depreciating joke “Why?” you tilted your head.

“I was thinking, maybe we could get dinner? Only if you uh – you wanted to, you're free to say no” he promised. Maybe he should’ve asked you to ‘hang out' or 'for a coffee' like most people these days. But he felt that was no way to treat a lady, especially one like you.

“Oh Steve” he was already disappointed upon hearing your tone “I would’ve loved to. But even though we don’t work together, it wouldn’t look good you know? I mean I don’t care much for 'my image'” You said making air quotes “But I don’t, it’ll be complicated” You looked completely defeated. As if it hurt you to say no more than it hurt him to hear it.

“I completely understand” He nodded “no hard feelings” he gave you a smile as he watched you walk away. It did break his heart a bit, but he’d respect your feelings.

He looked at you taking off your satin robe revealing your bare body to the class of twenty or so artists. His breathe hitched. Your hair flowing down your back and covering a bit of your left breast, your soft stomach and thighs, the patch of soft curls at your core, your nipples hard against the chilly air, and how your stomach rolled a bit as you sat uncomfortably on the stool. You were beautiful. A work of art even. There was absolutely no way he could do you justice. He started drawing an outline on his canvas. You would very well be his best subject.

You looked around a bit, your fingers holding onto the stool for dear life so you could stave off the anxiety and feeling of being so exposed. Then your eyes landed on him. You thought you were dreaming, maybe you didn’t see properly, so you did a double take. Then you were frozen on the spot. There he was, Captain Rogers, the first Avenger, the man you often dreamt about, sitting right in front of you while you were naked as the day you were born.

You had no idea what you should do. This was literally like a nightmare come true. If you flee it would look bad, if you didn’t it might look worse. You decided you’d follow his lead. So you peeked a glance at him from the corner of your eyes and saw him, sketching you? Holy shit Steve Rogers was drawing a nude portrait of you. What has your life become?

You had always been insecure about your body. You knew magazines, porn and movies were meant to feed people lies to get them to buy more things. That didn’t make you feel any less bad about not looking anything like the women in them. You tried to remind yourself that you have many things going for you. Like your supporting family, your loving friends, your cute labrador, your amazing job.

Speaking of your job, exactly why you turned Steve freaking Rogers down! A man that looks like him asking you out and you say no. Your friends flat out laughed in your face at your unfortunate predicament, where the cake is right there but you can't eat it. Now that you thought about it, it was funny.

Your co-workers weren’t kind to you. Even on your best day you didn’t look anything like the women you worked with, who would stab you in the back the first chance the get. You were kind to everyone, but you knew by now not to expect the same treatment back. Which was why you had to say no to the beefy blonde. You didn’t want to be branded as the ‘office slut’.

Which now you were sure you would be. You didn’t know Steve enough to know he’d be willing to keep this a secret. He didn’t seem like someone who would do that to you. But you still couldn’t help but think the worst.

You squirmed and shivered in the chair for a good part of the next two hours. By the end your back was sore and you did everything you could to avoid looking at Steve, only sneaking glances here and there, while he seemed too engrossed in his work.

You had done this a couple of times before, to accept your body for what it is and get comfortable with it. If you weren’t going to love it no one would do it for you. Finally the time was up and the artists were asked to pack up for the day.

You quickly got up from your stool putting the robe back on. You turned your back to Steve, stretching your muscles. You couldn’t wait to lay down on your comfy bed and just get out of here. But you knew you needed to have that inevitable conversation. You probably would never be able to look Steve in the eye after this.

You walked towards him as he was cleaning up his work station. “Fancy seeing you here” You cringed at your embarrassing attempt at a British accent.

“Hey there” He gave you a bashful smile scratching the back of his head “I didn’t expect to see you here”

“Right back at ya” you returned his smile, no longer feeling on edge. It was strange how his presence served to comfort you.

“You do this often” he asked casually. You couldn’t really hear any judgement in his tone, not what you would expect from a hundred year old.

“No not really. It just uh – I’m trying to love myself. Which I already do! Of course” you let out a nervous chuckle “just trying new things and stepping out of my comfort zone”

“That makes two of us” he said as he was done packing his bag, which he was deliberately doing at a slow pace. He didn’t want to leave. Not yet.

“Can I... Look at your painting?” You asked nervously. You didn’t know if you wanted to see his interpretation of your naked body, what if it was bad? But what if it was good? What if he was impressed by you...

“Uh it’s not done yet. And frankly I’m not that good”

“I seriously doubt that. I’ve seen the sketches in your office” You caught your slip of tongue. You couldn’t let him know about your borderline unhealthy obsession with him.

“Well, have a look then” he relented showing you his canvas.

You let out a breathe you didn’t even know you were holding at the painting. It was breath-taking. The woman looked like you, but why was she so beautiful and graceful? In the painting she was sitting on a stool, like you, in front of a tree admiring a rose in her hand. She was naked as well. It reminded you of classic Greek paintings where women weren’t perfect, but were celebrated for their imperfections.

“It’s amazing Steve. I – do I look like that?” You stammered not being able to tear your eyes off the painting.

He shook his head at your shock “On the contrary you look much better I’m glad you like it”

“You’re a great artist” you gushed

“I don’t know about that. I’ve seen much better” he said humbly.

You would argue with him. But you knew it would be of no use. Looking at the beautiful woman in the painting gave you the surge of confidence you needed “Steve, does the offer for that dinner still stand?” You straightened your back looking up to lock eyes with him.

“Yes” He blurted without even thinking “how about tomorrow evening?” He asked.

“Yes that will be awesome! You can pick me up at seven. I’ll text you the address“ you said making an mental note to do so.

You could hardly wait for your date. You didn’t really care about what your co-workers would think of you. As long as you were happy their opinions didn’t matter.

Tags will be in the reblog! If you want in on the taglist click the link in the bio or send me an ask!

Please do not steal or repost my works. Reblogs are welcome.

This was actually a request. But I can't fir the life of me find the person who requested it. I hope you see it babes❤

[miraculouswolf99]

I Put A Spell On You (Song Fic)

My first miraculous salt fic. Doubles as a song fic and a Halloween fic. Features the best song from the best Halloween movie of all time. Hocus Pocus.

*****

Adrien was happy. No one else in class knew why he had been smiling all day. Chloe was probably the only one in the room that knew why he was so happy today. But she was not going to tell anyone and ruin his day when Liar Rossi would would just use it to make up some more lies and ruin his happiness.

Things had not gotten better since the lying Italian had joined the class. Even though now that Marinette had transferred to Mendeleiev’s class, things had not gotten better. If anything, things had gotten worse since now Lila thought that she could not freely lie and manipulate almost non-stop with no one there to attempt to expose her.

The class was now half and half with who believed the liar and who doesn’t. The ones that don’t believe her being Adrien, Chloe, Nathaniel, Kim, and Juleka. Sabrina was decided to be a neutral part and not take a side. She listened to Lila’s tales, but normally stayed by Chloe’s side. Alya, Nino, Alix, Max, Ivan, Mylene, and Rose were all firmly on Lila’s side and nothing could ever change their minds.

Adrien had finally been starting to stand his ground against the liar since he had seen her chase Marinette away. He was reaching his wits end with her constantly hanging on his arm and never letting go when he asks or even demands her to. Adrien had managed to convince Bustier that he was too bust with his schedule to tutor Lila and that he would be better off sitting in the back with Nathaniel since it was more quiet than being next to Lila “never shuts up” Rossi.

“What are you so happy about today, Sunshine,” Nathaniel asked his friend.

“I have some friends coming today,” Adrien answered. “They were visiting their grandparents in the United States and decided to stop in France on their way back to their home in Greece. Their names are Lyon and Vallia Garden.”

“You know Greeks, cool,” Nathaniel said. “When did you meet them? Obviously it wasn’t a time close to now since you have not left the country and no Greeks have showed up here either, to my knowledge.”

“I met them about a year before my mom disappeared,” Adrien says. “Their family owns and operates an incredible animal and nature sanctuary that almost takes up the entire island they live on. They host a lot of charities there. Concerts, celebrity birthdays, auctions, art shows, even cooking contests. I was there with my parents for a charity fashion show.”

“Do you speak Greek or did they speak French,” Nathaniel was curious since he did know that Adrien already also spoke Mandarin and English.

“They speak French,” Adrien says. “They were the only ones there that were my age, so I was glad to have someone to talk to. We’ve kept in contact ever since.”

“Sounds great,” Nathaniel smiled at his friend. “Do they know about... everything going on?”

“Dear god, no,” Adrien stated. “Lyon is fiercely protective of his friends. He is a master archer and when he caught poachers trying to break into the sanctuary, he actually shot them all before calling the police.”

“I am not sure whether to be terrified of him when they come or in awe of him,” Nathaniel admitted.

“Nothing wrong with both, as Vallia would probably say,” Adrien chuckled. “I do admit that they can be pretty scary. Especially since when they help out at their family sanctuary, Lyon seems to have a way with their wolves and Vallia seems to be a lion whisperer.”

“I am both terrified and looking forward to meeting them,” Nathaniel nervously laughed. “I just hope Marc doesn’t faint when he learns this stuff about them. I love him, but we all know he is naturally timid.”

“I know,” Adrien chuckled. “Remember when he first met Kagami?”

“I will never let him live that down,” Nathaniel smirked, loving it when he is able to tease his boyfriend.

Before the two could continue their conversation, there was sudden yelling from outside the classroom and coming from the courtyard. It sounded like four people arguing, two of them not sounding like they were French.

“What is that,” Nathaniel wondered as they stood up.

“I’m a little worried to find out,” Adrien stated.

The two had stayed behind to chat after the bell rang and everyone else left for the day. They immediately left the classroom and looked over the railing and into the courtyard. They were soon joined by Marinette, Marc, Kagami, Aurore, and Mireille from Mendeleiev’s class, who had also heard the yelling.

“What’s going on,” Marinette immediately asked.

They all look over the rail. They see two people arguing quite loudly with Alya and Lila. They certainly were both unique-looking teens.

The first was a girl that was quite beautiful and had a grace and elegance to her style. She had long blond hair braided with roses and butterflies and had pink streaks. Her eyes were a stunning silver that you could see, if you were close enough, had specks of blue in them. Her style was a red, pink, and purple dawn colored dress with gold flats. On her wrists were diamond rose cuff bracelets, a butterfly on the one on her right wrist. 

The boy next to her gave off a very icy exterior that also screamed honor and loyalty that only a knight would have. A tall boy with hair that was actually black with streaks of white and blue in it, coming to the length of Adrien's. His eyes were the opposite of the girl's, blue with silver specks. His outfit of choice was a sky blue t-shirt under a white jean vest, matching the blue pants with white boots. On his hands were white fingerless gloves. Around his neck was a sword and shield pendant as well as a white cloak only going down to his knees. 

“Lyon, Vallia,” Adrien gasped.

“Those are your two friends from Greece, Adrien,” Kagami asked, Adrien having told her during their last fencing practice.

“Yeah,” Adrien said. “Their plane must have landed earlier than expected and they decided to come here.”

“Why are they arguing with Alya and Lila,” Mireille wondered.

“If it has something to do with that liar, it’s probably her fault,” Marc, of all people, stated.

It was a pretty open secret in the school that literally everyone but most of Bustier’s class, plus Bustier herself and Damocles, were all aware that Lila was nothing but a manipulative liar. In fact, most of them were shocked that the class, teacher, and principal believed her outlandish lies in the first place.

“Maybe Lila tried to cozy up to them and they caught her in a lie,” Marinette guessed.

“Lyon and Vallia do come from a rich family,” Adrien said. “Not only is their family known for their sanctuary, but they also have the largest jewel collection in the world. Like the medallions on their foreheads.”

They all looked and saw that the two did indeed have crystal medallions on their foreheads. Vallia’s was a rose quartz butterfly and Lyon’s was a sapphire wolf.

“What is up with that book that Lyon has,” Kagami noticed.

They all looked and saw that Lyon was holding a pretty large book that looked very old. It was bound with brown leather that had Frankenstein-like stitches all over it along with old silver metal on the cover as well. It also had a very large buckle.

“They did say they wanted to show me something,” Adrien said. “They went to the US to celebrate Halloween with their grandparents so maybe they got some type of prop and wanted to show it to me.”

They all quickly started to get into the courtyard and make their way over to the four. In a city plagued by a terrorist that uses negative emotions, arguments usually lead to someone getting akumatized.

“My brother does not worship the devil,” Vallia shouted at Alya and Lila.

“That book is a Book of Shadows,” Lila pointed at the book in Lyon’s hands. “It’s a tool of witchcraft, which is all about worshiping the devil. I should know. My great uncle is a world renown priest back in Italy.” 

“Not all witchcraft is devil worship, you pathetic liar,” Lyon sneered. “And there is no world famous priest in Italy since the last well-known one was arrested five years ago for killing people using fake exorsisms.”

(Reference to an episode of Criminal Minds.)

“Lila is not a liar,” Alya yelled. “You are, you devil witches.”

“This isn’t even a real spellbook,” Vallia screamed at them. “It’s a movie prop out grandparents won in an auction. They knew we loved Halloween, so they got us a prop from out favorite Halloween movie.”

“See, that proves you worship the devil,” Lila accused. “Halloween is a devil cult holiday, my great uncle proved that years ago but America rejected his facts and still celebrates it.”

“It is not,” Lyon yelled. “You are the worst liar I have ever come across. You should be ashamed to insult an entire holiday just because you don’t like it. Pathetic, just like all you other mythology copying Italians.”

(Reference to the Roman and Greek rivalry from Percy Jackson.)

“How dare you,” Lila screamed.

“Lyon, Vallia,” Adrien called. “Calm down.”

But it was too late. A black and purple butterfly already came flying down. It went inside of the book Lyon was holding. The butterfly outline appeared over his eyes.

“Your favorite holiday and your culture insulted all at once,” Hawkmoth says to him. “Hocus Pocus, I am giving you the power to right this wrong. All I ask is for the miraculous of the ladybug and black cat in return.” 

“I will show this liar some real magic,” Lyon said, transforming.

“What the hell,” Vallia gasped, backing away.

Lyon had changed into an almost male version of Winifred Sanderson. He was in a mostly green outfit with a green leather vest and pants with black leather boots that matched the black silk shirt under the vest. He also wore a long and shiny green cloak with a hood. He was still holding the book.

“Is it wrong that he actually looks hot in that outfit,” Adrien let slip, then instantly covered his mouth.

“Okay, we will come back to Adrien’s crush later,” Marinette stated. “For now, let’s run.”

Adrien immediately rushed forward and grabbed Vallia.

“Adrien,” Vallia was confused and worried. “What’s going on? What happened to Lyon?”

“Hawmoth is a terrorist here in Paris,” Adrien gave a quick explaination. “He takes advantage of negative emotions to turn normal people into his mind controlled villains.”

“Someone is mind controlling my brother,” Vallia was pissed. “When I get my hands on him, Hades will look like a puppy in comparison.”

“Maybe later, but we all need to hide so that Ladybug and Cat Noir can save your brother,” Adrien said.

Hocus Pocus then opened his book. He smirked as it glowed.

“Wicked ways beneath the skin, let all who taste it now join in,” he cast.

(Reference to Descendants 2.)

Out of the book came magical glowing chocolates. They all shot around the school and into the mouths of multiple people. It forced them to eat the magical treats, including Vallia, Nathaniel, Marc, and Kagami. Music then started playing out of nowhere as Hocus Pocus smirked again.

“Oh crud,” Adrien swore, running away along with the few students and staff that managed to avoid the chocolates. 

He transformed and was soon on the roof of the school. Ladybug soon joined him. But they were shocked that the school was now in a full-blown musical moment. Hocus Pocus took “center stage” with Vallia and Kagami as his main back-up singers.

“I put a spell on you And now you're mine You can't stop the things I do I ain't lyin'.”

“It's been three hundred years Right down to the day Now the witch is back And there's hell to pay.”

“I put a spell on you And now you're mine!”

Hocus Pocus seemed to have used the chocolates like mind control treats. Everyone that eaten one had was now dancing around the courtyard in very Halloween-like manors. Some even seemed to be doing Micheal Jackson’s Thriller moves.

Alya and Lila, who had not gotten chocolates, were not allowed to leave as the dancers forced them to stay in the courtyard.

“What the heck in going on,” Ladybug was so confused.

“I guess whatever movie his akuma form is based off of had a musical number in it,” Cat Noir guessed.

“I put a spell on you And now you're gone (Gone, gone, gone, so long!) My whammy fell on you And it was strong (So strong, so strong, so strong!)”

“Your wretched little lives Have all been cursed 'Cause of all the witches working I'm the worst.”

“I put a spell on you And now you're mine.”

Hocus Pocus walked around the courtyard as he sung, Vallia and Kagami making amazing back-up singers. Alya and Lila still looked terrified even with the catchy song playing around them.

“Even as a back-up singer, who would have thought that Kagami could sing,” Ladybug said.

“Yeah, no kidding,” Cat Noir agreed.

“(Watch out! Watch out! Watch out! Watch out! She ain’t lyin’)”

“If you don't believe, You better get superstitious.”

“I put a spell on you... I put a spell on you...”

“Ah say into pi, alpha maybe upendi!”

“Ah say into pi, alpha maybe upendi!”

“In comma-coriyama"

“In comma-coriyama”

"Hey hi, say bye-bye-i-i-i-i-i-i-i"

"Bye, bye"

The song ended with a pose from Hocus Pocus and his two back-up singers. He still had his menacing smirk on his face.

“I think it’s time our little liar had her own spell placed ob her,” Hocus Pocus stated. “Like... a truth spell, perhaps.”

Let’s just say that the heroes were petty and decided to let the liar’s kingdom fall before defeating the akuma. And Adrien was certainly glad to have his friend back and a really cool book from their favorite Halloween movie. He just wished that the name of the movie would stop slipping his mind. Oh well, gives him an excuse to talk with Lyon more.

[j0elmill3r]

A Brief Inquiry Into Online Relationships

Prologue

Series Masterlist

Chris Evans x Daughter!Reader

"Go down, soft sound, midnight, car lights"

Featuring: Chris Evans, Jaeden Martell, Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: None!

A/N: Alright! Welcome to my newest series, 'A Brief Inquiry Into Online Relationships'! I seriously hope you all enjoy this as much as I do! It's my first real person fic, so please be nice! If anyone wants to be added to the series taglist, please let me know! This is inspired by the album by The 1975, so please check out the track that is titled!

--

You had never liked the moving around part of your dad's job. But, luckily for you, his latest project, 'Knives Out' was primarily being shot in Boston which meant that you would be doing the absolute minimum moving around. Being raised by an actor, most people would have expected you to follow in your dad's footsteps and become an actor but you didn't find any interest in the art. Rather than acting, you were more than likely to be found in front of a camera for a different reason. You were Instagram famous from a modelling agency that had scouted you when you were younger. Most times, it would just be small stuff for your Instagram with the occasional sponsor. Growing up with Chris Evans as your dad, you never really had any boyfriend, or even normal friends. Most people in your school only wanted to be your friend because your dad was Captain America, but you could tell who was who. And plus, your dad would never allow you to have a boyfriend, right?

-

"Shit, shit, shit," You swore under your breath as your phone rang yet again. You were late, as per usual. "I get it, I hear you." You mumbled, hopping over to your bedside table while you got your shoe on.

"Y/N! You were supposed to be here half an hour ago,where the hell are you?!" Your dad yelled down the phone. You took your phone away from your ear and screwed your face up at the volume.

"Good morning to you too, dad," You mumbled. You could invision the unimpressed look on your dad's face. "And calm down, I'm on my way there right now, I'm just about to leave." You assured him. Chris sighed.

"Alright, I'll see you soon," He hung up. You slid your phone in your pocket and then ran down to the living room, making sure that all the doors and windows were shut and locked, then going to pet your dog goodbye. Dodger's head fell into your hand as you rubbed behind his ear, a satisified groan coming from him.

"Alright pal, I'll see you later," You said to him as you dusted your hands of the copper fur that he shed onto your hands. You left the house and got into your car, let out an exasperated sigh as your head hit the headrest. You drove to where your dad was filming and flashed the badge they had given you at security. You got into the set and looked around for your dad, but on your way there accidentally bumping into someone. You fell back onto your ass and groaned. "Ow, shit." You mumbled, checking to see if you had skinned your palms.

"Oh my God, I'm sorry. Are you alright?" You looked up at did a double take. You weren't an idiot, you knew who that was. You had literally just bumped into Jaeden Martell. Nodding, you pushed yourself up and smiled at hiim.

"Yeah, I'm alright. My fault, I should have watched where I was going," You said, putting your hands up. Jaeden smiled at you and nodded. "I'm Y/N." You introduced yourself to him.

"I-uh, I know," Jaeden stammered. He interally kicked himself, knowing that he sounded like he was stalking you. "I follow you on Instagram, I didn't mean for that to sound weird. I'm Jaeden." He cleared up, then introducing himself. You giggled at him and his behaviour.

"It didn't sound weird, trust me, I live with Chris Evans, I know weird," You assured him. "Speaking of my dad, you don't happen to know where he is, do you?" You asked him.

"I'm pretty sure that I saw him go onto the set, I can take you there if you want?" He offered. Jaeden didn't know what he was doing, he felt like he was entranced by you. If he was to be honest, you were the prettiest person he had ever spoken to, and Jaeden had spoken to a lot of people.

"Sure, you can lead the way," You said, holding your arm out and making Jaeden laugh. He led you to the house where they were filming and you looked up, almost falling back again.

"Do you have a balance problem?" He asked you, a sarcastic laugh leaving his lips. You rolled your eyes as you turned to look at him.

"No, I just suffer from a severe case of dumb bitch syndrome," You deadpanned. You were confused at how comfortable you felt around Jaeden, normally, it took you a while to get comfortable around people, but this was different. You looked up at the stairs leading up to the house and saw your dad coming down towards you and Jaeden.

"There you are! You finally made it," Your dad said, putting his arms around you like he always did when he saw you. "Oh, Jaeden, I see you met my daughter, Y/N." Chris said, standing back to look at both of you.

"Well, technically we bumped into each other, I was too busy looking for you," You said, narrowing your eyes at your dad. Chris held his hands up in defense and chuckled.

"Listen, Y/N, I have to go, but we should talk again," Jaeden suggested. You smiled and nodded.

"Alright, I'll see you around," You said, watching as he walked away. You turned back around to look at your dad, who had crossed his arms over his chest. "What do you even need me here for today anyway?" You asked your dad.

"I missed you and I heard you say you needed some new friends, you and Jaeden are both the same age, it could work out and you could both be friends," Your dad said. You huffed out and rolled your eyes. "What?"

"Nothing, I just didn't think you'd try to get me friends of the opposite gender," You teased him of his protectiveness. "And I have plenty of friends!" You said, sounding extremely offended. Your dad laughed incredulously and shook his head.

"Y/N, you were literally complaining about how much you hated your current group of friends a couple of days ago," Your dad said. You sighed and slumped your shoulders. "Just, give him a shot, okay? Don't be so pessimistic, honey, you're too pretty to have a mad little face." He said. Chris pinched your cheek and you groaned as you slapped his hand away gently.

"Dad, stop it!" You whined. Chris chuckled and sighed. "Can I go now?" You asked him. Chris nodded and brought you in for another hug, one that this time you returned. Chris kissed the top of your head and then let you go.

"Alright, just promise to stay on the set and try to make friends with Jaeden?" He asekd you.

"Okay, I promise,"

--

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