#i usually refrain from making sweeping generalizations but-

[ariaofsorrows]

tate mcrae is from alberta. her working with a full blown conservative was inevitable

[local-ground-apple]

May i request for some headcanons on how riddle,azul,vil and malleus would react to a fem!s/o who’s an insanely good badminton player. Would they support her during her games? Would they attempt to play with? How would they react when she dominates the court against both NRC and RSA has students?💛

I love this request~~~!! 💛 💛 It was fun to write. Pardon me for starting with Malleus

🐲 at first he didn’t understand the hype behind sports, especially badminton. But when you shyly invited Malleus to come cheer for you and give you mental support on your match, he was…overjoyed,

,,Could you, perhaps, if you have time, of course....come to my badminton match?” 

Malleus: *happy invited noises*

🐲 needless to say, he and his Diasomnia squad who tagged along had the front row all to himself. People politely moved away from his intimidating aura. The mere fact that Malleus Draconia came to sport competition shocked absolutely everyone, including Crowley,

🐲 he was awkward at first, not really knowing how he should behave. Malleus is royalty after all and he has a certain image to maintain. But for you, just seeing his gentle smile and feeling his eyes fixated on your form is more than enough to give you mental support,

,,Ufufufu~~ Sebek, mayhap you could show Malleus how cheering looks like?” “Yes, Lilia-sama”

🐲 you had undoubtedly the loudest cheering out of all contestants and to think that it was just one person. Sebek’s screaming woke up Silver who almost had a heart attack, Malleus took mental notes to always bring Sebek with himself on your next matches, while Lilia was wheezing

,,Y/N-SAMA DESTROY THEM. ARAHHHHH YOU GOT IT”

🐲 Lilia is the definition of “You’re doing amazing sweetie” taking multiple pictures of you,

🐲 after a match, practically deaf Malleus came to see and gently took you in his arms, tightly hugging you, as his hands gently caressed your back. He’s softly whispering how good you were, 

,,Malleus I’m sweaty” “You were absolutely amazing, darling” “Malleus-“ “Your skills are truly admirable, you were able to defeat every team. I’m overflowing with proudness” “You’re not listening, right?”

🐲 Malleus wasn’t surprised you had dominated the court and crashed RSA and NRC students. After all, you’re an endearing human who has great badminton skills, 

🐲 Malleus may have hard time trying to express his support for you, but he truly does his best. After each game, he makes sure to tell you how much he loves you, how amazing you were, all that while showering you with gentle kisses,

🐲 after long pestering and Lilia’s interference, Malleus finally agreed to play with you. You soon regretted this, 

🐲 Malleus claimed that he had never tried this game before (which was true) and he asked you to show him some basic moves and practice them with him until he got a grasp of them. He swore he wouldn’t be using any magic for his own benefit (he’s a man of his word)

🐲 you forgot that he’s an ancient fae, whose senses are more sensitive than yours. Malleus is faster and has better reflexes than humans, so after five minutes you were having a hard time keeping up with him, 

,,You’re a fast learner” “Oh, Lilia used to say this to me all the time” “YAH, Malleus play like human”

🐲 Lilia was quick to remind him to tone down his abilities, 

🥀 Riddle is very supportive, he’s your fan number #1. He may not show it in front of everyone, but he’s always cheering for you and crossing his fingers that you will win, 

🥀 your personal hype squad that Riddle always drags with him to your matches is the definition of chaotic support. Cater takes pictures of you while screaming at the top of his lungs “Y/N-CHAN DESTROY THEM” . Ace and Deuce are chanting your name while holding big ass banners of you. Trey is definition of “you’re doing great sweetie” and he has a water bottle as well as healthy snacks prepared for you after the match. Riddle is aggressively clapping and soon he joins the first years,

🥀 you have a celebration tea parties a lot. A LOT. After each match Riddle has always prepared something for you,

🥀 Riddle showers you in compliments after each won game. If you somehow lose one, he’s there with strawberry tarts and fine tea to cheer you up,

🥀 he is beaming with proudness when you win against every team and snatch the first price. He won’t shut up about this for weeks. Literally,

🥀 Riddle lets you train in Heartslabyul gardens. If you need a professional couch or another player, he will gladly arrange that for you. He sometimes watches you practice, admiring your passion and dedication, 

🥀 at first, Riddle was rather reluctant to play badminton with you. You assured him with a playful smile that you would be lenient with him. Surprisingly, Riddle really enjoys your small match and shyly asks you for another round. You happily agree, 

🥀 you both are often seen together playing badminton in Heartslabyul gardens and Cater always coos at how cute you both are,

🥀 pretty sure, Cater runs a fanpage of yours. You always get embarrassed when he floods you with your pictures and shows you how popular your fansite is, 

,,Cater, I suggest you to refrain from making Y/N flustered, otherwise it’s off with your head”

🐙 Azul did his research when you briefly mentioned you’re playing badminton. He watched few videos, read rules of the game and generally familiarised himself with that discipline,

🐙 he’s really supportive, even though he’s not into sports. Azul won’t miss any of your games. Any. 

🐙 expect him to sit in the front row with Leech twins. He may not be shouting and cheering loudly for you as Floyd does, but just a mere glance at this beaming with happiness octopus who clap for you is more than enough,

🐙 when you dominate the court and destroy both NRC and RSA students, he’s extremely proud and doesn’t even hide it. Azul is quick to sweep you off the ground and twirl you around, while pressing kisses all over you and breathing praises in between.

,,Azul, I’m sweaty” “I don’t mind” “Azuuul~~~”

🐙 Azul doesn’t excel at sports so he was more than reluctant to actually play with you. He’s clumsy and since you’re such insanely good player, he can’t help but feel insecure in your presence. Yet, you assure him that you will go easy on him and just teach him some basic moves

,,Come on, I will teach you~!” “I’m rather a busy businessman, angelfish” “I prepared a contract” “A contract, you say?”

🐙 let’s just say, you promised that for each point Azul gains, you would give him a kiss,

🐙 Leech twins will be having the time of their life catching discreet glances from bushes at the two of you trying to play. When they see clumsy Azul desperately trying to score at least one point, while you casually block each of his attacks, they can’t help but burst in laughter

🐙 Azul may say it loud, but he does enjoy those little playing sessions. It’s a nice alternative from his usual routine and may I say, he finds you absolutely stunning when you play,

👑 he’s your hype man#1

👑 you will be the best dressed badminton player ever. Vil likes to make you try multiple tennis skirts, shorts, tops and t-shirts to find the best one. You’re the only female around, so obviously you have to look the best,

👑 you wear designer clothes and Vil is certainly doting on you right before the match, wanting to make sure you would look absolutely stunning in every moment of the game,

,,Vil, don’t apply make-up on me, it will get smeared and I will be sweaty” “Trust me darling, when I apply it, it won’t smear at all”

👑 he was right. You came to the match in impeccable outfit, with flawless, delicate make-up and perfectly styled hairstyle. No one would look better than you,

👑 Rook for sure is taking pictures of you from trees, while Epel is the photograph on the land. Vil has a whole album from your different matches, 

👑 Vil absolutely savors the moment when you dominate the court against RSA and NRC students, especially if Neige is playing too. He’d be like: “everyone, this is MY girlfriend!!”, Let’s just say he will be boasting about your success everywhere, casually bringing this topic, 

👑 Vil is rather organised and after a won match he has everything prepared. Healthy snack to rebuild your energy? checked. Small make-up bag to brush up any eventual imperfections? checked. Some towels so you could sweep off sweat? checked. Water bottle? checked. 

👑 Vil won’t hug you though, not until you take a shower. But he will immediately praises and compliment you, while he’s fixing your hair

,,You did amazing, darling. I enjoyed the look of absolute defeat on Neige’s face when you crushed them” 

👑 Vil knows that you’re the best, but he’s sure you could be even better. There’s always room for improvement, right? He’s in charge of your diet, making sure you’re eating healthy food. Vil even planned your trainings, gets a coach for you and ensures you attend them,

👑 he acts like your stylist, coach, dietician and boyfriend - all in one, 

👑 Vil agreed to play with you, saying it’s a nice break from his usual exercises. After he got a hang of it, it turned out he’s actually pretty good and you’re often seen playing some matches together. Rook always appears out of nowhere and coos that you’re both the most beautiful badminton couple ever,

,,Mon lapin!!! Quelle beauté!!!” “Rook, stop being so close to her!”

[pluto-writes]

Drunken Confessions| Haru Kato

A/n: I needed a drunk, blushing Haru in my life, say thank you to episode four everyone. Also, I just realized my birthday lands on the same day ep 5 comes out (〃^∇^)ﾉ very happy about that. (I know I said requests are closed but;;; if any Haru fans wanna... you can.) Not proof read, I’m tired and just wanted this done.

Words: 3k

It has officially been two years since you’ve joined the Modern Crime division, and to celebrate your accomplishment, your colleagues decided to have a small gathering for you.

Everyone was congratulating you, and praising you for your service and dedication for the past couple years. It warmed your heart knowing how much everybody cared about you. Mahoro even brought you some of your favorites candies as well, and it definitely made your night so much better.

It all ended too soon for your liking, but it was getting late and everyone still had to go to work early the next morning. The only person who hasn’t left yet was Kato Haru, a fellow co-worker of yours who started working in the same division not that long before you. You guys had that in common, and naturally drifted towards each other.

Now that you think about it, you hadn’t seen much of him tonight. You didn’t realize that earlier since you were too busy being surrounded by people.

“You’re not leaving, (L/n)-san?” 

“No,” you answered, walking around the room collecting the leftover trash left laying about, “I’m gonna hang back and clean up. It’s the least I can do since everyone was kind enough to host a party for me.” 

“Then I’ll help you too,” you heard the sound of wood clattering. You looked over to where you heard it and saw Kato grabbing a broom and dust pan.

Dumping the empty cans and used napkins into the garbage, you went over to him and attempted to take the supplies from him, “It’s fine, Kato-san. Really. I can do this myself.”

“It’s no problem,” he shook his head at you. “Plus, I can’t ignore someone in need of help!” He flashed you a pure smile as he continued to sweep the floor. You can’t believe how generous he was sometimes. 

He always made a point of helping others, even when it wasn’t necessary, or didn’t benefit him in any way. Maybe that’s why you fell for him so hard.

Taking a deep breath to calm your beating heart, you responded with a simple, “Thank you.” And continued with your cleaning. You tried your best to not invade his personal space, being alone with him and doing something so domestic as cleaning reminded you of things old married couples would do together. 

After a couple minutes, the room was back in its original state. You had to admit, if Kato didn’t help you, it would've taken you longer to finish.

“You did a good job cleaning,” you commented. He was both fast and efficient, it wasn’t a half assed job.

His face grew red from the compliment, “It’s nothing. Just something I learned since I live alone,” he rubbed the nape of his neck nervously. 

“I see…” The atmosphere grew slightly awkward since you couldn’t think of anything else to say. “Well, I’ll be going now, Kato-san. Thank you for all your hard work.”

“Actually…” He called out right before you left, “I was wondering if you’d want to come to my place.” You stared back at him, confused as to why he would suddenly invite you to his apartment. Unless he meant- “N-not in tha-that way, o-of course! It’s just that…” He cleared his throat before speaking again. “I have a bottle of soju for you and I left it home.”

“Is that all? Then you can just give it to me tomorrow, there’s no need to trouble yourself.”

“It won’t be any trouble at all. Besides, it’s for you to celebrate this occasion. Wouldn’t be much of a gift if I don’t give it to you the day of.”

Knowing how stubborn he was, and how he won’t let this go, you agreed with him and followed him back home. The walk there was peaceful, and conversation seemed to flow more easily now that you were out of work.

There were a few times where you caught yourself walking too close to him that you felt his hands graze past yours, you had the urge to hold his hand and keep walking like nothing happened. But you refrained yourself from doing so, he was a co-worker, and it would be unprofessional to do so. 

The two of you finally made it to his apartment, you trailed behind him as you walked up the stairs. It was a normal apartment complex, rightfully sized for someone who lived alone. 

Once you reached the door, Kato unlocked it and stepped inside. “You can wait here, it’s too cold to wait outside.” He started to take off his shoes, and placed them on the floor, then ventured further into his apartment. 

You listened and waited for him at the entrance hall. This was your first time at his place despite knowing him for two years, it had just never come up. You took everything in, it was a tad messy but you knew that just meant it was well lived in. 

Looking around more you saw some magazines laying on the table, and all his pots and pans hanging on the kitchen wall. ‘That’s right… he can cook too. I wonder if I’ll be able to try it one day.’

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” his voice broke you out from your thoughts. “Here you go.” He handed the bottle of soju in a bag over to you with a smile. You smiled back at him.

“Thank you, Kato-san.” You peered into the bag, and saw how much he had actually given you. The bottle was huge! You thought it would be those 12-ounce bottles.

Your shock must have been visible since he asked you, “Do you not like the flavor I picked out?”

“No, no. That’s not it all. It’s just a lot of alcohol. Especially considering that I don’t think I’ll be able to drink all of this by myself.”

“Let’s open the bottle now then! It’ll be a lot less lonely if we drink it together. And I can see your reaction when you try it too!” He got himself excited thinking about it. “You can leave your shoes here, and wait for me at the table. I’ll bring some shot glasses and something to snack on as well.” He walked off towards his kitchen.

You checked the time on your phone, ‘Just one drink won’t hurt, would it?’ You thought as you bent down to take off your shoes, and left them neatly against the wall.

You walked to the table and sat down on the floor. Curious, you opened the bottle and took a whiff. It didn’t smell strongly of alcohol, it smelled more like something fruity. But you knew that was deceiving and wouldn’t want to drink too much of it.

Turning the bottle around, it revealed the sticker on the front that showed a picture of a strawberry. “So it’s strawberry flavored… hm…”

“Yeah,” Kato came back, placing a plate filled with snacks on the table, then put a shot glass in front of you and one in front of him. “Have you tried it before?”

“No. I don’t drink that much, so this will be my first time drinking soju too.” You gave the bottle to Kato, and allowed him to pour some into your cup. Once it was filled, you took the cup and waited for him to fill his own. 

“Then I’m honored to share your first drink of soju. This stuff is really good.” After his cup was filled, he lifted the glass towards you, “For two years!” 

“For two years!” You cheered after him and clicked your glasses together. You drank the liquid, and felt it run down your throat. It didn’t give you a burning sensation as other drinks do, and tasted pleasant. You could totally see yourself drinking more, but you knew that if you did you’d regret it the next day. “This tastes really good!”

“Right!?” He began to pour himself a second cup, “I usually don’t get this one for myself, but I figured you’d like it.” You were still on your first cup, you wanted to take it slow and savor it. You could always drink more another day. You could feel yourself start to loosen up with the alcohol in your system. 

You continued talking with Kato, and saw him slowly start to lose his filter. You were right to not drink too much, he seemed like the type to handle his alcohol, but his face got flushed with each couple sips and his words began to slur together. 

It was cute seeing his composer dissolve, since he’s always professional at work and took his job seriously. Getting to see this side of him was worth

“Ugh.. And don’t get me started on Kambe… He’s insufferable.” He mumbled into his glass as he drank more, “Thinks money is the answer to everything.” You guys somehow got onto the topic of your colleagues, giving your opinions on them and retelling stories about them that made both of you laugh. 

Before he could rant more about Kambe, you interrupted him. “Can I ask you something, Kato-san?”

“Go ahead.”

“I’ve been thinking, we’ve worked together for a while. And we’re somewhat close, right?” He nodded along to what you were saying. “Can I call you by your first name?” He froze as you said that, and covered his face with his hand. 

“Ah! Uhm…” His face grew hotter. 

“I understand if that’s too much! It’s just that, the Chief calls you by your given name. You can call me by my first name too!”

He averted his eyes, “D-don’t… Don’t tease me like that…”

“What do you mean?”

“When you say stuff like that... It gives me hope.” He laid his head on the table, his cheek resting against the cool wood. “It makes me think that I’m not reading anything wrong… That you might like me back…”

“You like me!?” You asked, shocked. “I’m sure there are other people who are much better than me.”

“Tha-that’s not true! Not one… one bit! You are an amazing person!” He sat up in his seat, and used his hands to prop himself on the table. “You make me want to improve myself.. And do right by you…”

He leaned over the table, his face closing in on yours, close enough that you can smell the faint scent of alcohol from his breath. “There are too many reasons to list…”  With him directly in front of you, you could see how clouded he eyes looked from the liquor. 

He brought his face in front of yours, and closed the remaining distance between your lips. His lips locked onto yours, and he pressed deeper into the kiss. Stunned by the abrupt kiss, your mind didn’t register what was happening until a couple seconds later. 

“Wa-wait!” You shoved him off of you. He whined at the loss of contact, and breathed heavily as he regained his breath. “We shouldn’t be doing this! You’re drunk right now! I don’t want to take advantage of that.”

“Ah…” He touched his lips, “Your lips felt so soft…” The blush on his face intensified. Deciding that enough was enough, and that you wanted to stop anything further from happening, you stood up and went to his side.

“Haru.” You said sternly, your eyes strict, clearly showing you meant business.

“Y-yes!?”

“I think it’s time you went to bed.”

“Bed!?” His eyes widened. “(L/n)-san! Don’t you think this is going too fast!?”

“Not us. Just you. You’ll thank me later when you’re more sober.” You picked him up from under his arm and guided him to his bed, and gently laid him there. “Go to sleep.”

“Huh? But I’m … I’m not tired…” Knowing that was bullshit with the amount he drank, you humored him until he eventually fell into a drunken stupor. 

You pulled out your phone and looked at the time, “It’s way too late to leave now…” You said to yourself. “I guess I can fix things up around here.” You checked on Kato again to make sure he was sleeping before you cleaned up the table and carefully stashed the strawberry soju, just in case he woke up in the middle of the night and wanted to drink more.

Once you finished clearing the table, you headed towards the kitchen. “Pardon the intrusion.” You looked in the cabinets to find a cup and to hopefully find a cloth of some sorts. After you found a cup, you filled it up with water and placed it on the table next to his bed. 

“I still need to find something to put on his head…” You whispered to yourself, “The bathroom maybe? And I could probably find some painkillers as well.”

You opened the door to his bathroom, then opened the mirror cabinet that was above the sink. You ended up finding a bottle of Advils. ‘Jackpot.’ Twisting the cap open with a satisfying pop, you took out two gel pills. As you were putting everything back in its place, you caught sight of a hand towel laying on top of the rim of the bathtub.

You grabbed the towel too, so that you can use it to cool him down. Now back at his side again, you placed the two pills next to the glass of water, so when he woke up he’ll see it and take them. 

With a sigh, you walked back into the kitchen and ran the hand towel under cold water. You yawned as you made it back to Kato, and gently sat the cool towel on his forehead. He was still knocked out, and lightly snored with every exhale. 

Tired from everything that had happened today, you became drowsy, and watched as his chest rises and falls as he breathes. You eventually fell asleep, your head resting on his mattress. 

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

Sunlight shined past the curtains and hit Kato directly in the face, “Ugh..” He groaned as he sat up. “My head is killing me…” He rubbed his face, trying to collect his thoughts from last night. His eyes then landed on you, your body was splayed across the floor next to his bed. “(L/n)-san...?” 

He got out of his bed too fast, causing his blood to rush to his head and face plant onto the floor next to you. The thud of his body woke you up from your slumber. “Mmh…? You up yet, Kato-san?”

“You can say that…” He sat up straight on the floor, “My head hurts even more now…”

“Oh,” you peeled yourself off the floor and picked up the water and pills, “here.”

“Thank you,” he quickly popped the pills into his mouth and drank the water. 

“You probably won’t feel better for another hour or so... “

“It’s fine…” 

You shuffled in your spot, feeling awkward by what had taken place the night before. “Uhm… Kato-san, can I borrow your kitchen? I can make you something to help with your hangover.” 

“Hangover…? That’s right, we drank together didn’t we?” 

“Mhm,” you agreed. “You more so than me though.” You stood up and walked over to the kitchen, opening the fridge to see what you could make.

“What do you mean?”

Choosing to at least spare him of the embarrassment, you left some of the truth out. “You got really drunk, and started ranting about our co-workers.” 

“I- I didn’t say anything weird, did I?” He asked you worriedly. 

You pretended to think about it, “Hm...No. I don’t think so.” You took out a few ingredients before you spoke again. “You can go take a bath while I cook. You wouldn’t want to show up to work smelling like alcohol.”

“Right… I’ll go wash up.”

He left his spot and headed towards the bathroom. After he left, you let out a deep breath. “Ahhh!” You covered your face with your hands, “How am I supposed to face Kato-san now!?” You graced your bottom lip with your finger, “His lips… were soft too… But I can’t tell him about that! I’d die due to humiliation!”

While you were contemplating on what to do, you failed to notice the footsteps closing in on you. “(L/n)-san?” 

Startled by his voice, you jumped. “K-kato-san! What are you doing?”

“Oh, I forgot to take my clothes with me,” he gestured by shaking them in his hand, “and I wanted to make sure you were able to find what you needed.”

“Yeah, I found what I needed. Thank you for checking in on me.” He went back into the bathroom, and you heard the sound of the water running follow after. “I can’t make it obvious, or he’ll catch on. He’s really good at reading people. All I can do now is finish cooking breakfast, head to work, and throw myself into the void, to never be seen again.”

A few minutes later, Kato came out of the bath with a towel around his neck, his hair was still dripping. “You were right, (L/n)-san. I did thank you later.” 

You glanced over to him, “See, I told you so.” You arranged the food neatly on the plate and placed it on the table. 

He put his hands together, “Thanks for the food!”

You repeated after him, “Thanks for the food.”

Kato took a few bites of the food and smiled at the taste, “This is really good! You really are an amazing person.” You dropped your food as he said that. ‘Shit, he knew. He had to have known.’

“Umm… Kato-san… I-”

“I hope you know I really meant it, even if I was drunk. And what happened about calling me Haru,” he smirked at you, “(Y/n).”

“H-haru…” You tested his name out, still nervous about everything that’s happening. “I think you’re an amazing person too…”

“Glad we’re on the same page now. Let’s finish the food before it gets too cold, I wouldn’t want to put your cooking to waste.”

[fandomlurker]

A Ponderous Rewatch: Pavlov’s Mice and Cameo

So thanks to Tumblr nerfing my ability to make an admittedly absurdly long post combining the previous episode rewatch with this one, I had to do this entry in two parts.

But at least now we’re in for the real treat: The first episode in airing order that’s animated by TMS Entertainment. And hey, even the Animaniacs show itself seems to acknowledge that this is special, because theme song rhyme is…

We're Animanie! Totally insane-y!~

Pinky and the Brainy!~

…which hasn’t been done since their debut. So this is gonna be fun.

Might as well get this out of the way, then, since this episode obviously involves Ivan Pavlov. I think most people who know of Pavlov through cultural osmosis pretty much know him as just “that one scientist who got dogs to respond to the sound of bells as if they were being offered food”. This is what happened, but it’s only part of the story. In reality, Ivan Pavlov was doing research on the physiology of digestion in dogs and he noticed one day that the dogs he was studying started to drool in the mere presence of the lab technician who regularly fed them even if the technician didn’t have food with them. Pavlov developed a way to redirect the dogs’ digestive juices outside of the body so that they could be measured, and then he ran some conditioning experiments to see if he could get them to salivate in response to external stimuli that had nothing to do with food, like ringing a bell.

The year in the title card, 1904, was the year Ivan Pavlov was awarded the Nobel Prize for the previously mentioned experiments, which he published the results of in “The Work of the Digestive Glands” in 1897. Basically, by 1904 he was done with his work with dogs and he moved on to experimenting with mice…at least according to this article in National Geographic by Virgina Hughes.

With that, let’s begin the episode proper.

“At the dawn of the 20th century, Russian scientist, Ivan Pavlov, trained animals through his technique of conditioned reflex” says the narrator as we zoom in on a laboratory with Pavlov and our lovable mouse duo.

“Time to earn your dinner, my little mousey friends!”

It’s interesting how Pinky is the one that flinches uncomfortably at the loud sound of the gong while Brain simply snaps into his conditioned response. And that response? Uhhh…

“I’m a little teapot, short and stout.~”

“This is my handle, this is my spout.~”

(Is he…you know…?)

“When I get all steamed up, hear me shout!~”

“Tip me over and pour me out.~”

Oh no… This is a cute and funny scene and all, but when you know about Brain’s canonical issues with how he hates not being in control of a situation and all the traumas he’s endured (for those of you not in the know, yes, Brain does have a lot of trauma in his backstory that we learn about much later, both in the 90s spin-off and the reboot) regarding both general control and losing family and friends…there’s a bitter tinge to this scene.

He’s so embarrassed and humiliated.

He takes the cheese but he is positively fuming with rage, and I can’t exactly blame him from what I know about him.

This is made all the worse by Pinky’s innocent reaction to Brain’s little song and dance.

“Hahahahaha! Wonderful! Hahaha! EGAD, Brain, I could watch you do that dance all day! Haha, narf!”

For Pinky, this is harmless silliness and he gets to see Brain sing and dance and “have fun”, which is not a usual occurrence. But for Brain? Well...

“You have watched it all day, Pinky. Sixty-one times, to be exact. It’s a conditioned reflex to that infernal gong.”

“I’m powerless to stop it!”

Well, Brain, at the very least it’s not like you were a part of a more inhumane experiment like one regarding, say, learned helplessness or anything. …Oh wait. Whoops. (For those sensitive to animal abuse, I suggest refraining from clicking on the second link, and caution against clicking on the first if even more clinical text descriptions of such would upset you. The third link is spoilers for the reboot.)

All that aside, it seems like it’s Pinky’s turn. He gets the more traditional bell chime for his stimulus.

And the result is him going into an uncontrollable and very enthusiastic Slavic folk dance.

With violent results. I hope you appreciate that last screencap, as the animation goes by so quickly I had a lot of trouble isolating the part where Pinky kicks Brain and he goes flying.

Pinky is all too happy to get a reward of cheese, his favourite food, for doing something that he has no memory of.

“What’cha doin’ over there, Brain?”

“Contemplating your afterlife, Pinky.”

That’s not exactly fair, Brain, you know he has no control over this. To Brain’s credit, though, he doesn’t bop him or anything for kicking him involuntarily.

Pavlov leaves, playfully saying that he hopes the mice dream of cheese tonight, and the mice are immediately down to business.

“At last, he’s gone.”

“Now we can begin our conquest of the world!”

We’re already back to it being “our” conquest of the world, eh?

“Behold my latest creation, Pinky: The Vacuum-o-nator.”

Brain has never been good with naming things, has he? At least, not so far. I wonder if this will continue throughout the franchise?

Pinky is certainly very happy and impressed, though.

“It uses reverse air pressure to vacuum everything toward it.”

You know, I was just about to roast Brain for thinking that making a very odd version of a vacuum cleaner was such a brilliant thing, but then I remembered that this takes place in 1904. The vacuum cleaner as we know it was “invented independently by British engineer Hubert Cecil Booth and American inventor David T. Kenney” in 1901 according to Wikipedia, and portable vacuums were available to the general public starting in 1905.My apologies, Brain, that actually is very impressive.

Although, this all hinges on if the viewer considers episodes that take place in the past and/or at different locations than Acme Labs California to be mere Alternate Universe/What If? stories or Brain and Pinky using some kind of time machine to go to a different place and time for these episodes. (Before you tell me that this is just a cartoon and sicc the Please, Please Get a Life Foundation on me, I do this to have fun and maybe educate myself and the reader along the way. I promise I have a life. Barely.)

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Pinky?”

“Uhh… Yeah, Brain! But where are we gonna find rubber pants our size?”

Pinky, that’s… Listen, folks, don’t make the same mistake I did and google “rubber pants”. It’s not what you think it is. You will be disappointed.

BONK!

Seems like you’re enjoying yourself there, Pinky.

“No, Pinky. We’re going to use the Vacuum-o-nator to steal Russia’s crown jewels!”

Man, the animation for even this one small proclamation by Brain is so, so good. Brain standing authoritatively and holding the pen like a scepter or spear, the grand sweep of his arm as he says “no”, the serious and slightly menacing expression on his face, a violent and grabby swing of his arm on the word “steal”,  and a dramatic point and look up towards the sky when he finishes. TMS does great work, folks.

“Narf! Genius, Brain!”

Look at Brain’s satisfied smile at Pinky’s simple compliment. Remember what I said earlier about Brain going through his explanations to show off to and  impress Pinky? At this point I’m absolutely convinced that that’s why Brain turns up the theatrics more than necessary when going through his plans. After all, Pinky is (oddly and rather sadly) the only one in-universe who thinks Brain is a genius and a good person.

…Of course, the effect can sometimes be lessened by subsequent innocent bumbling.

“Turn it off, Pinky.”

He says this so exasperatedly yet so deadpan at the same time, it’s great.

“Oh! Right-o!”

Even Pinky immediately knows that he fucked up.

“Zort! Whew! Wild hairdo, Brain! Heh heh, I like it.”

He even pets Brain’s “hairdo”, aww. And though I personally could take or leave the ‘do, I like the pointed, sharp look this mishap’s given to his ears.

BONK!

“Now I feel cleansed.”

Okay, this one might have been a little too much, Brain.

“But Brain, aren’t the crown jewels always guarded by giant Cossacks?”

Well, Pinky, from what I know Cossacks were usually used extensively in the police force and as border guards during this time, so I guess that’s possible?

Brain picking the lock with the pen is a fun little detail.

“Don’t worry about the guards… For tonight, Pinky, at precisely 1 am, there’s a total lunar eclipse. “

Again, this is probably not a thing the average person could look up quickly and easily in the 90s and the writers most likely didn’t care about accuracy here, but there were no total lunar eclipses in 1904. There were some penumbral lunar eclipses in March and September of that year, though. Just a fun fact for you folks.

“The Earth’s shadow will completely cover the moon, blacking out all of St. Petersburg for a period of 30 seconds.”

Brain…?!? Brain, how did you get the diagram on that piece of paper to animate like that? What kind of Harry Potter-style magic bullshit is this?

I know this is a cartoon and all and I’m not truly upset but this honestly came out of nowhere and made me do a double-take.

“In that brief time, we will sneak past the Czar’s guards under the cover of darkness and steal the crown jewels…for he who controls the jewels controls Mother Russia!”

More dramatics!

“But…I thought your mother’s name was Désirée?”

I love Brain’s pose here. Very grumpy and sassy.

As for Pinky’s comment: We do get to meet Brain’s parents way later in the spin-off, though neither are addressed by any name. I’m taking this joke as canon anyway because it’s funny.

Well, well, well… Looks like we’re shaking things up a bit with an inking instead of a bonk. That’s gonna be a pain to get out of his white fur, though.

“Soon, Pinky, I will rule Russia…so from now on, call me Czar.”

Another sassy hand-on-hip pose.

“Right-o, Brain!”

“—eek! Czar Brain!”

“Come along, Pinky… Conquest awaits!”

Nice to know that despite the inking, Pinky’s still following him anyway. Plus he’s doing it with that fond look on his face again. Hmm…

What follows is a cute and ingenious sequence of Brain launching Pinky and himself through an open window via the spring force of a mousetrap. It goes by very quickly, but I just wanted to highlight a few things I managed to notice while pausing through it. Kudos to the animators again for these little details.

Pinky’s the one that wraps one arm around Brain’s shoulders so that Brain has both hands free to spring the mousetrap properly and so that they’ll be launched together.

Interestingly enough, Pinky’s the cautious one who braces for impact right away while Brain gleefully flies through the air with his arms outstretched.

The “camera” changes perspective and while Brain is still boldly flying forward with confidence, Pinky is still worried but has now opened his eyes as they fly towards the window.

Pinky’s still holding onto Brain and the Vacuum-o-nator as tight as he can. As they get closer to the window, however…

…Pinky seems to realize he’s going to smash into the wall above the window if he doesn’t let go, so he lets go of Brain. Brain doesn’t realize where his trajectory is taking him.

Pinky angles himself downward and through the open window, but it’s too late for Brain.

WHAM! RIP, Brain.

But his pain is not done! It looks like Pinky’s landing was in the soft snow. Meanwhile, Brain slides down onto the window and through the opening, only to bash into the lid of a garbage can, much to Pinky’s concern.

Then Brain falls headfirst into the snow.

And finally, Brain is clonked on the head by the same garbage can lid, which makes a loud gong noise. Someone get this poor mouse some Aspirin.

But since there was a gong noise, you all know what that means!

Cutely, Pinky joins in on the dance in the middle of it.

“Ha! Oh that was fun, Czar Brain! But let’s give it another go, right? Only this time with feeling!”

Man, that side-eye at the beginning from Brain…

Pinky’s body language is great in this episode, too. The gleeful flapping of his arms and feet and the “with feeling” gesture are fantastic examples of his more open and energetic nature coming through.

Oh hey, there’s that one shot of Brain being ticked off used in the spin-off theme song! I can’t exactly blame him for his anger here. He just went through a lot of pain in a short amount of time and was then involuntarily made to humiliate himself. Pinky doesn’t mean to be mean here—he genuinely wants to have some sing and dance fun with Brain—but it’s gotta sting to have the humiliation highlighted.

Pinky still doesn’t deserve a bonking for it, though. But it’s slapstick, so he’s fine.

Heh, “deliveries to rear” indeed.

Oh, are those jingle bells on a sleigh that I see?

Uh oh…

“No, Pinky… Not now!”

It cannot be stopped, Brain. He must dance!

Another quick detail as Brain launches himself at Pinky’s midsection to either topple him over or hold him still to get Pinky to stop.

Alas, Pinky’s dancing is too strong.

OUCH!

The face of regret.

His punishment is swiftly thwarted, though.

“…That was unpleasant.”

They take a different and more uneventful ride on a hay wagon to the palace.

I love the exaggerated perspective going on here.

Peekin’.

“We made it inside, Brain!”

“…’Czar Brain’.”

“Czar Brain.”

He says it so quietly and sweetly, aww.

“Yes, Pinky. There are fleeting moments when I even amaze myself.”

I…don’t know if it’s much of an accomplishment yet, Brain. Settle that ego down a bit.

Oh, that’s some classic Looney Tunes-style sneaking animation there.

Wait, why is the door to the treasure room just open behind them? Czar Nicolas II, what gives?

Speaking of…

Hello, Czar Nicolas II. I hope you’re enjoying your “eclipse party”. You only have another 14 years or so to live it up, after all.

“In just a few minutes, it’ll be totally dark and scary. OooOOoo!~ But don’t anyone touch me, I have cooties!”

I, uhhh. Okay, then.

Same, boys. Same. Best to get down to business.

“Behold the crown jewels of Mother Russia, Pinky. World conquest will soon be ours!”

Again, world conquest is “ours” and not just Brain’s. Also you can just tell Pinky’s thinking “I’m going to wear so much of this jewelry!”

“Now, Brain?”

“Not yet. Wait for the total eclipse.”

Speaking of…

“Complete darkness, Pinky. Start the Vacuum-o-nator…”

“NOW!”

That gonging noise is an interesting choice for a chime. Surely this ornate clock is only an omen of good things for our duo.

Pinky, you’re swooning again. And Brain…

Oh no.

Another clock! Who’d have thought Russian nobility loved clocks so much? This one has a more pleasant bell chime, though.

…Oh NO!

Well, looks like things are going to hell pretty quickly.

Goodbye, boys.

Goodbye, Czar Nicolas II! You might wanna look out for a man named Grigori Rasputin in the future, okay?

Nice hat, Brain.

“Whu--? The eclipse is over? Narf! What happened, Brain?”

BONK!

“Zort! I mean, Czar Brain.”

“We failed again, Pinky… But just wait until tomorrow night!”

“Why? What are we going to do tomorrow night, Brain?”

“What else, Pinky?: Try to take over the world!”

It was a nice try, boys, but honestly I don’t know how you were going to fit all those crown jewels into that tiny improvised vacuum bag, anyway.

One last cute little detail in this episode is our mousey duo jumping up with enthusiastic determination in front of the silhouette of the moon on the last note of the theme reprise. One day, you guys. One day…

Oh! And before I forget, have another short cameo from “Plane Pals”. It’s a tiny one.

Pinky and the Brain steal a sheep off of an airplane. For what purpose? Who knows? But that’s it. I’m kind of wondering if the writers wanted to make a running joke of them making cameos to steal random things for world conquering purposes and just sort of gave up.

Anyway, so ends our recap for this post. It sure was a long one, but what can I say? There were some very cute details that needed to be shared. Have we learned anything new this time? Well, I mean, besides historical trivia.

Brain thinks both he and Pinky are great actors, despite his own near inability to lie and keep up an innocent pretense. Oh, he can be sarcastic, sure, but he can’t seem to manage to stop himself from revealing that he’s out for world  domination whenever he has an audience.

For the first time we see Brain’s annoyance and humiliation resulting from him being a lab mouse. Though it’s on the more subtle side at the moment, Brain seemed extra grumpy and violent during that last     episode because of the conditioning he’s unwillingly gone through. I’m     curious to see if there are any more examples of this before we reach an  episode touching on his origin story. Or…one of his origin stories, at     least. There’s around four of them last I checked and all but one of them  can reasonably fit into the others.

Pinky is truly beginning to show how much he adores Brain, which is nice. Beforehand we knew he was down with his world domination plans for whatever reason and also that he thinks Brain’s plans are great and ingenious. Now, though, we’ve gotten to the point of him literally swooning at Brain and his plans. Something’s definitely brewing there.

Next time: We get some more substantial cameos, join our mouse duo on a Fort Knox heist, and meet a new character that is both pretty important to the “lore” of the show going forward…but also doesn’t appear in person after their introductory episode until the very end of the Animaniacs and Pinky and the Brain spin-off run.

See you then!

[idyllicstarker]

yes im a fucking anti, and of yeah i gotta interact because of the fact that you want a fucking 16 year old kid to fuck a 40 year old man. bitch not only is tony a father figure to him, peter is a fucking minor. its pedophilia, you crazy bitch.

Yay, I get to bring my last rant at an anti back out. Love that!! 

So, let’s get going...

First of all, Hi!! Nice to meet you, you’re a little ray of sunshine aren’t you. Crazy bitch is a new one but I’ll take it. I’m sure you’re a lovely person, so I’ll refrain from name calling.

I’m gonna begin with the fact that clearly in my bio it states: “All characters are above 18+ unless stated otherwise”

This means, it’s not canon Peter and Tony, as I have raised his age. So no, not 16 for me.

Anytime he has explicitly been 16 is when I’ve written irondad and spiderson. 

He’s been described as young, but that can mean anything, because I can confirm there is an age gap, but he is never a minor. 

The definition of pedophillia is: A psychiatric disorder in which an adult or older adolescent experiences a primary or exclusive sexual attraction to prepubescent children.

( I don’t recall saying Tony had a psychiatric disorder, if of course, we’re talking about Tony being the pedophile here! You never know, you see, but of course, if we’re not, I didn’t say Peter had a psychiatric disorder either!! )

The definition of a minor (in case you didn’t know, and by that sweeping comment I’m guessing you didn’t) is: In law, a minor is a person under a certain age, usually the age of majority, which legally demarcates childhood from adulthood. The age of majority depends upon jurisdiction and application, but it is generally 18.

I actully think that what my last anti wrote, will apply to you too, so I’m going to include what I said to them. 

They said that Peter was a prepubescent child for context

The definition of prepubescent childdreen is: A term for boys and girls who have not developed secondary sex characteristics.

Secondary sex characteristics are: Features that appear during puberty in humans. And include: Pubic hair, enlarged breasts and widened hips of females, and facial hair and Adam’s apples on males.

If we use common sense, by going by the pictures used of Peter (and also the fact that I’m a moral human) we can assume that Peter has gone through puberty. But of course, some people (like you) dont really have the common sense to assume that maybe I just enjoy writing about two characters, in a safe and moral way, so we’re going to go back to my first point of: all characters are above the age of 18+ so neither minors nor prepubsecnt and of course, above the age of consent. 

The age of consent in New York is: 17 years olds.

You may ask what that has to do with anything, but aren’t you lucky that I’m going to tell you. If the age of consent is 17 years old, we’re going to assume that puberty would have already happened at this age. But for the sake of facts I’m gonna look it up too!!

Puberty involves the development of secondary sex characteristics (that I explained above)

Thus, Peter is

Above the age of consent, therefore it’s legal for him to make sexual decisions

Past puberty, therefore NOT a prepubescent child or a minor and therefore Tony having sexual contact with Peter is NOT considered Pedophillia

Of course, it may be a bit weird to some people (like you) which is understandable. But I’d like to point out that you didn’t need to read my content or take the time to actually write into me so I think the only person that’s at fault here is you.

Finally, I’d just like to finish this off with the fact that I’m a moral human being. I’m not romanticising pedophillia and neither is no one else. It’s disgusting, and none of us associate with that. So don’t go around making false assumptions especially when it’s stuff like that which hurts people. It was unnecessary, and totally uncalled for.

But I feel like I’ve explained myself well enough for you to realise that it was never pedophillia in the first place.

I don’t want this to cause some kind of unnecessary drama. I’m not trying to be mean, just explaining myself because I don’t enjoy being accused of something like that.

It was lovely talking to you hun and I hope you have a nice day xo

[mandoalorian]

Spooky Movie Night [Javi Gutierrez x Reader]

Summary – It’s Halloween and Javi Gutierrez loves to celebrate different seasonal holidays in his own special way. He plans a spooky surprise before you both settle down and watch one of his favourite Nic Cage horror movies.

Pairing – Gender neutral reader x Javi Gutierrez (No Y/N)

Warnings – mentions of general spooky Halloween themes but nothing too detailed, food and drink, mild spoilers (not really) about Javi’s character. Overall just a super sweet and fluffy one shot.

Word count – 1.8k

A/N: Okay I read the script for The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent and AAAA! I actually… really liked it. One thing to come from it is my undeniable love for Pedro Pascal’s character, Javi Gutierrez. So here we are. It’s nearing Halloween and after a short break, I couldn’t help but pop out a semi-spooky but cute and fluffy one shot for Javi. I really hope you enjoy.

It was the evening of October 31st, and a cold evening at that. You had never really celebrated Halloween but you knew that traditions would quickly change when you moved in with Javi. He loved celebrating seasonal festivities in any which way he could. Last Easter, he invited his whole family over and planned an egg-hunt, even having his hench bodyguard Carlos dress as the Easter bunny. Of course, Javi told you it was to please his young niece’s and nephew’s, but the smile on his face when a hopping Carlos granted Javi with a chocolate egg ignited a feeling inside you that you had never felt before. Javier Gutierrez was as sweet as sugar, precious, and unlike any man you had ever met before. There was not an air of toxicity to Javi Gutierrez and you knew that everything he done for you, he done with good intentions. He had the purest of hearts.

After finishing dinner, you couldn’t shake the icy feeling that hung above you and so you announced you’d be taking a bath, wanting to get ready for the horror movie marathon Javi had prepared for you both to watch later that night. You’d already set out your pyjamas and even noticed Javi had folded them neatly for you, placing them at the end of his bed. You grabbed Javi’s lighter from his bedside drawer and picked out some of your favourite fall scented candles, carrying them to the bathroom. The walk to the bathroom felt scary. The amber light at the end of the hallway was flickering, and as you dragged your bare feet across the carpet, you left yourself a mental note to ask Carlos to change the bulb. Almost reaching the bathroom, you gasped at the shadow which had been casted from the flickering light. It was an unusual shape… ghost-like, a silhouette that hovered over you. If you blinked, you would’ve missed it. Deciding it was just your mind playing games on you, you tried shaking the feeling and entered the bathroom.

You placed two candles on the window sill and light them, engulfing the smell of seasonal cinnamon and baked apples. After twisting the antique gold taps, you made yourself comfortable on the edge of the white marbled tub, legs crossed, and swirled your fingers in the warm bubbly water, absorbing the soapy citrus scent. It was Javi’s soap but you needed something to put yourself at ease and figured bathing in Javi’s scent was a good idea; so, you poured the remnants of it in the running water. The heat of the water began to steam up the glass shower screen, so you took your index finger, and began doodling pumpkins and ghouls, waiting for your bath to fill up. You smiled a little, leaning back and admiring your artwork when the bathroom door burst open.

“Boo!” Javi cried out, his hands in the air. You took a second to take him in; a white bed sheet hanging over his body, smothering his face and two messy holes cut out the fabric exposing his deep chocolate eyes. You gasped, almost falling back into the tub when Javi jolted forward, grabbing your arm and pulling you to safety. You grabbed on to him and yanked the bed sheet off him, throwing it into a puddle on the floor. Your heart was racing, and Javi looked equally as petrified. “I’m so sorry!” He exclaimed anxiously as nerves raced through his body. His dumb joke had you almost fall back into the bath tub. He felt so guilty. You could’ve really hurt yourself.

You froze up, holding on to him and hesitated after you were sure you had regained your balance. “Javi,” you spoke softly, raising your hand and cupping his cheek. He nuzzled his face into the palm of your hand. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

“I just wasn’t thinking. Wanted to scare you, for Halloween,” he shrugged helplessly looking defeated.

“Well, mission success. Consider me scared.” you smiled at him and you swore you saw a spark in his eyes. You straightened the collar of his brown button down shirt and pulled him into another passionate kiss. He kneeled to your level, not breaking the contact, and wrapped his arms around your waist. You were the first to break away. “You gonna let me take my bath in peace now?” You joked, still a little breathless. Javi nodded, leaning over you and turning off the running water. You stood up and began to undress yourself, letting your clothes fall on the floor and checking the temperature of the water before you settled on it being just right. Javi took your clothes in his arms and bent over, picking up the white bed sheet that had pooled on to the floor. On his way out of the bathroom, he felt his heart flutter at the sight of you engulfed in the bubbles, eyes closed. He noticed your little Halloween doodles on the glass shower screen and took the opportunity to draw a heart with yours and his initials inside. Javi left the bathroom with his hands full of laundry.

You couldn’t let yourself fall asleep in the bath. Not this evening. You kept yourself awake by thinking of the spooky themed activities Javi had in store for you tonight. The truth is, you couldn’t stand horror movies, and Javi didn’t know this. You refrained from telling him because you knew how excited he was to watch Nic Cage’s 2006 rendition of the horror flick ‘The Wicker Man’ with you. He had been walking around the house all morning, quoting it. You even caught him pointing at an orange, whispering eerily at it, doing his best Nic Cage impersonation. Holding back a laugh, you approached him from behind and wrapped your arms around him. “What ya’ doing Javi?” You sung, almost teasingly. He jumped at your touch, almost dropping the orange.

“Nothing.” he replied to you, his voice a little thicker than usual. Your lips curved into a smile as you realised he was trying to get his voice back to normal-Javi, rather than his adorkable Nicolas Cage impression. You didn’t push him further. You didn’t want to embarrass him, so instead, you pressed a kiss into his cheek and felt his skin heat into a blush. Pulling away, you were greeted with Javi’s enormous grin. “Are you excited? For, you know. Tonight. The movie marathon I have planned. You know I think you’ll really like it.”

You contemplated taking Javi to one side and asking him if he’d rather watch the Nic Cage rom-com, Valley Girl with you instead. But took a deep breath and smiled back at him. “I can’t wait.” You assured him and it was as if his grin got even bigger. Taking the orange from his hand, you walked to the kitchen counter and began to peel it, pulling out the segments and feeding yourself and Javi as you let him babble on to you about movie trivia.

“And you know, Winona Ryder turned down the role as Willow because she hated the script!” As Javi rambled on, you skilfully through an orange segment into his open mouth. He swallowed it whole, making you giggle, before continuing. “I mean- I just can’t imagine hating anything that Nicolas Cage is part of.”

After your bath, you wrapped a towel around your head and slipped in to your cosy pyjamas before meeting Javi in the living room. It was dark, only the television screen illuminating the room. He was waiting for you, and had the movie all set-up, ready to play. On the coffee table, Javi had sprawled out left over candy from the trick-or-treaters, and two goblets of- “Javi, what’s in the cups?” you asked quizzically, pointing at the still red liquid.

“Blood.” Javi grinned at you. You raised an eyebrow before raising the goblet and taking a sip. You smiled into the cup before pulling it away, licking the sweet but sticky residue of cherry soda from your lips. Javi’s jaw dropped. “You drunk it! How could you drink it?” Javi exclaimed. “I told you it was blood!”

“Where would you get blood from?” You laughed at Javi’s cute reaction before sinking down next to him on the sofa and wrapping a blanket over you both.

“You smell nice,” Javi hummed.

You looked up at him. “It’s your soap.” You smiled.

“I know.” Javi returned the smile.

Javi took the remote and pressed play on the movie. You both settled down. The movie was hard to follow, but maybe that’s because you were so distracted by watching Javi. You knew when an intense scene would follow, because Javi would instinctly hunch over and try get closer to the television screen. You’d watch him for minutes, and he was so engulfed into the movie, there was moments you thought he had forgotten to blink. You admired the way he knew it line by line and the way he’d recite random facts about the movie’s production during the less interesting bits. Watching movies with Javi was always an experience, but watching movies with him this Halloween was like no other. There wasn’t a single thing you would change about Javi. He was perfect in his own unique way.

You let out your fifth yawn of the night and Javi turned the television off. “Hey, Jav,” you mumbled tiredly, rubbing your eyes. “What ya doing? Movie… movie wasn’t finished.” Another yawn. Javi let out a chuckle, pushing your damp hair out of your face and standing up. This time, Javi gently tugged the blanket from you and pushed his arms under you before sweeping you off your position on your sofa and carrying you in his arms. You let out a cry and buried yourself into his chest. “Javi!”

“Bed time,” he said. You couldn’t see his face but you were certain you could hear the smirk in his voice.

“But the movie-“ you began to protest.

“We can finish it next Halloween.” Javi promised and you were far too tired to argue with him.

Javi gently tucked you into his bed, placing a kiss on your forehead. You closed your eyes and felt yourself fall into a slumber. Javi undressed himself and turned out the lights. You stirred slightly when you felt him climb into next to you.

“I love you Javi,” you whispered.

“I love you too.” Javi replied.

[alfredo-kesmann]

WIP ask game!

My Italian ass is asking for "Ci sarà", but my angst heart beats for "Solitaire". I don't want to be greedy, so let's pick Solitaire.

Unless...?

Thank you so so much for asking, and I'm sorry for reponding so late! The reason for this is mostly that I actually finally got inspiration for Solitaire again after you send me this ask, so thank you for that! I'll give you little snippets of both WIP's, because greed sometimes is good (namely when it motivates me to finally work on WIP’s). 

So, first things first: Solitaire.

You're absolutely, completely right about the angst. The entire plot is Martín angst, I'm not even kidding. The general outline is that it forms a series with Fear and loathing/ Now I see, I see it for the first time, which is about Andrés in the Mint realising he should never have left Martín but accepting that it is too late now anyways. Solitaire is to be Martín's experiences of the Mint heist and the time afterwards. The title is taken from MARINA's song by the same name, and although it only is vaguely is inspired by the song, I want to match the vibe I get from it: a supposedly beautiful life that actually is just... loneliness and tears. A ‘we could have had it all’ and ending up with empty hands. 

I only have a few paragraphs jotted down yet, though, because I find it one of my hardest WIP's to work on: I want to show a canon compliant Martín, and I want to accurately portray the way he feels like a victim, even if he isn't truly one. I want to correctly talk about his mental ilnesses (I am guessing at least depression and narcissistic personality disorder, though I’m not planning to label them in the story), but I am no psychologist. I started this WIP around March or April and I suppose I am now more sure about what I'm doing, and now the words are (finally) slowly flowing. 

That being said, enjoy these little snippets:

“Andrés was like a poisonous drug, flowing through my veins and cutting off any necessary blood supply, but it felt so exquisite, like a breeze in the warmest summer day."

[....]

Martín sat in the middle of broken glass, a reflection of him in more than one way, and cried until breathing was getting hard and his eyes were red and dry. 

[...]

The two of them had become so intertwined that sometimes it was difficult to see which one of them was dead and which one of them was still living.

[...]

The television only showed static now, ever since he had thrown an empty bottle of vodka towards it. ‘Don’t shoot the messenger’, went the saying, but Martín hadn't been able to think straight after he had heard the news. In a way the image was fitting, because Martín’s life had become static too, ever since that horrible day.

[...]

But now he understood Andrés’ romanticizing of the death, for his best friend had lived his whole life knowing he would take his own one day. And he had wanted to make his final show grand, he had wanted a last standing ovation, one that deafened his eyes, before the red curtains closed forever. Martín also knew that Andrés would dissaprove of the method he was contemplating, in his sad little flat, a simple shot instead of blazing guns. So he put the velvet box back and instead took a bottle of vodka in hands, waiting until a better idea came to mind, waited until he had a plan, ignoring how those were harder to come by now Andrés wasn’t with him anymore.

Now, Ci sarà is practically the polar opposite of Solitaire: it's pure and unadulterated fluff. The only thing they have in common is that they both are named after a song and both get too little of my attention ehehe oops. I have no idea where I want to go with this story, whether to make it a one shot, or something more. I think the latter, though.

Basically, I had been studying (very) late and it was around 3AM. I was listening to a music playlist when Ci sarà came on. It is one of my favourite Italian songs (though honestly I love anything by Romina Power and Al Bano) and yes I know, I know, my music taste is just as basic as Andrés de Fonollosa's. I, myself realised that exact fact then as well. So, I thought: what if this would be the song for Berlermo's first dance at their wedding? The song just makes me so happy in an undescribable way, and since feelings are always much stronger deep in the night, I felt so incredibly happy and in love listening to it, in the middle of the night, at a volume that was a little too loud. This resulted in me putting the song on repeat, and trying to describe that feeling I had felt. So in a way, ci sarà is a writing exercise. 

The plot thus far basically is Andrés being overwhelmed by happiness during his wedding dance with Martín (and everyone is alive and happy). Because as much as I love making him suffer in stories, I also like writing his strangely soft side around Martín. I might write the entire wedding and also the proposal, because I have ideas, especially for the latter (Andrés had been planning to propose for months, then Martín is the first to ask him. Andrés is divided between tremendous frustration and great happiness, but obviously says ‘yes’; that’s also why I imagine that they both take the surname ‘Berotte-de Fonollosa’). 

So, here some snippets (I couldn’t choose so it’s slightly more than ‘some’):

They were spinning, whilst the music was swelling, and it was dizzying Andrés. One step back, to the side, close, one forward, to the side, close, an endless repetition. Martín spinning him around and pulling him in his arms again. Their friends all singing Ci sarà, all wearing white clothing and pearly smiles, the adoration clearly visible in Martín’s eyes, how beautiful Martín was looking in the suit. No, not just Martín, his Martín Berotte-de Fonollosa. They were turning again, his husband’s -he couldn’t believe it, his husband’s- warm hand burning on his waist, then on his right cheek, only shortly and suddenly the refrain started and Martín was singing too, albeit softly, yet it’s still too loud in Andrés’ ears. Everything is so loud, so bright, so vibrant. It’s all so pure, and he’s drowning in love, with the sun shining brightly as if it was God’s blessing of their union, the perfectly green grass as nature’s wedding gift to the new spouses. 

[...]

Andrés manages to spot his hermanito in the choir made of bank robbers, he’s holding hands with his wife and Paula and he looks so happy and carefree. He has finally accepted Andrés’ relationship, he had even been the one to walk Andrés to the altar, and the things Sergio had told him then were still going through his head.

The butterflies in Andrés’ stomach were taking him over more and more, he is growing dizzy and dizzier. All this love, he has no place for it, it is seeping through his veins, bursting out of his fingertips like rays of sunshine, out of the fingertips that are currently in Martín’s hand and on his shoulder. Andrés knows that he hasn’t had much to drink yet, but he has never been more intoxicated, intoxicated on this eternity captured in less than four minutes. Martín is turning them again, leading him gently, keeping him steady. Martín is there for him like he has always been. And now it’s finally right, it’s finally the way it should be, the other ring on Martín’s hand. Finally, he has married his last spouse, it’s finally the one who he was meant to be with. Finally, finally, finally.

[...]

Andrés feels like he is flying, like his feet aren’t touching the floor anymore. The two of them form a leaf in a strong summer wind by the blue sea, slowly going upwards in an intricate dance, but they’re also so much more. They are the wind and the sea, the entire universe is drowning in their love and they are drowning in the universe. It’s all so much, so so much, yet so small. There is no Berlín, no Palermo, no monastery, no friends forming a choir, no wedding cake, it’s just Andrés and Martín Berotte-de Fonollosa, and their love for eachother. 

[...]

Andrés is oh so dizzy with happiness and love, and then he feels it, wet on his cheeks, rolling over his lips, Martín’s hand gently sweeping the oceans welling in his husband’s eyes away. He wants to open his eyes, but he can’t and he doesn’t need it anyway, he already knows what Martín’s soft smile would look like. When Martín kisses him again, softly cupping his cheek, Andrés realises his husband had been crying as well, their tears mixing together like everything between the two of them always has, the way they’ve always been. Like so many of their clothes, their ideas, their furniture, their past and future, their personalities, their love. They have always been intertwined, it just took Andrés a while to see. 

[...]

“I can’t believe you cried,” Martín said as he giggled, truly giggled, and Andrés thought it was somewhat comparable bubbles coming to the surface in a fishing pond, and then decided it was a stupid thought because nothing can compare to his husband. Andrés can’t help smiling. “You were crying too, mi marido,” he says softly, the quip in there lost, replaced by pure adoration. He takes Martín’s face into his hands. “Today was my last wedding, I know it for sure. No one else has ever made me feel like this.” And normally, Martín would have joked that he must had said that to all of his wives too, but he didn’t. Instead, his hands mirrored Andrés’, softly stroking Andrés’ cheekbones, which were still wet with tears. Their lips met without any of their usual aggression and hunger, and maybe this kiss was even more important than the one after the exchanging of vows, for Andrés just had made a promise that was much more meaningful. 

Thank you again for asking, I hope you liked these snippets! I might or might not have just started another WIP based on the season 5 trailer, so I have no clue when these two will finally be published. 

[cowboykoschei]

Partners

Chapter Three

Rating: soft M

Characters: Jotopa Kaid, Toby

Warnings/Tags: mutual pining intensifies even more, clone culture, talk of being abandoned, force fuckery

Summary: Anakin Skywalker calls up his friend and fellow Knight Jotopa Kaid to go "on a little mission" with clone captain Toby and basically ruins their lives.

Word Count: about 6k

Chapter One, Chapter Two

---Mission Continues---

First day of officer training, and he was a wreck. Of his batch, only himself and Pyro were selected for commissions. The rest, Joker, Checkmate, Lucky, Kit, Snow, Blue, all showing exceptional promise, had gone into their own specialized training regiments. Toby (still then called Worrier) and Pyro also had their specializations, but heaped on top was the added burden of command.

The young man Jotopa watched did not think he was cut out for the job.

This was a memory of a dream. A dream of a memory. She remembered it as vividly as she had then and was as helpless to stop herself from sinking into him as she had been then. Jotopa did not recognize this exact instance, but there were so many; it would have been impossible to remember them all.

Worrier at this age was long and lanky, his limbs this side of gangly as muscles began to fill in the spaces between his stretch-marked skin and bones. His hair was regulation cut, a wisp of beard and mustache attempting to play around his jaw and lip at this late hour. The day must have been a particularly stressful one: the honey brown of his eyes was hooded and downcast, an expression she learned to recognize as anxiety and unhappiness. A shock of sympathy rushed through her, and not for the first time, she wished for the ability to pull the young man into her arms, to comfort and soothe.

His younger brother Pyro had an arm draped around his hunched shoulders, soulful dark eyes tired and pinched with worry. They leaned into each other, their curly heads touching, one drawing strength from the other and sending it back just as effortlessly as breathing.

“It’ll be alright, ori’vod. We’ll be alright. Don’t worry. You can do this: I know you can,” Pyro was murmuring soothingly, a familiar refrain that had taken on the cadence of a lullaby and often lulled Jotopa to sleep when she was wakeful. Worrier’s mouth twisted, head dipping before he shrugged out of his brother’s embrace. Pyro’s shock lanced through him, crackling across his skin like a bolt from a training blaster to the chest. Worrier grimaced, tugged Pyro down to lay side by side on his bunk.

“You’re right, vod’ika, of course y’are. I can do this.” He said, forcing levity and assurance in his voice when he felt none, when there was none. He couldn’t do this, not under his own strength, but for Pyro, he would.

Jotopa slowly opened her eyes, the ever-present sound of rain still ringing in her ears even as the cacophony of the rainforest raced to replace it. She breathed out, slowly, deeply, took stock of her surroundings. Cassios-7. Beneath the starboard wing of her powerless ship in the makeshift camp set up by clone Captain Toby. A bedroll surrounded by netting infested with bugs. Most of note, the man curled around her, face nestled in the space between her shoulder and the back of her neck, not quite snoring. She swallowed and decided to focus on the pair of fox-like creatures moving across the tree line opposite her. She thought they must be going for the stream hidden not six paces into the dense thicket. Four days ago, she and the man who had his muscled arm draped across her middle found it as they had scouted out the immediate area around their ship and camp. She truly had not pegged him for a cuddler, and every night since the first morning she awoke cradled in his arms, she was somehow more surprised than the night preceding.

Her lips twitched up as she remembered the exasperation that flickered over his handsome face and through his Force signature when she told him she could sense the water was safe to drink. He had squatted down, the sunlight dappling attractively over his bare shoulders, and pulled out the water sampling kit. Eyebrow raised in unabashed challenge, he had asked if she didn’t mind if he double-checked, and she didn’t think she did the best job of concealing her immense amusement as she agreed that it was best he do so.

Hard to believe he was the same person from her dreams. Jotopa pulled her upper lip into her mouth, worried it with her teeth as a frown knit the space between her eyebrows. It didn’t make sense, she thought as she absently ran her palm up the captain’s warm forearm, eyes still carefully following the fox duo. The pair were a sleek sapphire, their tails bushy, their undercoats a lush emerald. Though not as long-limbed as Loth cats, something about the way they moved, about the glint around those dainty ink-black paws, convinced Jotopa that they were several orders of magnitude more dangerous. Her captain was much the same, Jotopa concluded as, with a deft leap, one of the agile blue and green foxes snatched a bird out of the sky.

With a sigh of regret, she slipped out of the warm shelter of his arms and stood to stretch. Her eyes were drawn to the sleeping man at her feet, sweeping her eyes over him briefly as she thought about the day ahead. Though the past four days had seen them very busy, Jotopa couldn’t help but feel slightly impatient. The jungle was dense, and both she and her captain well knew the dangers of setting off without having a game plan or without having any navigational methods or bearings to help them should they get lost. She thought she was doing a good job of keeping her desire to leave the confines of the camp to herself. It couldn’t be said that she did not enjoy Toby’s company. The opposite was true: she enjoyed his company too much. Watching him as he went about his self-appointed duties, the play of light and movement of muscle beneath his sweat-slicked skin quickly established itself as her favorite hobby. Jotopa did her best not to indulge, but his smiles often drew her helplessly in, little gifts he gave generously, and she was addicted to the way his eyes lit in surprise and pleasure when she did something he supposed out of the ordinary.

But all of that fueled her conviction that they leave this place as soon as possible, so when she could tear her eyes from him, she found herself pacing the edges of the tree line, waiting for her captain to finish his preparations. The coil of tension that burned hot in her navel each time Toby set eyes on her form turned into a restless energy that she was eager to put to use in the jungle. If she were able, Jotopa would gather every atom of frustration into her legs and leap over the treetops and directly to the top of the spire. But she would wait for him. She would wait for him to be ready.

As all their usual navigation methods were unavailable, they were forced to fall back on more primitive means. It was something they were both well versed in, and even luckier for them both, that Captain Toby, being a scout, was especially suited. Jotopa smiled at the sleeping clone captain, let herself admire his plush lips framed by beard stubble, the broad set of his shoulders, and the groove of muscles cut into his abdomen in the predawn light. Just visible above where the waistband of his blacks slung low across his hips, she could just barely make out streaking bands of stretch marks, the dark trail of hair that had its origin at his belly button, and she clenched her fingers to dispel the desire to reach down and touch them. There were things to do, and she needed to do them before he caught her gawking at him.

Jotopa silently slipped out of the netting, noting as she did that the foxes were gone, and the only evidence of their presence was the bloody remains of their breakfast just barely visible in the tall grass. A soft laugh escaped her, and she shook her head and made for the center of the clearing, where it was quickly becoming her habit to perform her morning stretching and katas before Captain Toby woke.

Face turned towards the sun, Jotopa spread her arms wide and simply listened to the world around her for a long moment. Master D’Aleric always said that a Jedi’s first duty was to the Force and that no Jedi worth his or her salt was ever remiss in taking the first minutes of the day in grounding themselves as deeply as they could in its presence. Jotopa took his lessons to heart, and for her, on Cassios-7, that meant greeting the sun as it crested the horizon and began to peek between the tangle of tree trunks shyly.

The sunlight was warm on already warm skin as she slowly dropped her arms. On her shoulders, her leather vest sat uncomfortably, and Jotopa, tired and irritated already from wearing it in the unrelenting heat and fearing to chafe if she continued, shed it with little thought. Feeling much cooler without the stifling weight of her vest, Jotopa quickly fell into her first form and, mind clear, allowed herself to think about the dream she’d had.

For nearly half her life, her dreams and idle imaginings had been haunted by images and scenes of a life for which she had no reference but of which she was sure was real. Worrier and his brothers were sometimes more real to her than the memories of her fellow younglings in the creche. When sadness threatened, when self-doubt tapped at her ragged shields with poison-tipped claws, she was as likely to ground herself by humming batch songs and snatches of cadence she picked up in her dreams as she was the songs of her covert or the techniques taught to her by Master D’Aleric. Without ever having spoken to him, he saved her life more times than he could ever know.

But it was one thing to know, in a distant way, that you were connected to someone. It was alright when the longing to see him face to face was an ache in her chest that she knew could never be satisfied. How could she fulfill that desire when she knew nothing of him besides his name and number, besides the fact that he was one unforgettable face lost among a sea of identical faces? It was an impossible dream. And it was safe. The longing she felt. The desire that grew with the long years, her feelings and regard for a man she was so certain she would never, ever in her lifetime meet. A Sentinel could not afford to dwell on what could never be, and Jotopa strove to be the best in her generation. The darkness was growing, and even though every dream, every glimpse of his face filled her with light, she couldn’t afford to falter, not when there was so much work left undone.

Jotopa grappled with the shock of Worrier as she often saw him in her dreams and Toby as he was now. The reality of it. The way everything about him was even more overwhelming than in her dreams. For so long, she had only known him by the name his fellow cadets had given him. It burned, it clawed at her insides when the Council disseminated the alert, and she was finally able to provide a proper label for her honey-eyed Worrier: clone trooper. Slave soldier. Born to die in service to the Republic. And the Jedi were the ones chosen to lead them to their deaths. It grated. It grated in a way, Jotopa couldn’t wholly attribute to her morals.

Often, she wanted to reach out for him and stopped herself. Since the war began, she dreamed of him less. His mind was often out of her reach, and she hated how much that worried her. But worse was the crippling relief every time she felt his mind return from whatever deep levels of unconsciousness from which it had been trapped and reach out towards her. It wasn’t fair, but then, she thought as she swiftly moved from the easier katas and into the more intensive forms, life didn’t promise fairness. Her fault for getting attached to a man she wholly couldn’t have. That he was safe was important. That she had an opportunity to spend time with him, to admi- (study, she corrected herself hastily, sternly, cursing when her concentration broke, and she flubbed her backflip).

She landed as gracefully as she could and rubbed her temples in irritation. The hairs on the back of her neck rose, and seconds later, the sounds of Toby shifting as he woke reached her. Jotopa sucked her teeth, stomping off towards the tree line. She needed a stick to run through her katas. That would help her concentrate, she decided firmly. And worst-case scenario, she could beat herself to death with it.

—

A week back in the welcoming bosom of the Jedi Temple was enough to convince Jotopa that she did not belong here anymore. The man who called himself her Master was kind enough to show her to their old suite of rooms. He’d maintained them all these years, and the fact that he one day intended to come to collect her like a suit left overlong at the dry cleaner’s hung heavy in every breath of recycled air she pulled into her lungs.

The young woman that the young cadet, once known as Worrier but now called Toby, watched was a stranger in her own home. This was a familiar dream. A well-trod memory. The dimensions of these rooms were as familiar to him as his sleeping tube on Kamino. He thought she must often think of it, like picking at a scab until it formed a scar that she in turn was unable to leave off.

Sometimes, she remembered her room best, the moment she walked in and saw that everything had been left just as it was when she left it years ago. She would touch the desk, run a nail-bitten finger through the fine layer of dust, a thick feeling rising in her throat and hurting her so much the echo of it resonated in his skin and bones when he woke. At times, she would linger in the kitchen; eyes fixed on objects he didn’t know the purpose of.

But today was different. Today, she went down the road less traveled. Today, she spoke to her Master.

D’Aleric was always on the couch, waiting for her. The Chiss Jedi Master was friendly, kind, and compassionate. Tousled, close-cropped hair. Warm, bone-crushing hugs that never failed to make her feel safe and wanted. Robes that smelled of home. That was the Master D’Aleric young Kadijah knew. That was the Master D’Aleric who sat waiting patiently for Jotopa Kaid. When they alighted upon her, his crimson eyes were sympathetic, as if she had disappointed him somehow, and it galled Toby every time that it seemed as if she agreed with the assessment. If he were able, he would gather her up and protect her from the honeyed poison of her Master’s soft gaze.

“Come sit, my dear. Let us review the basics.”

Pack rubbing a blister on his naked back and feeling more vulnerable than he had since the first time he jumped, with nothing but his blacks and a breather clamped between clenched teeth, into the raging Kaminoan sea, Toby followed Jotopa as she slowly picked a path through the dense jungle.

If Joker could see him now, even he, who never heard a joke that could crack the impenetrable fortress of his face, would be doubled over in laughter at his predicament. Many were the nights that Pyro and Checkmate crawled into his tube, the three of them passing snippets of bawdy one-liners they’d picked up from other batches and squads between each other, weaving them into ridiculous stories and jokes that made even Snow pause, and there was hardly anything that could put him off his dinner.

How many times had Joker told the three of them, and him especially, that if they spent less time karking around, maybe they’d know the regs frontways and backways like he did, eh?

Well, tell a guy something enough, and it finally gets through his thick head. His batchers would be proud. Four days had come and gone since their arrival on Cassios-7, and Toby had not spent the time idle. Since his hardy little Jetii woke the day after their crash landing, he made it his business to learn the immediate area around them like the back of his hand. It was vital for him to have an excellent working knowledge of his surroundings. With so many unknowns about their circumstances and with so much of their equipment currently inoperable, his Knight would be depending on him to know what to do and where to go at all times.

So it was with surprise and no small amount of pleasure when on the second full day of their stranding, she joined him in familiarizing herself with the lay of the land. She was skilled, nearly as proficient as he was in many tasks. The little beauty could count paces and subtly make landmarks with the best of his vode, better than some. The thought didn’t rankle. There was a familiarity about her actions that he couldn’t quite figure out, something about her besides her staggering beauty that drew him up short time and again. But that was fine. Patience was instilled in him by the finest trainers in the galaxy. Sooner or later, it would come to him. What was bothersome was her casual dependence, her easy confidence in the Force, and if he caught himself challenging her assumptions here and there just to see her dark eyes narrow or the quick upturn of her plush lips, well, that was his business.

Knight Kaid. Jotopa. She wanted him to call her Jotopa. Jotopa. Jotopa.

Jotopa was a ball of impatient energy. It became clear to him early on that she was content with a more rudimentary setup than he was. Though he supposed with a derisive snort, if he had some mystical power to depend upon, he would be too. Given how much she seemed to enjoy pressing him on more trivial matters, Toby expected a struggle when he cautiously broached the subject of pausing for a few days in their camp. But she surprised him again, looking up at him with an earnest expression in her lovely brown eyes, listening to his argument with a focus that made his skin feel hot, and then agreeing so readily he later questioned why he even brought it up. The way she looked at him when she said she trusted him to know when it was time to go still made his heart thud painfully in his chest. Despite the resolution he made then and there to stay as far away from her as possible, Toby nevertheless found himself gravitating to her side by the time the sun was setting.

Despite herself, by the third day, she was pacing the bounds of the camp, her eyes scanning the sky, her hands on her shapely hips, head tilted towards the barely visible Temple spire as if she could summon the artifact to her side through sheer will alone. Toby spent many unproductive hours hidden away in high vantage points watching her. Jotopa was up even earlier than he was, but he often woke in time to watch her doing her stretches and her exercises. He would lay, sleepy and still, and admire the graceful movements of her body, so much different than any Jetiise he had ever seen before. Later in the day, he would contrast her early morning serenity with the way she delicately balanced on the balls of her feet, looking like she would sprint off into the jungle at any moment. It was a curious thing that the only reason she did not was that he asked it of her.

But regardless of how much different she was from other Jetiise, despite how she made him feel things he wasn’t supposed to be feeling, Toby figured she was still just a Jetii. He knew how to deal with those.

Joker would most definitely be laughing his ass off at his big brother Worrier right now.

In his defense, she caught him off guard: hers were the first pair of breasts he had ever seen (not that the fact made him any less certain they were the most perfect and well-formed in the entire galaxy). And it was morning. He hadn’t even had his ration bar yet, for Prime’s sake! It wasn’t like he’d never seen breasts before; he’d gotten the same thorough sex education and anatomy flash training as every other cadet. And even if he didn’t spend nearly all of his conscious hours on missions, he was sure he wouldn't spend his time as some of his vode did, trawling the clone intranet looking at all the illegal porn there was available; there were always more entertaining things to do than that. But even if he had, nothing could’ve prepared him for the sight of her practically half-naked. He’d gawked at her like a dumb shiny, not sure what he should look at more: those parted full lips, her breasts in that ridiculous mesh top, those abs, those toned abs, or the alluring flare of her hips, aware in a profound way that the true answer was that he shouldn’t look at any of it.

Hard not to remember the way her dark areolas had tightened into tight little buds the longer he stared at her, thrusting so enticingly through her top that even now, his mouth watered. He was absolutely, miserably sure her skin was the softest thing he would never be allowed to touch and try as he might; Toby couldn’t figure where this conviction came from. At some point, she licked her lips (a move he followed with incredible attention) and asked him what his plans were for the day. He mentally thanked her for being precise. Maker only knew what might have come out of his mouth if she had been a little vaguer. Instead, through the rush of blood heading towards his groin, he’d told her that he was ready to make an attempt on the Temple. A lie, that. But one he would take to his grave.

If he thought about it, Toby knew he could easily recall innumerable situations that were much worse than this. Trekking through the jungle half-naked with only a knife to defend himself didn’t even touch his top twenty shitlist. Was it hot as fuck? Yes, even in halfsies, he was sweating his balls off, and even though every glimpse of her skin did nothing but reroute precious blood from his brain, Toby knew shedding the leather vest was the wiser decision. Was it noisy? Yes, loud as fuck, but it was nothing compared to 79’s when the Wolfpack rolled in fresh from a victory or in the Guard barracks that time Hound got ahold of contraband whiskey. And none of it so loud as cannons firing. He wasn’t the biggest fan of being without blasters and rifle, but Toby wouldn’t count himself an ARC trooper of any worth if he couldn’t adapt to that little handicap. Oh, and the biggest kicker: had he worked with worse Jetiise before? That was a resounding fuck, yes. He might have only known Jotopa Kaid for four and a half days, but in that time, she’d shown herself to have more honor, compassion, and grit than any Jetiise he’d ever had the misfortune of laying eyes on.

Just ahead of him, she stopped and crouched beside the trunk of a tree whose outstretched branches drooped with long, wispy vines. Carefully, Toby settled in next to her. The trees surrounding them created a thick canopy that obscured the sky, and the occasional shafts of light that pierced the quiet gloom were of indeterminate quality and impossible to tell time with. Among the trees, the air was hot and still, and at first, he wondered why his Jetii decided to break at this tree, but then he felt the slightest hint of a breeze cooling the sweat on his skin and picked up the faint movement of the draping vines. In the low light, their matching grins shone.

“I thought I sensed this break in the trees about a kilometer back, but I wanted to confirm,” she whispered. Toby tilted his head.

“How could you sense a change like that, sir?” He asked, curious despite himself. Though her expression remained the same, Toby was suddenly convinced she was self-conscious. She laughed softly, shrugging.

“The density of the Living Force changes in a clearing. It doesn’t empty, of course, because a clearing isn’t devoid of life, but it’s a different quality, you could say.” She cut her eyes away, cupped her elbows in her hands. “It was a hunch, anyway.”

Carefully, Toby parted the curtain of vines. “It was a good hunch, Jo,” he said as he looked out onto the clearing, taking note of the position of the sun and estimating that it was mid-morning. “The spire looks even closer from here.” At her indrawn breath, he looked back at her, only to find her staring at him open-mouthed.

“Sir? Are you alright?” He asked even as he shifted his position to check her for injuries. It hadn’t sounded like a noise of pain, but it couldn’t hurt to be sure, especially when they had limited medical supplies. She gently caught his hands in hers, halting his inspection.

“I’m alright, Toby,” she said, making a face. Toby cocked his head, eyebrows furrowing at this entirely new expression. A tendril of worry curled in his stomach, and he quickly reviewed their conversation, trying to locate his error so he could improve and she would smile at him again.

“Did I do something wrong?” He asked when he drew a blank, and he tried to keep the anxiety out of his tone, choosing instead to stroke the pad of one thumb across the palm of her hand. Her’s were much softer than his by far, but even still, he felt the gun calluses on her fingers, felt the way work had toughened the skin. He didn’t need to take his gloves off for that: she often touched him on his arm and shoulder enough to sear her touch into his memory.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she said vehemently, wresting one hand from him so she could rest it on his chest above his heart. “I’m sorry if I gave you that impression. You surprised me, is all.” The knot in his stomach loosened, a lazy warmth spreading through his chest at her touch.

“I surprised you?” He asked with a raised eyebrow. She smiled, all teasing eyes and bright teeth, and the anxious knot dissolved completely. When she moved to slide past him and enter the clearing, he let her.

“You often do, Captain. It’s part of why I like you so much.” She threw over her shoulder, and Toby rolled his eyes, glad neither that she nor his batch brothers could see his dopey grin.

---

By late afternoon, Jotopa decided that either they were lost or something was afoot. The spire that seemed so close in the meadow at mid-morning break was not closer for all their walking. Several times over the hours, she or Toby would stop and carefully climb to the top of a tree and regain their bearings, assure themselves they had not gotten lost or were going in circles. Each time they confirmed the same facts: they were on the correct heading, and the Temple looked to be no more than a kilometer or two away.

And yet, the sun was beginning to tilt downwards, and they were no closer to the Temple than they were that morning.

Honestly, she should have noticed sooner. Any other mission, any other time, Jotopa knew she would have, but ever since her encounter with Toby in camp before they set off, her concentration had been...scattered.

A more mature Jedi would have already brushed the incident off. The entire thing wouldn’t have even been rated as being anything of note. What did it matter, someone like Master D’Aleric or Master Lidan would have reasoned, that her clone trooper was attracted to her? The galaxy was teeming with life and full of possibilities. Was she so immature as to think that she was immune to being looked at, and was she so weak that she couldn’t simply shrug it off, release what discomfort she might feel from his interest into the Force, and focus her attention on the task at hand? She was a Sentinel, a Jedi who lived among the people and the shadows and brought light to them. Discomfort was as much a part of her day-to-day as eating and drinking.

It was only that his interest didn’t make her uncomfortable. It scared her, but only because she had convinced herself that what she felt was internal and limited to her own foolishness. So to be frozen on the spot, heart in her throat, while he looked at her with an expression that was so nakedly hungry, she would have known exactly what he wanted even if his Force signature wasn’t a billowing swirl of desire and frustration. It made thinking difficult. Certainly, Jotopa didn’t think she could be faulted for that, but even so, she was supposed to be better than this. She expected better of herself than this.

With a soft sigh, the young Sentinel looked out of the corner of her eye at her companion. The armor he had worn when departing the Resolute reminded her in many ways of the armor members of her covert wore, and she supposed that made sense. He and all his vode were clones of the Mandalorian Jango Fett, and the irony of that was not lost to her. His pauldron, helmet, and chest plates had bolstered his aura of lethality. Looking at him now, with only his vambraces and gauntlets on, the calm, watchful expression on his face as they picked their way through the undergrowth, the careful way he marked trees as they went, Jotopa decided he looked more dangerous and more natural, like this.

When they broke through a tangle of trees and found themselves in a small copse, Jotopa called for a break.

“We’re not going in circles, but we’re not making any progress,” Toby said, getting straight to the point as he rummaged through their pack and tossed her water and a ration bar. Jotopa smiled around her swig of water. There was a tree, larger than all the others and twice as wide, its bark peeling in long grey strips, whose roots pushed out of the rich black soil and created a small depression of moss and leaves. Jotopa dropped her hands to her belt, intending to use her kama as a makeshift blanket. Behind her, Toby made a choked noise.

“A-Ah, let me,” he said, and in a few practiced motions, his kama was drawn from his hips and draped across the depression. Jotopa blinked.

“Oh. Thank you.” She said, gingerly sitting. His kama was made of pliable synth leather, the black painted with thick blue stripes. There were faint scratches in the material and what she recognized as blaster burns that had been lovingly cleaned and repaired. In the Force, the kama sang with his signature. Jotopa smiled softly and looked up to where Toby had taken a seat on a root to her left.

“So,” Toby started, rolling his water bottle between his hands, a pensive look on his sweaty face, “how is it that we’ve been walking through this jungle all day, and we’re no closer to the temple than when we started?”

Jotopa shrugged.

“It’s probably some Force osik. It usually is, in my experience.” She said casually, reaching out to pluck a large pink blossom and study it. It was large, requiring two hands to hold it, the petals rich and shot through with deep blue veins. The stamens pulsed purple in the dappled light above. Toby made a strangled noise in the back of his throat. She thought it might have been a mix of disbelief and irritation. Jotops hid her smile behind the flower.

“Sir, you don’t even know what that,” he pulled in a deep breath and seemed to reevaluate himself. When he continued, his tone was more level but no less skeptical, “Force osik, huh? An astute observation.”

“Hmm, I know. It’s almost like we’re on a planet steeped in Force energy, and our mission was to retrieve a powerful artifact of unknown power.” She said dryly.

“Point taken,” he said with a chuckle, and she ducked her head, unwilling to let him see how much his laugh affected her. It wasn’t fair how much she liked him. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair.

“Where did you learn Mando’a?” He eventually asked in a tentative tone. Jotopa smiled down at the flower in her lap, stroked the soft petals between her fingers.

“My mother taught me. I’m a foundling.” She said and felt his confusion roll over her skin even before he voiced his question.

“A foundling? But,” he trailed off at her self-deprecating laugh, and she did not see the frown on his face, lost as she now was in her memories.

“It’s a little confusing, I know. When I was thirteen, my Master traded me for intel. It was the right thing to do: he saved an entire village of children with what he learned. I was given to a Mandalorian who adopted me, and I threw myself completely into that life. Until my Master returned for me three or so years later.”

The copse was still amongst the shrieking of the birds. Jotopa could hear him shifting, feel his confusion and an undercurrent of some emotion that ran too fast for her to grasp or understand.

“He gave you away, and you went back with him. Why?” His incredulous, angry tone made her laugh. The answer was so obvious.

“The Force, of course. It told me that if I became a Jedi, I would find something extraordinary.”

He furrowed his brow.

“Did you?” She looked up at him, smiled softly.

“Yes. I did.”

He huffed, feeling his face heat at her earnest expression. When she looked at him like that, he was never sure what to do, and it didn’t help that her story was too much like his dreams for comfort. Bad enough that it made his blood simmer in his dreams; in person, he was nearly boiling with rage. It didn’t take a genius to see how much it hurt to be traded away like that, like something that didn’t matter, and even if she excused it or said that it was the right thing to do, Toby knew in his guts, she was wrong. She deserved better than that.

“Well, whatever it was you found, I hope it was worth it to you, Jo,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand and offering to help her stand with the other. She took it with a grateful smile, and he pulled her up effortlessly.

“I think we should head back to camp. What do you think?” She asked. He ran his fingers through his sweaty hair and considered a moment before nodding.

“Think so. If we’re lucky, we won’t encounter any night predators.” He said pessimistically, and she laughed.

“Looking on the bright side, I see. On the way back, would you mind telling me a little about yourself, please?” She asked, holding her arms out for the pack. He shot her an affronted look and shouldered it. Slightly put out, she checked their position and headed in the direction of the camp.

Grimacing, Toby walked behind her in silence for several minutes. It wasn’t that he didn’t think she could carry the weight, far from it, but it was just a small pack. He was used to carrying much heavier loads, and he hadn’t scratched the reserves of his stamina yet. Though she wasn’t making a big deal out of it, he could tell by the set of her shoulders and the way the air around her seemed a little dimmer that she was still upset, and that wasn’t something he wanted.

“I was in the Coruscant Guard before being assigned to General Skywalker,” he said, squinting up at the trees ahead. Her interest, of a different flavor than usual, lighter but still good, still very good, tingled over his skin. His mouth twitched up.

“Oh? What was that like?” She asked, and he didn’t know why he was surprised by how genuine the question was. It tied his tongue into knots.

“Ahh. Noisy.” He said, vastly understating the hell that was Guard service, and she giggled, which was something he liked very much. They walked in companionable silence for some distance.

“What about Anakin? Does he treat you well?” She asked just as they broke through the trees and entered their camp. The question drew Toby up short, and instead, he commented on what great time they made: the sun was still out.

“So it is. Chalk that up to more Force osik, huh?” Jotopa said teasingly. Toby nodded distractedly and let her pull him by the hand into camp.

[toaster-is-babey]

This au was inspired by the WrongAu/Wrongsworld kinda, and soon turned into a vent au.

This au contains triggering subjects such as : mental manipulation/ab*se, physical ab*se, selfh*rm, and gore.

In this au, Edd goes by Edward, Matt goes by Mattie, Tom goes by Tommy, and Tord goes by Tjøstolv

⚠️⚠️Note⚠️⚠️

Please don't overly lewd my characters. Its gross, just please refrain from doing or saying sexual about my characters. So like no nudity, or anything explicit. Smooches and such are alright.

💜Matthew "Mattie" Raeburns💜

Mattie is an anxious mess all the time. He is very cynical and is a pessimistic jerk sometimes, depending who you are though. He is much more shorter, maybe about 5'5 with a slim and lean body type. He suffers with General anxiety, Depression, insomnia, PTSD, and claustrophobia.

To make a long story short, Mattie had a rough childhood. This au, Mattie is a communist, but he doesn't force his beliefs on his pals. He gets along perfectly fine with them... except for Tjøstolv and Tommy

sadly mattie is the butt end of all jokes and shenanigans. He often gets hurt more than anyone else and will often close himself off from everyone until he's ready to put up with their bullshit again.

he was in an abusive relationship with Tjøstolv from the begining of highschool to the end of college, but broke up due to Tjøstolv being too possesive and Tjøstolv's temper got out of Hand. Though he hasn't told his pals Edward and Tommy yet, nor will he ever tell them. Mattie has kept a lot of dark secrets from his pals, and is planning on taking those secrets to the grave.

in this au Mattie discovers multiverse travel, and just takes time to experiment in his lab. He uses bio chemicals, and does build small gadgets. He hopes to find a better life else where.

🌱Edward Graham💚

Edward is a grumpy, and anxious guy, and gets snappy at anyone who dare talk shit about his friends. He is genuinely protective to his friends, though is still iffy on Mattie.

Edward suffers with Dysthymic Disorder and Insomnia. He loves coffee, he DOESN'T drink cola. He absolutely HATES it.

Edward stands at the height to 5'8. He has pale skin and emerald green eyes. He has soft hazel hair that sweeps to the side and large bags under his eyes. He usually wears a grey tshirt, a green hoodie, dark jeans and red running shoes.

Edward's relationship with Mattie is fairly rocky. They often just are awkward with eachother. Edward still holds a grudge against Mattie for his mother's death.

💥Tjøstolv Røset💘

He is very chipper and happy. He is somewhat hyperactive, and always happy and lowkey, a fuckboy sometimes. He is flirty and honestly a bitch at times. He does know how to manipulate and persuade anyone. He is about 5'9 and wears a white button up shirt, red suspenders, red shorts, hazel hair with two hair horns. Tjøstolv has Narcissistic personality disorder, and does somewhat care for his friends, but mainly he just uses them. Tjøstolv is a capitalist, and tends to be forcing his beliefs on mainly mattie, and often fights with him.

surprisingly He and Mattie were a couple in highschool, but broke up after mattie graduated college. The relationship wasnt the best due to Tjøstolv being so Possesive and temperamental.

✨Tomas "Tommy" Bastian💙

Tommy is more of a wiccan, Satanist in this au. He values Edward and Jonah, and himself most. He is a transmale(FtM) and suffers with body dysphoria and is currently going through transition. He wears a chest binder, a baggy black sweater, dark blue boot cut jeans. He is a sweetheart though and is very motherly. He has social anxiety, and gender dysphoria. In his au, Tommy is about 6'5 the tallest one and often lets his pals fall asleep on him and often just cuddles with them. Tommy used to be an alcoholic, but Jonah came into his life and Jonah ended up helping Tommy become the man he is today.

Tommy can still be bitter if mattie is around. They don't exactly get along.

🌹💚Eduardo Vargaz💚🌹

Eduardo is well, Tommy's best friend. They often have small coffee dates and just chat about their housemates. He is a very passive aggressive guy who loves baking pastries, and tends to sing spanish tunes and lullabies. He stands around 6'5 often wears a white T-shirt, and a pair of jeans with a thin green sweater resting on his shoulders. He has tan skin, hazel eyes and has a rather nice moustache.

in this au, after the robot incident, Eduardo gets severely injured and nearly dies, but luckily he survives, but is a bit more grumpier after the incident.

💜⭐Marceau "Mark" De La Croix⭐💜

Marceau is a bookworm. He has blonde hair, pale skin and often gets made fun of for his butt-chin. He often wears a dark purple dress shirt, and a pair of black khakis. He is about 5'10. He is very quiet, and cold and calculated. He does have a soft spot for Eduardo and Jonah and Laurel. He has a rather buff build and would die for Jonah and Eduardo. Marceau is deaf, and isnt all to confident with talking. his girlfriend is Laurel, later on in the au, they have two kids together.

❄️Jonah "Jon" Vogel❄️

Jonah is very violent. Though honestly he is all bark no bite. He barely is a threat to anyone but himself. When with Eduardo and Marceau he is more kinder, and tries to make sure they are ok. He is about 5'7 and is lanky and often wears emo/scene clothing. He and Edward dont get along too well, and often fight whenever Jon flirts with Tommy. Jonah Would kill anyone who dared insult or make fun of his dear Mark or Tommy. Jonah has depression, anxiety and PTSD.

🌀Laurel Dacons🌀

Laurel is a well trained auto mechanic. She's 5'9 and 157 Ibs. She has aqua blue hair in a undercut style, and soft brown eyes. She often wears a tracksuit that's red, blue and white with a L labeled on it. The woman loves motorcycles with a passion. She has Autism, but that honestly doesn't stop her from anything. She's well trained and pretty chill with most people, especially the Eduardo residence. She can also beat the shit out of anyone who dares disrespect Mark, because she loves him with a patience, she even learned sign language from him.

💗💞Paul Herrman💞💗

Paul was a rather stoic and responsible guy. He was a respectable soldier. Though everything crumbled down when he refused to help Tjøstolv with his heinous plans. For that, Just before his wedding Tjøstolv carved out Paul's tongue.

Though Paul is happily married to Patryck, he was utterly distraught that on his wedding day he couldn't even say "I do" due to Tjøstolv and his sick ways. Nowadays Paul is a bit more pudgy and is mute and has left the army with his husband and are living happily.

💛🔥Patryck Vasiliev🔥💛

Patryck is a kind guy, maybe a bit of an airhead sometimes but absolutely loves his husband Paul. He vowed on their wedding day hed always be there for his husband. Despite how kind and caring he is, he also can be very sinister and macabre.

Pat has also vowed to hurt Tjøstolv just as bad as he hurt his husband, maybe even worse. Patryck always carries a gun on him to protect his husband.

⚠️this au is a work in progress!⚠️

This au will most likely and will have different/multiple endings

[shootwinterfest]

Shoot Secret Santa Gift by @t-ninjaa​

*vvvvvvrrrrrrrr*

Shaw’s eyes fly open at the sound of the vibration on her phone. She reaches over and grabs the phone from her night table, squinting at the text on the screen:

>>Target Name: Root

>>Contract Amount: $100,000

Shaw snorts and turns off the screen, setting it back down on the night table.

“I don’t get out of bed for less than $500k,” she mutters under her breath and rolls over, settling back into bed and closing her eyes.

A few seconds pass and her phone starts vibrating again. Shaw groans and rolls her eyes, turning over to grab her phone off the night table once again.

>>Target Name: Root

>>Contract amount: $500,000

Shaw blinks a few times to make sure she isn’t hallucinating.

“Huh,” she muses to herself. This Root person must have really pissed off some very important people.

“Okay, I’ll bite,” she says out loud, typing out a response to the message.

<<Confirming contract. Send details of target.

Her phone buzzes again and she taps to open the message, curious to see who this Root is and why there was such a large payout to take them out. Unfortunately, the details sent to her did not indicate any reason why the contract was so high. This woman - Root - doesn’t seem to be anything special, just a gifted hacker with a mysteriously absent paper trail. Intelligent? Apparently. Attractive? Shaw looks at the photo of the hacker on her phone - definitely. But nothing else really stands out when Shaw scans through the target profile on her phone.

She gets out of bed and takes a quick shower, then shovels down a bowl of Fruit Loops and grabs her duffle bag from underneath her bed. She sets out to track down the target using the coordinates that were sent to her phone.

....

Squinting through the scope of her binoculars, Shaw spots Root walking down the busy streets of New York. It’s broad daylight - too risky to take out Root with a sniper rifle in front of so many people. Shaw sighs in disappointment and packs up her rifle. Guess it’ll have to be a close range job, then. She takes out her Nano and USP Compact from the duffle bag and stuffs both into the back of her waistband. She hides the duffle bag in the closet of the empty apartment that she had broken into and climbs out the window and down the fire escape to track her target on foot.

Shaw tails the hacker as she completes seemingly mundane errands - making a deposit at the bank, dropping off some mail at the post office, grabbing a cappuccino at a coffee shop. Shaw glances up from her tall latte every couple of minutes to make sure that her target is still in view. She’s sitting a few tables away from Root, who seems to be engaged in reading a wedding planning magazine. There’s still too many people around for her to make a move, so she opts to bide her time until she can get Root alone.

After several more hours of trailing the hacker, Shaw finally finds an opportunity when Root starts heading back to what Shaw assumes is her apartment. She follows Root to a much quieter part of town - away from the hustle and bustle of the main streets - and silently attaches the suppressor on her USP Compact as she follows Root around another corner. She finds the perfect opportunity when they round the corner and end up in a secluded area, and Shaw raises her pistol to take aim at her target.

A buzzing in her pocket stops her in her tracks and Shaw lifts her finger from the trigger to fish her phone out of her pocket and check the message.

>>Update: Target to be taken in ALIVE

That’s strange, Shaw thinks to herself. Usually when you’re contracted to assassinate someone, the general consensus is that the target should end up dead.

Her phone buzzes again.

>>Get target to safety. You are not alone

Shaw pauses and hears the faint sound of footsteps approaching from behind. Several other footsteps come into range and Shaw realises that she - and Root - are surrounded.

Shaw groans. This was not what she had signed up for. She sprints towards Root, who turns around at the sound of her footsteps.

“Root?” she calls out to the hacker.

“Yes. H-how did you-“

“No time to talk. I’m here to kil-uh, protect you. Come with me.”

Shaw quickly grabs Root by the elbow and pulls her into an alley, ducking behind a garbage dumpster and dragging Root down beside her.

“Who are you?” Root asks, bewildered and breathless from running.

“Doesn’t matter. Apparently I’ve been hired to protect you.”

“Protect me? From who?”

Shaw shrugs. “No idea. To be honest, I’m just in it for the money.”

“Well that’scomforting.”

“Look, all I know is that you pissed off some people in very high places. People who wanna have you killed. Any idea who it could be, or what we’re dealing with here?”

“Sweetie, I’m a hacker for hire. Who doesn’t want me dead?”

“I guess that explains all the goons closing in on us like vultures around a corpse. Follow close behind me.” She stops and turns around. “And don’t call me sweetie.”

“Well what else am I supposed to call you? You never gave me your name.”

Shaw rolled her eyes. “Name’s Shaw. Now follow me. Keep low and don’t say a word.”

“But how am I supposed to-“

“I said shush-“

“-warn you about the three bad guys with guns behind us?”

A bullet whizzes right by Shaw’s ear before Root even finishes speaking, and Shaw turns around to return the fire; grabbing the Root by the arm and shoving the hacker behind her to shield her from the spray of bullets.

“Ever shoot a gun before?” Shaw asks as she exchanges shots with the troupe of bad guys.

“Do video games count?”

Shaw ducks and shoves Root’s head down, both of them narrowly missing another bullet flying at them. She pulls her Nano out of her waistband and hands it to Root.

“Safety. Sights. Trigger,” she says, pointing to each respective part of the gun, “Aim for center mass. Harder to miss that way.”

Shaw fires off a few well-placed rounds and easily drops half a dozen men on the ground. She springs up onto her feet and starts sprinting with Root in tow. After a few minutes Shaw spots a line of parked cars at a sidewalk. She takes off her leather jacket and wraps it around her arm. She drives the butt of her gun through the driver window of the closest car and uses her wrapped arm to clear away the remainder of the shattered glass. Shaw reaches through the window and unlocks the doors to the car.

“Get in,” she motions to Root with a gesture of her head, and Root hurriedly runs to the passenger side and gets inside. Shaw enters through the driver side and makes quick work of hotwiring the car. The engine roars to life and the car peels off onto the street, narrowly missing a fresh round of shots coming from the swarm of additional men who are now just catching up to them.

“Well that was close,” Shaw mutters, looking back at the rear view mirror to make sure that the distance between them and the goons was increasing by the second.

“Maybe a little tooclose,” Root hisses through gritted teeth.

Shaw looks over and spots the blood starting to soak through the sleeve of Root’s left arm.

Shaw leans over, grabs Roots right hand, and places on the source of the bleeding. “Keep pressure on that wound. I’ll take a look at it once I can get you somewhere safe.”

Root nods and does as instructed, pushing against the wound despite the stinging pain.

After a while, they approach Shaw’s apartment. Shaw parks the car a few blocks away from her building and they continue walking on foot. Shaw quickly looks over the gunshot wound on Root’s arm and nods when she sees that the bullet shot clean through her arm.

“Looks like you’re gonna be okay. I’ll patch you up when you get to my place,” she says to Root, who winces when Shaw lifts her arm to examine it.

“Do you make it a hobby to patch up strangers whose lives you save?” Root asks.

“I don’t save lives, I take ‘em,” Shaw says gruffly.

“I guess I must be pretty special for you to save mine instead of taking it,” Root teases.

“Yeah, you’re special alright. $500k type of special. Now what did I say about not talking?”

“I thought we were bonding. We just went through a near-death experience together. That’s a pretty special bond.”

“Shut up, Root. Otherwise the only special bond you’re gonna get is getting handcuffed and gagged.”

“Is that a promise?”

Shaw grunts in frustration and rolls her eyes. She should be paid double the amount for having to deal with the annoying hacker.

They finally make it to Shaw’s building and Shaw does a quick sweep of the apartment to make sure it hasn’t been compromised. She shows Root to the bathroom and takes out her medical kit to start patching her up.

Root hisses when Shaw cleans the wound with the antiseptic swabs, but refrains from making any other noises after Shaw applies a local anaesthetic to numb the pain.

“You’re pretty good at this,” Root comments, studying the way Shaw’s hands gently and skillfully stitch up the wound.

“I was a doctor once, but I quickly found out that I was much better at killing people than saving them,” Shaw mutters as she works.

“Until now,” Root adds.

“Like I said, I’m only doing this for the money.”

“Right. And what is ‘this’, exactly?”

“I don’t know. I get a text that tells me how much money I’ll get for taking you out. Then I get another text, and it tells me I have to keep you alive. So here I am, keeping you alive.”

“You say the sweetest things.”

Shaw rolls her eyes and wraps the gauze around the newly patched up wound. She tapes the gauze in place and turns to put away her supplies.

“So, what kind of people are you pissing off that are powerful enough to send a bunch of assassins out to kill you?” Shaw asks, carefully sterilizing her tools and placing them back in the medical kit.

“The kind of people that I would need professional help to get rid of.”

Shaw hears the unmistakeable sound of the safety being clicked off a gun. HER gun. Her Nano, to be specific. She slowly turns around to see Root casually leaning against the doorframe, aiming Shaw’s own gun at her with a steady hand. A hand that’s definitely shot a gun before.

Root reaches behind Shaw and removes the USP Compact from her waistband as well. Shaw can’t help but catch a whiff of Root’s shampoo as she leans in, and it’s a little intoxicating if she’s being honest. Root clicks the safety off the second gun and lets her finger rest against the side of the pistol.

“Two guns at once?” Shaw comments. “That’s kind of lame.”

Root smiles. “Two handguns are better than one.”

Shaw snorts. “So are you gonna tell me how I fit into this plan of yours, or am I going to have to shoot it out of you?”

Root laughs. A laugh that Shaw does not find completely unpleasant, which…is not what she should be concerned about right now while she has two guns pointed at her.

“Sorry, sweetie, I couldn’t shake those guys off my tail, so I had to get a little creative.”

“Creative how?” Shaw gritted through her teeth.

“Well you’re right about me pissing off some people in high places. See, I had to kill a few people to get access to a few important things, and I guess some of those people had associates who wanted what I took and are willing to kill for it. As you can probably figure out, that can be very bad for business, not to mention very irritating. So I needed some help getting rid of the hitmen that are being sent after me. That’s where you came in. I needed a top tier assassin to take out these helper monkeys without getting my hands dirty.

“So you got my attention by what…putting out a hit out on yourself?”

“Exactly. I read your file, Sameen - the file that you thought had been redacted and stored away in a bunker somewhere it would never be found - and I have to say that I’m big fan.”

“I’m flattered,” Shaw said flatly.

Root pouted. “No hard feelings, sweetie. I just needed a bit of help, and you were the perfect candidate to help me. If it makes you feel any better, I am a woman of my word - $500,000 deposited into your bank account. Remember earlier today when I went to the bank? That was me transferring the money into your account.”

“Great, an honest hacker. That’s gotta be a first.”

Root grinned. “Have a little faith, Sameen. The mail I deposited at the post office today contains my contact information. The mail will arrive here at your apartment within 3-5 business days, should you wish to reach out in the future-“ Root leans in close “-and I really hope you do.”

“Oh, I’m gonna be in touch in the verynear future,” Shaw growls.

Root smiles “I’m counting on it.”

Root looks at her phone. “Sadly, I’m on a bit of a clock, so I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut our conversation short,” she backs out of the bathroom, gun still pointing at Shaw. Root admires the gun she’s holding in her hand. “Thanks for the lovely souvenir!”

Root quickly backs out of the hallway and disappears out the apartment door. Shaw runs after her, but loses sight of the hacker as soon as she gets to the door.

“Next time I see that woman, I’m shooting her,” Shaw grumbles to herself.

[aiimaginesbts]

An Unexpected Insight

A/N: I interrupt the normal (if sparse and irregular) fanfics with a Mr Love fanfic I wrote for the Mid Year Contest! This is my first Mr Love fanfic and it didn’t go through a beta-reader, so please be kind to me. 

It's a story I made up for Gavin and MC's high school time inspired by the Campus Date. Comments and constructive criticism are welcome as per usual :D

Reader x Gavin

Genres: Fluff

Word count: 1,935 words

Disclaimer/Copyright. Photo from Mr Love: Dream Date.

There was something about autumn that tinged everything with a touch of warm color, like a painter had brushed everything with a brush dipped in yellow-orange paint. The park that I cut through on the way back from school was an especially good example of this. Home to countless trees shedding their leaves, the whole scenery before me was bathed in a luxurious golden hue. However, today, there was an extra delight waiting for me amongst the beautiful yellow and red leaves.

As I passed by one of the few maidenhair trees in the park, my ears perked up at a series of high-pitched barking. My head spun wildly around, trying to locate the source of the sound until I found it under the shade provided by the leafy branches. “Oh, look at you!” I squealed at the sight of a small puppy in a box next to the tree trunk, yapping for all it was worth. Running towards it at first, then as I approached I slowed my steps down, gauging its reaction to my proximity. Thankfully, it didn’t seem scared of me at all. Rather, its response was the opposite. If dogs could smile, this one definitely was, and I could see excitement dancing in its dark brown eyes.

Crouching down next to the box, I held out my hand for it to sniff. The box was quite large, and the tiny thing could barely hook its front paws over the edge. Nevertheless, it leaned forward to smell my hand, and quickly started to lick my palm all over. The sensation of its wet, rough tongue made me giggle uncontrollably. “Hey, that tickles!”

After spending some time petting and playing with it, I gathered the courage to lift the puppy out of the box. It was only then that I noticed two bowls; one white and the other blue in color in the corner of the thick cardboard box. “So, someone is taking care of you, after all,” I commented to no one in particular, noting that some of the water and food left in the bowls had been consumed. Now that it was free of its four-walled confines, the puppy was even more excitable than before. It was hard for me to double-check under its fur, but I confirmed it after struggling a little with the puppy; it wasn’t wearing any collar.

For a while I played with the adorable baby dog, letting it stretch its legs for a bit by allowing it to run around the tree. As the sky was growing dark, I had to regretfully return it to its box and rush back home. “You don’t have an owner, but someone is looking after you,” I thought to myself as I walked away. “Hmm.”

Every afternoon after school was spent in the park with the little puppy from then on. I refrained from giving it a name, wary of growing attached to it. Yet I found myself falling in love with it anyway. Naturally, I wondered who was feeding it. The bright yellow ginkgo leaves were gradually making their way towards the ground as days passed, and at some point, I noticed that the big box was newly lined with some thick blanket, giving the puppy warmth in the progressively cooling days and nights. However, I never managed to even catch a glimpse of this mysterious caretaker. My curiosity on the matter grew each day, but I always managed to miss this person somehow, even when I came earlier than I usually would on the weekend.

The golden opportunity for me to unravel this mystery popped up unexpectedly just two days later, when I was stopping by on my way home from school as usual. Lifting the puppy up into my arms, I immediately noticed that the bowls had not been filled like they usually were. “Oh!” I eyed the empty containers more excitedly than I would look at bowls filled with diamonds. “The person didn’t come here yet?” I asked the puppy. As if it understood me perfectly, it let out a sad whine, making my heart cry out for it. “Are you hungry?” It tilted its head adorably in response, but of course, it didn’t say anything. Then it began to fight its way out of my embrace.

At first, I was confused. I thought we had built a rapport this past ten days, so why did it want to get away from me? “Oh! Do you need to relieve yourself?” Sure enough, once I lowered it down to the ground, it quickly sped off to the tree after next to do its business. Watching from afar, I chuckled to myself. Good thing I figured it out in time, otherwise it might have let itself go all over me. As I kept an eye on it so that it didn’t venture out of my sight, I considered buying it some food. But what if the unknown person who had been feeding it came while I was gone? Crossing my arms and tapping my foot in thought, I turned the options over and over in my mind. I’d been dying to meet this person ever since I’d met the puppy. On the other hand, I didn’t want the poor animal to starve.

I stood there for a while, watching the baby dog prance around, then finally decided on a compromise. There was still over an hour before I had to go home. At the moment, the puppy seemed more eager to play around than it was to eat. So, I made up my mind to wait until the very last minute possible for the person to show up, giving myself just enough time to run and buy some food if he or she ended up not coming. Recalling the nearest pet store that I knew, I mentally calculated the distance and time it would take for me to run to the shop and get back.

Resolution made, I sighed in relief, taking a seat on the bench conveniently placed underneath the lush branches. Before I knew it, I had fallen asleep. The pleasant weather and peaceful atmosphere at the park made it the perfect place for an afternoon nap.

If I hadn’t heard some rustling and felt a light breeze sweeping over me, I might never have woken up until it was too late. As it was, the chill jolted me awake, reaching to wrap my light sweater more tightly around my body reflexively. My sudden jostling must have been startling, because it caused a jumping movement next to me, drawing my attention immediately.

Crouched down beside me was a young man with straight brown hair, sporting the uniform from the same high school I attended, scratching the puppy under its chin. At first, I couldn’t see his face, and when I peered downwards to take a peek, he dipped his head down even further, groaning out loud at being discovered. Deciding that revealing his identity was inevitable, he lifted his chin up. Upon seeing his face, my heart leapt with shock, then my head tilted in confusion and after that, my body contracted a little with fear.

“Uhm… Gavin?” He and I weren’t in the same class, so I’d heard about him from other students rather than know him personally. The things I’d heard so far weren’t very encouraging. He was infamous as a troublemaker, not only in our school, but it was considered general knowledge around the whole area. My classmates had whispered among themselves about how he was always getting into fights, not just with fellow students and teachers, but with the less savory characters around the neighborhood as well. These gossips were repeated loudly in my head like an involuntary warning siren as my eyes looked him over. Fresh cuts and bruises on his face and hands were indisputable proof of the rumors. Did he just get out of a fight? Even though I was scared, I managed to ask, “Are you okay?”

“Huh?” He responded, befuddled by my question. Unsure how to answer him, I started to reach for one of the cuts on his handsome face. Before I could touch him, he backed away, as though he was the more frightened one between the two of us. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said gruffly.

Not daring to prod him further, I gazed around for another topic. “Oh!” I saw that the bowls had been filled up. “Are you the one who has been feeding the puppy?”

Instead of answering, he bristled, like a threatened dog. It made me want to laugh, despite myself. Gavin was unexpectedly cute. “What’s it to you?”

“I was just wondering why he hasn’t taken it home, instead of taking the time to come and feed it here every day,” I shrugged, pretending I didn’t know it was him.

“My apartment doesn’t allow pets,” Gavin answered, then flinched when he realized that he’d given himself away. Turning to me defensively, he reflected the question back to me. “What about you? Why haven’t you taken it home instead of playing with it here every day?”

My mouth gaped in surprise. Had he been watching me? I never noticed. However, I knew that he would probably jump ten paces back if I let on that I’d noticed his slip-up. While that would be beyond amusing to watch, strangely I didn’t want to drive him away. “My father is allergic to fur.” I smiled apologetically. “It’s really nice of you to look after it, though.”

Gavin stood up, refusing to meet my eyes. Was he… blushing? It must be the wind, I told myself. It was pretty windy today. My cheeks felt a little raw from it, too. At least he wasn’t running away. After a pause, he cleared his throat. “The shelter looks overcrowded. And this puppy is already so tiny. If I let it get any skinnier than it is, some naughty kids and bigger dogs are gonna bully it.”

Lips pursed, I looked down at the puppy, noting the happy wag in its tail, its sleek coat of fur and healthy body. It wasn’t skinny at all. I smiled to myself. Although I’d heard stories about Gavin bullying weaker students, here he was, wanting to ensure that a defenseless animal wouldn’t get hurt. “You’re really kinder than I thought.”

“What?”

I lifted my chin up, then shook my head, not wanting to repeat what I’d murmured under my breath. “Can I help you take care of it?” I asked without much thought. Although Gavin still scared me, I couldn’t deny that he was intriguing.

“There’s no need for two people to care for it. Plus, I found someone who’s gonna take it in after they finish renovating their house in a week or two,” Gavin’s answer was blunt and reflexive, as if he was used to being on his own and pushing everyone away. He paused, then stole a look at me from the corner of his eye. “But if you really want to… I guess that’s fine.” His agreement brought a smile to my face, but it made him pricklier than ever. “I gotta go.” Without giving me a chance to answer, he dashed off like the wind, falling gingko leaves fluttering about in his wake.

I watched him leave in silence, immersed in thought. Gavin might be dangerous and unapproachable, but maybe he wasn’t as horrible as the rumors made him out to be. Even if he wasn’t kind to humans, at least he was kind to animals. Someone like that surely couldn’t be all that bad.

A/N: Thank you for taking the time to read this! If you like it and want to vote for me, here is the link to my comment!

For my BTS readers, please look forward to my Jimin one-shot for the Summer Collab on Saturday at 10am KST!

[interstellarrambles]

one. fs. + mg.

pairing: platonic! michael gray x genderneutral!reader, finn shelby x genderneutral!reader

pronouns: they/them

tag list: @ibetrippinsometimes @namelesslosers (if you would like to be added, just ask!)

a/n: with regards to the timeline, this chapter is set around two months before thomas's wedding to grace, but I have aged up finn considerably so he's the same age as michael (21). reader is gender neutral, but may appear feminine? enjoy this chapter and thanks to everyone that asked me about it!

gentle and familiar, the general chit chatter of the garrison was slowly being pulled out of your focus as the alcohol you'd consumed softened the edges of your mind. another pay day had turned into another night of bad choices and way too much whiskey.

sinking into the soft red leather of the booth seat, you placed the drinks you'd just purchased on the table, and smiled as you pretended to ignore the money finn offered to you. to say you were drunk would perhaps be an understatement and under his breath, finn marvelled at how you had carried the drinks without spilling them. usually you would have slapped him for that remark, but tonight you were feeling sentimental so you let it slip.

warmed by your surroundings, you took a moment to really absorb everything happening around you, and wonder how your life had changed so much and yet still managed to remain much the same.

sleepily, your head tilted until it rested on finn's shoulder, and though he tensed a little at first, he relaxed into it until he was so close you could practically feel his heart beat in your cheek.

despite your shared maturation over the past two years, you and finn remained close still, perhaps becoming even closer. from nights when you shared beds like little children, and mornings when the sun drafted through the windows, soft ranks of soldiers illuminating the fierce red in his locks, you had learned every freckle on his skin and every hair that twisted into a curl. therefore you liked to think you'd notice if anything changed, and though you couldn't deny the broadening of his shoulders and slimming of his cheeks, you saw no difference in him.

maybe you didn't want to. the more difference you'd see, the more distance there would be between you and the childhood you'd shared.

as you admired him silently, a smile broke out onto finn's face, his features literally lighting up as he chuckled at something isaiah had said. entranced too deeply to process the joke, you refrained from laughing and simply prepared yourself to be teased for staring, though when you looked up, no one had noticed.

the only other person not laughing was michael, sat next to a pretty girl, a secretary no doubt, his jawline set, bulging as he clenched it periodically. once upon a time you might have joked he'd contract arthritis if he kept it up, and he'd laugh it off, but recently you never joked with him.

a plague of seriousness had affected michael: you would only see him smile when he was alone with you and it appeared more nowadays that the drugs were consuming him, more than him consuming the drugs.

business with the Shelby Company Limited was booming as it fucking always was, but you knew thomas was making michael work overtime - perhaps something was going on, perhaps it wasn't. who were you to get involved? they didn't tell you or finn jackshit anyway.

regardless, you didn't want to ruin the relatively positive night you'd had so you pushed it from your mind altogether, remarking with a sense of ironic finality that you still hadn't worked out michael, although part of you thought you had.

despite the knowledge you'd pay for it the next day, you gulped down another drink, caring little for the repercussions, and all night you had all done the exact same so now empty glasses filled your table, and drunken laughter erupted every few minutes.

though you had been finding it hard to keep up with the boys lately, in the moments when they were chuckling along with you, none of it mattered.

as you swigged the final drops of your whiskey, finn rested his arm around you, and while you did catch a confusing look from isaiah, you thought of it as nothing more than drunken platonic intimacy.

shuffling impossibly closer to him, ignoring the glare you got from the girl sat next to michael when you kicked the table, you whispered in his ear, "I wanna go home finn."

twisting around to make eye contact, he nodded slowly, and announced to the table he was gonna escort you home, saying final goodbyes before you would brave the cold night.

upon hearing this news though, michael sat up in his chair, and protested claiming since he lived closer he may as well take you home. even in your drunken haze this made no sense as you all lived on the same street, but you were so used to michael insisting on chaperoning you around, you'd heard every excuse in the book. hoping a fight didn't ensue, you distracted yourself by watching isaiah who was wholly unbothered by michael showing himself up; he was likely used to it by now.

"I'm tired and anyway, this place isn't exactly riveting," michael complained, apparently not noticing the fact he had broken his poor date's heart.

evidently flustered, her made up cheeks showed the slightest flush, and your heart dropped a little at michael's obliviousness. throwing glares every time michael talked to you, she hadn't been exactly nice to you all evening, but your inside still swirled with pity.

ever the sweet boy you'd met all those years ago, finn smiled genuinely at the girl, before turning to michael.

"you've got another lady to worry about. I've got it," he insisted, getting a little more assertive when michael went to say something else; "I said I've got it."

defeated, you watched michael slump down again, and though he looked less than happy, you still managed to work a smile from him when you waved as you left the bar.

years ago, you had remarked you didn't understand michael, that he was confusing, and rightfully so. more recently, you wondered if you couldn't understand him, or simply weren't trying hard enough to.

slipping from your hands like sun warmed sand, time continued to elude you in your intoxicated state, but soon enough, with finn's overcoat wrapped around you and your own blinders cap on your head, you had made it to your house. in the fumbling darkness, it took little to convince finn to stay with you - in fact it would've taken a lot to convince him not to - and so the evening concluded with the two of you in your room, him on the floor and you in the bed feeling rather sorry for yourself.

even in the sweeping darkness that filled the room, when you felt a less than pleasant jolt in your stomach, you all but flew to the bathroom as gracefully as possible in the circumstances. almsot immediately, finn followed to offer hugs and comfort and run his hands through your hair until you felt able to move again

lying there on the bathroom floor, your head cushioned by his lap, finn gently stroking your palm with his thumb, a small part of you felt dizzying butterflies in your stomach, and not just because of the sickness. as always though, you tried to focus on the completely friendly smile on finn's face, and wrote it off as confusion.

although you would have been happy to stay there forever, finn couldn't hide his exhaustion from you for long, and as soon as you saw his eyelids dropping, you ushered him back into the bedroom despite how much it pained you to leave his embrace.

twisting with nerves, your stomach clenched once more when you clambered into the bed and watched as finn prepared his place on the floor.

"can you join me?" you ventured, whispering into the silence, "feel bad about you sleeping on the floor."

smirking as he climbed in next to you and wound his arms around you gently, he waited until his lips were close to your ear before teasingly whispering, "are you sure that's the only reason why love?"

thankfully, you knew he couldn't see the warmth in your cheeks though he was close enough to feel it, and you slightly jolted him with your elbow before replying.

"I could kick you out you know, I'm heartless deep down."

"you wouldn't dream of it."

even in the thick darkness, you could tell he was wearing that shit-eating grin again and you cursed the fact he knew you so well.

"watch me," into his neck, you spoke your final words before seriously turning to him, "thanks finn, I love you."

impossibly, you burrowed deeper into his hug and allowed yourself to smile wider than you thought was possible when he uttered the words back, almost unintelligible even in the silence.

but you heard them. you couldn't miss them if you tried.

[clansayeed]

Bound by Destiny ― Chapter 16: The Throne

PAIRING: Kamilah Sayeed x MC (Nadya Al Jamil) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Destiny ⥽

Nadya Al Jamil (MC) has been struggling from the day she moved to Manhattan, but her new job as assistant to the mysterious CEO of Raines Corp was supposed to turn her luck around. Until she finds herself caught in the middle of a war involving the Council of Vampires who secretly run the city. An evil from the birth of Vampire-kind stirs beneath, feeding on the conflict, and finds Nadya bound to a destiny she never asked for.

Bound by Destiny and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off, Nightbound. Find out more [HERE].

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Destiny tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Kamilah and Nadya don’t deal with the day after. Together the girls journey to the Council Chamber for Adrian’s trial. Nadya is shaken when she comes upon a throne she shouldn’t know.

[READ IT ON AO3]

"You would do well to hold your tongue.”

“Forgive me, my King. You know I don’t mean to speak out of turn —”

“And yet you persist in doing so. I would have thought your disposable nature would be cemented in your mind after your ascension to the role at my side.”

“Yes, I—I understand. But what you’re suggesting is…”

“What our King suggests is not our place to question, Adrian.”

“Of course, Kamilah. I understand. My apologies, my King.”

“As always you are forgiven. How could I not forgive you in your youthful ignorance? One day you will have lived as long as I do now. You will have seen empires of mortals rise and fall and know that we are that which remains.

One day you will understand. For now… begone. Both of you.”

“Yes, my King.”

“Yes, my love.”

Nadya doesn’t know which is more terrifying to think about; that she’s getting used to these nightmares or that she’s come to expect them.

But sitting on a gilded throne in a cavern… being both herself and someone else — and an awful someone else at that — at least it’s getting easier and easier to wake from the dreams. She just wants them to go away.

She’s alone in her bed. She’s in her bed at Kamilah’s penthouse. Her hair is still damp but the sheets underneath her body have long-since dried. When she moves something tugs at her arm — she looks to see the remains of a shirt sleeve still clinging to life on her shoulder.

That, too, Nadya might accidentally convince herself was a dream if not for all the worldly evidence that said otherwise. Screamed it, even.

Her legs feel like jelly but Nadya forces herself up and into a shower. Relishes the fact that it’s not the awkward carved-out space in Lily’s place — however homey it was and however generous she was to share it — but an actual, tile-and-tub shower with more than five minutes of hot water to help her wash sweat, rain, and her nightmares off her body.

Maybe Kamilah didn’t stay until the morning (afternoon? she can’t tell anymore) because she wants to forget it happened.

Regardless of Kamilah’s thoughts on the matter, though, judging by the wide every-tooth-accounted-for grin Lily gives her best friend when the smell of fresh coffee coaxes her into the kitchen she wants to know everything.

“It’s too early for this,” Nadya protests; rubs her temples with her eyes closed and when she opens them there’s magically a mug of coffee within reach. Maybe the Gerard-fairy could get her that pony she wanted when she was ten…

“It’s never too early to get into the juicy details,” Lily props her chin on both hands, “you’re glowing, babe.”

“Am not.”

“Are so.”

“I am not!”

Lily throws her hands up with exasperation. “Ignorance must be so fucking blissful! I’d give my left nut to be able to bone my girlfriend right now!”

There’s a clatter by the sink and they both look to see Gerard fumble with a piece of cutlery and his favorite scrubbing sponge. He tries to play it off cool but Nadya knows better. “Let’s try and calm it down with the skanky talk, Lil’.”

“Not skanky if it’s how I feel.”

Gerard chuckles. “Oh don’t mind me, ladies. At my age a shock to the system keeps me on my toes.”

He wipes off his hands and gets about preparing for Kamilah’s arrival the usual way; a folded newspaper and espresso cup with saucer set immediately to Nadya’s left. And before she can ask — Kamilah herself walks in with the same purpose and intent she does everything else.

Including desperate rain-soaked sex.

Did she expect to be swept up in Kamilah’s strong arms and bent over the table in a passionate kiss; no. Did she hope for a little acknowledgment at the very least; well, certainly more than the big bucketful of nothing her way as Kamilah takes her usual seat, sips her usual coffee, and opens her usual evening edition.

Lily makes a face at her that is hidden by the Stocks. Nadya silently tries to admonish her but, well, Lily does what Lily wants whether she’s a vampire or a human.

Silence. Silence. Nadya tries to break it as best she can.

“So Kamilah, this is —”

“I’m well aware of who she is.” Kamilah flicks the paper in half and appraises Lily with cold nonchalance. “And what she is, is a liability.”

Lily huffs. “Just because I’m not in your Clans doesn’t mean —”

All Kamilah has to do is hold up a finger. There’s a part of Nadya that’s trying to find even the smallest thing to keep her optimistic and apparently that part is a horny little monster; since it makes her look at the finger and go pink in the cheeks.

Kamilah either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. Her only concern is Lily.

“You are a prime example of the prosecution’s case against Adrian; by virtue of his blood you were Turned. Rather than go through the proper channels to instill you a premature spot in his Clan he was content to let you disappear and sweep the matter under the rug.”

“That’s not — that’s not what happened, not entirely! It isn’t the whole story.” Nadya raises her voice to try and get Kamilah to look at her.

It works; a brief flicker of dark hues that has her heart racing and no doubt the vampires in the room both catch it. But it’s not something she can control. It might not even be for Kamilah — she’s definitely angry enough.

“Kamilah, you know that’s not what happened.”

“Yes, I do,” she sips her coffee, “yet what should we say otherwise? Either we let that be the case made against him on this act alone or we reveal to the Council any knowledge we might have regarding the Clanless, their operations, and where they might be hiding. Which is worse?”

It’s a question she doesn’t know the answer to. Judging by the look Kamilah gives her — she doesn’t have any answers either.

“I can’t risk them, Nadi’.” mutters Lily.

She looks across the table; reaches out and takes Lily’s hand in hers. “I know — we’re not doing that. I’m not gonna sell out the Clanless.”

“Even if it leads to Adrian’s execution?” Kamilah says it only because it’s something they need to take into account; she knows that. But it’s the way she’s talking that keeps adding fuel to the fire inside her belly.

“And I won’t let that happen, either.”

“My point remains the same; having this girl there would only jeopardize Adrian’s already thin defense.”

Already thin defense. God, it makes her head spin around backwards.

“What is he being charged with anyway? Last I saw you guys everyone was on the same side.”

As Gerard comes around to pour more coffee she catches his expression; his normal ease replaced with stiffness and more lines than usual etched into his furrowed brow. It makes Nadya’s stomach upset.

She tries to backtrack. “Never mind, we can talk about it later, or…”

“No, you have a right to ask. And I would rather you know what you will be walking into” Kamilah sets her paper aside to give them her full attention. “You don’t know the whole story — everything that’s led up to this point. From small deals and micro-aggressions to spats both behind closed doors and within Council Chambers. I’m afraid this has been a long time coming, Nadya. And the events of the Ball were all that was needed for… shall we say certain parties to enact plans that have merely been lying in wait.

“It’s no secret that Adrian hasn’t always seen eye-to-eye with the rest of the Council. You’ve met them. I think you can draw your own conclusions. The more Adrian has pushed for progress and integration into human society the more resistance he’s been met with — even from those we thought saw our way of things at the very least for their own gains.”

Nadya brings one leg up to her chest. “Why do I feel like you’re trying not to say Lester’s name?”

“Castellanos and Adrian have always had a tense partnership — only as strong as what they both got out of it. But that isn’t uncommon for our kind; especially for those who have lived as long as we.”

“So Lester stabbed him in the back.”

“Yes, and no,” Kamilah’s jaw sets; her teeth grinding together like slabs of stone, “They all did; the entire Council — save myself.”

“And we’re sure about that?”

Both Nadya and Kamilah look at Lily like she’s grown another head. Nadya quickly dissolves into panic; reaches out and grabs Kamilah’s upper arm even though she knows it’s about as effective as a blade of grass trying to stop a hurricane.

There’s no mistaking Kamilah’s tone — she is and always will be the calm before and the storm itself.

“I suggest you refrain from speaking again should you value the lower part of your skull, newborn.”

And Nadya wants to actually smack Lily upside the head for having the gall to snap back; “Well you keep saying the Council are the bad guys. Except you’re on it, too. You’re the one we should be rooting for? The Kingsley Shacklebolt of the Ministry working on the inside?”

“You dare…”

“Lily, stop!”

Nadya’s voice hurts her own ears; even the thought of raising it at Lily especially after their confrontation in the Shadow Den… she’s been walking on eggshells made of tissue paper around her best friend. And, really, she’s doing it to keep Lily safe in the end.

The muscles under Nadya’s grasp shift, though. She has a chance to keep this from getting very bloody very fast.

“Please, Lil’,” she continues, “I get why you’re thinking like that — I would too if I didn’t know better — but Kamilah and Adrian are more than just ‘on the Council’ together. They’ve been through everything and stayed at each other’s sides. Kamilah was there when Adrian was Turned — and—and they stayed together even when it meant betraying their Maker. She wouldn’t turn on him — ever. Just like you wouldn’t tun on me.”

It’s enough to satisfy Lily — or her version of satisfied in which she goes to dig in the cupboards for something to munch on and help her think.

But her victory is short-lived when she looks at Kamilah with relief and is met with a clouded anger. Disbelief.

“W-What’s wrong?”

The vampire regards her carefully. How one would behave next to a wild tiger. Only out of the pair of them it’s not Nadya who is the dangerous one.

“I was not aware Adrian had told you so much of our shared history. Particularly that which involved…” she swallows the words on her tongue like bile, “our Maker.”

He didn’t, she’s ready to say — an automatic response. But it made sense given Adrian’s reaction to the man’s portrait at the castle. Gaius Turned Kamilah and Adrian…?

But how did she know that?

She doesn’t know how; she simply does.

Yet something tells her Kamilah would, after being equally unsatisfied with such an answer, not be as content as Nadya to let it go. Not at all.

So she shrugs, mutters “Late nights at the office… he said not to tell you I knew,” and hopes even if her lie isn’t convincing enough that there’s more on Kamilah’s plate than pushing the issue.

Kamilah turns away curtly.

With luck like this she’s really gotta go buy a lottery ticket soon.

“During the Council and tribunal held against him I must remain impartial. As the eldest member I have the immediate authority regarding his case but, as with all things, it will come down to a vote no matter my ruling.”

“So no chance you could go all Judge Judy on them, then, huh?” Lily asks around a mouthful of saltines. Kamilah’s look is answer enough.

“Kamilah,” Nadya touches her again, wary this time. Glad she doesn’t pull away or look ready to strike. “If you’re gonna be in charge of everything I’m going in there alone. And as much as I trust you… and Adrian, for that matter, I just…”

“No, you’re right to be cautious.” The woman’s lips quirk in the barest of smiles — but Nadya is too focused on the sudden warmth in her gaze. It feels like a spotlight under the moon. It feels like last night. “And Adrian will be in no position to help you, I’m afraid.”

“Then let Lily come. She risked enough coming up here anyway — it’s not fair to leave her hanging.”

“I dunno mami,” Lily’s imitation Mari accent is somehow made better by a mouthful of snack, “I’m kinda digging this place —” she rolls her eyes at Kamilah’s glower, “—I’m kidding, jeez. Like I’d leave my girl hanging in a den full of Dracula wannabes.”

“I’ll forgive that insult only because of how little you know.”

“Insul—wait. No freak-fuckin’ way. Is he real? Is Dracula real?!”

While Lily copes with the realization of Dracula in her own unique way Nadya takes the moment of distraction to slide her hand down Kamilah’s sleeve — to ghost her fingertips over the back of her hand.

Kamilah looks back as if to question it but the look in Nadya’s eyes is enough.

She lowers her voice to a whisper. “How long did you, uh… I mean how…”

“How long did I stay with you last night?” Kamilah finishes for her and despite her flush Nadya manages a nod. “Long enough for you to go into a deep slumber. Then I returned to my room.”

“You could’ve stayed. It’s technically your room, too.”

Kamilah purses her lips. “No doubt you wish to discuss it; what happened.”

“Well, yeah,” she shrugs, “kinda.”

But the energy radiating off of her says it’s not a desire they share. It’s in the loose hold of the vampire’s fingers and the way she looks at Nadya without seeing her. It hurts.

Makes Nadya pull her hand away, stuff it in her lap. “But I get it. Not a big deal.”

“I’d ask you to at least give me the courtesy of honesty.” Nadya exhales a shiver as she feels cool fingertips brush her hair back; tuck it behind her ear and keep her from hiding her face to Kamilah’s eyes. “As I… might like to give you the courtesy of a discussion — when all is right and Adrian is safe. Something we both should see as a priority, yes?”

Oh. She nods. “Y-Yeah.”

Then Kamilah’s standing and bringing Nadya up with her by the elbow. Enough to draw Lily’s attention away from the different types of tea Gerard’s hoarded over the years.

He went over them all with her once. She tries to pretend it doesn’t exist since there’s no rhyme or reason to his organizing.

“Too much time has been wasted already. The tribunal will begin at midnight — with or without our presence. I rather think we’d prefer to be there.”

This time when Nadya shivers it’s like someone’s just walked over her grave. Makes her wrap her arms around her middle.

“Do you really think my testimony will change anything? The Baron hates me, Vega’s threatened me, Lester… is Lester. And Priya doesn’t seem to like anything at all.”

Kamilah’s hand shifts, touches becoming a caress on her arm. “Better to try than to do nothing.”

“Right.”

Someone walks over her grave again. Nadya hopes it’s somewhere pretty.

“Does it help if I do this?”

“Lil’ I love and appreciate you but you’re as cold as the outside air right now. I think that’s actually making it worse.”

Lily backs off of her hug but takes Nadya’s hand instead. She really doesn’t deserve a friend like her but here she is, risking her afterlife — and so far the only way she’s thought up to repay her is buying the next five games Lily loves on pre-order the moment they’re available.

Ahead of them Kamilah calls back, “We’re almost there,” and hastens her pace.

Frankly three women walking around the dark and hidden paths of Central Park at night should be the beginning of the end but the only thing that makes her laugh right now is how much she pities the moron who messes with Lily and Kamilah thinking they’ll win.

They finally come to a halt in front of a statue; Nadya peers at the inscription at the base like it’s supposed to clear everything up but it does the exact opposite.

“Uh… Why are we paying Chris Columbus a visit?” Lily asks for her.

Kamilah trails her leather-gloved fingers around a dip in the base with a scornful huff. “I’ve been petitioning to have this atrocity removed since it was commissioned. Nearly had it five years ago — the young people of the world did good work in spreading the truth behind the pretty lies of historians and other members of the victorious parties. But this country has a hard-on for it’s white founders no matter how many corpses their legacy was built upon.”

“Amen, sister. Preach!” Lily pounds her fist into the air unabashedly.

“Still,” Kamilah continues, “if they refuse to tear him down then I shall use him to my advantage.”

There’s a click and the statue begins to slide aside of its own accord. Nadya and Lily look around wildly to make sure no one else sees but Kamilah remains unperturbed.

When the statue has gone as far askew as it can go there exists in its place a descending stone staircase — narrow near the surface but judging by the torches flicking soft orange light further down it empties out somewhere large.

“This is the single best Tomb Raider shit I’ve seen in my whole life!” Lily squeals in delight — doesn’t wait for Kamilah’s invitation to hop and skip her way down the steps. Her voice echoes on the stone; “This is so cool!”

Well, at least someone is having a good time.

“Uh… secret tunnel, huh.” Meanwhile Nadya processes it in her own wild way. Tries not to jump when she feels Kamilah’s hand on her lower back nudge her forward.

“Did you think we met in some city hall chamber?”

Since she has a feeling this might be the last time she sees anything resembling mirth from Kamilah for some time Nadya, spurred by adrenaline and fear and other bad things warring with the optimism she’s practically forcing on herself, stands forward on her toes and kisses her.

At first she’d likely get the same effect from kissing Chris Columbus behind her. Then Kamilah yields — out of pity or passion she can’t tell, doesn’t want to know — and rests her hands on Nadya’s hips to kiss her back and guide her away.

Kamilah doesn’t say anything — doesn’t need to. The question is there in her eyes.

“Because,” Nadya answers in her softest voice, “I was running out of good things to keep me believing we can win this.”

Before her Kamilah pulls off her glove; cards her fingers through Nadya’s hair just like back at the penthouse. Only this time she allows herself to savor the touch with closed eyes intent on snapping a still of this moment for all the awful things to come.

“Should you find a way to share your optimism… I would not turn it away.”

Kamilah’s breath is warm but her lips are cool against Nadya’s forehead. She curls her fingers in the fur lining of her coat lapels and uses up all that good luck she’s had in the little things to wish with all her might that everything was okay; that Adrian was safe and sound and they were in the park because it was a nice date spot — rather than where they might descend into their literal deaths.

Apparently she’s not saved up that much good luck just yet. Since everything is the same when she opens her eyes to watch Kamilah stroke her cheek with the back of her hand.

“Come. ‘Once more unto the breach,’ as they say.”

Kamilah doesn’t stop her from taking hold of her arm so she clings without care. Ducks when Kamilah tells her to watch her head and turns to see the base of Columbus slide back into place and plunge them into stifled darkness.

They catch up with Lily at the bottom of the steps. At first Nadya’s ready to make a joke about picking her jaw up off the dirt floor but that’s dashed from her mind the moment she catches a look herself.

Crumbled ruins in columns, archways, effigies with worn faces and broken limbs. Like a civilization once flourished underneath the streets filled with careless conversation and pigeons by the dozens.

Large fire pits — some made of twisted metal and others mere stone bowls — dot across the ground where footsteps have tamped down the earth with time. Nothing grows here from below but trickles down from the sun and sky above in long tendrils of ivy. If the moss is waging a war on those who once called this place home — the moss has definitely won.

“Final boss encounter…” Lily whispers in awe. Smacks Nadya’s arm gently and points forward. “And there’s even a bitchin’ throne!”

It was like she was doing everything she could not to see it. But once Lily draws it to her attention she can’t look at anything else.

The throne sits at the farthest end of the hall; small from this distance but imposing up close, on a dais of a stone slab with runes and glyphs carved along the ridges. It’s the only thing in the cavernous chamber that doesn’t appear to have suffered the wrath of time.

On either side sit the largest of the fire pits; flickering heat that Nadya can feel even from far back. Her eyes sweep over every golden, gleaming inch of the chair and foreboding settles deep inside her — branches out not unlike the ivy hanging from on high — from her gut to her limbs and so powerful she’s choking on it.

When she doesn’t get the reaction she wants Lily turns to face her. Grows rigid with concern when Nadya’s tears catch the firelight as they fall and drip down her chin.

“Nadi’? Nadya? Shit Nadya what’s wrong?”

Only when Lily grabs her by the shoulders and turns her bodily does the spell break. Eyes tear away from the throne and her knees buckle — without Lily there to catch her she’d fall.

Kamilah, already striding towards the end of the hall, turns back sharply.

“What’s the matter?” She’s back at their side in a beat. Looking Nadya over with concern bordering on anger. “What’s happened?”

“Nadya — hon — talk to us.” Lily cradles her head on her shoulder and Nadya wants to thank her for the gesture but she just can’t find the words.

Then Kamilah comes into blurry, teary view. Cups a hand along her jaw.

“Please. What is it?”

“The… th-throne,” she manages to gasp; both vampires spare it a glance like it doesn’t want to crush their very souls and she’s jealous of their ignorance. “I—I—it…”

She takes in a sharp breath and the words tumble from her unbidden.

“It’s mine. That throne is mine.”

[lokishornns]

Make a Wish [3]

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masterlist

—

— send requests!!

pairing: loki x reader (fem)

type: series, some humor?

rating: pg13

word count: 2,774

warnings: cursing most likely. mentions of nyc attack and deaths. mention of trafficking if you squint.

summary:  You’re a new employee for the Make a Wish foundation, struggling to make a living in the ever expensive New York City. When your boss - who, for the record, hates your guts - assigns an impossible task as a way to get you fired, you do everything in your power to make a kid happy. Even if that does include getting face to face with the most hated man in the city.

notes: im so so so sorry this took so long, but summer started so i should be pumping out fics soon. also,,,,, this is the worst thing ive ever written

taglist is open!! (check bio)

—

“Do you have a way to get home?” his voice cuts through the storm swiftly, causing a shiver to tread down your back. You turn to the villain, watching as he peers out of his front doors to where you stand. Is he actually concerned?

You realize he may be right questioning if you have a ride or not. You check your phone, staring at the time. The train back to your side of town would probably not be at the station for another half hour, and you weren’t too keen on sitting in a subway at the devil’s hour. You shrug, looking back to the downpour.

“If the subway counts, yes,” you say, mentally preparing yourself of having to traverse in the downpour once again. Loki’s mouth drops into a frown and you swear for a second you see a look of worry being directed your way before you blink it away. Loki’s face looks to be contemplating something as he skims your figure with his eyes.

Oh my god, this man needs to stop looking at me like that, you think, your face feeling hot all of a sudden.

“Is anyone able to pick you up?” Loki asks, and you’re stunned into silence for a split second, shocked that he’s actually looking out for your wellbeing. You shake yourself from those thoughts, instead, shooting a glance to your phone before shaking your head.

“My roommate doesn’t have a car,” you respond, the awkwardness of the conversation seeping into your skin, your nerves standing on end. You watch as Loki’s face contorts into a look of frustration before waving at you to follow him back inside. You don’t move.

“Come on, love; you’re going to get hypothermia out there,” Loki grumbles, his eyes rolling. You only stare at the villain, watching cautiously at his next actions.

He could kill me. Or sell me. Maybe he wants to enslave me.

“I swear that no harm will be done to you, now please come inside. You’re messing up my doormat.” Loki raises his hands up, palms facing outwards as if to show you that he’s not holding anything that can do any harm. You glance him over again warily before taking a small step back inside the enormous house. How does someone even get a house this big in New York?

The chill inside of the house does little to soothe your shiver and your skin seems to ripple at the feeling of his eyes over you. He turns away abruptly, walking quickly to a hallway, forcing you to jog to catch up to his long legs. The darkness creeps over your legs and up your spine as you disappear into the hallway, your only savior being the occasional moonlight that pierces through the windows, warped and distorted by water droplets.

Loki pushes open a door, the black wood gliding silently across the marble floors. He rummages around in a dimly lit room before peeking around the doorframe to peer at you.

“These should fit,” Loki says, his arm outstretched, offering you what seems to be a folded pair of sweats. You only stare at his hand before he sighs, rolling his eyes. “Killed by sweatpants, what a dramatic way to go.” You grumble lightly before taking the clothing from his hands. “Bathroom’s right there. Once you’ve changed, walk down this hallway. You’ll see the garage.” Loki’s tone gives you the obvious sign that whatever he says is final before he whips back around, stalking down the hallway.

You peer after the man for a moment, watching his features blend and contrast the darkness surrounding him.

Nice ass.

You sigh as you pull on the sweats, the fabric being surprisingly warm and soft. They’re quite a bit larger than your frame, and you have the slight suspicion that these might belong to Loki, but you don’t really care. You inhale deeply, catching a whiff of something rather desirable before looking at yourself in the mirror. You almost scream at the sight. The makeup you’d put on at the beginning of your day was running down your cheeks, your nose bright red. Your hair is in wet columns, almost plastered to your head. To cut things short, you look like a wet dog.

You can’t seem to muster up the capability to care about your appearance, instead just using a spare towel to run through your hair. The least you could do for Loki was give these sweats back after you’re done using them. Maybe; he’s still a villain.

You pull the bathroom door open, surprised to find the hallways being lit with warm lighting, an orange glow cast on the marble floor. You almost feel comfort at the change.

Your eyes bulge out of their sockets at the sight of the garage; cars are lined up, all sleek and polished and black. The variety of luxury cars oozes wealth and a small feeling of envy aches in your stomach as you scan through the vehicles.

“Liking the view?” a voice asks from behind you, and you yelp, turning on your heels to face whoever decided it would be a good idea to sneak up on you. Loki’s amused grin meets your eyes and you practically sigh in relief.

I need to stop feeling so comfortable around him; he’s literally the worst person in New York right now, you think. But, he’s been good to me so far.

“So, take your pick,” Loki says, and your eyes widen, looking back to the vast array of cars.

“You must have a very miserable life,” you mumble, half hoping Loki can hear you. If he does, he doesn’t make any snarky comment in response. You walk cautiously through the cars, refraining from reaching out and touching the shiny and gorgeous vehicles. One near the end of the line catches your eye and your brows furrow. “You have a third-generation impala,” you say dumbly.

“Yes; is that a surprise?” Loki asks, cocking an eyebrow of his own up. You turn back to the car, shaking your head softly.

“I guess not. Just doesn’t seem your style.” You shrug.

“How do you know the model?” Loki’s voice holds curiosity and your lips pick up into a slight smile, no animosity or harshness directed in your gaze to Loki. He wants to shiver at the sight.

“My dad used to have one, just like this, except it was an ugly blue. It was a pretty car, but a beast to work on. There’s not a lot of black ones around.” Loki senses a small bit of sensitivity in your tone and studies you, watching and picking apart your movements carefully as you walk around the car. You let out a low whistle. “Not a single scratch or dent. I’m impressed; she’s gorgeous. Can we do this one?” you ask, and the hope that sparks in your eyes gives Loki an odd feeling. He rolls his eyes.

“Your wish is my command, princess,” he mocks, and you stick out a tongue. If he was going to act childish, then so were you.

Loki and you sat in comfortable silence, music playing softly in the background to alleviate tension. Your window was rolled down, your hands curling around the wind and rain as Loki blew past streets, the impala screeching and grumbling with life.

“Why are you not like a villain?” you question absentmindedly, not even realizing the words had slipped from your mouth until the damage is done. Loki gives you a side glance, probably confused on what you meant. You go to open your mouth again before Loki cuts you off.

“What do you define as a villain, fierce one?” Loki asks, and you pause. Your eyes sweep over the curve of Loki’s nose and facial structure, thinking about the question.

He seemed to have a point with the question. Your classic definition of a villain is the one you see in every new blockbuster playing on the big screen. A creepy person, usually rich, but with little to no morals and respect for others. Someone who’s constantly creating chaos and a trail of destruction. But as you glance in the side-view mirror, you only see headlights staring back at you, no trail of destruction in sight.

“Someone who takes advantage of others for their own personal intentions on a large scale. Someone who does the opposite of good.”

“And what do you define as good?” Loki’s voice is smooth and calm, knowing he has you ensnared in a trap of thorns, snagging on your being. Your aura flickers.

“Honesty, patience, selflessness. Lawful,” you murmur, watching as Loki’s eyes flicker with a brighter shade of green, something swirling in his irises. His hand on the wheel grips the black steering wheel a little tighter.

“If you define a villain as one who takes advantage of others in a selfish manner, you’re describing all individuals who live on your pathetic planet. If you describe good as being lawful, then being a villain and being good is not mutually exclusive,” Loki mentions, and your mouth falls open, your throat drying up. “Do you know what I did to earn my position as New York’s most feared man?”

The question makes you hesitate, your mind swirling as you try to remember. You remember the invasion and the panic that shot through your nerves whenever you felt the ground tremble and moan beneath your feet. You can recall the smoke and dust that had filtered into your lungs, making you cough and gag.

“The invasion,” you whisper. The wince on Loki’s face as the words filter from your mouth makes you frown. “It killed seventy-four people.”

“Do you know why I did such a thing?” You only look at the god. His jaw is clenched tighter than it was a few moments ago, his knuckles whiter than before. “Do you know what my selfish intentions were?” Loki turns his head, his icy eyes bleeding into your soul. Your stomach lurches.

“No,” you mumble, a mix of fear and intrigue gripping your heart. Your voice is barely louder than the rumble of the car, but Loki hears it.

“Well, it would serve you best to figure that out,” Loki says with a sense of finality. You hadn’t even noticed the car had stopped outside of your apartment building, rain drizzling down the windows. You clear your throat, gathering your belongings in your arms.

“Thank you; for the ride and the clothes,” you say, giving the villain a smile as you stumble from the vehicle, the door still propped open. A small one, but genuine. Loki returns the gesture with an amused smirk of his own.

“Anything for a fan,” Loki teases, his eyes dancing with amusement. You scoff, slamming the door behind you. You stalk towards the apartment, ignoring the sound of the Impala screeching off into the night of New York City, the streetlamps flickering. The time on your phone makes you groan, reflecting the night you had endured.

The key jiggles in the lock, your door creaking as you push it open. The stuffy smell of candles burn your nostrils and you cough, the smell reaching the back of your throat. You wave your hand in front of your nose, swatting away the overbearing scent.

“B?” you call out, blowing out candles as you walk through the apartment. Your roommate makes no move to respond, prompting you to peer into her room. You sigh, B asleep and draped over her bed, snoring softly as papers surround her. You figured B had a rough night at her nursing residency based on the empty wine glass sitting on her bedside. You tread through her piles of clothes that are scattered throughout the room, blowing out candles and flicking off a few lamps. You grab a blanket and drape it over her sleeping form.

You throw your phone onto your bed, following it soon after. You couldn’t call in sick to work, your boss would assume you had failed and try to figure out any way to get rid of you. You grumble at the thought of having to wake up in a few short hours just to stumble into your boss’ evil lair and be ridiculed.

Your hope of drifting off into a short yet peaceful slumber is interrupted by thoughts of the one thing – or person – you shouldn’t be thinking about. Loki’s words ring throughout your body, thrumming with something you couldn’t decipher yet. Although you had just met and mingled with the most dangerous person in New York City, you felt oddly successful. You had managed to contact Danny’s wish and had somehow convinced him to actually meet Danny, even if minimal plans were made. Although, you had gotten the video out of it.

Your thoughts were ripped back to the file back at the Avenger’s tower. It had all of Loki’s information, transcripts of interviews and interrogations, a mugshot that was far too attractive, and his address. The Avengers has his address. Your stomach churned. You had always believed that the Avengers and Loki were playing a game of tiptoe, just waiting for Loki to strike at the Avengers or vice versa. News stations and the media portrayed Loki as the most dangerous man in New York City, so why did the Avengers allow him to live smack dab in the middle of it with a luxurious mansion that didn’t necessarily scream “hey, a terrifying villain lives here!”? It wasn’t like the Avengers were incapable of taking down Loki.

Thoughts of the Avengers and Loki were still swirling in your head as you stumbled into your boss’ office, entangled with worries and stress about Danny. You plaster on a tight smile for your boss, Greg, as he swivels around in his too-creaky rolling chair. You cringe at the sight of his office for a moment, a smell that oddly resembled rotten Chinese takeout making your eyes water. Papers are stacked everywhere. For a charity organization, you’d think that they’d have higher standards for places of work - or employees at that matter.

“Ah,” Greg’s eyes light up in recognition or annoyance, you can’t really tell. “New employee, finally gave up on that one project?” A more genuine smile of satisfaction pulls on the corner of your lips.

“No, I actually happened to get in contact with Loki last night,” you say, watching as your boss’ eyebrows draw together in confusion.

“That’s impossible. You’re lying,” Greg sneers, a pepper flake becoming apparent on his front tooth. You dig your phone out, unlocking the device to pull up a video.

“I thought you may say that,” you hum, handing him your phone. Your smile grows wider as he plays the video, his eyes widening.

“Why do I have to do this?” Loki’s disgusted voice sounds through the speaker.

“Because, I need proof,” you hissed, knowing at that moment, Loki had rolled his eyes to the camera.

“That’s stupid.”

“Put yourself in my shoes-”

“Tragic.”

“-If you walked into my work and said that you had met the most feared person in New York City, would people believe you?”

“No, I’m the god of lies.”

“Ugh, whatever, just say it,” you grumbled.

“Fine, you really are a stubborn one, aren’t you? Anyways, evening Greg, I am here with your annoying employee to confirm that I will be working with her for the duration of this Wish. There, am I done?”

Greg’s face falls, his eyes wide and jaw slack. A hint of pink dusts your cheeks at the embarrassment of watching you and the most dangerous person in New York City interact with each other, but a smile covers it up. His eyes flick from you to the phone that’s being held with an iron grip. You almost missed the tremble in his hand.

“This is fake.” You hear the hesitation in Greg’s voice, hinting that he doesn’t entirely believe himself.

“No, it’s not. If you would like to call him, I can just grab his number right now-”

“No, no! That won’t be necessary,” Greg yelps, panic alight in his eyes. He practically tosses your phone back to you, nervous laughter bubbling past his lips. For the slightest moment, you think Loki may have found this rather funny.

What the fuck? I need to stop acting like I’m buddies with Loki, dear god.

“That’s all, go do,” Greg trails off, seemingly stumped on what to tell you to do next. You hum a quick thanks before you’re out of the door, slipping your phone away as you make your way to the subway.

  —

permanent // @wewon-mrstark @timesarehardformarvellovers

loki //  @quenilla @darkprincessloki92 @jessiejunebug @agentcoulsonlivesinallofus @lokixme @themusingsofmany @iamverity @smhavengers

make a wish //  @freakygirlforeve7-blog-blog  @neaswift @sm0kingcrack @megasimpleplan4ever @barikawhobarikawho @padmeisgay @wolfsmom1 @themusingsofmany @iamverity @smhavengers

[bountyofbeads]

DONALD TRUMP’S STRANGE AND DANGEROUS ‘ABSOLUTE RIGHTS’ IDEA

This is a profound misunderstanding of the American constitutional system.

FEBRUARY 29, 2020

By Jane Chong, Former law clerk on the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Third Circuit | Published February 29, 2020 | The Atlantic | Posted March 01, 2020 |

President Donald Trump’s theory of executive power starts and ends with his “absolute rights.”

Trump invoked that catchphrase earlier this month, when, in apparent response to his angry tweets, the Justice Department undercut its own prosecutors and reduced their recommended prison sentence for Roger Stone, Trump’s longtime friend and former campaign adviser. Trump denied having asked the Justice Department to step in—but not without insisting that he had the “absolute right to do it” if he so chose.

That claim is a favorite Trump refrain, and like a brake warning light, it tends to signal that the car is no longer safely in contact with the legal road. In May 2017, after The New York Times  reported that Trump had spilled highly classified information to Russian government officials, he tweeted that he had “the absolute right to do so.” In December of that year, when asked whether the investigation into Hillary Clinton's emails should be reopened, Trump invoked his “absolute right to do what I want to do with the Justice Department.” Six months later, in June 2018, Trump tweeted that Robert Mueller’s investigation was “totally UNCONSTITUTIONAL,” and that if push came to shove, “I have the absolute right to PARDON myself.”

[ Quinta Jurecic and Benjamin Wittes: 23 dangerous propositions the Senate just ratified]

Things snowballed in 2019. In February of that year, Trump announced that he had the “absolute right to declare a national emergency” in order to obtain border-wall funding that Congress had not authorized. In April, Trump denied reports that he had offered to pardon the Customs and Border Protection commissioner if he were arrested for enforcing Trump’s policies at the U.S.-Mexico border, but tweeted that he had “the absolute right” to close the border. In October, in the midst of the House impeachment inquiry into his July 25 phone call with Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky, Trump claimed that he had an “absolute right, perhaps even a duty,” to ask foreign countries for help in investigating corruption. In November, he derided Marie Yovanovitch, the former U.S. ambassador to Ukraine, by tweet in the middle of her testimony before the House Intelligence Committee and claimed his “absolute right to appoint ambassadors.”

The temptation may be to dismiss Trump’s theory of absolute rights as a showy rhetorical tic. But one of his very first acts as president was to operationalize that theory, not long after debuting it on the campaign trail. “The president has the right to ban any group or anybody … that he feels is going to do harm to our country,” Trump explained in a June 2016 appearance on Howie Carr’s radio show, while inveighing against Muslim immigration to the United States after the mass shooting at Pulse, a gay nightclub in Orlando, Florida. “They have an absolute right, Howie.” Seven days after his inauguration, Trump signed a legally and operationally unworkable executive order imposing a 120-day ban on entry for all refugees from seven Muslim-majority countries and an indefinite ban on all refugees from Syria, which reportedly underwent none of the usual interagency review processes.

Most recently, less than a week after claiming his “absolute right” to intervene in Stone’s case, Trump issued a round of pardons that conspicuously included his friends and associates, most colorfully Rod Blagojevich, the former Illinois governor and a contestant on Trump’s show Celebrity Apprentice, who was caught on FBI wiretaps in 2008 trying to sell President Barack Obama’s Senate seat. The move suggests more coming interference on behalf of Stone, the “tough, loyal guy” whose case, Trump alleges, was “totally out of control and perhaps should not have even been brought,” and whose trial, Trump claims, suffered “significant bias.” Last week, when asked again about his plans regarding Stone, Trump mused aloud, “I’m allowed to be totally involved. I’m actually, I guess, the chief law-enforcement officer of the country.”

[ Read: Will Trump destroy the presidency?]

The point is, Trump’s theory of executive power does real work and has had real consequences. The opening memorandum prepared by Trump’s defense team for his Senate impeachment trial, for example, served as an homage to the general concept of absolute rights and built from its vision of an unconstrained executive the startling argument that the president cannot be impeached for abuses of power. Trump’s coinage actually made a revealing, and legally mystifying, appearance in the brief: “It is well settled that the President has a virtually absolute right to maintain the confidentiality of his diplomatic communications with foreign leaders.” As support for this sweeping claim, Trump’s team cited the Supreme Court’s 1974 decision in United States v. Nixon. But that decision notes nothing more than the courts’ traditional deference to the president’s claims of executive privilege over communications bearing on sensitive foreign-policy and national-security matters—and ultimately determined that President Richard Nixon had to hand over tapes subpoenaed by the special prosecutor investigating the Watergate scandal.

Where Trump derived the idea that as president he enjoys absolute rights is unclear. But his chosen phraseology is sticky and evocative. It carries a quasi-juridical ring that belies its conceptual incoherence. Closely examined, his incessant invocation of the phrase evokes the image not of the leader of the free world, but of a freeholder enjoying untrammeled and indefinite possession of his estate. Constitutionally baseless but rhetorically compelling, the whole concept of “absolute rights” is best described as a legal innovation by a real-estate mogul who understands power through the prism of private property rather than public obligation.

As the owner and developer of a sprawling global real-estate empire, Trump, of course, knows a thing or two about property. And in the world of property, the best kind of ownership is “absolute”—or “perfect”—title. Absolute title grants the title holder unequivocal, unchallengeable ownership rights. The property is free and clear, to be enjoyed and used by the owner as he sees fit. It is encumbered by nothing. The owner is beholden to no one.

What does it mean for Trump to claim ownership of not a golf resort but the executive branch of the U.S. government?

Commentators have repeatedly observed that Trump “has often seemed to conflate himself with the government, and his own interests with the nation’s.” Thus, to criticize Trump is to attack America. This makes some sense if the unitary executive is reimagined as a sole proprietorship, an arrangement in which the business enterprise enjoys no legal existence separate from its owner.

“I have an Article II, where I have the right to do whatever I want as president,” Trump crowed to a group of teenage conservatives at a Washington, D.C., summit in July, awkwardly waving his constitutional authority like a golden ticket entitling him to full possession of a chocolate factory. Conceived this way, as absolute title, Article II vests the president not with power sanctioned by and concomitant with his obligations to the people, but with rights enforceable against them.

This is a profound misunderstanding of the American constitutional system. Within that system, rights protect individuals against incursions by the state. The assertion of “absolute rights” by the country’s chief executive stands this concept on its head by purporting to insulate state conduct, however arbitrary and transgressive, from review or even critique. The idea is incompatible with the design of Article II, which vests the president with conditional, circumscribed authority to ensure that the laws are “faithfully executed.” Some of that authority is his alone to exercise—for example, only the president can grant pardons, command the armed forces, and recognize foreign states. But to the extent he misunderstands or abuses that authority, the Constitution facilitates challenge by the other branches. In extreme cases, that challenge is supposed to take the form of impeachment and removal.

In short, absolute presidential rights have no place within a constitutional democracy, wherein all power is derived from the will of the governed. And they have no purchase in a three-branch federalist republic, wherein the national executive is subject to check by Congress and the courts, and forbidden from seizing powers held by the states.

Since the start of his presidency, Trump has been criticized for asserting what amounts to a kingship—prompting one of his personal lawyers, Alan Dershowitz, to announce during the House impeachment inquiry that as president, Trump “has the power that kings have never had.” Dershowitz’s unabashed embrace of the comparison calls to mind the closing words of Alexander Hamilton’s “Federalist No. 69,” which underscore the differences between the president of the United States and the king of Great Britain. The president is an officer elected by the people; the king is “perpetual and hereditary.” The president is “amenable to personal punishment and disgrace”; the king is “sacred and inviolable.” Hamilton concluded his exercise with a call to resist those who claim “things so unlike resemble each other.”

But closely examined, the executive-power claims pioneered by Trump, the consummate wheeler and dealer, may not require leaping to a wholly different governmental paradigm. Something messier is happening here, something less lucid and self-aware than a power grab by a would-be monarch. For Trump, who inherited and then spent a lifetime expanding an empire that embodies ownership on a scale unimaginable to the ordinary American, power has always been property, property has always been power. James Madison wrote, “Government is instituted to protect property of every sort.” In Trump’s view, that protected property happens to include all the authorities and privileges encompassed in the “absolute rights” of the American presidency, the greatest deal he has ever closed.

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This story is part of the project “The Battle for the Constitution,” in partnership with the National Constitution Center.

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JANE CHONG is the former deputy managing editor of Lawfare and served as a law clerk on the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Third Circuit.

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TRUMP’S QUIET POWER GRAB

The president’s administration is attempting to bring thousands of federal employees under his control, and the public is largely unaware.

By Peter M. Shane | Published February 26, 2020 | The Atlantic | Posted March 01, 2020 |

Throughout the federal government are thousands of officials who do not direct courtrooms, but who are, in a sense, judges. They are federal employees who preside over trial-like disputes, hear evidence and testimony, and make decisions that can deeply shape people’s lives, such as the granting of asylum and veterans benefits. These executive-branch employees are administrative adjudicators.

The Trump administration has launched an obscure but dangerous effort to undermine this system, and to dictate both the appropriate circumstances for commencing adjudication and the rules that govern how disputes with agencies are resolved. If the Trump administration’s strategy works, it will have steered the federal bureaucracy further toward an authoritarian future in which all executive-branch policy making must bend to the whims of a single individual, the president.

[ Shadi Hamid: The fundamental legitimacy of Donald Trump.]

Although precise data are hard to find, recent work by two leading administrative-law scholars suggests there are roughly 12,000 of these agency adjudicators of various types across the federal bureaucracy, as compared with about 870 permanently authorized federal-court judges. Though the number of matters these adjudicators handle is very hard to come by, a 2016 estimate suggests that they decide more than 750,000 cases annually, which would be about double the number of civil and criminal felony case filings in federal district court.

A plurality of administrative adjudications involve Social Security disability claims. But there is extensive variety among the several hundred agencies and programs involved in administrative adjudication. Some agencies, such as the Nuclear Regulatory Commission and the Federal Communications Commission, engage in licensing. Others, such as the Environmental Protection Agency and the Federal Trade Commission, impose penalties for legal noncompliance. Numerous adjudication schemes across multiple agencies involve disputes about government payments, the awarding and administration of government contracts and benefits, and the imposition of employee discipline. A database created by Stanford Law School and the Administrative Conference of the United States numbers these programs and the agencies involved in the hundreds.

The public is, for the most part, quite oblivious to much of this activity’s scope and importance, much less the Trump administration’s attacks on its integrity. What is at stake is not the specific resolution of individual disputes—at least not thus far—but rather the authority to dictate the general rules by which agencies decide individual cases, cases in which accuracy and impartiality are key values.

Administrative adjudication is essential to the effective implementation of federal law. For some agencies, adjudication is a necessary component of policy making, because the statutes they enforce are extremely general and sweeping; specificity gets fleshed out on a case-by-case basis. Indeed, prior to the 1960s, administrative adjudication was more prevalent than issuing general regulations as a policy-making vehicle. For example, the National Labor Relations Board  is charged with combatting “unfair labor practices.” It gives that standard meaning by bringing cases against individual employers who engage in activity the NLRB suspects is unlawful. These matters are tried before officials called administrative-law judges, or ALJs, whose decisions are reviewable first by the five members of the NLRB and then, if appealed, by a federal court. Lawyers working on subsequent labor disputes can consult the administrative orders that emanate from these adjudicative proceedings, just as they would read court decisions, to find out how the NLRB interprets the law. This is, likewise, how the Federal Trade Commission (FTC) pursues “unfair or deceptive trade practices,” and how the Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC) prosecutes a variety of offenses under the federal Securities Act.

Congress also empowers a wide variety of administrative judges to be the first-line decision makers regarding individual applicants for all sorts of government benefits. The largest group comprises the ALJs who work for the Social Security Administration. Other agencies use different categories of administrative judges to approve applications under programs as diverse as veterans benefits, patents, and refugee asylum. ALJs enjoy a number of statutory protections intended to depoliticize their service and to protect, within bounds, the independence of their judgment. Other agency adjudicators with different titles almost always enjoy less protection for their decision-making independence, based on their agencies’ governing statutes.

[ Kim Wehle: Congress has lost its power over Trump.]

The Trump administration is now waging a two-pronged attack on the independence of all administrative adjudicators, including ALJs, and the agencies that employ them. The first prong involves telling agencies, via executive orders, how to exercise the discretion that Congress has given them to conduct adjudication. One such order, from October 2019, boasts the lofty title “Promoting the Rule of Law Through Transparency and Fairness in Civil Administrative Enforcement and Adjudication.” Among its provisions is a limit on when agencies may judge a private party’s past conduct to be unlawful based on a general legal standard. The executive order says that no such agency determination may be issued unless the agency has first warned the public—through a specific rule—that the general legal standard prohibits the conduct the agency would now challenge.

This may not sound like much, but in practice it would make the work of a number of federal agencies far more difficult. Consider this scenario: The FTC finds that a company has been using artificial intelligence in a novel way to ascertain which of its online customers can most effectively be tempted by a misleading, if not outright duplicitous, sales pitch. The FTC has never encountered the practice before. The FTC’s statute currently gives the agency discretion to launch an administrative proceeding against the company to determine whether the technique should be deemed a forbidden “unfair or deceptive trade practice.” If, based on the agency’s policy deliberations and a carefully assembled factual record, the FTC determines that the practice is “unfair” or “deceptive,” it could prohibit the company’s future use of that practice. What the FTC could not do would be to penalize the company for its pre-adjudication conduct—for example, by levying a fine—if no prior FTC proceeding had warned the company that it was violating federal law. The relief—as lawyers call a remedy to a legal problem—would have to be entirely forward-looking. The Supreme Court has approved this manner of administrative adjudication since 1947.

Under the Trump order, the FTC would not be allowed to proceed as I have described. It would first have to conduct a rule-making on the fairness of AI-guided online sales practices before it could go after any firm. This might be grossly inefficient and would disable the FTC from developing a nuanced factual understanding of regulated practices through individual cases. The Trump order does insist: “Nothing in this order shall be construed to impair or otherwise affect … the authority granted by law to an executive department or agency, or the head thereof.” The problem with this promise not to “impair” is that the order’s so-called fair-warning requirement, if applied to delay or prevent adjudication, would do just that. On this issue, Trump’s order either alters the discretion of administrative agencies or it is meaningless.

[ Peter M. Shane: The obscure—but crucial—rules the Trump administration has sought to corrupt ]

The second and even more aggressive prong is the Trump administration’s campaign to undermine independent agencies, which conduct a lot of the highest-profile administrative adjudications. The aim is to put an end altogether to the idea of independent officers in the executive branch. An agency is considered an “independent agency” if its head or heads may be dismissed by the president only with good cause—typically, “inefficiency, malfeasance, or neglect of office.” Conventional understanding is that presidents may fire at will any administrator who lacks such statutory protection. The Department of Justice under Trump, however, has been working hard to nudge the Supreme Court into determining either that any statutory limits on presidential at-will removal authority are categorically unconstitutional or that “inefficiency, malfeasance, or neglect of office” must be interpreted broadly enough that failure to follow any presidential directive would become “good cause” for dismissal. This would effectively end, for example, the independence of the Federal Reserve System.

The Justice Department’s first attempt at curtailing independence came in a 2018 case called Lucia v. Securities and Exchange Commission. The issue in Lucia was whether ALJs used by the SEC were “officers”—as opposed to “employees” of the United States—and thus had to be directly appointed by the SEC itself. (Under Article II of the Constitution, Congress may allow heads of agencies to appoint “inferior” officers. The president must appoint “principal officers” with Senate advice and consent. Congress has free rein for determining how “employees” may be hired.) The Court determined that the ALJs were indeed “officers” under the Constitution. It thus concluded that the SEC had acted unconstitutionally by allowing its chief administrative-law judge, working with SEC staff, to choose the commission’s ALJs. By not personally signing off on the appointments, the SEC commissioners had hoped to create the appearance of greater impartiality when their ALJs decided cases in which the SEC itself was a party. But given the Court’s holding, the SEC commissioners—the agency’s principal political appointees—would henceforth have to formally appoint the bureaucratic judges deciding the agency’s cases.

The Justice Department wanted the Court to go further, however. It argued that if the ALJs are “officers,” then the statute protecting them from at-will discharge would have to be narrowly interpreted so that they could be fired simply for failing to follow directions. The Court explicitly refused to discuss the issue. But the Solicitor General proceeded to issue a memorandum to all agency general counsels, advertising the Department’s eagerness to mount this argument in a future case.

A more direct vehicle for pushing the Court to invalidate agency independence from presidential control is a case to be argued on March 3, Seila Law LLC v. Consumer Financial Protection Bureau. (I helped write an amicus brief in this case defending the constitutionality of the CFPB’s structure.) The Justice Department’s  position is that the Supreme Court’s unanimous 1935 decision upholding agency independence, Humphrey’s Executor v. United States, should be overruled. Should the Court agree, it would not only render independent judges unconstitutional within any agency, but Congress would no longer be able, through tenure protections, to limit direct presidential policy control over the principal officers who deliver each agency’s final judgments—members of the Federal Communications Commission, the Consumer Product Safety Commission, and all the similar bodies I have already mentioned. All would become removable by the president at will.

The Trump administration, in short, is challenging agencies’ ability to go after wrongdoing through administrative adjudication, and is seeking to undermine the independence of both first-line agency adjudicators and the heads of the agencies they work for. The administration appears intent on expanding this campaign. On January 30, the Office of Management and Budget (OMB) published a request for information that could be used to inform further agency-adjudication orders. Public comments are due on March 16. The questions posed by the OMB suggest the Trump administration is interested in significantly rewriting the rules by which agencies conduct their trial-type proceedings.

Yoni Appelbaum: Americans aren’t practicing democracy anymore

By making the investigation and prosecution of regulated parties more difficult, the president threatens to create a system that, through centralized control, would allow cronyism and “agency capture” to protect corporate interests ahead of the public interest. New rules shaping adjudication could also enable political officials to make it harder for individuals to get the government benefits to which they are entitled.

A group of administrative-law scholars at George Washington University wrote a friend-of-the-court  brief in  Lucia  warning of the disaster that would follow tightening political controls over agency adjudicators. They pointed out that “Congress devoted a substantial amount of time during the 1930s and 1940s to the question of how to structure agencies that engage in adjudication of regulatory disputes.” By statute, Congress imposed procedures for ALJs that were “specifically designed to ensure that they had an appropriate degree of decisional independence from the agencies whose cases they were to hear.” Making ALJs removable at will, or simply for failing to follow directions by political superiors, would undermine the impartiality that Congress sought to guarantee.

Impartiality is anathema to Trumpism. That the Trump administration wants to upend a long-standing system for assuring both the reality and appearance of fairness in agency adjudication may be shocking. But it is not surprising. If you consider yourself on block watch for threats to democracy, take your eyes for a moment off the president’s Twitter feed and turn your attention to administrative law. Danger is lurking amid the complexity.

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This story is part of the project “The Battle for the Constitution,” in partnership with the National Constitution Center.

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PETER M. SHANE is the Jacob E. Davis and Jacob E. Davis II chair in law at the Ohio State University's Moritz College of Law.

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The World Is Experiencing a New Form of Autocracy

Today’s authoritarians use legal measures to subvert constitutional constraints on their power.

By Tim Horley, Anne Meng, Mila Versteeg | Published March 01, 2020 7:30 AM ET | The Atlantic Magazine | Posted March 01, 2020 |

In March 2018, Donald Trump, addressing a crowd of donors at his Florida estate, told what sounded like a joke. He was talking about the recent amendment of China’s constitution to remove presidential term limits, allowing Xi Jinping to serve in that office indefinitely. About Xi, Trump said: “He’s now president for life, president for life. And he’s great. And look, he was able to do that. I think it’s great. Maybe we’ll have to give it a shot someday.” The crowd cheered and applauded in response. In fact, Trump has told one version or another of this joke many times since becoming president.

And though Trump’s remarks are generally perceived as facetious, many of his counterparts on the world stage are quite serious. In January, Vladimir Putin addressed the Russian nation in an annual State of the Union–esque speech. Alongside pledges to improve living standards by, among other things, offering free hot meals to schoolchildren, he proposed major constitutional reforms that could see the presidential office weakened and the prime ministry and State Council strengthened—measures very likely aimed at ensuring that Putin can remain in power after 2024, when constitutional term limits will force him out of the presidency.

[ Barbara McQuade: What would happen if Trump refused to leave Office? SEE TIMELINE]

This is how authoritarianism looks today. Our original study documents all term limit evasion strategies worldwide since the year 2000. We found that presidential-term-limit evasion is exceedingly common: About one-third of all presidents who reached the end of their term made a serious attempt to overstay. Two-thirds of those who made the attempt succeeded.

What’s particularly interesting is not only that so many presidents try to evade term limits, but that they are more and more sophisticated and legalistic in how they do so. Whereas leaders once used unmistakably authoritarian actions to stay in power, such as banning opposition parties or dismissing the legislature, today’s heads of state instead use democratic institutions and legal measures to subvert constitutional constraints on their power. More specifically, we found that there are four basic strategies for evading term limits, none of which violates a constitution outright: adding constitutional amendments, rewriting the constitution, using the courts to reinterpret the constitution, and appointing a placeholder president.

The first and most common strategy—used in some 66 percent of the attempts in our data—is simply to amend the constitution to extend or remove term limits. This is the path Xi took when, with hardly a whisper of dissent, he removed any limit on the number of five-year terms he could serve. Often, such changes are breathtaking in their sophistication. In Rwanda, for instance, Paul Kagame presided over a constitutional amendment process that will allow him to serve for a total of 35 years (or longer, if further amendments are in the offing). The effort began in 2015, when Kagame’s party encouraged voters to sign petitions urging Parliament to give the president an additional term. The party—the Rwandan Patriotic Front—withheld its formal endorsement for these efforts until a critical mass of signatures was reached. Once this happened, Parliament passed an amendment unanimously, and then a reported 98.9 percent of voters in a popular referendum ensured that the amendment would take effect. Throughout, Kagame himself never made public whether he intended to remain in office or otherwise commented on the amendment process, and he announced his intention to seek another term only after the measure had passed. The amendment allows Kagame—and only Kagame—an additional seven-year term, after which a new limit of two five-year terms (passed as part of the amendment package) will apply to him on a prospective basis. Thus, he may remain in office until 2034 while preserving an aura of democratic legitimacy and guaranteeing, at least on paper, that his successor will be limited to a maximum of 10 years.

A second strategy, which constitutes about 8 percent of evasion attempts, is what we call the “blank slate” strategy: when a leader creates an entirely new constitution, essentially nullifying the old term limits. When a new constitution is created, the leader’s term is effectively restarted, without any apparent constitutional violation. This was one of the methods employed by former Sudanese President Omar al-Bashir until his ouster last year: After taking power in 1989, he oversaw not one but two entirely new constitutions, and thus remained in power for decades without formally violating term limits; each time there was a new constitution, his term started all over again.

A third strategy, which has had remarkable success in Latin America in particular, is to challenge the very legality of term limits in court. This strategy constitutes about 15 percent of evasion attempts since the turn of the millennium. In Nicaragua, for example, President Daniel Ortega was able to successfully remove term limits from his nation’s constitution by arguing that they were a violation of his human rights. The court, reasoning from a body of constitutional and human-rights law, agreed. A similar story unfolded in Bolivia and Honduras. In fact, though one might be tempted to put faith in judges to prevent executive overstay, our study found that courts are remarkably pliant. With the important exception of Colombia, where the Constitutional Court blocked Álvaro Uribe’s attempt to extend his term a second time, courts tend to sign off on term-limit evasion in all its guises.

A fourth strategy, also constituting about 15 percent of evasion attempts, is what we call the “faithful-agent strategy,” which involves presidents seeking a successor they can control, so that they can continue to govern even while formally out of office. Putin was previously able to extend his own rule using this strategy. He took office in 2000, when Russian presidents were limited to two consecutive terms of four years. In 2008, rather than simply moving aside or seeking to overstay his legal term as president, he stepped down, endorsing a handpicked successor, Dmitry Medvedev, as president. Medvedev promised to nominate Putin as prime minister if elected. With Putin’s endorsement, Medvedev easily won the presidency, and very shortly after taking office he oversaw a parliamentary vote confirming Putin as prime minister. For the next four years, Putin served as a potent prime minister to the relatively inert President Medvedev. After constitutional reforms passed in that era, Putin could return to two more consecutive presidential terms, now extended to six years each. Thus, without violating the law, Putin has maintained an iron grip on power for 20 years; he is the longest-serving Russian head of state since Joseph Stalin.

Finally, a small handful of presidents were able to stay past their term by illegally delaying or canceling elections. However, this is the least frequently used strategy (only 5 percent of evasion attempts), most likely because it is more evidently illegal and authoritarian.

Still, one-third of overstay attempts did fail—and typically in spectacular fashion. In recent years, popular movements in Malawi, Burkina Faso, and Paraguay, among many others, have forced presidents to back down. (Burning down parliament, where the president’s allies may be at work on legislation to extend the president’s term, seems to be a particularly effective palliative.)

In Paraguay, for example, a recent push to amend the constitution to remove its strict single five-year term limits initially looked poised to succeed: Then-President Horacio Cartes secured enough support to get the Paraguayan Senate to pass an amendment that would have removed term limits. Unexpectedly, however, the opposition called for nationwide protests, and thousands of Paraguayans heeded the call—a variety of political and religious groups joined in, including, most prominently, the Catholic Church. Protesters clashed with the police, leading to one protester's death, but they managed to burn down the part of the legislature where the Senate met. The strong public backlash was enough to pressure Cartes to back down, formally withdrawing his support for the amendment via a letter to the archbishop of Asunción. Congress then voted down the proposal, and in the 2018 elections, Cartes did not participate, allowing for the election of current President Mario Abdo Benítez.

Paraguay is just one recent example of the power of public resistance; our study found that popular resistance through the coordinated efforts of various civil-society groups, including students, clergy, labor unions, and—in some cases most crucially—defectors from the president’s own party, is by far the most effective means of preventing overstay. Another source of optimism is that in well-established democracies with a long history of rotation from power, executive overstay is relatively rare. Out of these democracies in our data set, only 18 percent of leaders attempted to evade term limits, mostly through constitutional amendments.

Nonetheless, the legal and constitutional strategies that leaders use to keep themselves in power are particularly dangerous precisely because they are perceived as being procedurally democratic. A new generation of autocrats has perfected the art of looking democratic while pursuing authoritarian goals. Whether they succeed usually comes down to whether ordinary citizens take the threat seriously enough to do something about it.

This story is part of the project “The Battle for the Constitution,” in partnership with the National Constitution Center.

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TIM HORLEY is a lawyer and a 2018 graduate of the University of Virginia School of Law.

ANNE MENG is an assistant professor of politics at the University of Virginia. She is the author of the forthcoming book, Constraining Dictatorship.

MILA VERSTEEG is the Martha Lubin Karsh and Bruce A. Karsh Bicentennial Professor of Law at the University of Virginia School of Law and a senior fellow at the Miller Center for Public Affairs. She is the author of the forthcoming book, How Constitutional Rights Matter.

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[goron-king-darunia]

Coffee Soulmate Drabble

Based on this, but reworked to be more articulate and also to avoid piggybacking on a post. Also realized that the prompt was meant to be about what soulmates think when they see each other, not their first words to each other, so I tweaked the premise a bit to fit the reveal I wanted. *~*~*

Emil had waited what felt like eons to finally see his soul mark. Friends from school had mostly gotten theirs already. Marta and Alice got theirs during a schoolyard tussle in middle school. Other classmates had theirs appear during grocery store trips or vacations and spring break. Many more had theirs pop up while messaging someone online for the first time, or just before receiving a response to an online comment. Emil had no such luck. He was still young, of course. Some people didn’t have their soul marks show up until their forties. But he was dying to finally see his. He didn’t want to wait that long. Ever since he was a kid, he’d wanted to find his special someone. A Knight or warrior princess to sweep him off his feet and carry him far, far away from his abusive relatives. Preferably a knight or prince charming of course, but soulmates could be unexpected and Emil wasn’t picky. Alas, here he stood in the Lezareno Coffee Shop, brewing orders and making frappes and getting harangued by customers who “just wanted a plain cup of coffee” and couldn’t bother to even listen to the explanation that there are 30 different blends and they needed to pick one because the procedure is the procedure. His colleague Colette had just finished up ringing up a man with bright red hair and Emil was in awe. The guy looked to be a college student. He was dressed in a pressed white shirt with a bolo tie and some black slacks with a laptop and messenger bag and a perpetually-caffeine-deprived look on his features. Eye-bags, pursed lips, slouched shoulders, grumpy frown. Despite all this, he was a handsome man. His shiny polished loafers were the only thing that really threw Emil off. People his age usually wore tennis shoes, even in nice clothes. They were comfy and they were meant to get dirty so they didn’t require as much upkeep. Loafers were an old-people fashion in this generation. As preppy as the look was, though, his shuffle and slouch were unmistakeably characteristic of a man whose bank of “fucks I give” had basically run empty. Dude had maybe two fucks left at best. Guy clearly just wanted to be left alone to his business. Sadly, that meant that as cute as he was, Emil was going to have to refrain from asking him for his number on break.

While working on a caramel frappuccino for a lady that had just ordered, a wild-looking blond walked in, slapped a bill down on the counter and just said. “Coffee, hot, lots of it. Surprise me with the blend. Make it blonder than me and absolutely saturate that with sugar. Add two espressos shots to it. And can I get a straw?” Colette just nodded and totaled up the amount for their daily blend with a double espresso, extra cream, caramel syrup, and replaced the bill the blond had put on the counter with change and a wrapped plastic straw. “Thanks, you’re amazing.” He added the change to the tip jar and waited by the other end of the counter to pick up his drink. Emil was a bit baffled by this new guy. The boy had very similar features to himself. The exact shades of blond in both their hairs were different but without the side-by-side, you’d never tell. The customer’s eyes were more hazel than green, too, but one would have to look close to notice. Their body builds were a bit different, and this was probably the most prominent detail. Emil had a bit more muscle on him (he spent as much time running away from his home life as possible) and the customer was a bit wiry and lithe but if you really didn’t scrutinize their faces, they’d be able to switch places no problem. A heavy coat, jeans, sunglasses and they’d basically be indistinguishable. The customer’s face was sharper, a bit older looking, more masculine, while Emil’s features were a bit softer and rounder, but at a distance? Yeah. They could be twins. Except for the customer’s fashion sense. Emil, when he wore casualwear, usually wore a nice v-neck in a neutral color, a nice vest or scarf or jacket depending on the weather, and shorts or jeans in a nice cool tone. This customer was decked out in red and black, dark jeans and thigh high boots. He had a gold chain with an angel emblem on it but also a billowing white coat. Emil couldn’t tell if he was a nerd, a counterculture punk, or a dweeb attempting to be edgy. Then again, as he was also a college kid from the looks of things, he might have just thrown on whatever was clean and comfy. Emil couldn’t tell. Emil brewed up the order as Collette finished ringing up another customer. The blond barista placed the cup on the counter just as Collete tapped him on the shoulder. “Can you cover the registers for a quick minute?” Emil nodded, doing as he was told. luckily there was no one in line so he just had to keep an eye on things while he worked on other tasks and prioritize running the register if anyone did show up.

Aster, the aforementioned blond customer with weird fashion sense, was enjoying his hot cup of pure caffeine and sugar, just about to make his way out the door when he felt a faint tingle on the inside of his right wrist. He’d heard the stories. He was excited to know what the first words his soulmate would speak to him were going to be. He’d always dreamed of something like “Hey, hot stuff! Nice ass!” just so he could eternally shame his soulmate for catcalling him or something sweet like “Wow, you look really friendly! Can you help me study this week?” Some kind of college meet-cute that would lead to some wholesome stories for the kids someday. He eagerly rolled up his sleeves. Would it be funny? Heartwarming? Quirky? Flattering? He frowned when he read the small string of words, printed in a tiny serif font along his arm. “Who the hell drinks coffee with a straw?!”

Well that was simply unacceptable! Not only was his soulmate clearly a classless heathen who hated the finer things, but now he was stuck with this stupid soulmate mark! Aster turned around, leaning against the doorframe and eyeing the other patrons suspiciously, angrily sipping his coffee through his straw. As soon as his soulmate uttered those words, he was gonna kick their ass. He glared over the crowd, daring some chuckefuck to stand up and say it to his face. He was going to wreck them so hard he’d ruin the relationship eternally and blow that soulmate mark right off his arm.

Richter twitched, eyes narrowing at the blond beginning to exit and the words began forming in his mind. He didn’t even notice the blond turn to survey the rest of the patrons before he set his own coffee aside and found himself shooting up from his seat, massively offended on behalf of the rest of the sane people in this store. “WHO THE HELL DRINKS COFFEE WITH A STRAW?!” Aster’s head whipped around. You! He thought. I’ll rip you a new one right here! But before he could get the words out he softened immediately. Oh no. He’s hot.

“It’s not even iced coffee!” Richter continued, gesturing wildly at the blond’s absurd setup. “What are you even?! Wh– These cups come with lids with mouth holes you know!? So they don’t spill everywhere and so you can drink on the go!” Richter felt his own wrist tingle and paused.  He was filled with anticipation certain that the barista was going to call him out on that statement. In fact he was praying for it. Because the barista was kinda cute. But no. The words appeared on his wrist moments before they were uttered. 

“The straw cools the coffee off on its way to my mouth hole.” 

Richter cringed. Oh no. Why him? He’s cute, too but WHY HIM?! Why not that cute barista boy?! And why did it have to be these words?! Emil’s head shot up. “Oh dear.” Suddenly both his wrists were tingling. It happened sometimes when someone had two simultaneous soulmates. Some people ended up picking one and letting the other mark fade. Some picked both if they could manage it. Emil had heard stories of as many as four simultaneous soulmates and there were legends of people who’d had even more. Emil glanced around, wondering who they could be. It hit him just as the words faded in on his arms and he locked eyes with the blond customer. Aster called out. “Yo! Barista boy! You can back me up on that, right? Drinking coffee with a straw isn’t weird, yeah?” “Oh, please! For real, you can settle this right now, my friend. Drinking coffee with a straw is barbaric right? Leaving the cup open like that while walking around in public, ready to spill on everyone! The correct way to drink a hot beverage is obviously from a travel mug or ceramic!” Aster and Richter both felt their other wrists tingle and they paused their argument, smiling faintly at the words that appear. “You’re both idiots and you need to stop yelling or my boss is gonna kick you out before I get your numbers.” “Seems like you’re going to be settling more than just this argument, huh?” Richter smiled. “You haven’t even asked him out and you’re expecting him to mediate all our arguments?” Aster sassed the redhead, elbowing him in the chest. “We don’t even know each other’s names!” The three convened at the counter as Colette came back to work the register. “I’m Richter.” The redhead offered his right hand to Emil. “Emil.” The blond flashed his nametag on his apron before shaking Richter’s hand with a smile. “Aster Laker.” The other blond reached out to Emil’s still extended hand for another handshake before reluctantly taking Richters.  Richter entered their names into his phone and they exchanged contacts. “Alright, thanks for that. I’ll text you our numbers, Emil.” His phone pinged as the text was sent. “Anyway, I don’t want to take up too much of your time. You’re working after all. But before I go harass this guy about his habits, can we get your professional barista opinion?” Richter grinned. Emil chuckled. “You’re both wrong. Iced coffee is the only good coffee so drinking a hot coffee any way you want to is wrong.” Aster cackled, nearly spilling his coffee as he doubled over laughing. “I can’t tell if you’re a contrarian or just want to dodge the question. This will be an interesting relationship for sure.” Richter smiled, sipping from the mouthpiece of his cup. “What if I drink my coffee through 25 swizzle sticks glued together?” Aster cackled. “Am I valid?” Emil and Richter just stared at him. “You’re insane.” Richter murmured, though his face was glowing with amusement. “Absolutely bonkers.” Emil laughed. “I’ll let you two know when I’m off. Don’t murder each other before I’m done with my shift, okay?” “No promises.” Richter smiled, walking Aster back to his table