#(it could have been a metaphor though so you were right to be concerned)

[nostalgia-tblr]

Oh hey, a second chapter! This is the one where they get married. Yep, jumping straight to the legal nuptials here. Efficient! It's still not actually E-rated yet, that'll be the next update (because Wedding Night).

Title: The Winter Of Our Discontent (Chapter 2/?) (AO3) Fandom: MCU Rating: Explicit Pairing: Loki/Sylvie Wordcount: ~1700 for this chapter Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Canon Divergence - Thor (2011), Angst, Enemies to Lovers, Blood and Violence, Sexism, Weddings, Other Additional Tags to Be Added Chapter Summary/Extract: “The last time I saw you, you were blue from head to toe and murdering my brother.”

[carmenized-onions]

I Want To. | Wellness Check

logline; Such is life, you go from not being needed at The Bear today to being more needed than you ever have been.

[!!!] series history, this is the fourth; First, Second, Third

portion; 4.7k+

possible allergies; a dash of Tony's former paramedic background (and just medical shit in general) in this one, so, a sprinkle of post-trauma stress (and her usual yikes psyche). Mikey comes up a bit, as usual! despite the ops, we ball.

pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader (pretty unavoidably gendered episode, mb non-fem folks)

we'll talk after babe, have a good time w/ this one.

Falling asleep was easy— par for Carmen fighting to keep his 6:30 am alarm on. When he finds out you don’t have a plug on his side of the bed and he has to charge his phone on your side, he turns it off. Cute.

Well, there’s also the part where you had to ask if he was okay because it sounded like he wasn’t breathing and it turns out —He was not breathing— He then pointed out that it sounded like you weren’t breathing —You were not breathing— Both of you thought the sound of your lungs would bother the other, so you opted not to use them at all. Turns out, counterproductive; you notice each other’s absences pretty well.

But besides that, it's easy. Carmen isn’t an awful bedfellow. He’s not super shifty, he doesn’t tug the blanket, he doesn’t roll all the fucking way over to your side, or anything like that. He’s honestly concerningly still. Is he annoyed that you’ve gotta toss and turn a little to get comfortable? Probably. He's probably dreaming of you exploding right now, he’s so annoyed. He didn’t make fun of your ages old build-a-bear plush nor it’s Cubs jersey, so that was nice. Pity, probably.

...If Carmen wasn’t here, he knows he’d be stirring and kicking and probably sleep-walking to his oven to light it on fire. But he is here. Where kicking would hurt. Where stirring would wake you. Where a fire would cause more anxiety than relief because all your plants and projects would die. Where you washed his hair and told him that taking care of people doesn’t feel like a lot of work to you. Was it not a lot of work, to take care of his brother? Was it worth it, to you? Probably not. How could it be?

He wills his body to not fucking move because if he does it's going to ruin everything. He's going to ruin everything.

He wakes up at 6:30 on the dot, alarm or no. He’d be concerned if his body functioned any differently. But he can’t get to his phone while you’re sleeping in his way and you’re so comfortable. You’re clutching a bear that’s undeniably on a losing team and you’re at peace with it. He’s trying not to make a metaphor out of this in his mind; alas, it’s already there. The only thing he can do is go back to sleep and dream about killing the teenage boy in his head before he can escape again and call you pretty.

It's around ten when you wake up, you try not to wake him when you turn to grab your phone, but the split second of motion makes him flinch like he’s about to get jumped. “Relax!” You hiss, but like, soft, whispered. “I’m doin’ the fuckin’ Wordle, not smothering you with a pillow.”

“You do the Wordle?”

“Oh, fuck you—”

“The first fuckin’ thing you do in the morning is the Wordle?”

“And I do the Crossword too, bitch, what of it?”

“…I like Connections.”

“I fuckin' hate Connections.”

“Alright, damn!”

The Chicago accent in both of you is stronger in your rasping morning voices. As is the laughter. You roll onto your stomach to get closer to him and let him see your screen. Neither of you have entirely woken up yet and that means it’s the perfect time to do a puzzle. If you don't focus on this puzzle right now, you fear you will get too comfortable in this idea of domesticity.

“C’s in the right place. Nothin’ else though.”

He’s the one that figures out its Cumin. You pretend not to be mad about this. You’re furious. Of course, it’d be a spice on the day Mr Food Guy sleeps over. Bullshit.

When you finally sit up, stretch, and say, “I’m just gonna shower real quick ‘nd—”

He’s at a breakneck speed to reply, “I’ll make breakfast.”

“Oh, you cook all the fuckin’ time, you don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

You blink, then shrug, the man likes to cook, c’est la vie. “Who am I to refuse?”

He looks far too happy about this, as though he’s won a lottery. A lottery of manual labour. He rolls out of bed, grabbing his back pack stuffed with yesterday’s clothes before leaving you to your own devices. In a literal sense, too, since you get a text. Ugh.

‘Gigi called in, can you reach?’

You would prefer not to reach, but this is capitalism.

‘When's the shift?’

‘6:30 to 12:30’

Why couldn’t something else at The Bear be fuckin’ broken today?

‘yeah i can reach’

‘that’s my girl, red tops today, see u’

You have also won the lottery of manual labour today. Look at you and Carm, luckiest people alive. Something like that. Alright, go shower and be normal about the fact that there’s a Michelin Star Chef making you breakfast in your kitchen. And he’s prett—

“You make your own bread.”

“I do.” You sit at your own little breakfast nook, waiting to be served. Towel hung around your neck post shower. You’d offer to help, but based on his urgency to cook for you, it’s gonna be a no. Plus, the gift on the table you’ve got for him is going to piss him off enough, can't poke this bear too much. He's already given you a mile. Too many idioms.

“I like to think in another universe I am a homesteader who makes her own soaps and renders tallow n’ shit. But I settle for growing basil and making sourdough in my shitty little Chicago apartment for now.”

“I like your apartment.” He hums, though amused. He turns and sets your plate—the one black plate— in front of you with a small smile. This smile immediately falls when he pushes the plate towards you and you push a travel bag of toiletries towards him.

“Fuck is this?”

“I don’t want to hear any complaints, Irish Spring.”

“How d’you know I use Irish Spring?”

“It’s all five of your routine, it’s going to be pungent— Now listen.” You pick up the bag; you’d dug through your sink cabinet and found a dollar store pack of plastic travel bottles, unused from cancelled trips of yesteryear. You've decanted your own products for him. It's fine, you buy jumbo sizes anyways...

“Shampoo, conditioner, face wash—They’ve even got labels.”

He takes the bag from you, setting it down on his side of the counter, begrudgingly. Though he hasn’t particularly paid it much mind, tunnelled on something else entirely, “Do you not like Irish Spring?”

"I didn't give you a body wash, you can still use it for that one purpose."

"Yeah, but do you not like Irish Spring?"

"...I think it's fine."

“Fine?”

“I’m more of an Old Spice fan.”

“You don’t deserve breakfast—” He pulls your plate, you pull it back.

“All I said—” “Thinkin’ I smell like shit—” “Did not say that—!” “Just cause you use the fruity stuff—” “I smell good! Deny that I smell good!” “You smell fine.” “Wowww—Whatever, do the thing.”

“Bruschetta with a breakfast twist.” Ah, that makes him give you the plate back. His kink is explaining food. “Sourdough toasted, topped with fresh basil—”

“Courtesy of me.”

“Courtesy of you, yes. Tomatoes, bacon glazed in balsamic, and you didn’t have parm so I used feta. And then, y’know, over medium egg on top.”

“You’re very good, Carmen.”

“Oh, I—Uh—” You haven’t even tried it yet. You’re telling him he’s good for the sake of the effort he’s given alone. He needs an antacid. “Thank you.”

It’s redundant to say his food is good. But what else can you say? It’s a fucking perfect open face sandwich. But he’s eating it with you, and half of it’s your own handiwork, and all of your pantry, so you leave your praises purely reaction based, unsaid.

You're honestly a little distracted, reading too hard into the act of him giving you the black plate and taking one of your shitty plastic ones for himself. Time to talk.

“Itinerary for today?”

“Gotta talk chaos menu with Syd before opening, then, well, running the restaurant all night… And then I’ll—I’ll go home.”

“Yeah? You can come back here, if you want to.” Thank God you took a bite in time to hide your selfish disappointment. It’s good for him to go home, but then he’s not here. Real Catch-22.

He shakes his head, “I think I’m good now. Thanks, though. What’s—What’s uh, your plans for today?”

“I’m gonna drop you off wherever you’re going, n’ then I’m gonna go shopping for Syd’s gift—”

“It’s her fuckin’ birthday or somethin?” It’s a delight how immediately panicked he is by this. You're also thankful because he's so distracted it means you won't have to tell him the rest of your plans for today. You'd like to keep that life separate. For as long as possible, at least.

“Nono, it’s just, I didn’t get her anything for her opening night and I wanna change that. I’ll get you something too.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.” The very idea of waiting for his response is freaking you the fuck out, so you’re quick to clear your voice and add. “I’ll give you my number, in case you end up needing to crash.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Ey, text me your invoice too.”

You take both your cleared plates to the sink, and the lie is swift. You've gotten a lot better at that, in the past year.

“Oh no worries, your sister already covered it.”

It is 6:30 and your life is over. Kidding. Unless? You dropped off Carmen at the train station hours ago and, to use his words, ‘it’s hit’. He’s at The Bear and there’s nothing for you to fix there— So you’re not.

You’ve only been there like three times and yet it started to feel… Like your thing!

Like, like you’d just come in everyday and… Dunno, fix something... But it’s not like they’re gonna have a crisis everyday. Especially not ones that Fak can't handle himself if needed— There's no way he's gonna last at hosting, anyways. You’re now realizing the unrealistic dream— Possibly more unrealistic than homestead you.

Speaking of, Homestead You would probably throw up, if she saw the you you’re looking at in the mirror right now. You look good. Objectively, you know you look good. The mug is stamped. Your pants are black, high-waisted, and give you an ass. The bright red leather corset top is… Chafing, but it looks good! It's a sweetheart neckline so you have to take off your long rope chain necklace from Mikey and shove it in your pocket— Which is fine and doesn't feel bad at all. And listen, listen, being an on-call bottle girl is good money!

And you might get put on bar tonight! You don’t know for sure if you’re gonna have to juggle around lit up bottles for a bunch of fucking geezers!

...

God, fuck, it’s 10:20 and your life is over.

This group of geezers have been fucking annoying and fucking Cherry wouldn’t get off fucking bar even though you literally covered for her last week and these stupid grandpas asked if gratuity is included— No fucking shit! Did you take their card and put a 40% tip? Yeah, maybe. Fuck them! They’re too fucking rich to notice! And they took three hours to leave! Gonna bash this champagne bottle over his bald fucking—

“Ey! That’s a face I remember.”

You hear your name— Not Tony, not Chip, not Cousin. Your name.

You turn to see, oh fucking hell, let God kill you—

“Uncle J!~ Good to see you!~ What a surprise! It’s Jack, here.” Jack of all Trades. It was cute at the time of sign up. Your smile is bright, fake, strained, and beautiful.

“Been too long, really.” Cicero isn’t a bad guy—Correction: Cicero isn’t a bad guy, to you, but as Mikey once put it, he’s a fuckin’ ball buster and in your case, you’re one of the few people beneath him that he asks favours from. Always wants free labour and your expertise. And he always has a habit of asking for favours the second you need one back. But you don’t need one right now! So it’s fine! Everything’s fine!

“Do your Uncle a favour,”—Fully not your Uncle—“Could you pair me and my friends here with a good red?”

You let it go that they’re having fish and asking for a red. Stupid thing to get hung up over right now. You make a commission of it anyways; you just pick the most expensive bottle. He won’t know the difference. The Bear would know the difference. Carmen would notice the difference... Alright, relax.

While pouring glasses, Jimmy whispers to his compatriots and one by one they all peel off. It is almost alarming how quickly this group of men turn and leave without a second thought, taking their glasses with them.

You raise your brows and look at Cicero. “Ah. This is the moment where I sit?”

He nods, gesturing to the booth. “This is the moment where you sit.”

You slip into the booth, sitting across from him. “What do you need?”

“Right to the point with you.”

“I hate suspense.” You shrug.

“You liked Mikey.”

What the fuck?

You bite your inner cheek, hard. “Don’t say that shit.”

“I liked him too,” He says it solemnly, like your mutual grief is a proper apology. He takes a long sip of his stupid red wine. “Did you hear? Cousin Vinnie and Mira are gettin’ hitched, finally.”

“I have no fucking idea who Vinnie and Mira are.” You take the glass when he hands it to you, taking a sip. Small. You gotta drive home, after all.

“Really? It’s a big wedding—Destination too, in New York—”

“I hate to remind you, but I was friends with Mikey, not his family.” Not his biological one, at least. The Beef, sure. But you literally only met his siblings two days ago. “What’s a wedding gotta do with me?”

He bristles, and finally cuts it short. “Around three hundred guests, seven-hour shift, open bar—” “Oh, for fuckssake—” “Listen—”

“It’s an easy gig, I’ll fly you out for it, it’s a month and a half away, you’ll get to attend a big fuckin’ Italian wedding— Which will be a shitshow, certainly, so free entertainment; and Michelin Star level catering, kind of.”

You squint. Kind of? “You got Carmy in on this shit?”

“You know ‘em?”

You nod, pressing your elbows on the table, “We’ve recently become acquainted. What d’you got on him for him to cater a wedding?”

“He’s eight-hundred grand in the hole.” “Fuck!” “He gets thirty off for catering. Smart boy, said yes.”

Christ, you massage the bridge of your brow with one hand and pull out your phone with another to check your calendar, you might as well see if you can even entertain the idea. You don’t need a favour right now, maybe you can bargain and get him to actually pay you for it, this time.

“I dunno, Uncle J…”

Oh.

28 unread texts from Syd.

3 unread texts from an unknown number— Probably Carmen.

9 missed calls from Syd.

Uncle Jimmy, always, always, has a fucking way, of asking for a favour when you need one…

You slam your phone, screen down on the table, straightening your posture in your seat. “I have demands.”

He motions for you to continue, taking his wine glass back. “You always do.”

“You and your friends are gonna tip a hundred percent tonight.”

“That why you give me a 2016 Fisher?”

“I like to think ahead.”

“Smart girl.” He shrugs, palms of his hands out. Which means yes.

“If Uncle Lee comes up to the bar I’m throwing a fork at him and leaping over the counter.”

He chuckles, “Thought you 'didn’t know family'.”

“I remember what I'm told.”

His amusement fades quickly, remembering first hand. He nods. “…You’re allowed to jump him if I’m watching first.”

“And you’re friends with my boss, right?”

“We’re acquainted.”

“I’m gonna punch out now and you’re gonna smooth that out for me.”

He perks up, amused, glancing at your phone, “Somethin’ come up, Chip?”

“Don’t call me Chip.” He wants to poke at you, just a little bit more, but there’s a rattled look in your eyes that he’s so rarely seen that he lets it go.

He waves his hand, shrugging, “Be safe. I'll send you the details. December wedding, remember.”

At the end of the day, Cicero isn’t a bad guy to you, someone who loved his nephew as much as he did.

You’re running to your car while you dial back Syd. You don’t have time to read the texts, all you need to know is that it’s an emergency. She picks up just after the first ring.

“Syd what the—” “Code blue!”

You almost fall on your face and eat asphalt. For a flash, you’re in the back of an ambulance being handed a defibrillator at the age of 22, surrounded by faces just as scared and young as you. Then you’re back in the parking lot, slotting the key into your car door because the fob doesn’t work. It’s never worked.

“S-Someone’s having a fucking heart attack!?”

“What?!”

“That’s what fucking code blue means!”

“Oh my god! Sorry! No, I was just saying the thing that scares doctors the most!”

“Yeah, I’m fuckin’ scared Syd!” You slide into the driver’s seat and slam your car door shut. You take a deep breath, white knuckling the steering wheel. “…I’m-I'm sorry for yelling! Where are you, what’s going on?”

“The—The Bear, the restaurant.” The second you have a location you’re revving off.

“Nat locked herself in the office—” “Like trapped?” This shit again?

“No, no— Like she locked herself in— She did this like two hours ago and I thought she was just taking a breather— But we’ve closed and, and like almost everyone left and she’s still not coming out— And she blocked the door inside— and— And I think she’s trying to hide that she’s basically shrieking in pain every five minutes.”

You take a long time to register anything she’s just said. Her tone is as panicked as you feel on the inside. You’re only now registering the ambient yelling of Richie and Carmen in the background.

“…Did—Can you hear me?”

“Yeah, yeah Syd, I’m just thinking.” You don’t step on the gas on purpose, it just happens. “A pregnant woman is screaming in pain— in intervals— behind a blockaded door?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Have you called an ambulance?”

There’s a much more distinct yell in the background from Richie, “No cops!”

Then from Carmen, “No coverage!”

“Yeah…” Syd shakily continues for them, “The insurance is a problem, and Richie said— Motherfucker—” You hear a muffled scrap over the phone before Richie continues on for Syd.

“Er, yeah, Cousin, Sugar keeps yelling that she’s fine ‘n blocked the door, if we call the cops they’re gonna ram that shit down and take her to the loony bin.”

“That’s not— That’s not what paramedics do.”

“That’s what they all do.”

“Richie, y’know, I was a paramedic, right?”

“…You a fuckin’ fed, Chip?”

“Richie, if I was a fuckin' narc you would be in prison by now. I, I— I'll be there in like, like eight minutes, everyone stop fucking yelling at Sugar!”

You’re there in four. You almost rear end someone and you run every yellow you get but you’re there in four. You don’t park properly in the back, you just drive your car in and turn it off in the middle of the lot. You don’t bother to be let in, you just punch the code in as you remember it. As Natalie told you.

“Oh good you—Oh my, God?” Syd is no better than a man in this moment, going from grateful for your presence to being one intrusive thought away from whistling.

You did not have time to change out of your ...outfit and someone has been hogging your Carhartt. You pass Syd quickly, waving a hand in front of her face. Goddammit, why do your boot heels have to have that incredibly satisfying femme fatale click right now?

“Alright— Relax—”

“Holy shit, Chippy!” Richie was yelling at Sugar through the door along with Carm, but once alerted to your presence is now snapping his fingers. You'd describe him more as impressed than actually attracted to you. “You clean up!”

 “Cousin, are you—” He grabs Carmen’s face, turning it to you— Carmen does of course, immediately slap Richie’s hand away which of course, means they just start smacking each other's hands. Like preteen girls. “Ey, get the fuck off—” “I just want you to look at a pretty girl, Cousin—!” “Stop fuckin’ touchin’ me!” “Are you looking!?” “I—”

“Everyone shut the fuck up!”

You silence the room. You’re thankful most of the staff has left by now since it’s well after close. It's just Carmen, Syd, Richie, Tina, and Fak for some goddamn reason...You can't be mean you're handymen, you have to stick together.

“I look different from the usual jumpsuit, yes, we get it, can we move on? Pregnant woman?”

Syd is the first to speak, “…Were you on a date, though?”

You blink and roll your eyes all at once, twisting your head to her, “Syd—”

“It’s good to see you getting out there, baby.” Tina, deeply unhelpful in this moment, puts a hand around your shoulder. Oh to have a mother’s judgment when she’s not even your mother.

“O-kay!” You drag on the ‘kay’, clapping your hands together, “Everyone, just get your thoughts out in the next five seconds and then we’re moving on.”

“Chippy, I cannot believe you’ve held this out on me—” “—I meant it like-like a concerned, did we interrupt your date—” “—The red is unbelievable on you, Cousin!” “I need you to teach me how you do your makeup—” “Can you— can you yell again—?” “Fak!” “Oh, so that’s too much?”

A cacophony, it continues on. Your eyes glaze over, and you’re waiting for Sugar to let out a scream so everyone remembers the fucking point of being here. But then you look at Carmen. Everyone’s pivoted from staring at you to yelling at each other. But Carmen; Carmen is still looking at you. Stupid soft scary eye contact. And his voice is so much quieter than the yelling but it’s the thing that you hear anyways.

“It looks tight.”

There’s a possibility that when you killed the teenage girl inside you that you also killed the feminist. Because there’s a small sub-sect of you that’s upset that he’s not objectifying you right now. That his vision is focused on you. Not the changes. He doesn’t seem to look at you any differently than when you’re wearing a jumpsuit and utility belt, covered in toilet water. This should not be annoying and yet it is.

“It is.”

He nods, eye contact unshifting, unblinking, “You wanna change?”

“Maybe after we find out whether or not your sister is in labour.”

He nods. He takes a second but he nods.

You approach him, rather, the door, knocking gently. Everyone quiets down.

You clear your throat, and once more, the persona is put on, you’re a paramedic, putting on that soft but firm reassuring authoritative tone. “E-M Rescue, I got a call for a wellness check on Natalie Berzatto?”

“Tony—” A groan of pain behind the door, “I am perfectly well! Everyone go home!”

You grimace, you motion with your hand for Fak to hand you a screwdriver— He keeps one in his breast-pocket, even when wearing a suit. Hey, you should start doing that.

“Nat, I’m a paramedic— Or I was—will you please let me in?”

“I don’t— Fuck! —Need a paramedic!”

“Never hurts to do a check-up, Nat.” You speak calmly, like you always did. “Listen, lover, if you don’t open the door, I’m gonna have to take it off its hinges, and we're gonna lose medic patient confidentiality.”

When she doesn’t reply after a good beat, you start to unscrew the top hinge; she can hear it, “Wait, wait, wait— Fuck-Fuck— I’m opening it!”

There’s another series of pained groans as she exerts herself to open the door, and once she does, it’s only by a crack, to look at you and you alone. She’s absolutely been crying. She speaks in a whispered tone. “Just you.”

You nod, handing the screwdriver back to Fak without breaking eye contact with her. “Just me.”

She cracks it open just enough for you to come in. And so, you do. Everyone is, for the first time, too worried about her shutting down to interrupt or yell a complaint.

You close the door behind you, pressing your back to it. You note the toppled over chair by your feet that she must’ve blocked it with. Plus the puddle of amniotic fluid beneath her. Oh fuck.

...

“You wanna talk or do you just want me to check your contractions?”

“I’m—” She shakes her head, covering her face. She half sits on the desk. “I’m fucking— I am not ready for this.”

“Yeah.” You nod. You’re not here to convince anyone they’re ready to be a fucking mother. But you’re here to listen, certainly.

“She’s gonna hate me.”

“Who?”

“Her—!” Her voice is choked, another contraction. You’re silently taking the time in your head. She points to her stomach.

“And— And we just opened, and— And I’m gonna have to go on maternity leave, which is the last fucking thing we need and— and— If I could just fucking keep her in!”

“Natalie.” You put a hand on her shoulder, she finally looks at you. “This is happening.”

“Not help—fu—ll.”

“I know it’s not. This is scary and there are no take backs—” “Very unhelp—”

“Nat, your daughter wants to meet you.”

You squeeze her shoulder; she looks like she’s gonna cry all over again for a completely different reason. “She probably won’t hate you. Who’s to say. But I know you’ll love her. And that’s enough, isn’t it?”

She nods, emphatically, but something is still bothering her. You squeeze her shoulder again. You whisper, so even if everyone’s ear is pressed to the door— Which you doubt, she’s screaming after all, they won’t hear.

“Carmen will still know you love him, even when you're not here.”

She immediately goes for a hug, you reciprocate with a shuddered ease. She sniffs, head on your shoulder. She stays there for a while before letting you go, nodding. “Okay.”

You hand her the tissue box next to her on the table, she takes it thankfully, crushing it in her hand. Another contraction. Oh, that couldn't have been more than 2 minutes. Oh fuck.

You kneel down in front of her, and you’re simply no longer in your body as a person but just the paramedic. You could not be more thankful that she’s wearing a dress today. Awkward requests of spreading legs and pulling off underwear aside, Natalie’s daughter does in fact really want to meet her. Oh fuck.

You look up at Natalie, between her knees, you speak cool, professional. “You’re crowning. This is gonna have to happen here. I'll have someone call your husband.”

You’re so calm that it doesn’t give Natalie the feeling or need to freak out, she just breathes. “Okay. Okay.”

You stand upright. “Do you prefer this office or somewhere else?”

“I can’t— Move.”

“Makes sense. Makes total sense. Okay. I’ll go get everything we need, I’ll be right back. I might send some people in, okay, love?”

She just grunts in reply, nodding, now that she’s not in as much emotional pain, she can entirely focus on her brutalizing physical pain.

“Oh, hey, I know—” You grab her purse, pulling out her phone and ear buds, handing them to her with haste, your calm demeanour is faltering just a bit. “Listen to some music, loud, y’know, chill…” You put the pods in her ear for her. She’s again, in too much pain to tell you to fuck off, and just plays her music loud.

You softly open the door, smiling just a bit too much as you leave, and very softly close the door behind you. Looking at the motley crew before you, your persona immediately falls apart. You really only wanted her to play music so you could scream. “Oh, my fucking God.”

“What’s happening, she good?” What a sweet, stupid brother, Sugar has.

You purse your lips together, eyes wide, shaking your head. “She’s going to give birth in like— Maybe six minutes. Max ten.” Everyone goes to speak in an uproar of panic, and then you slap yourself in the face. Hard. That stuns them silent.

“Alright!” You press your hands over your eyes, “Tina!”

She’s been around this block before, “What do you need?”

“Can you go sit in there with her? Tell her all the breathing exercises and shit? Keep her calm? Coming from you it won’t seem so—”

“Condescending as fuck?”

“Yes, exactly, can you?”

“Gotchu, baby.” She claps your shoulder when she walks past and into the office.

You clap hers in tandem, “Thank you, Mama—Okay, Richie!”

“Yeah?”

“I’m gonna need you to call Nat’s husband—”

“Why do I—”

“Because you’re a fuckin’ dad, Rich, and he will need you!” You’re yelling all pissed, snapping your fingers at him, but he does light up when you say it like that. “I don’t care if he wets his fuckin’ bed, tell him to get here!”

He salutes, walking off, “Aye aye, Cap’n Chip.”

You shake off the sting in your hand, God, you really did slap yourself too hard. You turn to the next targets. “Syd, Fak.”

Syd responds hesitantly for the both of them, since Fak is silently enjoying your colonel persona a little too much. “…Yes, C-Captain?”

“I need towels, a lot of clean towels— cloth ones, like sanitized clean— Warm half in water— And then I need a clean sheet— A table cloth or something, I don’t fucking care, something clean and big that you’re fine destroying. I need sterile sheaths, Syd you get those— Other than that, however they get to me, I don’t give a shit— Just scrub in before you touch anything!”

They almost knock into each other the way they run so fast. You yell after them. “Get the big sheet first, she needs to lay down!”

“Yes, Chef!”

You take a deep breath before moving your gaze onto Carmy. The screaming lead EM in you melts off your shoulders, just for the second.

He asks before you can even say anything, “Yes, Chef?”

“I need you to scrub in and get me gloves and an apron—” “On it, Chef—” “And you’re gonna sit in with me for the birth of your niece.”

He cringes, not to refuse, but just the mounting reality of the situation is dawning on him. His sister is going to give birth to his niece in their shared office of his high-class restaurant within it's first week of open.

But you then tag on, “Carmy, she needs you— Frankly, I’m not the one giving birth but fuckin' I need you. T-There.”

He softens instantly, like tranquilizing— Well, a bear.

“Yes, Chef.”

I know the opening probably feels so far away by now, but i do want to note that Breakfast Bruschetta is my own recipe that I used to make like every fuckin' day pre-employment. It's so goddamn good. I highly recommend it, babes. It's balsamic with brown sugar dissolved, btw, Carmy's just a quick explainer.

I wrote like a solid 75% of the labour sequence before deciding it just needed to have the breathing room of it's own chapter, so until next time for that one bbs. But I'm excited for it! And also dreading it! A lot of hard conversations combined with giving birth = nightmare to write, but well worth it, i think. Speaking of: I don't believe at the end of Season 2 that Sugar is at the end of her term of 36 weeks, but in our case here, she is. I'm very much so not interested in a very scary premature birth for our girl!! She's okay!! Dw!! I just wonked with time a little, hope that's okay.

And hey, look at that reveal! Bartender/Sommelier was code for bottle service-- Which is a very respectable career, btw, don't get it twisted-- I was critiquing it only in the way I would critique literally any other job: Misery Under Capitalism. And now we've got that fuckin' wedding in the future midst! Ah!!

Anyways please send me your thoughts ad nauseam, I reload my activity feed every 3 seconds to see what you guys are thinking. If you reblog, tell me what you think in the tags!! Yell at me in the replies!! Send an anon in!! I don't bite, I swear <3

Next Part

[hotjaneaustenmenpoll]

Semi-Final One

Propaganda...

Colonel Brandon (1995):

Alan Rickman has the sexiest voice. Just listen to him reading poetry to Marianne at the end to witness how hot he is.

Alan Rickman simply embodies the truth of Col. Brandon in a way that no one else every could. It's the perfect merging of actor and role. He brings the perfect combination of honor, decency, sensitivity and passion. He is the ultimate mensch.

Brandon propaganda in which even the film's director agrees that Brandon is sexy.

More Brandon propaganda! This photo could only be published in black and white because it would have been too powerful in color (the original color version is currently being used to provide electricity for a medium sized town in Devon. It's THAT powerful).

The brim of the hat falling over his eye. The casual lean. The hunting rifle slung across his leg. The puppy bestie. The fact you know he could row that boat while you watch and wish you were the boat.

From Emma Thompson's diaries which she kept while they were shooting Sense & Sensibility. Emma Thompson said vote Colonel Brandon.

Mr Darcy (1995):

Colin Firth (1995) is book Darcy brought to life. He uses tiny gestures and looks to communicate with us and Elizabeth… his struggle is so subtle but so palpable. A beautiful asshole with a creamy nougat center. Just perfect.

GIF by sunsetboulevards

Those heart-eyes right up above☝️? Hot!

Passive-agressively drinking tea? Hot!

GIF by jaeausten

The way he rushes over to see Elizabeth at Pemberley on those delicious long legs of his with that slutty wet curl hanging over his forehead? Hot!

GIF by didanagy

Fencing? Hot!

GIF by greengableslover

The way he is so concerned about Elizabeth crying and takes her hand even though he shouldn't? Hot!

GIF by greengableslover

This dimple-y smile of pure joy because he knows he's married to Elizabeth freaking Bennet? Hot!

GIF by didana

Colin Firth Darcy is simultaneously immaculately put together and entirely falling apart internally. The wet shirt scene is so iconic not (only) because ‘oooh almost-shirtless sexy man’, but because it’s a metaphor for how he’s absolutely falling apart!!! This is a private moment, when he doesn’t think anyone can see him. And then he bumps. into. Lizzie. At his house!! And the entire sequence that follows with him rushing out still doing his jacket up to catch her before he leaves. They are both on the back foot and it’s THAT moment of confusion that opens a more honest dialogue between them.

Without Firth in a lake you wouldn’t get Macfadyen in a downpour!

There's a reason why Colin Firth is forever known as Mr. Darcy above all other roles he's had and will have! Even ignoring the wet white shirt, which has become A Thing now, he is so hot with his curly hair and his little half smiles and his intense looks of longing and his legs that go on for milessss.

This cannot be real. My fellow Jane Austen people. Without Colin Firth’s Darcy we wouldn’t have 90% of modern JA content. He opened a door and there was no turning back for modern culture. There would be no MacFadyen standing half undressed in a field at dawn without Firth jumping into a lake first. There would be no hand flex if there hadn’t been Firth doing his best impression of a man undressing Elizabeth Bennet with his eyes and hating himself for liking it. There would be no Bridgerton without Bridget Jones. Let’s face it people. We wouldn’t be here having these arguments if Colin Firth had not been Mr Darcy.

Colin Firth understood Mr. Darcy in a way no other actor ever has. He is awkward as fuck in a way that comes across as snooty and judgmental on a first watch-through, then can be read as awkward and longing on a second time. His performance had such depth while looking extremely shallow at first glance. This man WAS Mr. Darcy. (I love 2005, as well, and I love Matthew McFayden, but he was awkward for awkward sake.) Colin Firth made Darcy's awkward look snooty and aloof.

THE socially awkward Darcy is the 1995 Darcy - look at him coming and sitting in awkward silence with Elizabeth pointedly asking her if she wants to live a long way from her family (to obvious relief) and then abruptly leaving - vote for him please 😭😭😭😭

GIF by my-little-random-world

Colin Firth served so much as Darcy that when they did Bridget Jone's diary, they brought him back.... AS DARCY. The smoulder. The angst. The man is the quintessential Darcy.

“Firthing” is an actual term that is used now to describe someone yearning intensely. It is named after Colin Firth’s Mr Darcy performance.

Colin Firth all the way. He's known in our household as Owl Eyes because in every frame he's mooning over Elizabeth Bennet. Unsurpassable, unmatched, golden television (and some of the worst dancing you've ever seen).

Colin has beautiful, touchable curls.

Link

My high school English teacher was very into using movies to teach alongside literature, which was a great teaching tool. When we read Pride and Prejudice, he used both 2005 and 1995 for various scenes. What stands out to me all these years later was when it got to the part when Lizzy went to help Georgiana after Caroline dropped Mr. Wickham's name and Darcy gives Lizzy this look:

My teacher stopped the film and pointed at Darcy's face and said, "See that? That is THE look. If someone ever looks at you like that, you know they're in love." And what is hotter than that?

Also this teacher had two cats named Lizzy and Darcy. Not relevant to the poll but I wanted you all to know about them.

Colin Firth dazzles and amazes in the nuanced performance that just blows all other attempts away.

The best thing about the Colin Firth wet shirt scene is actually the scene that follows where him and Lizzie are both just dyinggg of embarrassment but Darcy pulls himself together refuses to lose his advantage and runs to get dressed and chase her down before she leaves - just the mix of cringe and hopefulness at seeing her again is so well done and so attractive!!! (this is just the bit where he's running after her but I love it all!)

[revehae]

naiveté

pairing ↠ mermaid!chaewon × (f) reader

genre .. warnings ↠ dubcon, mermaid!chaewon x human!reader, oral, posessivelreader, dom!reader, sub!chaewon, yandere themes

summary ↠ when a mermaid far too curious about humanity for her own good washes up at your front door, metaphorically speaking, you realize that you can use her naivety to your advantage.

wc ↠ 4.0k

a/n ↠ part 4/5 of the legend has it series!

don't like it, don't read.

you couldn’t believe your eyes. 

there was a stunning girl in front of you with a beauty unmatched by any other woman in the country. she was completely naked, hardly spoke, and her wrists were sore for the restraints tight around her only moments ago. 

until you stepped in and fought every sailor on the ship she’d been brought onto, defending her from the grabby hands of every man aboard. chaewon could only watch in horror, wondering if she was next. when you came up to her after the bloodshed, she tried to writhe out of the taut knots behind her back, not understanding that you had only come to defend her.

the more you marveled her, the more you wondered how a naked girl seemed to be birthed directly out of the sea, you came to only one logical conclusion. she was not human. rather, she was not supposed to be.

it didn’t account for the supple pair of legs that she had, but it did account for her inability to use them. it was not safe for a woman around the territory where drunk men sailed for months without contact from the opposite sex. that was why you took chaewon, which she later told you was her name, all the way back to your cabin.

though on the way there and when she arrived, chaewon acted very unfamiliar with her surroundings, as if she had never seen ordinary things like trees and hairdryers before. she couldn’t walk, falling to her knees with every effort. and though you had never believed in the supernatural, unless this girl lived under a rock her whole life, then she had to have come from underwater.

“you’re not from here,” you’d confronted within a couple hours of having her inside your room. 

chaewon’s eyes flickered with terror. she had heard horror stories of what happened to mermaids when they got too close to humans.  how merciless humankind could be.  she was to stay clear of it, though she had gotten close to the surface. among other things. “that’s not true.”

you scoffed, “baby, please. it’s not hard to tell. you’re like a fish out of water.”

chaewon swallowed to damp her throat. she guessed it was an apt comparison, all things considered. never had she not been very interested in the upper world. it was so foreign and she ached to explore it and all of its dangers.

when she said nothing, you knew you were right on the money, and continued, “i don’t know how you’re here nor do i care to. but your lack of familiarity with the human world is concerning and if you want, i can teach you how to act like one of us. the second people know you’re not like the rest of us, there’s no telling what’ll happen to you.”

chaewon whispered, “you’re gonna teach me… how to be human?”

“i’m going to try,” you clarified. “at the very least, it’s important that you know how to run and care for yourself.”

that was what you said, but little did chaewon know, you had much darker intentions in mind. the second you saw her exposed body, tangled in knots, you knew that you had to have her. and you knew that nobody else could. 

still, you did teach her the basics of being a human. how to cook simple things and the like. you allowed her to step outdoors, though only under your supervision. given her curious nature, you wouldn’t be surprised if she attempted to run away, just to explore the unfamiliarities of the world around her.

everything little thing astonished her. you had never seen anyone with such glimmering stars in their eyes. nature was chaewon’s favorite. she loved holding little snails in her hands and gawking at the wildflowers near your cabin, but never dared to pick them. she likened them to vibrant coral reefs. it was astounding how life on earth could be so similar yet so different to life underwater.

things stayed that way for a while, but your urges quickly took precedence. given how frequently you were around chaewon, it was difficult to suppress them. because you only had one bedroom, you offered to let her share your bed.

the most difficult thing you had ever done was keep yourself composed while you slept not even a total of inches away from each other. when you went to bed, you were at least a couple of inches apart, though when you roused, she was cuddling you. you couldn’t stand being so close to her and not doing a damn thing about it.

that was where the lies began.

after plenty careful shopping, you presented chaewon with a number of brassieres for her to sport around the house. only, she was under the impression that they were innocent tops, much like the ones she wore back home in the ocean.

maybe they weren’t exactly the same. the tops were a bit more revealing than the ones that she used to wear, but chaewon accepted that she was not home and was more than happy to embrace human tradition.

and then it was time for you to strike. 

“chaewon,” you called out, popping your head into your bedroom. chaewon was sitting on your bed with an earbud in, listening to music you’d shown her. “i bought you some more clothes.”

chaewon’s eyes twinkled. “really?” so, so naive, you couldn’t help but think. 

she didn’t question the alarming amount of so-called new clothes that you bought her, only constantly expressing her gratitude. she could never wait to try them on, much to your amusement. and maybe your delight. there was a reason why you bought so many.

you didn’t say anything, just smiling while you outstretched your hand, the bag dangling from your fingers. chaewon instantly lost interest in the music she’d been listening to, which she’d said before reminded her of sea nymphs, and leapt up to accept the bag with the politest thanks you’d ever heard.

chaewon didn’t think twice about whether or not it was normal to change in front of you, removing the underwear set she was currently wearing to don the new one you bought her. just the sight of her naked, even if only for a couple of moments, made an ache develop between your thighs.

this set was an innocent white color with flimsy, see-through fabric. chaewon stepped in front of your mirror, eyes brimming with wonder. “it’s so cute - i love it! thank you!”

“anything for you,” you said quietly, your eyes fallen to the hind view that you had of her ass.

noticing something, chaewon’s face quickly soured. “but there’s a cut,” she said, referring to a slit in her underwear. “i think it’s ruined.”

playing dumb, you asked, “can i see?”

chaewon nodded, crawling onto your bed and spreading her legs so that you could see the cut in her underwear that had her so saddened. you crept over, separating her thighs a little more to examine the slit that gave you perfect access to her holes without the need to slip them to the side.

your mouth was watering at the sight of her pretty pink pussy. if you were being frank, you thought you deserved a round of applause for being able to wait it out this long. your patience was never good when it came to things like this.

as if your fingers had a mind of their own, one of them moved to brush against her cunt, and you swore you heard the slightest tremble in chaewon’s breath. you knew, as it were, that she was indebted to you. chaewon had only you to thank for the sense of security she felt, no matter how false, and you wholeheartedly intended to keep it that way. though you also knew that, if kept naive enough, chaewon would happily do as you asked.

chaewon shifted uncomfortably. “is it ruined?”

“no, it’s not. it was designed like that,” you said matter-of-factly, rising from the position. sometimes the best lie was the truth.

chaewon was evidently confused. you adored that she processed outwardly, all her features cutely tensed. “why?”

“because it’s a special outfit,” you replied. “it makes it easier for fun activities humans like to do.”

naturally, chaewon had ample interest in the human world and their ways of life, and she desperately wanted to be a part of them. “can we do it?” she asked.

you chuckled, resisting. though only because you knew she wouldn’t back down. “you don’t even know what it is.”

“well, yeah, but…,” chaewon trailed, sitting up now. “i’m really curious.”

you sat down beside her, planting a palm on her exposed thigh and leisurely beginning to move it in a pattern. “have you ever heard that curiosity killed the cat?”

“no, it’s always been curiosity killed the otter.”

you snickered. “and did satisfaction bring it back?”

“something like that, yeah,” chaewon chirped.

if chaewon noticed how much closer your hand got to her hardly clothed pussy, she said nothing. “i could show you so much satisfaction, chaewon,” you purred, leaning into her ear, in spite of the fact that it was only you and her there to bare witness to whatever unfolded there in your room. “but only if you want to.”

“i want to,” chaewon replied without a second thought.

you pulled back, eyes flitting up her face. “you sure?”

chaewon bobbed her head excitedly. she had no idea what you had in store for her and yet she was so enthusiastic. 

“lie back down.”

chaewon did as told, eager.

you were back between her slender legs again, separating them, and thumbed the little slit in her underwear. “you wanna know what this is for?”

“badly,” was chaewon’s response. 

you doubted there were even words to describe just how mad she drove you. without a second thought, you dove your head between her plush set of thighs, your self-restraint snapping. you clamped your fingers onto her thighs for now, only lapping at her as if you had something to prove.

little noises were already escaping her parted lips and they were the sweetest sounds that you’d ever heard. they were accompanied by little breaths, tiny moments of her quickening heartbeat before it was as if her pulse died, then came back to life.

and it stayed like that, until it didn’t. until her breaths started to come quicker and quicker, and her soft moans increased not only in frequency, but in pitch. it wasn’t difficult to be enamored with her. the second you discovered that such saccharine noises could be ripped from the very back of her throat, you knew that you would do everything in your power to keep her isolated from the rest of your world. she was not for sale and she was yours.

“woah,” chaewon exhaled, chest heaving like a raging ocean. “that feels really good.”

you hummed, though you didn’t part to speak, because you didn’t plan on moving until you were certain that she had orgasmed. desperately did you need her to cum on your tongue. and your fingers. you inserted a pair inside her cunt, her gushy walls accepting.

the stimulation from both your warm mouth and adroit fingers made chaewon’s entire body start to shudder, an involuntary reaction that she couldn’t begin to control. this was pleasure and she had never before felt anything like it. especially not when you were tonguing her clit like it was nothing, sending floods of warmth and sensitivity to wreck through her core.

chaewon could barely speak as it was, every thought evaporating from her brain, though that only proved how ravaging this feeling was. it was destruction in its natural form, in its truest nature, and it was raw.

“oh my gosh,” chaewon whimpered, the cutest little look on her face. 

there was a large part of you that just wanted to make her feel like this forever and ever, and you needed to know how much she could take. as much as she was yours (even if she didn’t know it yet), she was delicate, and though you wanted to protect her, you couldn’t shake the part of you that longed to break her.

only you could be trusted with the most intimate workings of her physical form. those sailors might’ve been motivated by the same interests as you, the same pent-up desires, but none of them would care for chaewon the way you had.

maybe it was naive of you, for a change, to think that you could keep a spirit as longing as chaewon’s kept away and suppressed, but if push came to shove, there were many things that you were more than willing to do if it meant it would keep her closer to you for another day. she would just have to understand that this world wasn’t made for her. and there was no way you could be certain she’d be safe out there.

i’m going to make her depend on me, you thought, resolved. i’m going to make her need me. she’ll forget about the rest of the world. she’ll forget about home.

that you were certain of.

“fuck,” chaewon whimpered, followed by an itching cry of your name. it did something to you, make something fracture from within.

there was something about the sound of your name on her tongue that made you lose was what left of your goddamn mind. noting that she was (obviously) close, you were more vicious in your endeavors, drinking all of her arousal like you were parched.

in a way, it wasn’t far from the truth. it had been a long time since you’d found someone to satisfy your cravings and yet you’d forgotten everybody that came before chaewon. with your mouth on her pussy, and your name on her lips, she was all that you could will yourself to think about.

chaewon only thought about you too, because you were the first to show her ecstasy of this caliber and it felt ungodly. she could make little sense of what was happening to her body - the involuntary movements and the want flaring through her core in large numbers. and second after second, it somehow only intensified.

there was a sensation sitting heavy on the pit of her stomach that she couldn’t describe. it wasn’t crushing, though chaewon knew that it could consume her not if she let it, but if it so pleased. she wasn’t chanting your name, but it was like her whines went through one of your ears and the other. you were completely gone, drunk off a hint of her.

calling out your name again, louder, chaewon followed, “i think something’s...”

the last of her sentence was cut off by a final, sharp cry of ache, heavy on her gut and weighing on her chest. your thumb was on her clit, continuing to stimulate her as she got off, wiggling her hips forward into your mouth and writhing uncontrollably.

you took great delight in watching her fall apart at the seams, because there was something about it happening at your hand. chaewon was at your mercy and you preferred it like that, because that way, she had nobody else to run to. it was your name she cried while she battled pleasure for authority over her body and ultimately surrendered every bit of it.

you didn’t stop until chaewon’s body slumped and gave in to exhaustion. rising from your knees, you came to sit beside her weak figure, observing from a different angle. “so, was it fun?”

“yeah,” chaewon exhaled shakily. “can i do that to you?”

something about the thought of chaewon’s pretty little face between your legs made you giggle, though you weren’t opposed. “another time,” you replied. “i have something else you can do.”

as if she weren’t utterly spent, chaewon’s eyes sparkled with eagerness. “like what?”

minutes later, you had a strap-on secured around your hips, and it was your turn to lie back on the mattress. chaewon had jumped to undress you the second that the words escaped your mouth, obedient and eager to please as she was, and you wallowed in every second. now, she was more than excited to ride your strap.

though she looked amazing in it, you removed the bra from her chest no sooner had she stripped you bare. you wanted to squeeze her pretty breasts in your palms while she rode the soul out of you.

chaewon glanced to you, looking at you with so much wonder, and asked, “how far do i go?”

“whatever’s comfortable, baby,” you said nonchalantly, in spite of the fact that you were counting down the seconds until she’d be bouncing.

in the next minute, chaewon was lowering herself onto you through the little slit in her underwear, careful and steady. because of the sheer size, you were surprised to see her sink completely down, though also dumbfoundedly proud.

your eyes darted to her face. every emotion was etched across. “too much?”

not anymore than she asked for. “no,” chaewon replied, shaking her head. “i can take it. i promise.”

it didn’t take a genius to understand that chaewon was resolved to impress you, no matter how taxing it was or how much it took out of her, and you were honored to realize that she had such a high opinion of you. obviously, she didn’t know the extent of how dangerous you could be, in spite of the fact she witnessed the bloodshed you’d caused in her defense, though you hoped that she wouldn’t need to.

chaewon started slow and you didn’t blame her, just trying to get accustomed to the unmistakable girth, and those pretty little sighs began to simmer into your ears again. you would never be able to get enough of them. matter of fact, you were certain they would start to replay in your head at one point.

chaewon rasped, “it’s really big.”

“do you need to go back up?”

“no!” chaewon vehemently insisted. “i can do this.”

“i’m sure you can, angel,” you purred, tightening your hold at her perfect hips.

though you’d been tempted, you didn’t try to guide her along, sensing that she would definitely refuse all help and insist that she was perfectly capable of riding you on her own. so your hands just stayed still and flat, allowing her to do as she pleased.

all the while, you were enjoying the view from below, watching her take you like a queen upon her throne. her breasts dangled tantalizingly in front of your face, almost as if they were begging to be sucked. you were of a mind to test yourself, gauging how much you could handle before your greed consumed you in your entirety.

to say the least, you knew that it couldn’t have been a lot.

it was bewitching how she managed to swallow your strap whole. though you were aware that she could barely take it as it was, you fully intended to buy larger toys to use on her. with some size training, you knew she would be taking it all like a champ in no time. she had the resolve and tenacity.

and more importantly, she had you. for whatever reason, whenever you were in the picture, her happiness skyrocketed. maybe it was because you essentially saved her life or took her in and taught her the ways of human life, but whatever it was, chaewon had her affections alloted to you.

“you’re so pretty,” you whispered with a two-minute delay. you were too absorbed in your thoughts to relay them just as quickly as they appeared in your brain.

chaewon started to beam, smile stretching from one ear to the other. hearing your praise made her whole face flush, little whines slipping from her pink lips. and though you couldn’t feel it, much to your chagrin, she couldn’t help but grip around you.

lifting one hand from her hip, you started to fondle her supple breasts, kneading them with your hands. chaewon’s eyes fluttered close as her pace quickened and she settled on a fitting rhythm, riding effortlessly now that she’d adjusted to your size. one of these days, you wanted to rail her into oblivion, but it would wait. you were more than content to watch her bounce on top of you.

chaewon, to say the least, was enthralled. not only in the wonders that were your lifestyle as a human being, but the forbidden pleasures she’d been deprived of as a mermaid. there was something about how this big whatchamacallit felt, brushing against her walls and strumming her to climax all over again.

you satiated her curiosity. some of it, at least. but what mattered in the moment was that she was satisfied, just as you swore she would be, and in ways she couldn’t fathom. from the throbbing in her core to the wriggle in her toes and the heat spasming in her palms, all of it was unthinkable.

fuck. oh my goodness. fuck, was all that floated around chaewon’s head, because if she wasn’t saying it (her mouth was far too occupied with those sweet-sounding cries to speak), she was definitely thinking it.

chaewon was far too dazed to even notice, but you, for one, were addicted to the wet sound that came with every meet of her hips with your strap. you were showing her what it meant to be aroused. and someday, if she somehow did escape you, even though you couldn’t imagine letting yourself permit that to happen, you would make sure she knew that nobody could ever bring her euphoria quite like you.

there was sweat gathering at chaewon’s face, an indication of how long and how hard the two of you had been at this, but all you really gave a damn about was how it made her skin glisten. how beautiful it looked when coupled with the sunlight filtering through your open window. you weren’t concerned with being spied on, because with how deep in the middle of nowhere you lived, you rarely had visitors and certainly no neighbors.

“it’s happening again,” chaewon noticed, referring to the sensation in her gut. 

“that’s normal,” you said, assuring.

chaewon’s movements only got more vigorous, as if she couldn’t wait to get herself there, and you knew that it wasn’t far from the truth. “i’m so…,” she trailed, breaths coming quicker. 

“you’re close,” you finished for her, grinning. “cum for me, baby. show me you can do it again.”

you knew that she could. god, she came so hard when you were going down on her. you yourself could’ve came untouched just from watching her get off.

“so close,” chaewon squeaked, rocking herself against you harder. and much, much faster. she was so impatient. “please.”

you were coaxing her there, whispering, “milk my strap, baby. come on. do it for me.”

for whatever reason, everything felt so much more intense in that moment compared to every second preceding. the room seemed a thousand degrees hotter, which the sweat down chaewon’s back was a testament to, but half the heat was coming from inside.

then the girl on top of you arched into you and it was game over, her stilling as the chase came to an abrupt halt. release was instantaneous. chaewon could feel it everywhere and it was mind-numbing and explosive. she wrung her toes, anchoring herself on your bare shoulders as raw pleasure shot through her chest and spine.

and you watched every second. you were obsessed. all you could think, eyes fixed to her orgasming form, was, she’s so goddamn gorgeous.

when the unsparing afterhighs faded, chaewon slumped against you, weakened by her continuous actions and the energy put into the hunt for climax. though you desperately wanted to push her, you would save it for another day. she was panting hard and heavy against your chest, so worn.

chaewon’s misty eyes flitted to yours, whispering, “did i do good?”

“you did perfect, angel,” you crooned, kissing her forehead. chaewon giggled, dismounting you and snuggling closer to you. “absolutely perfect.”

it was comfortable silent (other than the combined sound of your open-mouthed breathing) for maybe five minutes. you wallowed in the weight of chaewon’s body on your chest and her breath on your neck, a reminder that she was there.

what you didn’t speak was for her to ask, “can we go again?”

your eyes flickered in shock. god, this girl just doesn’t know when to quit, you thought amusedly.

[ravencincaide]

A Beauty In His Eyes

Summary:  You were extremely self conscious about your appearance and your body, making beauty treatments, including massage, a luxury you could not afford. OR the time Chuuya asked you to join him on his massage day and you did not have the heart to tell him no. 

Pairing: fem! Reader who is self conscious/body issues x  Chuuya Nakahara

Inspired by Sweetober prompt 15: Massaging 

Warnings: Cursing, being uncomfortable with ones own appearance, fluff and sweetness

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You did not know if you wanted to do it. More importantly, you didn’t know if you could. 

Wiping your sweaty hands on a tissue, you looked your body up and down in the full length mirror of the elegant stall- a dressing room completely devoted to you and you alone. You were dressed in a simple bikini- the closest you would ever go to being nude and a white fluffy bathrobe thrown over your shoulders, waiting to be tied into place with a large, thick and long equally fluffy belt. On your feet was a pair of simple yet high quality sandals with no socks, showing off your home made manicure. The colour was an endearing red- one you desperately wished you had removed before coming to the salong.

At the time, painting your nails felt like a fun and luxurious thing to do- a way to make your otherwise bland self more appealing. Right now though it felt sloppy and unprofessional- cheap fake against the expensive interior of the dressing room. You felt like an imposter who was not meant to be in this aristocratic space. Yet here you were, studying each and every crevasse, stretch mark and scar on your less-than-perfect body. 

God what were you doing? Why did you agree to this? 

“M’girl, is everything okay?” You heard Chuuya’s concerned voice echo through the door, followed by the gentle rapping of knuckles. A melodic sound that tapped out an all too familiar tune. A joke between you that would normally keep your anxiety at bay. 

Not today. 

“ Just a moment Chuu” you called, moving to quickly wipe your hands on the reminisce of the soaked serviette. Then you tossed it in the bin, cursing under your breath as you felt the palms of your hands growing sweaty in seconds. Again. Your heart pounded loudly, the quick thuds echoing in your ears like thunder. It was so loud, you were certain Chuuya would be able to hear it through the door separating you two. This made you feel all the more nervous. Your eyes scanned the room for anything to wipe your hands on- failing to see any paper you sloppily wiped on the expensive inside material of the bathrobe, promising yourself it was going to be a one time occasion. 

“ Sweets, you've been in there twenty minutes already, hmm. No one takes so long to get naked!” Chuuya’s voice sounded amused- teasing even, but you could hear the undertone of worry in it. A slight shake which showed his concern for you. Along with the heavy sigh- a worry that you would back out despite your promise- the metaphorical chain around your neck which prevented you from leaving. You both knew you hated showing off your body, but you hated breaking a promise even more than that. Especially to Chuuya. 

“ Just give me another five, okay?” you called out to him, your voice unnecessarily loud. A pitch so high it would be able to crack glass. You flinched at it then hurried to tie the bathrobe haphazardly around your waist. The last thing you needed was for Chuuya to get worried, stroll in, and get some weird idea about what you were doing, staring and studying your almost naked body in the full length mirror. Despite your skin being now almost completely covered by the soft material, somehow it did not make you feel any better. 

Somehow seeing yourself like this actually made you feel worse. 

The only thing you wanted to do was change back into your regular clothes, covering each inch of your skin in lace and silk, shapewear and other material until your reflection was bearable for you to look at. Makeup to hide the marks on your face- perfume to mask your smell. Hair out- extensions in. Not beautiful but at the very least not disgustingly ugly. 

“ Sweetheart?” You heard Chuuya call out again, his voice much more worried this time. Much more sober. You licked your lips, about to reply when you heard the door click then open. It gave away to his hand with ease and into the room he strolled. Perfect as always. The fancy suit and coak were gone, replaced by a bathrobe identical to your own. It was tied perfectly around his waist gracefully, like picture perfect art. The white of the robe made his ginger ponytail pop even more than usual. His lips were set into a straight line, his eyes quickly scanning the dressing room for anything out of the ordinary- anything that would not meet his high standards. 

The standards that borderline ridiculous whenever it was something concerning you. 

You looked away from the mirror and his reflection. If there was anything in that room that felt out of place and ‘lacking standard’ then it was you. But you didn’t dare utter those words aloud- you knew how important these self care days were for Chuuya. The wonders they did to his sanity, and you were not about to stress him with your own troubles when he was already facing hell at work. And especially not when he basically begged you to join him- a few extra moments together- a glance at the private Chuuya not many knew. 

“ What’s the matter?” Chuuya questioned as he finished scanning the room. Deeming it satisfactory he came to stand beside you. Then with gentle hands he turned your body until you were facing him, a hand under your chin kept your gaze locked with his. “ What’s wrong baby?” 

You swallowed, licked your lips then looked down at the floor as a wave of shame and self hate washed over you. “ I don’t know if I can do it” you admitted, your lip quivering. You didn’t want to see his disappointed expression, so you studied the floor instead. Like a guilty child- a failure. 

 Chuuya’s hand rested on your shoulder, his other on your waist as he pulled you a tiny bit closer to himself. He stayed silent for a long moment before he broke the silence; “ You tied it too hard sweets, let me” he muttered, his blue orbs focused on yours. His statement made your head snap up. Then you looked down again, a dark red colouring your cheeks. The same shade as your nails. You gave a weak nod, holding your breath as he undid the belt of your bathrobe. His eyes just once glancing down at you and the plain, nude coloured bikini, before he turned his attention back to your face. A dusty pink blush covered his cheeks as his hands carefully worked on folding the bathrobe over your body and then tying the belt more loosely around your waist. Now it was a little bit easier to breathe “ You’re beautiful m’darlin” he mumbled his lips finding your forehead. “ So beautiful.” 

You shuddered slightly, tears gathering in your eyes. A lump in your throat. You opened and closed your lips, silent protests you didn’t dare speak aloud. The darkest thoughts in your brain were twisting his words into something sinister- something ‘not Chuuya’. “ So beautiful” he said again more firmly this time before beginning to deal with the elephant in the room. 

“ It’s just a massage dollface” Chuya mumbled his lips ghosting over every inch of your face. “ The girl who’ll be massaging you is the best of the best and her job is to rub out every tension and sore muscle in your body. So if she as much as looks at m’girl weirdly, I’ll see to it that she discovers a new level of G-force.” 

The slight joke made the corners of your lips twist up. Your mind grasping at the one inch of sanity among the sea of darkness. “ Darlin I don’t doubt your Gravity manipulation but a new G-force is highly unlikely- even for you!” 

Chuuya chuckled, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before he moved back and reached for your hand. You flinched back from his fingers, feeling self conscious, making his hand grasp your wrist instead. You instantly regretted the action, but Chuuya seemed the least bit bothered by it. As if he had expected that reaction; “ Come, I’ll show you the room. Its much nicer and more relaxing than this shoebox and I wanna start on you” he muttered, pulling you out of the dressing room and into another room, where there were two massage tables parallel to each other. It seemed Chuuya was keeping his promise of making sure you would be close. 

His words didn’t register in your mind until he came up to one of the tables and motioned for you to lie down so he could start. 

“ You what? Wanna start massaging me?” You gaped at him, making him roll his eyes at your confused expression. 

“ Damn right! I’ve been going to massages for years now. How hard can it be? Hop hop” he made a motion for you to strip and lay down. You bit your lip, hesitating. You could feel the nerves pooling in your stomach again and grasped at the bathrobe tighter. A raised eyebrow from your boyfriend was all it took for you to undo the bathrobe and let it drop to the floor before jumping up onto the table. You moved to lay down on your stomach, your eyes set on the floor, glaring at it. 

“ Relax baby, it’s me” Chuuya muttered, his fingers trailing your spine, pausing when they came to your bra strap. He worked around it for a moment, brushing the skin under it with the tips of his fingers before he moved lower. Following the curve of your spine he began applying more pressure, brushing out the skin, feeling for tensions and knots. Finding the right spots he’d focus on them, much to your enjoyment.  

“ Ahh” you breathed as he worked on a particularly sore spot. 

“ Feels good, right love?” Chuuya smiled down at you, his hands trailing upwards. As he came up to your bra strap he unclipped it with ease. He felt you tense for a moment, then relax as his hands continued to touch your back. “ Good girl, now think how much better it will be when its someone who knows what they’re doing, mmm” as he said that you felt a different touch on your back. The hands were smaller, softer, the long nails just barely scratching your skin. But the way they touched you was different; more confident, almost instantly applying pressure in just the right spots. A mix of pain as female hands worked the tension out, and then pleasure as muscles relaxed.  

When Chuuya brought you here, you didn’t want to go in. Now you didn’t want to leave.

Seeing your lack of protests Chuuya chuckled and moved away from you. “ Enjoy it my love, this massage will do your tense shoulders good” he muttered, pressing a kiss to your head before he went and laid down on the bed beside yours. You felt the masseuses working on your back put a little more effort on your shoulders, and you let out a sigh of relief as you felt the tension you didn’t know you carried was slowly kneaded out of your skin. 

Maybe Chuuya was right; maybe a massage wasn’t so bad after all.

[wolfjackle-creates]

The Two Ghost Motel

So, as I mentioned, I joined the DP Ecto-Implosion Event this past month and it's Posting Week now! So I get to finally share with you the first chapter of my fic. Still working on editing the second half of the fic, but it's fully written as of this time.

For those who don't know, for the Ecto-Implosion event, artists drew/animated/composed some piece of art and writers then went in and wrote fics based off their art.

I was lucky enough to be paired with the super talented @i-think-in-metaphors who made this gorgeous artwork:

You can read on AO3 here (this fic is not locked to AO3 users only).

And for those of you who prefer to read on Tumblr:

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: Minor Original Character Death (not in this chapter)

Fandom: DPxDC (though no knowledge of DC is necessary for this fic. I use a single character and he has amnesia, it takes place in an original setting or Amity)

Summary:

Danny is tired. Endless ghost fights with too many responsibilities and too little time; he barely passed sophomore year. When Ember visits town for a bit of fun, she mentions the Two Ghost Motel, a place of peace and refuge for restless ghosts who aren't ready to cross over. “I’m fine, Ember.” Danny’s got a home and friends. He’s fine, really. But when his parents begin experimenting with electricity to destabilize ghosts, it’s too much for Danny. Unfortunately, neither Sam nor Tucker can host him for the night and he’s left wandering in the night, alone. Then he sees it: The Two Ghost Motel. He checks in. “Welcome.”

-----

Danny wasn’t sure when he first saw the neon sign. Honestly, he didn’t even realize it was something ghostly when he did. He just thought it was one more ghost-themed business that had come to Amity since the portal opened.

But when he mentioned the motel to Sam and Tucker, they looked at him like he was crazy.

“I’ve never heard of any Two Ghost Motel,” said Sam. “Where’d you see it?”

Tucker was typing into his PDA. “Nothing’s coming up online, either.”

“Oh come on, you’re pulling my leg. We’ve passed it at least a half dozen times. Last night when we were leaving Nasty Burger for one! And I think, what, three nights before that? On patrol? Where were we?”

“Dude, that night we were near the library. No where near Nasty Burger. No way you could’ve seen the same place both nights,” said Tucker.

“Danny, when was the last time you got a full night’s sleep?” Sam’s brow was knit in concern.

Danny waved off her concern. “Whatever. I know I’ve seen it. The sign is bright pink and orange with blue ghosts on it.”

Sam just shrugged and shook her head. “Point it out next time you see it.”

Before Danny could reply, his ghost sense went off and he groaned. “Ugh, looks like someone’s around. I’m too tired for this.” Danny glanced around. They were in the park and no humans were nearby so he let his transformation wash over him.

He flew into the air and tried to listen past the sound of his breaths echoing through his mask. Even though he didn’t breathe when transformed, something about the hazmat suit remembered and the sound was inescapable.

A guitar chord played behind him and Danny instinctively threw up a shield and fell ten feet right as a blast from Ember’s instrument headed his way.

“Hey there, baby-pop!” she called. “I was sitting around, bored out of my mind, when I remembered I could just come here to have some fun!”

Danny turned to face her. “Come on, Ember.” His voice always sounded so robotic when filtered through the mask. “I’m tired.”

“Too bad. I’m not.” She grinned at him and strummed a few notes, sending more attacks his way.

Danny dodged, only to have to watch one of the blasts hit a bench and destroy it. He flew higher, hoping her next attacks wouldn’t cause more collateral that would be blamed on him.

“What, you just gonna dance around like that? Come on, attack back!”

“My moves not good enough for you?”

“You need to step it up if you want to be my back up dancer.”

Danny couldn’t help but laugh and when she sent her next blast his way, he avoided it by doing a backwards dive towards the ground only to circle back up until he was facing her. “How’s that?”

“Better, but you’re still not there. Your moves have to match the music!” She played a tune with a fast beat and Danny dodged and spun. And if he added some flair to his movements, well, he deserved the chance to have a little fun.

Another blast his way, and he twisted his hips. Matching Ember’s beat, he sent a few ectoblasts back at her.

Ember laughed. “Now you’re catching on!”

Danny allowed himself a quick glance down where he saw Sam and Tucker not even trying to hide. Tucker was filming them.

Which, of course, is when it all had to be ruined by the unmistakable sounds of the GAV driving cross-country.

“Through the park?” he moaned. “Seriously?”

“Shit, that’s your folks, isn’t it.”

“Yeah. C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

“You’ve got it, babypop. I came here for fun, not to mess with them.”

The GAV came to a stop and Danny saw his mom rush out of the passenger side with one of their new, long-distance guns. He tacked Ember, only just getting her out of the way of the blast.

Without any discussion, both turned invisible and flew out of the park. Danny didn’t let them stop until they were in a forest out of range of his parents’ trackers. Exhaustion set back in as soon as he realized they were safe, and he just plopped down on the ground and leaned against a tree.

“Ready to resume your dancing lessons?” asked Ember.

Danny groaned and rested his head against the rough bark. It was probably stupid, but he let his eyes close. “Maybe next time. I meant it when I said I’m tired.”

She didn’t say anything as one, two, three breaths sounded from his mask. And then he heard some leaves rustle. He cracked open an eye to see Ember making herself comfortable on the ground a few feet away.

“You really are tired, aren’t you?” she asked.

“Yeah. Finals are coming up and if I don’t do well, I’m going to fail sophomore year.”

“Y’know, I’ve heard of a place…”

Danny waited for her to continue, but when she didn’t, he hummed. “A place?”

“Yeah. Haven’t been there myself. But, there’s this place. It’s for ghosts who aren’t ready to move on from Earth just yet. Ghosts who live only on Earth without ever going the Zone get tired and weak. There’s just not enough ectoplasm around. Except for here, of course.”

“So what’s this place do?”

“Gives you somewhere to rest. And recharge. It’s not really on Earth. It’s a sort of in between place. Called the Two Ghost Motel. Might be worth checking in for a night if you ever don’t want to be at home for one reason or another.”

Danny hummed. “I’ve seen it around. Thought it was just a regular motel, but Sam and Tucker didn’t know what I was talking about.”

Ember picked out a tune on her guitar, but this time no attacks emanated from it. “It’s not a place for the living from what I’ve heard. Just the dead.”

Danny looked up at the stars through the tree branches, but he shook his head. “I’m fine, Ember. Just need to get some sleep.”

“Whatever you say, baby-pop.”

---

After that conversation with Ember, the motel began basically haunting him. Every night, as soon as dusk started to fall, he’d see it. Always a few streets away, just sitting there calling to him; it’s sign bright in the dark.

Sam and Tucker couldn’t see it, no matter how often he pointed it out to him. Jazz could sometimes see something out of the corner of her eye, but when she looked on more directly, it was never there.

Danny never approached. He was fine. He had a home and friends. There was no reason to go to some random motel.

Finals came and went. He managed to scrape by with at least Cs in everything. His parents, especially his mom, had not been happy with those grades, but Danny was just glad to have passed.

Didn’t stop him from being grounded and forced to help out more in the lab. One afternoon, he was in his room playing Doomed with Sam and Tucker when he got a message from his parents calling him back down to help them out.

“Ugh, I’ve got to go down to the lab.”

“Seriously?” complained Tucker. “Again?”

“Yeah,” agreed Sam. “Seems you’re always off helping them lately. Can’t you say no?”

“It’s this or having my phone and computer taken away. I’ll take the lab work.” He saved his progress. “Will you guys be on later?”

“Can’t,” said Sam. “My parents are forcing me to go to a fancy dinner somewhere. And they’re not giving me any more information than that to keep me from planning anything disruptive.”

“And mine have declared we’re having a tech-free family bonding night,” said Tucker, rolling his eyes. “With board games! Who plays board games in this day and age?”

Danny laughed. “I’ll see you both tomorrow, then. Later.”

Danny signed off and went downstairs. The hazmat suits were kept in a closet right next to the door to the lab, and Danny went through the process of pulling it all on. The mask that came with it was even more annoying in human form than ghost. The filtered air always tasted strange, but he’d given up complaining about that years ago.

He unlocked the lab door and went down to the lab.

“Dan-o!” called his dad as soon as he saw him. “Come here! You’re job will be to control the current!”

“Uh, current?” asked Danny.

“We’re trying to figure out how to disrupt the electrical signal in ectoplasm that gives ghosts their shape,” explained his mom. She had a bowl of ectoplasm in a glass terrarium and was arranging two metal probes so they dipped into it.

“Exactly!” agreed his dad. “So you’re going to sit at this computer”—he pulled out a chair before one of the lab computers and gestured for Danny to sit—“and adjust the frequency and voltage.”

Danny took a seat and stared at the program that was loaded on the screen. At least he wouldn’t be anywhere near the probes? A glance at the puddle of ectoplasm had him holding back a shudder.

“First we’re going to try and force the ectoplasm to form a shape,” continued his mom. “We’re going to do that with probe A. You’re going to start with a low frequency and voltage and slowly increase it while your father and I mark down how it affects the ectoplasm. We have some hypotheses about when it’ll start to form a shape.”

“And once it forms a shape,” said his dad, “you’ll use probe B to send a contrary electrical signal to destabilize it!”

“And then no more ghost!”

Suddenly Danny was glad his suit had a face mask. His parents were going to do what? Figure out how to use electricity to destabilize ghosts? It wasn’t possible. There was no way it could work. Right? He had to stay and prove to himself they were talking crazy.

“What—” His mouth was dry and he had to try again. “How should I start?”

“The settings are already loaded,” said his mom. She grabbed a tablet and sat down in front of the terrarium.

Dad sat next to her, grinning widely. “Go ahead, Dan-o!”

Danny’s hand shook as he placed it on the mouse. He sat on the other to hide it. Then he turned on the probe.

At first, nothing happened. The ectoplasm stayed a puddle and there was no visible change in it. But as he adjusted the current, it began to ripple. His parents loudly exclaimed over every change as they shouted instructions back to him.

Each change had Danny’s heart beating harder in his chest.

Two hours in is when it happened. The ectoplasm started to form a ball that rose up out of the bowl. Danny could feel something cold in the back of his throat. Not his ghost sense, but something close.

“This is it!” yelled his dad. “Danny, what’re the settings?”

Once more, Danny was glad for the way the mask muffled his voice just enough to mask how horrified he was by the thing that was forming. His parents’ theories about electrical currents couldn’t be true. They couldn’t.

“Now for us to try disrupting the current!” The glee in his mom’s voice made bile rise in Danny’s throat. But when she told him to turn on probe B, he did.

It only took twenty minutes to find the settings that made the ectoplasm fall apart back into a puddle.

Danny was up on his feet, chair toppled, in an instant. He held a gloved hand to his masked face as if he could keep from throwing up with the motion alone. It had looked so much like Ellie when she was destabilizing.

“Danny?” asked his mom, tablet forgotten on her chair as she rushed over to him. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I… I’m feeling a bit sick. Can I, can I go? Bathroom?”

His mom reached out to brush a hand over his covered forehead as if to check his temperature. “Oh sweetie, of course you can. You should’ve told us you weren’t feeling well. There’s some soup in the fridge if you think you can eat that.”

“I— yeah. Thanks.” He didn’t wait to hear anything else she had to say and just ran up the stairs. He shed his gear in record time and ran all the way up to his room. He slammed the door shut and grabbed his backpack from where it hung on his desk chair.

With shaking hands, he took out everything in the main compartment. Then he ran to his dresser and grabbed a change of clothes and something to sleep in. He couldn’t stay here right now. He just couldn’t.

From the bathroom, he grabbed some toiletries and added those.

Less than fifteen minutes after leaving the lab, he was out the front door and walking down the street. It was late, dusk starting to fall.

He considered going to Nasty Burger to get some dinner, but then he remembered the way the ball of ectoplasm had melted and he changed directions. Eventually his wandering brought him to the park where he found a bench in an empty area and sat down, dropping his backpack at his feet.

Danny buried his face in his hands as he forced himself to just breathe. He and Tucker could mess with the results from these experiments just like they had so many times in the past. It was going to be fine.

His phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out.

Jazz: Hey, Danny. Mom said you weren’t feeling well? Jazz: Where’d you go? You’re not in your room. Danny: Sorry, Jazz. I had to get out of the house. Danny: Ask mom and dad about today’s experiments. Danny: You’ll understand why. I’m gonna spend the night at Tuck’s. Jazz: Okay. See you tomorrow? Danny: Yeah. I’ll be back tomorrow. Jazz: Love you.

Of course, Tucker was having a family night. He couldn’t crash that. And Sam’s parents had banned him from their house. Where would he spend the night?

And then he noticed it. Right outside the park glowed the sign: Two Ghost Motel.

He was on his feet and walking there before he’d even consciously made the decision to go. A glance around showed he was alone, that night had fully fallen on Amity so he let his transformation wash over him.

He reached the street and, for the first time, was staring directly at the motel rather than catching glimpses from a block or two away. The parking lot had a few cars in it, the oldest looking like it might’ve been from the twenties with the newest looking like it was ten or fifteen years old.

A glance in either direction showed no cars coming, so Danny crossed the street.

As soon as he stepped off the sidewalk and into the parking lot, Danny could feel a change in the air. It was nothing obvious, but something integral was different. The sounds of the city were muffled, the sense of life dulled. The air felt lighter and the door seemed to call to him. Most importantly, it was easier to push away the memories from his afternoon in the lab.

The sign, when he reached it, buzzed softly in the night. He held a hand up towards it and felt an echoing buzz under his skin.

He stared at the lights for a moment more before continuing towards the building at the other end of the lot. It hadn’t been repaved in ages and was riddled with cracks. But the plants that grew up through them weren’t the normal grasses and dandelions. He wished Sam were with him to help him identify them.

Instead he knelt down and pulled out his phone to take a picture. They glowed slightly in the night, their stems ectoplasm-green with blue leaves and red bulbs. Danny reached out to touch one, only for the bulb to open and snap at his finger.

Danny laughed in surprise as he pulled his hand away. Something inside him relaxed. A night away would do him good and maybe he’d see other cool things besides the flowers.

The motel itself was a long, two-story building. The main entrance was smack in the middle of the building with rows of rooms extending to either side. Next to the office, a passageway through the building led to the back side of the building and had stairs leading up to the second level. It was clearly old, worn in the way only time could do.

The office door wasn’t automatic and the handle stuck slightly under his hand when he tried to turn it. But just a little bit of force had it opening.

Inside, the carpet was worn, beaten down and dull in the middle. The walls were covered in floral wallpaper rather than paint. Against one wall buzzed an ice machine and against the other sat a vending machine. A man with slicked back hair and a cane stared at the vending machine without moving. A two-seater couch was next to the vending machine with a wooden coffee table in front of it. Two women sat side-by-side on it: one in modern jeans and a windbreaker, the other in an old-fashioned dress that looked like it may have come from the sixties. They were holding magazines, but in the time it took Danny to look around, neither had flipped a page.

Cutting off the back of the room was a long desk, behind which sat a closed door. A woman sat behind the desk. Her blonde hair was cut shoulder length and curled inward. She wore bright red lipstick and heavy eye shadow. But strangest of all, she wasn’t moving. Her chest didn’t raise with her breathing, she didn’t shift in her seat. The women on the couch, at least, made the little movements people make when they’re engrossed in their reading. And the man at the vending machine was tapping his fingers on his cane as he tried to decide what to get.

But the woman at the counter was utterly still.

“Evening.” Danny’s voice was loud in the small room.

The woman in modern clothes cocked her head slightly as if trying to hear a distant noise.

“What are you reading?” Danny asked her.

She just shook her head slightly and looked back at her magazine. Slowly, she turned a page.

“Oh-kay,” said Danny to himself. He walked past them as he made his way to the desk.

As soon as he reached it, the woman came to life. She turned and smiled broadly at him and her finger started tapping on a paper log book that sat in front of her. “Well hello there. Welcome to the Two Ghost Motel!” She had a slight southern accent. “What can I do you for?”

“Uh, well. I heard you might have a room I could rent for the night.”

“Sure do,” she agreed with a nod. “Can certainly set you up with one of those.” She looked him up and down then nodded to herself. “Ah, yes. We knew you might need a place soon so we made sure you’d be able to find us. Glad to see you finally stopped in.”

“What, uh, what do you know about me?”

“Same as we know about any of our potential patrons, sweetie. That you’re a restless spirit that isn’t ready to pass on yet. Two Ghost was set up to give you a place to rest while you’re still on Earth.”

“How much would it cost for one night?”

The receptionist threw back her head and laughed. Her teeth were sharper than a normal human’s. Behind him, another voice joined in the laughter. Danny turned to see the modern-dressed woman was finally looking at him, though it was only to laugh at him.

Danny rubbed the back of his neck and smiled self-consciously. “I take it that was a stupid question?”

“Honey, there’s no charge for spending the night. Wouldn’t be much of a place to rest if we forced y’all to pay when no dead has money.”

“Right. So do you want anything in exchange? I’m pretty good at fixing things up.”

“All we want is for you to have a good night’s rest.” She turned the log book around. “I’ll just need you to put down your name here and I’ll give you your key.” She waved her hand to indicate a pen that was chained to the desk.

Danny grabbed it and hesitated just a moment before signing “Phantom” on the page. The ink was ectoplasm-green.

She took the book back and made her own marks before smiling at him. “Well that’s all in order. Now just to get you your room key.” She opened a drawer which was filled with a number of small envelopes, each with a handwritten number on them. She flipped through a few before stopping on one, seemingly at random, and pulling it out. “You’ll be in room 214. Leave the office, take a right. You can’t miss the stairs. Climb ‘em, continue to the back side of the motel, and take a right.”

Danny took the envelope from her. On it, the numbers 214 were written, with Two Ghost Motel in cursive below it. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Enjoy your stay at Two Ghost,” she smiled one more time at him, then looked down at her logbook and froze exactly as she had been when he’d first entered.

“I appreciate your help. You sure there’s nothing I can do in exchange for the room?”

But the woman didn’t stir again. Danny shifted from foot to foot. Should he try and wake her? Was she hurt? Was this a normal ghost thing? He tapped on the desk again.

“Ma’am?”

No response.

Danny looked down at his key and back at the woman. Hesitantly, he turned towards the door, but he couldn’t help looking back frequently. He paused by the women on the couch, but neither looked up from their magazines. At the vending machine, he peered around the man.

“Do they have anything that looks good?” he asked.

The man didn’t move, so Danny shifted until he was standing right next to him and could look inside the machine.

The bottom two rows were filled with drinks, water and Gatorade took up space right next to shots of ectoplasm. And were those beers? What? Above those were a few types of nuts and candy bars and chips. Danny only recognized half the brands.

Then he noticed the package of bottle caps. “Oh man, been ages since I’ve had some bottle caps. Mind if I grab those if you haven’t decided yet?”

The man hummed and moved to the side so Danny could get to the bill input and number pad.

“Thanks, sir! Appreciate it.” He pressed the numbers for the candy to see the price, but the machine whirled to life and it was dropped down without requiring Danny to put in a single cent. “Oh, shit, did I just use your money? What do you like? I’ll get it for you as an apology.”

“I don’t… I don’t remember,” said the man. His voice was very quiet, but clear. Danny couldn’t place his accent.

“Are you looking for a snack or a drink? Sweet or savory?”

“My son always pretended he didn’t like sweets. I was going back to him. How did I end up here?”

“Dunno, sir. But if you like candy, I’d recommend the skittles if you want chewy, m&m’s if you want basic chocolate.” He opened his own package. “Hold out your hand, I’ll give you a few of these so you can see if you like them.”

The man did and looked at his own hand as if he’d never seen it before. Danny turned his package so a few bottlecaps fell out. “Thank you,” said the man.

“Sure thing. Hope you enjoy!”

The man stared at his hand a moment longer before bringing one to his mouth and chewing the candy with a pensive look on his face. “I think I remember these, but it’s been so long. Thank you.”

“Anytime. My name’s Phantom; I’m in room 214 if you need anything.”

“Phantom. Pleasure to meet you. I’m Tom.”

“Well, Mr. Tom, hope you find something to eat that you like.”

Tom hummed and turned back to look at the vending machine. Danny took one last look at the receptionist, still entirely frozen, before slipping out the door. He slipped the package of bottlecaps into his pocket; he’d eat them in his room when he could take his mask off. In the passageway to the back of the motel, two boys played jacks under a flood light.

Danny couldn’t help but pause to watch them. He’d tried playing a few times when he was younger, but Tucker wasn’t into the game and none of the other kids had been willing to spend enough time with the weird ghost-hunter’s kid to teach him.

He waited until the kid who’d been picking up the jacks tossed them back on the ground before asking, “So, who’s winning?”

Both boys looked up at him with the same blank expression. The one on the right was a red-head while the one on the left was brown haired. They were about the same age, maybe ten years old and Danny wondered what happened to bring them here.

“I never learned to play,” Danny admitted, waving a hand to indicate their game. “So I don’t know how to tell. Or, is there even a winner in jacks? I might be completely off the mark.”

The red-head raised his hand. “I’m wining. I’m on the foursies round. Alan is only on twosies.”

“Matt cheated and made me drop my jacks.”

“It wasn’t cheating, just strategy,” protested Matt.

“Cheating,” repeated Alan.

“Prove it by beating your threesies round perfectly this time.”

Danny smiled to himself as the boys returned to their game and ignored his presence entirely.

“How’d you do that?” asked someone behind him.

Danny spun around to see a boy around his own age on the stairs leaning over the railing. He had dark hair and light eyes and was dressed in modern jeans and a t-shirt.

“Do what?” asked Danny.

“Get them to talk to you. Everyone ignores me entirely.”

Danny glanced back at the two boys who were entirely absorbed in their game and not paying Danny or the stranger any attention. “They’re mostly ignoring me, too.”

The kid rolled his eyes. “But they still talked to you. I haven’t even gotten that much.”

Danny shrugged. “I just asked them about their game.”

He groaned and kicked at the railing. “I’ve tried that. Who’re you, anyway?”

“I’m Phantom. Staying here for the night because, well, just because. Who’re you?”

“Jay.”

Danny cocked his head. “Like the bird?”

Jay’s eyes widened in surprise, then he grinned back. “That’s it! I knew I was forgetting something. I’m a bird. Thanks, Phantom.”

Danny laughed. “Sure thing, birdie.” He adjusted his backpack. “Let me put this down. I’m in room 214. What’s there to do in this motel?”

Jay shrugged. “More if you can get the other people to talk to us. But the TV always has your favorite show or movie on and the vending machine in the office always has your favorite snacks.”

As Danny made his way up the stairs, Jay fell in step besides him. “What’s your favorite movie?” he asked.

Jay shrugged again. “Dunno. But every time I turn on the TV it’s playing.”

“What did you watch last, then?”

Jay hesitated a moment and when Danny looked at him, he was frowning. “I don’t…” He shook his head. “I don’t forget things. My d— Someone made sure I could give accurate reports. But I don’t remember.” He looked at Danny with his brow furrowed. “Why don’t I remember?”

Danny shrugged. “Well, when we get to my room, we can turn on the TV and see what comes on.”

Jay brightened immediately at the suggestion. “Duh! That’ll remind me. Thanks, Phantom! Come on, your room’s this way. We’re neighbors; I’m in 215.” He jogged the rest of the way up the stairs so Danny had to speed up, too.

At the top of the stairs, Jay took a right and Danny’s door was several down.

“Home sweet home,” he said, gesturing to the door.

Danny laughed as he unlocked it. “So how long have you been here?” He pushed open his door and took in the space. The carpet looked like it hadn’t been upgraded since the seventies. A double bed sat against one wall covered by a faded, green paisley quilt. A low dresser and box TV against the opposite wall. Most of the wall facing the walkway was taken up with a large window, though the closed blinds kept it private.

It wasn’t until Danny stepped in and dropped his bags on the bed that he realized Jay had neither responded nor followed him in.

“Birdie? Jay? You okay?”

Jay was frozen outside the door staring out into the distance away from the motel. The back of the motel had very few lights, and the night made it seem like there was nothing out there but endless black. When Danny called out, Jay shook himself and grinned as he entered the room and sat down on Danny’s bed with enough force to bounce. “Course I’m okay! Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You spaced out there for a minute.”

Jay rolled his eyes. “No I didn’t. Where’s your remote?” Before Danny could do anything, Jay was already standing and picking it up from the dresser. He turned on the TV. “Oooh, the Godfather! Told you it always has your favorite movie.”

“So The Godfather is your favorite?”

“Of course.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen it all the way through.”

“Then you’re in for a treat! Come on, sit next to me. I’ll make sure you notice all the good parts.”

Danny did as told. Which is when he remembered he still had the candy. Wordlessly, he held it out to Jay who grinned as he took a few to snack on.

-----

Chapter 2

Hope you enjoyed chapter 1! This was so much fun to write. I loved taking part in the event so much. Please consider checking out the rest of the art and fics from this event because there are so many talented people who took part. (My reading list is gonna be filled for at least the rest of the year, no lie.)

Just search the tag #ectoimplosion2023 to see what I mean.

[captain-mj]

Blackberry Earl Grey

This is... embarrassingly late, but here ya go

Ghost laid on the floor of his apartment for a long while. He didn’t ignore the texts from his friends, not wanting them to show up out of concern. 

Eventually, he did look into selkies. Just to see. 

When he saw the stories of people stealing their coats, something started to fit together in his head. He didn’t see Soap’s coat. And Wayne had been wearing something that looked like a seal coat. 

Did he… Did he have Soap’s coat? 

Was he controlling him? 

Ghost tilted his head and scratched at the table. His nails made deep grooves on it, revealing the pale underneath. 

Slowly, he grabbed his phone. He stared at Soap’s number, debating. 

What would he even say?

“Hey, is your husband controlling you?”

“Did you only do that because he ordered?”

“Were you just ordered?”

“Did I take advantage of you?” 

Ghost didn’t do that. He didn’t send a text. He just… kept thinking about it. 

If that man was hurting Soap though… how could Ghost just pretend it wasn’t happening? But he didn’t know for sure. Couldn’t possibly know unless he found out. But how could he?

Ghost scratched more and more at the table. What could he do? He had to do something. Talking wasn’t his strong suit, but maybe it would do some good to do it in person. 

When they were at the carnival, Soap had talked about how sad it was to be caged. For a person’s autonomy to be taken. Was he talking about himself and Ghost hadn’t picked it up?

He did look so sad all of the time… 

Ghost sighed and went to his house, perching on their roof silently. He waited until Wayne left, watching the confident way he walked. The seal coat hung off his shoulders and Ghost felt disgusted. Even if he wasn’t keeping Soap against his will, parading it around like that seemed vile. 

Ghost sank down to the ground in front of the house and knocked. There was a brief bit of silence before Soap opened the door.

“Simon.” Soap smiled at him. “You’re here.” 

“I’m here.” 

“Why?” He tilted his head and reached forward, gently touched his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Ghost finally thought about how he must look. In sweatpants, loose shirt and his ski mask. He looked disheveled. Maybe he should’ve taken a shower. 

“Simon?” Soap sounded concerned. 

Ghost took a deep breath. “Are you… happy in your marriage?”

Soap blinked at him and his eyes changed. The color lightened, just a little and he smiled robotically. “Of course, I’m happy with him.”

Ghost frowned and stepped closer, peering into him. There was that… blank space again. Only now, it was more blatant. Harder to get through. 

“Are you… being ordered to do something right now?”

Soap blinked, head tilting. His eyes filled with tears but his smiling expression didn’t really change. “It’s just a few things to make me better, don’t worry.”

“Better?”

“Of course. I’m not perfect… Do you want to come in?”

Ghost nodded and walked in. 

Soap pulled away and started to make tea quietly. He fixed the cup and handed it to him. “Wayne made some before, so there was still some hot water.”

Ghost felt there was some metaphor there. 

“How long have you two been married?”

“Couple of years. He joined the military after we got married.”

“How long has it had your coat?”

“I gave it to him. He didn’t take it from me.” Soap glanced at him. His irises lightened.

“Have you ever tried to take it back?”

Soap looked away. “Yeah. Once or twice. Couple of years ago I caught him cheating. Some pretty lass from base actually. She didn’t know. Poor girl was distraught.”

“Why didn’t you take it back?”

“He told me I couldn’t. Told me I had to stay and work it out. Said we could open the marriage up so it’s no longer cheating.”

“Did you… want to do that?” Ghost frowned at him, standing up. 

Soap cringed. “I don’t know. I slept around, so clearly I did.”

Ghost gently touched his shoulder. “Johnny.”

“I didn’t want to at first. But he ordered me to give it a try.” 

Ghost pulled him closer until Soap hit his chest. 

“It wasn’t my idea.”

He put his arms snug around him. 

“I didn’t want to do it. I didn’t even want to sleep with anyone else. I just… I only ever wanted him.”

“Do you still want him?”

“No. I haven’t wanted him in a while.” 

Ghost rubbed his back, feeling Soap melt into him. “What do you want?”

“Yer asking so many questions today. Don’t usually do that.” 

“I want to help you, Soap. However you need.”

“You shouldn’t be here. I don’t… You’re very capable. But Wayne is mean.”

Ghost decided not to mention that Soap was rather mean himself. He didn’t want to kick him while he was down. Especially when Soap was touching him like this. Holding him close. So warm. 

“I want to disappear back into the sea. Pretend I never had a human father. Pretend my mother isn’t dead. Pretend that I was never married.” Soap ran his hands down Ghost’s back, warm flesh pressing against the lines in Ghost’s back. He slid his hands under his shirt and Ghost stiffened. His skin was starting to crawl, but he stayed still as Soap traced the lines where his wings were being kept. “Would you come visit me?”

Ghost shuddered and looked up, barely able to think past the warmth of his skin. “Yes.”

“Oh, Simon. I’m sorry for leading you on like I did. You deserve better.” Ghost could feel Soap starting to move and he quickly grabbed him and held tight. 

“Don’t.’

“I-”

“No. Just… Just stay here.” Ghost pleaded.

“If you want sex, I can’t really provide that right now.”

“No. I want you.” 

Soap hid his face in his chest, nails dragging down his back. “Yeah. I want you too.”

@the-snarky-dragon @elevenclouds @lukewarm-chickensoup @nervouspsychologynerd @korym @cthulhusstepmom @princess-heathen @revenge-of-the-bucket-demon @roachboy @shadowsnowberry @crazies-unanimous @shiftylookingcrow @joltom @xenomorphee3 @thedeepvoidinmyheart

[sinner-sunflower]

P.2 HH Lucifer-centric AU 16/?

STORY 1, PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10, PART 11, PART 12, PART 13, PART 14, PART 14.5, PART 15, PART 17, PART 18, PART 19, PART 20, PART 21, PART 22, PART 23, PART 24, PART 25, PART 26

It's time we get back to the angel duo.

To those re-reading the fic on ao3, you'll notice some dialogues or descriptions have either been added or changed so it's not an exact replica of the chapters here. It's like little easter eggs of what I didn't get to put back then.

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Gabriel: How dare you, Michael!

In an obscure corner of Heaven, sat the six remaining Archangels, engaged in a heated debate over what had just transpired between Michael and Lucifer and the Fates. The atmosphere was suffocatingly tense. It's as awkward as you think being Emily and Sir Pentious in the room who seemed to fade into the background amidst the chaos.

The moment the others arrived, any semblance of order was thrown out the metaphorical window as questions upon questions were asked all at once. Sir Pentious stood rigidly at attention, though his efforts went unnoticed by the bickering Archangels. He's stiffer than Emily and she...

Emily has never been in a situation as tense like this before; even counting the disastrous court hearing with Charlie.

Since her creation, she had always been told that these are the most fearsome angels in Heaven; that they are both merciful and merciless, especially when it comes to protecting Heaven.

Sera: We strive to be like them, Emily. Our actions must all lead to one goal: safeguarding Heaven.

Emily: But Lucifer was their brother!

Sera: Those in power are always faced with harsh choices. And they stay in power because they can make those choices.

Emily: I still don't understand.

Sera: As Head Seraphim, I am also faced with constant challenges. But I do it all to protect our home. But you, you are still learning. And for now.. this shall be my burden to carry.

Emily: But.... What if I mess up?

Sera: That is why I will teach you, Emily. You still have so-

Emily: No! I mean.. The stories said that Lucifer was their most precious brother but he was still cast down. So what I mess up, Sera?

Sera: What?

Emily: Will you cast me down too?

Sera never did give her answer.

Uriel: How could you keep this from us, Michael? Do we not deserve to know such vital information? Especially when it's about our dear Samael?

Michael: I understand you're all angry. But I only found out mere days ago. I kept coming back just to check if my eyes weren't playing tricks on me. I wanted to be sure-

A resounding bang echoed through the room as the Archangel of Healing forcefully slammed his palms onto the table, causing a collective flinch amongst everyone.

Rapahel: Bullshit! You were going to keep this all to yourself again; just like everything concerning Samael!

Jophiel, who is next to him, is rubbing circles in her brother's back in an attempt to calm Raphael down.

Jophiel: Given your track record concerning our little brother, we have every right to doubt you right now.

Camael: I think what they're trying to say is that you should've told us the second you found out. It doesn't matter if you're not sure, we can be there to help you figure it out. Something as concerning as Samael's death... that is not something you keep for as long as you should have.

Sir Pentious: Lucifer.

A sudden quiet fell over the assembled angels as their attention shifted towards the unexpected source of the interruption.

Emily stares at Sir Pentious is slight horror because her new friend just interrupted the Archangels' conversation.

Camael: I'm sorry?

Emily: Sir Pentious! You can't speak to them like-

But the snake only repeats himself.

Sir Pentious: Hisssssss Majesty's name isssss Lucifer.

For an agonizing minute, no one spoke. Whether it's because of Sir Pentious' correction or their presence, Emily isn't sure.

It was Michael who broke free from the collective stupor. With a weary sigh, he ran a hand through his disheveled hair, the weight of responsibility present upon his face. Emily braced herself, anticipating a reprimand for their intrusion, but to her surprise, the Sword of Heaven merely nodded in acknowledgment.

Michael: He's right. We can't keep disrespecting Sa- Lucifer's wishes even if he isn't here with us.

That broke whatever freezing spell the others had, confusion now paints their features.

Gabriel: I'm sorry who are these people?

While that question was directed at Michael, the Archangel of Wisdom directed theirs on the two of them.

Uriel: Who are you?

Emily: I'm uhm Emily, Your Heavenly Grace. I'm the Seraphim in training under Sera.. and this is Sir P-Pentious. Our uh newly redeemed soul from Hell.

She said the last part almost in a whisper but it seems like they all heard it nonetheless because they are now looking at them with pure disbelief.

Camael: Redeemed?!

Jophiel: From Hell?!

Raphael: Are you saying that this was once a sinner soul?!

Sir Pentious took a bit of an offense to that.

Sir Pentious: This has a name. I am the great Sir Pentiousssss, inventor and former resssssident of the hellish realm!

Uriel: H-How is that possible? Were you planning on keeping this from us too, Michael?

Michael and Emily both stood up so fast at that accusation.

Michael: No! I only knew of this today!

Emily: He didn't know!

The Messenger of God only raised an eyebrow at this and crossed his arms, a silent gesture to explain further.

Michael falls to his chair looking more tired than ever before.

Michael: Apparently, this soul arrived here months ago but the Head Seraphim chose not to mention anything to me or any of you.

Emily: Sera just wanted to know how it happened before telling anyone but with what happened that last... extermination, I think she was afraid.

Gabriel: She had the right to. What was she thinking?! First approving of this yearly genocide behind our backs and now this redeemed soul?! Tell me, young Seraph, are there any other secrets you're keeping from us?

Emily: I-

As multiple eyes manifested across the Archangel's form, a tangible sense of unease swept through the room. Michael then made a decisive move, positioning himself firmly between his brother and Emily, a silent but unmistakable gesture of protection.

Michael: There's no more, Gabe. Aside from this soul's-

Sir Pentious: ehem

Michael: -sorry, Sir Pentious' current redeemed status, Sera knows as much as us. Isn't that correct, young Emily?

Emily: Uh- Yes! We have no idea how, he just showed up in a beam of light suddenly. Please believe us.

As Uriel also positioned himself in front of Gabriel, his gaze a silent warning, Gabriel relented, reverting to his usual form and taking a seat, the tension visibly vanishing from his posture.

Michael gives him a silent thank you and controls himself.

Michael: Young Seraph, as much as we are delighted to know that redemption is possible, with the threat of a war hanging upon us, it is too dangerous right now to grant new souls in. We cannot do anything about the current human souls that is entering our gates but we can control those coming from Hell. So we can't let it be known for now- in Heaven or in Hell.

Emily understands but she still felt anger bubbling inside her. This is supposed to be good news! They finally told the top angels and they still need to keep it a secret? Charlie would be so hurt not knowing that her dream is becoming a reality.

Raphael: Damn the war, Michael! Our baby brother is going to die! I am not gonna make the same mistake twice by choosing Heaven over my own sibling. Never again.

Gabriel: What he said.

Emily can't count anymore how many times the Head Archangel had sighed throughout their encounter.

Michael: I know. I would like nothing more that to prevent that. But.. this is the Fates.

Uriel: ...He's right. We all know that even Father can't change what has already been woven.

Jophiel: So what? We just sit here and let Lucifer die?

Michael: Lucifer does not want our help. And we cannot stop Fate. This war will happen and Lucifer will perish in it.

Camael: Then what can we do?

.

.

.

Michael: We delay it.

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

Forgive me if it's a bit messy.

If you can't tell this is kind of in Emily's POV.

I love Sera okay but if I kept a secret as messed up as a genocide, I would probably refrain from telling my bosses that we there was probably no need for it anyway after finding out that redemption is real.

I'd also like to think that the Archangels are just as emotion-driven as Lucifer but only in front of their family. Anyone outside of them sees them as stoic and cold (that's why that is how Emily sees them).

[nhasablogg]

Predetermined tickle sessions

Fandom: Heartstopper

Characters: Nick/Charlie

Summary: Charlie's too ticklish to let Nick tickle him, even though he wants him to, so they come up with a solution.

A/N: Commission for @fatherchewylouie - thank you so much, I hope you like this!

Words: 2.1k

It started because both Charlie and Tao were too ticklish to dare venture onto that road with each other, and so they rarely had those proper tickle fights that teenagers tend to have. Only a poke and the occasional squeeze, barely enough to get either of them giggling. All of this, naturally, Nick had found out after much (gentle) coaxing and many a conversation upon noticing their lack of participation with the rest of the group, who would often launch tickle attacks on each other, leading to frequent chaos and lots of laughter.

Nick had found it marvelous, maybe because his own circle had never really been this touchy feely giggly type of group and more the rugby kind, where you wrestled until it nearly hurt and made fun rather than playfully teased. Nick had to admit he preferred this way of showing affection, even if it meant that Tara eventually discovered the spots he’d kept for only Charlie’s knowledge which in turn resulted in him being pulled into said tickle fights despite his rather weak protests. Maybe watching Nick get obliterated was what made Charlie up his own levels of tickle attacks, a territory which he’d been teetering into ever since meeting him, and Nick was suddenly finding himself giggling more often than not. He couldn’t say he hated it, but he was always happy to launch his own revenge, breaking through Charlie’s grip on his thigh and aiming for soft flesh or bony limbs.

Only Charlie never really let him get any proper revenge; always quick to squirm away, always panicked hands shoving Nick’s off, always a shell covering his skin, metaphorically speaking. Nick wondered if he’d gone too far, stepped out of line, even though he wasn’t really doing anything different to what Charlie had been doing.

“I’m sorry,” Charlie said one day, probably having seen the concern on Nick’s face. “You’ve done nothing wrong, I just-” He flushed, as he often did, but Nick found no pleasure in it that day. Hated to see him so vulnerable when he clearly would’ve preferred to hide.

“You don’t have to tell me right now,” he said, kissing the side of Charlie’s head, just beneath his temple. “I’m sorry, I’ll stop tickling you.”

“You-” Charlie’s flush intensified, which Nick had thought impossible. “I don’t want you to stop.”

“Oh?” Nick wasn’t teasing. Nick was genuinely surprised. “But you keep fighting for your life each time I do.” Okay, maybe a little teasing.

“It’s instinct, I just-” He shook his head. “You know how I told you about Tao and I? How we never really tickle each other because we’re both really bad? I think because of it it’s turned into something I don’t know how to handle. Because no one really forces us into it I think we both just freak out when it happens.”

“That makes sense.”

Charlie ran a hand through his hair, eyes on Nick, the wall, the floor, and back to Nick. “While I can appreciate not getting pulled into the group tickling, because frankly that looks intimidating, I don’t want to not- ever experience it, you know? It’s okay when you do it.”

Nick tilted his head. “So you want to have tickle fights with me, but your body won’t let you because it starts freaking out?”

Charlie shrugged, so obviously aiming for a nonchalance which didn’t come naturally to him at that moment. “Something like that.”

“We can ease into it then.” Nick ran his fingertip down Charlie’s arm. “I could tickle you a little, somewhere that’s not as bad.”

“Would you do that for me?”

“Of course, Char,” Nick said, breathing out a laugh. “Anything for you.”

“It’s not. I don’t know. Weird?”

“I get to hear your adorable giggle. How would that be weird?”

“Shut up,” Charlie laughed, his face still pink, his eyes still everywhere but on Nick’s face.

Nick couldn’t bear it anymore and grabbed for Charlie’s hands, pulling him closer so that he could press his lips to his cheek, the corner of his mouth, straight on his lips. Charlie was giggling into the kiss, and Nick imagined one day kissing the area beneath his ear to the same giggles, hands trying and failing to push him off. He didn’t even know if Charlie was ticklish there. He didn’t really know much of his sensitivity to begin with, other than what gentle, straying hands could discover while you were entirely preoccupied.

Nick wondered if it would feel strange to have “planned” tickle fights, but found he was looking forward to the couple of minutes a day he would get to prod at a pre-chosen spot and hear Charlie giggle. The first day, the day after the decision because Charlie got too nervous to let Nick do it after their conversation (and maybe they got a little distracted), Charlie sat in front of him and held out his arm. “The inside of my elbow’s ticklish,” he said, and Nick didn’t say anything about how adorable that was and simply just nodded with a smile.

He reached out a hand, index finger extended, and slowly brought it closer. “Tell me when to stop.”

Charlie squirmed in his seat, but kept his arm straight. “Oh my god, stop stalling and get it over with.”

Nick let out a laugh. “So impatient.”

“I can feel the tickling already.”

“Is it ticklish?”

“Yes, I- oh.”

Nick had touched skin and was making his way back and forth over the area, gentle and slow and with his gaze always stuck on Charlie’s face. He wasn’t laughing, but the ghost of a smile could be found on his lips. Anticipation. Some sort of tension. Nick wasn’t disappointed per se, but he’d longed to hear Charlie giggle, but just because a spot was sensitive it didn’t always equal laughter if touched. He tried to keep his touch as light as he could, although he could admit he wasn’t really tickling, moving his hand like that. But he knew from experience that a light touch to a ticklish spot tickled despite your technique or intention. He curled his fingers, which made Charlie snatch his arm away and rub at the skin with a whine, and Nick laughed and didn’t try to grab for him again.

Charlie didn’t hold anything out the next day but simply lied down beside him so that Nick had access to his lower back, a spot which he’d known was sensitive for a while now and always tried to avoid whenever he gave Charlie back tickles. The first time he’d done it, not knowing Charlie’s body yet, he’d ventured so low he’d thought he’d crossed a boundary before realizing Charlie was simply ticklish. It felt alien to him to deliberately steer his hand in that direction now, moving over Charlie’s spine just because he liked the way he shivered and tensed beneath his touch, face buried in a pillow and arms not at all relaxed beside him. They were quiet, Charlie due to anticipation and Nick so that he wouldn’t miss the safe word in case it was thrown at him. Outside, rain.

Charlie did giggle this time, although it came out in the form of panicked sounds in between squeals, evidently not knowing what to do with himself as Nick wiggled his fingers over the small of his back. His body kept twitching, arms flailing uselessly, and Nick allowed himself a solid minute of the sound before backing off and kissing Charlie until it got dark and he had to go home.

The first time Charlie stopped him was when Nick was digging lightly into his stomach. A strip of skin being revealed the more Charlie squirmed, his laughter panicked, louder than usual, and hands which nearly knocked into Nick before finally, desperately, pushing him off. Nick became uncertain, pausing with his fingers hovering over Charlie and wondering if the lack of their safe word meant he should dive back in or not.

“Don’t stop,” he said, as if he could read his thoughts. “I couldn’t help it. I didn’t mean to.”

“You don’t have to explain,” Nick said and dove back in, earning the lovely sound of Charlie yelping.

A few days later, Charlie said, “Could we-” before his voice broke, and he had Nick’s attention immediately, but he seemed shy more than anything else, and so Nick felt himself relax. “Go on.”

Charlie averted his gaze. “Could we maybe- do it for longer? Have it turn into an actual tickle fight?”

“Are you sure?” It didn’t necessarily surprise him, but he’d only tickled him for a minute at a time up until then. The words ‘tickle fight’ felt quite extreme in comparison.

But Charlie nodded. Charlie seemed excited.

Nick, on the other hand, felt strangely nervous as he approached him, set on going for his ribs first and seeing where that led him. He wasn’t sure if Charlie was supposed to be still at first until he couldn’t or if he would immediately start fighting back, and he didn’t ask. He simply reached out, fingers curling over skin as Charlie instantly jerked away more out of instinct than anything else. But then he laughed, something loud and panicked and lovely, and Nick decided to follow and keep tickling, trusting that Charlie would use the safe word if he needed to. Trusting that Charlie wasn’t asking this of him to please him, but because he wanted him to do it.

Charlie was ticklish. He was so beautifully ticklish. Nick found himself laughing along as he evaded each flying hand and kept prodding at his ribs, one hand straying to the side just to hear the way he shrieked when he squeezed. This was usually the point where he would back off, or where Charlie would call out the safe word or, in some cases, manage to escape, but as he nearly rolled his body off the bed he grabbed Nick’s wrist and choked out a hoarse, “Don’t let me go,” and Nick did as he was told, finally, finally, letting himself relax.

Nick hadn’t expected Charlie to get revenge, maybe because he’d been so focused on testing out his spots that he forgot that Charlie knew most of his too. How a squeeze to his thigh made Nick curl up. How a poke to his lower ribs made him whine, a tickle to his neck made him giggle (“You so giggle.” “I do not.”). But Charlie went for his belly, which would turn Nick into an incoherent mess on a normal day, but made him positively scream out in surprise now. He’d been leaning over Charlie, but flew off of him immediately, and maybe it was proof of how Charlie was getting more used to this, used to Nick making him squirm, because he followed instantly, fingers on Nick’s stomach again and this time not letting him escape them. Nick’s body was pressed against the wall, hands useless, head thrown back as he was laughing, which Charlie would take advantage of in approximately two minutes by going for his neck, but until then he remained at his belly, lightly scratching, lightly teasing, as if he hadn’t been in Nick’s place a moment ago.

Nick imagined himself turning the tables, throwing Charlie against the mattress and going for his hips, pinning his body down so that all he could do was squirm and laugh, curls becoming unruly, smile so wide it nearly blinded him. But Nick remained pinned against the wall instead, laughing helplessly, screaming when Charlie went for both throat and belly simultaneously. Not much of a tickle fight when Nick couldn’t fight back.

He got his revenge later that day, finding that Charlie let him tackle him to the bed with only ticklish protests rather than panicked protests, and Nick had already gotten used to it by that point that he couldn’t really remember a life without this, even as Charlie got him back. Nick would turn the tables, and Charlie would do it too, and they would lay side by side as residual giggles poured into the room and it would be as if this was always the norm for them, even if Nick knew it wasn’t and was proud of Charlie for daring to give it a chance.

It was funny, Nick thought the next day as he was watching Elle stick her hand beneath Tao’s chin to his hysterical laughter, even if it lasted for only a moment. Both Tao and Charlie seemed to be going through some changes nowadays.

[megbimbo]

john marston; stitch me up, buttercup

a/n; mfw i go into a coma after every post, anyways this has been collecting dust for ages and i don't know why i didn't post it? figs def helped me write it tho. props. I FORGOT TO MENTION ty for also being an awesome photographer @thisfanisgonesorry hugs!!

cw; john takes care of you after a cougar attack, he's a bit of a grumpy pants. fluff.

wc; 1730

You rested your head on Arthur’s back as your arms stayed wrapped tight around his waist, trying to not wince or groan as he rode you into camp, Charles close behind. Blood was coating your entire lower half, a good portion of your pant legs being ripped away from your body. Camp was getting closer, you could tell, the familiar scenery that surrounded your temporary home becoming visible to you.

Shifting slightly, you lifted your head off of Arthur, who had been silent the entire ride back besides the occasional panic, bickering, and checking if you were alright. You groaned at the movement.

“We nearly there?” You mumbled, just loud enough for him to hear you. The sunlight peeked through the trees, almost blinding you entirely.

Arthur exhaled. “Almost, you alright?”

“I think so.” He nodded, Charles coming closer to the two of you to speak.

His smile was sincere, trying to cover the obvious concern on his face. “How’re you feeling, y/n?”

“Like hell, but I’ll be ‘right.”

“John won’t like hearing about this,” he said, raising his brows and looking over to Arthur.

In response, Arthur chuckled, the vibrations sending shivers as you rested your head on his back once again. “He ain’t gotta find out.”

Raising a brow, you took a mental note of the severe pain you were in, extremely doubting Arthur’s words. “Not find out that I’m covered in blood? Really? Camp ain’t blind.”

He nodded, fully aware, though he didn’t say anything. Probably exchanged a glance or two with Charles.

You closed your eyes, the ambience of camp coming into earshot. Probably the usual bickering and people crowding around the campfire, like usual. Made you wonder how they’d feel when they saw you. “I don’t want no trouble,” you said. “Just wanna get some rest.”

Arthur mumbled something in agreement, as Charles moved in front, probably to shield whoever was around. You lifted your head, acknowledging your surroundings. Everyone was either at the campfire, playing poker, or doing chores. It was then that you noticed John tending to the horses, and you knew you wouldn’t be able to hide your quite obvious injury.

It seemed neither Charles or Arthur could, either. The minute they both went to go hitch their horses, he immediately noticed, stopping the two of them, which included you on the back, dead in their tracks. Whether he noticed the blood or you first, who knows, but he didn’t look pleased. The hay bale he was holding hit the ground with a ‘thump’ as he dropped it, storming over. Tears began to form in your waterline as you turned your head away, knowing you wouldn’t be able to bear his reaction.

Charles tried to make conversation with him, meanwhile you sobbed quietly as Arthur poorly tried to comfort you. “Shh, we can’t have him knowin’ ‘bout this.” He knew there wasn’t a lot he could do, but he was trying his damn best.

Eventually, he sighed, as John approached the two of you. You turned your head back to face him, the tears streaming down your face as you were drenched in your own blood. He looked pained to see you.

“Y/n? Who did this?” he snapped, his raspy voice making it all the more intimidating, as he stared holes through his metaphorical brother.

“We went on a hunt, as you know, and, well.. it didn’t go all too well.” He wasn’t wrong. There was a cougar worth good quality that the three of you were set on killing before anyone else could. You each split up your own ways, your dumbass going the way towards the predator. Before you could even defend yourself, it attacked you, leaving you practically near death as the two men tried to shoot it, but it simply left. “Cougar, it was. The one we wanted.”

John immediately reached for you, helping you to dismount Arthur’s horse, as he wrapped his arm around you, supporting your weight because he knew damn well you wouldn’t be able to walk anywhere alone. “Did you kill it?” he asked, glancing around to notice no one else was nearby, taking a few steps away as he glanced at you, frowning.

“Well.. No.”

His eyes widened as his brows raised, looking absolutely gobsmacked. “You’re fucking kidding me? Y/n nearly DIED and you didn’t KILL THE FUCKING THING?!”

“John-”

“No, no! That’s the most bullshit I ever heard outta you!” he said, raising his voice and throwing his free hand up. “Someone nearly got killed, and you’re just gonna let the fucker live? You’re outta your GODDAMN MIND!” 

Hearing the commotion, some of the camp rushed over, including Dutch. “What the hell’s going on?” 

“Three of ‘em went hunting’, not only did Y/n nearly get killed but they didn’t even kill anything! Dumb bastards can nearly get a girl killed but not bring any game!” John yelled, the music from Dutch’s monograph in the faint background.

“Sort it out, will you? I shouldn’t have to parent grown men,” Dutch plainly said, not paying you any mind, and walked off, the rest of camp lingering to see what happens next. Hosea walked after him, most likely to have a talk about the interaction that just happened.

Now that he was gone, John took the opportunity to get closer to Arthur’s face, speaking in a hushed tone. “I don’t care if you nearly die doin’ it, but you’re both goin’ back out there and you’re not coming back till it’s fuckin’ dead.” To which he simply nodded, said something to Charles about ‘leaving these two be,’ and they both turned, riding out of camp and back into the wilderness they just returned from. You could hear Charles mock Arthur, saying ‘John ain’t gotta find out,’ as they did so.

He turned you towards his tent, slowly walking the two of you there, enjoying the silence, but most of all, your presence. Whether he’d like to admit it or not, he knows you could’ve died out there, and he’s grateful to have you. When people would approach, asking what was wrong, he’d hush them and say he had it covered. As the two of you approached his tent, he opened it, sitting you down on his cot, taking the moment to really take in your state.

“John, he was hurt too. You didn’t have to do that,” you said, weakly putting a hand out to grab his wrist.

He took note, sitting down on the bed next to you, staring into your eyes as he wiped the tears and blood off of your face. “He’ll manage, love. I’m worried about you. I mean, look ‘atchu. Still pretty, of course, but beyond fucked up.” Reaching to grab a box, he gave you a peck on the lips, opening it and grabbing out a few items, setting them down on his lap. “I’m gonna have to stitch you up, that alright?” You nodded, as he grabbed a cloth, dunking it in a bucket of water, as he cleaned the blood off of you in a nearly tender way. “You’re gonna be alright, I promise.” John’s voice that was yelling a few minutes ago had quietened down to soothe you, occasionally kissing you.

Afterwards, he picked up a different rag, dousing it in whiskey before using it to disinfect your wound. When you’d clench your teeth, or ball your hand into a fist, he’d notice, mumbling quiet words of praise

You smiled softly, looking down at the deep wounds. “You don’t have to do this, y’know.”

“‘Course I do,” he grinned, in an almost joking way, as he reached for a needle and a thin string. “Had to do this to myself, you’re lucky I’m a professional now.”

“You should be a doctor.”

“Hell no,” John responded, laughing for a moment, starting to stitch your wounds up. Occasionally, you’d make a squeamish face or grit your teeth together, to which he spoke in an attempt to comfort but also lighten the mood. “Got mauled by wolves ages ago. Hurts like a bitch, don’t it?” “You don’t say,” you commented in response. You remembered hearing briefly about this, but most of the camp agreed to not bring it up. He chuckled quietly, but didn’t comment.

John’s dark eyes softened as he continued to take care of you, humming to himself as he cleaned your wounds and stitched them. The warm lighting from the lantern shining on him in just the right way, and when he finally finished, he sighed.

“How’s that?” he smiled, putting everything back in the box and setting it aside once again.

“Still feel like hell, but better.”

He nodded, muttering a ‘good, good’ as he got up, grabbing a pair of his pants from his wardrobe, setting them down on the bed. “Wear those instead.”

Instead of trying to argue, you did just that, casually changing in front of your lover, even though he promised to not look, standing in a corner with his back to you. When you gave him the clear, he got back on the cot, laying down and tapping next to him. “You should rest.”

“In your tent?”

“Yes, in my tent. I don’t bite.”

“Bet those wolves did.”

He seemed taken aback by your joke, but laughed anyway. “I’m being serious. You need sleep.” You gave in at the promising offer of cuddling up next to John, as you laid in his arms, his hands running through your hair. 

“John?”

“Hm?” he said, looking down at you.

“Know I’ve said it a hundred times, but you didn’t have to do all of this for me.”

In the moment, he brought a finger to your lips. “Shh, let me feel proud, buttercup.” To which you nodded, and the two of you cuddled in peace.

Suddenly, he spoke up, breaking the silence.“You’re so pretty, you know that?”

“Really?” You whispered, looking up at him, as he looked head over heels for you.

“Yeah. Even when you’re all bloodied up, ya still look perfect.” He mumbled, pausing briefly, before continuing his love drunken ramble. “Just glad to have you, that’s all. Happy nothing worse happened.” You snuggled into his touch at his sweet words, as you dozed off in his arms, knowing that even if you didn’t get the cougar, you instead had John Marston all to yourself.

[my-castles-crumbling]

Sixth Chapter- Clandestine

In celebration of Sirius's birthday, here's the next chapter!

CW: internalized transphobia, transphobia, poor coping mechanisms, vague mentions of blood, improper binding, descriptions of illness, vague mentions of abusive parents.

Regulus

Pandora became his ally- the only person besides Sirius who knew.

Though he hated the idea of someone knowing such a vulnerable secret, he soon realized it was necessary. Sirius knew how to be a boy, but Pandora knew how to have a uterus, and he realized that though he hated it, he needed both areas of knowledge.

Pandora was also some sort of angel- even at such a young age, she had a way of phrasing things that didn’t cause the goosebumps to form on Regulus’s neck. She never accidentally said ‘she’ or ‘her’ and only looked at Regulus with a vague, non-judgmental gaze when he lamented about his stupid, traitorous body.

With the patience of a saint and none of the squeamishness that Regulus himself possessed, she taught him the reality of what his body was doing, beyond the facts he had read in his anatomy textbooks.

In secret, she helped apply balm to his back when the bandage cut into him. She made sure he had everything he needed when his body inevitably bled once a month. She joked about something called “syncing up.” She never complained. She always remembered.

He had only ever felt so appreciative of Sirius.

-

He’d dreaded the holidays. The subject had been taboo between himself and Sirius- as if bringing it up would somehow make it approach faster.

Somehow, the idea of having to act like a girl felt even more nauseating after spending the past three and a half months as a boy. It felt like he had finally let himself breathe (Metaphorically. The bandage made actual breathing difficult sometimes.), and now he had to go back to holding his breath, gasping for air, breathing through the tiniest straw imaginable.

He had nightmares about it.

About having to respond to his old name. About being forced into petticoats and elaborate tutus. About looking down to see the swell in his chest.

Barty and Evan became concerned that the pressures of homework were getting to him.

But then, a miracle happened.

Dragon Pox.

The rumor went that a seventh year student in Gryffindor had interacted with a Peruvian Vipertooth while on holiday with his parents and had fallen ill. He was currently under quarantine in the Hospital Wing.

Where Regulus headed almost immediately.

He knew Dragon Pox could be lethal, but usually only to older people, so the gamble was worth it, in his mind.

Sneaking out was not his thing. Sirius was the rule breaker, the one who lost points and got detention. But he knew he had to do it.

So the night after he heard the rumor, he waited for Barty and Evan to fall asleep, then crept quietly from his bed out of the Common Room.

He made it about five minutes before bumping into someone.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. How had he not seen him? He was sure the corridor had been empty.

But there he was, suddenly and completely. James Potter.

“R-Regulus?” the taller boy asked incredulously.

Regulus sighed, knowing this would not end well. “Yes.”

“You know it’s one in the morning, right?” Potter asked, still looking shocked.

Regulus drew himself up to his full height (which was still much shorter than Potter) and retorted, “I could say the same to you!” He tried to ignore his sweaty palms and nervous heartbeat. Merlin, Potter was tall.

Potter hesitated for a minute. “I…fancied a stroll.”

Regulus smirked a bit. “Same.”

They looked at each other with raised eyebrows, clearly not believing each other for a moment.

Finally, Potter shrugged and offered, “Filch is down that hall. There’s a secret passage here,” he gestured to the portrait in front of them. “Brings you to the fifth floor. But, erm….stay away from the girls bathroom near there, yeah? There might be…a surprise. You don’t want to get seen nearby.”

Regulus snorted. Potter had no idea how right he was.

But he had other concerns. “Are you going to tell Sirius you saw me?”

Potter thought for a moment before asking, “Are you going to tell any Professors you saw me?”

He had no reason to. “No.”

Potter grinned. “Then no.”

Within 8 hours, Regulus had Dragon Pox and the fifth floor girls' room was covered in mirrors that screamed insults when you looked in them.

-

Dragon Pox was awful. It was terrible and miserable and uncomfortable and the worst sickness Regulus had ever had.

It was also ten times better than going home for Christmas.

He spent the first three days half-delirious with a fever, resisting the urge to itch at the pustules on his body, avoiding looking at the way his skin had turned green. Admittedly, he was already avoiding looking down, as he had to remove the bandage to allow his skin, and himself, to breathe properly.

Madame Pomfrey visited him three times a day, bubble-head charm around her mouth and nose, to give him potions and food.

By the fourth day, he finally could keep the food she gave him down and sleep without dreaming of Puffskeins sitting on him or Sirius growing wings and a beak. Pomfrey informed him with the air of telling him that someone had died, that he would, unfortunately, not be able to go home for Christmas. He couldn’t fight back a smile. She also told him, a bit more angrily, that his parents had chosen not to visit. He grinned at that.

She left his bedside muttering about Regulus and Sirius being ridiculously similar.

He was finally allowed out of quarantine on the 27th of December. He awoke to a tired-looking Remus Lupin in the bed next to him, and a very excited-looking Sirius bouncing in his seat energetically, literally sitting on his hands to keep himself from moving, it seemed.

“The fuck…” he mumbled, quickly pulling the covers up to cover his clothed but unbandaged chest.

“Merry Christmas, Reggie!” Sirius all-but screamed, waking Lupin in the bed next to him.

Regulus felt that his annoyance was mirrored in Lupin’s disgruntled expression.

“Sirius, it’s early,” Lupin complained. Regulus nodded his head emphatically.

“But Regulus is out of Dragon Jail and you’re okay and we can celebrate!” Sirius screeched, grinning from ear to ear.

Lupin groaned and pulled the sheet of his bed over his head.

“Why are you here?” Regulus asked, trying to keep the annoyance from his voice. It was nice of Sirius to visit as soon as he was able, but he could have waited a few more hours.

“Because Remus was here too– he had a migraine last night– and we’ve been waiting for you to get better to open presents, and now you’re better so now we can!” Sirius blabbered, bouncing in his seat again.

‘Better’ was a strong word. His skin was still a bit green and he felt weak. But Sirius’s enthusiasm was also contagious. “Alright. If Lupin is up for it, I’ll go,” Regulus muttered.

Lupin threw him a scathing look behind Sirius’s back that Regulus returned with a grin.

Christmas had never been so different.

Sure, they were celebrating two days late. But they were also celebrating. Sirius snuck Regulus into Gryffindor Tower, which was warm and bright and gave a distinctly Christmassy feel, and the three boys opened their presents while Sirius sang carols loudly and off-key, replacing the traditional lyrics with inappropriate verses.

Regulus was overwhelmed by the presents he received- books from Barty and Evan, new flying gloves from Dorcas and Pandora. An engraved knife from Sirius. Even Potter, Lupin, and Pettigrew had chipped in to get him some sweets. He tried not to think too hard about James Potter buying him Chocolate Frogs. Had he ordered out for them? Gone to Diagon? How–?

He received no gifts from his family, though he got cards from both Andromeda and Alphard, addressed to R. Black and wishing him a Happy Christmas. He stared at them for some time, wondering what they meant- did some of his family still support him?

Missing were the presents from his parents. When Lupin left to use the bathroom, Sirius explained with a shrug that he couldn’t resist, and he’d opened the gifts, only to find ‘nothing of value.’

“I burned it all,” Sirius shrugged with a small smile.

Regulus knew that meant the presents were probably either ridiculously feminine items or letters telling him to ‘see sense.’ Either way, he was thankful.

-

Regulus found over the next week that he genuinely liked Lupin. He was unassuming and didn’t push, and possessed the same sarcasm that Regulus prided in himself. He seemed to calm Sirius a bit, but was still good-natured enough to put up with many more of Sirius’s antics than Regulus ever would have. He understood why the two were close.

He also gave off an energy of safety that few other people did. It reminded him of Pandora- between his overly large sweaters and stacks of books, Remus seemed inherently non-judgmental, as if Regulus could spill his soul to him and Remus would just nod and turn back to whatever tome he was immersed in.

He was also delighted to find that Lupin also shared his joy of teasing Sirius. It took about a day for Regulus and Lupin to warm up to each other, but soon Sirius was whining about them ganging up on him.

“You have far too big a head as it is,” Regulus remarked with a smirk, earning a snort from Lupin.

-

Friendship was something that Regulus contemplated deeply over the next few months. Perhaps it was because he was so isolated as a child- his parents had never allowed him to play with the neighborhood children and no Wizarding children had ever been deemed worthy. Only interacting with his family had given him a skewed version of reality- of what it meant to be a friend.

He was very selective about those he allowed near him. He knew that he was risking more than the average person by spending time with people, by letting them in. And he’d learned from the best to keep people at an arm’s length.

For some reason, though, Barty, Evan, Pandora, and Dorcas were the exceptions.

It took him a while to realize that true friends could, perhaps, be trustworthy. That it was possible for friends to enjoy spending time with him with no ulterior motives.

He learned this through learning about his friends. Through them being vulnerable with him.

He learned that Dorcas lived with her grandparents. That her mother and father had been killed in a Potion-making accident, and she was the oldest, with four younger brothers. He learned that she had to take care of her siblings sometimes and absolutely hated being told she wasn’t capable of something. He learned that she’d pierced her own ears last year as soon as she’d gotten to Hogwarts and wasn’t friends with her roommates because they were bigoted; because her parents had raised her to stand up to shite like that. He learned she was protective and unapologetically fierce and terrified of something happening to the people she loved. He wondered for a while why she wasn’t in Gryffindor, until he saw her curse an older Ravenclaw for making fun of Pandora. The Ravenclaw was in the hospital wing for a week.

He learned that Evan and Pandora had been ‘unplanned,’ that their parents had never really wanted kids and had ignored them for most of their childhood. Like Regulus, they had been raised in wealth and with a Pureblood ideology, but they’d been so ignored that their parents hadn’t even realized that they’d made friends with the Muggles of their neighborhood. He learned that Pandora was desperately kind and cried when inanimate objects broke because she felt bad for them, but also could throw a mean right hook. He learned that Evan had once snuck a pet snake home and it had taken an entire week before his parents noticed. He still talked about it sometimes.

And he learned that Barty had a father in the Ministry who had such high expectations of him that he sometimes felt he would break under the pressure. That his father was horribly disappointed in him for being sorted into Slytherin, and he requested weekly grade reports from all of the Professors to make sure Barty stayed in line. “He only loves me when I get good marks,” Barty murmured one night, shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal. It was.

And in turn, Regulus allowed his friends to learn that his parents were Purebloods who expected him to act a certain way. Who were bigoted and conservative and were disappointed in him for not being the same. He allowed them to learn that his parents and family disliked him, that there was a barrier there. That he was somewhat in pain because of it.

But he didn’t tell them why. Only Pandora knew that.

-

In the Spring, James Potter made the Gryffindor Quidditch Team as a reserve Chaser. Regulus had taken to flying in the early evenings, practicing hairpin turns and quick dodges for tryouts in the Fall.

It just so happened that Gryffindor practiced in the evenings.

And James Potter on a broom was a sight. He was a natural- his movements were quick and fluid and effortless. But most of all, he looked joyful.

Regulus felt envious.

-

Lupin caught him watching one evening.

He looked dead on his feet and Regulus briefly wondered if he was having another migraine, but he seemed cheerful enough.

“D’you like Quidditch?” the older boy asked conversationally, sitting near Regulus, but not close enough to make him feel that they had to continue talking if he didn’t want to. Merlin, he wished everyone was like that.

“I want to be on the Slytherin team,” Regulus was surprised by his own confession. Only his closest friends knew that.

“Too violent for me,” Lupin said with a laugh. “I’m prone to too many injuries already.”

It was true. For a boy who seemed to enjoy a night in the library more than on the Pitch, he was covered in scars. Regulus gave a snort in acknowledgement.

“Does Sirius know? That you want to play?” Lupin continued, watching Potter fly loop-the-loops lazily.

“He knows everything about me,” Regulus murmured vaguely, entranced by the way Potter flew. He wanted to be that good.

Lupin looked at him a bit strangely, but said, “He’s good at that. Keeping secrets.”

And Regulus finally looked towards him, a bit startled. “Who said I had a secret?”

Lupin smiled gently. “Nobody. But if you did, I think Sirius would be good at keeping it.”

Regulus nodded his head slowly, relaxing again, refocusing on the streaks of red in the sky.

-

The Spring also brought back old anxieties. Old nightmares. Old nausea.

Because Dragon Pox could only be caught once. He would have to go home now.

As the professors started warning of end-of-the-year exams, Regulus started panicking. He tried to distract himself, to zone in on conversations with friends and Quidditch games and studying. But he couldn’t.

His friends were worried again.

He knew it, because he saw the way they exchanged glances when they thought he wasn’t looking. He became even snappier and meaner than usual.

Sirius told him that it would be okay, that they would get through the summer together.

He cried.

He didn’t cry often, but he cried on Sirius’s shoulder and worried for what the summer would bring. He truly questioned if he could make it through. What would his parents do when they found out how he’d spent his year?

It was only a matter of time before someone else found out. He’d just thought- feared, really- that it would have been Evan or Barty.

But Dorcas was the one who found him one evening, circling the Pitch long after dark, sniffling and wiping tears and snot from his face with his sleeve like a child.

“Oi!” she yelled, waving him down.

If it had been Barty or Evan he might have stayed in the air. But he never said no to Dorcas or Pandora- he hated making Pandora sad and he was terrified of Dorcas, though he would never admit either fact.

He touched down to the ground a bit sheepishly, avoiding the older girl’s eyes.

“Something is wrong,” she stated firmly, not for the first time.

“No,” he muttered, sounding like a petulant toddler.

“Regulus Black, I swear to Merlin if you don’t tell me right now I will-” Dorcas started in, eyes flashing.

“It’s May, Cas! I have to go home, soon!” he erupted, feeling the weight in his chest ease slightly. “I– you have no idea– I just–”

Dorcas’s brown eyes looked like they were aflame as she asked hesitantly, “How bad is it, Reg? You don’t really talk about it…”

He was on a roll, now, “Bad enough that I purposely got Dragon Pox to avoid the holidays, I–”

“The fuck, Reg?” she cut him off, looking both distraught and incredulous. “You can die from that!”

He took a breath and shrugged. “I mean– we’re young. It only kills adults, usually.” He already regretted admitting to what he’d done.

She looked like she wanted to slam her head against the stands. “Reg, you can’t–”

“Don’t tell me what I can’t do, Cas,” He cut her off. “You have no idea…” He was choking up again now, thinking about that house, those voices, the spells, the hunger, the outfits, his name. The feeling that his body didn’t belong to him.

But Dorcas saw him about to crumble and pulled him into an embrace, even as he squirmed a bit- he usually avoided touch from anyone other than Sirius, for fear someone would somehow feel something suspicious.

But he only fought for a moment before breaking completely. “I don’t want to go back,” he whispered desperately between tears.

“Why, Reg?”

She sounded anguished, and he felt his heart in his throat. He needed to talk more about it, needed more people who knew, who understood, who loved him for him.

So he opened his mouth and the truth spilled out.

-

Dorcas was the first person that he told by choice. That he told, understanding (as best he could at his age) all the consequences, knowing more about how to word his feelings. Sirius had been through desperation, his parents and family had been accidental, his teachers had known already, and Pandora had figured it out.

Dorcas was an informed choice.

And when Dorcas tilted her head to the side and was silent, he took it as a rejection.

“I…I should go…” he murmured, heart pounding, wanting to melt into the ground.

She then snapped out of it and grabbed his hand. “No! No, Reg, I just….can I ask questions?” she asked in a panicked voice.

He thought about it for a moment. Of all the responses, that was not the one he’d anticipated. “Erm…sure.”

She exhaled, still looking nervous. “So…you’re…a girl?”

He shook his head vehemently, feeling his stomach lurch. Why had he done this? Why had he told? “No. No, I’m a boy.”

She scrunched her eyebrows, trying to comprehend. “But you…used to be a girl?”

He had to consider that one for a moment. Had he? He used to wear girly clothes, but he’d never liked it. Never wanted to. “No, I’ve always been a boy, I think.”

“You think?”

He shrugged. “Yeah.”

“But you…?” She gestured to him.

“I…my body is like a girl’s,” he confirmed, feeling the goosebumps start to form as Dorcas’s eyes raked curiously over him.

They were silent for a minute. Then two. Their eyes met.

Then Dorcas nodded. “Alright. If you say so.”

Regulus wasn’t sure how to react to this. “If I say so?”

She shrugged. “Who am I to tell you if you’re a boy or girl? If you say you’re a boy, you’re a boy, right?”

Relief washed over him. She made it seem so simple. “Right,” he whispered.

“But your parents don’t agree?” she asked, looking angry, now.

“No…they…they force me to…to be a girl. They talk to me like I’m a girl. They….punish me if I…if I say anything,” Regulus murmured.

“Fuck that,” Dorcas swore vehemently. “Come home with me.”

Was it Christmas again?

“I…you have so many sibling, and your grandparents…” Regulus protested halfheartedly.

“Yeah, they won’t even notice an extra kid around!” Dorcas grinned. “Plus you can help me babysit. It’ll be fun!"

“I…I’ll ask,” Regulus relented with a small grin.

-------

Click here to read the WIP and leave comments and kudos!

[jodithann827]

He Said What?!?

Rated: General / Posted on Ao3 / @today-in-fic

Summary: What would happen if he heard something he wasn’t supposed to?

Huntsville, Alabama

December 18th, 1998

Motel 6

The slow and steady hum of the radiator vibrates across the cramped confines of the not quite dingy, but not quite pristine motel room. The sun, having set hours before and taking what little warmth the day offered with it, left the room dark, save for the two beside lights and the standard desk lamp which emits a soft glow. The sound of water gargling flows through the closed bathroom door while Assistant Director Walter Skinner sits on one bed, waiting to wash the stink of the day off. Shaking his head slowly, he thinks back to the previous morning. His commute had been a breeze, his secretary was finally back after a detestable stomach flu had held her captive the week before, the Director of the Bureau was in a relatively good mood, and all of the agents under his watch were performing as needed. Yes, it had been the perfect start to the day. Perfect until Fox Mulder barreled into his office (he really needs to put a stop to that) spouting off about alien abductions and mysterious disappearances. The day went so well until 9:48. Why he entertained Mulder’s crazy ideas is beyond his comprehension. Well, that’s not entirely true. As strange as Muder is, Skinner genuinely likes him—not that he would ever divulge that tidbit of information—and, crazy or not, Mulder has proven himself to be an exceptional agent.

As Mulder spouted and Skinner listened, removing his glasses ever so slowly and rubbing his temples at the thought of the impending headache, he thought back to the previous weeks. Weeks in which Mulder killed a man and faked his death, only to reemerge and blow one giant metaphorical hole right in the center of a government conspiracy. That’s not to mention the almost-death and then amazing recovery of Agent Scully, which Skinner still isn’t sure he understands. He’s just thankful that Agent Scully is at home recovering, and will be ready to get back to work in a matter of weeks. Unfortunately, he knew he wouldn’t have the same luck taming the beast that is Fox Mulder as Scully would.

When Mulder finally got to the point and asked Skinner to sign off on the 302, Skinner could hear Scully in the back of his head. Don’t let him go, Sir. He shouldn’t go alone, Skinner. You know what’s going to happen if I’m not there. He found himself nodding at her words, though Mulder mistook his nodding as permission granted. He profusely thanked him and, with the look of a kid on Christmas morning, mentioned something about booking the first flight out and going home to pack before Skinner realized what had transpired. So, out of respect for Agent Scully and a concern for Agent Mulder, that’s what brought him to Huntsville; a crazy X-file with an even crazier agent. Of course, Mulder’d booked the trip so quickly that the only vacant motel in the area had one room, which is how Skinner finds himself with a roommate.

The bathroom door opens, tugging Skinner from his thoughts. Mulder walks out, thankfully dressed in plaid pajama pants and an old shirt, as puffs of steam follow him.

“Bathroom’s free,” he announces, striding over to the black duffle bag placed haphazardly on the side table chair. He rummages around for a minute, then steps back and falls onto his motel bed.

“You know I could have handled this one on my own, Sir,” Mulder insists, as he had the whole plane ride to Alabama, the car ride to the local station, and again on the way to the motel. Skinner glances in his direction and makes a weak attempt to raise his eyebrow like Scully does, which Mulder of course doesn’t notice..

“Two days, Mulder. I’ll give you two days,” Skinner responds, once again shaking his head, as he gets up and departs for the bathroom.

***

Later, as they lay in their beds, not quite ready for sleep, Skinner looks up at the pale white ceiling of the motel room and sighs. “I know you could have handled this on your own, Mulder,” he admits. Even though it’s dark and he isn’t looking in his direction, he knows Mulder is smiling.

“You promised Scully you’d go with me,” Mulder half asks, half states. Skinner chuckles, or at least as much of a chuckle as he’s willing to emit in front of an agent. “I understand, sir,” Mulder assures him. “I know she worries when she can’t be there to have my back. I know I sometimes make rash decisions…” he pauses when Skinner huffs. “Okay, maybe a lot of the time. Thank you, sir, for being willing to come with me instead of denying the case. I appreciate it, and I know Scully does as well.”

“How’s she doing?” Skinner asks, carefully, as he doesn’t like to speak of agents who aren’t present.

He’s been concerned about her since her remission. She called him a week and a half after her discharge, indicating she was fine and ready to be back at work. Skinner had to bite his tongue from saying something he would regret, like Have you completely lost your mind, and then told her in no uncertain terms that she is not to grace the doors of the Hoover building for at least another four weeks, and only then with a doctor's note. She’s still so weak, physically. Even when she returns, he knows she won’t be ready to be in the field right away. He makes a mental note to check for any upcoming conferences he can send them to upon her return, maybe ease her back into work.

“She’s getting stronger every day. I’m pretty sure she kicked her sweet and well-meaning mother out of her house by the second week of her recovery,” Mulder laughs.

Skinner is amazed and wonders how the agents accomplish anything, being two of the most stubborn individuals he has ever had the pleasure of meeting.

“That’s good,” he tells him, then adds, “It’ll be good to have her back. Well, goodnight, Agent Mulder.”

“Goodnight, sir.”

***

Hours later, Skinner awakens to a sound. Unable to identify it at first, he lies motionless, straining his ears. He hears it again. After a few moments, he realizes it’s Mulder, whimpering in his sleep. Recognizing the agent is dreaming and they aren’t in imminent danger, he rolls to his side and tries to go back to sleep. As he’s about to doze off, Mulder’s whimpers become more frenzied.

“Please, no,” Skinner hears from the next bed. He raises his head a bit, checking to see if Mulder has woken up, but the man’s closed eyes and pained expression assures Skinner that he is very much asleep. Unsure of how much longer Mulder’s dream will go on, Skinner attempts to sleep, but is incapable.

“No… can’t. Please… understand,” whines Mulder. Skinner wonders what is going on in that brain of his. He’s using a voice Skinner has never heard. He sounds scared, young, unsure.

“Mm lost,” Mulder continues, and Skinner hears a hitch in his voice. He wonders if Mulder will start crying in his sleep. Maybe he’s dreaming about his sister.

“Without you,” Mulder states.

Nope, Skinner immediately knows who Mulder is thinking about, and he longs for sleep. Of course, he’s suspected it for years. But without evidence, he never wanted to make a big deal out of it. He knows there are tons of wagers and bets floating around the bureau regarding the status of Mulder and Scully’s relationship, but he usually doesn’t pay too much attention to those things.

“Need you,” Mulder's voice pulls Skinner from his thoughts. “Best friend… No die. No happen”.

Skinner realizes Mulder is thinking back to the cancer. He wants to wake him, tell him it’s all okay; Scully is fine and she’s not going anywhere. But he also doesn’t want to startle him or cause him any embarrassment, though there isn’t anything to be embarrassed about, at least not yet.

“Promise me,” he mumbles, followed by a string of gibberish from Mulder’s dream-induced mouth. “Scully… please…love you… me.” Skinner prays sleep takes him that very instant. He knows more than he needs to, more than he should. Apparently, something in Mulder’s dream has calmed him, which Skinner doesn’t care to know, nor does he want to speculate. He realizes Mulder’s breathing has evened out and he is slumbering once more.

Unfortunately, Skinner is now wide awake and can’t get his agents out of his mind. Now that he knows, even though he tells himself there really isn’t anything to know, he quickly decides not to do anything about it. Fox Mulder and Dana Scully, as much of a pain in the ass as they—well, he— can be, are his best agents and their dynamic is something not to be messed with. He rolls over again, imploring that he’ll forget every word by morning, but knowing the sounds are burned into his brain forever.

***

Skinner wakes the next morning, wishing and hoping it was a dream, but upon seeing Mulder exit the bathroom, dressed in his suit and ready for the day, he knows it was anything but.

“How did you sleep, sir?” asks Mulder, a look of complete innocence on his face.

“I never sleep as well on the road as I do at home,” Skinner replies, sitting up and stretching. The morning sun is attempting to peek through the drawn curtains. Well, now or never, Skinner thinks to himself. “Hey, Mulder,” he says, his voice strong, but slightly tentative, as if testing the waters. Mulder looks in his direction, eyebrows knit, waiting for him to speak. Oh to hell with it, he thinks. “Mulder, did you know you talk in your sleep?”

Mulder’s eyebrows reach so high they almost touch the top of his forehead as his eyes bulge from their sockets. I’ll take that as a no, Skinner muses. Mulder stares at his boss for a minute, and Skinner almost feels sorry for him seeing the terrified look of pure dread adorning his face.

“What did I, uh… did I say anything, uh…” he fumbles over his words, trying to find the right ones to ask.

Skinner smiles slightly and decides that as much fun as this could be, he’ll go easy on Mulder, just this once. “You said a few words and mumbled a bit. I’m surprised no one has mentioned it to you before. I just thought you should know.”

Lifting himself from the bed, he staggers toward the bathroom to get ready for whatever this ridiculous day has in store for him. He turns slightly to look at the younger man. They’re idiots, these agents of his, but they’re his idiots, and for now, Mulder's secret is safe with him. He’ll be ready whenever Mulder feels free enough to talk about it.

[queen0fm0nsterz]

Thoughts on how TSON will tie into the lore of LN3?

As of the location of the last episode, as well as explaining some more small chunks of lore and locations to expand the world, I think TSON is preparing us already for what we will see next with Low and Alone. Give us something to expect, as well as a minimal explanation of how the Nowhere works, because this is information we need to know for Low and Alone's story to make sense.

Six's story, which was the main plot line of Little Nights up until now, explained how she travelled the world only to end up right at the place waiting for her. A destructive cycle of events that had set locations (the Pale City, the Tower, the Maw -- the Nest being a small detour but an interesting addition to the bunch) and events. Whether you believe Six left the Maw or not (I like to think the former), hers was a story about losing a part of herself to the world she tried to desperately to flee, and while she "won" that piece back, she will never be the same again. It did not necessarely need to elaborate on whether the world itself was her "home" or not -- though it was always strongly implied it was not.

It did try, though. The discontinued comics were an attempt at showcasing that the world beyond the Maw was vast, and that there was even ANOTHER world beyond that same dimension, with the tales of the Refugee Boy and the Humpback Girl respectively. However, at the time, it was confusionary: we didn't know anything but the Maw, so many fans misconstrued what was trying to come across, and ultimately this partially led to the decisions that had the comics be discontinued and the DLC be made instead.

The podcast to me is just that: to make up for those discontinued comics. Some of these storylines sound very similar to the ones you would read about in the Little Nightmares comics in structure: I would not be surprised to find some concepts from them were reused, modified to fit the plot of the podcast and even added to the lore of Little Nights III.

A lot of people seem to think that Mirror Man and North Wind will both make an appearance and frankly, I can see why. I am leaning more strongly on Mirror Man: I wish to see him in action in his own realm considering Low's abilities.

I've heard some concerns about the game potentially reusing the comic characters, but personally I find it a brilliant opportunity to expand on them. Mirror Man in particular is a... blank slate, essentially. He does have a minimum of characterization (<- post where I analyse just that) but besides that you could go wild with him. I'm interested to see if they do bring him forward.

Anyhow, sorry for derailing. As of episode four, we have been brought to a location that seems to match the circus we see in the trailer of Little Nightmares III. Considering the information we are given, it seems that it is suspended in the sky, with it being a literal ship floating above land.

(Two images depicting the "carnival" as seen in the trailer [top] and the steam page for LN III [bottom])

The idea of such a location is an interesting one and, considering the nature of the Spiral, possibly not that far out of reach. It was mentioned that Low and Alone would be travelling behind the Spiral... considering the nature of the Necropolis, which was mentioned to be a city powered by wind, I wonder if the spiral is... a giant hurricane. Or storm. And the locations are all in the middle of it - in its eye, stacked on different points in altitude.

It would be just as Noone said if that was to be the case: places who are on top of each other, like the building she's in, but that do not work together. I think that for this reason, the locations we have seen in the podcast such as the Stone Giant and the Mall might return later on as locations in LN III in some shape of form.

... We have seen a stone giant already...

.. although it would be more metaphorical than literal in this case as the Stone Giant was not really described as a giant baby thing, and the location is different, but you get what I mean hopefully!

[snakeassassins]

Pokemon Theory: Hassel, Drayton, and "Sinister Hands"

Hey guys! Before the pokemon presents starts tomorrow, I wanted to hash out some observations I’ve made on the scarvi dlc and the implications they have on pokemon lore as a whole. I don’t have much of a big hook to draw anyone in, though, so let’s just jump into it.

Hassel is only one of two characters in all of gen 9 who is left handed. The other is professor turo, who does so to symbolically mirror sada. Through this, I don’t think it’s hard to say that Hassel’s left handedness is also something designed to mirror someone else.

A lot of people have already pointed out that Hassel and Drayton have a lot of mirrored animations.

As such, I don’t think it’s much of a stretch to say that they are the big foils here.

There’s a bit of a snag, though.

With Sada and Turo, it’s obvious that this right/left theming is in regards to the past/future, but it becomes a bit murky if you attempt to apply this to Drayton and Hassel.

If anything this theming is reversed.

Drayton’s supposed to match Sada’s past, but his ace is the futuristic Archaladon.

Similarly, Hassel is supposed to represent the future, but his ace is Baxcalibur, who is themed around dinosaurs, much like past paradox pokemon.

The major exception to this is their signature moves. Electro shot takes a turn to fire, while Baxcalibur takes double damage after using Glaive Rush. Drayton’s ace’s weakness is the “past”, while Hassel’s ace’s weakness is the “future”.

So… how are we supposed to read this exactly? It’s an intentional contradiction —a paradox, if you will—but one whose intent is hard to parse.

Something else has been nagging me about Hassel’s left-handedness: it’s an anachronism.

See, given the name, Baxcalibur is designed to be a medieval weapon. In which case fighting with it left handed would be considered a major taboo for that time period. Swordsmen of that period were trained exclusively with their right hand, which meant fighting with your left was considered to be inherently underhanded.

This bled into a lot of the language and culture at the time. The word “sinister” itself literally means left in latin, we just use it to mean evil in modern times because those were the traits associated with left handed people back then.

It was a common trope for duels to be won unfairly by having the perpetrator fence with their right hand, only to stab their opponent with a hidden blade in their left. A left handed fencer in most medieval fiction is almost inherently duplicitous.

Another one was for left handed fighters to be masters attempting to hide their true strength by using their non-dominant hand to fight. A more benevolent form of trickery, but deceitful nonetheless. Maybe it’s a sign that Hassel is pulling his punches, given how low “elite four member” is compared to the multiple dragon tamer champions we’ve had?

You can see both of these tropes being invoked by this scene from the princess bride. Both opponents intentionally start with their weakest hand before switching to the right, but it’s a double entendre also meant to show that neither is as bad as they appear to be either, a fact made even more obvious by how honorably they fight.

To be honest, I was a bit concerned I could be grasping at straws with these comparisons, given that Baxcalibur’s Japanese name doesn’t even refer to a sword, but then it hit me

Its signature move is it literally backstabbing you. That’s the pun.

Which leads me to what’s been nagging at me here: why is one of Hassel’s major character motifs centered around him being a traitor if he never once betrays anyone in the story? If he was built from the ground up to be our metaphorical Brutus, then who is Caesar?

I think the obvious guess of who Hassel is a traitor to would be the dragon tamer family he seems to have run away from.

He tells us why he left, but his explanation is more than a little vague. Why did he stop being a musician and join the elite four? Why is he so necessary to his family’s hierarchy that they are willing to fake his father’s illness to get him back, even after all these years? There’s more to this story that Hassel is either downplaying or straight up not telling us, and that makes it the prime suspect for Hassel’s “traitor” status.

However, as we are in Unova for the dlc, my inner fan theorist can’t help but also point out the faction actively themed around medieval knights.

Especially when their boss is yet another blonde-ish lefty with swept back hair who is, frankly, more than a little ceasar coded himself.

Hassel’s backstabbing is probably a good thing for us either way tbh

Drayton’s the right hand man, however, and as such we can assume that he is aligned with whatever Hassel is against, willingly or otherwise. The Mark Anthony to our Brutus, if you will. The responsibilities of which he is likely dragging his feet on by staying in school as long as possible. Which actually brings us back to the original right hand/left hand dichotomy.

I think the big difference between the Sada/Turo dichotomy and the Drayton/Hassel dichotomy is that Sada and Turo are defined by a relentless pursuit of something. Drayton and Hassel, on the other hand, are defined by avoidance.

What’s important to the symbolism isn’t that Drayton is using his right hand, it’s that he isn’t using his left. He isn’t someone pursuing the past like Sada, but using his obligation to the school as a way to avoid the future.

Similarly, I think it's safe to say that Hassel is using his teaching position to escape his past moreso than he is looking to his future.

Because of this I don’t think it’s too much of a stretch to say that Hassel’s past and Drayton’s future… probably coalesce in the same place.

What this actually implies is a question that will probably only be answered by our inevitable black and white remake, but I am curious about it nonetheless. I’ve got a bunch of extra comparisons to make between these two that didn’t quite make the cut here, so feel free to add your own observations and theories if you come up with anything.

[bucksangel]

Drabble idea for the sb!au: Bucky enlists the help of his girl's brothers when, in the future, he decides to propose!

this is so cute oh god😭😭

The Most Important Question - sb!au

pairing: ceo!bucky x personal assistant!reader

word count: 1.4k

warnings: none really, mentions of anxiety, allusions to panic attacks, mainly fluff

a/n: i love this series so much pls send more ideas yall!!

sugarbaby!au masterlist | tip jar

-

Dread. Horrible, frightful anxiety. Shaky hands and a heart beating too fast. A whirlwind of uncertainty spirals into what is sure to be a panic attack if left unattended.

Bucky is nervous.

He’s accomplished many things in his life, has been through hell and back, climbed - metaphorically - to the top of Mount Everest, and seen all the beauty - and pain - the world offers.

But no accomplishment, nor any obstacle, could have prepared him for this.

“Buck?”

He snaps his eyes open - not even realizing he’d closed them - and fixates his eyes in front of him. There, standing with a tilted head and confused expression, stands Ezekiel. His right hand is holding the door open while his body leans to the left in a casual, relaxed demeanor, which only seems to further Bucky’s anxiety. Why? He doesn’t know. But it does.

Maybe it’s the secret he’s been keeping, the nearly $8,500 secret currently resting in Bucky’s right pants pocket. He’s opted to wear his nicest jeans and a carefully picked out soft, but not inexpensive, cream-colored sweater. It’s a non-offensive yet homely look, just what he’s going for.

Though maybe he’s put too much thought into his outfit because Ezekiel immediately gives Bucky an inquisitive look, scanning his body as though he feels something is off.

“Not that it’s not cool to see you, but I thought you were supposed to be out of town. Is my sister with you?”

Bucky sucks in a deep breath, his heartbeat quickens, here goes nothing.

“No, she’s with some friends getting lunch, I think. And, technically no. I-I told your sister I was so I could…” Bucky trails off, clearing his throat and wetting his dry lips.

“Can I come in?”

Ezekiel, with his confused expression only deepening, nods slowly, stepping off to the side and allowing Bucky to pass through the threshold of your brother's apartment.

Things are quiet, and a little tense, when he wanders into the living room. Robbie and Lucas have made a home on the couch, laying haphazardly across it as they stare intently at The Lord of the Rings playing on the tv. Though they quickly pause it once they notice Bucky’s presence.

They glance between him and Ezekiel, now standing behind him.

“Hey guys, um. I wanted to… talk to you about something.”

Bucky shuffles nervously, hands clasping together in front of him as he sits precariously in one of the lounge chairs.

All three boys pass a confused, concerned look each others way before setting their gazes on the man’s semi-hunched form.

Everything is once again quiet, tense beyond belief as Bucky struggles to find the right words.

“Look, Bucky, just spit i-“

“I want to marry your sister.”

The atmosphere shifts dramatically, and Bucky’s breathing has stopped almost entirely as your brothers turn to each other once more. A silent conversation passes between them, Bucky’s shaking hand reaching into his pants and pulling it out - a small, black, velvet box. Facing the box towards him, he opens it carefully, showcasing a little less than a dozen simple diamonds forming beautifully intricate patterns around a golden band.

“I love her,” He starts, glancing down at the ring and then lifting his head, gazing at the three boys in front of him - all with blank, neutral expressions.

“And I know that I hurt her, and you still might not fully trust me - and while I know that it was a couple of years ago, I also know how protective you guys are. But, she’s my everything. She’s the love of my life, and while I want nothing more than to be with her even into the afterlife, I know that your opinion is important.”

Bucky pauses, sucking in a few breaths in an attempt to even out his tone.

“As much as she denies it, your judgment, whether good or bad, influences her decisions, big or insignificant. And I know she loves me, but honestly, I… I don’t know if she’d say yes if you didn’t approve of it. I don’t even know if I’d actually ask if you guys would say no.”

Another pause. Another deep breath. His eyelids blink rapidly to prevent the tears that so desperately want to fall down his flushed face at the admission. Because it’s true, he loves you with everything he has. But this is the make-or-break moment, what they have to say is basically determining the rest of Bucky’s life.

“So,” Robbie starts, a little uncertain after a long minute of silence so thick you could slice through it with a blade. “Our opinion is important to you?”

It’s almost as if he’s testing Bucky, guiding him into some sort of trap. But, again, Bucky’s faced hairier situations than this, so he nods resolutely as his eyes travel between the three boys - now all sitting on the couches.

“Yes, it is.”

“Just to clarify,” Lucas glances at Ezekiel and Robbie quickly to gauge their reactions, then clears his throat. “You wouldn’t ask her to marry you if we don’t want you to?”

Again Bucky nods, rubbing one clammy hand over his jean-covered thigh as he mentally forces himself to push the ever growing anxiety to the side so he can get through this conversation.

But then, Robbie throws another question at him, one that Bucky hadn’t actually expected - and he’s gone through what must have been a hundred different fake scenarios to prepare for anything they might throw his way. But this? It catches him off guard, makes his heart constrict in his chest.

“Would you break up with her?”

Bucky has to physically stop the shudder that wants to run through his body. He hasn’t actually planned for the event that they actually would say no. It’s evident by the way he flounders, clearing his throat twice while furrowing his brow as he thinks over what to say.

Would he?

His immediate answer is ‘no’. Of course he wouldn’t break up with you, he loves you too much to let you go. But, then again, if they say no then that says so much about how they feel about him and your relationship. And, truthfully? Bucky doesn’t know if he could live knowing that they don’t want you two to be together in the way Bucky so desperately wants. He doesn’t know how he could go on with having you so close, yet so far.

“Um…”

“Robbie stop.”

Ezekiel’s voice cuts Bucky off, everyone in the room turning to look at his clear exasperation, accompanied with an eye roll.

“Listen, Bucky,” Ezekiel continues. “You’re a good man, a great one, in fact. And… we’ll be honest here and say that what you did is still in the backs of our minds. But…”

He pauses, adding tension to the air, before finally offering Bucky a sly smile.

“I mean it, you’re a good man. And I know - we know - that you love her, and that there probably won’t be anyone else that’ll love her like you do. And, yeah, you’ll have arguments and petty fights, but, if you can promise us, here and now, that you won’t ever hurt her like that again, then I say ‘yes’.”

Bucky’s heart leaps, nearly out of his chest. And he’s surprised he doesn’t get whiplash from how fast he nods.

“I won’t. I swear it upon everything I have, and everything I am.”

Then, Robbie sighs, nodding resolutely. Lucas does the same, offering Bucky a smile as he chimes in with “I say ‘yes’ too, then.”

And now Bucky wants to cry, but this time for a different reason. Because he’s going to ask you to marry him. Your brothers approve of him marrying you. Holy shit, he’s going to ask you to marry him. But he can’t even freak out over that right now, because the way your brothers are looking at him with fond, amused smiles, make him nearly certain you’ll say yes.

“Thank you,” Bucky croaks, voice thick with emotion. “I-I meant it, thank you guys so much. You have no idea what this means to me.”

Someone chuckles, Bucky’s not too sure who. But that doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is that you’re going to spend the rest of your life with him, and his with you.

“I do have one question, though.”

Your brothers stare at him expectantly, Bucky evening out his breath carefully.

“Can you help me figure out how the hell I’m going to do this?”

tagging: @fandoms-writings @vayollie @bucks-metal-arm19 @southernbe @eclecticpatrolroadlawyer @ilovetaquitosmmmm @banana-man0 @whitewolfstar01 @awkwardalie @flawssy227 @princessdancingonthesunshine @nataliewalker93 @britishvamps @elbell20-blog @purple-vodka-99 @bport76 @star017 @learning-howto-be-myselfx3 @giftedyoungster3000 @xcaptain-winterx @igotmajordaddyissues @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @povlvr

[y-rhywbeth2]

In a recent post you mentioned that nowadays, Myrkul covered death by natural causes.

Once again, I'm curious what Myrkul gets out of the Absolute hoax. Not a lot of natural death happening there.

The first time I played, the Lord of Bones seemingly held power over necromancy, given his contribution to the plot. But that's mostly Velsharoon's job, isn't it?

Could Myrkul use the Absolute's power to steal divine influence from Velsharoon? Is that even something he wants?

Moreover, would Velsharoon care at all that Myrkulites were raising an army? Considering he serves Mystra, would he have known / been alarmed by undead brains getting implanted with Netherese-powered atheism tadpoles?

I'm laughing at the idea that Velsharoon, who is listed as one of Jergal's enemies, might have been the first whistleblower against the Dead Three's shenanigans. (Also possibly the result of Kressa's necromancy getting repeatedly foiled by the first True Soul being a Deathstalker of Bhaal who just wouldn't stay dead.)

Not a damn clue. Myrkul's current domains are entropy, age, the elderly, death by natural causes, funerals, and he is basically patron god of the undead. If we were establishing an undead empire of sapient undead and powerful necromancers, that would likely further Myrkul's goals and his priesthood would ally themselves with necromancers and the unliving to guide them - it'd also be something Bhaal would be on board with, although Bane's going to insist on putting his brand name on a few hundred if he tries that. I don't see any alhoons in this mind flayer army though.

(While there has been some brief mention of one temple planning to conquer Calimshan (literally or metaphorically, I'm not sure), his lot aren't a military order and Myrkul doesn't direct his worshippers to rock the boat without cause because he doesn't have the follower numbers to waste.)

I would assume he's looking to recover his power by revisiting his mortal adventuring days (it worked the first time). He's a thousand-year-old former Greater Power and Lord of the Dead who has lost almost all of his offices to younger powers, forcing him to borrow a portfolio from Bhaal; Kelemvor is god of the dead and has the funeral industry covered (and Jergal serves the office of the Fugue Plane, so that's a potential 'ally' lost for Myrkul). Velsharoon ascended and became patron of necromancers and is associated with the undead. Most of Myrkul's worshippers are coming from humans, and the current generation of humans associates those deities with 'his' domains. He's also not in a great position to run off an pick a fight with Kelemvor, as far as I can see.

(I can also understand why Bhaal took this path... And why are you here, Bane??)

Considering that necromancy and undeath aren't heavily involved in the squid army, I don't think it concerns Velsharoon much past perhaps not wanting Myrkul to gain power, although it's also been said that Velsharoon writes Myrkul off as a has-been who should be put in a retirement home, so he might not be paying attention.

While Velsharoon encourages lichdom and undeath amongst his followers he also apparently doesn't care that much for undead, who are just tools and his necromancers tend to brand those under their control with his holy symbols as a flex. Myrkulytes who revere the undead as holy very much do not appreciate that, and as such Myrkul apparently has custody of the undead after the Second Sundering and they like him significantly more. (Hard to say what's going on with Velsharoon right now though, because he's not on the list of deities for the Faerûnian panthon rn (although it sounds like he's still around).

As for Mystra:

'While he professes service to Azuth (and through him, Mystra), Velsharoon actually encourages his followers to kill followers of these deities when they have a chance in order to vaunt his own power.' - Magic of Faerûn

If there's a way for him to gain standing from whistleblowing, maybe, but I don't think he bothers to communicate anything useful to her most of the time.

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Strangely I actually root for Myrkul to win here, as Old Lord Skull is the more sympathetic of the evil monsters. Aside from just generally having more style; Both gods are revered by necromancers, and their priests aid necromancers and try to get them to follow their god's teachings on the topic. Velsharoon is patron of necromancers (= undead are tools and servants. Surrender to death is Bad), Myrkul the undead (= the undead are those who have entered the holy state of death, their continued power of the living is proof of death/Myrkul's might and is holy and we should aid them in their goals. And taking a comforting stance to the dying with accepting that death is natural, not to be feared and inevitable is Right and there's (hopefully) a better place for you far from the suffering and trials of life).