#Why? For what? For why??? I insult god on the regular but fucks sake man you could’ve gone a different route you don’t have to take him fro

[tovarishch-dyke]

When u find out that ur first heart horse is dying slowly and the title track to The Fragile comes in handy when the lyrics scream “I WONT LET YOU FALL APART”, ya know?

[knivesareout]

remain devious

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: Smut (18!!!+ ONLY), slight sexism, oral sex (f receiving), mild breath play (under negotiated kink).

A/N: My fic for The SL+ Discord™ Fic Exchange! This goes out to the lovely @soyelfuegoquearde​​​ who I was graced with writing a fic for and here’s hoping I delivered. 💖

Read on AO3 here.

Summary: Javier Peña’s mouth was going to get him in trouble one day-- if only he’d put it to good use.

---

There weren’t many people who could go toe-to-toe with Javier Peña. You learned the first day on assignment in Bogotá that you could.

The embassy was a quick walk from the apartment complex they’d set you up in and while they had suggested you drive the standard issue bullet proof Jeep they’d provided, mostly for safety’s sake, it seemed like a waste.

A blonde man, who quickly introduces himself as Steve Murphy, was outside to greet you with a strong handshake and a grin. You almost anticipate him to be rude to you out of the sheer fact you were joining the fight late but he seems grateful, explaining to you the ins and outs of the different sectors in the large building that made up the Embassy: the DEA, the Mil Group, and the CIA-- all housed under one roof with a common goal: taking down Pablo Escobar.

“There’s another one, right? We have another partner?” You ask, turning a corner and almost running into a woman who looked beyond frazzled and you apologize quickly before catching up with Steve.

Steve turns over his shoulder to glance at you, a smirk curled on his lips. “Yeah. Peña’s usually late. You’ll meet him. At some point.”

Peña was two hours late.

You and Steve go through six briefs and four cups of coffee between the two of you in the small office shared among your team before your other partner decides to grace you with his presence. Your desk that was once clean was now a disaster with papers scattered and crumpled across the top and you now had a headache slowly creeping between your eyes.

“Well this just looks fucking sad,” a deep voice sounds from the doorway and you snap your head up to glare at the offending noise.

Steve lets out a low whistle, shaking his head. “What’s fuckin’ sad is you showing up two hours late and not even bringing us lunch, Peña.”

So this was him.

“Shut the hell up, Murphy. Who is this?” Javi points to you and looks at Steve, waiting on an answer.

“I’m your new partner.” You stand up and fix him with an icy glare. “And you can ask me if you have any questions, Agent Peña.”

He doesn’t respond and walks back out of the room, mumbling something about coffee.

---

You realize quickly that you and Javier are more similar than you would personally like. Word around the office was that he was a bit of a slut and that was something you knew all too well. Your reputation back home was something comparable, the whispers more annoying than they were degrading. Who cared if you liked to have sex? You were a grown ass woman and it was nobody’s business but your own.

And if you hadn’t learned just from the regular old office gossip, you were quick to learn from having your apartment right next to his. The walls were thin, the calls of ‘Más duro, Javi,’ in the dead of night interrupting your sleep more times than you could count.

Javier would walk into the office refreshed, hours late, while you were there, on time, and in desperate need of caffeine.  

It wasn’t worth mentioning; at least not at first. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction that you could hear his sexual escapades and how he was clearly a fantastic lover. There was a bit of jealousy, just on the surface, because it wasn’t you getting laid and you were sure if you asked him to keep quiet, he would be able to tell immediately that you were hard up.

And while yes, he was getting information from his CIs that was helping in the quest to catch Escobar, that didn’t make it any more bearable. In fact, it made him even more insufferable because he felt like he was doing an extension of his job by sleeping with these women.

It all came to a head three months into your stay in Colombia.

Three nights in a row, Javier had brought women, different women, if the tones of their voices were anything to go by, back to his place. You’d gone into work with dark circles under your eyes after the third night and Steve had long since stopped asking what was wrong after you went off on him a month prior.

After you’d snapped at him and took the time to explain why you were in such a foul mood, he had immediately understood and offered to talk to Javier for you. An idea that you quickly dismissed, as it was your problem and yours alone.

Your head was buried under your arms, the bright lights of the office only serving to make your headache worse. There were two empty cups of coffee stacked on your desk that you’d downed immediately after walking in, Steve having left them there as a peace offering of sorts. He could tell after the second day that you needed the extra help and you had shot him a grateful smile when you’d walked in this morning.

“So, I’ve got a lead,” Javier announces walking into the office only 30 minutes late this time.

“Thank fucking god,” you mumble, picking your head off the desk and swiping at your mouth in case there was any drool from dozing off.

Javier’s head whips towards you, his gaze a mixture of anger and curiosity; like he can’t believe you had the nerve to say anything.

The two of you, at best, tolerated each other. Snarky remarks, quick jabs, and blatantly ignoring the other was how the you two communicated and you knew Steve was getting sick of it. It was a surprise that he hadn’t yelled at either of you over the whole thing but you chalked it all up to his angel of a wife, Connie, helping him keep his temper in check.

“The hell is that supposed to mean, Agent?” Not even on a first name basis, it was how the two of you addressed each other.

You shrug, “Just been hearing a lot of information coming from your apartment every night for the last couple of days. It was about time you got something useful.”

Javi goes to speak but Steve cuts him off with a finger and shoots you a pleading stare that says ‘not another word, please’.

You only keep your mouth shut to appease Steve and sigh, tossing your empty cups into the trash and wait for Javier to spill the information he received.

Javier shoots you a nasty glare before going on to explain something about a brothel in Medellín and some of Escobar’s sicarios. There was a meet up of sorts happening tomorrow afternoon, where you were almost guaranteed to catch Velasco and maybe a few others. Javier distinctly chooses not to look at you when he’s explaining, his information relayed directly to Steve. For whatever reason, this is what seems to break the camel’s back and you stand, beyond irritated.

“Agent Peña, if you have an issue with me then I’m going to need you to be very clear about what it is and why. I don’t think I’ve done anything to deserve the freeze out you’ve been adamant about since I got here and frankly, it’s insulting,” you start, chest heaving as you try to keep a level head. “I’m on time every day, without fail. I work just as hard, if not harder, than you do in this wild goose chase and to be treated as anything less is sexist. We all went through the same training, the same courses, to be here. I don’t know what it is about me that bothers you so much but I’m going to need you to get the fuck over it and get with the program if we’re going to get anywhere.”

Your outburst seems to catch him off guard, if his open staring at you is anything to go by. Taking your seat again, you nod for him to continue and he does-- this time making sure you’re included.

Things get better after that and while it’s not quite the comradery you have with Steve, it’s better than it was before and you’ll take it.

Javier now treated you with mild respect and that’s all you had wanted to begin with.

---

The week had been long; tiring and full of false leads. You were sleep deprived and overworked. A chase mid-week that had put you all over Bogotá and left you empty handed was still wreaking havoc on your back a couple days later. Case files were taking over your desk and the thought of looking at even one more had you wanting to scream, the low lights of the office once again giving you a headache that no pain medication seemed to help with.

Javier and Steve were starting to pack up to head out while you sat there, eyes starting to blur as you look at your 5th file in the last hour.

“We’re headed to the bar near the apartment. You wanna come?”

Normally you turned down the invitations Steve extended you, knowing Javi’s nicer attitude probably only extended to working hours only, but you were so desperate to have an excuse to leave that you nod quickly, standing up and sliding on your coat.

“Let’s go. Murphy, you’re buying the first round,” you tell him as you pass by out of the office.

You can hear his laugh behind you as you walk through the empty building, hoping you didn’t just make a mistake.

---

They’re not far behind you but you’re already a drink in when they walk through the front door, Steve finding you tucked in a booth in the back corner already with an empty beer bottle on the table while you’re nursing your second.

“I started a tab in your name, Murphy,” you explain with a grin as a waitress comes by and takes their orders.

Steve grimaces but nods, taking it in stride. “Should’ve figured.”

Conversation is light and superficial and you can tell Steve is working to keep things peaceful and on neutral ground. Javi’s mostly one worded answers are almost worse than the snide remarks from before and you have to take measured breaths not to say anything, for your sake and honestly, Steve’s too.

“Can you let me out? I need to piss,” he asks you and you stand up to let him out, sliding back into the booth and taking Steve’s spot so he can just sit down when he comes back.

It’s silent between you and Javier for a moment, the loud noises of the tv and the bar crowd filling the space until he glances over at you with a curious gaze.

“Did you ever wonder?” He asks without context, sipping at his beer.

You’re taken aback by his question, tilting your head as you try to think of what he might possibly be talking about. “Wonder what?”

“All those nights where you could hear me through the walls. Did you ever wonder what I was doing?”

You almost want to laugh at his question. The fact that he’d been holding on to certain parts of your outburst for months has pride blooming in your chest.

“No, not really,” you tell him easily. “It was pretty easy to just make my own assumptions.

“And what did you assume?”

“That either they were faking it for your sake or you’re actually as good as they say around the Embassy.”

Javier smirks behind his beer and nods, licking his lips to chase the beer that dropped.

“Oh, I’m better than they say,” he promises.

“Prove it.”

You swallow thickly, wondering if you’ve just backed yourself into a corner when Steve comes back, launching into some tangent about Noonan and a new policy she’s putting through. His voice goes in one ear and out the other as you try to focus on anything other than the man to your left. You know Javier will make good on his promise when you feel his hand on your thigh, giving it a squeeze and you breathe slowly, turning towards Steve with a smile.

“Yeah, agreed. She’s such a hard ass.”

---

You and Javi burst through your apartment door hours later and you silently thank whatever deity there is that Steve lives upstairs and is already home, your moans loud and carrying throughout the lobby before Javi can shut the door behind you.

“I’ve been thinking about this since the first day I saw you,” he admits, tugging at your shirt and undoing a few buttons in his haste to get you naked. His hands are everywhere once your top is pulled down your arms and you feel like you’re burning, the rough calluses on his fingertips creating a delicious drag across your skin.

It’s almost surprising to hear him say he’s thought about you in any context, let alone this one, but you mask your expression and cry out as his mouth finds your shoulder and bites down, sucking so hard you know you’ll be bruised come morning.

“And what did you think about?” You shoot back, arching your chest against his.

The yellow button down he’s wearing is your current nemesis as you fumble your way across the buttons and finally just yank it open at the neck, buttons scattering across the hardwood floors.

Javier grunts at the motion, moving his mouth down your chest, fingers finding the clasp of your bra and pinching it open until the material falls slack on your chest.

“Thought about how loud I can get you to scream my name,” he mumbles, leaning down to capture your left nipple between his lips while his fingers find the right and start pinching in tandem with the work of his mouth.

It’s been months since anyone has touched you other than yourself.

You’d made a promise to yourself before moving down to Colombia that your job was going to be your first and only priority. Work hadn’t leant itself well to finding randoms to sleep with anyhow, mostly keeping to yourself and the few friends you’d made around the Embassy that you’d grab lunch or coffee with in the very little spare time you did have-- so having Javier’s full attention on you, your body, was intoxicating.

“Is that a challenge?” You manage to get out, weaving a hand through his dark hair and tugging him away from your chest, angling his head to look up at you.

His eyes are blown wide, practically black and his hair is a mess but he’s never looked so fucking hot and you hate it.

Javi doesn’t answer your question, just moves up to slot his mouth against yours.

The kiss is angry. Teeth clashing, lip biting, angry. Even his hands feel angry as he tears off your clothes, leaving you naked before him.

Your chest is heaving as you try and catch your breath once Javier pulls away and you place a hand on his chest, making him take steps backward. “My room is back there,” you nod, pulling him in for another quick kiss and pushing him away.

Javier grabs you around the waist, pressing your naked chest to his own and noses against your ear as you both walk blindly towards your room. “I bet I can get you to scream my name so loud even Murphy’ll hear,” he tells you, dragging his nose up the side of your neck and latching his lips on the lobe of your ear.

His challenge makes you laugh and you roll your eyes before walking into your room and laying down on the mattress, crooking a finger towards him.

“Then fucking prove it.”

Javier’s on you in an instant, pushing your legs apart to settle between them. His mouth nips around your stomach, your thighs. Little love bites that you know will serve as a reminder of what a shit head he is, like he’s claiming his territory.

If they didn’t feel so good you’d push him away and tell him to get on with it but his mouth is so warm that you don’t care. Suddenly, you really don’t care that Javier Peña is the biggest fucking pain in your ass so long as he puts his mouth to good use.

His head moves lower and you can feel his hot breath on your pussy, his fingers sliding between the lips and exposing your heat to the cool air. Once his mouth makes contact with your clit, his name slips from your mouth quietly, “Javier.”

“Louder,” he tells you from between your legs while he drags a finger through your slick.

“Don’t get cocky, you-,” you start to warn him, going to kick him in his side until he slides two thick, longer fingers inside of you without warning and your leg goes straight, your head pushing back into the plush pillow behind you and you cry out his name at the feeling of being stretched.

Nothing is comparable to this feeling, no matter how hard you’ve tried and at that moment, you’d sing Javier’s name if he asked you to so long as he didn’t stop.

“More, please,” you whimper. Your eyes are screwed tight and you clutch the pillow behind you in a death grip.

“What was that?” Javi’s tone is smug and you take a breath, willing yourself to just submit to him.

“Please, Javi. More,” you tell him louder this time, voice strained.

He seems to like the sound of that, a third finger sliding home inside of you and you clench around his digits as he starts a steady pace, thrusting them slow and powerful.

The sounds that fill the air are pure filth. The wetness seeping out of you is coating the inside of your thighs and you’re sure you’re dripping onto the blankets beneath you. Javi’s tongue laps at your clit, bringing it into his mouth and sucking harshly.

That feeling is what brings you over the edge. Your body ascends and crashes in the same second and you take a shuddering breath as your cunt pulses long and hard around Javier’s fingers as you cum. Your whole body is buzzing like a live wire, your toes numb.

“What the fuck,” you groan, chest heaving.

“Never doubt me, Agent,” his tone smug.

“Shut the fuck up, Peña.” You push at his head and he laughs, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh.

Javier’s lips trail up your thigh, across your hip and up to your chest where he finally lands on your lips. The kiss is the sweetest it’s been all night and you relish in the languidness of it, the way his tongue sweeps across yours and licks into your mouth like he knows what you want. What you crave.

His cock, hard and rigid, bumps against your hip as he moves and seeks friction, so you slide a hand down his chest to grasp the thickness of him. “Fuck me, Javi,” you whisper as he peppers kisses across your throat and groans when you squeeze him tight. “Prove to me that you’re just as good of a lay as everyone says.”

Your words seem to kick him into gear and he shuffles back away from your touch, leaning back on his legs while he sits between your thighs and takes his cock in hand. His other opens the lips of your pussy and he moves forward just enough to tap the head of his dick against your clit.

“Just fuck me Javi for fucks sake,” you whimper, still sensitive from your previous orgasm and you just want him inside. The teasing was unnecessary but wholly Javier and you curse again when he slowly starts to slide the head of his cock down until it notches against your entrance.

Javier moves slow once he’s fully sheathed inside of you and it’s the best and worst thing to happen to you, you’re sure. The feeling of finally being filled is worth the wait but the way he does it is infuriating because he knows just how good it feels. Javier slides a hand to your shoulder and fixes his dark gaze with your own and it’s over from there.

His pace is like nothing you’ve endured before. The push and pull of Javier’s hips hitting into yours is loud in the otherwise quiet room, the wetness between your thighs now coating his own. He’s sweating as he moves, grunts spilling from his lips, “Fuck your pussy feels so good around me.”

Normally you’d snark out a response but words are hard to form with the way he’s working you over. His cock fits you like a glove, hitting all of the right spots and playing your body like a well tuned instrument. It’s just missing something.

Your hand that was clutching the comforter beside you reaches out to grasp his forearm that’s on your shoulder and you slowly move his hand until it’s cupping your throat. Javier’s pace falters at your movement and he just stares you down, a curious look pointed at you.

You’d overheard at work it was something Javi was into, some water cooler chat you’d walked into only a few weeks prior. One of the CIA girls had been retelling her hook-up story with Javi from months ago to a new hire and they were all eating it up. While you had only passed them by, not managing to hear more details, you still decided to file that information away for later-- a bit surprised that you had something else in common with him after all.

“Two taps if it’s too much,” you tell him, tapping on his arm so he understands and he nods.

Javier’s hand slightly grips your neck, his thumb pressing in on the side and the pressure is delicious and you clench hard around his cock at the feeling.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” he groans out, his hips slowly starting to move again until he finds a rhythm.

His hand doesn’t do much more than lightly press against you but it’s enough. It feels safe, warm around your neck and you know Javier would never hurt you, the unexplained trust of having him as your partner translating now to the bedroom.

You both work in tandem, his hips pushing in and you chasing his as he pulls out only to slide back in. It’s probably the best you two have ever worked together and it’s irony at its finest.

Javier tilts your head back, baring the full length of your throat to him, his thumb tracing along your jaw and you cry out once he hits that spot inside of you that makes your limbs go numb in pleasure. He drags your bottom lip down and you suck his thumb between your lips, lightly scraping your teeth around the digit. He abandons your neck then, using his now wet thumb to press against your clit and that feeling coupled with his thrusts sends you over the precipere, your body baring down and clenching tightly around his cock as you cum.

Your whole body is shuddering, your mouth open as you try and find your breath as Javier continues to pound into you in search of his own release. He finds it just a minute after your own, his mouth dropping to your neck as he groans, hips stuttering as he pulses his release inside of you.

Careful not to just collapse on top of you, Javier rolls to the side and lets out a long breath before turning to you, eyes searching.

“If you’re looking for some sort of regret, you’re not gonna find it Peña,” you tell him, reaching over into your nightstand to find your emergency pack of cigarettes. You offer him the pack but he waves you off, swinging his legs off the side of the bed to stand up while you light up.

You watch as Javier moves around your room, slowly dressing himself. Jeans zipped back up and he’s left shirtless, his top somewhere in your living room missing half of its buttons.

“You want a shirt?”

He nods, “Yeah, that’d be good. Forgot you fucking ruined mine.”

Laughing, you stand and move around Javier to reach into your dresser and pull out a plain white shirt that you normally saved for laundry days. You toss it over to him and lean against your dresser, pulling a drag from the cigarette while you watch him tug it on. The shirt is a little too tight around the chest but it looks good on him and you’re almost sad to see him go. Almost.

“So I’ll see you in the office on Monday?” You ask, putting your half smoked cigarette out on the windowsill and leave it there, making your way out into the kitchen. Javier follows and tugs his boots on, shoving his socks into the pockets of his jeans and he nods.

You’re almost glad that Javier is the first person you’ve slept with while you’re here. He’s not expecting anything more than you are and despite the fact that you two work together, you don’t see any issues coming forward about your night together unless he wants to do it again. The prospect is nice and you pour yourself a glass of water, sipping as you watch him turn to leave.

“Yeah, Monday.” He gives you a salute and a wink. “I’ll see ya, Agent.”

⭐️ JOIN MY TAG LIST ⭐️

[katsuflossy]

The Guys With A Jamaican S/0

Pairings: Bakugo Katsuki x reader, Todoroki Shoto x reader, Shinso Hitoshi x reader

TW: A whole lot of obscenities, suggestive themes, a threateningly good time

A/n: AYYEEE A WEH MI SEH. My cousin decided to challenge me to make a Jamaican reader and so I delivered (poorly cause I only come to this in a sleepy state) but there’s little to no rep for di island gyals so Imma give some love. Hope you like it biddies!💖

P.S. all characters are in their 3rd year meaning they are 18.

💥 You were an international transfer student in the support course

💥He busted through the doors screaming about someone messed up the wiring for his arm cannon.

💥 He just kept going and going and going until you couldn’t take it anymore.

💥 “ALL MIGHTION PEACE, BREDDA BILL PAN E SHOUTING NUH!” (1)

💥 Man was shook. One, because he did not understand a word you had said and two, what language did you even utter because it wasn’t complete English and three, did you just scream at him.

💥 Regardless, you took the cannons and fixed them. He noticed the Jamaican flag on top of your work station.

💥 Soon you’re telling him about your country and how proud you are to be a yaadie (what Jamaicans refer to themselves)

💥 He loves teasing you just so he can hear what you’re going to say—bc he in love with da accent☺️

💥 “My yute, if yuh tap revv off mi ear dem ma guh box yuh cross yuh head side.” (2)

💥”Big head bwoy, weh di bumboclaat yuh lef mi alone man.” He’s just so interested in the language.

💥 Give him some ackee and salt fish with fried dumpling. You got him under a spell now.

💥 IN LOVE with Jamaican food. He demolishes some jerk chicken, peppa shrimp, Rasta pasta, the list goes on. All because you guys were competing on who’s curry was better 🤦🏾‍♀️.

💥 Have a crate of beef patty and coco bread? Half of that is for him now. Some spice bun and cheese? Break that like five loaves and two fishes. Because everything’s being shared now.

💥 You’re not allowed to go to ANY party/dance/fete etc. without him because you act all the way up.

💥Shenseea comes on? He gives you one look and presses you against his front.

💥 Doesn’t stop you for whining and grinding but you ain’t going on your headtop around him. You start to go on your knees, head pressing against the ground; he snatches you before you could balance on your neck and stands you straight up.

💥 “For fuck sakes (Y/n) you don’t listen!” “Kastuki, mi a bad gyal, mi neva ago listen.”4 

💥 Basically with your mouth and his attitude, it’s UA’s most catastrophic couple™️.

(1)  “Oh my God, bro chill on the shouting!”

(2) “ My guy, if you don’t stop talking my ears off I’m going to slap you.”

(3) “Big head boy, why the hell you don’t leave me alone, man.”

(4) “Kastuki, I’m a bad (unruly, untameable) girl, I’m never going to listen.”

🧊 Total culture shock when he saw you. And then a second aftershock when he heard you SPEAK.

🧊 Just kept staring at you ever since you transferred into the class.

🧊 Then your mouth 🤦🏾‍♀️ had a mind of its own. You turned to him, got all up in his face and said “Big man, why ya pree me so hard? Neva seen a nigga before?” (5)

🧊 He was flabbergasted. Eyes wide, unable to say anything until he physically cooled himself down. Then he gon ask you to repeat ‘cause did he understand a word you said? No.

🧊 But he loves the accent. And by love I mean love.

🧊He asks you to talk to him in patois (“pat-wah”) more so the thing you say is “Guh suck yuh madda.” He just smile, nodding as he continued what he was doing. 💀 this was so rude.

🧊 You call Aizawa “Don” and All Might “Brogad” (6)

🧊 You flirt with him in patois and sometimes he’ll try to decipher what you’re saying.

🧊“Babes.” He looks up from his work and at you. “Yes?” “Yuh know seh mi love you like cook food.”

🧊 The gears in Todoroki’s head are working hard for this one. Unexpectedly, he frowns. “But not all food is cooked. Like sushi...I thought you loved sushi? So you don’t love me?”

🧊 His sad, puppy dog eyes had you rushing to console him, telling him it was just a regular saying and that Jamaicans just love homecooked meals.

🧊Speaking of food. He’s never going to touch cold soba again after having some pigtail with rice and peas, gravy touching every inch of the dish.

🧊He’ll sit at the kitchen, tapping his foot, very happy about whatever you’re making.

🧊 He’s observant too and will bring any and everything to shorten the time it takes for the food to get on his plate.

🧊 “Hey Sho, can you pass the—“ He got the curry seasoning already in his hand, offering it to you. “—um thanks?”

🧊He’ll be on your back as you’re cheffing it up, reggae music blasting through the area.

🧊 It’s a good life for Shoto.

(5) “Big man, why are you staring at me so hard? Never seen a nigga before?”

(6) Brogad is a highly respected “bro”.

(7) “Go suck your mother.” (basic insult in Jamaica. Would not recommend saying it to an actual Jamaican? It will not end well for you.)

(7) “You know I love you like cooked food.”

🔮 He met you in his extra secret place he goes to smoke.

🔮All he sees is some black girl lighting her blunt and wondering “how tf did she find this place?”

🔮 He was about to leave, pissed off that he has to find a new place to blow some air until you offered him your own blunt.

🔮 Very cautious about taking a hit because yo shit may have been laced but after that puff? Nigga went to another galaxy.

🔮 “How the fuck yo shit so strong?” “An mek you gwan chat pan mi? Naw, come link me if you want a spliff or two.” (8)

🔮 So it was a smoking buddies-to-lovers trope. He’ll come over to your dorm everyday until his high ass admits he likes you— and your high ass did the same.

🔮Alkaline is his top artist now. You’ll catch him vibing to “Juggernaut” or “Just the Style” on a daily.

🔮 He’s gotten use to you whining everywhere. He’ll sit, reading a book while you’re bumping and grinding to some soca or dancehall.

🔮 Although completely unphased, he’ll smack your ass as you’re throwing it back on him jokingly.

🔮 After you and Shinso became a couple, group smoke sessions were never the same.

🔮 ANY Kranium song comes on; the place will get steamy.

🔮 “Last Night” starts to play while you, Shinso, Kaminari, and Sero were going through that oui’d.

🔮 Next thing they know, you’re straddling Shinso’s hips, giving him that waistline like it’s carnival. He’s whining back; your bodies grinding against each other as his hands palms your ass.

🔮 Meanwhile Sero and Kaminari smoking the last blunt, ready to leave because they already know what’s gonna go down.

🔮 Sero: “They don’t see us?”

🔮 Kaminari: 🤷🏼

🔮Sero: “You see me?”

🔮 Kaminari: “Yes I see you. You see me?”

🔮Sero: “Hell yeah I see you. Both of us looking like two big Barneys we see each other.”

🔮 They just packed it up and left so they don’t have to see anything too drastic.

(8) “So you can tell on me? Naw, talk to me if you want a blunt or two.”

[scenariosbutmakeitgay]

Hello there can you write a White x reader which our chaotic rice cake with daddy issues found comfort in the reader and fell in love? Thank you so much!

I thought it’s gonna be ready sooner tbh, but here ya go anon

-

The Hell Train wasn't the most comfortable location you've ever been to during your career in FUG. Not that you were the one to complain, of course. Everything in the express just seemed to be too repetitive. If it wasn't for your lovely company, which included such rare exhibits as an ex-kpop star,  a literal demon or a girl with a fashion sense stolen from a Halloween party, you'd certainly wouldn't enjoy it as much. You were assigned to monitor the situation and make sure it ends up as a success. White was definitely an interesting one. If his real power was as great as everyone thought, then no wonder FUG wanted him back. On the other hand, Jue Viole Grace seemed even more promising. You weren't sure what this kid's up to. Different tales about the Slayer candidate were spreading around the Tower, and you wanted to check on your own if they were true.

“Time will tell, I guess,” you muttered under your breath.

“Tell what, little spy?” White asked, suddenly appearing behind your back.

His voice sent shivers down your spine. Not that it was unpleasant, but when the Slayer spoke, he sounded almost like a predator that's about to attack a prey. Maybe it wasn't even far away from the truth. He's like a god to FUG, so killing you wouldn't make much of a difference for the Elders.

“Lots of things, little Slayer,” you mocked him.

To be honest, it wasn't the smartest thing to do. Unless you didn't value your life, of course. You weren't even able to react as White's sharp blade made a cut on your throat. You hissed in pain. The wound wasn't deep, but bled a lot.

“FUG has its hierarchy for a reason,” White said. “And in every possible way, I'm above you.”

The Slayer felt particularly petty today. His big duel with Jue Viole Grace was coming, and he definitely didn't like how his companions acted about it. Almost as if they were worried that the greatest being in the whole universe is going to lose with a mere irregular. Absolutely unacceptable,   but White was kind enough to ignore this little nuisance. That small talk with you, though. It made him furious. Back in his prime, no one dared to insult him. Especially when they were a fellow FUG member. Mocking a god was a blasphemy, after all. One shall face a fate crueler than death if decided to do so. But the look in your eyes when he cut your throat was somehow wrong. It wasn't the one of true terror White has seen so many times. More of indifference, and a bit of amusement.

“Don't you fear me, spy?” he asked. “I can end your life if I want to do so.”

You looked at White once again.

“I fear gods, not demons.”

The man smirked.

“An entertaining one, I see,” he said. “But you better watch your tongue, because I might cut it off soon.”

“The pleasure would be mine, oh great Slayer,” you replied. “Yet I must excuse myself now, there's still some work to finish.”

White wasn't sure if he considered you bearable. Surely refreshing, but your snarky remarks were giving him a headache. Who did you even think you were that you talked to him like that? Led by curiosity, he found the blonde light bearer he was looking for. She should be in possession of some useful information. Rachel, wasn't it?

“Tell me something about that spy who came with you,” White ordered her. He's the one in charge, after all.

“Spy? Oh, you mean our scout,” Rachel replied. “I don't know much, but they're a D rank regular. They were one of the Slayer candidate's companions before he joined FUG. No connection to the 10 Great Families. That's all I was told.”

White walked away unsatisfied. The girl was as useless as one could possibly be. Back in his days, light bearers were way more handy. You lacked some crucial manners, but at least you were amusing. The blonde was a plain bore.

Your superiors were a pain sometimes. Prying into everything, impatient, and extremely annoying. When you roamed around the train, you heard a conversation which seemed to be about your humble self. It's not like the attention was not to your liking, it was just quite uncommon. A few moments later you saw a tall figure of your favorite Slayer.

“Missed me already?” you asked with a wide grin on your face.

“I missed the times your mouth was shut for sure,” White said.

A small giggle left your lips. You didn't expect him to act so sassy.

"How adorable," White thought. He was used to fear, hatred, and disgust. "An odd one for sure."

“Do you have any other hobbies beside spying on me, little one?” the man asked.

You looked him straight in the eyes. “Maybe, but that's definitely my favorite one.”

The duel was supposed to begin tomorrow. The closer it got, the more anxious White felt. He didn't show it, but facing the Slayer candidate made him slightly nervous. It was beyond disgusting. He was a god, for fuck's sake! He couldn't possibly lose to a kid. Or could he? No, no, NO! White threw a glass across the room, and it shattered with a blunt crash. He wasn't sure if he was going mad or was insane from the very beginning. Suddenly, he heard a quiet knock on the door.

“Enter.”

You were standing there, but something was lacking. Where did the cockiness disappear?

“Are you okay, Slayer?” you asked. “I heard something crashing.”

White knew that he probably looked like a mess right now. No, not probably. He certainly did.

“Why would you bother?” he replied bitterly. “Gods don't need pity.”

You sighed, and closed the door behind you. What a stubborn one.

“I'm not here to pity you. Gods might not need help, but humans do, you know.”

Were you crossing the line? He wasn't your friend, after all. You waited for White to say something, but he remained silent. The dullness didn't suit his eyes. You sat on his bed next to him, and put your hand on White's shoulder. He was hesitant at first.

“Why are you so persistent about everything?” the man asked.

“Because I know that there's something hidden behind your mask of arrogance. Something that you fear to show,” you said.

Maybe you were right, maybe not. White didn't care at that moment. He laid his head on your legs, and let you play with his hair. The warmth of your body was oddly comforting. Driven by a sudden urge, he straightened his arm to cup your face. You were pretty. The prettiest to be exact. And just like that White closed the distance between your lips. The kiss was short, but sweet.

“You know, you haven't even told me your name,” he said.

“Call me by yours, then.”

...

"Were you always this cheesy?"

[rae-gar-targaryen]

of retro-tech and rhapsody [p.p.]

A/N: This is my entry for @starksparker Summer Writing Challenge! Thank you for letting me do this, Kaylee! 

Takes place while Peter and the gang are still at school. I’m ignoring “Endgame” and “Far From Home,” so it’s spoiler-free! Includes references to Peter’s Civil War-era scrounging. 

Prompt: “For someone so smart, you’re an idiot.” 

Pairing: Peter Parker x fem!Reader (I kept her vague enough, sans references to a few hobbies and musical taste).

Warnings: Language. Jumpy plot? So much awkward cotton-candy fluff you may just rot your teeth. Sorry. 

Word Count: 3.4k of baked good simile, teenage awkwardness, and musical snobbery. 

Summary: Dumpster diving wasn’t a good look for most boys. Most of them. But then again, most boys didn’t make you a good, old-fashioned loverboy mixtape.  

**NOT MY GIF!** 

–

Okay, so. Here’s the deal: You most certainly were not the type to gossip. You really weren’t. The clique-ish chatter of your classmates and passersby floating through your ears like the twittering of so many small birds, muffled like cotton balls in your ears. 

It’s not that you were a bad listener. Nah. You actually considered yourself a good listener. You just weren’t that interested in the conversational equivalent of small-dick-energy. Small minds discuss people, so they say… 

Besides, rumors were pernicious. Especially those perpetrated by bored teenagers, the girls’ perfectly-filed nails so much like demon’s talons, the boys’ whispering and snickering like the hissing of snakes. All attempting to perforate your uninterested sensibilities. 

Whatever. Whatever the topic was today, you just weren’t interested. Until– 

“I heard Flash threw him in. What other reason would he smell like a dumpster?”

“Maybe he just doesn’t, ya know, shower?” 

“No way. Flash can’t toss him in alone. He’d need help. Besides, I think he went in there, like, voluntarily.”

“He doesn’t smell. You just saw him coming out of the alley.” 

“Ew. You mean to tell me that Peter Parker is a– a dumpster-diver?” 

The mention of Peter’s name caught your interest. Peter was a tech-type with a seemingly contradictory creative streak. You had often wondered where he had picked up the old school gadgets he sometimes had tucked under his arm as he hurried to and from the science lab or the A.V. room, Ned Leeds in tow, talking a mile a minute about – some thing or another. 

You were almost certain the term “motor mouth” was coined with Peter in mind.  

You turned your head to hear who was talking, only to be met with a table full of Flash Thompson’s hangers-on. 

Of course. Flash Thomson’s weird hate-boner for Peter Parker was well known among your class. And probably the teachers, too. 

You didn’t understand. What was to dislike about Peter Parker? He was perfectly sweet, sweetly smart, smartly perfect. 

Okay, maybe you had a little thing for Peter Parker. But only just a little. You had, what? Two classes together?

Besides, you were too busy for boys. It’s 2k19, for God’s sake. You had soccer, studying for the SATs, you helped out your parents. You liked to read. It’s not that you weren’t interested in the pursuit of a certain sweet, stuttering boy with coffee curls and eyes flecked with gold. 

Dear god. When did you become a poet? Scratch that. When did you become a terrible poet?? Be still your heart, Keats. 

Rolling your eyes, you smacked your empty lunch tray for good measure as you got up, catching the attention of some of Flash’s “Mob.” 

“Maybe you should chill on being trash who trash-talks? You sure you don’t belong in the dumpster?” You replied primly. Not chancing a glance back, or waiting for a snarky response, you turned, dropping your tray in the designated area and walked out. 

Mic drop, assholes.

—

Peter stared after you from his corner table, basking in the glory of your grand exit. He didn’t hear what you had said. But judging by the disbelieving stares that followed you, it must’ve been good. Flash’s hangers-on looked after you, a few then turning their attention to Peter’s table before going back to their lunch, mouths agape.

Um, what? 

Peter had no clue what that could have been about. Whatever it was, he was almost certain he didn’t want to know. Unless– unless it had to do with you. Then he almost certainly did want to know. 

He would crawl over glass if it meant learning more about you. 

Okay, maybe not glass. He did get beat up on the regular, and even super-fast healing and super strength didn’t mean that the sensations that came from small-time ass kickings was enjoyable. 

Mr. Stark told him that finding the girl he liked would hit him like, what was it? Oh, yeah …

“A punch to the gut, Pete. You’ll never see it coming. Not even with that little, uhhhh, tingly little super-sense you’ve got goin’ on.” 

Punch to the gut indeed. Just the sight of you was enough to make Peter stammer, even moreso than usual. Sweat a bit more than usual. Especially today, what with his latest acquisition burning a proverbial hole in his backpack. 

His morning excursion had yielded a perfectly good Walkman. Who would toss that in the dumpster? A little fine-tuning and it should be good to go. He’d been acquiring retro stereo equipment for some time. A little trip to the junk store for a blank cassette, and he was home free. 

His heart sang at the cleverness of his plan. Burning you an old-school mixtape seemed like the perfect way to tell you how he felt. How he’d been feeling since ninth grade bio, making a gradual mental catalogue of your band shirts. Of the books you thumbed through while waiting for class to start. 

Yeah, he knew exactly what was going on that tape. 

“Hey, loser.” Peter whipped his head at the dead-pan to the left, meeting MJ’s shrewd eyes and perpetually downturned mouth from her corner of the table. “What’s up with your stupid moon-face?”

“Uh, what?”

“If you stared any harder at her, you may burn a hole.” 

“I don’t — who? Stared at who?” Peter panicked. Surely MJ couldn’t know. If MJ knew, did that mean he was being obvious? Oh, crap. 

“For someone so smart, you’re an idiot. Lucky for you, I’m not. Just say something. She’s super nice, you know. She’d talk to you.” 

“Thanks, MJ. I think?” Peter’s brow furrowed at the minor insult, which stung less considering it was wrapped in the warm velvet of MJ’s hyper-observant encouragement. 

Just talk to her. Like it was so easy. 

If he played his cards right, he’d let the tape do the talking. Peter loved it when a plan came together. Take down the bad guys, take down his homework, take down this special project, get the girl. 

— 

“Decisions, decisions, all of them wrong,” you hummed to yourself, perusing the sweet offerings through the bakery’s glass dessert case.

You stood under the ambient lighting in your favorite bakery. Post-practice you didn’t smell the best, but you’d put in work. You deserved a treat. RIP to the people behind you in line. 

“I hear the chocolate chip cookies here are the best.” 

You whipped around, only to be met with the cocoa-honey eyes of none other than Peter Parker. A true confectionary masterpiece. Suddenly, the items behind the case seemed less sweet by comparison. And–wait, was Peter Parker actually talking to you about something that wasn’t last night’s reading?

“Um, thanks for the tip!” You cursed yourself for your filler-word of choice. Um, um, um. You cursed yourself again for wearing your sweaty practice gear and grass-stained socks. Of all the times to run into him. “Yeah– I’m more of a lemon bar kinda girl.”  

Shit. Why did you say that? 

Peter just looked at you. 

“Oh.” 

Did he look— crestfallen? Did you offend Peter Parker? Shit, shit.

“What I mean is, I’ll go with your recommendation, but the cookies here are huge. Split it with me?” You offered.

Peter’s head whipped back up, his eyes cola swirls of excitement. His mouth split into a toothy grin.

Dear God. What you wouldn’t given to be the cause of that smile forever. 

Was Peter always literal sunshine? 

You paid for the cookie, breaking off a half and offering him the half in the bag. As you sank your teeth into a mouth full of cookie, the melted chocolate flooding your tongue, you asked, albeit not too politely, given that your mouth was full–  

“So, what are you doing over on this side of town? Don’t you usually go the other way?”

Peter blinked.

Nice one. Now he’s gonna think you’re a creep that, like, watches him leave? God fucking–

“Oh, just running an errand for Mr. Stark. I saw you through the window and thought I’d come say hey!” Peter chirped.

Ah. The Stark Internship. Of course. Peter probably thought you were the biggest idiot for forgetting. Everyone knew he had the Internship after school. Mercifully, Peter either didn’t notice your slight, or he didn’t care.

“What are you listening to?” Peter gestured at the earbuds poking out of the collar of your practice jersey. 

“Bohemian Rhapsody,” you shrugged. “Wanna listen?”

Peter nodded, vehemently. You slipped the buds from the bottom of your shirt, handing one to Peter, the opening piano keys trilling into your ears. Your eyes met Peter’s, and you felt your mouth form a little tip-lipped grin.  

The two of you stayed that way for the duration of the song, munching on your respective cookie halves. You wondered if there had ever been a more perfect moment in all of history? Sure, this was a little rom-com for anyone’s taste, but, hey. 

You would crawl over glass if it meant you got to listen to Queen while basking in the literal warmth of Peter Parker for eternity. 

The song ended, breaking your Freddie Mercury and chocolate-induced haze. Shit. The Stark errand. 

You decided to cut the string and let Peter escape this little interaction. You tugged the earbuds, effectively popping the one out of Peter’s ear. 

“I’m so sorry, Peter. I’ll let you get back to it! Don’t want to keep Iron Man waiting,” you said. “Thanks for the tip, by the way. This cookie is, like, magic.” 

Peter nodded, shuffling his feet a bit. He gave you a wave and bit out a truncated goodbye, shoving his mouth full of the remainder of the cookie as he exited the shop. 

What in the literal fuck. No, not literal. Don’t go there. Did you just share baked goods and an actual conversation with Peter? Did you share headphones with Peter? What is happening today?

If your heart beat any faster, it’d be doing the Roger Taylor drum solo to “Keep Yourself Alive.” If your blood could sing, it would be thrumming a trilled little thrill of your sweet, sugary little interlude.

—

Peter blew back into his apartment like a hurricane, buzzing with whatever that was. 

What had compelled him to speak up? He saw you standing there, looking a literal glowing angel in school colors and pulled-back hair, complete with beautiful post-exercise flush. And he just— he had to say something, MJ’s words ringing in his head. “She’d talk to you.” 

Peter pulled the refurbished Walkman out of his bag, along with a packet of cassette tapes colored neon pink. 

If he was giving you a little retro tech present, he was going full-stop, the neon piece of plastic screaming 1980s, screaming you. 

Fitting the blank cassette into the stereo, he hit “Record.” 

The following day, Peter hustled into school at a time that was, in his humble opinion, way, way too early, meeting Ned in the hallway. 

“Okay, guy in the chair. Did you figure out which locker is hers?” Peter asked.” 

“You know I did.” Ned pressed a slip of paper into Peter’s palm. 

Glancing quickly at the little shred, Peter stuffed it into his back pocket and jogged down the hallway, jimmying the lock on the locker in question until it gave way under his super-strength. As if it would catch fire at any second, Peter tossed the Walkman and tape into the locker, slamming the door shut and taking off down the hallway as quickly as he could, Ned at his heels.

“Smooth, Spider-boy. Smooth,” Ned laughed. 

—

Peter was going to die. 

Days went by. Literal days. Those pressed on into a week, and then two. Peter had heard nothing since dropping the tape in your locker. God, this was a mistake. He’s made a huge mistake. A huge, tiny mistake.

His self-doubt crept in like so many webs, suffocating his better sensibilities. Not that he’d tangled himself in his own webs before. Come on! 

—Okay, it was ONE TIME. And he’d had time to think about his carelessness while waiting for the webs to dissolve. 

But this was different. He was drowning in his uncertainty. Maybe he’d misread that day at the bakery. Maybe you were just being nice. Peter knew he wasn’t entitled to your attention after once interaction. He wasn’t that much of a hyper-masculine dick. 

Oh, shit. 

—

“Yo!” 

You turned, eyes landing on your teammate, Jessica Porter. 

“Jess. What’s up?”

“Hey, I found this in my locker a while ago. I meant to give it to you sooner, but, well–” Jess reached into her bag, pulling out a rectangular hunk of plastic affixed to 1980s-esque headphones. “Your name’s on the sticky note, and on the tape inside. I don’t know how it got to me, but it’s clearly meant for you.”

You took the Walkman from her hands, turning it over. No “From” on the sticky note to indicate who had gifted you this little vintage gem. Affixed to the back with some Scotch tape was the plastic holder for the cassette, the jacket within scrawled with writing that you just couldn’t place. 

“Uh, thanks, Jess. See you at practice?” You walked away, your brow furrowed, your mind moving at a mile a minute. 

After school, you slumped onto your bed. You popped the tape off the back of the Walkman, freeing the case.

As you slipped the jacket out of the case, you hit “Play” on the Walkman, the keyed-up opening to Jukebox the Ghost’s “Everybody’s Lonely” meeting your ears. 

You perused the scrawled writing on the jacket– it was a track list. Next to each track was a little  handwritten note jammed into each line. 

1. “Everybody’s Lonely”– Jukebox the Ghost. Because every song is about love. And because you like Queen.

2. “Radio Gaga”– Queen. Ditto. 

Your heart stopped. No, seriously, should you call 911? This couldn’t be – could it? Did Peter Parker make you an actual mixtape?? Had you hit your head today at practice, or something? The stars in your eyes and little bursts like so many Pop Rocks in your belly were so like happy little interpretations of your veritable disbelief. 

You had shared a Queen song and a sweet moment with Peter two weeks ago. Since then? Radio silence. But now? Radio Ga Ga. This had to be from him, right? Your eyes continued down the list. 

6. “Hong Kong Garden”– Siouxsie and the Banshees. I’d reap the field of rice and reeds if it meant an afternoon with you. 

7. “Humbug Mountain Song” – Fruit Bats. My heart thrums like a shitty hipster banjo solo.

8. “Left Hand Free” – Alt J. You looked so cute in your tour shirt Sophomore year. 

9. “Cover Your Tracks” – A Boy and His Kite. Heart, cover your tracks, the blood that you spill will wash what you lack.

The last song on the list, replete with a mix of everything from Bowie to Fleet Foxes, was—

14. “Given the Chance”– The Kite String Tangle. The note?

“Given the chance, I’d go for it. One step at a time. Will you give me a chance?”

It was then you knew. Peter Parker was pure happiness. A zipping burst of citrus on your tongue with a zing that shot straight to your heart. A powdered sugar kiss-and-touch. Syrupy warmth enveloping your spirits.  This gesture was beyond— well, anything. Your heart felt like so many folded paper birds, fluttering and faint, but solidified with purpose. 

You had words for Peter Parker. 

—

The next day you strode into school with purpose, only to be met with coffee curls awaiting you. Pacing at your locker was none other than Peter Parker. And he looked — panicked?? 

Before you could even say a word, Peter opened his mouth, a jumble of words flying out faster than his lips could form the words. 

“I am so, so sorry. I messed up…”

I messed up. 

Your heart plummeted. Was the tape for someone else? Before you could press, Peter continued, “I– I made you a mixtape. Y-you know, like, an actual mixtape. On a cassette and everything. The only problem is–” He hung his head. “I put it in your locker. Well, not your locker, obviously– I thought it was your locker. 1127? I put it in 1172.” He let out a huff of air at his rushed confession, refusing to meet your eyes, cheeks burning.  “I’m sorry.” 

You blinked. 

“You’re sorry?!” 

Peter looked up at you, quickly, flinching, expecting a tongue-lashing after your outburst. To his surprise, you just laughed. He blinked. Had he misread this so badly?

“Jessica Porter has locker 1172,” you explained. Peter continued staring at you, blankly. What did Jessica Porter have to do with anything?

“Jessica Porter and I have chem together. We’re on the soccer team. She’s super cool,” You explained. Peter remained unmoving, desperate to hear the point and why his apparent faux-paus was so funny to you. 

“Don’t leave me in suspense, here. Because, I’m like.. really, REALLY sorry,” Peter pressed. 

“The point is,” you slung your bag forward and over your shoulder, ripping the zipper open and withdrawing the Walkman. Neon pink cassette tape visible like a flash through the little plastic window. “I got your mix. Jess gave it to me. She thought it was cute, by the way. Sure you didn’t really mean to give it to her?” you teased.  

“O-oh. Cool, uh, but did you think it was cute?”

“Peter,” you sighed. “For someone so smart, you’re an idiot–” 

“MJ said the same thing…” 

“– It wasn’t cute, Peter.” 

His eyes got even wider if possible, the sting of rejection starting to set in– could he possibly have misread the situation so badly? What about your little date? Was it a date? Listening to Queen and eating cookies that day at the bakery? How had MJ steered him so wrong?

 He had done so well on the reading comprehension portion of his PSAT. But reading paragraphs about the migratory pattern of geese was very, very different from reading between the lines when it came to girls his own age. Any girls, really– he had to stop himself. Maybe they were right, maybe he was an idiot– 

“Peter, this is MORE than cute. This is the sweetest, nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. I love it. Your taste in music, you… you get me,” you explained, pressing your hand into Peter’s, pressing the point. He could feel the touch, tingly sensations running through his palm, up his arm, and he swore, straight into his heart. 

Peter changed a glance at you through his lashes, lips splitting into a toothy, Peter Parker grin. 

You hoped he’d only smile at you like that forever. He truly was like the sun, bright and warming the coldest parts of you with the greatest of ease. Filling any hollowness with golden light. His bright eyes sparkled, permanently etched within the golden hour and you swore you forgot how to breathe. 

“Really?”

“I’d give you a chance, Pete. As many as you wanted.”  

Before he could respond, you leaned forward, quickly pressing your lips to Peter’s. It lasted a brief second – a dusting of sugar atop something crisp, sweet and citrusy– before pulling back. Sweet, but all too short, panic splicing through your moment of confectionery bliss that was kissing Peter Parker. 

“Sorry, sorry, Peter. I’m sorry. Was that too forward?? I–”  

You were cut off by Peter, lips firmly meeting yours. Peter’s hands cupped your cheeks, thumbs tracing over the peaks of your cheekbones. Any trace of awkwardness gone, Peter slid his hands from your cheeks — back, back, back— to run his fingers through the hair at the nape of your neck, resting there. The tilt of his lips followed yours, sweet cinnamon heat – persistently welcome and welcomingly persistent. The golden hour indeed. 

Breathless– you were breathless. Could Peter Parker kiss like this always? You wished he would. Look at you, smile at you, kiss you – always. But, um, not with anyone else. Decidedly not. Just you, you hoped. The ebbs and flows of your personhood, the sweet contrast of your personalities, like a discord of so many notes coming together into one cohesive piece. This….

This? This was what rhapsody was. You were just sure of it.

—

So that’s it. I do have a complete playlist made for this story, if anyone is interested, I can send you the link.

Tagging: @starksparker @nappingtopknot @ayeayecaptaingally @andallthatmishigas @ymeradonnadx @hey-its-grey

Special s/o to @tigerlilynoh!

[ceealaina]

Title: Standing Face to Face Collaborator Name: ceealaina Card Number: 3088 Link: AO3 Square Filled: S3 - Anger Issues Ship: Gen Rating: Teen Major Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Civil War Fix-It, Making Up Summary: When Tony gets an emergency call from Nat after the events of Civil War, he doesn't hesitate to drop everything to help.

... He's never trusting Natasha again. Word Count: 2792

Tony trudged into the workshop, exhausted after another round of Accords meetings. He was done with the entire world -- except for Rhodey, who was beautiful and wonderful and had never betrayed him -- and this close to calling the whole thing quits. He was ready to lose himself in some War Machine upgrades, let that numb his mind for a bit, when his eyes fell on the flashing light on the landline tucked in the corner. 

“Shit,” he hissed, exhaustion suddenly gone. “Friday, baby? Stealth mode, please.” 

“You got it, boss,” she told him, the windows already going opaque. 

The thing was, the tale of the Avengers breakup had been slightly exaggerated. Sure, Steve and his gang of merry assholes were, technically, on the run and, even more technically, no longer classified as Avengers. But they were still out there, actively fighting crime to their heart’s content. Which Tony knew, because he had regular check-ins with them to see if things were okay and to keep them apprised of the Accords situation. He was their ‘in case of aliens’ emergency back up, he sent updates for all their equipment, and once a week -- give or take -- he and Rogers would get into a yelling match over the phone, and usually end up hanging up on each other. They were still his team, and Tony would do anything required to help them (the fact that anyone anywhere thought Steve was capable of breaking into the Raft, without leaving a trace, on his own, was frankly insulting) but he was also about ready to dropkick Captain Asshole off a very tall building. 

But regardless of his personal feelings for Steve, if the emergency line was ringing, he was going to answer it. 

Natasha’s voice was ruhed and harried, sounding like she was trying to keep from being heard. “Tony? Budapest. Right away,” she told him. There was a burst of static, and she gave him a set of coordinates, and then the line went dead. 

“Shit,” Tony muttered, already suiting up. “Friday? Cancel… Everything.” 

“On it, boss,” she reported as he took off into the sky. 

***

The coordinates that Natasha had given him took Tony to some hole-in-the-wall local bar so far on the outskirts of town that he didn’t know if it could really be considered Budapest anymore. He hesitated for the briefest of seconds, but he knew better than to think Natasha might have made a mistake. She hadn’t given him a stealth warning so, still fully wrapped in the armour, he stepped through the front door. 

The bar was dimly lit, a few tables scattered around the room, all sitting empty. There were only two occupants inside: The bartender, who didn’t look up, and a drunken patron half-slumped over the bar, who did. 

“Ayyy!” he cried, holding up his stein and sloshing beer over the counter. “Iron Man!” A moment later he was slumped over the bar again. 

Tony popped his faceplate up, blinking incredulously at the scene before him. “Uh… Okay.” 

The door to a back room opened then, and Clint sauntered out, a beer bottle in hand. “Bout time you got here,” he drawled, and Tony stared back at him. 

“Some emergency, Barton.” 

Clint shrugged, not even looking embarrassed. “Had to get you here somehow,” he replied, and before Tony could ask why, he was opening the door again to stick his head back into the room behind him. “Hey guys!” he hollered. “He’s here!” 

Tony stared as Nat filed out through the door, followed by an extremely put-out looking Sam and then, finally, Steve. Tony took a tiny bit of solace in the fact that apparently Steve hadn’t been told what was going on either. He stopped at the sight of Tony, taking up the entire doorway, and his eyes narrowed. 

“What’s he doing here?” 

Tony resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at him. “Yes. What am I doing here?” he asked instead, feeling increasingly more bewildered. It wasn’t a feeling he was used to, and he didn’t like it. The last time he had been this confused was when Rhodey had kissed him back in college, and while that had turned out pretty fantastic, he wasn’t holding the same hope here. 

Natasha and Clint shared one of those freaky spy twin stares, having an entire conversation without words, but it was Natasha who finally spoke. “So the thing is, Clint and I and… Well everyone, really. We’re sick of your shit.” 

Beside her, Clint nodded sagely, folding his arms across his chest in that way that he thought was supposed to be impressive (it was, the man had biceps for days, but Tony wasn’t going to tell him that). “The two of you,” he said, gesturing between Tony and Steve. “You can’t go five minutes without having a screaming fest. It’s fucking annoying.” 

“So you’re going to sit here, with Sam, and have couples therapy until you work out your anger issues with each other,” Natasha continued.  

Sam drew in a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I feel obliged to mention for the millionth time that I’m not actually a therapist. What the fuck even?” 

“You’re the closest thing we have!” Natasha and Clint replied in unison. It sounded like a well-worn argument. 

“And I don’t have anger issues,” Steve mumbled, sounding petulant. The four of them turned to stare at him incredulously and he shifted a little uncomfortably, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “Okay, maybe I have a bit of a temper,” he admitted. “But I don’t see how this is going to help anything.” 

“Not to mention the potential security risk,” Tony added, with a pointed look at the bar. 

“Yes!” Steve practically shouted, clearly looking for an excuse to get out of this. “Exactly.” 

“Don’t worry about them,” Natasha said, waving off their concerns. “They don’t speak English.” 

“And see?” Clint added. “You’re getting along better already.” 

Tony rolled his eyes. “This is bullshit, and I can’t believe you hauled me all the way out here for this. I’ve got forty million actual things to do, so... I’m going. It’s been, uh… Great catching up?”

“Uh-uh.” All of a sudden Nat was holding a gun in each hand. “We’re serious about this, Tony. You’re gonna fix this thing between you.” 

Tony blinked at her. “Are you… Are you threatening me?” 

Natasha just shrugged, arching a brow at him. And the thing was, Tony was pretty sure she wouldn’t really shoot him, but he couldn’t say it with 100% certainty -- he was still wearing the armor. He met her gaze for a long moment, trying to call her bluff, but she didn’t flinch and Tony sighed, feeling his entire body sag. 

“Fiiiiine,” he said, dragging the word out to about five times the length so that she’d know how displeased he was. Pointedly not removing the suit, he stomped over the bar. For a long minute, nobody joined him. Then, after some loud whispering that he ignored in favour of trying to piece together enough Hungarian to get a scotch from the bartender, Steve came over and slumped down on a stool beside him. He didn’t speak, or look at him, leaving it to Tony to start the conversation. Tony kind of regretted putting the faceplate up, because Steve would definitely notice if he made a face at him. “So, uh… Where’s the rest of your motley crew? Simon, or Sean, or whatever his name was. The shrink ‘n gro guy?” 

Steve gave him an unimpressed stare. “I know you know his name is Scott. Just like I know you know that he made a deal with the Feds, and that he’s under house arrest stateside.” He turned away again, and Tony rolled his eyes at the sticky bartop. 

“Excuse me for making conversation,” he muttered. “And, uh, what about Wanda?” 

When he looked at him again, Steve’s gaze had hardened, his expression unreadable. “I’m not telling you where Wanda is.” 

“Jesus Christ,” Tony muttered. “What, you think I’m asking so I can call up Ross and sell her out? Really, Rogers? The back-up, and the checkins, and making myself available to you all the goddamn time is just so that I can fuck you all over at the first available opportunity? Fuck you. I’m the one out there trying to get things fixed so you idiots can finally come home!” 

“Oh yeah,” Steve scoffed. “How altruistic of you. Like how locking Wanda up in the first place was for her sake, not yours, right?” 

“It was!” Tony insisted. “I had her staying on the compound, Steve. You know, the giant ass place where we all chose to live? The one with walking trails and an Olympic size pool and six different gourmet kitchens in addition to the private quarters that are bigger than most NYC apartments? It wasn’t exactly a 6x8 cell.” 

“It doesn’t matter! You can’t just lock people up. People deserve freedom, Tony!” 

“Oh my god. I wasn’t locking her up, I was keeping her from being locked up. They wanted to take her in for questioning, Steve. Do you know what happens when people like Ross take people like Wanda in for questioning? They disappear. Keeping her on the compound meant they couldn’t just waltz in and take her. Not to mention what could happen with random people on the street. She’s misunderstood Steve, I get that. But when people misunderstand things, they tend to fear them. And they can react to fear in pretty violent ways.” 

“I think Wanda can handle herself.” 

Tony scoffed. “Yeah, I saw how well she handled herself in Lagos. You really want a repeat of that in upstate New York?” 

Steve opened his mouth, clearly ready to lay into him, but before he could there was a sharp whistle from across the room. They both whipped around to see Natasha, Sam, and Clint glaring at them pointedly. 

“This!” Clint said. “This is exactly what we’re talking about! Come on, you two were really good friends. I get this is a big disagreement, but...” He gestured between himself and Natasha. “Look, Tasha and I were on opposite sides of the Accords. You don’t see us going at each other’s throats every time we look at each other. We’re still friends! Don’t you want that back?”

Tony felt himself deflate a little. He chanced a glance over at Steve out of the corner of his eyes and found him looking equally subdued. Neither of them actually said anything, but Clint got a smug, self-satisfed look on his face anyway. 

“That’s what I thought,” he told them.

“Okay, so.” Natasha planted a hand in the middle of Sam’s back and shoved him hard, getting a yelp out of him as he stumbled over toward the bar. “Sam’s gonna stay here and... guide you, while the two of you sit here until you get all your shit talked out.” 

“I’m really not qualified for this!” Sam informed them again. 

“And Nat and I’ll be waiting right outside the door until you do,” Clint added, with a look that suggested they’d be doing more guarding more than waiting. 

So, with Sam as mediator, they talked. It didn’t start out well, the two of them doing more screaming than talking, every topic veering into anger. Sam had to interrupt them every five minutes to try and get them to refocus, grumbling the whole time about how he wasn’t getting paid enough for this shit. Once, Clint and Nat had stuck their heads back in, presumably to make sure they didn’t actually kill each other. Tony had been screaming about how if Steve thought Tony had been acting selfishly, he’d better look in a mirror, or was he trying to claim that not telling Tony that his parents had been murdered was really for his benefit. But Steve hadn’t yelled back, and Tony had gotten his breathing and heart rate under control -- without kicking Steve’s chair out from under him, as tempting as it was -- and they had left again. 

And eventually, things had shifted. Tony was still mad, but he could understand some of the fear and reasoning that had led to Steve being so against the Accords, and Steve had admitted that while he still didn’t agree with them, he could see how some oversight was virtually inevitable, and that he probably should have had more faith in Tony, and the possibility of a middle ground. He’d admitted that it hadn’t just been the Accords, that between that, and Lagos, and then Peggy dying, he’d felt like the ground was falling out beneath him and hadn’t reacted well, and Tony had admitted that he could have done more to see where he was coming from -- he wasn’t exactly unfamiliar with the sensation of the ground falling out beneath him himself. 

“Shit,” Tony mumbled, rubbing at his eyes as he looked around the bar for what felt like the first time in hours. He didn’t actually remember when he’d stepped out of the Iron Man suit, but he was sitting on the barstool beside Steve in a business suit, Iron Man standing guard in the corner. There was no sign of the bartender or the other patron. “How long have we been here.” He frowned. “And where the hell did Sam go?” 

“I think he gave up and called it quits around the time I called you a hack,” Steve offered. His voice was dry, but he offered Tony a crooked grin, and Tony felt a pang; it had been a long time since he had seen Steve smile like that and he’d missed it. 

He sighed, fiddling with a bare spot on the counter. “I didn’t want to kill Barnes,” he admitted quietly. “Not really. I know it wasn’t his fault. I just… Seeing my mom killed like that? It brought everything all back, and I just saw red. I wanted him to hurt as much as I was.” He gave Steve a wry look. “Not very superhero-y of me, huh?” 

“Yes. Because I���m known for my even-temper and measured responses,” Steve deadpanned. “I get it, Tony. I probably would have done the same. I didn’t want to hurt you either, for what it’s worth. I just wanted to get Bucky out of there. I was scared I was going to lose him again, and you were a little terrifying. I don’t know if you know this, but you’re kind of a badass.” 

Tony rolled his eyes. “You trying to flatter me, Rogers?” 

“I’m just saying, it did take two fully grown super soldiers to even slow you down.” He grinned, then sobered again. “But what you said back there? You were right, Tony. You were my friend. I should have had respect for that too.” 

“Ye-ah…” Tony shrugged. “I get it though. If our places were switched, and that were Rhodey? Full offense, Steve, but I would lay you out to save him.” 

Steve gave him another soft smile. “I don’t doubt it.” 

Tony’s phone gave a loud jangle then, buzzing harshly against the counter, and he and Steve both startled, jolted from the hazy peace they’d fallen into. WIth a rueful smile, Tony picked the phone up and grimaced at the message waiting for him. 

“Shit,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his eyes. He looked over at Steve, an apology on his face. “I gotta get going. Ross has decided to come by in a couple hours, and if I’m not there he’s going to start trying to look into where I am…” 

“Yeah, yeah, no,” Steve said quickly. “I understand.” He hesitated a moment, chewing at his lip. “I haven’t said thank you, Tony. All of this, dealing with Ross, and the Accords, and trying to bring us home…? I appreciate it, I really do. I know it’s a lot, and it’s all on you, and I know I’m terrible at showing it, but I do appreciate it. Thank you, Tony.” 

Tony smiled softly. “Thank you,” he answered, nodding his head back toward the front door. “For keeping them safe.” 

Steve snorted. “Because Nat needs so much looking after?” he teased, earning a soft chuckle from Tony. 

“I missed this,” he told him. “I mean, not the screaming and the yelling and the wanting to murder each other, obviously, that’s all horrible. But…” He gestured between them, not having the words but knowing Steve would get it anyway. “This. I’ve missed this.” 

“Yeah. Me too.” Steve rubbed at the back of his neck. “Maybe we could do it again sometime?” 

Tony grinned, stepping back into the Iron Man suit. “Find me somewhere with a decent scotch, and you’ve got yourself a deal, Steve.”

@tonystarkbingo

[todorokiaimee]

Blues In The Night

This is the first chapter of my Todoroki x OC book. All characters are aged up. (This will be a mature story down the line.) This is my first attempt at really writing so I really hope you guys like it! 

SUMMARY: Adult pro hero Todoroki falls in love with an African-American plus size woman he’s met in his favorite coffee shop. However, this Cajun Army-brat is difficult to win over but he refuses to give up on her as he helps to break down her walls. Little does he know, she’s put these walls up for a reason.

CHAPTER 1. Everything Happens to Me | Chapter Song

“Yes Father, the threat has been dealt with,” the red and white-haired man said into his cell phone as he sauntered down the busy streets of Tokyo. He had just taken out a troublesome gang with the intent to sell stolen goods. Subduing them was easy enough, but he was annoyed he had to do it in the first place. During the fall months, crime usually slows down. Unfortunately, these villains did not have the same sentiment. “You really should learn how to delegate. There are plenty of capable sidekicks at our agency. There really was no need to call me in on my day off,” he huffed. 

“I am delegating. I delegated this job to you didn’t I?” Endeavor barked through the phone. 

Shoto rolled his eyes and proceeded to enter his favorite coffee shop, giving a polite nod to the cashier as she looked him up and down in his hero costume.  He didn’t normally like to be seen in it outside of patrols but a trip home just to change seemed inefficient. He’d just have to endure the extra stares. “I suppose. I’ll email you the full incident report tonight. Goodbye.” 

“Shoto wait-.” 

He hung up before his father could have a chance to finish, not wanting to spoil what he had left of his day off. A small smile graced his lips as he addressed the cashier. “My apologies. May I please have a small black coffee.” 

She nodded and got to work on his coffee while he scanned the cafe. He enjoyed this particular cafe because of their open mic nights. He liked the relaxed atmosphere and also not being the center of attention for a while. Hero work had its perks, but the pitfall was always feeling like he had to maintain his hero image. Shoto was a civil servant after all. He was not only representing himself but his father by extension. Even though he and Endeavor had their issues, he was still going to be respectful if even just for the agency’s sake. 

After receiving and paying for his coffee, he eyed a free booth with a good view of the stage. In the booth in front sat another cafe regular that he had seen many times before, her long black curls and rich chocolate skin catching his eye more than once. She often sat alone with a book in hand and he wondered why a woman so beautifully unique as her would be unaccompanied. Even as he wondered and walked over to his empty booth behind her, he decided not to bother her. Perhaps like him, she enjoyed the peace and quiet atmosphere alone.

As Shoto took his seat, two women unceremoniously walked into the shop, ruining any semblance of the tranquility he so craved. “Omg, you will not believe the night I had last night. Kaneki took me dancing and we like, danced and stuff. But I got soooo drunk that I kept like singing all the music at the top of my lungs! It was so hilarious!” Her nasally voice boomed through the once quiet cafe. Shoto sighed and sipped his coffee, hoping she would just settle down and find a seat, his ears perking up as he heard a soft sigh from the booth behind him. 

“I love hearing you sing, girl! What are you going to sing for the open mic tonight?” The annoying mystery woman's friend inquired. 

“Oh, nothing today. My vocal coach said I need to be on vocal rest since I overdid it last night. Such a shame too. I would have totally dominated,” She cackled like a witch as they both took a seat and continued their conversation.  

“You’re doing it wrong,” a small voice came from behind him. In surprise, he let out a rare but small chuckle.

Aimee blushed, not realizing she said her snide comment loud enough that the man behind her could hear. She bit her plump bottom lip gently, as she tried not to break into giggles. She didn’t intend to be rude, but she just couldn’t help herself. Those two probable trust fund bimbos were talking loud enough for the whole cafe to hear their conversation. If that woman was really supposed to be on “vocal rest”, she is not going to see good results and honestly, she found that hilarious. Internally, however, she knew it was bad gris-gris to tease people, no matter how justified. She resigned to quietly sip her iced coffee in peace (or what’s left of it) because as the kids would say, “that’s none of my business.” 

Just as she was about to finish her drink, she heard a low voice from behind her, “If her singing voice is anything like her speaking voice, she is perhaps doing us a kindness.” Startled and pleasantly surprised, Aimee choked on her last bit of coffee. The two loud women suddenly looking back at her “causing a scene” only made her cough and laugh more. Todoroki immediately stood from his seat and went to the ravenette’s aid, apologizing profusely. “My apologies, that was terribly rude of me. Are you alright? May I get you some water?” 

Aimee shook her head, giggling through her tears as her eyes watered from the short lack of oxygen. “No, no! I’m fine. It was actually pretty funny. You just caught me off guard is all.” 

Todoroki paused and took in her face as she wiped her eyes. To put it simply, she was exquisite.  Her large brown almond eyes looked into his as a playful smile tugged at the corners of her full lips. Her womanly body jiggled and bounced as she laughed, a sound he wanted to never end. Looking down at her from where he stood, he noticed how her bright yellow shirt complimented her smooth dark skin and how the modest V neckline revealed her abundance of cleavage. He couldn’t help but feel a slight warmth fill his cheeks as he stared down at her. “You must have either a really good, or a really poor sense of humor to find me funny.”

As Aimee caught her breath she took a moment to really look at the duel-quirk hero. She had seen him several times before in the cafe, but never up close. He was quite tall, with lean muscle pulling against the blue fabric of his hero costume. His peppermint hair dangled in front of his eyes until he nervously brushed them aside, revealing her favorite trait. His eyes. One cool grey, one turquoise blue. The rumors were true. You could get lost in those heterochromatic orbs. He definitely lived up to the hype. Aimee was pulled out of her thoughts as Todoroki cleared his throat, awkwardly shifting his weight. “May I… join you?”

Aimee unconsciously quirked an eyebrow at him. Join me? What would a super hot (and cool) pro hero want with me? Not to be rude, she of course nodded and he slipped into the booth opposite of her after retrieving his coffee. He’s just trying to get to know his constituents, she thought. No big deal.

“I’ve seen you here a lot,” Todoroki said softly as he sipped his coffee. Aimee paused for a moment, thinking he had something to add to it. Apparently, the rumors that he was a man of few words was true as well. 

“Yes…” she nodded slowly.  “I have seen you as well,” she said slightly sarcastically with a small smirk tugging at her lips. “This place reminds me of back home. The live music, coffee, and sweet treats. They also have the best apple pie around, so there’s that.” 

She giggled and Shoto thought it was the sweetest sound in the world. He nodded as his cool eyes locked onto hers, suddenly feeling bold. “I assumed you weren’t from here. There are not many women in Japan like you.” 

“What, you mean Black?” She quirked her head to the side with wide eyes.

Shit! Todoroki’s left side abruptly erupted into flames. FUCK! Although it only lasted for a second, Shoto was so embarrassed. First, he made this gorgeous woman choke on her coffee, then he insults her, and to top it off he almost burns the poor woman! All in his sad attempt to flirt. 

“Whoa! Oh my God!” Aimee shouted in shock as she instinctively pulled away. 

His normally pale face flushed a deep red all the way to the tips of his ears. He hadn’t lost control of his quirk since he was a teenager. He was a goddamn adult! Scrambling to his feet he bowed deeply, spewing a plethora of hushed apologies.

Aimee blinked in surprise at the sight before her, instantly regretting her decision to tease the poor man. She never dreamed she could pull such an extreme reaction out of the usually stoic hero. Being snarky was just one of her many defense mechanisms when she felt exposed and vulnerable. And boy did the way Todoroki looked her make her feel exposed and vulnerable. In fact, she was still surprised one of the best (and hottest) pro heroes was even talking to her. 

“Hey…” she reached out for his (hopefully safe) right hand. She noted it was significantly cool to the touch. “At ease soldier. I’m the one who should apologize. I was just messing with you.” 

Todoroki looked down at her small soft hand, observing the contrast to his large and calloused own. He pensively looked up at her from under his bangs, only to catch her large brown orbs staring into his with an apologetic smile. 

“That was a pretty impressive display of power though.” She giggled and squeezed his hand gently, encouraging him to sit back down. Todoroki nodded and took his seat sat back across from her as Aimee cleared her throat, giving everyone else in the cafe the evil eye for staring. Somehow, although she barely knows this man, she already felt the need to protect the sweet lamb from unwanted attention.  

“Anyway, your assumption is right. I’m American, from New Orleans, LA specifically. I moved here when I was 13 with my Dad. He’s a Colonel in the Marines and was stationed at Camp Kinser.” 

Todoroki nodded and took another sip of his coffee. “That’s a noble profession.” Aimee sighed and played with a few of her dark curls. 

“It is. But as a child, I used to hate it. Having to pick up and leave everything I ever knew behind. Being thrust into a new culture. It was hard at first and I felt like my Dad didn’t understand it, or just didn’t care.” 

The hero hummed in response. “I do have experience with difficult fathers.” 

The look on Todoroki’s face gave her the feeling that there was a lot to unpack there but she decided not to ask. He’s been through enough for one talk anyway. “Welp, it’s pretty much all good now. We’re still not super close but I don’t get to see him often. He’s a very busy man, keeping the world safe in his own way. But you, you’re right on the front lines. What’s that like?” 

Todoroki blinked rapidly, surprised to have the topic of conversation turned to him. He was hoping he could learn more about the captivating woman in front of him. “I… just do my best to help those in need.” 

“You know, this is a little embarrassing, but you’re my favorite hero to watch in a fight.” Todoroki slowly set down his coffee with a confused look, sure he misheard her. “The way you move and use your quirk in a fight… even though you obviously have great power, your moments are so fluid and somehow even gentle. I mean, you rarely fight with a closed fist. You make battle look so effortless and easy. Like a dance almost.” 

She likes my fighting? Who is this angel? Todoroki stared her in disbelief. He had never heard his fighting described in such a way. After years of struggling with accepting his quirk, and being called cold and distant in the tabloids, this woman called him gentle of all things. A familiar heat rose to his cheeks for the third time today and this time he didn’t really care. He looked up at her to find a similar but faint rosy color upon her cheeks. “Thank you.”

Aimee looked at her watch hummed. “Oh 20:00 already. I really should get going, my cat gets cranky when he’s hungry. As do I.” She laughed lightly and she stood up from the booth, putting on her coat. Shoto watched helplessly as she gathered her things. He didn’t want the conversation to end, but he also couldn’t be selfish and keep her there. “Well. Thank you for your service, Mr. Todoroki. And thanks for the… colorful conversation,” she said with a small smirk, turning on her heel to leave. 

“Wait.” He cautiously took her hand. “You know my name, but I don’t know yours.” 

The smallest of twinkles flashed across her eyes, and it certainly didn’t go unnoticed by Shoto. “Aimee. Aimee Faurie.” 

“That’s a beautiful name.” 

She cheekily bit her bottom lip trying to suppress a wide smile. Aimee had already promised not to tease the man anymore, but she just couldn’t help herself. “Thank you. I got it for my birthday.” 

And with that, she turned and walked away towards the cafe exit. Todoroki sat stunned for a moment, mulling over her last statement before finally letting out another rare chuckle. Although the moment his eyes locked onto her hips as she glided out the door (and shamelessly all the way down the street) he found himself stunned for an entirely different reason. “Aimee. Until we meet again.”

Chapter 2

[fightevilandthengetblownup]

FIC: Party On, Gabe

“Alright, gorgeous, let me bring you up to speed.”

“I’m listening…”

The archangel gave a laugh at her expression, hand firmly on one hip and a scowl etched on her face, which she thought was completely unjustified given the circumstances.

It had screamed ‘something bad happening here’ when she had noticed the signs of something supernatural was occurring in Chicago. Given it wasn’t too far a trip, Jo snagged the file off of Harry for a weekend trip hoping to be back by Sunday night if it turned out to be a pretty simple case. But staring down the archangel turned Trickster in full party mode if the jean, henley and leather jacket combination was anything to go by rather than the button downs she’d seen before, as he reclined in the leather booth with a beautiful woman on either side, Jo could tell that ‘pretty simple’ factor was about to turn into a nightmare for her to try to talk him out of the current play.

—

There had been over fifty-five women gone missing, and almost the same number of men, within 9 days. It was Saturday and this had been going on since the week previous’ Friday night so far as Jo could tell. They had all been last seen in the same club in downtown Chicago known for drawing some of the biggest up-and-coming DJs and performers as well as far too scantily clad women but the cover charge and cost of drinks high enough to keep it from being tacky. In retrospect, the blonde could see how it was like giving the Trickster a candy store with more candy than even his sweet tooth could handle. She had suspected that it was going to be a vampire hive originally, but now it seemed abundantly clear who was responsible for this week-long party.

Jo had made her way to the club, made her way in even as she’d rolled at the carding and the length of time it had taken her standing in line to finally get in - it was at that time she was glad she’d worn the black bodycon dress and the studded black combat boots rather than heels, so the bouncers waved her in quicker than the guys in line beside her but also her feet refrained from hurting too badly from standing outside for almost an hour and a half - paid her cover charge, and was glad no one checked her purse lest she be thrown out for the range of different weapons she’d brought along just in case while she cased the joint. The place was packed with men and women alike, and Jo was glad to see her choice of relaxed but still nice seemed to match with the other women around while most of the men were in nice jeans and shirts of varying style from trashy Ed Harry tshirts to black button downs to those grey t-shirts with far too deep a v-necks. The only consistent was that there seemed to be more men than women out in the main section of the club.

She had weaved her way through to the bar and waited an additional ten minutes before being served a Jack&Coke, to blend in before turning to survey the space and see if there was anything outright she could see to explain the missing persons. Looking about the space, nothing really stood out to her except for the disproprotionate number of men crowded in the space to women - not quite two-to-one but very nearing three-to-five. Other than that and that a lot of the women mingling about were in large groups of three or more, and that those ‘flying solo’ like herself weren’t exactly 8′s or above. Sipping from her drink, Jo was pretty relieved for that meaning she should fit in nicely with the crowd while she continued to try to ascertain what was causing the issue.

—

By the time she was on her third drink, just Cokes in the same glass after that first drink to avoid getting into any trouble in case trouble found her, Jo had noticed one strange thing though.

Occasionally a man dressed in all black with black sunglasses far too cool for school for this type of club would emerge from the doors in the back corner, approach either a very pretty girl or a leechy guy, speak for a moment and then guide the partier through the back doors out of sight. So far, she had seen five people disappear in that way (three guys and two girls) in the last two hours and none of them had reappeared.

She had made her way through the crowds once she’d finished her drink to the dark shadowy corner nearby the doorway, reclining back with her phone out and tapping a few texts off to both Bobby (updating info for the case, just in case) and Grey (a string of memes, photos of Nana, and a few selfies from her with the red of her lips showing up under the club lighting) while she waited for the next time the door would open and the same hulking man would emerge.

After ten minutes the door creaked open and the black suited man appeared, shuffling awkwardly as if he was moving outside of his normal controls or as if he just plain wasn’t really a person and began moving through the crowd. As soon as he was past her, Jo had stuck out her foot, the combat boot keeping the door from hitting too hard as it swung to shut. Sliding in through the gap and shutting the door behind herself, she was surprised by just how dark it was in the space - only illuminated by an eerie blue glow towards the end of the hallway and by a long blue glow-in-the-dark stripe along the middle of the floor.

Reaching behind her, Jo looked at the back of the door to see thankfully there was a lock. Flicking that in place and slinging her bag over crossbody and opening the clasp for easy access to her knives if need be, she made her way down the hall as quietly as possible beneath the two different thudding beat sounds - one high and fast that she recognised from the club outside, and another deeper and slowly pulsing she could hear coming from the end of the hall - keeping her eyes peeled and darting around in case anything came out of the dark walls to surprise her.

Reaching the end, she glanced around the door frame into the next space expecting the worst. She expected to see a vampire heaven of cages with human ‘blood sacks’, she expected to see at least five very blood-happy and blood-thirst vamps moving about the space, she almost expected to see something cut straight out of True Blood from the feel of the hunt.

What she did see surprised the crap out of her as she stepped into the centre of the doorway instead.

It looked like it was a regular VIP lounge-style room, private but big enough to hold the crowd that was moving their way about the place to the beat and appeared to be strungoutly enjoying the low, sensual beat of the music filling the space, grinding and moving to the music. There were the most scantily clad women she had ever seen working the bar, moving faster than humans should move to complete their tasks before appearing to freeze until their next task came along. There was a clear discrepancy of men to women in the space, almost double the number of women present in the space than men - and a quick mental calculation suggested practically all of the women missing were here, but only half the number of men that were currently MIA were in the private club. Though perhaps some of there were in the dark, even more private booths around the space or through some of the doors that seemed to lead to who-knew-where.

The whole place was thumping, between the deep bass tones of the music, the sweaty movements of the crowd moving as one and the lights strobing across the crowd illuminated in resposes between each flash, and Jo felt a heavy feeling washing out from the crowd over her as she stepped through the doorway, she felt something pulse and push over her, as if she had just stepped through a bubble and entered the sphere running outside of the normal world. Frowning to herself as she took another two steps into the room, she found her hand slipping into her bag as she looked about trying to see what was causing the issue until she spotted him.

—

“So, goin’ to share your story of just why the fuck there are so many missin’ people partying in your little play palace, Gabe?”

“Of course I am, but not without a drink - would you love?” Gabe grinned wickedly up at Jo for a moment before he turned to the girl on his left, a bubbly looking blue-haired girl with no fashion sense from what Jo could tell given all she seemed to be wearing was a whole pile of belts. The girl nodded her head and slid out of the booth without another word. The other, a dark skinned beauty with the most amazing bright red curls Jo had ever seen likewise slid from the booth, and headed into the crowd without any say so from Gabe than a flick of the wrist. “That’s better, come on in gorgeous, plenty of space and we can talk about your little worries, huh?”

“Oh my little worries? You do realise how big a splash you’ve been makin’?!” Jo snarled the words out, her bag back clasped up tightly and shrugging it off she let out an annoyed sigh before setting it down on the tabletop and sliding into the booth itself, bouncing along due to the restrictive dress with a frown. “I swear to God, Gabe, I thought I was walkin’ into a bloody vampire hive with the amount of noise you’re making!”

He looked almost insulted as she got comfortable in the seat next to him before there was an awkward pause. The music was still loud but as she’d slid into the seat she could feel that same bubble-like effect and the sounds outside were dulled much further down than when she was standing at the end of the table.

“Vampires?! You thought my little party was a bunch of vampires?” He appeared almost lost for words at that, even as the blue-haired girl returned with a bottle of expensive vodka and three glasses. The girl appeared to pour two drinks out for both Gabe and Jo if the way she pushed the glasses towards them meant anything. The angel was still staring at her flabergasted as he reached a hand out blindly around his glass and tossed the contents back before pinning her with an almost furious look. “How dare you think-”

“For fucks sake, Gabe, almost a hundred people have gone missing in this club in the last week!” She snapped back, cutting off his accusations, crossing her arms under her chest as she ignored the glass in front of her and the sound of what she thought must be some more girls joining them in the booth from the sound of skin and fabric on leather and the dip of the cushioning behind her and the movement that looked like the redhead on the other side of the table. “What part of that screams archangel playboy rather than seedy vampire bloodbank?”

“I… A week?” Gabriel appeared to blink in surprise as the blueheaded girl poured him another drink and some alcohol into the third glass which was pushed across near Jo again but she figured must be to whomever was behind her. She shot a glance behind herself spotting dark wash denim jeans, and a black button down rolled up to the elbows before she discounted the newcomer as a threat and turned back to Gabriel, who once again had an arm around the bluehead girl. “Has it really been a week?”

“Lemme guess, that door barrier is a time discrepency right. It’s Saturday, the next Saturday, Gabe. I thought I was goin’ to have to slice some heads off tonight.”

“Oh we can provide you ample chances to still do that if you want, sweetie.” The man behind her interjected, and Jo found herself rolling her eyes at the words. Clearly this was one of the other Pagan gods Gabe used to roll with, but she wasn’t going to bother trying to reason with both at once. The nickname made her skin crawl, goosepimples popping up along her arms and the back of her shoulders as she felt a finger trace across the open skin at the nape of her neck; touchy feely fuckin’ Pagans.

“Gabe, tell your friend no touchin’; and seriously, what the hell have you been up to here? Is this literally just a party blow out gone too long?” Jo rolled her eyes as she saw Gabriel was back relaxed and jovial looking now that she wasn’t snarling at him and he was seemingly understanding her frustration - or at least her misindentification. “I think it’s gone on quite long enough, don’t you.”

“Tell him yourself.” The archangel rolled his eyes back at her as he sipped on his second drink, swirling the clear contents in the glass with one hand thoughtfully as he toyed with the long strands of blue hair on the girl under his arm with the other. There was a pause as he looked into the contents of the glass before nodding and tossing the drink back with a hiss. “Ah, but who finishes a party on a Saturday night, Jo? How about we make an accord, huh?”

Jo could still feel the fingertips on her neck, her hair pushed back to the side and she found her hands clenching into fists as she tried to dislodge them with a jerk of her shoulder. Raising a brow at the other, she gestures a hand at him. “What kind of… accord?”

“Stay for the rest of the night, and you can say when the party ends tomorrow morning.” There was a quick quirk of his brow as Gabe smirked back across at her, clearly prepared to let the party die naturally at her demand if she agreed. If she didn’t however, Jo could feel the almost vindictive Trickster personality coming out with the heavy threat - if she didn’t decide to play along, this party might never end on its own. “So, what do you say?”

“I..” Jo worried her bottom lip between her teeth as she tilted her head at him, not sure the best answer. The people in the crowd were sure to be reaching the end of what their bodies could withstand and think it was just a long ass bender before they’d begin dropping like flies from exhaustion. Not to mention she was in this party bubble now as well, and while she knew the archangel liked her well enough, she wasn’t sure she really wanted to push her luck that bad.

As she was thinking it over, she felt those fingers run across her shoulder and jerked to glare at the intrusive man as they’d grazed the bite on her neck with a snarl, “Get your fuckin’ hands off me!” Glaring up at the other man’s face, Jo’s eyes widened in recognition at the smirk being directed right back at her as he continued to stroke at her scars without making any move to stop. “Oh!”

“Oh, finally noticed me, huh, sweetie?” Gray basically purred the words out, shifting a little closer to her with a quiet chuckle in the loud space. He slid his hand to tug at the hair right behind her ear instead as he lifted his own glass to his lips. “Here I thought you were enjoying the touching.”

“What…what are you doing here?” Jo’s brain had basically short circuited at the surprise, shaking her head a few times to clear the thoughts out of her brain. “Since…since when do you hang out with archangels?”

“Since a few years back. He throws a good party, as you can see.” Gray’s smirk did not move at all as he set his glass back down and jerked his head towards the other party member. Jo turned to look back at Gabe, tilting her head to the side questioningly at him only getting a shoulder shrug back in response. “Gabe really is good at getting some of the most… beautiful women to show up-” The pause brought a shudder down her spine as Gray returned to stroking at her neck “-and he also has some hilarious ideas of how to torment some of those nasty pieces of work that show up to this kinda club. You know, when the women get boring.”

She found herself rolling her eyes as she dropped her hands onto the table top and thought over her options.

If she wanted, she could possibly turn tail and head home and pretend that all those disappeances were nothing. That there wasn’t an archangel-turned-Trickster and shadow on the loose zapping people into a time frozen party world. If she wanted, she could try to force them to stop here and now, something that she was fairly certain would be impossible given she had neither Holy Oil nor an angelblade with her to threaten the angel, and she had only brought the one iron knife with her for the other. Or, if she wanted, she could hang out, have some fun with friends for a few hours and then send everyone on their merry way home the next morning with dawn to be a hazy lost week for most of those in the area.

Letting out a sigh and leaning her head back into the slight rub the other was doing to her shoulders, Jo pinned Gabriel with a look. “If I stay and let this party die down, it stops when I say and you do not get to put me in a time loop to make it longer.” She raises two fingers as she talks, one for each of her stipulations, and then waggles them at the archangel playfully as he seemed to mull over her words before nodding, smirk firmly in place on his face. Reaching for her own glass finally, Jo held the glass out to the other to toast in agreement, the chink of crystal on crystal as they saluted and threw back the drinks felt like a strong enough agreement from him.

“Whatever you say, gorgeous. Now, time for fun.”

—

The next hour had been mostly the two men talking and joking back and forth, bantering and recollecting on some of what they had been up to in their little party bubble for the last week.

Jo listened enraptured at the crazy tales the pair of them were spinning, occassionally she found herself laughing so hard that it was hard to breathe or that there would be tears on her face; other times she found herself getting hot in the face and stamping her foot under the table in offense on behalf of whoever it was the pair were talking about; and others still she’d find herself leaning back into the broad chest beside herself with an arm spread resting over her shoulders while watching Gabriel set the scene so expressively with his hands and humourous expressions.

She learnt most of the women were just here in the party world, dancing nonstop and looking like beautiful, strange fish in an aquarium of the glowing Day Glo and strobe light world that they were in now. Occasionally if a specific girl had caught either of their attention, and sometimes both of their attention, the  shadow or angel would go ‘fishing’ and enjoy some time with whichever girl it was supposedly. Jo didn’t witness this particular part of the ‘partying’ within the first hour, seemingly Gabriel had his hands full with the two outrageously dressed women that he had been sitting with when she’d arrived, and so far Gray had seemed content talking and sipping what she thought might be his eighth straight drink since he’d sat down beside her.

Of the men, she had a bit more of an objection with, hearing some where around still to keep the party going while others were there for the other half of the party types. Supposedly there was a strict no murdering unless necessary rule in place according to Gabe, which explained why Jo couldn’t see any blood on the shadow despite his being in the party-bubble for over a week at this point. That wasn’t to say that there weren’t any bodies…somewhere. The Trickster quite calmly and without any concern to the fact it made Jo jerk upright and shriek for a full two minutes before she was tugged back down into her seat with a pull on the hips let Jo know that if any of the guys got to handsy or behaved inappropriately or “were just generally a dude who needed some learning that they would just…poof to some worm hole world full of nothing but 70′s music, 70′s feminism and 70′s bush”.

—

Hour two was mostly dancing. Lots and lots of dancing.

Jo had crawled her way out of the booth as the hour changed alongside the other two girls - who she had found were just two of Gabriel’s little magicked entertainment ladies around drink gour when she had asked why they weren’t having any drinks of their own - and kicked Gray in the thigh for the slap at her rear as she got out of the small space and ran off into the crowds of dancing, grinding people.

It was electric in the crowd, and Jo found herself disappearing into the beat alongside the rest of the crowd of women, moving to the bassline of the music without a concern in the world. The lights flashed, somehow the bright redhead girl would appear like magic with another Jack&Coke for her throughout the hour the very second Jo even thought about getting another drink, and Jo was left to her own devices. At one point she thought she spotted Gabe moving through the crowd, and then disappearing out one of the side doors with two very pretty looking brunettes; but she didn’t catch sight of Gray anywhere which she decided she could worry about later. The pair of them had promised her that none of his usual MO ‘fun’ went down on their party week-weekends, so she didn’t feel too concerned about it all.

—

Hour three started poorly.

It was a hand on her ass that did it. At first she’d thought that the shadow had finally come out to the floor, and swatted half heartedly back at the hand with a laugh.

“Gray, hands off.” She said, laughing and shaking her head without missing any steps as she continued to move to the music.

Jo span about in a twirl jokingly, though as a flash of red hair caught her attention from the man behind her instead of the dark of the shadow, she found her ankle twisting and she stumbled back. The man in question reached out, as if to provide a steadying hand but instead wrapped an arm around her waist, hand dipping far too low to be aiming for her waist.

"Steady there, baby, don't want you hurting yourself too early in the night, do we?"

Jo pushed back at the guy's arm, scowl firmly in place. She pushed harder again trying to get the man to let go of his grip on her backside, but just ended up with his other hand gripping her wrist. This was all slightly too familiar yet not at all all the same.

“I said, get your hands off me.” Jo snarled, tugging her arms in towards herself before shoving them back out towards the stranger, hoping to pull him off balance with the move. His grip lightened a little, the hold on her back lost completely as he stumbled a step back and into the backs of a few other dancing girls. They did not appear to react to the bumping other than to continue with their own gyrating in the almost trance or hypnotic way a lot of the crowd seemed to be doing. Some people, like the asshole still holding onto her wrist and a few of the others around that she could see as she looked about herself furiously, head whipping about as she tried to locate a friendly or familiar face, appeared unimpacted by whatever magic Gabriel had set to work on the party and gritting her teeth as the man’s grip tightened and pulled her back in towards him, Jo could imagine she knew why this man and the other’s were free from the Trickster’s magic. They were part of section two, and she had just been unfortunate enough to run into one that seemed Hell bent on getting his ass handed to him.

Jerking her arm back again from him, pulling him off balance again, Jo sent a final look towards the crowd, spotting neither angel nor shadow in her quick glance, before the man had wrapped an arm around her waist and jerked her feet clear of the floor, her back pressed against his chest. She kicked back at his shins with her booted feet as the redhead attempted to drag her into one of the dimly lit booths but not the one she had sat with her two friends. He didn’t get far with that plan though, her foot reaching far enough to hit ball sack with a rather violent kick had him dropping his grip within a second. The next move had Jo spinning out before throwing a fist directly towards his nose. The howl of pain would have distracted the dancers in any ordinary club as the man reeled backwards.

“You fucking whore!” The man growled the words out around his bleeding nose, one hand pressed to it as his other hit out at her with a backhanded slap across the cheek. She could feel the break of her skin and the taste of blood burst into her mouth before the man reached blindly out to grip at her throat harshly.

Jo threw another fist at that point, her lips twisted into a vicious sneer, as the man stumbled back and managed to fall into someone’s back. She moved to step towards him for another blow when she realised that that someone was already moving, reacting and not distracted by the Trickster’s magic, hands wrapping around the redhead man’s arms and holding him in place with a raised brow.

“Well well, looks like you’ve started on the other kind of fun now, sweetie.” Gray smirked widely as he looked at the other man, who appeared to be frozen in place now from the look of his wild eyes and the grunts he gave. Jo couldn’t see the floor in the darkness but she figured that if she could, there would be a dark line directly from one man to another. Gray raised a brow at her for a moment before stepping around the frozen man to reached her side, “You going to keep at it now?”

“Fuck yes I am,” Jo growled the words out, stepping over the joined black mess to drive her knee up into the man’s crotch. The high pitched noise that made it’s way from his throat was clear even over the thrumming music, and even Gray’s powers couldn’t keep the man’s body from collapsing in over itself in pure reaction - or perhaps the shadow let it up a little in sympathy of the man’s plight. That just put his head at the right height for her to drive her knee up again, into his jaw this time with a sickening clack of teeth on teeth. Wiping her hand over her sticky, sweaty forehead, Jo found herself sneering again before throwing another punch, this time towards the man’s bleeding lip. “Don’t fuckin’ touch women without their permission, asshole!”

She had lost count of the punches, kicks and knees before she felt another set of hands on her, this time on her upper arms and drawing her back gently rather than viciously tugging her one way or another, and Jo gave one last kick out - aimed and landing on the now collapsed man’s face - before she allowed Gray to pull her back from the stranger.

Spitting on the floor near her feet, the taste of blood and sweat alike in her mouth metallic and salty at once, Jo looked up at the appreciative look she was receiving from the other as he weaved their way back through the crowd towards their booth. One of his hands slid down her arm and onto her waist, while the other shoved and pushed at people in their way to move them, parting the crowds like the Red Sea itself with very little care.

As they reached the booth, he flagged down one of the strange haired women for another bottle of spirits and pushed her into the booth first before him. “Get in there sweetie, get yourself cleaned up before the angel gets back and starts questioning what kind of fun we got up to unsupervised.”

“Oh yeah, that was totally fun.” The sarcasm was almost poisonous in her words, spitting them from her bleeding lips as Jo wiped her hand across it - unable to tell if the red on her arm was blood or lipstick. This was not something she would be taking a selfie of for her man back home. “I just loved getting manhandled by some creep.”

“Maybe not, but you definitely enjoyed laying into him.” Gray’s voice was gravelly and rough, and Jo wasn’t quite sure what to make of the look he set her as the purple haired magic-woman appeared with another bottle of top-shelf vodka, as well as a cold compress and towels. Gray hadn’t seemed to ask for them, but the ability to bring was someone didn’t know yet they needed appeared to be part of their design. “You sure looked like you were enjoying it. And I definitely was enjoying watching you enjoy it.” There was that dangerous look she knew in his eye as Gray slid into the booth next to her, hand holding out the compress towards her and his eyes focussed a little too long upon her lips.

Taking the icy cold piece, Jo pressed it against her mouth with a small shrug of her shoulder. It wasn’t like she could deny it had felt good driving her knee, and then her fists and then her feet into the asshole who had grabbed at her. It wasn’t like she could deny that it hadn’t been fun and enjoyable alike to watch him crumble and squirm as she dealt out on him, but this wasn’t the type of fun and games she had agreed to with Gabriel.

“Don’t worry too much, sweetie, I’ve already gone and got him sorted - ready for a trip to That 70′s land.” Gray smirked at her, though it lacked the dangerous edge that Jo would have almost called it a smile if she didn’t know better. Thinking over the archangel and the shadow’s friendship, Jo could absolutely see what they were doing together. “When Gabe gets back from the back room, the guy will be enjoying angry raging, bra-burners for the next.... forever.”

“I shouldn’t support that kind of thing.”

“But you know you do.”

Jo shrugged a shoulder again, pulling the compress back from her lips and wiping at them instead with the cloth as the other poured them out a glass each. Tossing the contents back alongside him, the blonde shook her head with a smile. “Maybe I do, perhaps Gabe’s not so far off the base with his trickery games.”

---

Hours four and five were a bit of a blur for Jo.

She remembers more dancing, more drinking, more laughing. She remembers being guided through steps to a dance much more elegant than the ones being performed around them. She remembers making a comment about rustled feathers which had all three of them close to tears after Gabriel had returned from his activities alone. She remembers leaning into the archangel’s shoulder and stroking at his hair, something about it being so so soft and having to find out how to bottle angelic grace as a marketing scheme for hair care. She remembers there being a pile of chocolates that appeared at one point, and the rich taste of it in her mouth. She remembers trying to force one of them into eating some, and something about taking it from her lips if he wouldn’t from her hand. She remembers being told not to be stupid, or was it not to do something stupid.

Jo remembers spinning in circles, the lights above her flashing and flickering and lighting and then darkening as she moved in time with the musics rhythm. Jo remembers a hand wrapped around her waist, or perhaps it was two. She definitely remembers doing a full performance to Bohemian Rhapsody with Gabriel’s arm around her shoulder and the pair of them screaming the lyrics at the top of their lungs. She thinks she possible even remembers Gray participating the second time around, hand on her waist again. What she isn’t sure she remembers if whether or not she actually got on the table and performed along to another song that made both men hoot at her and drag her off the table top rather than fall flat on her face.

What she doesn’t remember is that performance was to Don’t Cha and that Gabriel had to beg Gray not to encourage her further. She doesn’t remember that at one point she fell asleep with her head pressed against the archangel’s shoulder and he did not move despite it slowing down his fun until she woke thirty minutes later. She doesn’t remember that over her unconcious head that the shadow had filled the other in on what had happened while he was gone, and that the redhaired man that was responsible and had been cowering under the table, frozen and unable to speak for the hours between, had disappeared in a snap of fingers to an even more terrible fate than had been experienced by the others. She doesn’t remember when she woke up that the chocolate arrived to pep her back up, nor that the archangel had eyed her carefully to check that she had no other lasting injuries as she playfully attempted to cajole the shadow into eating something in front of her “for once, just one time!”.

--

Hour six was the first Jo remembers nothing of, having sunk into a sleep spread across the leather booth seat, her head in Gray’s lap unaware of just where she rested. The absolute last thing she remembered was Gabriel saying that “when she wakes up, it’s party over.”

---

Her phone was buzzing loudly next to her ear, reverberating on the wooden table top with a vengence, like a swarm of angry hornets. Her pillow was warm beneath her face but far scratchier than she remembers hotel pillowcases to be. There was a groan that escaped her, as Jo turned over in the tight space and tried to burrow her head closer into the warmth.

“Careful, sweetie, didn’t know you wanted to do that still.” The voice cut through the grogginess of her sleep and alcohol addled mind, and Jo responded with a bite at the pillow-turned-thigh under her head at the rude awakening. The shadow jerked his leg, shoving her up and off of his leg with a yelp. “Whoa! Don’t go getting yourself into trouble!”

“Be quiet then.” Jo grumbled in response, slowly shifting back to sit up, rubbing at her eyes sleepily as she looked about herself with the fuzzy, slow blinking of someone nursing what would soon become a hangover as well as far too little sleep. “What..what time is it?”

“Late enough the runt’s calling to check up on you.” She didn’t have to look at him to see the smirk she was sure on his face as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and collecting the dried crystals from the corners with a frown.

Reaching her hand out to the table top, she fumbled for her clutch before realising her phone was already out and flashing with the picture she used for the caller’s ID - a photo of her pressing a kiss to his cheek while Grey tried not to look into the camera itself - that made her smile as she flicked the answer upwards and pressed the phone to her ear. “Hey hun...”

“What the hell were you doing last night?”

“Huh?”

“Jo, you called me at like two in the morning and said something about handsy idiots and just desserts before someone, I think they said it was Gabe?” Jo grunted what was supposed to be an agreeing noise as the question as she covered her yawn with the back of her hand, and then tried to hid a small laugh as she saw the shadow beside her starting to roll his eyes and mimick what he thought of his brother. Throwing a punch out hsi shoulder at an extremely rude gesture using his hand and mouth, Jo hummed an agreeing noise down the phone again before Grey continued, worry clearly bleeding through his tone. “Gabe said you were about to go to sleep and not to worry, but Jo you were in the middle of a hunt, what happened?”

“Turned out to be Gabe and a friend, it was nothin’ and they’ve agreed to let all - well, most - of the people go home.” Jo replied, smothering another yawn before her own words caught up to her, eyes widening as she looked past Gray for the first time that morning into what was now an empty club except for the archangel-turned-Trickster currently dancing what looked like a lombada with the two brightly haired girls from last night at once while the purple haired one played a tamborine. “And it looks like they’ve already kept their word.”

There was a long pause at the other end of the phone, before a much cheerier sounding voice came through it from the other, soft and gentle and making Jo smile sweetly to herself at hearing it. “Well that’s good to hear then, at least it wasn’t too dangerous and seems all’s ended well. You going to be home tonight?”

“Absolutely. I’ll text you when I’m leavin’ okay hun?” Waiting for the agreeing sounding hum, Jo ran a hand over her hair before adding quietly, “I love you, be home soon ‘kay?”

She waited to hear the same in response before they both hung up, and Jo slipped her phone back into her purse and pulled out heer compact mirror, frowning slightly at the puffiness of her bottom lip and the small cut in it - this week coming would be a lipstick week, but she doubted it would stay longer than that - before the sound of a throat clearing caught her attention, looking out the side of her eye at the shadow watching her.

“You guys are really there, aren’t you?”

“Really where?”

“Happy, content, self-congratulatory, take your pick.” What sounded like it started with a genuine tone slowly shifted into the harsh, jabbing tone instead as Gray sneered at her for a moment. “You’re really there in that fucking honeymoon phase still, even after this long.”

“So what?”

“Just observing, hadn’t seen it up close from your end before, sweetie.” Gray rolled his eyes and then his neck much the same, a few audible pops could be heared before he slid out from the booth. There was a hand held back towards her, but his eyes stayed firmly looking out across the room where Gabe was doing a few last minute clicks of his fingers, rather than waiting or acknowleding he had done it as Jo slid out taking the offered assistance. “Thought the shine might have been wearing off, but I guess you’ve got it sorted for once.”

Jo tilted her head up at him as she felt the first bubble as she moved out of the booth break over her, before she suddenly felt a shift in the world - as if time was speeding up and slowing down in equal measure. “Didn’t figure you would care.”

“I don’t.”

“Good.”

There was silence between them from that point as Gabriel and his three girl minions approached, a wide smile on his face and an arm around two of the girls shoulders (the blue and purple this time).

“Sleeping beauty has finally awoken from her slumber, and what is this? She awakes to a world righted, persons back where they belong and a magically removed headache to boot? Aren’t you the lucky one.” Gabriel smiled widely as he reached the pair, a hand next to the purple-haired girl’s face clicked and Jo suddenly felt a lot, lot better than she had upon waking - the nausea and the headache gone miraculously - before he plowed right ahead. “All our little partiers have gone off to bed, and I was about to head off to somewhere ...fun and sunny for a little while. If you want to join me at some point, Gray, I’ll be in the Caribbean. And Joanna, gorgeous, my dear - if you ever want to come and play again, you now have an open invite to the last night of any of my super chill, close friends of a hundred gatherings in future.”

Jo flushed a little at the man’s words, crossing her arms under her chest before smiling back at the Trickster who wasn’t nearly all bad at all. “Perhaps I’ll take you up on that, Gabe. Hope you enjoy the sun down there instead of up here.”

“Oh trust me, it’s by far the best vacation spot for an exhausted, partied out old archangel like me.” Gabe’s face was in that infuriating grin that made Jo want to smile back just as big every time she saw it as he let go of the two girls, all three of them vanishing in a puff of smoke, to wrap her into a hug for a short moment. Jo wasn’t sure how he always knew, but somehow he always knew. “Now, I’ll drop you to your car on the way out, shall I?”

“What a gentleman.” Jo quipped back, holding tightly to her purse as she smiled at him and nodded in agreement. There was a second, before she looked across to the other man as the archangel appeared to be waiting for them to big their goodbyes. Flushing a bit as she felt the throb of her sore lip at her smiling so much, Jo gave the other a short, sharp nod of the head. “I’ll catch you round, Gray?”

“Not if I don’t catch you first.” The shadow’s reply with quick, smirk back on his face for the briefest of seconds before he gave a short nod to his party-buddy and then disappeared in black smoke.

Jo could feel the rumble of a laugh coming from Gabe’s chest before the sound made it out, and turning her head up to look up at him, she found herself laughing to right as the pull of angelic travel started and she knew she’d be deposited at her car door safe and sound any second.

Somehow, she knew she’d definitely been brought up to speed, and maybe just could get the chance to catch up again another time. Better than dealing with a bunch of vampires any night.

---

[readingwebcomics]

Analyzing Questionable Content: Pages 51-100

No Faye, it only looks that way because he’s playing Final Fantasy X-2. Good God, I just realized that Final Fantasy X-2 is someone’s first experience with Final Fantasy. That’s a depressing thought. Although someone starting out the series with Final Fantasy XIII is probably way worse, now that I think about it. At least X-2 had fun.

…huh? Oh right, the comic. You sure you’d rather not listen to me write an essay on Final Fantasy, instead? I have this great point about how Final Fantasy IX has the most emotionally impactful narrative but as a game it only really clicks with long-time players of… no? Okay fine, let’s get back into QC.

The very next comic has Marten getting a tax return check for $1,100, and being the wise adult that he is, decides to spend that money on a new guitar. Tagging along, Faye brings up something that gives us new insight on her character:

And clearly didn’t bore her, considering how much of that information she retained. Here we have yet another example of a shared interest between these two, Marten clearly being into Guitars if he’s invested enough to blow a fat wad of money on it and Faye carrying around quite a bit of information on the instrument herself. I’ve made the point in the last post, but to reiterate – at this point in the comic, it’s clear these two are clicking as far as interests go. They can keep up with each other, can and have provided support for one another, and challenge one another… okay granted that last one isn’t entirely true, it’s clear Faye challenges Marten more than vice-versa, but still. There is a clear, acting relationship dynamic between these two, whether platonic or romantic. The reason why early QC works as well as it does is because these two have clear characters to them and their relationship FEELS real – they feel like people you’d know who’d really be friends – or maybe more than friends. This is Jeph’s character writing at… well I hesitate to call it at its best because to imply he peaked as early as the 53rd comic would be an insult to him as a writer, and I’m not looking to do that here.

I’m looking to do that a little bit later on in this part when we discuss Faye’s “character quirk.”

Before that however, we’re going to get a little bit on insight on Marten:

The story is elaborated on in a future comic, but here we get Marten’s backstory – traveling across the country for a girl, the relationship falling apart and leaving him stuck in this part of the country. This will go on to explain several of his character choices, including Pintsize (although that’s something we’re not going to approach until MUCH later on). It also further elaborates on Marten’s character as a whole: He doesn’t make many active actions as a whole, but when he does, it tends to shift the entire dynamic of how he lives. He decided he wanted to follow this woman across the country, and that action ended up completely upending his life. Could this be part of the reason why Marten is so passive? Does he skew towards this lifestyle because he’s been “trained” to take any kind of affirmative action as an intense, life-changing event?

While I’m not certain myself, and I have a damn good feeling Jeph wasn’t thinking that far ahead when writing Marten’s character, it’s an angle I’m willing to continue exploring as we further our journey down this comic’s history.

This comic was written in 2003. I’m half-tempted to believe Meme culture can be tracked by indie bands now. Wonder if there was any zeitgeist with neo-nazi indie bands ten or fifteen years ago then, if that theory holds true?

…I just made myself really, really sad.

Later on, Pintsize proceeds to eat a cake when he really shouldn’t – again – and we are gifted with… this lovely image.

Okay. I understand Pintsize is an AI, so it makes total sense for him to be able to be uploaded to a PC like this (ignoring for the moment modern commercial hardware can’t possibly support the resources necessary to maintain human-level sapience and ESPECIALLY not in 2003), but this is one of the freakiest fucking things I’ve seen from this comic. Mostly because at the time of writing we’re on comic 4000 and AI as a whole take an entirely different turn in the world of QC around that time, so… this is just kinda surreal to look at.

…We’ll get to AI in regards to QC’s universe later on when it becomes more relevant. Needless to say, it becomes one of the core “themes” of the comic as a whole.

The narrative reason for this turn of events is simple:

Pintsize is now in a new visually appealing model, capable of moving his joints around so he can do more than just stand around and talk!

…also one that has a horrifying government-level laser built into it! Believe it or not, this DOES become a relevant plot-point later and it’s not just for the sake of a gag. This is a great example of Jeph taking a tiny detail he may have originally written in as a joke and building off it to create conflict… although I’ll be getting more into that later on when it actually DOES become relevant.

Pintsize agrees to turn the laser off, and a few comics later Marten and Steve go to the bar to discuss their lives – specifically Marten’s love life.

Further showcasing of Marten’s passive nature and his straight-up lack of confidence.

Say goodbye to Sara everyone – for real this time, I’m fairly certain this is the very last time we ever see her. I could be mistaken, but I highly doubt it. Plus, while we don’t see it in detail we get enough information to gleam Steve as Marten’s exact opposite – charming without being overwhelming, confident without being cocky. Steve is just straight-up a cool dude, and it’s easy to see how he can easily get into relationships while Marten stays there floating along, too scared and/or passive to make the move that comes to Steve naturally.

Wait. Shit, I may have the hots for Steve. Abort, aboRT, ABOR-

I’m showing this in part to showcase the next point of conflict and also to draw attention to the new style Jeph is trying. He’ll do this throughout the run of QC, trying out brand-new styles to see what fits and what doesn’t. I’ll be including this in my comparison pictures at the very end of this post to give a clearer image of what changes and how he improves… although you can see even in this comic he’s struggling against old habits as Marten’s face in the final panel looks drastically different than in the rest, looking more akin to how he looked in older comics. That’s okay! Habits die hard, it’s worth applauding the fact that Jeph is trying. God knows I can’t draw to save my fucking life, so I’ll always support artists trying new things.

I’m mostly including this panel for two reasons: The fact that Faye’s stuck in the closet right now – if you don’t get why that’s funny, you will in about 3700 comics from now – and the way she’s talking. Do you notice something different about the “feel” of Faye’s dialogue? Keep an eye on it, I’ll try to include more panels of her talking from this point onward.

Anyway, Marten dismantles the previously established conflict by revealing he managed to get Faye’s prescription for her and got her a new pair of glasses.

Mark this as the second time Faye has actually displayed real physical aggression against Marten.

Again, depending on how much you know about AI in QC’s world from future comics this could either be a lot funnier or a hell of a lot less funny. Although… the subject of AI mortality would make for an EXTREMELY interesting plot point in more recent comics. Remind me to touch on that when we get further along.

Again: Pay attention to Faye’s dialogue in this comic, especially in that last panel. You’re noticing it, aren’t you? The fact that she sounds a little… different? Give me a little more time, I promise I’ll touch on it a little later.

Hey, guess what? It’s later!

Faye does not punch Marten whenever she says something nice about him. In fact, she has ever only assaulted Marten twice – both times for completely arbitrary reasons not related to her saying anything to or about Marten. Nor has Faye ever spoken completely without contractions, as you see she’s doing now. Later comics will go on to point out how odd it is that Faye only speaks with contractions when she’s drunk and dips into her southern accent… when we’ve seen in previous comics that she is capable of speaking with contractions and talking like a normal human being. This change has shifted the entire “feel” of every line of Faye’s dialogue, as she no longer “sounds” like the Faye we started the comic with.

These are both examples of a writing mistake that a lot of long-form regular updating writers make, be it fanfiction or daily comics – retcons. If you’re reading this, you most likely know what a retcon is. For the few of you that don’t, a retcon – short for retroactive continuity – is the practice of in later works of an ongoing series introducing a fact that changes what was previously established in previous works. This is most commonly seen in Superhero comics from Marvel and DC, but the kind of retcon I’m talking about is more common on smaller scale works, like fanfiction or unedited novels or ongoing RPs.

See, when the writer realizes they wanted to change up something, introduce a plot element that would require them to go back and change something previously to make it make sense and find that for whatever reason they can’t, they may go ahead and introduce the plot element anyway while assuring the reader that no, of course this element was always included. That’s what’s happening here – Jeph had an idea for a plot element he wants to include, realized he can’t exactly go back to older comics and change them considering it’s a regularly updated webcomic, and so decided to retcon these facts by introducing them like they’ve always been a part of things and assert their truth while continuing on.

Not that I can necessarily blame the man – in a situation like this, realizing there’s an important plot element that you want to work with but can’t due to you leaving it no room in what you’ve previously published, there’s not much else you can do besides either retconning things or accepting you can’t introduce that plot element and just move on. However, there are other ways you can work with this that abide by previously established continuity and lets you introduce a plot element you want to introduce. For example, Faye punching Marten: You could introduce it as something she feels more comfortable doing the longer she’s around him. Have more frequent comics of her following saying something nice up with a punch, let us see her actually assault him more, and draw a correlation between her getting more comfortable around him and her getting more physically aggressive – something Jeph does touch on later, so it is entirely possible to introduce this new dynamic without asserting things have happened that we clearly see haven’t happened.

…as for Faye not speaking in contractions however, that’s just stupid. It’s a gimmick for her character, plain and simple, without adding anything to her as a character. If you want something big to showcase she’s keeping herself restrained, just continue as you were, having her speak in a southern accent when she’s drunk. That works as a fun gag to attach to her character without seeming like a dumb gimmick. And I’m sorry to say… this whole “Faye doesn’t speak in contractions” thing? It’s a dumb gimmick.

Okay, now that I’ve gotten that all off my chest, let’s introduce ourselves to the new main character of QC…

This is Dora, the owner of the Coffee Shop that Faye works at. She’s a cool cat and (seemingly) supremely chill. She’s introduced as another secondary character like Steve, but will swiftly become a mainstay character and join what will become a growing ensemble cast.

Also, potential conflict is seeded when it’s revealed she’s totally crushing on Marten.

And if you doubt Faye’s assessment, let’s hear it from the woman in question herself.

Also say hello to Dora’s cat. The cat has a name, I just can’t remember it for the life of me considering the little fella joins Sara on that island eventually. But yeah, Dora DEFINITELY has the hots for Marten, sewing another potential seed for conflict later on – Marten and Faye are certainly in the “will they or won’t they?” phase, and here sits Faye’s own boss with a clear, vested interest in Marten. Will she make a move and push Faye to take action? Time will tell.

Jeph enjoys trolling his audience, and Marten is suffering because of it.

Dora goes on to establish herself in the reader’s minds by having a clear, distinct personality that bounces off Faye’s beautifully. They banter so comfortably with one another it makes it so much fun to read, which goes on to make Dora a more appealing character to the reader. The more she talks, the more you want to see her because she’s such a genuinely charismatic individual… which can further serve to establish her as a very real conflict in the potential Marten and Faye relationship. After all, what’s a greater spanner in the works of this “will they or won’t they?” relationship than a character who will gladly say “Yeah, I will” that the audience likes enough that they are completely on-board with seeing go through?

The most dangerous thing to a romcom relationship is a third wheel that a good portion of the audience prefers over the teased relationship, and that creates good drama.

(Also Sara’s name is spelled wrong but eh it’s not like she’s around to complain anyway)

…that said, Dora goes on to assure Faye that she has no intention of swiping Marten off his feet away from her when it’s clear Faye’s interested in him. Then again… the more Faye insists she’s not interested in him, the more likely it may be that Dora believes her.

True story, I found this concept so funny that in a campaign I ran a few years ago, I actually had one of the players – who was supposed to be stuck as a worker in a dreary 9-to-5 job that he’d desperately want to escape to go onto adventure – be labeled as the Office Bitch. My only regret is that I didn’t print out a real business card for his player. That either would have gotten a laugh from the table or gotten me punched.

This here is Scott, Marten’s boss. He’s a cool dude, but for reasons that will become evident later on we don’t see very much of him. At first, I thought he was going to end up being the future husband of Marten’s father – and if you haven’t read through QC yourself that sentence will probably completely catch you flat-footed – but looking it up later I found that Marten marries a man named Maurice, not Scott. I only thought they were the same person because they’re both blonde and the art style changes so much later on anyone could look like anyone else.

Actually, fun fact: I started reading QC when 2512 was the most recent comic, so before she was introduced I thought Faye and Marigold were the same person because of how drastically the art style changed and I only recognized “curvy white girl with glasses and brown hair”.

Anyway, Scott’s pretty chill and… yeah. Yeah, that’s pretty much it. He’s a chill dude to work for, and that’s probably the only reason Marten hasn’t outright quit his job yet. The worst job in the world can be made tolerable with a good boss, and the best job in the world can be made unbearable with an awful boss.

Further evidence of the lack of contractions hurting the way Faye’s voice comes across than anything else. Seriously, is it just me or does this not sound like Faye? Like, at ALL? I’m open to being told I’m wrong, just… seriously.

Aaaand here we have Steve officially having broken up with Sara. Also, it’s a small thing but like I’ve said, I’ll give Jeph credit where it’s due – that visible wince on Marten’s face is the most expressive any of his characters have been thus far. Good work man, I’m happy to see you improving with your art!

After drinking together, Marten and Faye decide to go to an all-night diner for some drunken late-night pancakes when we get this bit of information from Faye:

That is Faye, if you can figure out which of the two Martens your fist will connect with. But yeah, the fact that Faye speaks in a southern drawl while intoxicated went from a joke to actual character – she’s legitimately from Georgia and that’s her natural way of speaking. Which may raise the question to the reader, why does she repress that voice so much? Don’t worry – they touch on it in later comics. For now though, another round of applause to Jeph for slowly and organically creating new information about his characters.

Faye is clearly not telling the whole story – the lack of eye contact being a key indicator of just that. Still, we’re getting a little bit more information on her, and the fact that she kept her wording vague leaves a lot to still explore in her future. Needless to say… it was a LOT more than just her mother being over-protective that led her to moving up north.

Marten’s just kind of accepted his lot in life by this point. Although when I was first reading through these I honestly thought this was going to be the headbutt-into-crotch moment.

Once again, if you haven’t read through QC yourself that sentence made zero sense to you. I’m kind of giggling at the thought of someone reading that and doing a double-take, actually.

Finally, we have the last comic of this batch, setting up a bit of conflict for our next batch…

Wuh-oh! Marten walked in on Faye changing! One really nice detail is that you can see the scar on Faye’s chest right there in the first panel, which means Jeph had a LOT of Faye’s backstory already planned out while he was drawing this stuff. Which just leaves me to wonder… how far back did he have this planned? When Faye first showed up in the third comic? When he had her start speaking in a southern accent while drunk? When he decided to have her stop speaking in contractions? I’d love to ask him, but I know for a fact he wouldn’t give me the time of day. Oh well, either way: He’s got shit planned out, shit that we won’t see until Comic 500 or so, and that’s always good for a long-form comic like this.

Like last time, let’s do some quick comparisons between the first comic of the batch, the comic where Jeph made a clear and active effort to change the art style, and the last comic of the batch:

It looks like Jeph found a happy medium between the style he was originally going for and the newer style he tried to incorporate, keeping the relative size and position of the characters’ facial features while rounding out everyone’s faces, making things much less angular than previously. The bodies are also beginning to get some real texture to them, looking closer to real human bodies than stick figures with a shirt.

Overall, what did I think about this batch of comics? Well aside from my complaints about Faye’s lack of using contractions and the sloppy way Jeph tried to incorporate that into the narrative, I thought it was better than the first batch! Marten and Faye are getting into a comfortable rhythm with each other, and we’re falling in-line with that rhythm ourselves. We just met a new character who’s going to be a mainstay of the series and in the few comics she’s shown up in, she’s made her presence stick with the reader. Even if I didn’t know how important Dora would become, I’d be saying I’m looking forward to seeing more of her.

You know what time it is now? That’s riiiiiight! Data compilation time!

Between comics 51-100, the following characters’ proportional “screen time” as it were are as follows:

Marten: 46/50 – 92%

Faye: 45/50 – 90%

Pintsize: 12/50 – 24%

Dora: 8/50 – 16%

Steve: 6/50 – 12%

Sara: 2/50 – 4%

Scott: 2/50 – 4%

Dora’s Cat: 1/50 – 2%

And the grand total of each character’s screentime, not including non-canon or guest comics, from most to least time shown:

Marten: 91/100 – 91%

Faye: 83/100 – 83%

Pintsize: 27/100 – 27%

Steve: 14/100 – 14%

Dora: 8/100 – 8%

Sara: 7/100 – 7%

Jim: 2/100 – 2%

Scott: 2/100 – 2%

Raven: 1/100 – 1%

Dora’s Cat: 1/100 – 1%

Yes, I’m counting Dora’s cat among the statistics. I’ll change the name when I learn what the critter’s name actually is. Also, I was reminded that when the Secret Bakery becomes a thing later on in the comic there will be another character named Jim, with this particular construction worker being called Jimbo instead. I’ll change the name properly when he’s called “Jimbo” proper in the comic, don’t worry. I’ll be doing my best to keep this list from getting confusing… it’s in as much my best interest as yours seeing as I want to keep track of everyone properly.

Tune in next week when we see the exciting conclusion of this spicy “Marten happening to walk in on Faye undressing” drama! And Dora flashing someone. See you then.

[miraakhan]

10 reasons why Thugs of Hindostan failed

This is not a film review. This is a critique of all the unwarranted criticism Thugs has garnered, which has been so extreme that part of me wonders if it’s all somewhat premeditated. But conspiracy theories aside, nothing evokes such vitriolic more than challenging the Indian people’s implicit prejudices. Which ones? Well, where do I even start. Here are just the top 10 prejudices reasons why this perfectly acceptable movie is getting unacceptable levels of hate...

1.       Because Indians are racists

How many Pirates of the Caribbean movies did they make again? And how many of them flopped at the Indian box office? I assure you, nobody was complaining about ‘illogical’ stuff in those movies. Why, because those movies were made by white and not brown people? Mind you the same junta will go watch Guy Ritchie’s Robin Hood this weekend and come out all praise for its fantastical, logic-defying action sequences. But since he’s a gora, well.. as Khudabaksh Jahazi says – “Ek Hindustani ka sabse bada dushman ek Hindustani hi hota hai.” 

2.       Because Indians are sexists

There are two female protagonists in the movie. And needless to say that is just two too many for the patriarchal junta of India. How dare they have a female character who is not a damsel in distress, but instead is a terrific archer and kicks total ass?!? To top that, how dare they have the other one be a prostitute with clear agency over her body, a rebellious mind of her own, and wield actual power over her male patrons? Nope, that’s just too much for desi pricks to handle, isn’t it? Also, given Aamir’s very vocal support of the #MeToo movement in India, I won’t be surprised if the social media attack on the movie was an orchestrated effort to hurt him for it.

3.       Because Indians are ageists

This is a country that clearly still idolizes youth and still hasn’t seen life expectancy go up like in the developed world. So how ridiculous to have a septuagenarian play one of the leading heroes, isn’t it?!? How utterly unbelievable to have said man look his exact age too, maybe even older. Mind you this is the country that happily sits through heavy-duty special effects just to have Rajni in a movie look half his age, because who the hell would ever come to theaters to watch Rajni the way he truly looks like now? 

4.       Because Indians are casteists

I hadn’t thought of this myself until an article in the Indian Express pointed it out. Firangi Malhar – Aamir’s character is clearly what one would call a ‘low-born’ hailing from an oppressed social and economic background. But that simply won’t do, will it? Did the movie makers really expect Indians to root for a… a Dalit? How dare they force us to confront our deep-rooted casteist prejudices like that, when all we want to do is enjoy a movie on a long weekend?

5.       Because Indians are religious bigots

And let’s not forget the other sacrilegious decision the movie makers now live to regret… to have three out of the four main protagonists be Muslim?! Oh my God. Literally. Keep in mind who this country voted into power five years ago and probably will again next year – a Hindu fundamentalist wannabe-dictator with a track record of supporting communalist elements in his own party. Here’s what’s funnier but also sad: the villains are more secular than the audiences of this movie. The British are actually celebrating Dussehra, and even if it’s nothing more than cultural appropriation, it’s still more religiously tolerant than Indians these days. 

6.       Because Indians are self-righteous hypocrites

The self-righteousness dripping from some of the reviews I read online is both laughable and infuriating. What about the word “Thugs” did these apparently literate guys not understand? Protagonists can be regular people too you know, and regular people are not perfect. The heroes in this story aren’t trying to be heroes, nor do they claim to want anything more than their very deeply personal objectives – revenge, resolving internalized guilt etc. In fact, the only person who ends up risking everything without any personal agenda, is Suraiyya Jaan. But does the desi audience appreciate the multidimensional complexities of these very human characters? Noooo. In a period movie set during the colonial era, desi heroes better be a sati savitri, or sata savitra, or they might as well be villains.

 7.       Because Indians are stereotypers

So if the Indian audience is to be believed, stereotyping morons that they are, Aamir Khan should only do movies with a social message in them and nothing else. He’s an actor for god’s sake, why can’t he just do a movie for the sheer entertainment value of it? He has repeatedly said so in his interviews, to the very same media people who now completely choose to ignore his pleas to just let him be an artist. The fact that he is socially responsible is a huge bonus that we should all be bloody grateful for, not use it to put him in a box that restricts his creative instincts. (And if some of you are now arguing that I’m doing the same thing, stereotyping all Indians as the same, well I’m sorry. I know I’m doing it, but at least now you know how it feels.)

8.       Because Indians are ungrateful

How quickly everyone seems to have forgotten the immense contributions Aamir and Mr. Bachchan have made to Bollywood. And this isn’t unique to the film industry. Indians are just as ungrateful to their sports idols, refusing to acknowledge that sportspeople, like actors, are only human. Everyone is bound to have bad days. So what if Yuvi doesn’t perform today, why let it erase the memory of the six sixes he hit in Durban ten years ago? How is it okay to insult and deride this man who is trying his best? It’s especially hurtful when it happens to Aamir because he’s been incredibly selfless in his attempts to improve quality of life in India. Sadly, Aamir, this society does not appreciate, let alone be grateful for, your activism, or your artistry.

9.       Because Indians are group-thinking morons

I don’t know if this is particularly true for desis or just a human trait in general. But it’s particularly hilarious to see it play out on social media. The lack of individual thought is sorely evident in all the reviews and trolls I read online. Also, newsflash, if all you do is retweet, reblog, and forward, you might as well be a mindless bot spreading fake news but adding no value to the discourse whatsoever. If you have a contrarian opinion (like maybe you actually liked the movie) but are too afraid to share it, why have a social media page at all? And for God’s sake, if you never saw the movie, shut the fuck up.

10.   Because Indians are trolls

Years of repression is likely responsible for this surge in social media trolling in India, but come on, you can only understand and excuse this behavior for so long. These trolls seem to have taken special interest in bringing down our biggest heroes and mind you, Aamir truly is a hero in real life – the kind we sorely need. And yet, for the very same reasons, he seems to have a target on his back, especially on the internet where cowards attack him while hiding behind anonymity. No matter what their agenda (jealousy, SRK stans, an episode of SMJ hit too close to home), they seem intent on holding Aamir personally responsible for shortcomings of the movie. I’ll admit Thugs isn’t perfect but none of its faults are the actors’ fault. Either way, I don’t think they’re doing it mindlessly. Like I said before, I strongly suspect an orchestrated conspiracy to bring the movie down. Why? Well, take your pick. Aamir has definitely pissed off a lot of people who want to keep the status quo. 

[eternal-love-song]

Sleep Until My Heart Aches

After a battle gone wrong, Momo ends up in a coma. Bakugo does not handle this well. Todoroki tries to help.

[TodoBakuMomo]  [Aged Up characters, Established BakuMomo, angst, hurt/comfort]

This idea was suggested by @dominomags

The steady beeping was like the ticking of a clock. Steady, regular, maddening the longer he listened and the more he paid attention to it. A lifeline that he clung to. The moment before each beat he could feel his own heartbeat stuttered, his breath catch, fear clawing at him as he dreaded that the sound would not come again. The time between each beep seemed to stretch, teasing him, torturing him, causing him to clench his fist and bite his lip in an attempt to keep himself grounded and stop himself from losing his mind as he feared that he might.

"Hey." A soft shove of his shoulder broke him from his thoughts.

Bakugo blinked, breathed, unhunched his shoulders and tried to release the tension in his muscles. The room slowly came into focus, no longer the blur of white that had over taken his vision. The white walls made it easy to zone out. The colorless sheets likewise blended with the walls and it was easy to ignore or avoid the small splash of color before him. Easy to pretend that he couldn't see the dark hair spread out on the pillow, easy to ignore the too pale arm that lay too still and too stiff, easy to avoid the sight of the tubes, so many tubes...

A hand was on his shoulder, shaking him, gripping him, and he causing him to finally look up and see Todoroki standing over him. There was a look on his face that Bakugo hated. Soft, concerned, as if he were weak. Bakugo didn't have the energy to punch him in the face, to scowl, to yell, so he just looked away, back to the bed. Back to the sight he had tried so hard not to see before.

"I got this for you." Todoroki held the coffee out to him, not seeming to take any offense to the fact that Bakugo was basically ignoring him. Then again, how could anything like that matter when she was laying on the bed like a mummy, wrapped in so many bandages that he nearly couldn't distinguish her body from the sheets. He had to hunt for skin, eyes moving methodically over the bed to search out the pale flesh that peeked out from sheets and bandages and... sickness.

His hands tightened around the cup. He had to hold himself still or else risk crushing it in his hand and spilling hot coffee all over himself. It wasn't a bad idea, if he were honest. It was a satisfying idea. Something to distract, if only for a moment, something to clear his mind of the overwhelming white that overwhelmed his sight. His hands began to tighten on the cup again.

Todoroki placed hand on Bakugo's, making him still. It was cold, a contrast to the heat of the cup. It was... unpleasant. All of this was unpleasant. He clung to it like a desperate man, dropping the coffee and grabbing hold of Todoroki's hand, his arm, his shoulder. Todoroki kept the cup in his own hand like the reaction was expected. It couldn't have been expected when Bakugo hadn't known he would do this, hadn't known he would find himself clinging to his rival with tears forcing themselves from his eyes despite his best efforts. Had not expected to find himself breaking down finally when he had been holding himself together all this time, even if it was by a thread, he'd been doing it.

A single touch. A single touch was all it took to break him. A single kindness that he didn't even want, didn't even partake of, didn't even...

"Fuck." The word forced itself pass his lips. His fingers were digging into Todoroki, into his arm and shoulder as he held onto the bastard tightly. Then more words forced themselves out of him. "Who asked you to come in here and..." He couldn't finish. He couldn't articulate his anger, his sorrow, his frustration with both.

"I miss her too," Todoroki said quietly. "Momo is strong, though, she'll wake up. I know she will."

Bakugo wanted to believe him. He wanted desperately to believe. He hoped that Todoroki was right, that if any of them could beat this, it would be her. But it had already been days, too many to count, more than he wanted to count, and he hadn't seen her so much as twitch.

Todoroki had brought flowers. Once Bakugo had stopped clinging to him like a child, an action which went thankfully unacknowledged, he went about making the room look lively, lived in, colorful. It made something ease within him to see the splashes of color and life as he watched Todoroki move around the room.

There was a vase placed on the table of either side of the bed, on the window ledge, in the opposite corners of the room, followed by the placing of many different flowers. Red and white roses crammed together in one vase, tall orange flowers that Bakugo couldn't name, and small blue ones that Bakugo recognized as her favorite even though he couldn't name them. It was stupid and comforting that Todoroki covered the room in their colors. Red and orange, even the white was acceptable when bundled with the red.

"The coffee will get cold if you don't drink it," Todoroki sad. He wasn't looking at Bakugo when he spoke and that was a relief for reasons that he couldn't name.

"I don't care," he answered. Bakugo probably needed it. He needed the coffee, needed sleep, and was glad that he wasn't being told what to do directly. They both knew that Bakugo spent too much time here. He was probably dropping in the charts or would be soon if Momo didn't wake up.

"You could read to her," Todoroki told him. "She might be able to hear it."

Bakugo nearly snapped at him in response. She was in a come, she couldn't hear shit! She couldn't move, she was barely aliv-- He viciously cut the thought short. Stomped down on it with a fury that he usually saved for villains.

"Why don't you do it?" he said instead, choking on his anger instead of verbalizing it.

"I was going to," Todoroki answered. "I thought you might appreciate having something to do."

Bakugo hated Todoroki. He hated that Todoroki was just as good as him, if not better, in hero work, resent that they chased each other in the charts so frequently, was jealous of their long standing friendship, and was insulted by the way he had come to understand Bakugo and meet him on his level. He hated the fact that they had become friends, better friends than he ever wanted or would ever admit. He hated knowing that he cared about her as much as Bakugo did, hated that he didn't know if she knew it too.

Todoroki was right that Bakugo needed something to do, but wrong to think that Bakugo could do it. Wrong to think that Bakugo could be anything but a completely wreck until Momo woke up.

Todoroki didn't wake for an answer, nor did he attempt prying a response from Bakugo. He just took a book out of his bag and began to read.

Bakugo hadn't considered that he would have to listen if Todoroki began reading. He didn't want to be read to like a child, but this wasn't about him. This was for Momo. He could imagine her sitting up, smiling at him, knowing that he was irritated and finding it sweet that he would hold his tongue for her sake. God he missed her. His hand stretched out toward the bed, stopping before he touched, fingers slowly curling in and away from her.

She was already so broken and he had only ever been rough in demeanor. Would she break that much more if he took her hand, kissed her forehead? Would she turn to dust beneath him? This place was making him go mad and he wasn't even sure why.

"It's okay, you know," Todoroki said without looking up from the book.

"What do you know?" Bakugo replied. All the same, he felt oddly encouraged. Slowly, more cautious than he had ever been with her before, he reach out to place his fingers on top of hers. A few moments later he placed his palm flat on her hands, intertwined their fingers, trapped her hand between both of his. There were a million little motions and touches that he he moved their hands into. It took all of his focus and it was a long time before he realized that Todoroki had started reading, stopped again, because Bakugo was sobbing again. Loudly, openly, shamefully.

He hated this.

He missed her.

Bakugo buried his face in her side and unleashed the pent up emotions that had been slowly swelling in chest. He could hardly breath he sobbing so hard. He was afraid that he would hurt her with how tightly his hands were gripping her own.

Todoroki's hand rested gently on top of Bakugo's head. He hated that he was taking comfort in the action, but he did. It was good not to be alone in this, not to be the only one that missed her. It was nice to have someone pull him back from the edge of despair as he waited for her to come back to him.

And she would come back. She had to. He needed her to. He would cling to the thought as tightly as he could, let it be the single thing holding him together, and he would accept that Todoroki would be his company in this hell.

"Please wake up soon," Bakugo begged. "Please."

[fanficmoi]

The Fool By The Seaside Chp.7

“Do you enjoy working at library?”

Paul hummed, he was laying with his head on John’s tail, the merman decorating his hair with pearls and small shells. “I don’t mind it, y’know. My friend George works there, he’s a crackerbox.” He shrugged, “The pay is good, and my boss is nice.”

John tilted his head, his hair was still keeping his hair short, since he still felt the sadness and guilt over Ridire’s death. “Boss?”

Paul closed his eyes, the feeling of his boyfriend’s (Merboyfriend? Merlover?) fingers caressing his hair making him feel drowsy, “Yeah, y’know. The person is charge, tells me what to do, makes sure I get the money.”

John nodded, chuckling at his human’s sleepy tone. He curled himself up so that Paul’s head was still resting on his tail, but John’s head was resting on the human’s chest. He caressed the guitarist’s chest with a sharp but gentle nail, “Sleep,” He told him. “I will wake you up in thirty minutes, yes?”

Paul only snored in response, and John giggled in amusement. He kept an eye on the beach, not wanting to be surprised by some human. Paul had told him that nobody visited this part of the coast, it was far from the port and beach days weren’t really a thing with all the shit weather. But still, John was cautious. And he wouldn’t dare fall asleep on the beach again, the last time hadn’t gone so well.

Instead, he wondered about the future. He was with Paul now, but it was getting harder and harder to ignore the fact that they were from different worlds. Paul would have to move on someday, John knew. Get a human mate, have offspring, offspring with legs. John couldn’t give him that, he knew. But there was a little bitty bitty small problem, John was falling in love with his human.

John swam into his home with a sackful of shells, he’d gotten lucky today, finding a spot full of large, shiny (empty) shells. “‘ello, Mimi!” He shouted, putting his sack on the dining stone. “I’m back.”

There was no answer. John frowned, his aunt was usually right in his face whenever he came home. He swam to the kitchen, nope. To her chamber, nope. To his chamber, nope. He searched the whole cave, and found nothing. The he heard a familiar voice calling his name and he hurried to the entrance. “Cyn?” He asked, he tilted his head, “Where’s Mimi?”

Cyn grasped his forearms, she looked terribly distraught, “Oh, John! They just came out of nowhere, we were having lunch and they just-”

“Who’s they!?” John was getting upset too, where was his auntin?

Stu appeared behind her and it was then that John noticed that a crowd of curious sea creatures was forming around them. Stu said, “The police came, John. Took your auntin, said she was under arrest.” He looked forlorn.

John’s breath caught, then it began to speed up. Soon his gills were shaking and his chest was rapidly moving up and down. “How, how did this happen? She’s never done anything!” He could see that the people around him were starting to feel the effects of his panic, their own breathing erratic. But he could hardly concentrate on that now.

Stu and Cyn were quick to grab him and move him to the inside of his home. “John,” Cyn was saying, “You’ve to calm down.”

John just shook his head, he hated police. They always got in the way of his fun, hurt his friends, and now they had arrested his auntin!? The woman was practically a saint, she never broke a law in her life!

Stu’s voice interrupted his thoughts, “You gotta go to the headquarters and talk to them, see if you can pay her bail. It was probably a rumour or some shit like that, my Athair was arrested over that and he’s all good now, isn’t he?”

Cyn didn’t mention that the guards had been unfamiliar, unlike the usual ones from the headquarters that everyone knew. They had also worn different uniforms, and had been more aggressive. But for all she knew they had just gotten new uniforms, or something harmless like that that John didn’t have to worry about.

Paul sighed to himself as he stood outside his brother’s room. “Mikey?” He asked as he knocked, “I really want to talk to you.” Michael had been ignoring him for days now, and Paul could hardly blame him. The older one had been horrible, scaring his little brother. While he was with John all those thoughts flew away, but he couldn’t ignore them while at home. His dad had noticed something was off between the two brothers, but being busy with work was unable to address the topic. So it was up to Paul.

“I am really sorry, Mike.” He said, “I don’t know what came over me and I know I keep saying this but it's the truth.” He knocked again. “John said he’d help-” He broke off at the sound of something heavy hitting the door, probably a book or a shoe. “Mike?” At least he’d gotten a reaction. He knocked rapidly, “Michael, please. I’m trying to fix this.”

There was silence, then the door was unlocked.

Paul smiled and opened the door, “Mike?”

His brother was sitting in his bed, glaring at him.

Paul’s smile fell as he sat down next to him, but he was relieved that his brother didn’t push him away. “Mike, I know I sound like a broken record but I am sorry.”

His brother nodded, expressionless. “You do know he’s causing this, right?”

Paul frowned, “Who?”

Mike scoffed, “Your John. He’s the one making you act like this.”

It was Paul’s turn to scoff, “Of course not, Michael. Why would you say that?”

His brother rolled his eyes, “Because you only get like that whenever I insult him or whatever, you get protective and horrible. That creature made you like that.”

Paul scowled, “Now, Mike, I know you don’t like him-”

Mike stood, “For god’s sakes, Paul! It’s not that! It’s just that it’s obvious.”

Paul stood up as well, “John wouldn’t do that.”

Mike stepped forwards, “How would you know? You know all their stories, sirens are manipulative, cruel-”

“First of all, John’s not a siren. He’s just a regular Merrow.” Paul was trying to control his temper, “And second, I trust him.”

Mike glared, “Why trust him over me? Your brother?”

Paul sighed, “It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s just that you barely know him, Mike.”

His brother sat down again, “And I don’t wanna know him,” He huffed, “I don’t get why he got so upset when I touched him, it’s just a body part.”

Paul glared, “A very sensitive body part, Michael. Private.”

Mike chuckled, “And I bet he lets you all over it.”

Paul didn’t answer and his brother laughed. “He does, doesn’t he? That’s why you like him, you like his tail.”

“Of course not!” Paul shouted, “That’s the least of it, but yes it’s a sign of trust, that’s why I trust him.”

Michael just shook his head, “Fuck, you’re hopeless, Paul. That thing’s got you good.”

Paul knew that if he stayed he would lose it again, so he just turned around and slammed the door as he left.

His little brother was left with an angry, worried mind.

“What do you mean, I can’t see her!?” John shouted at the poor merman behind the counter.

“I, I’m sorry, gentlemerrow. The royal guards have prohibited.” The attendant tried to explain, there was something extremely powerful about the angry being before him.

John heard Cyn and Stu gasp behind him, “Royal guards? From Atlantis?” He frowned, “What were the charges?”

The attendant cowered, “It’s really not my place to say-”

John leaned forwards, his teeth barred and his pupils looking like slits. “What. Were. The. Charges?” He pronounced in a quiet, dangerous voice.

Stu and Cyn winced, as this everyone else in the vicinity. This was a rare John, he was angry and actually meant it. John was afraid of anger in others, but he himself had quite the tempers. And both his bark and his bite were very sharp.

The merman behind the counter shivered, he grabbed a file that was at the top of a pile and opened its stone flaps. He cleared his throat, “The Merrow known as Mahry Elishabet Smeed was arrested by the Royal Guard of Atlantis with direct orders from the Royal Palace on charges of…” The man frowned and then gaped up at John.

John sneered at him, “What charges?”

The other’s head tilted, “What did you say was your relation to the prisoner?”

As his friends frowned, John’s glare deepened, “She’s my auntin, and don’t you dare call her a prisoner!”

The attendant’s gape became wider.

John grabbed him by the forearms, ignoring his friends’ protests, “What are the fucking charges?”

The other just looked at him in awe, but then finally spoke. “She was arrested for harboring a siren in her home.”

Paul had returned to the beach, guitar in hand. It was nighttime but he didn’t mind if he couldn’t see John, he just needed space.

He stared at the stars above him, they were beautiful. Almost as beautiful as John. You couldn’t see the stars from the city, too smokey, but here in his beach, he could see it all.

He sighed, could Mike be right? Was John controlling his feelings? It made little sense, John had been surprised by his outburst too.

He grabbed his guitar and began to pluck a gentle melody he and George had been working on. They had wanted to be in a band, but two was hardly enough. And neither of them could play drums.

Suddenly the water splashed, “PAUL!” A familiar voice screeched.

“John!?” Paul tossed his guitar aside and jumped up. He spotted his merman a bit further away, seemingly unable to get out of the water.

“Paul! Help me!” John screamed, his voice panicked.

Paul ran into the water, seeing John barely able to move. His lover stretched out his arms, crying for help. Paul finally reached him, slipping along the way. He grabbed the wet arms and pulled. John launched himself at him, holding him with all his strength and that’s when Paul saw what was holding him down, were those eels?? They were wrapped all over John’s tail and lower torso, and they appeared to be electrocuting him. Paul pulled harder.

John was sobbing, frantically flipping his tail hoping that the eels would be thrown away but they held on strongly. At least they were getting closer to the beach.

Paul kicking at the creatures as well, ignoring the fact that they could hurt him. His only concern was John. Finally, they got to the surface and Paul dragged his lover far away from the water.

The eels screeched and let go but Paul kept dragging the heavy weight of John until he tripped over a rock and the two of them fell down.

In no time John was hugging him, shaking and sobbing. Paul was confused but put his arms around the merman and whispered assurances in his ear.

“Johnny, what’s wrong?” Paul asked. Then he noticed that his lover was shivering, so he started to rub his arms with his pals. But he was even more worried, the cold temperature had never affected John before.

But before the human could comment on it, something even more strange started to happen.

John’s tail was looking burnt and bloody before, but now it appeared to be almost melting in a way. The scales were falling away, some of them just disappearing, his fins falling away as well.

Paul looked away only to find a distraught but quiet John looking back at him. The human frowned, “John, what’s going on?”

The other just shook his head and looked down, “I am sorry, Paul.” He choked, “I didn’t know.”

Paul’s answer was interrupted by the sight he witnessed as he looked briefly back at the tail. He was speechless. For the silver-blue tail was gone, and its place were two pale, very much human, legs.

[minaminokyoko]

Venom: A Spoilertastic Review (that is mostly just a rant)

When the end credits to the Venom movie started, just as Eminem began his embarrassingly uninspired rapping, I turned my head to one of my two friends and asked her, "What the hell did I just put into my eyeballs?"

To be frank, Venom is one of the most peculiar, bizarre, baffling films I've seen in years.

I want to preface this review by saying I was against this idea when it was announced. I thought it was beyond idiotic to make a film about a supervillain whose entire creation hinges on a certain Webhead, and since Sony lent him out to Marvel Studios (the only smart fucking decision they've made in probably over a decade, imo), they went off half-cocked with the hair-brained idea that they could create an anti-hero solo flick for Venom instead. To some degree, sure, they were warranted because the general audience these days has low fucking standards and if you put the words "comic book movie" in front of them, they're usually going to lap it up no matter how terrible it is. After all, fandom doesn't care about things being accurate anymore, by this point, if you dangle fresh meat like Tom Hardy riding a motorcycle in front of them. As long as there's an attractive person at the helm, fandom will just adopt it as canon and ignore any red flags, as they have already done. That being said, I still think this is one of the most blatantly stupid things done for money and for notoriety from any studio toting around a popular comic book character.

Is Venom as bad as legendary awful comic book movies like Catwoman, The Spirit, Batman & Robin, Daredevil, Green Lantern, or Spawn?

Well, no.

And that's almost the only positive thing I can report about it, personally. 

In short, Venom is inept. That's the word I'd choose, aside from bizarre. It has no fucking clue what it's doing at any given time, from start to finish. It's too wacky to be serious, too serious to be a parody or satire, too mature for kids, too childish for adults, too mainstream for nerds, and too nerdy for mainstream. It's just a piping hot fucking mess.

So let's dive into why. Spoiler alert.

Overall Rating: D

Pros:

-Note: I am being very fucking generous by giving this movie points for anything at all, just so y'all know.

-It's not boring. Other comic book movies that have failed, whether it's the really bad kind or just the mediocre kind, have failed worse than this movie simply because at least there aren't any dead periods. Venom doesn't have awful pacing, even with its sloppy, uneven story. It moves along at a steady rate and you can never accuse it of being a borefest like Superman Returns or something. Even though most of it is incomprehensible from a story standpoint, it keeps your attention throughout.

-The doctor boyfriend surprisingly averted the usual stereotype/archetype for this kind of story. For example, in the first Ant Man, the cop boyfriend who is with Scott's baby mama is a smug, overprotective dickhead who later gets better. Most of the time when a main couple breaks up, the girl picks some douchebag who is either so much better than her former lover that it just feels insulting or it's just a one-dimensional asshole for us to hate so we want the two of them to get back together. Hell, doctor boyfriend was actually TOO nice and understanding and helpful. There is no way in hell I'd have stuck it out after seeing Eddie bite the head off a goddamn lobster. I'd have sent his ass to a mental hospital immediately, fuck the regular hospital. That being said, I like the movie averting the trope. It was a welcome change and was awfully refreshing too.

-Even though this is one of his strangest fucking performances to date, Tom Hardy is doing what he always does and gives 110% to a film that really doesn't even deserve him. I've already been hearing rumors that he's not pleased with the final product and that doesn't surprise me, but he does what he can with that awful script and I appreciate the effort. In fact, the only reason I sat through this turd is for Tom Hardy. He is a dedicated, talented actor and even when he's in tripe, he's still busting his beautiful ass to make the best of it anyway. I like him a lot and I'd go to bat for him any day, which is the only reason I coughed up the money for Venom when I knew damn well it'd be a trainwreck.

-The effects are at least decent. Not always. But Venom and the symbiotes actually feel as if they're really there and it's not just the actors staring at a ball on a stick. I appreciate it, since Sony goes in and out of quality regarding CGI.

-Despite the fucking travesty of a fake clown wig on his head, Woody Harrelson is an excellent choice for Cletus Kasady. Everyone knows that. I just hope they get him a better hairpiece next time, sheesh.

Cons:

-Jesus fucking Christ, where do I fucking start?

-Plotholes. This movie doesn't have plotholes--it has plot canyons. It's plothole Inception, for God's sake, with holes inside of fucking holes. It's so clear that the movie doesn't give a rat's ass about anything because there are some of the most ridiculous moments you're expected to swallow with the power of Willing Suspension of Disbelief. It's why it took me a whole two days to try and write a review/analysis of the film. There is so much wrong with it that I frankly wasn't sure where to start and how to process it all. The best I can try to do considering the overwhelming number of holes in the story is go chronologically. First off, Eddie stealing Blondie's confidential documents (Note: Michelle Williams' character was so bland and unimportant I can't remember her name and I don't care to look it up because we all know she doesn't matter, so she is now Blondie) but then not doing his actual job as a journalist when making wild accusations is the first monumentally dumb thing in the film. Why the hell did he go through the trouble of breaching her personal security and trust if all he was going to do was rant about it to the Bad Guy without proof? What did he think it would accomplish? Why would you just confront the guy instead of looking for more proof? Plus, you stole that information, which means it's inadmissable in court since it was obtained illegally, so you still wouldn't have a case anyhow. Any writer with half a brain cell would simply have it so that Eddie read the document, became curious, and started snooping around Life Foundation himself looking for hard evidence that would stand up in court to get justice for the victims. The way they did it in the film makes no sense, but it's because they wanted to bust up the couple and make Eddie a "loser" to kickstart the rest of the film. Then, the girl who tattled on the Life Foundation 100% did not need Eddie Brock to do that. She had full access to the lab and the trust of her superior. All she had to do was document everything herself, send it to Eddie to pass along to his boss, and then skip town with her fucking kids to avoid being murdered. Hell, she could have given it to the authorities anonymously. Third, why after everything went tits up in the lab did she fucking return to the lab as if they wouldn't immediately know it was her? She was seen outside the lab seconds before Eddie set off the alarms and her palm print is recorded having opened the door to the lab. Why the fuck did she go back after she let Eddie in there with no way to cover her tracks? And then she actually told on herself and Eddie, which led to her death. I can't comprehend that level of stupidity at all. It's staggering. Because I'm trying not to turn this into a seven-page single spaced review, I'm just going to stop here and not try to point out all the other plotholes in detail, like the fact that the cops only get involved one time and are never seen again despite the fact that they'd be all over the explosions and missing people associated with the Life Foundation or Eddie's phone working perfectly after he swam under the fucking bridge or Eddie leaving his phone for his boss instead of just sending him the goddamn pictures or the symbiote magically knowing where Eddie was after they took him from the hospital. We'll be here all day if I keep going. I'll just reblog CinemaSins' eventual video of this movie and feel satisfied that way.

-The movie makes zero attempts at explaining anything about the symbiotes except for "they're vulnerable to fire and sound frequencies, need a host to survive, and eat brains." What is even stranger about the lack of explanation is that this isn't a long film. They could have easily added about ten minutes into the story to give us an overview of where they came from, what their world was like, how they found human contact, and why they were on that comet. All we can do is infer things, which pisses me off because this is YOUR story and YOUR new continuity that you just fucking made up on the fly, so I don't know the rules here and it's shitty of you to just gloss over it all. Why is it called Venom? Is that a translation from whatever the hell the symbiote was called on its own planet? Did it hear that somewhere and decide it liked the word? Why? Why does it get touchy if you call it a parasite when that is literally what it is? Is it like Ratigan from The Great Mouse Detective and it's just in denial? We have to guess that it knows whatever Eddie knows, but why does it have any conceptual knowledge of romance and relationships when it attempts to get Eddie to apologize to Blondie or when it says it "likes" her? Or that Eddie "changed its mind" at the end? And how can a symbiote even be a loser? That concept is almost universally human and it's a giant sentient piece of fucking tar? How can it possibly be a loser on its own planet? There is just no damn context for majority of the shit surrounding the symbiotes in the movie and it's all the more frustrating since we spend a great deal of time in the lab with them during the movie and yet we learn almost nothing.

-Eddie and the symbiote don't actually form a proper bond or partnership. This is one of the things that's irritating me about people who seem to have taken to the movie. I was told multiple times by people that the movie is stupid, but the repartee between Eddie and Venom is enjoyable. Not really, no. Are there quips? Yes, there are quips. But quips do not inherently create a bond. Anyone can bounce dialogue off each other. If said dialogue does not change the characters, then it's just lip service. Sadly, though, a lot of people don't notice that absolutely nothing between Eddie and Venom lines up. Venom helps Eddie survive the attacks, but is killing him in the process. It's self-interest alone. The truly confounding part is when they get Venom off of Eddie and find out Venom has basically been consuming Eddie's organs to stay alive inside him, Eddie acts betrayed and storms off, but then when Venom returns wearing Blondie as his guise, he just accepts it and they go off to the badly filmed climax. What the hell changed in between those scenes? Nothing. Eddie still runs the risk of dying being piloted by the symbiote, and while Eddie has motivation to stop Bad Guy (again, another character that is so thin I can't be bothered to learn his name) from bringing the symbiotes to earth, Venom is given zero reason to want that at all. As mentioned above, there's no backstory. Is Venom concerned his race will consume the earth? If so, who cares? There's seven billion people and Venom has already found Eddie, who is a suitable match for him to survive, so why does he care at all? Eddie would survive an invasion anyhow. It makes no damn sense. Films that have dealt with symbiotic relationships always establish a common ground at some point but Venom doesn't for some inexplicable reason. I'm incredibly frustrated that everyone's just going "tee hee, look, they're best friends now, it's cute" when in fact Eddie is just running around committing murder randomly without ever really contemplating how serious it is, even though he claims to only be eating bad people.

-Nitpick: Fridging two different female characters, the homeless lady and the Life Foundation tattletale, rubbed me entirely the wrong way. Both of them were in Eddie's vicinity, both die, and both are never brought up again or shown to have impacted Eddie's motivation or life. They are simply used and discarded, which is another thing that makes this movie feel so hollow.

-The tone is all over the fucking place. It can be argued that Venom never went full serious and is always sort of tongue-in-cheek, but there's just this ridiculous whiplash feeling when you watch it spike from an action scene to "wacky" Brock antics to Venom quips. Eddie's personality even before the symbiote is just confusing as hell. It's like stuffing a bunch of random character traits into one man and all of them are fighting to get out at once like the characters from Split. The most consistent thing is he's sarcastic, but even then his moods range far too widely to get a bead on him. He can be dry one minute and then frantic and excitable the next, and that's before the symbiote. After the symbiote, it's like they gave Tom Hardy cocaine and steroids. The man's acting is simply all over the damn place. He accepts near-impossible things sometimes with a shrug and other times he freaks out. The movie just doesn't know what the hell it's attempting to accomplish, and that's why mood and tone are important to set from the get-go with a film. It just slingshots between a faux-horror film and a snippy action flick over and over again until your head feels pulverized.

-The final action sequences is one of the dumbest, messiest things since Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen. It's an ugly, dark, jumbled up mess. It's so indistinguishable that Godzilla (2014) can take potshots at it. Why in perfect blue hell did they choose two symbiotes with such similar appearances to showdown with each other on top of a rocket at night? It's so hard to see what the two of them are doing, who is winning or losing, or what kind of movement is happening at all. We also are never given the full range of their abilities, so the only real stake is when they pull off their hosts and their bodies are vulnerable, but even then it appears that Venom can raise Eddie from the dead seconds later anyhow. I'm stunned the movie couldn't even do a fake out death properly, which is so fucking easy that even Disney can do it. Eddie dies and is revived in less than fifteen goddamn seconds. The camera doesn't even linger on his body to sell the emotion (not that we'd ever have one, he is just barely a character anyway) before it just takes it right the hell back. That's filmmaking 101, for God's sake, and the movie blows it too.

-The last scene in the movie. In its entirety. I haven't been that exasperated since I stupidly forced myself to watch Pacific Rim: Uprising. There are so many things wrong with it that it's hard to know how to tackle it. I don't care that Eddie stopped that guy from extorting the shop owner--he openly turned into a 10 foot tall alien and ate a guy in front of her, and the movie just laughs and shrugs like it's just totally fine, like that woman isn't about to lose her shit, call the cops, or fuck, the NSA/FBI/CIA/Avengers on Eddie for making her a witness to murder, and endangering pretty much anyone around them. To say nothing of the fact that there is no reason a 10 foot tall alien with a million sharp teeth needs to say a single word to threaten someone. You are the threat, buddy. Your existence is the threat. Why did you need to insist on threatening to bite things off? You're terrifying and nothing you say is going to somehow make you scarier, especially when you just ate the guy anyway. It's like they just made that scene for the final trailer, much like that "I thought she was with you" comment all the way back in Batman v. Superman despite in-canon it made no sense. It's so unnecessary. And don't get me started on the fact that the crook actually asked the giant alien who it is. Fuck you. That was a lazy, transparent attempt to spoonfeed the wretched cliche that Michael Keaton's Batman made famous. (Consequently, all movies ever, please stop doing this cliche. Stop it. Just find another way to announce yourself. It's really tired, y'all, let it go already.) No human would ever look at that thing and ask it who the fuck it is. He'd piss himself and die of fright. Period. Do not pass go, do not collect $200. Piss. Die. Period.

-Nitpick: Why was there that weird Godzilla (2014) trailer noise every time Venom attacked someone? Did they just steal it from public domain? They used it almost like the Inception horn cliche that Hollywood was obsessed with for a while and it took me right out of the scene every damn time.

-Nitpick: They really thought we're so stupid that we needed Kasady to actually say his character's name out loud. Look, you fuckers, you know goddamn well that end credits scenes are extras and that people can go home and Google things instead of you literally spelling it out for us. Hell, you know that not that many Average Joes and mainstream people went to this movie anyway since Venom is a second-stringer villain and your main demographic is die-hard Eddie Brock fans anyway. So having Kasady say the damn name “Carnage” in the post credits scene really was the final fart in my general direction. Give us some fucking credit, man. Venom has barely five plotlines to his whole character anyway. Of course we knew you were going to drop Carnage for the Sequel Hook, you condescending twat of a film.

Look, I get it. I'm hypercritical because I write fiction for a living. There are plenty of movies where turning your brain off is required in order to enjoy it, but I think this movie is asking me to get an entire lobotomy to be able to swallow the big-ass pill it's offering. It's just so sloppy and uncaring and yet it's holding its grubby little hands out for your money and your love and I think it's undeserving of it on every last level. It has zero comprehension of what it's trying to accomplish since it's a money grab, and its artistic choices are nothing short of bonkers. It's so strange that it even veers outside of the So Bad It's Good category for me. I can't in good confidence recommend it to anyone even though it's almost like a study in what not to do in both comic book movies and movies in general. It's weird in a distasteful way rather than in a charming way for me, honestly. I know people have rallied around it for being different and out there, but I don't think different and good are the same thing in Venom's case.

[zoeekar]

Going through all Lena Luthor scenes with my best friend (season 3 edition, pt4)

Ahh, I tried to post everything before 03x18 dropped, but life has been... unkind lately and I’m just dead. And I also didn’t have enough time to write everything down as fast as I wanted to. Anyways, I’ll have her watch the 3x18 scenes tomorrow so there’s that!

03x11 Fort Rozz

Her: The hell was that? Did they really bring her in for a 30-second scene? Sidenote, I liked her hair in this one. Me: They probably shot more scenes with her though? Like, for other episodes. Her: Yeah, but why not use her more in an episode if she’s already there? Oh, and I can’t wait for her to see the fist imprint on her desk.

03x12 For Good (yet another (super lengthy) Lena-centric episode for our viewing pleasure!)

Her: OH. Right. (she saw Lena and James together) Bitch, if she wants to join in a meeting, she will join the meeting! She’s the boss, after all, she can do whatever she wants.

*Edge appears* Her: Why the fuck is he still here??

*Edge: I don’t have to kill you, Lena. You already did.* Her: I wanna reach in there and punch him.

*Lena: Burn in hell, Edge.* Her: Please let this be foreshadowing (she really hates Edge, you guys, I’m living 😂)

Her: Again, I love her (Lena’s) clothes. Maybe that bad outfit was a one-time thing...

*Kara catches the keys mid-throw* Her: Why is no one finding this weird? Does she do that all the time? Maybe it’s her party trick. Maybe that’s what they do when they’re bored at work. Throw shit at her and see if she’ll catch them *laughs*

*interaction with Edge* Her: So what? Is this a battle to the death now? Because it was all sunshine with him before and now he’s taken it seriously? And she’s only tried to kill him once! He has no right to talk.

*James: He’s tried to kill Lena plenty of times and she’s never retaliated. Lena:*

Her: If that face doesn't scream “innocent”, I don’t know what does *laughs*

Her: Poor thing is so tired of people coming after her though... She doesn’t deserve this!

*Eve hands Lena the coffee* Her: So many alarm bells just went off in my head. Don’t drink this, it’s poisoned!

*Lena falls down* Her: Oh my god, I felt this in my stomach. You know how when something happens or someone gets hurt and you feel some tingling or some weird shit like that? I felt it.

Her: Aww, she didn’t even change into her costume. Wait though, why is her (Lena’s) neck so stiff? Like she’s holding it up. And her hand is on Kara’s back too! Is she even unconscious? *laughs*

Her: Look at Dr. Grey go.

Her: Okay. Another assassination attempt thwarted. We can breathe again.

*Lena: We were flying and you were carrying me. Kara; I was? Like Supergirl? I wish!* Her: Bitch!

Her: Wait wait wait. Wait. What the hell is she doing back at the office?? She was just poisoned, she almost died and they just let her go? They could have sent her to a regular hospital if they didn’t want her to be in their secret base when she woke up, the fuck??

*Lena: Kara? Maybe you don’t know what I am. James: Hey, I know you.* Her: Excuse you? Since when? Who the hell wrote this?? I don’t have a problem with James, but dude. He does not know Lena better than Kara, what is this shit??

*Lena: Great. I feel better.* Her: She needs a hug so bad... And probably some therapy.

*The Dissolving Bullet Project* Her: I knew her mum was behind it! That’s where they’re getting at, right? Her mother is back?

Her: I knew her mum was behind it!

Her: She’s still calling her “mother” instead of “mum”. She’s still pissed and I don’t blame her.

*Lena: Other than Edge’s obsession with me, I am great.” Her: Yeah you are! You’re awesome!

Her: Okay. You know what? She (Lillian) is not exactly wrong. Like, if I were Lena, and I had bought that magazine, I wouldn’t go to work there, you know? I’d sent Sam over there and I’d stay at L-Corp. She (Lena) is a scientist, after all, she said it herself she doesn’t know anything about running a media empire. So why not stay at L-Corp and do what she does best?

*Lillian: Please let me prove to you how much I love you.* Her: It’s so sad to see her (Lillian) exploiting her (Lena) so... I don't know, so shamelessly? She knows exactly what her daughter wants and needs (she means Lillian’s love and approval), and she’s using that against her all the time! It’s toxic and she needs to run far far away.

Her: I’m so used to seeing her change like two or three outfits per episode, now it seems weird she’s still wearing what she was wearing in the beginning *laughs* Not that it’s bad, it’s actually a really nice suit. And awww, she looks so troubled and sad, poor cutie...

Her: So... Are they (Alex and Sam) a thing now? Cause I could see it happening.

Her: Awww I feel so bad for her (Sam)...

*Lena: I tried to kill Edge.* He: Oh right, I forgot not everyone knows this by now  *laughs* Also, she tells this to Kara, not James, who, you know, apparently knows her better than Kara does now...

*Lena: I’m smart. Cunning, strategic, I think steps ahead of most people.* Her: And she needed her mother to tell her??

*Kara: And you needed your mother to remind you of that?* Her: THANK YOU

*Kara: I’ve seen your trophies.* Her: So Kara has been to Lena’s house? When do we get to see that?? I wouldn’t be surprised if she lived in her office or like... had a room built underneath the building or something.

*Lena: And I’m gonna need your help.* Her: Her (Kara’s) help or Supergirl’s help?

Her: Boooobs. (also, Kara’s face in that screenshot tho 😂)

Her: I like how “mouth breather” is an insult. (we don’t have this expression here)

Her: *laughs* Why is she (Lena) looking at her (Kara) like she’s about to devour her?? (we all know what she’s talking about)

Her: That guard is gonna have to explain how he got his ribs broken... And, as much as I liked the line, he was doing his job, right? Dunno. Maybe he could have been less grabby...

 Her: He (Edge) is probably trying to overcompensate for something with his two big pools. Just saying.

*Lena: Because you screwed with her daughter.* Her: I mean... I mean... I don’t know. This family is weird.

How hilarious would it be if she (Lillian) had also hacked those drones so that they would flip him (Edge) off?

Her: You know what I find weird? That no matter how well-dressed and everything she (Lena) is, her nails are never done in any way. (guys. She noticed the nails 😂)

*Edge hides behind a man so that he won’t get shot* Her: What a fucking coward.

Her: Fuck off, now even he knows Kara is Supergirl!

Her: I like it when she (Lena) is so cold and calm actually. Dunno why.

*Edge’s confession* Her: *laughs* Can you imagine if she had forgotten to press record? *laughs more*

Her: *dies laughing*

*Supergirl: Suit’s a bit much, don’t you think? Lillian: Says the girl in the cape.* Her: What are you comparing? That suit is ridiculous and hilarious!

*Lena drops the recorder* Her: For fuck’s sake, get your shit together.

*Mon-El appears* Her: Oh. I know him.

*Edge gets the recorder (really slowly if I might add, I mean come on!)* Her: *rolling her eyes* Lena always has more than enough time to do shit and she never does anything! Because she’s- staring at Supergirl or something.

*Lena chasing Edge* Her: *laughs* She can never run properly, it’s always so funny.

Her: At least she (Lena) makes up for it in kicks. And punches, that girl’s (she means Jack’s CFO as I’ve come to understand) eye is probably still bruised *laughs* (I think she thinks she's really funny...)

*Mon-El: Miss Luthor. Glad to see you’re okay. Lena: Yeah. I could say the same thing about you...* Her: *laughs* Yeah, cause that’s the face you make when you’re really glad.

*Lena: You know where to find me. My name’s on the building.* Her: *snorts* I love her.

Her: So wait. that asshole is gone?? Me: For now, yeah. Her: Finally! Me: You can breathe again? Her: I hated him so much. Me: Yeah, no shit.

*Lena: You wanna know why I’m not a killer? Friends.* Her: That... Makes no sense? So what, people with no friends are killers? Or does she mean that she would be a killer if she didn’t have friends? Is this foreshadowing again? Cause we know she’s been fighting with Supergirl so that’s like minus one friend for her, and then she’s gonna find out Kara is Supergirl so she'll be fighting with Kara, so she’ll be without both her best friends. And then that other girl (Sam) is probably gonna die too, and then she (Lena) is gonna turn evil. There. I wrote the rest of the season. Though I’m not sure I want her to turn evil. She’s too nice for that, its hard to imagine that after going through so much, she’ll snap because of that... I dunno how I feel about it (the eternal struggle of “Lena is too good to be evil” and “Lena would be too good if she was evil”)

*Kara: That’s what friends are for.* Her (to me): Thank you for being my friend so I don’t have to go out and kill people.

*Lena: Yeah, Kara... I saw Mon-El. He was here with Supergirl.* Her: I love how she just told her right away that she saw Mike. I’m not even gonna comment on the fact that she still hasn’t put two and two together and figured out that she saw him with fucking Kara though. Ugh!

*Kara: It’s complicated. I’ll tell you about it.* Her: Like hell, you will.

Her: She looks so pretty! Stop!

*Alex: I’ll figure it out. Lena: We all will.* Her: Well, we all know who ended up figuring it out.

Sia watches the Lena Luthor Show Season 2          Season 3 Part 1 (x)          Part 1 (x) Part 2 (x)          Part 2 (x) Part 3 (x)          Part 3 (x) Part 4 (x)          Part 5 (x) Part 5 (x)          Part 6 (x) Part 6 (x)          Part 7 (x)                          Part 8-?~Coming Soon

[dazedclarity]

a wavelength far from home (Lumax oneshot)

This better damn get Stranger Things out of my system so I can go back to focusing on like…school.

Anyway, Lumax was adorable and I desperately wanted to write something about them. This was like 3 fic ideas that got pressed into one longer one (maybe it actually saved me time that way? Who knows). 

Summary: It wasn’t like Lucas lied to his parents about having a friend named Max over while they were out. He just didn’t specify that Max was, well, a girl. And also his maybe/sorta/he-wasn’t-quite-sure girlfriend. Plus, Max really needed to get away anyway.

CW: implications of child abuse and racism

Title comes from a line in the song “Mexican Radio” by Wall of Voodoo.  

Lucas tugged at his shirt sleeve. His arm was braced stiff in front of him, locked at the elbow and knuckles almost pained as they gripped his knee. Images on the TV flashed through the dark room in a staticky glow, but they were a barely-discernible blur–a news channel, a medicine commercial, some old movie, MTV. The rapid switching paused, and he heard a chorus of clicks and guitar strums. 

…on a Mexican Radio, I’m on a Mexican, whoa-oh, radio…

“Not much on,” Max noted as she tossed aside the remote, in her typical cool tone. Though he almost thought he heard an undercurrent of nervousness too (or maybe that was just him hoping it wasn’t just him). 

“Um, yeah,” he mumbled. Lucas nearly winced, and his heels pressed together. He hadn’t seen much of Max since the dance and, well, after everything had cooled down and the world stopped going at a mile-a-minute, certain things got harder, strangely enough. Like talking around her. And knowing what to say. And not calling himself a dumb shit when he inevitably stumbled over his words. 

But he couldn’t get her out of his mind. Not her blue eyes or her fiery hair or her skateboard or her uncharacteristic shy smile from after she–oh God–after she kissed him. Like really kissed him, on the mouth. And man, Dustin said there was electricity after she’d only held his hand. That was a full-on thunderstorm. The smile burst out again whenever he so much as thought about it. 

But since then, they’d only seen each other at school. She’d come into class and they’d make eye contact and quietly say hello, both biting their lips in embarrassment. He’d take regular glances back at her during class. Sometimes she’d be writing, sometimes she’d be reading, sometimes she’d even look back and scoff at him halfheartedly. But he must have done it one too many times, because Mr. Clarke finally cleared his throat and asked Lucas to avert his attention back to the lesson (Lucas had sunk into his seat, cheeks burning, as sharp snickers sounded around him). 

They walked out of the school building together, hands brushing if not quite holding. But though Billy no longer sent him more than smoldering glares, he still owned the car. His sharp honks would blare through the parking lot as Max told Lucas goodbye with a quick hug, apologizing to him through gritted teeth. 

“I’m sorry he does this. He’s…it’s just…” She looked down at the ground with a sigh. 

Lucas knew, of course. Hell, Billy wasn’t even the only one to give them funny looks after the dance. But the best thing, he decided, was to let that be their problem until they made it his. “It’s whatever. See you later?”

“Y-yeah. Of course. See ya, Stalker.” Her red hair would swing as she ran off. 

He couldn’t take it anymore. He needed to see her. Like really see her.

But when the chance actually had come, Lucas wasn’t sure he liked the circumstances. Max called him up on their walkie-talkie with a distinct nervousness to her voice. He knew enough to know why she might sound like that. “Um, Lucas, can I come over tonight?” 

“Is something wrong?”

“Yeah…” she’d whispered, and she hardly ever sounded like that to anyone except him. 

He hadn’t had to guess who made her feel this way. Anger bubbled up inside him. If he were bigger, and maybe had something more than his wrist rocket on hand, he might have marched over there to kick her stepdad’s ass himself. But that obviously wasn’t an option. 

Still, there had been one problem. 

“Max, you know I totally would let you over, but I’m actually babysitting my sister tonight. My parents won’t be home.” There was never a spoken rule that he was not to have girls in the house without parental supervision, but he’d figured that was the sort of thing that went without saying. Come to think of it, he was a little insulted that they’d never felt the need to say that rule out loud…

“Oh,” the other line had said weakly. “Are you sure it wouldn’t be okay? I don’t mean to pressure you or anything, it’s just…nevermind. Sorry, sorry. It’s cool.”

Fuck me, Lucas thought. 

His parents were nearly out the door. But how could he leave her over there? He couldn’t. That was that. 

“Yeah, you can come over. Can you wait like…an hour?”

She’d paused. But then, “Sure. And, um, thanks.”

In a second, he was down the steps and asking breathlessly if he could have a friend over. His mother, preoccupied with pulling on her coat and asking her husband if he was absolutely sure that he had the tickets, hadn’t asked many questions. He may have also neglected to correct her assumption that Max was, well…a boy. Erica had raised a knowing eyebrow at him and opened her mouth, but whatever she was about to say turned into a yelp when he elbowed her in the ribs.

“When’s your girlfriend coming over?” Erica’d piped as he’d finally managed to wrangle her into the bathroom, force her to brush her teeth, and at long last convince her to get to bed (still thirty minutes later than her bedtime, and he’d already had to bribe her with a share of his Christmas candy). 

“Soon–I mean, she isn’t my girlfriend!” he’d hissed back, though his heart beat a little harder at the thought. They hadn’t called themselves by those titles yet, but what else could she be? They had kissed and everything!

“Mmhm.” Erica puffed out her lips and made kissy noises, fluttering her eyelashes, “Luky and Max, sittin’ in a tree…”

“Ugh, grow up, you’re such a baby!” He tugged at the chord of her lamp and slammed the door behind him, ignoring her peals of laughter from the other side. 

Ten minutes later Max was riding up to his house on her bike, breath ghosting into the chilly winter air. Lucas felt a little bad about her having to ride all the way here, but he knew that asking Billy for a lift was definitely too much a risk. Just one “slipped” comment to her stepfather about her seeing a boy alone (not to mention, Lucas guessed, a black boy), and he wouldn’t have to do anything to Lucas himself. 

“Hey, Stalker.”

“Hey, Madmax.” They had hugged, and he couldn’t help the smile from breaking out again. But in another moment, he’d felt her shiver. “You…okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.”

“Wanna…talk about anything?”

She’d shaken her head. “Honestly, I want a distraction. Wanna just watch TV or something?”

I wish I was in Tijuana, Eating barbecued iguana…I’d take requests on the telephone…

“This song is so weird,” Max snickered, crossing her arms and flopping back onto the couch. 

“Did you ever visit Mexico? Like when you lived in California?”

“Nah.” She dug her hand into their popcorn and tossed a kernel into the air, catching it in her mouth perfectly. Lucas suppressed his swoon. “We lived more up in northern California. Far away from the border, closer to Oregon. I didn’t even live that close to the ocean.”

Lucas couldn’t imagine a California that wasn’t the Hollywood sign, Golden Gate bridge, or surfer dudes on the beach. It made him feel like some kind of country bumpkin. 

Shit, he also probably shouldn’t have brought up where her dad lived. 

He looked back down towards his tense hands. They hadn’t gone near her since they sat down. It was stupid; they had already kissed for shit’s sake! But this was different from the dance. They were alone. In his dark living room. With his parents gone and his sister asleep and no chance of them being interrupted. He glanced to the side. She looked pretty with her face just slightly lit up by the music video on the screen, really pretty. But he figured that would be a terrible line. 

How did this go in the movies?

Lucas yawned and stretched out his arm before slyly (at least in his mind) leaning it on the back of the couch behind Max. There! Step one completed. 

“Oh my god, really?” 

He took another look in her direction. She stared back in jesting apprehension, eyes lidded and a smirk on her lips. “Did you actually do that move in real life, Stalker?”

“Um…” Damnit, damnit! He yanked his arm back up as if the couch had burned him, mumbling an apology…until she rolled her eyes, grabbed his hand, and pulled it over her shoulders. 

Oh. Well. 

“I missed you this week,” she said suddenly and softly, just over a breath. As for his his own breath, it grew quick and shaky. 

“Yeah…same…” he stuttered. He cursed himself in his mind again. What kind of man was he, making her make all the real moves? Though he remembered something his father had said to him once, that letting the girl lead was much better than risking him moving too fast for her comfort. It wasn’t the strategy that Steve Harrington claimed to swear by, but even he had been admitting lately that maybe his tricks weren’t as foolproof as he once thought. Lucas coughed once. Then he scooted closer. 

So did she. 

Lucas swallowed. Here it was, the moment of truth. He leaned in slightly, but before his eyes closed, he stopped with a start. 

“You sure you’re ok…?” He hadn’t forgotten why she was here. She didn’t show much, but Dad said that you could never be sure. “Be a gentleman above all else.” 

She didn’t say anything, but she nodded with a closed-mouth smile. So Lucas nodded back, and once and for all, closed his own eyes. Max was comfortable. Max was also very close. She squeezed his hand and tightened the arm slung over her shoulders. He leaned in, and he could just feel the warmth of her leaning into him as well–

“Gross!” 

Lucas jumped, eyes flying open and a far-too-high-pitched squeak escaping his lungs. Max jumped as well, and their foreheads collided with a loud crack that sent his vision blurry. 

“Ow…” she grumbled, rubbing her head. “That’s gonna be a bump.”

Fuck me, fuck me…

“Erica!” he barked. He planted his knees on the couch and spun back. His sister stood behind them with an infuriatingly satisfied grin, one hand on her hip and the other gripping a floppy stuffed dog. “What are you doing down here!? You’re supposed to be asleep!”

“And you’re supposed to not be kissing people on the couch!” She crossed her arms, and her smile only grew wider. “Mom and Dad don’t even know that Max is a girl, much less your girlfriend.” Max stammered a little bit, but Lucas hardly noticed. A sharp feeling of dread spread through him, almost as poignant as when he was facing down a monster from the Upside Down. Erica knew as well as he did where their crimes ranked in what would set off their parents. 

Lucas wasn’t going to win this with them. He had to win this with Erica.

Oh, God. 

With a defeated sigh and slumping shoulders, he bit down what was left of his pride. “What do you want to stay quiet?”

“I wanna stay up and watch TV with you.”

“What!?” Lucas had expected money, more candy, chores. But this? In front of the girl he’d already humiliated himself in front of? That was a fate worse than death. He imagined all the things Erica could tell Max before he could stop her–about the action figures in his room, how long it took for him to lose his last babytooth (only four months ago), the fact that he’d been rehearsing their interactions before the dance…and he knew Erica was thinking about the exact same thing. “No!”

“Hmm…” The little girl held up her hand in a claw, before opening it and closing it like a talking mouth. “What is that, sweetie? Luky was making kissy-face with a girl when we weren’t home? Why, how could he do such a thing…”

“Oh,” Max chuckled, “she’s good.”

Lucas felt lightheaded. 

“Fine!” he snapped, planting himself back on the couch. “But you still better be back in bed by the time Mom and Dad come home.”

“I should probably go by then too,” Max noted. She sounded sad, and it made Lucas’ heart sink a little. But he was soon distracted by Erica plopping herself right between them. Lucas made a note to find as much dirt on her as he possibly could when she got to his age. 

“What are we watching?” Erica nestled herself in the cushions, casually taking the remote like she owned it. “MTV? I love MTV!”

“Since when?” Lucas swiped it from her hand. “You said music videos were boring before.”

“I changed my mind.” 

Lucas sent an apologetic look to Max, but to his surprise, she didn’t look annoyed. Hell, she almost looked amused. Happy. Especially when Erica leaned on her arm. Despite it all, something like a contented warmth filled his chest.

“So…Max, is it? What makes you think you can date my brother?”

And that warmth turned to bitter cold. “Erica!”

“It’s a valid question.”

Max lifted an eyebrow at Lucas, but she only chucked. Sometimes he was really, really thankful for how cool she was. “I don’t know. I mean, I can skateboard, he said that was awesome. And I play videogames. Better than them, usually,” she added with a little snarky bite. “So what do you think? I’m alright to date?” Wait, Lucas thought, so we definitely are dating then?

Erica nodded, as if she was really deep in contemplation. “Sounds acceptable.”

“Thanks, glad I have your approval.”

“After all, he reeeaaally likes you. I’ve heard him pretend to ask you out tons of times.”

Lucas pressed hand over her mouth with a growl. “Shut up! You have not!”

“Mmhmm,” Erica argued from behind it. Then he felt the slimy surface of her tongue slide across his palm. He pulled it right back, rubbing it on his pants and curling his lip in disgust. “Plenty. And I’ll be honest…” she patted Max’s knee like they were old friends, “he’s really bad at it. You must be nice if you’d go out with him.”

Max pursed her lips together to suppress her laughter. “I try.”

Erica, thank God and the stars and the universe and whatever else Lucas could think of, finally seemed contented. She squeezed between them again and fixed her eyes on the screen in front of her, hugging the dog to her chest. Max, much to Lucas’ surprise, rested her arm on the couch this time–not towards him, but over Erica. Lucas felt a tinge of irritation at that. 

But he also kind of liked it?

Turns out Erica was lying about her newfound love of MTV though, because after less than an hour she was fast asleep. She was plopped over them, head on Max’s arm and legs pressed against her brothers’. There was no way they could pick up where they left off without moving her–not that Max seemed munch interested in trying. Lucas also noted to get back at her later for that one, especially when his leg fell asleep. 

Yet, some part of him found it oddly pleasant, sitting with Max with Erica snuggled in-between and snoring softly. Even when Erica unconsciously wiped a bit of drool off her lip, Max just shared a smile with him. She didn’t show the slightest hint of annoyance. Her arm hadn’t left its place behind his sister. The music continued in the background and the videos played on. He wasn’t a big Cyndi Lauper person, at least when anyone else was around to see, but he didn’t mind her right then. 

All through the night, stray cat is crying so stray cat sings back…

“I should take her up,” Lucas said. He somewhat clumsily dug under Erica’s form on the couch to lift her into his arms, falling back a bit (damn, she was seriously too big for this now) but standing his ground. He had something of a battered and bruised reputation to uphold. Erica stirred, but she’d always been a pretty heavy sleeper when she actually went under. 

“Can I come?”

“Yeah, if you want to.” 

Max trailed behind him as he carried his sister up the stairs. His legs were shaking with every step (seriously too big), and he breathed out a sigh of relief when he finally made it up to the second floor. “Sorry for all the shit she said,” he gasped out. He kicked open Erica’s bedroom door, rushing the last couple of feet so he could drop her on her bed. “She’s a big brat.” Erica finally fluttered her eyes open, but just enough to grab her blankets towards her. 

“Nah, she’s great.” Max shrugged with her fists stuffed in her baggy pockets. “And I think it’s really great that you’re such a good brother.”

“O-oh.” Lucas shrugged this time. He never thought of himself as a particularly good brother. It wasn’t like he’d had to fight off monsters for Erica like Johnathan had for Will or anything. But he supposed that not many brothers had to do something like that, period. And from Max’s point of view, he may just be downright fucking fantastic. 

“Thanks for letting me come over. This was way better than listening to my drunk stepdad scream at Mom and Billy.”

Lucas had of course had an idea as to what had brought her over tonight, but it was still hard to hear said aloud. “Of course.” He stuck his hand out gently–an invitation, which she accepted. She laced their fingers together. “Anyti–”

The car lock beeped. 

“Shit!” they shouted in unison. Their hands ripped apart, and Max frantically scanned the windows for a nearby tree she could jump onto–none were close enough. They burst into the hallway, halfway to Lucas’ room to check the windows there, when Lucas felt his veins run with ice.  His mother had appeared at the foot of the stairs. 

“Why, hello there…” she said, pleasantness in her voice tinged with unpleasant surprise. Lucas and Max stopped running, and he grit his teeth as he looked down the steps. “Don’t tell me that this is Max.”

“Hi…” Max said, waving slowly. 

“Lucas, you know how we feel about you having girls over when we aren’t home.”

“Well technically, you never officially made a rule about that…” Lucas pointed out. It was the only card he really had, he might as well play it. His mother’s eyebrow shot up–Erica had to get it from somewhere. 

“But you seem to be perfectly aware about what that rule would be.” 

His father emerged. “What is going on here? Oh. Hrm.” He flicked his eyes between Lucas and Max, then his wife. He took a deep breath, clearly deciding that his wife had control of the situation and he had little to add. “Listen to your mother, Lucas.”

Mrs. Sinclair’s fingers tapped on her side. “And are Max’s parents alright with this? Did you ask?”

Lucas and Max shared a quick glance. She looked scared. He knew why. She was afraid they would call her parents and no–her stepdad would not be happy. Not at all. His parents had no idea how unhappy he’d be. 

“I’m taking that as a no.” 

Lucas opened his mouth to argue more–how, he wasn’t sure–but Max stepped in front of him before he could. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Sinclair. It’s my fault. He shouldn’t be in trouble.” She looked back towards him, and he almost thought he saw tears pooling in her eyes. “I pressured him into letting me come over.”

Lucas’ blinked twice. His mouth hung open. “No, not really–”

“It won’t happen again, I swear! I won’t even ask to come over ever again. Just…don’t call my stepdad.” Her voice broke a little, and she’d stepped forward to grab the railing. Mrs. Sinclair looked a little shocked by how quickly the mood had changed. Then, in another moment, concerned realization fell over her face. 

“Sweetie…would you happen to be Maxine Mayfield? With a brother named Billy?”

Lucas was taken aback. He had no idea when his parents had met Billy, or why they knew Max’s full name. But his mother and father shared a knowing, apprehensive look with each other. Max nodded. Her arms had moved over her stomach, like a shield. Lucas felt an urge to hug her himself. 

His mother sighed shakily, rubbing the back of her hand over her forehead. “Max, Darling, did you have a good reason to want to come over tonight? You don’t have to tell me what it is.”

Max nodded again, this time faster. Mrs. Sinclair motioned for them to come downstairs. Max glanced back to Lucas, who gave her a reassuring gesture. She lead the way as they dropped down step by step. As they reached the bottom, Mrs. Sinclair reached forward to pat her back–Max was still tense, but she relaxed just a bit. Lucas’ father stepped forward to rest a heavy hand on his shoulder. 

“You can come over whenever you like.”

“What?” Max and Lucas asked together, sharing their own look of surprise. 

“Yes,” Mrs. Sinclair confirmed, “I understand if sometimes she’d need to just…get away. But Lucas, honey, please just let me know first.” Max’s eyes, which still glinted a bit with unshed tears, lit up then for a whole other reason. 

“Thank you so much, Mrs. Sinclair. Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome. Run along now, it’s getting late. I’m guessing you wouldn’t like a ride home…?” 

“Nope, I got my bike.” Max rushed to the hall rack to grab her coat. She rushed back again to give Lucas a stiff hug–he returned it, and though maybe it wasn’t as good as another kiss, it was still pretty good. Mrs. Sinclair handed her some cookies from the pantry for the road, which Max stuffed in her jacket for storage.

Lucas followed closely behind her as she stepped out into the brisk night air. She picked up her bike from the front yard, handling its ice-cold bars gingerly. 

“Thanks again. This was…” she rolled her eyes in jest, “Tubular.” 

“Yeah. Tubular.” Then, before he knew what he was doing, he stepped forward and kissed her gently on the lips. It was just a moment, and not a comfortable one at that given how dry and cold the night was, but still set his heart beating faster. Her hair fell in her face as she dipped her head in embarrassment. 

“Dork,” she mumbled, before wheeling herself off the sidewalk. 

 Lucas met his father on the front stoop to watch her blazing hair fly in the wind as she clambered onto her bike in the driveway. He and Max shared a wave–God, it was cute the way the cold turned her cheeks as red as her hair–and in another moment she was gone, rolling off into the darkness offset only by the white streetlamps. 

There was quiet for a moment. Then his father spoke.

“That night you all were out Billy came over. Said he was looking for his stepsister Maxine.”

Lucas felt his throat go dry. He still remembered the tight pull on his neck from Billy lifting him in the air and shoving him against a shelf, sneering at him in particular to stay away from his sister even though he had no reason to know that Lucas had been closer to Max than any of the others.  

“He…wasn’t pleasant.” His father crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Something about his tone was off from the beginning. Then when we said that we didn’t know any Maxine, he got worse. He was never outright threatening, but we aren’t stupid. He insinuated that we were lying. Then made some accusatory implications about your intentions towards her.”

“What did you say?”

“I told him that my son is thirteen years old and much too young to have any of the sort of intentions that he was thinking of. He didn’t like that. Your mother stepped in to say that if she was with you and your friends, you’d be more likely at the Wheelers. He finally left after that.”

Lucas looked back at the empty driveway before them. “He’s a jackass. So’s her stepdad.”

Mr. Sinclair let out a bitter snort. “We figured.”

“So you mean it that she can come over whenever?”

“We have no intention of forcing that girl to stay over in that environment, and I certainly didn’t do a stint in Vietnam to be intimidated by some little punk with an earring.” 

Lucas couldn’t help his grin. “Thanks, Dad.”

“One question, though,” Mr. Sinclair looked down his way, finger rubbing over his mustache. “she doesn’t look like just a friend.”

“We’re dating,” Lucas blurted out. It was nice to say aloud, really nice, despite the embarrassment curdling inside him and the sweat on his palms. His father hummed and shook his head slowly. 

“Hotdamn,” he mused, “Dating already.” He tilted his head back towards the inside, past the open front door behind the glass cover. “That was a girlfriend, dear!”

“Really now?” Lucas heard his mother call, “shall I interrogate to see if she’s good enough for my son?”

“Erica already did,” Lucas grumbled. He kicked a rock in front of him absentmindedly. It fell down the steps, into the not-yet-cut grass, and disappeared. He then thought back to the couch, and that feeling of the three of them sitting in front of it. No monsters or killer vines or horrible big brothers or anything else. Warm. Safe. 

The smile broke out again. 

[sonnets-and-snowdrops]

Saiyuki Inktober 2017, Day 11 - “Smoke,” Version II: Expanded/Alternate Version

Fandom: Saiyuki Pairing: 10K Rating: T Word Count: Approx. 1500 seriously I’m not even gonna pretend that most of these are drabbles anymore I give up Author’s Note:  First off - reading the author’s note in this post will probably clarify a few things. In addition to that, I’d also like to add that these fics don’t really take place in the same timeline. Or, rather - I guess they’re both set in the Gaiden-verse, but beyond that, they’re not really related at all. Pretty much, I just couldn’t make up my mind about what I wanted to do with this prompt - I had the general idea figured out, but couldn’t come to a conclusion I liked regarding the specifics - so, I wrote two completely separate fics. I mean, I did re-use a few turns of phrase (which you’ll notice if you read both, and frankly, I won’t apologize for that, because these are two versions of the same story anyway) but other than that, they’re completely separate, as far as I’m concerned. You’ll see what I mean if you read both, I think. Also, full disclosure - I’m not a smoker, so, despite my best efforts, I might get a few sensory details wrong here. But I mean the cigarettes are really just vehicles for inevitable sexytimes anyway so really I’m not sure it matters that much hehehe Also also, pretty sure Tenpou is my new all-around Saiyuki fave.  I mean, he’s not wrong. He really is kind of a mess. … *whispers* I like angst, you guys. …anyway, enjoy! :D 

The second they burst out of the stuffy, stifling conference room, Kenren sticks his arms high in the air, stretching tall, and lets out a great, grateful sigh. “Man,” he says, dropping his arms down to his sides and leaning, hard and heavy, against the wall. “I thought that was never gonna end.”

“Too true,” Tenpou agrees, rolling his neck one way, and then the other, releasing tiny, tension-bred clicks and cracks as he eases his stiff muscles. “I fully understand that the redistribution of resources bears discussing - but for fuck’s sake, after three hours, you’d think we’d have made more progress - ”

“All thanks to the most high and worthy Li Touten-sama, of course - ”

“Too true again,” Tenpou says darkly. “He should know better than to interfere with matters like this.” He scowls, and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his coat. “It has nothing to do with him. He should learn his place.”

“I figure he’s still falling back on his family’s influence, right?”

“Which,” Tenpou says, “isn’t what it once was. He knows that. And so,” he adds, his voice tight and clipped, “do we.”

“Eh.” Kenren shrugs, and fishes around inside his uniform, searching for his smokes. When he finds them, he pops open the box, clamps one cigarette between his teeth, and draws it out, long and slow. He lights it, and he breathes in, and he tilts his head back and closes his eyes, savoring taste of the tobacco on his tongue. “I don’t feel like thinkin’ about that guy any more than I have to,” he says after he exhales. “Ain’t worth it.”

“Mm,” is all Tenpou says to that.

Kenren shoots a sideways glance at his friend. Tenpou still has his hands crammed in his pockets, and, weirdly, he’s suddenly gone all fidgety. He’s looking down, and even though his face is almost completely hidden by that unkempt hair of his, Kenren can see the way his jaw is working, clenching hard. His glasses have begun to slip down his nose, but he makes no effort whatsoever to push them back into place.

“Yo,” Kenren says, speaking softly, and treading lightly. He’s seen this before; he’s well aware that Tenpou is treading the dangerous, delicate line between repressing his frustration and snapping into a full-on, full-blown rage. “What’s up?”

Tenpou lets out a snarl of exasperation. “I can’t find my cigarettes.”

“Oh,” Kenren says. He knows what that’s like. Wanting a cigarette and not being able to have one can give a guy a case of blue balls that’s worse than actual blue balls, as far as he’s concerned. “Did you - uh - maybe leave ’em in your other coat or something?”

At that, Tenpou whips his head sideways and pins Kenren with a cruel, unyielding stare. “I don’t know, Kenren,” he snaps. “If I knew where my cigarettes were, I wouldn’t be looking for them, now, would I?”

That shuts Kenren up pretty quick; it’s just not worth it, the way he sees it, to engage with Tenpou when he’s in one of these moods. At best, he’ll find himself on the receiving end of brutal, unfiltered insults, and at worst, he’ll end up getting his head sliced clean off his shoulders by the greatest katana master this side of Heaven.

Somehow, he doesn’t find either option particularly appealing.

And so, for a hot second, the two stand together in silence. Kenren, unwilling to let a good cigarette go to waste, smokes; Tenpou, unwilling to abandon his desperate quest, quietly rams his hands into his pants pockets. When that proves fruitless - or, Kenren amends, smoke-less - he withdraws his hands, crosses his arms, expels a long, hopeless sigh - one that strikes Kenren as just a little over-dramatic - and slumps against the wall, ostensibly defeated.

“One fucking cigarette,” Tenpou mutters. “Is that really too much to ask?”

“Y'know,” Kenren says, “if you didn’t hate Hi-Lites so much, I’d offer to let you bum one of mine.”

Tenpou freezes. His eyes flare, bright and hungry, at Kenren’s words. “You mean it?”

“Yeah. Of course I mean it, man. I just - ”

“Give me one.”

“You sure?” Kenren raises a skeptical eyebrow. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to let you have one - I just thought - ”

“I said, give me a cigarette, Kenren.”

“Okay, okay - if you’re sure - ”

“Don’t,” Tenpou hisses, his voice cold and deadly serious, “make me make that an order.”

Kenren can’t quite help himself; he flashes Tenpou a cheeky smile and, smooth and sly as he can, says, “Yes, sir.”

Before Tenpou, whose lower eyelids have started to twitch thanks to an unfortunate combination of anger and addiction and astigmatism, can respond, Kenren reaches into his jacket and busts out his smokes again. “Here,” he says, making damn sure to keep his tone gentle and earnest; the Field Marshal, he figures, has endured enough torture for one day. “You gotta light, or…?”

“Do you know what? I don’t think I do.” Tenpou’s eyes fall closed, and he laughs weakly.  "I’m a mess, Kenren,“ he sighs, and Kenren finds himself oddly struck by the raw honesty that rings in Tenpou’s words. His eyes drift open again, and this time, when they lock onto Kenren’s, they’re surprisingly soft - they’ve turned a little bit sorry, a little bit sympathetic. And, Kenren sees, a little bit sad, too.

“Hey,” Kenren says. He pulls one cigarette out from his pack and sidling sideways along the wall, closing the distance between himself and Tenpou. “S'okay, man.” He sticks out his hand, offering Tenpou the cigarette.

Tenpou, for his part, only watches. His soft, sorry, sympathetic, sad eyes flicker back and forth behind his glasses, tracing Kenren’s actions with their customary precision, but he makes no move to take the cigarette. He looks kinda dazed, Kenren thinks - it’s as if the trials of the afternoon combined with the force of his recent realization have rendered him immobile, or turned him to some kind of strange, still-breathing stone.

That hits Kenren pretty hard, actually.

All of a sudden, it’s easy for him to see why a guy like Tenpou is always so willing to risk his own ass on the battlefield.

Kenren takes a quick glance left, and then right. “Hey,” he says again, infusing his gravelly, soldier’s voice with as much warmth as he can. “Don’t worry, okay?” And he smiles, hoping that a touch of warmth might show up in his gravelly, soldier’s face, too.

He tries his best to be matter-of-fact about this next part - and it goes pretty well, all things considered. His hand doesn’t shake when he lets it float gently up towards Tenpou’s face. There’s no quintessentially romantic tremble in his fingers when he, deft and quick, coaxes Tenpou’s mouth open with a sweep of his calloused thumb, and there’s no jittery moment of hesitation or uncertainty - not from either of them - when he lays the cigarette between Tenpou’s parted lips. It doesn’t feel awkward when he lights the cigarette for Tenpou, or when he feels Tenpou’s cool, controlled inhale ghost past his fingers, or when he senses the greedy, muscular shifting of Tenpou’s tongue as it tastes the torrid smoke. He even fancies he can feel the quiet power of Tenpou’s lungs, strong and hearty thanks to his many years spent shouting commands over the clamor of battle, when he sends his first long, lovesome stream of smoke drifting fast upwards. It whirls between Kenren’s fingers and makes hot, ashy spirals in the stagnant afternoon air.

Tenpou smokes the whole cigarette like that - with Kenren’s palm pressed just so against his chin, and Kenren’s fingers lingering just so before his lips. Kenren’s own cigarette smolders away, unsmoked and unheeded, in his mouth; somehow, Kenren finds, he doesn’t really care.

“So,” Kenren says, urging Tenpou’s mouth softly open with his thumb again and slowly slipping the butt of the cigarette out from between his lips, “I guess Hi-Lites aren’t as gods-awful as you remembered, huh?”

Tenpou, weary eyes dead closed again, shakes his head. “No,” he says. “No. They’re not.” A brief moment passes, and then Tenpou’s lips quirk into a tiny smile. “And - do you know what, Kenren?”

“Eh?” Kenren cocks his head sideways, intrigued. “What?”

“I believe,” Tenpou says, “it’s for the best that I learned as much.”

“How d'you mean? You got plans to forget your own smokes on a regular basis or something?”

“Hardly.” Tenpou opens his eyes, and, with an effort, pushes himself away from the wall. “I’ll see you in an hour for company drills, General,” he says, turning his back and striding down the corridor, away from Kenren. “Thank you for the cigarette.”

“Yo,” Kenren calls. “Yo, Tenpou - you didn’t answer my question.”

As he walks, Tenpou’s shoulders raise and lower in an easy shrug. “It’s simple,” he says, tossing the words lightly behind him. “I intent to kiss you one day, Kenren. I would hate it very much if I couldn’t tolerate the way you taste.”