#also junky’s hand on the far left is me finally using ~1% of my power

[eggs-can-draw]

⚠️WiP again⚠️

You ever get so stuck in the flow that when you finally get a chance to step back and oh my god it’s been an hour where did the seventeen new reference tabs come from

[petri808]

Nalu Yakuza Au *cover art by @jmoart214 💜

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 |

This chapter came out a little longer than usual. lemony teasing

Natsu’s secretary called her boss from the front office. “Mr. Dragneel, Mr. Avatar is here.”

“Thank you, Ms. Kinana. Send him in.”

Because no one in the organization was a computer whiz, he contracted with an independent IT person who was recommended by Yura. The guy, Jerome Avatar wasn’t skittish, didn’t care who he worked for as long as it paid well, and generally had a pleasant demeanor. As the accountant, Yura was in contact with Jerome the most, but for any major issues or changes, those had to be cleared with Natsu first. It was mostly quick, in and out of the office dealings.

Jerome shook Natsu’s hand over the desk before taking a seat.

“So,” Natsu questioned, “what brings you here today? Is there something I need to approve?”

“No, nothing new. I asked for this meeting because I came across some intelligence you might be interested in.”

“Oh?”

“I learned that your rival Heartfilia had been in contact with a new cyber security client, Mikage Kaishā who’s into a lot of shady dealings with government contacts.”

Natsu shrugged his shoulders. “Sounds like just a typical client for her, probably has her launder money for them. I don’t really pay attention to her clients because we deal with different things. But I do appreciate you telling me.”

“Should I keep an eye on them?”

“That’s fine if you believe it’s worth it. And if you learn about anything that could hurt us let me know immediately. By the way, how did you find out this information?”

“A friend in the field told me about it, then I hacked into Heartfilia’s computers to authenticate the information.”

Natsu sat forward in his chair. “You hacked into her computer? I’m surprised her employee didn’t catch that, cause I know she’s good at this stuff too.”

The man grinned. “Well, not as good as me.” He pointed to Natsu’s laptop. “If you’d like, I can set it up so you can access her system from your computer too.”

“Oh, I don’t want to tamper with her company—”

Jerome waved a hand nonchalantly to stop him. “I wouldn’t advise it either, if you touch things, that’s what’ll get attention, but you can watch what’s going on. Keep an eye on her calendar, meeting dates, whatever you want.”

Natsu sat back, rubbing his chin. The offer was a very tempting one indeed. A chance to stalk his ex through cyberspace… someone must have mentioned to this Jerome guy their history. It wasn’t exactly hidden, but not something talked about either amongst lower ranking employees. This wasn’t the first time Jerome had brought them intelligence info, so maybe he was looking to increase his usefulness, climb the ladder so to speak? Being connected to a powerful Yakuza house was certainly handy, and what better way than to tap into such a personal subject.

“That could be interesting,” Natsu finally responded. “Alright, what do you have to do to set it up? And make sure it’s nothing I could screw up accidentally cause I really don’t want her to find out.”

Jerome looked at his watch as if calculating his options. “I could do it now. Might take me about an hour if you can go without the laptop for that amount of time.”

“You have to take it back to your office or something?”

“No,” the man shook his head. “I can do it right here, so I can explain along the way.”

“Perfect.” Natsu then called his secretary and requested she double his lunch order due to an extended meeting.

While the computer tech fiddled, Natsu just sat back with his meal, watching him work. Math wasn’t his strong suit— nor academics for that matter. Growing up, his father had always told him he would be next in line as boss, so he only learned what he needed to for that world. One needed strength, cunning, street smarts, not book smarts. Though he had to admit the things these hackers could do was scary when you thought about it. Lucy was lucky in that her best friend was just a wiz at language— including computer languages. It all looked like gibberish, but the woman interpreted it almost like a savant. According to Jerome, from what he’d seen so far, Levy was not yet at his skill level, but that could easily change with time and experience like he’d been through.

“Natsu you—” Gray paused his knock on the doorframe. “Sorry, I thought the meeting would be done by now.”

“It’s fine, Jerome is hacking Lucy’s system for me right now.” Natsu responded with a grin. “Now I’ll see what she’s up to in real time.”

Gray groaned and ran a hand down his face in disgust. “I’m not even gonna respond to that. But I will tell you I told you so when it blows up in your face later.”

“Tch. She won’t know, right Jerome?”

“She shouldn’t unless you touch something.” The man answered while continuing to type.

“See. It’ll be fine.”

“You’re an idiot. Anyway,” Gray waved a hand nonchalantly as he left, “call me when your free to go over the new orders.”

“It will be fine, right?” Natsu asked Jerome a second time with a bit of anxiety in his tone.

Jerome stopped typing. “As long as you just observe they shouldn’t see you, just don’t get excited and touch something.”

“I don’t plan to; not like I’ll know how to do that anyways.”

“I’m almost finished, but do you want me to turn on her web camera so you can see through it?”

“But she won’t see me?”

“No, for you it’ll just be like watching a one-way video feed with image and audio.”

After a momentary pause, Natsu’s eyes narrowed with a mischievous grin. “Do it.”

Being able to see Lucy every day and feed his addiction was just too tempting, ‘I’m turning into a junky.’ But Gray’s words entered his mind. What if the man was right, could this bite him in the ass later? Probably… Though how bad could it really be? He really had no plans to interfere with Lucy’s business, just her personal life— and yes, he knew it sounded horrible. What right did he have to stalk his ex? None. ‘I just worry about her, is that so wrong?’ Lucy’s tough, but she’s just a woman and their world didn’t always treat women fairly. His desire to protect her bordered neuroticism, but could anyone blame him considering the underworld they worked in. ‘I’m just doing it to protect her,’ Natsu justified it to himself. Guys like Gray who haven’t fallen in love yet, ‘they just don’t understand.’ If anything were to happen to Lucy, he didn’t know what he would do. Probably move Heaven and earth and kill any in his way for what they’d done.

It took just over an hour before Jerome finished installing the spyware and making sure the systems were still secured. Just a one-way mirror that Levy shouldn’t catch unless really digging for it. Another 20 minutes were spent explaining to Natsu how to do the accessing part, including pulling up the webcam whenever he wanted to. “Or just leave it running,” Jerome noted. “It’ll just show up in this window,” he pointed towards the screen, “and as long as you don’t log out completely from your computer it’ll stay open.”

“Who turns off their computers?”

“Actually, it’s a good idea to turn them off now and then so any software updates can be completed, but since I manage your systems, there’s not really a need to.”

“Great.” The two men stood up and shook hands. “Thanks, Jerome.”

“It was my pleasure.”

When Natsu arrived each day at headquarters, the first thing and last thing he did was check to see if there was anything new or interesting going on Lucy’s side. It was like being hooked on one of their products, because the high it gave sucked him right in. But so far, he also stayed away from the video feed. Looking through her calendar or emails were cold and impersonal, but maybe the video was too close, too real, too much of a moral dilemma in crossing that line of a peeping Tom. That didn’t mean his addiction may one day require more feeding…

October had rolled around, and the air outside grew crisp and cold. It was a beautiful time of the year with the color changing leaves, reminding that winter was soon upon them. How quickly the time sure flew. The Dragneel Yakuza clan had already started preparing for their end of year Bonenkai to happen in mid-December. This plus the Shinnenkai in January were the two biggest parties the clan threw for all their members. The first is to forget the stresses of the past year, while the other was to welcome a successful new year. Natsu spared no expense on the food and drinks to take care of the loyalty and hard work their members contributed. From the emails, he knew that Lucy’s group had also started preparing for theirs. ‘Maybe I’ll crash her party,’ he mused to himself. ‘Oh, what’s this?’ His eyes fell on a new email of an appointment reminder for the next day. It was for Lucy’s monthly massage at an upscale spa. Natsu checked his own calendar and noticed he had nothing booked, no meetings, no shipments arriving— a perfect opportunity.

The next day, Natsu went to the spa early and spoke directly to the owner, paying them a nice chunk of change to allow him access and to play along. Lucy was scheduled for 2pm and arrived right on time. So, as he waited behind the scenes, the receptionist acted like normal and directed her inside. She had a regular masseuse, something Natsu knew he couldn’t fake upfront, so that person stood inside the room to greet her.

“Welcome, Ms. Heartfilia. I’ll step out while you get ready. Please lie on your stomach like normal.”

“Thank you, Kenji,” Lucy smiled. She’d been coming here for a couple years and was aware of the routine. The male masseuse had strong, but gentle hands and knew her body well by now.

Natsu had to admit he wasn’t happy to find out Lucy’s regular masseuse was a guy but held back from lashing out. He didn’t want to do anything to mess up this adventure— and oh, he planned to have his own revenge. It wouldn’t be as sexual as the soapland incident but knowing many of her trigger points meant he could do a bit of damage well enough. Now, Natsu had noted that Kenji’s voice was a bit deeper than his own, which would be difficult to fake, but the man explained he didn’t do much talking while working and played relaxing music during the session. Perfect. Natsu could just hit play and not talk at all.

“Ready, Ms. Heartfilia?” Kenji called out through the closed door.

The muffled yes was heard, and the man stepped away, leaving Natsu to his business. He entered the room and immediately turned on the pre-set music, a light instrumental with Asian undertones. It was quite pleasing to listen to. And there Lucy was under a silk sheet to cover her naked body, with her arms up and crossed, head perched on the relaxed hands, and hair up in a loose bun, revealing her beautiful neck. Natsu almost shuddered at the sight and knowledge he would get to touch her skin… it was the one thing she didn’t allow him to do at Soapland— touch. His grin grew as he rubbed his hands together to warm them before making the first move.

He moved the sheet to uncover Lucy’s lower half, up to the thighs, then applied a film of scented massage oils to his hands with a few drops over the taut muscles along her long legs, chasing the dripping liquid along her skin to smooth them over. His hands glide through several passes to the swell of her ass, then back down again all the way to the ankles, fingers applying pressure against the tendons and ligaments to gently work out any tension it encountered. Lucy sighed wispily as his hands massaged each foot, squeezing, smoothing, paying attention to each digit and every curve. His thumbs applied pressure at the arches, kneading the tight knots there from wearing heels all day long. He stayed focused on the area, her toes curling and flexing as the mewls leaching from her show their pleasure, until Natsu felt the knots give and relax away.

“Mmm, you’re getting good at that Kenji,” Lucy purred with a little huskiness in her tone.

Natsu grinned to himself as he lowered the sheet back down, so she stayed warm and moved onto her supple ass. Using both hands, he took his time to knead each cheek through the silken fabric, using his fingers to follow the gluteus muscles, starting near the leg, and following the swell of her curve upwards, slowly riding the fibers looking for any knots or tense areas. One cheek, then the other paying loving attention to and listening to the sounds Lucy made to clue him in on where to go. Every sigh a notch in his belt, each mewling purr a win. Natsu grew bolder, fanning out his thumb each time it got closer to her thighs to touch…

“Oh, Kenji,” Lucy whined, “you’re being a naughty boy today— keep it up.”

‘What?!’ Natsu’s hands paused and tensed for a split second before catching himself. Does Kenji mess with her too?! He shook his head and finished up in the area quickly trying not to let such thoughts stop him. ‘Just focus…’ Natsu grumbled in his head.

After applying more oil to his hands, he moved the sheet down to reveal Lucy’s back and for a second time, Natsu paused on what it contained. Her tattoo… It symbolized… he took a deep breath and dropped more oil on to the skin, willing away the memories breaching his mind. He didn’t want to think about it, not now. It was too painful.

“You okay, Kenji?” Lucy questioned as if noticing the slight pause or tremble in the man’s hands.

Natsu mumbled a soft Mmhmm and dived into the massage so Lucy wouldn’t grow more concerned, missing the uptick in the corners of her lips. He slowly smoothed along the skin using the base of his palms for pressure, each hand following the muscles, moving out from the waist, up the center of her back, and flaring out towards the sides just below the shoulder blades, repeating the same movement, each time increasing the speed while lessening the pressure. Next, he targeted the upper back and shoulder blades, an area he knew Lucy held a lot of tension from carrying the weight of her voluptuous bosoms. With precise ministrations, Natsu applied careful pressure with his thumbs and follows the curve of the blades up and around to the top of the shoulder. He then searched with the pads of his fingers for any knots along her trap muscles, moving up along the spine and fanning out to the top of her shoulders.

“Oh, yeah, right there,” Lucy mewled when he reached a specific spot.

The area around her spine, between the shoulder blades held the most tension and knots from constantly holding the upright, flexed posture that wearing heels will create. Her wispy sighs signaled the release of her tense muscles, bringing another wave of pride swelling in him. Natsu continued onto her neck, his strong hands kneaded the supple flesh, fingers palpating and soothing all the knots. Her neck too, held a few tense areas, especially around the base of the head, so he did his best to melt them away. He worked through Lucy’s mewls and moaning sighs, almost sexual in nature, aroused and a little heated in the face knowing his handiwork brought forth such sounds. Ugh, how he wanted to hear more of it! Lucy putty in his hands and spread between his thighs, calling out his name…

“You’ve gotten better at this… Natsu,” the cocky teasing tone, snapped him out of his dream.

“Natsu?” He tried failingly to disguise his voice. “I’m Kenji, Ms. Heartfilia.”

“Uh-huh. You think I can’t tell the difference Natsu?” Lucy quipped back with a chuckle. “Kenji’s routine is very different. Plus, I knew the moment I smelled your cologne.”

Busted.

“Tch. Well, if you knew it was me all along, why’d you let me do this?”

“Making you work is my payback.” She settled back down, relaxed on her arms. “Now, chop, chop, finish the job.”

This little minx! He was the one supposed to be torturing her this time, not the other way around! “Fine, kitten.” Natsu gritted out a smile and took hold of her neck again to placate and lull Lucy back into thinking he would go along. He massaged the sides with the tips of his fingers Both hands wrapped around, and his thumbs pushing up through her hair against the muscles on the back of her head.

“If only you’d taken care of me like this before,” Lucy mumbled.

Natsu paused and leaned over her ear. “Why not let me take care of you now?”

“You know the answer to that.”

“No, I don’t know the answer, that’s part of the problem!”

Lucy sighed. “Natsu, I don’t want to fight right now. I’m here to relax, not fight. If you’re done, then leave and send Kenji back in.”

“Oh, yeah. Why? Because he’s another one of your boy toys? He gonna be naughty again with you once I leave?!”

“Pfft, I said that knowing it was you, idiot.”

“I think you live to torture me, Angel. But you’re right. I don’t wanna fight right now either, so—” Natsu leaned down quick and latched his mouth onto the area between her shoulder blades, sucking hard.

Lucy squealed and reached back frantically trying to claw at his face, but he grabbed her hands, knowing if she struggled any harder, she risked completely exposing herself. He held her for a few seconds, and once satisfied he’d achieved his goal, let go.

“Natsu! Did you put a hickey on me?!”

“This Angel,” he trailed his fingers over Lucy’s tattoo as he spoke, “belongs to me. Will always be mine,” he whispered close to her ear. “You know it, I know it, and your boy toys will know it too.”

“I hate you.”

“Nah,” Natsu stood up and covered her back up with the sheet. “You hate that you don’t hate me. It’s okay. I still love you too. See ya around kitten.”

Natsu heard the woman’s sigh as the door closed behind him and smiled to himself. He knew she didn’t actually hate him, their relationship was just complicated at the moment, never love the actual problem between them… Though, it had been a dick move to give her a hickey, but that’s what Lucy gets for leading him on like that. She could’ve just stopped the massage immediately if she knew it was him all along, so to let him go through the entire process, it was tit for tat— and hey, at least it’s only temporary.

‘It’s your move next kitten…’

[gyromitra-esculenta]

Misery is the Drug in Your Veins 1

Dead Dove Mob/Yakuza AU

Hanzo has a problem threatening Shimada-gumi’s working relationship with Reaper’s organization: the altercation between his shit-for-brains men and Reaper’s kid’s bodyguard that ended with blood spilled. It’s his responsibility to smooth things over and offer an appropriate apology.

Over two years earlier, working deep undercover in Reyes’ family, Jack finds himself with his cover blown and his very life a balancing act on a tightrope.

Warnings: Serious Dead Dove, ncs, dubious/coerced consent, ncs drug use, violence (like people buried alive at night in woods in future or mentions of necklacing), abuse, objectification, ptsd, cptsd, fawning, no-one is objectively good, etc - also Hanzo & Genji being bros.

*

He should have taken the coat, not just the scarf, Jack thinks, observing the falling snowflakes, big and fluffy. Probably the first snow, too, all poetic and shit. He just needed some space to breathe and clear his mind, if only for a moment - hitching a ride with Amelie and Jesse on their morning trip to the shore seemed like a good idea then, not so much now.

To his left, Amelie speaks into her phone in angry spitfire French. Jack sighs and closes his eyes as he leans his head back against the wooden post. Should've taken the coat, he's too fucking cold. Cold enough to shiver.

"Will you die?" Jesse asks and Jack cracks one eye open. He can hear the sirens getting closer - he also feels the blood seeping through the fingers of the hands he keeps pressed to his side - and he's so fucking cold.

"I don't know," Jack answers sincerely, "but Gabe's gonna be angry with me, for sure..."

Jesse nods solemnly and puts his own hands on his - Christ, he's what, seven? The kid's seven, Jack needs to remind himself, and asking him if he's going to die now, and no child should do that ever, but he's just tired and fucking freezing.

It doesn't even hurt anymore and the sirens are getting away.

*

 The car ride through the early winter landscape takes over an hour. The serpentine road leading up the mountain mansion is cleared of snow - and at this point, observing the scenery passing by the window, Hanzo is considering making a damn PowerPoint presentation. If it will save him from this kind of headache in the future, it will be worth it. Maybe he will even delegate the task to Genji. Speaking of whom, as the car turns around and rolls to a stop in front of the mansion, Genji is the first out with a cigarette in his hand.

Hanzo waits for Daichi to open his door.

The air is chilly but not enough for the snow to linger for more than a few days unless the temperature drops further. Hanzo would spend a moment to appreciate it under any other circumstances.

The angry European woman, underdressed for the weather, leans on the banister of the balcony and glares death at them. Another variable Hanzo’s unfamiliar with.

"Get back in the car."

Genji waves his cigarette.

"I just light..."

"The car, now."

Genji swears in a protest but complies. Good. Hanzo needed him to only show his face around, anyway, so it’s known he’s taking the situation with all the seriousness expected.

The woman above raises her chin and turns away from the banister, disappearing from his sight. He's expecting to meet her inside.

Hanzo walks past the first car, nodding to his people as he passes them. The hall is hot, and Hanzo entertains for a moment the notion Americans have absolutely no moderation in anything. He lets Daichi take his coat and leaves him behind in the vestibule, following one of the two guards deeper into the house. Up the stairs, the mercenary lets him into the day room connected to the balcony. Through the glass doors, he can see it's far more spacious than it appears from the outside.

The woman from earlier sits in a wicker chair, drinking something warm from a cup. The kid, dressed more appropriately in a sweater and a cap, plays with toy cars on the floor, pausing once in a while to talk at her - by the movement of the steam above the rim of the cup he can follow her answers.

Hanzo sits down on the couch.

When he was much younger, he believed in all the tall tales of honor, whole-heartedly even, before he had realized it was just a pretty word for bruised egos and petty vendettas of the vain. And as such, the vulgar display of power before him is merely that.

"Shimada," Reaper raises his glass minutely without offering. The whore, half-sitting on the floor with face leaning on his thigh, bound and gagged - thankfully covered with a thrown on yukata - either pretends not to notice the audience or is completely out of it. Hanzo fixates for a moment on a darker patch on Reaper's trousers, obviously wet with drool and gods know what else. He's even marginally curious if the whore's going to be one of those he has to arrange for a discrete cleanup after, one of the obligations of the agreement negotiated by his father, both the supply and the subsequent removal.

"I've become aware of an... incident involving some of my men. I want to extend my sincere apologies and assure you they will be disciplined appropriately."

"Will they?" Reaper sips his drink.

They certainly are already very sorry, is what Hanzo would want to say, since your minder sent all three of them running, and two, in the aftermath, to the urgent care. He settles for the appropriate prostration.

"I will personally ensure a situation like this won’t repeat."

"My property was put at risk."

The negotiation stage, at last. If such a thing ever came to be, Hanzo dearly hoped he himself would never refer to his own child, or their mother, as his property, though he harbors no such futile delusions where his own future is concerned.

"We will offer the customary tribute."

"I demand the full retribution."

"It was a grave mistake but it would be a far too drastic action to undertake."

"I don't think you understand the severity of the situation, Shimada," Reaper smiles and inclines forward, setting the glass between them on the table while his other hand pets the whore's hair. He leans back against the couch, pulling at the gripped between his fingers hair, forcing the whore to straighten frantically to follow his movement. One of those gags, Hanzo notes in the back of his mind, watching the man's throat as he seizes and tries to fight for his breath with his changing position. The cloth slips off his frame, revealing the stitches on his left side and the reddened flesh underneath.

It's the distinctive scars that make Hanzo realize he had read the situation wrong, right from the very start.  Whatever Reaper sees in his face is enough for him to let go of the man's hair and allow him to fall back against his thigh with a small sound of distress.

Hanzo was never in a position to negotiate.

"I'll arrange for the place and the time."

"See that you do, Shimada."

Halfway down the mountain, Genji finally asks.

"So, what's it gonna be? Fingers?" Hanzo holds his hand out to him and Genji, sighing, gives him his flask. "What, their balls and dicks?"

When Hanzo drinks more before passing the flask back to him, Genji grimaces.

"They just pestered the chick and knifed the hired muscle, that's a bit much."

"Only he wasn't a hired muscle."

"What, some family?"

Hanzo looks out of the window.

"Genji, do you remember, when the old man sent us to pick up the kid from the airport?"

"Yeah, what about it?"

"The junkie."

Standing outside of the terminal with the kid in his arms and a backpack, with a duffel bag full of money on the ground. Obviously lost and confused, suffering from withdrawal if one knew what to look for, and ready to bolt if anyone as much as tried to approach him - with months-old scars slashed across his face, and another one along the left side of his head, barely hidden under the hair.

And he would run if Hanzo didn't have the foresight to instruct his men to surround him; even made a panicked move before a strange resignation took him over and he quietly followed them to the car - not letting go of the kid even as he tore into the packet Hanzo provided him with and swallowed the pills dry, high as a kite already when they finally arrived at their destination and made the exchange, staying long enough to see him and the kid escorted to the mansion.

"Yeah, what about that one?" Genji flippantly takes a swig from the flask.

"It was him, and he's his woman."

"Shit." Genji meets his eyes, then continues in an unfamiliar display of sympathy. "I'll get everything ready, you just pass the word."

"Thank you." And Hanzo means it.

 *

 It's not the first time that Hanzo considers Genji would be a much better fit for the position, if not for his rambunctiousness, and some other quirks seen as weaknesses and not the strengths they were. Nevertheless, it was far more likely it would be Genji providing the heir, either by design or by accident, Hanzo idly thinks by the way of distraction from his current task, which is delivering a signed death warrant on his own men. They were foolish and young, their deaths superfluous, and yet...

The Chinese were good partners if one traded in lives - and Shimada-gumi partook in it - but drugs and firepower were a whole different matter altogether. The triads were unwilling to part with the total control, so if the man who provided the connections and his network wanted a blood tribute, he got the damn blood tribute. Too bad he never got to know what the old man paid for the deal they've inherited, but merely seeing him squirm over it was sure worth the price.

Hanzo sits on the couch just as the maid – Filipino, if he were to guess - finishes pouring the tea into what appears to be his designated cup out of the four on the table. The host is absent, as is the angry European woman; he can put the time it affords him to some use.

The indirect source of his headache is half-lying, half-sitting on the cushions on the floor. The kid, working on a picture, is sitting between the table and his legs. Hanzo observes for a moment, trying to look past the preconceptions and circumstances skewing his perception. The man is relaxed and definitely under the influence, be it painkillers or something else altogether, and except for the initial glance, he ignores Hanzo completely, staring off into space. Hardly frail, in a physical sense of the world. His physique is maintained. A wide bruise that wasn’t there before is circling his neck.

"I don't believe we were introduced," Hanzo clears his throat, extending his hand over the table. "Shimada Hanzo."

The man flicks his eyes at Hanzo's palm before returning to looking at an unspecified point in the air.

"...Jack."

But his lips were forming a different sound at the beginning before Jack apparently caught himself.

"I see," Hanzo puts his hand back on his thigh. "Can I ask you something, Jack?"

Jack shrugs noncommittally, with the accompaniment of subtle clinking.

"Thank you." Hanzo spares a glance to the kid busy adding copious amounts of red crayon to the picture. "This might be an inappropriate discussion for a child."

Jack shrugs again - there's the metallic sound once more - and answers without looking.

"I shot his mother in front of him."

That's... definitely, one way of saying it doesn't matter what's discussed. Hanzo purses his lips, mulling over how to proceed, when the kid puts the crayon back on the table and looks at him.

"Mom killed dad and wanted to kill Jack," the kid smiles and grabs the black crayon this time. Jack at first just stares at the boy, then Hanzo feels his surprised attention on himself as if, somehow, Jack had consciously noticed him only now, biting his lip in what could be apprehension or anxiety. Intriguing, how his focus wavers immediately, prompting Hanzo to continue with caution, to sustain it.

"Can you tell me, Jack, how you got the scars on your face?"

Jack mulls the question over.

"Glass. It was... a window, and the bomb went off..." His voice trails off. Fair enough. The cuts must've been clean and deep, missing both of his eyes by a close margin.

"Jack." The man's wandering gaze snaps back to Hanzo at hearing his name, again. "And the burn on your neck?"

"...gun." Jack doesn't elaborate on it. Hanzo keeps the momentum up and does not push for the information that is not provided freely.

"The scars on the chest, Jack?" As soon as Jack parses the question, the additional nervousness builds up in his shoulders. The metallic clinking is back. He answers with a barely perceptible stutter.

"...Afghanistan."

Either military or mercenary, might be both. Running convoys, possibly; maybe this is the connection Hanzo's looking for to sate his personal curiosity, but the further line of questioning is best saved for later.

"Jack," Hanzo calls the man's wandering attention back to himself, again. "And the scar on the left side of your head, Jack?"

Jack freezes for a moment before both of his hands fly up to cover his hair there - handcuffed and used to it, judging by the flawless coordination - the reddened skin around the wrists has an oily wet shine to it.

"No, it's not visible, Jack," Hanzo finds himself trying to placate him with his open palms showing and reaching over the table. The unexpected manner of an animal gulping air and ready to lash out reminds him of all the times he had to talk Genji down from whatever bad high he'd been on. "I've seen it before. Before. There's nothing to see now, Jack. Nothing."

The change is gradual. Jack's expression settles back into an impassive mask as his hands slowly return to their previous position. Hanzo lets the matter rest, sparing a glance at the kid unperturbed by the incident and happy to be left alone working on his picture.

"I failed to blow my brains out," Jack delivers in a flat voice bereft of any inflection. There's something disturbingly familiar in his words and eyes Hanzo cannot pin down, not now at least, but the impression of the fact that he had seen it somewhere before remains. Puzzle pieces to be assembled together later - if he finds enough of the missing parts to create the image or at least the idea of the image.

"That's all that I wanted to ask, Jack," Hanzo focuses on the cup he reaches for, still feeling the uncomfortable stare of blue eyes bore into him.

Over time, he grew accustomed to the western idea of what tea is - made with much too hot water and too many leaves - and marinated. The one in the cup has a lovely red coloring and smells deeply of tannin. The taste is tart and bitter, with a smidge of sweet fermentation. From the corner of his eye, Hanzo can still see Jack observing him with unnerving intensity. He tries to remain unbothered by it while sipping his tea, idly noting it would be acceptable as a sweetened drink when watered down.

The uncomfortable moment lasts until Jack shifts his whole posture, best described as a scramble to prop himself up on his hands - the reason obvious when the host enters Hanzo's field of vision - the whole of it a ridiculous approximation of a pet reacting to its beloved owner.

As ridiculous as Hanzo's own refusal to refer to the man as 'Reaper' in the confines of his own mind, but the fact some of his people took to calling him 'Shinigami' is even more preposterous, and he will take no part in this absurd game unless otherwise required. And, even being in a position of a supplicant - again - he will not vie for the attention that at the same time he is owed as a guest. The whole situation leaves Hanzo with a substantial quandary to navigate while he goes through the mental list of all the interdependencies. Not for the first time, he's more than curious what the old man had offered his current host in the introductory package - but definitely not the mansion itself. Hanzo had discreetly investigated all the details of the acquisition of the property and nothing came up, except for the fact that it had been allowed to be bought out by a foreigner. If he were to hazard a cautious guess, it almost looked like a cozy retirement plan.

Hanzo sips on his tea, watching the interaction before him play out: at the same time put off and fascinated by it. Jack strains, the corner of his lips Hanzo can see from his vantage point twitches. The position he put himself in must be forcing pressure on the stitches that punches through whatever pain medication - or anything else - he's on. The host takes ahold of his jaw - definitely not a gentle grip but probably not bruising - and pulls him up even higher, enough that Jack now has to brace his palms on the table to keep balance and minimize the strain on his side. Hanzo has the unsettling notion he's being privy to something far too intimate to be displayed during what is basically a business meeting. While he does understand the difference in the sensibilities, this is too much, with how Jack keeps his eyes trained on the man. As soon as the so-far hidden from the view pipette is raised, he opens his mouth obediently.

Hanzo counts three drops, a pause, and then the fourth one like an afterthought. Free from the grip, Jack remains at attention until the host pats his cheek in dismissal. At this, he eases off slowly, sinking down until he rests his forearms on the edge of the table and reaches for his teacup, downing it in a fashion that makes it clear he's trying to get rid of a displeasing taste in his mouth. All things aside, on its own, it is an impressive maneuver to be pulled off while being impaired both by the cuffs and the sustained injury, not to mention the medication. Hanzo makes a note of it, moving Jack up several rungs in his personal risk assessment. He's dangerous, maybe on par with the angry woman, who, at the moment, seems to be absent from the meeting.

"Don't worry about your little earlier chat, Shimada."

Ah. Hanzo had been caught snooping for information, not that he really counted on it to go unnoticed. The question, how much his host, now sitting in front of him, cares about this perceived invasion of privacy.

"He won't remember it."

Apparently, not as much as Hanzo would expect, but another possibility opens: a warning that Jack won't recognize him as an ally down the line. He might be overthinking it. Probably is, and, feeling the warning bells of borderline paranoia, Hanzo glances at Jack now reclining back on the pillows with his eyes half-closed.

The kid remains unbothered by it all, focused fully on his artwork.

"I understand," Hanzo begins, reaching into his front pocket for a card he places face down on the table - keeping his fingers on the laminated paper. "Regarding our previous discussion..." He slides the card towards the host. "I hope the time and the place are acceptable."

The man observes him with the most irritating smirk on his face, barely noticeable but definitely there. It's his frayed nerves, Hanzo decides when the host finally leans forward and he pulls his hand away from the piece of paper, straightening his posture. Only, the man picks up his cup.

"I'm sure there will be no scheduling conflicts for this event."

'Event'. Hanzo will murder his own people in cold blood. Idiots of mythological proportions, true, but still his people. Business oiled with blood, like any other. The loud clack of a crayon put down with force on the table startles him - Hanzo hopes his face doesn't show it. The kid gets up and steps over Jack's legs, going for the cupboards on the other side of the room.

"Did you finish your classes?" The host asks, not breaking the eye contact.

"In the morning," the kid answers as he retrieves what looks to be a handheld game from the drawer before making his way back to the table.

"Okay then." The host smiles, almost fondly. Nodding at that. "Children," he adds as a means of the explanation that's unneeded. "Now, where were we?"

"I believe this was all, unless..." The man sets the cup back - untouched - and rises from the couch. Hanzo mimics him, struck by the sheer rudeness of it: another garish display of the imbalance between them and their respective organizations. At least, until there's a hand extended towards him over the table. He takes it. The grip is firm and does not ease, making it uncomfortable as silent seconds pass.

"Gabriel. I'm looking forward to our continued partnership."

They'd never been formally introduced before. Hanzo feels the balance shift imperceptibly with the name slotting into the appropriate spaces in his mind.

"Hanzo."

"See that it doesn't end too soon," Gabriel releases his hand with finality. Hanzo nods, feeling like he has just, how the western saying goes, sold his soul to the devil.

"I will definitely keep it under consideration."

"Good."

Gabriel sits back down and Hanzo more than feels it's his cue to leave. He turns, with one last glance to the kid: he has managed to place himself between Jack's arms, with his back leaning against the man's chest. If not for the cuffs around the wrists laying across his lap, it would appear as nothing out of the ordinary. Maybe it wasn't, really, with how the kid was now engrossed in his game like everything was in perfect order.

Hanzo spends the ride back ruminating on the meeting.

The puzzle pieces do not want to fit together - he gets two or three to connect but not more - different bits of information suspended in the void of unknowns. When Daichi opens his door, one memory strikes him randomly. Hanzo sends him away with the wave of his hand.

Still sitting in the car, he takes one cigarette out of the case and lights it.

Hanzo doesn't smoke. It's rather a sympathetic nervous habit he had picked up from Genji: holding a burning cigarette between his fingers and the disagreeable smell help him focus and calm. He has been right. He knew the expression, or rather the lack of it, that Jack wore on his face when asked about the scar. He had seen it before, had heard the same flat voice, all from some of the used merchandise, the ones that were broken in, or just simply broken.

 *

 Two and a half years ago.

He wakes slowly, with pain lacing through his body at every minute motion. Tries to sort his memories out, what was real and what has never happened.

The room is oddly familiar. The slid shut curtains remind him of something disturbing.

It's probably morning.

Over the hum in his head, he can hear someone moving downstairs.

He works the courage up to shift and sit - then stand on unsteady legs - his tongue feels swollen and sticks to the roof of his mouth. It makes sense for it to be morning, somehow.

The first door he tries is the bathroom. The light comes on by itself - he barely registers moving before he's gripping the sink with both hands and drinks straight from the tap. When he finally looks up, there's a baggie stuck with yellow tape to the mirror's surface.

He rips it off and stills, staring. His reflection is a sorry sight - but it's not right - the bruises and scrapes are healing, his lips are scabbed. It's days, not hours. Tentatively, he reaches to his cheek and winces at the sharp pain.

But it's not right, not when his wrists are rubbed raw fresh and stinging - and there's nothing in the air but the smell of gasoline - and if Gabriel comes any closer, his hair will catch on fire too...

He flinches away from the mirror and the specter lurking in the reflection. But Gabriel is still standing in the doorway. Blocking his way out.

He knows.

Gabriel knows.

The fragments of the last few - two? three? - days come together into a mismatched tapestry of metal, gunpowder, and gasoline. He tastes blood and breathes in the sand. The edge of the sink digs into his back as Gabriel steps closer and crowds his space, hand reaching to his palm and freeing the still-gripped in it plastic bag.

With his fingers, Gabriel forces the pills past his lips; a drop of blood trickles down his chin from an open again split lip.

But he's only interested in finding what hides behind those eyes that observe him with the knowing superiority: what’s the verdict?

One phone call, he needs but one call, and 'Jack' will be wiped from existence, and he will be safe and away from all this.

Away and safe to lick his wounds. He’s good at that.

"Swallow." The command comes with a pressure to his jaw and a palm covering his mouth - he does. "Good doggie. Wash up, change, and come downstairs. Dinner's ready soon."

Gabriel lets go of him and leaves.

'Jack' needs to die.

He spares the last long look for his own reflection and wipes the blood off his face with one of the pristine towels hanging by the side. He throws it to the ground.

Hot water in the shower stings and hurts, but his lips and fingertips tingle with numbness. The steam makes it hard to breathe; the towel still comes away tinged pink with a few darker spots scattered around, stark in the contrast to the glaring white. There's still some grime under his nails he can't get to; he's not sure he cares, not now.

Opiates, this time, with something extra mixed in, he realizes when he overshoots with his hand at first try while reaching for the change of clothes lying on the bed. The loose sweatpants and the long-sleeved shirt, both in spruce - is spruce even a color? - hang off his frame. It's... a first. He remembers losing some weight, but this is ridiculous, as is the thought they're probably a set of pajamas. He chuckles and covers his mouth immediately, surprised at the sound.

He needs time and a place to lick his wounds and process before he crashes. He needs time away from 'Jack'.

He knows his way around the house as well as he knows someone outside will put a bullet in the back of his head if he runs.

He needs 'Jack' to die.

He steps barefooted off the carpeted stairs onto chill parquet.

On the chest of drawers by the wall lie his keys, gun, wallet, and the phone - the screen is cracked but as long as the other sim card is in it should dial the right number and 'Jack' will die either way. He almost picks up the phone and the gun but thinks better of it.

He's got a straight line to the outside. Baby steps. Just be quiet. He recognizes the jacket hanging on the coat rack, it's his own - looks back to the gun.

The sound of metal hitting on glass is too loud, almost like it's supposed to catch his attention.

"Oh, you're up! Just in time, too." Chipper and pleasantly surprised. He blinks and winces at the voice, turning to his right. She's there, in shades of pink, holding some spatula or some other implement. "Sit down, I'm just finishing up," Angela continues with a smile.

She can't not know. There's no fucking way she doesn't know at least that one thing. She shouldn't be smiling at him.

"...I don't want... to intrude."

"Don't be silly, Jack, I'm happy to have you. I tried something new tonight. I hope you like lamb in mint and black beans."

The table is set for four people. Jesse sits in his chair, elbows propped next to his plate, his cup of juice half-emptied already. Gabriel's not here. He can't decide if that's good or not.

Cautiously, he walks to the closest chair and sits with his back to the corridor.

Closest to the exit.

Angela busies herself with the pots. Jesse observes him with the fervent disinterest only children are capable of. He tries to smile; Jesse's not impressed and kicks the table.

"You must be hungry." It's bad. He had missed her moving.

Angela puts the meat on his plate first. It smells sweet. He is hungry - he must be hungry with how his breathing speeds up and shallows - or maybe he has just noticed it? She comes back with the beans; they're really, honestly, just black in black, and he laughs and chokes on it.

He wipes his lips with his wrist, barely noticing the blood.

The hand on his shoulder is not hers even if she's back again by his side, closer than before. Fingers move to his throat, a thumb rubs hard circles into the back of his head. She sees it, doesn't she? She has to.

"You'll be eating with us more often, won't you?" Angela coos, leaning in. She pets his hair and kisses his cheek. "You're family, after all. Well," she straightens and claps her hands. "Everybody, dig in. Dinner's served."

The hand on his neck lets go with one last shove - and only then he feels he's able to take a shallow breath. He focuses on the plate; the fork held between his fingers wavers. The beans glisten and he's pretty sure they are not moving, even if he would swear they do. He pierces one with the fork and brings it to his lips; somehow, it tastes numb. He almost recoils at the sudden pain when his tongue presses it against the roof of his mouth - and after a short pause, he moves the bite to the side of his mouth before swallowing.

That's... he remembers. That has happened.

He keeps his head low, forcing himself not to look anywhere but his plate, carefully gathering what is probably meat on the fork that hits the glass with too much force more than once.

He blinks.

The meat is on the fork.

The light is different.

The sickly sweet smell brings up bile in his throat. He lets go of the fork. The sound it makes when it falls is louder than a gunshot. He almost trips to the side together with the chair when scrambling to stand up, one hand pressed to his mouth.

"I need a smoke." Stained and high-pitched. It's not his voice.

He backs into the corridor until there's a wall behind him he can lean on. His breath comes in short wheezing gusts through the gaps between his fingers.

Little late to start panicking.

"Take the jacket. It's cold."

He turns to the left. The jacket.

He vaguely remembers he had a pack of cigarettes in there, one he only started on. He slides along the wall and tries - fumbles at it the first time; it feels too heavy - to pry the jacket off the hanger – stumbles to the door - forgets for a second it opens outward and pulls first.

The chill in the air hits him as he steps out to the porch. It's dark out. Shivering, he manages to slip the jacket on his shoulders and pats the pockets before he finds the cigarettes.

There are two SUVs with tinted windows parked in the front. He knows there are people in them.

He can't run.

The first cigarette is broken - he lets it fall next to his bare feet. The next, too. The third, too; he breaks off the dangling part and puts it between his lips.

He lights it off the offered light, noticing only after the fact Slim is standing next to him. And Slim is not slim, it's hilarious.

He drags on the cigarette. The smoke feels like nothing and burns the roof of his mouth, but quells nausea. Vertigo comes as he closes his eyes; a hand under his elbow keeps him stable for that fleeting moment.

His mind is clearer. Somehow.

He should be dead. He isn't. His cover is blown, and he has nothing. He's compromised. He throws the butt to the ground and takes out another cigarette. Slim lights that one for him, too.

Maybe, just maybe, he can go.

Walk past the parked cars with no one stopping him. Hitch a ride to the nearest gas station. Make a call and wait for someone to come and pick him up. With nothing of substance to show for the months spent.

Pathetic.

Run away with his life.

But...

No one else but him got this close. It almost feels like he's... being allowed to stay. Like they know - Gabriel knows - it isn't about him. The game's far bigger.

He can do it. 'Jack' can stay for a while longer.

He can do it. He still needs to make the call.

Jack takes the last drag on the broken cigarette and then tosses it away. He's still shivering. The hand leaves his elbow; Slim is still not slim, it's still hilarious, and Jack bites back a chuckle that sounds wrong even to his own ears.

"How's...?" Slim asks, almost like a concern.

Jack shrugs. Feeling the gaps in the wood with his soles, he takes a small step forward and breathes in the air.

He can stay a while longer. Jack is here to stay.

He turns around and sizes the door leading back into the lion's den. The click of the lock has a finality to it.

The only light in the corridor pours in from the kitchen. The familiar vertigo is back. Foot after foot, slow and careful, the thrum of blood rising in his ears, Jack makes his way to his phone left haphazardly in the open.

"What are you doing?"

He freezes with his fingertips trembling just above the cracked screen. Gabriel is behind him.

"I... need to make a call."

"You can do that tomorrow." Jack flinches when a clip of notes lands next to his palm. He flinches again when the jacket slips off his shoulders and falls to the floor. "You'll need a new phone, anyway."

"I really..."

The hand on his wrist pushes his arm down; Jack offers no resistance, his breath catching in his throat.

"Good doggie."

Fingers move over his shoulder and then knuckles brush against the hair on the nape of his neck. The touch follows the bumps of his spine - stops just below the shoulder blades with commanding pressure. He climbs the first step of the staircase. His grip on the handrail spasms. It was stupid, to expect the lion to lie meek in its own den.

Jack doesn't fight the hand at his back - doesn't fight it even as it pushes him later down under and keeps him at the bottom of the bathtub. In the morning, Angela fuses over him with the concealer. When she's satisfied with her handiwork, she drags him to stand in front of the mirror.

"See? It's all better now."

[clairvoyantsam]

#JUSTINDESERVEDBETTER talk & 13 Reasons Why S4E10 thoughts

So ... I’ve already watched the series finale, did it right after episode 9 but it was hard for me to watch and write my thoughts simultaneously because I was ugly crying the whole freakin time. Thus, I’m posting this now. Haven’t cried this much in a LONG while. My heart is fucking broken. I’m gonna start by talking about my favorite character whom the show did SO. FUCKING. DIRTY. JUSTIN FOLEY DESERVED BETTER. (obviously, OBVIOUSLY, it was gonna be MY favorite character who gets screwed over and dies a horrible death, just my luck, why did I expect a happy ending, I don’t even know).

Justin was the most tragic figure of the show. Raised by a junkie mother who never gave a damn about him, sexually molested as a little kid by one of her many drug addict & violent boyfriends, he often went to school dirty and hungry because of the neglect. He never had a positive influence in his life. He only managed to do better with Bryce’s help (Bryce was a bastard but he did care about Justin in his own way, that’s for sure). 

After the events of S1 with Hannah’s suicide and the tapes and everything that happened with Jessica and Bryce, he left his abusive home and lived in the streets where he barely ever found food and what money he got from charity or the men who paid (and hurt him) to use his body, he gave to drugs. 

In S2, Clay and Toni, found him and saved his life, helped him get back on his feet and he tried his best to set things straight with everyone. He even saved Clay’s life who came so close to killing Bryce and even worse himself. He didn’t hesistate to face the legal consequences if it meant helping the girl he loved. And Clay eventually became his brother as his parents decided to adopt him. 

In S3, he started going to school and doing well, got a job, tried to start his life over, this time in a safe environment with a real family and friends who supported him. He was doing exceptionally well, he looked much happier, he finally felt what it’s like to be loved by a mother and father and a brother and he got some sense of normalcy in his life. He was there for Clay when things got bad, believed in him and he had his back ALWAYS. (still emo about their scenes together where they told each other “I love you” & “I’d do ANYTHING for you”), Plus, he was one of Tyler’s biggest supporters stating Tyler deserved a second chance to be better.

Come S4 ... he’s fresh out of rehab, looking better than ever. His friends welcome him when he gets back but everything is different. EVERYTHING. And everyone has changed. THE ENTIRE SEASON, NOBODY, NOT A SINGLE PERSON gave a fuck about him except for the coach and to a point his adoptive parents. He had done so much progress, he wanted to make his new family proud so bad, he was clean, he was doing great at school, he even got accepted into college!!! And what did he get in return???? NOT ONE OF HIS FRIENDS HUNG OUT WITH HIM ONCE, NOT EVEN ONCE. Every time he tried to approach someone or help THEM deal with their problems, he was turned away and even insulted. They would tell him he shouldn’t be giving advice and that he would never change who he used to be. He confessed to the coach that he felt like nobody believed in him and frankly?? NOBODY SHOWED THEY DID!!!!!!!! Jessica brushed him off all the time because she was MAD he broke up with her so he could FOCUS ON HIS HEALTH!!!!!!!!!! WHAT??????!!!!!!!!! She kept parading everywhere with Diego when she knew this was hurting him deeply. Clay was so fucking MEAN to him and I didn’t understand WHY after their great bonding their previous two seasons. Sure, he had his own problems, but there was NO reason for this, absolutely none. He was jealous of the moments Justin shared with his parents and how he was doing well at school and sports and got accepted in college. He even told in his FACE that Matt and Lainie are his parents ALONE, not Justin’s when he knew Justin’s biggest need was to feel the love and warmth of a family. Justin wanted to go to a free college so that Clay could have the money go to the BEST one and so the Jensens didn’t have to spend any on him. And I’m 100% sure he never told them how sick he was until it was too late because he didn’t want to be a burden so he decided to die quietly and slowly without upsetting them. Clay had the NERVE to pin the positive drug test on Justin when Justin was fucking CLEAN and then went on to smoke POT at that party. It broke my heart in 1000000 pieces when Justin asked him why he hated him so much. Zack wasn’t better either, basically telling Justin that he’d be a junkie his entire life and he could never change. The others mostly didn’t give a flying fuck, focused on nobody else but themselves and stayed far away from him the entire season. His mom died of OD and he didn’t tell anyone but the Jensens and Jess and he had to deal with everything all on his own again. He only had the coach to listen and there was a limit to what help he could give. So, he finally broke. He stopped caring since nobody was giving him a chance, he started using again, he lost his job, he didn’t care about anything. Jess and Clay knew he was using again and did NOTHING to help except tell him “Hey, I thought you quit! I thought you were getting better!”. Wow, BIG HELP, ASSHOLES. They all left him alone on prom night, and Clay SAW how sick he looked but he preferred to go to prom rather than stay with his brother who needed him.

Justin, with what little strength he had left, got dressed and went to the prom towards its end, he looked so beautiful in his suit, like Prince Charming. He lived one last carefree moment with the girl he loved and then he collapsed. And THAT’S when everyone said “OH, NO! Let’s go see our sick friend!”. Well done, now he IS DYING, YOU IGNORANT IDIOTS. Now that he’s at death’s door, you want to be there for him but WHERE WERE YOU WHEN HE WAS SO DESPERATELY TRYING TO LIVE?????????? Yes, it was proven that he had HIV, probably from the time he lived on the streets and without the proper care it went on to become fully AIDS and he had numerous other issues with his health as a result of that and the drugs to the point that he could no longer breathe on his own. BUT. Had he shared his problems and told the Jensens how sick he was feeling for so long, his death could have been prevented. I know someone in real life who got HIV in his 30s and he’s now in his 60s and his life is perfectly fine. He has friends, he has family (didn’t get married), he travels, he does what he wants. Justin could have been saved if someone had NOTICED. Like HANNAH could have been saved if someone, ANYONE was paying attention. Needless to say, I fucking died during his scenes in the hospital, it was so hard to watch him waste away in that hospital bed. When they took the tube out so he could say his goodbyes to Clay, Jess and his adoptive parents ... I LEGIT haven’t cried so hard in SO long ... I still have a headache from all the crying. My poor CHILD, he was scared but he told them all how much he loved them and eventually died in his sleep, holding his brother’s, Clay’s hand. The episode was meaningless after that for me. I only watched to see how everyone’s stories would end, even though I didn’t care and knew that they’d get their happy (mostly) endings. The one character who TRULY deserved the best and happiest ending, got royally fucked and buried six feet under while everyone went about their lives like nothing had happened.

I really don’t have much to comment on the rest of the story. Clay did one final extreme act by walking in the police department, saying he had a gun. Not convinved he didn’t really want to die too after Justin but perhaps his psychologist was right and he was just trying to make people notice he was hurting. I’m happy for Toni for doing what’s best for him and deciding to accept the scholarship and go to college, same goes for Tyler, he deserved to be happy and I’m glad he ended up with Estella. Relieved that Jess and Diego tested negative for HIV but disappointed they were ready to get back together so soon after Justin. Winston decided to not use what he found out about Bryce’s death against Alex and the others and that made me respect him a little bit. (Winston and Ryan btw? hehe, I kinda saw it coming ever since I saw Ryan and Courtney at the graduation-did anyone also notice Bryce and Monty in the crowd too??lol). Liked the graduation and Hannah’s little cameo (although it was archived footage) but it left me with a sour taste because Justin wasn’t there among the rest, only as a ghost in Clay’s mind. Also that Heidi girl talking to Clay, uh, SO cheesy and unnecessary. Clay reading Justin’s college essay with Justin’s ghost in their bedroom and seeing how it was all about him and Justin calling him his brother ... IT DESTROYED ME. UTTERLY AND COMLETELY. WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME. WHY WOULD YOU KILL THE MOST BEAUTIFUL CHARACTER OF THE SHOW. THE MOST COMPLEX AND DAMAGED ONE. WHY COULDN’T HE HAVE A HAPPY ENDING LIKE THE REST OF THEM. IT’S FUCKING UNFAIR.

I’m glad the final scene was just Clay and Toni driving away, always enjoyed their friendship. Having no word exchange between them was pretty powerful because you only needed to read their expessions to feel the emotions.

All in all, a powerful season who dealt with so many important issues, well directed and full of action but disappointing for me where it mattered the most ... Right now, I don’t want to even touch another show for a long time, I need a break to recover from this, it was too much. I wish I didn’t get so attached to certain characters, but I do and it hurts me deeply when shit like that happens to them. Anyway ... Goodbye, show ... it was (mostly) good while this journey lasted ... I sure hope I see all these HUGELY talented actors and actresses in other projects in the future, especially Brandon Flynn (Justin), Dylan Minnette (Clay), Katherine Langford (Hannah) & Justin Prentice (Bryce). I also hope Brandon & Dylan get ALL the awards for their performances in S4. THEY DESERVE EVERYTHING. I’d love to hear other people’s thoughts on all this, it was such an intense experience.

[eat0crow]

Cliche but can I request flower shop owner Marinette with gang boi Jason?

Dear sweet Anon, you have no idea how weak I am for cliche tropes. I took some liberties here seeing as Red Hood is already a sorta gang leader and just used that! I hope you like my rambly headcanons! I had so many ideas for this au that I really had to try to hold back.

Ground Zero

1) There’s a flower shop right on the edge of Jason’s territory that’s essentially become an urban legend.

No one is actually sure how exactly it’s still standing, it borders two rival gangs, Red Robin’s usual patrol route, and Jason’s terf. There have been at least three gang wars raging on the same street, yet still Miraculous stands as the one neutral spot in all of Gotham. It’s a cute shop, don’t get Jason wrong, but the only miraculous thing about it is that no one has even tried to claim it.

He brings it up once, the keyword once. Because the shop has stood as neutral ground for at least a century, and no one wants to be the one to break that streak. The shop is also cursed apparently, or at least protected by some malevolent force. The building lost a shingle once in the ’80s to a member of the False Facers, and the very next day saw Gotham PD hauling in at least two-thirds of the Black Mask’s operation.

Which is probably exaggerated, right? None of the minor drug lords under Jason want to get into it. The Black Mask doesn’t want to get into it. (He clams up the moment Jason tells him the shop re-opened, apparently, it had closed a year after the shingle incident)

Miraculous, as well as the parking lot it sits on, is the ground zero of Gotham. No crime goes into the lot, no crime goes out. The pots are never tipped over, no one tries to steal even a single rose from the display. No one touches the cute building, even if it’s painted an obnoxious pastel pink that stands out like a sore thumb in the Gotham night. At least, as far as everyone knows—Jason is still kinda skeptical about that. Really, it’s the perfect set up for a smuggling ring.

Tim is there sometimes as Red Robin. All the time really, at least twice a week. Jason has caught him more than once staked out with a pair of binoculars in the windows. A couple of times he even catches him helping the clerk repot plants. Which, yeah, Jason’s met Tim a time or two, he doesn't make a habit of sticking around his family, but the kid never came off as the gardening type.

It’s especially funny though, to see the pictures of Red Robin in a pink apron behind the counter trending on twitter.

He’s tried to go in a handful of times, to offer the owner his protection and whatnot. But each time he tries he forgets what he’s doing before he even turns the handle. Whoever runs this place must have the best luck in the world because this shit has been happening since it was built.

You’re a wayward gang member attempting to talk to the owner, you end up forgetting what you’re doing mid-action, and only start to remember five days later. The building is damaged, so is whatever scheme you’ve been planning. Actually in the shop when you decide to talk business, nope, it’s time for the most inconvenient phone call of your life.

“Why Dick, did you have to call me? I was so close.”

“Jason, are you crying?”

“I finally made it into the door. I’ve been trying for months to get in. But no, your ass gets stuck in your suit, and suddenly it’s time to call Jason. Nope, lose my number.”

2) Apparently everyone, including the fucking demon spawn, has been to Miraculous.

They all get kind of quiet when he brings it up though, Alfred actually leaves the room. Jason may have issues with Bruce, and Dick, and Tim, and don’t even get him started on Damian, but Alfred’s always been the neutral party for them. He’s always been the one they go to, no matter what. Upsetting Alfred is a capital offense. Jason feels...shitty about it.

“Alfred used to go, and get a bouquet there every weak after you died,” Dick tells him, folding his hands together, and settling in. Tim looks uneasy, and far more awkward than usual—which is saying something. “He’d get some white lilies to put on your grave. I went with him a few times, but he hasn’t been back since. I think the shop reminds him of it. When you were...you know.”

“Oh.” Jason really feels like an asshole.

“Yeah, I can’t say I’ve been back either.” Dick rubs the back of his neck like he’s admitting to something secret. “It used to be on my patrol route, back when I was first Robin. It always used to creep me out so I'd avoid it.”

“Really, Grayson,” Damian says with the same air of condescending superiority he always has.

“Hey, back in those days it was an abandoned building. The one that the witch owned! I don’t know about you, but I don’t fuck with witches. No thank you! I like my limbs.”

Jason might actually remember something like that, it’s hard. Like all the memories from before are hard, but he thinks back to being a kid. To growing up in a scummy neighborhood, and hearing people talk about the witching house that no one was allowed near. The one spot Squatters and Junkies, no matter how desperate, wouldn’t step foot in.

“It’s not all that bad,” Tim says. “My mom remembered when it was open the first time around. Mr. Fu was really nice, he used to let her play in the pots.”

“That aside,” Dick says fixing Jason with a half-crazed look. “It re-opened like a month after you died, so yeah, I went there with Alfred a lot. Like once a month a lot. The shop has this thing. You go in, and you’re instantly wrapped up in this nostalgic warm-fuzzy-reliving-my-childhood feeling. It’s weird.”

Tim stares. “I think that’s a you problem. I go in all the time, and yeah, the shop has a nice vibe, but it’s more like a you’re-safe-here thing.”

“You’re both, as usual, utterly wrong.” Damian sniffs. “If anything, the shop feels like coming home.”

The entire table turns to stare at him with wide unbelieving eye’s. Jason can hardly believe his ears...did Damian really just say something like that. The shocked look on even Dick’s face goes a long way in saying just how much no one can believe something so well adjusted came out of the demon spawn’s mouth.

Damian’s blush is priceless, his stutter—yes it’s a stutter no matter how much he denies it—is even better. “I mean to say. It feels familiar. The shop, you walk in, even for the first time, and you feel like you’ve walked through the door hundreds of times.”

Which, huh, because. “I always thought it felt like a warning. You step one foot onto the lot, and it feels like the walls themselves are daring you to start shit.”

3) Despite the hype that's built up around Jason going in, his first visit—No, Marinette that one didn’t count I literally just turned the door handle—is really anticlimactic.

It works like this, Roy asks him to pick up flowers, because Valentine's Day is today, and Kori will know what he's doing the second he tries to make up some lame excuse. Jason will never know how the man could ever be such a bad liar. As far as Kori knows, Jason is doing a typical supply run. Which, he is doing a supply run, even if the thought of cheesy romantic comedy cliches makes him sick.

All the same, Jason takes his role as best bro seriously, even though he has doubts about being able to complete this task. If his previous 52 failures are anything to go by, Miraculous hates him. There are only so many times a man can get maimed before he comes to the conclusion that the building itself has it out for him.

The hornets were what sold him. Not the bees, the hornets.

So with the air of a man who has just been sent out to war, Jason puts on this thickest jacket, his gloves, leaves his phone behind—even if attempt 34 taught him that was a really stupid idea—and braces himself to step inside. Maybe it’s because this is the first time Jason has gone into the flower shop for actual flowers. Maybe his luck is improving. Maybe...maybe the universe is setting him up for something even worse. Either way, it’s the first time the hair on the back of his neck doesn’t stand up the moment his foot hits the floor.

The girl at the counter is cute, just around his age with the bluest eyes he’s ever seen. That says something, because Jason has met Superman. That man's eyes are literally otherworldly. But Marinette’s, Jason has a suspicion this is the Mari Tim is always talking about, her eyes look like they’re glowing.

Jason realizes he’s been standing in the doorway staring, way too hard, when Marinette, that’s what her name tags says, clears her throat. With an air of confidence—Jason is a firm believer in the inherent power of bull shitting your way to success—he walks up to the counter.

“I’m looking for a bouquet,” Her stare is piercing and Jason swears it burns all the way down to his soul. “For Valentine's day. One with roses, and all that shit.”

Marinette huffs, and points to a depressingly empty display shelf. “You, and just about everyone else. Did you place an order?”

“Did I place an..” Jason trails off under his breath. “Please tell me you have something with the name Roy Harper in your registry.”

Marinette takes a moment to glance down, to ruffle through her papers. “I’m sorry, I only have one left, and its got the last name Grayson on it.”

Jason sees his life flash devastatingly fast across his eyes. It ends with him being torn to shreds by one of Roy’s homemade bombs when he comes back empty-handed. There won’t even be enough of him left to throw in a Lazarus pit. Nope, he’ll be sidewalk chalk.

So really he feels no guilt in fleshing his most charming smile, the one that always makes the old ladies coo, and saying. “Perfect, I’m here to pick that one up.”

Marinette takes one look at him draped over the counter, and bursts out laughing. Today is not a good day for Jason’s ego. “I thought you were Roy Harper.”

“No, I’m Dick Grayson.” The words are bitter in his mouth. “But the bouquet is for my friend, and I wasn’t sure what name he put it under.”

“Oh,” Marinette says, a smirk playing across her lips. “You think I was born yesterday. Sorry hon, but you’re not an alternative pick up, and I'll need to see some ID.”

“You expect me to show ID for flowers?..... Really?”

“Yes, I expect you to show ID when you’ve given me two different names, and those flowers are worth over a hundred dollars,” Marinette bites back. “Sorry, but that’s been paid in full, and I’m not going to lose a customer.”

“Okay,” Jason says, taking two crisp bills out of his wallet. It hurts because Roy gave him a twenty, and Jason will always be a cheap bastard at heart. Nevertheless, he likes Kori, she deserves this, even if Roy, who will be begging for mercy later, does not. He has to very consciously remove his hand after sliding them over. The urge to snatch them back is strong. “Listen, I really need that fucking bouquet. I am prepared to pay you double the price Grayson paid.”

Marinette actually looks offended. “Just because everyone else in this city is okay with being bribed doesn’t mean I am. You can keep your money.”

“Everyone has a price.” Jason gives her a look. “Name it.”

“Well, I don’t,” Marinette snaps, reaching down for her phone. “You can take your money, and fuck off. Before I get Red Robin over here to flush you out.”

“And here I was, thinking this was neutral territory.”

“It is.” Marinette stiffens. “This place isn’t under Red Robin’s protection, but he’s still my friend. I won’t hesitate to get him over here.”

“How about this then. The bouquet for protection. I can get Red Hood to claim this place.”

“What part of neutral didn’t you get?” Marinette asks, leaning over the counter and getting into his space. From here, just inches apart, her eyes are iridescent. Blue light toxically dripping out of a cracked glow stick. “Miraculous doesn’t get involved in your shit. You all want to wage war on each other? You want to pedal drugs? You want to smuggle shit? That’s cool, but you keep that away from my fucking shop. Miraculous doesn't get involved, you can all kill each other outside.”

She’s kind of terrifying up close. If Jason wasn’t convinced she would disembowel him, he’d be tempted to kiss her. Consent, however, is sexy as fuck.

Jason knows when he’s fighting a losing battle. “Is there any way. Anyway in hell, that I can get my hands on those fucking flowers?”

“Yeah,” Marinette says sitting back down. “You can call Grayson, and have him give them to you. But aside from that, I’ve seen a lot of shit. Sorry buddy, but you can’t buy me or scare me into anything.”

“I’ll call the sorry bastard up right now.”

“I’m not giving you his number.”

“I don’t need you to give me his number, I have it right…” Jason trails off, suddenly he remembers leaving his phone behind.

4) Jason is a petty asshole who has learned that the secret to getting into the flower shop is to think flowers.

Listen, Jason had to make do with drugstore flowers, and Roy’s disappointed puppy eyes for a month after being kicked out on his ass. To add insult to injury, Tim tracked him down two days later, as he was mid drug bust, to tell him to stay away from Marinette.

Okay, it’s not like he hadn’t already been planning to go back, frankly, the shop is a strategic masterpiece. Half of its cred as an urban legend comes from the fact that whoever claimed it would be given an instant power-up. It’s the One Ring to rule them all. Jason has to go back, and convince Marinette that the Red Hood is the one to ally with. He has to.

So yeah he’s going to go back anyway, but now he really wants to. Because Tim, his replacement, dared him. Maybe a bigger person would back down, what with all the external forces building up around the shop, the legend, the neutrality, the many failed attempts, Tim somehow having a vested interest…well, Jason has never been the bigger person.

Not by a long shot.

The first three times he attempts to return, Marinette meets him at the door. She’s quick about flipping the sign from open to closed. Jason, the first time, had tried turning the handle, whatever magic makes that building hate him, makes it lock up the second the sign changes. It’s not Marinette, Jason watched her. Her hands never touched the lock.

The first person he complains to is Roy, of course, who actually gives him the idea. Roy is a genius sometimes. So attempt four ends with him buying a single sunflower. It’s gaudy as all hell, and also the first thing his hand touched after he spent an hour trying to get Marinette’s attention.

She apparently will only talk to him in the brief thirty seconds she spends cashing him out. Which, yeah, that’s fair.

And so it begins. Every day except Tuesday, the only day the shop is closed, Jason goes in, buys a single sunflower, and talks up the Red Hood.

Even if Miraculous never comes into his fold, this will all have been worth it just to have seen the look on Tim’s face the first time he comes in just as Jason's buying his daily flower.

There’s a small hole burned into his wallet, but Kori loves sunflowers.

Jason’s not the only regular, but he’s the most frequent, by the end of his fourth month he knows all the other regular’s sob stories, and everyone and their mother thinks he's sweet on Marinette. That may be the kind of true by this point. He’s worn her down to where she will talk to him as he browses. Even if she also complains that, “It’s pointless. I already have your sunflower set aside.”

Month six marks a distinct turning point in their relationship. He was upgraded from General-Creep to Recurring-Menace to Okay-I-Guess-We’re-Sorta-Friends-Now a while ago. Month six is the month he gains the title of Permanent-Fixture. It’s marked by him walking in and Marinette forcing an apron on him.

“I told Red Robin when he started coming by, that if he was going to hang around than he needed a reason to. So if you want to hang in Miraculous you’re going to work in Miraculous.”

“Unpaid labor is illegal.”

“No, it’s not. It’s just called volunteering.”

5) Getting together actually takes a while.

Jason is relentless when it comes to his recruitment pitches, but he has standards for fuck's sake. No woman actually enjoys it when men flirt with them on the clock. There’s a whole power imbalance thing that makes him sick to his stomach.

Sure Marinette can take care of herself. She’s a force of nature. Jason had offered to help carry potting soil for her once. One time. That was before he saw her lift the thirty pound bag over her shoulder like an empty sack of rice. Marinette can take care of herself, she just won’t.

Jason has seen more than one scummy fuck harass her. She gets quiet….she loses her confidence, and it’s just so wrong to see a person as strong as Marinette look small. He’s not sure what about blatant flirting and bad pick up lines bothers her so much but—Marinette can never know, and they’ll never tell her that the Red Hood tracked each one of them down. Threats are beautiful things. They just make it all come together.

He is a gentleman, even after he starts working with her. While co-workers flirting with each other isn’t as bad, it’s still kind of awful. The problem is that Marinette is always working, she never leaves Miraculous. Even on her off days.

So Jason, never finds the right time to ask her out himself. All the regulars already think they’re dating. His brothers think they’re dating. Alfred, Alfred thinks they’re dating after walking into the shop one time since Jason’s resurrection. He’s thankful his brothers gave him a heads up—not. Alfred walks in to find him behind the counter with a fluffy pink apron on, even his refined British manners are tested. Jason just knows he’s laughing. He knows.

It happens like this, Jason teams up with Batman and Co. to help with a standard smuggling ring. Nothing difficult, the only reason it should have required all of them was because of the shipment size. It should have been easy. It had been easy.

That is until the Joker shows up, Jason freezes, and takes a bullet straight to the stomach.

Stomachs bleed...a lot.

He doesn’t remember much of what happened after that. Stomachs also hurt a lot, and it’s hard to think coherently when you’re in excruciating pain. Jason, blacked out shortly after Dick started putting pressure on the wound. For future reference, while stopping the bleeding might be important, it hurts like fucking hell.

Marinette is the first thing he sees when he opens his eyes. She’s hunched over herself in the plastic chair next to his bed. Someone, probably Dick or Alfred, draped a blanket over her. She looks vastly out of place, like the room itself is sucking the life out of her. The lighting makes her skin almost translucent.

The second thing he sees is the sunflowers covering every inch of the hospital room. There must have been a couple dozen, at least. It was probably closer to a hundred if not more. Despite the pain that comes with laughing, Jason can’t help himself.

His laughter alerts the nurse, who alerts his family. Apparently, they’ve all been camping out in the waiting room. Much comfier couches there. His family wakes Marinette, who turns her piercingly otherworldly eyes on him.

Marinette stays quiet through all his family’s fussing. She stays quiet even after that. All she does is stare. Jason doesn’t think she’s actually seeing him.

“I didn’t think I missed this many days,” Jason jokes, gesturing to the multitude of flowers wrapped around every available surface.

“No, you didn’t.” Marinette’s answer is curt. She’s distracted, Jason really wishes he knew what she was seeing.

“Not a fan of Hospitals?” Jason tries.

Marinette blinks. The cloudy look on her face disappearing as she shakes her head. “No, I really can’t stand them.”

“Me either.” Jason feels an intense desire to continue the conversation, if only to keep Marinette from closing up again. “You know, you didn’t have to visit me.”

“I wanted to,” Marinette says. “Your brother called, and told me what happened. I came by just after you were finishing up in surgery.”

“What about the shop?”

Jason has been working at Miraculous—volunteering because Marinette still doesn’t pay him—for months. He’s invested in the place now.

"It can be closed for a few days,” Marinette says, reaching over to take his hand. Jason lets her, he’s always hated hospitals. It's gotten worse since he came back. The comfort is welcome. “This is more important.”

Jason wants to say something, to take his shot, and ask her out. Because she’s just as important to him, but it feels wrong so, he settles with, “You’re a really good friend Marinette.”

He does his best to ignore the way the words choke him.

“I think,” Marinette starts, only to stop herself. There’s a moment of internal debate before she continues, “I think we both know we’re a little more than just friends.”

6) Jason never does claim Miraculous, it remains perfectly neutral, despite having the Bat-Family practically living out of the apartment upstairs.

“Hey, do you think now that we're dating you can convince Tim to come by out of costume?”

Jason blanks. “What?”

“Tim, do you think you can get him to stop dropping by as Red Robin so much. People are starting to think Miraculous has been claimed as part of Batman’s terf.”

Jason does the most logical thing he can think of. He buries his face in his hands, and groans. “Why did you have to figure it out?”

“Was I…not supposed to?”

“No, no you weren’t. How did you?”

“Jason, there’s only one person you hate as much as Tim, and that’s Red Robin. I’ve seen how you look at both of them. No one makes your eyes scream murder as much as he does. Not even Dick.”

“Oh God,” Jason says wiping a hand across his face. “Does that mean—”

“That I know you’re the Red Hood?” Marinette asks, cutting him off. “Hmm, I’ve known that for longer. Probably since you first started coming around consistently. At first, I thought you had like, the biggest boner for the guy, but then you seemed really into me and well, you talked him up way too much to either not have a crush on him or be him so, I connected the dots.”

[thorne93]

Unforeseen Chasm (Part 38)

Prompt: Two sisters fall for men that are absolute enemies. The love they have could tear all of them apart, or it could bring them together.

Word Count:4262

Warnings: Language,shirtless Loki, self deprecation, teasing, Smut!!!! just kidding but there is some implied

song for this part:Better- Betty Who, Graveyard- Halsey

Note: This is by far the longest thing I’ve ever written (including my novels). It’s a collaboration with the amazing @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo​​. It started as a funny “What if…?” and it evolved and got huge. This took two years to write. We are both proud and happy and we hope you enjoy it. It follows from Thor 1 to Endgame in the MCU. Some of the timelines may be off in order to fit certain people, and some characters may show up earlier or in different ways than they have in the movie. But for the most part, it follows the MCU. It also has a bit of crossover with some other Marvel characters throughout the story.

Masterlist for Unforeseen Chasm

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

Shannon had got you situated in her old room on her old floor with Lucky laying on the bed with you, keeping you company. You assured Shannon you were okay for the thirtieth time before she finally left. You tapped into her speaker system and played some good heartbreak songs while crying all night. Would things ever be right with you and Loki? Were things over between you two? Did he no longer trust you? Were you really turning into someone who could say what you said to him? 

You didn’t know, you didn’t have the answers. All you knew was you had heart wrenching songs, a sweet canine companion, and a pillow to cry into, and for now, that’s all you needed. 

The following morning, you woke up with puffy eyes but you wanted to try and see what Loki was up to. Did he care that you weren’t there? Did he even notice your absence? 

You ordered JARVIS to pull up the security feed to the cell and you watched it for thirty minutes. Loki hadn’t woken yet, which was a bit unusual, but you remained watching. Finally, he began stirring. It was odd, even though you were still upset, seeing him shirtless still sent a pool of heat to your core as he lied in black satin sheets.

When he came all the way to, he looked over and noticed you weren’t in the bed. He felt your spot on the bed and must’ve felt that it was cold. He glanced at the open bathroom door then and noticed you weren’t in there either. Quickly, he raced out to the common living area, clad in nothing but pajama bottoms. He checked the kitchen counter and stainless steel fridge for a note, when he failed to find one, he checked the glass coffee table, not finding one there either. Next, he ran into your office -- nothing. 

He stepped into back into the main area, the realization hitting him that you didn’t stay in the cell. With a slight flicker of his hand, a clone of himself appeared. 

“She’s left, that’s not shocking,” the clone mocked. 

“Shut up,” he ordered. 

“If you didn’t want me to talk, why did you conjure me?” the clone demanded. 

“Why isn’t she here?” he asked, ignoring the snarky replica.

“Because you keep pushing her away. Before, when she was imprisoned in here, because of you, I might add, she couldn’t get away. You pissed her off and she was forced to sleep here, to stay here. Now, she can leave whenever you decide to hurt her.”

“Hurt her? She’s working with that maniac that nearly killed me,” he argued with himself. 

“You mean the world renowned physicist that you set off? The one that was doing his job? He’s no different than Shannon, Stark, or the soldier… The only difference is, Banner has the power to beat you.” 

“She should’ve known this would hurt me… She did it on purpose.”

“Yes, because the first thing prisoners do when their released is ask for more security while they’re in the outside world,” the clone remarked with an eyeroll. “Face the facts. You’ve hurt her by acting like a fool, so she left.”

“I didn’t mean to react that way. I just… She’s going to forget about me. She’s going to go back to doing what she loves, she’ll be surrounded by all those heroes and one day, she’s going to wake up, look at me, and regret the moment she ever said yes to me…” 

“And you’re going to decide all of that for her? You’re just going to assume that she’s going to do that? After everything she’s done for you, and with you? You think spending some time with the heroes will suddenly make her hate you?” 

“Well no, but--”

“But what? If you’re so scared of losing her, you need to start acting like you want to keep her, rather than finding ways to figure out how she might leave you. But that didn’t occur to you, did it? Because you’re used to running, to trickery, to betrayal… You can’t fathom the thought that she could possibly love you unconditionally, for you.”

“How could she? She said it herself. I’m a monster,” Loki suddenly responded, a sad smile on his face as he played with the palm of his hand. His nervous habit. 

“Did she? Or was she simply pointing out your flawed prejudice against Dr. Banner? Seems to me you’re finding all these excuses not to realize it’s your fault she’s left. But that’s familiar, isn’t it? It’s Odin’s fault you had a melt down. It’s Thor’s fault you didn’t earn the crown. It’s Thanos’ fault your mother died alone. But who is really at the center of all of these problems?”

“I’ve accepted the fact that I’m the problem when it comes to my family,” Loki nearly growled at himself.

“Then you need to accept the fact that you’re the problem when it comes to you and Y/N, as well. Last I checked, she came back to you, back to a cell that marked her wrongful imprisonment, just to spend the night with you, just to show you that you weren’t alone, as she’s done time and time again…”

“Well what do I do? I can’t exactly call her,” he muttered. 

“You hope she decides to give you another chance,” the clone informed. “But then again, maybe if you lose her, you’ll finally realize you need to take responsibility for the pain you cause people…” 

With another flicker, the clone was gone and the door to your room was being opened as Shannon entered with a tray full of delicious smelling food.

“Good morning,” she greeted sweetly, putting the tray on the desk, glancing to the monitors. “Whatcha up to?” 

You went to look at her, but realized you were crying, so you wiped your face quickly with your sleeve. “Uh, just watching Loki…” you informed. 

She sat in the spare office chair and looked at you for a moment. “Another fight, hmm?” 

You didn’t tell her last night why you weren’t staying down there, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out why you weren’t sleeping with your boyfriend. 

Nodding, you ran the security footage back to when you got to the cell, letting her watch the scene in its entirety. 

“Oh, Y/N, I didn’t think he would take it like that. If you want, I can have it so that you work with me more than with him?” She walked over to you sitting down by your feet. “Is there anything you want to talk about, we haven’t had much of a girls talk in well forever.” She reached for your hand hoping to be of some sort of consolation. 

You shook your head. “No, no. I’m excited to work with Bruce. If Loki’s gonna get mad every time I go work with someone that he pissed off… well he’s going to be in for a rude awakening,” you said with a laugh. “We pissed of a lot of people here in New York. I want to do this. I want to work with Bruce. He’s just going to have to be okay with that.”

“Well yeah but if it’s uncomfortable I’d rather you tell me right away.” She moved to sit cross legged in front of you munching on mango. “Anyways let everything out Y/N/N, I’m sure there’s a lot you’d like to get out.” She patted your leg.

“Working with Bruce is fine. No offense, but he’s better at physics than you,” you teased with a wink. “I think I’ll like it. But… just… Loki and his temper. It’s awful. I mean, he gets so mad at the smallest things and twists my words. It’s infuriating. And I don’t know if it’s just being in prison, or if it’s the brainwashing. I barely knew him before we dove off that bridge, so I have nothing to compare it to. Thor told me that he never got mad, he got even. But it just seems like no matter what I do, it isn’t right. If I stay, he’s accusing me of deceiving him and lying to him about wanting to stay. If I leave, he sees it as a threat of me leaving and never coming back. There’s no winning…” You took a deep breath and looked at her. “Do you ever have problems like that with Tony? Where the problem just seems to go around and around and you can never fix it?” you asked as you grabbed an orange and started to peel it. 

“Kinda. It mostly revolves with him and the arc reactor, he just won’t stop messing with it. He took it out a few months ago and I had to shove it back into him or else he would have gone into a coma. We got into it because I told him to leave it alone and he threw it at me saying that it’s the same when I mess with my powers. I’ve been trying to see how I can get the empath powers out of me but still nothing. I’ve been running so many tests that my arm looks like I’m a junkie.” She lifts her sleeve to show you.

You leaned forward, taking her arm in your hand, staring at it. “Jesus, Shannon. Does he know?”

“He may have caught me taking some blood samples… I was trying to see if there was any of it laced in there. My blood feels like it boils when I get hooked on someone’s anger.” She popped a piece of fruit into her mouth.

You couldn’t help but slightly laugh, no humor there. “That’s how I feel when anyone mentions Loki negatively.” Your hands sparked purple. “That was Thanos’s doing. To keep me pissed off.. What an ingenious way to do that. To take the love I have for someone, and twist it into a weapon.” You shook your head at the cruelty of it. “I remember when I used to want to have powers like you,” you remembered, somewhat fondly. “I used to pray I could be cool, and have all these mutant abilities. I mean, your powers let you get to know Xavier and all of the X-Men…”

“Well yeah but it’s not like all the mutations I have are good… in the time you were gone I went on missions with the team and I robbed the bad guys of their powers and I still have them. I’ve just chosen not to use them, even though they tend to take control of me.” She looked back at you. “Your powers are all yours because your Asgardian, mine came about because of a flaw in my experiment.” 

“You’ll figure out how to get the bad ones out,” you assured. “If anyone can do it, it’s you… and maybe Charles,” you said with a laugh. “Maybe you should give him a call and see if he and Jean could maybe put you under and… I don’t know, perhaps extract the parts of you that take on the mutations. I’m not a molecular biologist, that isn’t my field, but I imagine it’s like finding a cancerous tumor. Find the thing that’s out of order in the DNA and fix it.”

“Yeah I think I will but for now there’s other things to worry about. Like planning this wedding, making sure you're okay and situated. Keeping Tony out of trouble.” She giggled, remembering something. “I have to tell you last year I caught him making blueprints for a female Iron Man suit. It’s a lot more form fitting than his from the looks of it. I think he’s trying to make it for me because I keep taking one of his, but the thing is I don’t want my own suit. I told him he doesn’t need to make it but he still did.”

You shook your head. “Men. They have trouble listening, don’t they? Why don’t you want a suit of your own? I think it would be kinda cute if you two flew around in matching suits. I mean, I upgraded my wardrobe when Loki and I got together,” you reminded, thinking back fondly to the black and green hooded robe you used to wear. 

“I mean yeah it would be cute but then that would also means having to take the role as Iron Woman if people were to see me in the suit. It’s challenge enough being a part of the Avengers but it's a whole other thing being a figure I’m not. You two look good together in those colors.” She was remembering the cloak from the time you’d had come back.

“Thanks. Loki could look good in a burlap sack,” you remarked with a faint laugh, reaching for a piece of toast. “What if you are Iron Woman, though? I’ve seen the way the Avengers practically adore you. Tony, Bruce, and Steve are all willing to bend over backwards for you. Nat and you are practically best friends. Would it really be that far of a stretch to say you could fulfill the role of being Iron Woman? You’re intelligent, gifted, talented, sweet…”

“Aww, Y/N/N, as much as I appreciate the compliment, that’s not who I want to be. It would feel like the Red Room all over again. As much as it would be cool to fight in the suit, I’d rather be in the lab or helping the team find the bad guys and put a stop to them. To tell you the truth I’ve never had to enter a fight… well besides the one we had but that’s been about it. All my missions have been me controlling the villain while the team does everything else. And yeah I get along with them but it’s not the same. I was just a regular person before Stark Industry before the Red Room.” She looked at Lucky seeing him eye a piece of toast. She stole a piece from you to give to her.

“I get that. You don’t want your identity to be on the battlefield. In Asgard that’s nearly all there was. To be revered as amazing, you had to be battle worthy. It’s why Thor was so beloved. Other than that, there were the farmers, the medicine people, and the scientists. So when I learned that if I wanted Odin to like me, I needed to train, I was scared. I mean, you know how skilled I am with weapons -- I suck!” You laughed. “And now I suddenly had to wield a sword and a shield and powers… Thankfully, I was trained by the best of the best. If you don’t want to do that, then don’t. I bet Tony was just building it to say, if and when you’re ready, it’s there.” 

“Yeah I guess you’re right, things have been different lately. Fury has been asking that I be brought on missions more often. But aside from that, tell me what was it like spending time with Loki when you were in Asgard. I never got to hear about you two going swimming,” she asked you, wanting to hear about it.

Immediately, your cheeks blazed. You slightly pushed her, laughing. “Of course you’d ask about that, perv!” you teased, eyeing her. She began laughing heartily. “Um… Let me see… God that was so long ago. Well I remember being really fucking nervous, are you kidding me? Loki was… god the most handsome man I’d ever seen, and the most well read, and he carried himself like… well, like royalty. Everything about him was intimidating as hell. But he seemed to be warming up to me at that point. He had already spent nearly every day training me in swordsmanship. I will say it was really weird seeing Loki in his battle attire every day which covers him from the neck down, to nothing but swimming shorts. Hell, it was weird for me to go from the swathy robes and gowns to a two piece bathing suit. I felt like melting into oblivion,” you stated, remembering that night. You were extremely nervous that night you would make a fool of yourself. “I thought that night was my one and only chance to kind of win him over, you know? Impress him with my knowledge and grace. You know, basically flirt, that one thing I can’t do. I mean, you remember my track record with guys...” 

Shannon couldn’t help but giggle at seeing how red you’d gotten, thinking about how she was the same way with Tony. “That’s adorable, Y/N, but I mean look at you, you’re with him. Yeah there are some tough times but damn I see the love you have for him is greater than anything else. I can see how happy he makes you.” She smiled sincerely at you.

You nodded slowly. “Yeah, he really does. I mean, every guy I ever dated before doesn’t even compare to him. Sure, he makes me crazy but…” You laughed slightly. “What about you? How does it feel to be engaged? To Tony Stark, no less. You’re gonna be married to him! That’s so wild!” 

Now it’s her turn to blush, she never really thought much about it. “It still feels like a dream some days, you know how much I’ve always liked him and then he asked me out and things have been great. There have been a few bad moments but I still can’t believe it. I always dreamed of getting married to him but now that it’s come true I have no idea what to feel.” She twisted the ring on her finger as she smiled at you.

You watched her in in awe, grinning at her, and thinking to yourself. “That must be an amazing feeling, I’m sure. To know that he wants to spend the rest of his life with you. That he thought about it for hours on end, searched for the perfect ring, waited for the perfect moment… He really does love you. I can tell… mainly because he’s constantly threatening me if I hurt you again,” you half-joked. Thoughts of marriage and wedding began dancing in your head, but you tried to push them down. 

“Well that's a thing we kind of clash on he still believes you could…well that doesn’t matter. I never would have guessed that he would want me to be in his life forever. But tell me what.. or more like why Loki? I mean out of all the Asgardians, why him? I mean yeah he’s charming and good looking what caught your eye?” She went to changing the subject trying to keep you happy. 

“Why Loki? Hmm… That’s… a good question. I guess… I saw a tortured soul. I saw someone who just wanted to be seen and loved for who he truly was. I saw myself in him, as he was adopted. I saw myself in him when I would catch him reading in the library at late hours. I watched how performing magic with his mom made him tremendously happy. He’s witty, and clever, in ways I’ve never seen in any one. And I don’t mean all the mean ways, like betrayal. For instance, a lot of people see him as a trickster, a prankster, right? Well, some might say he’s being childish, silly, or even mean. He once turned bread on a table into snakes at a royal dinner. All he did was smirk and sip his wine as a few of the women screamed and jumped back. But what I saw, was that Thor loves snakes and he took one and kept it as a pet for a few days before releasing it into the wild. Odin even smirked ever so slightly at the gag. While some people see his antics as mean, I could see they were the actions of a man who only wanted to make people around him laugh. He also used to do tricks for the local children. That’s why he resorts to humor and mockery in desperate situations. He uses the gifts he was taught. Thor had his looks, braun, and charm to go on. I could tell Loki had to work twice as hard with nearly everyone he encountered to get the same respect. So he resorted to the only ways he knew how.” You smiled for a moment, recalling all the wonderful times you had on Asgard with Loki, observing him, watching him. “His taste in poetry always left me stunned. He knew I loved art so he showed me around the art hall in Asgard and we both loved the same pieces… It was as if the fates designed it. Not to mention us almost growing up together… Can you imagine? God. What a weird life that would be.”

The entire time you spoke Shannon was so struck with how different the Loki you spoke of sounds compared to what she’d seen. Granted, it wasn’t a good part of him, but it did give light to a different side of him. “I wished I’d been there to see it all, it sounds to me like you two are a perfect match. To hear you tell me about the times on Asgard with him and how happy you sound makes it worthwhile.” At that point, Shannon had cleared the bed of breakfast and she was lying on the bed sideways. “If it's not too much to ask, can you tell me about what made you jump after him during his fight with Thor? I don’t want to overstep any boundaries.” 

You shook your head. “It’s no problem at all… I… um… Our time together on Asgard was precious. I can honestly say he and I grew almost as close in two months as you and I did in our ten years together. We spent nearly every waking moment together. If Loki wasn’t training me, we were reading, exploring the palace, he was taking me into the woods, we were riding horseback. He helped try and find all the knowledge about my birth parents he could… I mean, I’ve been in love before, you know that,” you said, gesturing at her as she nodded, recalling two men you had been pretty close with. “But Loki, the love I feel for him it completely swept me up. It’s that sort of dizzying, intoxicating love that you’d do anything for, you know? When I saw him fall into that abyss… Nothing else was on my mind but life without him, and suddenly that became unbearable, so I jumped. I didn’t think about Earth, Asgard, my parents, you, Lucky… Any of it. I knew that if Loki died, I would die with him. So I thought I might as well join him. I thought maybe somehow if I jumped with him, he wouldn’t be alone. He’d felt so alone all his life, I couldn’t imagine him dying alone too. I also somewhat hoped that he’d survive the fall, and I would be with him then too.” 

“I’ve never heard you talk like this, Y/N but I can understand what you mean. If it’d been me and Tony, I would have done the same, granted almost did when he’d been taken hostage and had his own weapons turned on him.” She seemed to go to a dark moment in the past, but fazed out of it. “I’m just glad to know you’re alive and you're here with me now. That’s all that matters now.” She hugged your leg to reassure herself. 

The rest of the day, the two of you spent chatting, positive things mainly, until you had to report for work and Shannon had a mountain of paperwork to get through for Tony and herself. When you were finished with your work, you decided to go see Loki, hoping he’d cooled down and thought about what he had said and done. 

The familiar whoosh of the doors alerted Loki of your presence, he watched as you walked inside the room. He wondered if you would join him in the cell. Without hesitation, you walked over to the cell doors and put your hand on the scanner, it granting you access. 

You knew that if you stood outside and talked to him, it would be this division between you two. It would symbolize how you felt like he was a prisoner and you were a civilian, free to live. Standing outside and talking to him would mean that you felt you belonged out there and he belonged in there, but you were here to show him there was no divide, there was no separation. You were his and you would follow him anywhere, be with him anywhere. 

“Loki,” you said, ready to duke out another fight but he simply stood from his place on the couch and held up a hand. 

“Y/N, I’m sorry, can you forgive me? I behaved like an idiot and I’m truly sorry.”

You stuttered nothing, incoherently for a second before you finally said, “Uh, yes, I forgive you. But wha--”

Before you could say anything else he was to you in a second, his mouth colliding with yours, his fingers tangling in your hair. “I vow to be the man you deserve,” he suddenly breathed in between kisses, barely giving you time to breathe before he suddenly picked you up and carried you to your bedroom, the fight utterly forgotten.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Tag List: @essie1876​ @magpiegirl80​ @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked​ @iamwarrenspeace​ @marvel-imagines-yes-please​ @superwholocked527 @missinstantgratification​ @thejemersoninferno​ @rda1989​ @munlis​ @thefridgeismybestie​​ @bubblyanarocks3​​ @igiveupicantthinkofausername​​ @kaliforniacoastalteens​ @feelmyroarrrr​​ @kaelingoat​ @friendlyneighbourhoodweirdo​​ @damalseer​​ @heyitscam99​​ @yknott81​​ @sorryimacrapwriter​​ @glitterquadricorn​​ @xxqueenofisolationxx @little-dis-kaalista-pythonissama @bittersweetunicorm​​ @alyssaj23​​ @sea040561​​ @princess76179​​ @thisismysecrethappyplace​​ @sarahp879​​ @malfoysqueen14​​ @ellallheart​​ @breezy1415​​ @marvelmayo​​ @random-fluffy-pink-unicorn @cocosierra94 @hardcollectionworldtrash @capsmuscles @marvelloushamilton @paintballkid711​

Loki: @lostinspace33​​ @ultrarebelheart​​ @lenawiinchester​​ @esoltis280​​ @tngrayson​​ @wangdeasang​​ @harrymewmew @jayfantasyatyourservice​​

UC: @lokis-high-priestess​

@pandacookieowo​

[tetrakys]

Miss the Misery - part 2

Agsty darker rewrite of UL Castiel’s route.

Part 1

3rd September, 10:30 pm , three years ago

I was running across the park when I felt someone stop me, grabbing me by the arm.

“Dammit Candy!” he shouted panting. “Stop for fuck’s sake!”

“Let me go, Castiel.” I replied trying to free myself from his grasp.

“No, stop it! Explain to me why you are running! Why are you here? What’s wrong?”

“Everything!” I cried out finally done fighting, ready to shout all my rage at him. “Everything is wrong! What was that, Castiel? I came to surprise you, I thought you would be happy, and I find you in… I don’t even know what that was because it wasn’t a normal party. And your ‘new friends’? They definitely look friendly enough!”

“If you’re talking about the girl sitting next to me, I just met her, I don’t even know her name.”

“You never used to let strangers touch you before,” I said wounded.

“You came in right when she’d put her hand on my chest, I was about to push her away, it was just bad timing. Do you really think I would do something like this you? To us?” he asked as if he couldn’t believe I would doubt him.

“Yes… No… I don’t know Castiel, I feel like I don’t know you anymore. This is not you. Those people, that place… is not you!”

“Maybe you don’t know me anymore because you stopped trying.”

“I’m here, am I not?” I said opening my arms.

“Now, yes. But when was the last time you were focused on us instead of your new life?”

“And when was the last time you did it? Answer this simple question Castiel: are you ever going to leave this town and join me?”

He didn’t reply and we just looked at each other for a few long seconds.

“That’s what I thought.”

“I guess…” he whispered. “I guess there’s nothing else to say.”

And right then and there my heart broke in thousands tiny pieces.

“I guess not.”

I turned around and walked away.

This time he didn’t try to stop me.

 ---

Present day

“You’re definitely close to perfection,” he said leaving me speechless.

Laying one hand on my cheek, his thumb came to my lower lip, caressing it gently. The way he was looking at me, with so much longing and earnest emotion, made me realise something.

My modern art history professor wanted to fuck me.

I stared at him curious. Mr Zaidi was hot, no doubt about that. There was nothing boyish about him, he was a proper man, and his confident, mature air combined with his charm and good looks had been the downfall of more than a few students in our class. Not that he seemed interested though, there’d never been any rumours about him, he was always extremely professional.

Yet… he wanted me.

I had to admit, I was more than a little flattered.

So… was I game?

In the past three years I’d dated a little but not that much. What I enjoyed was the game, the chase, the flirt, afterwards I easily got bored. I got off on the power play, it was the knowledge of being desired that actually turned me on, but I didn’t have much interest in giving myself to someone.

The few times it had happened, it’d been because the situation was intriguing enough and, well, I was horny, but it never lasted long.

Now I had to be careful. Capturing my professor’s attention was definitely an ego boost, but he was still my professor, I shouldn’t fuck this up.

I was really tempted though.

Without breaking eye-contact I wetted my lips, ‘accidentally’ touching his thumb with the tip of my tongue, and I saw his eyes turn really dark.

I wasn’t sure what he was about to do, or how far I wanted to push him before backing off, because we got interrupted by the sound of the door opening.

“…I’m sorry to interrupt. I thought it was open.”

I took a step back immediately, shocked to find Castiel looking at us with an unperturbed expression.

“You’re just in time, I’m closing in ten minutes,” I replied with the most fake, seemingly relaxed smile I could muster.

“Excuse me,” Rayan said getting out of his own stupor. “I’m leaving, goodnight see you in class, miss.”

“Miss?” Castiel said raising an eyebrow as soon as Rayan left the café. “Class? Was that one of your professors?” he asked coming to seat at a barstool.

“Mmm… maybe?” I replied smirking. “Yes, he’s my modern art history professor, he was helping me move the tables inside.”

“… how nice of him.”

I could detect a drop of sarcasm in his tone, but I let it go, I didn’t owe him any explanation.

“What can I get you? And, how come you’re here? Did you know I work here?”

“A coffee and no, actually I was on my way to rehearsal when I saw you by the window and I thought to stop and say hi. Also, I really need a coffee.”

I bet he did. It was almost 10pm he was probably going to spend most of the night playing.

“Isn’t it a little late to rehearse?” I asked turning my back to him while preparing the coffee. I could feel his eyes on me, studying all my movements.

“I was busy the whole day catching up with the classes I missed since the start of the academic year.”

That made me pause. He explained that he was enrolled in a musicology degree here at Anteros. When did that happen?

When I last saw him, about three years ago, he’d had no intention to ever attend university. We’d talked so many times about his plans for the future, I felt like he was wasting himself away. I supported him and his dream but begged him to consider doing something while he figured things out with his music, so many fights and useless discussions.

And now? His band was a huge success, he was about to graduate and was surrounded by enamoured fans everywhere he went.

Did he need to get rid of me to get his life on track?

“I’m happy you seem to have it all figured out” I replied as I handed him the coffee, with what I hoped was a sweet smile and not a bitter sneer.

He took a sip eying me dubiously, then he placed the cup on the counter and spoke with a surprised tone in his voice.

“This… is actually good.”

“What? Were you expecting it would suck?” I asked rolling my eyes.

“No…? Well, I guess you have a plan B if things don’t work out with your degree.”

“Mph…”

“Maybe I’ll even put a good rate on the café’s webpage,” he smirked.

Why was he talking to me so easily, even joking, as if we were old friends? As if nothing major or traumatic had happened between us? I was supposed to act as the cool, aloof one. I was supposed to appear as the mature, collected woman who had never spared a single thought about him since our breakup.

He was supposed to be the one with his heart in turmoil.

I was trying to figure out how to reply to him, when the door opened again.

“What the…” Nath said surprised when he saw Castiel sitting in the otherwise empty café. “Here I was planning on sitting down for a coffee, I guess I’ll go somewhere else.”

“I knew I should’ve left earlier, this place definitely attracts a bad crowd.”

Nath and Castiel looked as if they wanted to rip each other’s throat.

It’d been years since I’d seen them at it, and I hadn’t really missed it.

“I’m surprised to find the local starlet here, I though that this was a sleazy place for high school kids.”

“How nice for the ‘sleazy place’s’ waitress,” I pointedly replied to Nath.

“In any case this place is not nearly as sleazy as the ones where you usually hang out,” Castiel said unphased. “We know that wherever you find junkies, you’ll find Natha…”

Nathaniel showed the table between them towards Castiel, I gasped in surprise and rushed to their side of the counter.

“Careful what you say,” Nath was trembling in anger.

“Otherwise what?”

“Enough, stop!” I cried out. “This is my workplace. You either sit down and order something to drink or you both leave.”

“She’s right,” Castiel replied cool, as if nothing was happening, “we’re going to scare the costumers away.”

“I don’t give a da…”

“I said let’s go.” He said standing up, “If you want to talk, we’ll do it elsewhere, not here.”

He was… pretty impressive.

Nath bit his lip and walked out of the café without looking back.

“Was he coming to see you?” Castiel asked me in a somewhat accusatory tone.

“I don’t know, why?”

“In any case follow my advice, he’s not the best person to hang out with.”

I felt my blood boil into my veins.

“Why? Because of his reputation? Or because he’s showing a bit of interest in me?” I asked, unable to hide my building anger. “Because if it’s the first, I should probably remind you that people used to say the same thing about you back in high school. If it’s the second, well, you don’t own me Castiel, you haven’t in a long time. I can hang out with whomever I want.”

A few seconds went by where we just looked at each other. I was so angry and completely upset, he looked like the posterchild of boredom and coldness. And I wanted to slap him, attack him, just to get a reaction, any reaction out of hin.

“Fine,” he finally said, only his clenched fists betraying his feelings. “If this is how you feel, I won’t bother you any longer. I have to go anyway.”

Fuck! Fuck him! Fuck everything!

What was I expecting? He didn’t care and never had!

At one point, maybe… he used to be so hot and warm, we fought all the time, but at least we never hid what we felt. This new, mature and collected behaviour of his… I hated it.

I let myself fall to the floor as soon as he left the building.

Enough!

I’d seen him twice now, and twice the meeting had left me upset and unhinged, and him completely unfazed.

I wasn’t going to let him run the show anymore, I wasn’t going to keep pretending we were friendly old acquaintances. I was done with this fake politeness.

I was done with this bullshit.

It was war.

[avidfanficwriter]

The Other Sister (Chapter 1)

Characters: Steve Rogers(AU!) x OFC.

Summary: After five years of marriage, Steve Rogers finds himself questioning everything that his wife, Annabel has ever told him thanks to the impromptu visit by her troubled younger sister: Addison; whose existence he’s just learned about fives years prior. His only question now is: who verison is the truth? His loving wife? Or the troubled sister? 

Ratings: M.

Warnings: Mentions/indications of depression, mentions of sexual abuse, indication of mental abuse, drug abuse, alcohol abuse. (Warnings will be updated as chapters come)

Authors Note: It’s not gonna be pretty. I’m sorry for the you know, skipping out on everyone and neglecting my blog. I’m better than that, you know that. I know that but I’m trying. Believe in me. :)

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. 

There's a scene in dramatic movies that always seem to be shot in the same way, a simple setting, two people, one is nervous while the other is calm.  The person who is lucky enough to be calm eventually notices the odd behaviors from the other and questions it. They're given a jaw-droppingly shocking statement. The kind that makes them choke on their drink or forget how to breathe. At first, they don't know how to react. It's a pot full of emotions, anger, sadness, annoyance or worst-case scenario disgust. They question how they are going to get over it or understand it.

That moment of being unclear how to continue is how Steve felt right now, only instead of just a flurry of emotions, there's a nauseous feeling pooling in the pit of his stomach.

"-ay for a while." He doesn't have the faintest idea what his wife is saying now, after the first few words she spoke, he's blacked out the rest. It takes a few moments to gather himself, followed by another to convince himself he won't vomit. "One more time..." he asks.

His wife, Annabel Shaw-Rogers cocks her head at her husband. "I said Addison needs a place to stay for a while." He nods. "I told her no but she was insistent on it, something about doctors orders. She's probably just got out of rehab again. Once a junkie always a junkie." She trails off in annoyance.

All Steve can do is nod in response, he's chewing on his bottom lip trying to not scream. "The sister who was in and out of jail the last few years?"

"Uh-huh."

Another nod. "The sister who pops drugs like they're candy?"

"Uh-huh."

He clears his throat and rests his hands on the counter, staring at the wall ahead of him. "The one you don't hear from unless she needs something?"

Annabel chuckles and walks towards her husband of five years, she reaches out to him, wrapping her tanned arms around his waist. "Baby, I only have one sister. All of the horror stories you are about to ask are indeed about her." She takes a moment to rub a calming hand down his chest. "She's going to have to stay here if not, she'll never let that be the end of it." The sentence is ended with a loving kiss on his cheek and she leans into his body, trying to use her affection as an apology for the cards they have been dealt. For Steve, it'll take far more than a simple kiss and hug to rid the horrid taste in his mouth. She'll invade their privacy, ruin their home, invade the wholesome environment they have. Her drug-diseased handcuff ridden hands would be all over his home, infecting it. The air would be toxic, everything would have to be replaced, their home would need to be replaced.

A new home, new furniture, new clothes. He'd be out of money by this time next year.

If that wasn't bad enough, Addison Shaw was trouble with a capital T. The woman had trouble etched in her bones, her blood was filled with negativity. The only way to explain young Addison was everything bad that one person can do, Addison had done and then some. The two sisters were miles apart, Annabel was beautiful, sweet and brilliant while Addison was problematic, untrustworthy and downright awful.

They were cut from two different strands, good and bad. To Steve, part of it would have made sense if one of them was bad if their daddy had a criminal history or even mommy but both parents were normal, average. Met in college, fell madly in love. Their mother was a stay at home mom, dad was a banker. They stayed out of trouble, minded their business, went to church on Sundays and said their prayers before bed. They were loving parents to beautiful girls, Annabel, their oldest, his wife. A dirty blonde haired girl who had dreams of being a singer. Their youngest, Addison was a brunette with-how he remembers hearing their mother describe as-big beautiful hazel eyes with the tiniest hints of green. There were no hopes or dreams used to describe her, no happy or cute memories that followed after any mention of her. It was always just Addison and then silence.

The idea of Addison... staying there in his home, ruining the atmosphere. Forcing he and Annabel to live on edge to accommodate her. It wasn't fair and it wasn't right. However, this was his wife, the love of his life. He couldn't say no if she had already said yes. She had to be dealing with far more issues than his own, this couldn't have been easy on her.

"How long?" He finally asks with a deep sigh.

It takes her a while to answer which scares him, "A few weeks." That's an arrow straight in his heart. He's already envisioning his gravestone, 'Steven Grant Rogers. Died from: sudden cardiac arrest brought on by wife's junkie sister.'

"Fine..." He says with another sigh. "But she doesn't stay in the house."

"Where are we going to put her, baby? The doghouse?"

Steve smiles. "If we had a doghouse, that wouldn't be nice enough for her."

Annabel agrees, pulling her arms from Steve. "Where then?"

"The guest house."

"It's not finished with the remodel."

"The kitchen is the only part left, the room, living room, and bathroom are done. She can survive with half a kitchen." He remarks.

"Just means she'll have to be here when she wants to eat."

Steve wanted to strangle her, probably the only time on this earth that he had the urge to do so. A day he could handle, maybe two but an unspecified amount of weeks was hell on earth. Hell, literary, as if they had taken a one-way ticket to the bottom of Satan's ass. "I'll get the contractor to finish the kitchen within the week, pay him double if I have too."

The contractor comes as planned and is less than happy about the sudden change, "In a week? My guys are gonna be workin' double time."

"I know, I get it. I'll pay you double-triple what you were getting. I just need this done by Monday." With a heavy sigh, the contractor agreed, apologizing ahead of time for the noise they would soon be faced with.

They had noise and he was having nightmares, a horrible combination. Steve was on the brink of losing his sanity and the worst had yet to come. The impending doom of Addison's arrival was rapidly approaching. Each time he closed his eyes, it was followed by a possible outcome of Addison living with them. In one, she burnt down the house another threw a rager when they went out to dinner and the worst was her overdosing in their kitchen. Her arrival was eating him up.

"Addison is aware we are gonna have rules?" Steve asks over dinner one night, over the sound power tools echoing through the home.

"I'm sure." Annabel nods, chewing her food and staring at her cell phone.

"Are we going to have to hide all the medicine?"

Annabel drags her eyes from her facebook feed to stare at Steve blankly. "I hadn't thought about that." She clears her throat. "Probably. She'll probably wind up overdosing on cold medicine." The tone of her voice is full of malice and humor.

It was crude place in time now that Steve found himself chuckling at the statement, instead of being overtaken with disgust. He always saw the best in people, believed that everyone deserves a second (Or more) chance. He extended olive branches, forgave the unforgivable, he was the embodiment of a good guy but times had changed. "You're okay with this, right?" Annabel asks in a small voice.

"Of course." He lies.

"Steve, are you really?"

He exhales deeply, "Baby, she's your sister."

"Only by blood." She remarks. "Trust me, If you could change your genetics, I would be first in line." There's not a hint of humor in her voice, she truly would. As depressing as it sounded, Annabel was ashamed to admit she had a sister almost as much as her parents were to say they had two daughters. He remembers taking Annabel on their first date, they talked about their families, there was never a hint that she had a sister. Annabel had spun a web that led him to believe she was an only child.  

In fact, Annabel never spoke about her, nor did her parents; it was like she never existed. It wasn't until their wedding that Addison dropped the bombshell of having a sister that left Steve speechless. It was nearly the end of their romance. "You have a sister and you just what? Forget to tell me about her?" He shouted in anger, slamming the front door behind him as he stomped into their new house. "We've been together for three years! Are those even your actual parents or are you waiting to introduce me to the real ones in another three years?"

Annabel turned to face him, sighing and running a hand through her hair. "Steve, calm down." She pleads.

"Don't tell me to calm down, you've been lying to me for three years."

"I wasn't lying, I just didn't tell you about her."

He groans, "That's the same damn thing." He heads to the kitchen, grabbing a beer from the fridge and quickly gulping it down. The only way he can think to calm his nerves is drinking alcohol also another way to keep his mouth busy instead of shouting.

"Listen, Steve..." He ignores the next thing out of her mouth, pleas spill from her red-tinted lips about their upcoming wedding, 'it's only a month away', 'we can't call it off now! What am I going to tell my parents?'. Excuse after excuse yet she avoids the topic at hand. Her sister, a sister that she never once spoke about. That her parents never spoke about. Their family album had no pictures of another child, the pictures littered through their home was void of this mystery sister.

"Why?" He asks, refusing to divulge into talk about their wedding, one mention of it and that would be all she'd focus on. He feels betrayed and used. He starts to question everything she's ever told him, even questions the validity of their relationship. "H-how.... how does someone lie about having a sibling?"

"It's complicated."

Steve's eyes go wide and he leans in, chuckling. "Complicated?" he questions, setting his beer down on the counter in front of him. "Hey, Steve, I have a sister. Yeah, her name is Mary, she's nineteen; lives in Alabama, don't see her much. How is that complicated?"

Annabel sets her purse down on the counter in front of Steve, sighing heavily. "Okay... I was going to tell you, I planned on telling you but it just... isn't easy." She closes her eyes and swallows deeply, he notices her hands, she's squeezing her fingers. "We don't talk about her."

"We?"

"My parents, me; my family." Annabel lets out a nervous chuckle, realizing for the first time in years, she's confessing what is suppose to be a lifelong secret. "Her name is Addison and she's twenty-seven years old and... I don't know where she's living, I ran into her in Miami on the girls trip a few months back but I don't know where she's at right now, I haven't since she was sixteen."

It's even worse than Steve expected, however, he's not entirely sure what he expected. "What do you mean since she was sixteen? If she's twenty-seven now that means you're only two years apart." Annabel nods, ashamed. "What does that even mean?"

Annabel can hardly stand the look of confusion on her husband's face. There's no stopping now, she had to continue for both of their sakes. "You need to understand she put my parents through hell. She was horrible, a bad kid, beyond bad. She did drugs, threw parties, refused to go to school; refused to come home, drank. Anything she could do, she did. My parents tried, I tried. They sent to her to my uncles to try and help her but she nearly burned his house down." It's as if a weight has lifted off her chest, the lie that she had forced herself to believe is finally free. "She was unfixable. Getting worse as the days went by."

"And you just gave up on her?" Steve questions in an angered tone. "She was a kid!"

"No, we didn't!" She raises her voice, getting insulted by the accusation. "My parents tried like hell but it never worked. She never let it and they couldn't do it anymore, my dad was on the verge of losing his job, mom was having a mental breakdown. One day, my dad had enough he threatened her if she continued, he'd make her leave. She didn't change. The next day, she came home high and he packed her a bag and kicked her out. Called friends and family told them to not let her in."

"How old was she?"

"Sixteen."

"Six-Sixteen? She was sixteen years old?" He questions in shock. "Your father kicked your sixteen-year-old sister out of the house with nowhere to go?" The thought is unimaginable to him, an innocent child out alone in the world, battling the street of California with no one to help her. It made him sick, he could barely look at her.

"It sounds bad, I know."

He nods, chuckling being the only thing he can do that doesn't wind up with them ending their engagement. "I don't think you do."

"I wanted her to come back, I looked for her but I couldn't find her."

It's a lie or a comedy skit, it has to be. It doesn't seem plausible. He's met her parents, her fathers is the sweetest guy in the world, her mother loves with all of her heart. The first time he met her, she demanded a hug and that he comes over every holiday, birthday and Sunday for dinner. The idea that they, everyone's dream parents had kicked a child out of their home. "So, you guys just what? Woke up a few days later and said we only have one daughter. Gee, what a nice day?"

Annabel cocks her head in annoyance, "No, One month of her being gone, turned into three and then it was a year and before we knew it life was so much easier without her around. My parents weren't fighting, I wasn't missing school because of something she did. We didn't have any police around the house, it was just simple. Normal. A happy family." She finally sits down on the bar stool, feeling exhausted. "Eventually we realized anytime we talked about her, my mother got sad and my father was angered. People didn't understand it either when we said what happened and we found it easier to not talk about her. We just pretended she didn't exist."

Steve doesn't understand, he can't even begin to understand. If he had a child, he couldn't imagine turning on them. Casting them out with all dangers in the world that they could succumb to. No matter how horrible they were, he'd never give up on them. He couldn't. It wasn't in his blood. "You never heard from her until a few months ago?"

Annabel nods her head, brushing her hair behind her ear before she begins. Another jog down memory lane that breaks his heart even more.

It was a few years later before her name was spoken again in the Shaw household, they had a phone call in the middle of the night from a detective in Texas, Addy; It softens his heart just for a second when Annabel uses her nickname, it shows she still cares somewhere in there. Addison was found in a cheap, rat and drug infested motel unconscious with signs of sexual assault. It had taken her three days to finally talk to police and another three for her to confess her first name. it was luck or a miracle that they discovered her purse trashed in an alley.

"Do you know how late is it?" Her father, Gregory had shouted into the phone. His voice rough and full of sleep.

"Sir, I apologize for the disruption. This is Detective Amanda White from the Austin Police department, sir, I'm afraid I have some bad news. We've found your daughter, Addison Shaw."

The detective went on to confess the details of the case, Addison refused to talk, claimed it was a misunderstanding. An accident, she fell while getting dressed but all evidence said otherwise. They had found the doer but she refused to press charges and point the finger at him. He shrugged and simply told her, "I only have one daughter." In his mind, Addison had made her bed and whatever path she was on, was her own doing. After that, anything that reminded them of her was gone, pictures, drawings, baby boxes. She was merely a blip in their past. As far as anyone in their lives would know, the Shaw's had one daughter, Annabel.

"My dad didn't care," Annabel says with a look of pain. "my mom nearly died but she would have followed my father to the ends of the earth without second-guessing when he said never mention her, we didn't."

Annabel goes on about running into her baby sister in Miami on her girl trip. Her last trip as an unmarried woman, the last hurrah. It was the hotel she was staying in that she found Addison. Not recognizing her at first, it had been so long since she'd seen her that time had corroded her image.

"Addison?" She questions on a whim to the young girl with brown hair tied in a ponytail and dressed in a hotel uniform. "Addy?" It was her, beyond all belief. Their eyes met and Addison was a deer in headlights. It was an awkward reintroduction, two sisters split by time, coming face to face.

"I'm getting married!" Annabel shouted midway through the conversation, her happiness leaking through. "I want you to be there." The words came out before she had a second to rethink her sentence.

Addison said nothing in response. It was a brief silence and a deep sigh before she answered, in a distant voice with cold eyes. "I hope you have a good wedding."

"No, Addy, I want you there. It's my wedding day and I want my family there, all of my family." Her sister is still silent, staring at her like she's never met her. Which is nearly the truth, they didn't know one another. Other than their names, they were strangers. It had taken some convincing before Addison had responded with, "If time works out, maybe I'll think about coming." Annabel left her phone number with her, asking her one last time before she left "Just come, okay? It'll be fun." She didn't think it would work but this morning when she woke up, there a text message from an unknown phone number that simply read. "When is the wedding again? And where? -Addison." She texted back immediately, eyes still blurred from sleeping and another text arrived a few hours later. "I can come if you still want me too," Annabel responded by sending her the ticket details and saying she couldn't wait to see her again.

"So, she's coming to our wedding?" Steve finally questions, rubbing his eyes and wishing he'd bought more beer.

"Yes."

"And what do your parents think?" He asks.

"I haven't told them and I'm not going to."

"Anna..."

"Steve, it's my day, if I want to invite my sister that is my choice."

"Fine." He agrees, walking around to the counter to engulf her in his arms. The good guy inside of him begins to think it could be the best thing to happen. The family could mend, forget about the past and begin again, Something good could come from their wedding. "This could be a fresh start. A way to move on from the past. A restart." He’s fooling himself with the agreement but his biggest flaw was always wanting to see the best in people, if she wanted her to be there, he would do that for her. For their family. 

[symphonic--chaos]

Based off of the Alternate Universe episode in Season 1. Got some Magnus/Alec personality swap and creative liberties due to lack of further detail in the episode. Also some flirting, making out and all around cuteness.

I think we all need this after the trainwreck of our hearts during tonight’s episode.

Thanks to my boo’s, @scarred-jade-dreams​ , @headofthenewyorkinstitute​ , and @britterzthecookie​ for being my cheerleaders. 🖤

~~~~Then~~~~

A certain level of cockiness resided in him from his self made ‘success’ in being a psychic, in letting people get starry-eyed over their love readings from his ever so faithful cards, or, if he was in a mood, startling them with something that wasn’t so pleasant just to get the seat empty. They always came crawling back anyway, junkies for their ‘future’, the lot of them. Still, it was something to keep him busy, something to keep the roof over his and the cats’ heads, and it was something he knew he was talented enough to sell. The girl who came to him, Clary, she had been the start of something new, something strange. She had given him a push into a life he’d long since put aside and almost forgotten, one that he would still hide even if he were to finally be one with it once again.

To feel the electric crackling in his fingers, the one that warmed them and urged him to do something with the powers that once lay dormant since he was a child, it was nostalgic. A piece of his childhood that he never knew how to harness and use to his will. Something he’d grown frustrated with trying to learn alone while having to hide it from his family, who surely would never understand. With this awakening, in his willingness to assist her in her quest to find someone in her dimension, he’d met him; he who was forward and handsome, seemingly cocky and so sure in his own way. 'Alec’ as he’d introduced, though as of what he’d heard up to this day, most people called him Alexander.

Alexander was a name that seemed as high class as the clothes the taller male wore the night of the party in the institute, the room void of the fashion artwork and clothes on display as the rest of the building was full of. Alexander was as sharp as the jawline Magnus’s eyes couldn’t tear from, which matched the equally fine cheekbones sitting high below stunning bright eyes that contrasted the styled black hair atop his head. Wit came from a smirking mouth, which spouted flirty words that he never expected, leaving him sputtering and wondering if he realized who he was speaking to. A no one, just him, Magnus Bane, the psychic of Brooklyn. The psychic that had spotted Clary and left behind the man that truly belonged in the institute rather than a law office, a piece of artwork that he’d never seen in anyone else in his 27 years. Alexander was perfect and he knew it.

Fast forward to a Tuesday months later, they found themselves in the same vicinity again, and Alec decided that Magnus’s way home would also be his own, tagging along to grab a train once they arrived. Those plans diverted as Magnus had, rather slowly, asked him if he wanted to come up for tea or coffee, shooing the two meowing cats away from the door as he let them in. It seemed Alexander– no, Alec, didn’t lose his flirty nature towards him, and Magnus certainly became no less flustered towards it, only amplifying as the other scrawled his number on Magnus’s palm, closing his fingers over it.

“Wait, wait! This is a fountain pen…” He had called after Alec as he started leaving, opening his hand to show the smudged number.

It was a needed laugh between the two to break the small nervous tension that had come between them, the number instead written on his arm despite the offer of a notepad. It was a number he’d stared at for a long moment even as the door shut behind Alec, only to be startled out of it moments later as a knock had interrupted the silence. The unexpected kiss that was planted on his lips once he opened the door had him both shocked and pleased- Alec’s lips felt just as nice as they looked. He knew he’d stared at them too much while they spoke for that hour or more before, the same way he noticed Alec had been looking at his own when he had found himself flirting back, both giving away their thoughts though neither acted on it. It had been his first kiss, his first real kiss, considering he hadn’t found anyone interesting enough to date, much less kiss, and he wasn’t into meaningless mingling. This was likely the cause of the kiss, as he could still see Alec’s shocked face in his mind from when he’d told him during a vague discussion they’d had about relationships, how Magnus said everyone was probably fawning all over Alec.

Just like that it was over and Alec was giving that award winning smile, retreating as he reminded him to call. Magnus’s reaction, naturally, was to smile stupidly as he shut the door, standing there in thought and still a little high from the endorphins and adrenaline that kiss gave him. As he turned, the keys on the kitchen island caught his attention, he knew for a fact they weren’t his, and he could also recall Alec’s jacket there during the time they spent together. The number on his arm was quickly dialed and, despite knowing just who would pick up, he still felt breathless as he heard Alec’s amused voice pick up, though that amusement dropped once he heard that his keys weren’t in his possession. “I’m halfway to the station, hold on.”

Instead of waiting, Magnus was already out the door and headed down the stairs with the keys in his hand, the front door pushed open with ease as he headed towards the station. A short walk from his apartment, something he had loved about it due to the ease of transport, it didn’t take him long to spot Alexander and hand him the keys. Their hands had lingered, his fingertips brushing Alec’s palm while the others were touching the soft underside of his wrist. It was like that familiar spark all over again, the electricity produced by his abilities was instead given by the man in front of him and, just like his urge to do something with that power, he felt the urge to do something about their spark. He moved in and kissed him.

Alec didn’t go home that night, his bed instead replaced by the bed in Magnus’s guest room after a night of more talking, learning about each other, and more importantly, those addictive kisses. But what was most important of it all was the date planned for later that week, something that had him more excited and nervous than he’d been in a long, long while. Something discussed after they’d met up in the kitchen over the breakfast Magnus had whipped up, finding it strange to be cooking for two rather than himself.

“Friday night, 7:30. I’ll be here at exactly then, I’ll pick you up.”

~~~~Now~~~~

The car clock read 12:57am and Magnus was nearly squirming of excitement in the driver’s seat as he steered towards Alec’s parents home, loving every second of driving the car that cost more than a couple years rent for him. He had nearly choked on his drink when finding out it had been an early college graduation present, which Alec was set to finish in May- perks of well paid parents who loved their hard-working son. Still, he was honored that the other had trusted him enough to drive it and have fun in the busy, crowded streets of Manhattan. Their stop at the house was quick and near silent, and it wasn’t the first time he’d been snuck in, so that Robert didn’t hear that his rules of ’none of your girls or boys in your room under my roof’ were broken, despite his son being almost in his mid-20’s. Maryse was even there, giving a small wave and a mouthed 'Hi!’ from her doorway.

Unbeknownst to him, she’d seen him there on Thursday morning at 2am, when he’d shown up suddenly at the doorstep and saying he couldn’t sleep and Alec was the only person left he could think turn to. Catarina was at work and his other friend, Dot, was traveling to see family. A shy smile was given as he lifted a hand in a small wave, clearly embarrassed by being seen sneaking around with her son when they weren’t even an item, and also before he’d even really been introduced to her. Magnus waited patiently against the wall of Alec’s room, staying out of his way as he moved around to collect an overnight bag, trying to be more prepared than he had been Tuesday when he had to wear Magnus’s too small clothes to bed. As quickly as they had gone in, they were back out and in the car, headed to Brooklyn where Magnus’s cats were surely throwing a party, assuming he wouldn’t be home. At least that’s what he liked to joke about whenever he was gone past midnight.

I like my coffee in the morning, I like my whiskey in the evening, yeah. I like it when you say you miss me- Maybe it’s because I’m really needy, yeah.

One day I’ll take you to the stars, but tonight I wanna kiss you in my car. I promise not to go too far, but tonight I wanna kiss you in my car.

The song on the radio was catchy and cute, upbeat and a nice change from the slow melodic music that the previous DJ had been playing, it succeeded in getting Magnus’s fingers tapping lightly on the steering wheel and he swore he felt a light tapping on his thigh where Alec’s hand rested. It made him think as he focused on the road, they hadn’t kissed since that Tuesday night. Something had come over him, something that made him want to test if this was really just some fling that Alec was looking for despite his assurance that he really wanted a true date.

“No, no more kisses. Not until after our date on Friday.” Ringed and painted fingers gently rested on Alec’s lips, which were just mere inches away from his own, sufficiently blocking the pairs from touching.

“But–” The other had started in the faintest of whines.

“No, none!” Magnus had laughed, instead pressing a kiss to the back of his fingertips as if that would satisfy Alec.

Magnus glanced over just briefly at Alec, his date watching the scenery around them as they passed and looking rather nonchalant about the way Magnus zipped through the streets at a speed a tad higher than permitted. He could see how post-date he’d become more relaxed, the red blazer jacket open wide and the first few buttons of the red and white checked shirt had been undone, untucked from the blue jeans he wore. He watched as Alec’s tongue darted out over his bottom lip and he could only wonder if he was thinking the same thing. Just as those days had been torture on Alec, they had surprisingly been the same for him. While he didn’t care for or dabble in drugs, it seems he did now when it came to an addiction of not getting enough of the others lips. How worrisome, he’d thought.

I like it when you say you want me, I don’t mind it when you say you need me now. Scares me to think about the future, I don’t like to picture it without you there.

One day I’ll take you to the stars, but tonight I wanna kiss you in my car. I promise not to go too far, but tonight I wanna kiss you in my car.

As they neared his apartment building, he realized that Alec wasn’t tapping on his thigh anymore, rather, he’d started faintly squeezing it along with the lyrics to the chorus. It was almost endearing, and due to this realization it only took him a short moment before he would take action. A look in the rearview told him that no one was behind him and a park to their right, he pulled over swiftly and earned a confused noise from the passenger seat and an equally questioning look from Alec. The car was just barely thrown into park before he turned in his seat, taking Alec’s face between his warm hands and pulling him into the kiss he knew they’d both been craving.

It was almost as if Alec had caught on quickly the minute Magnus’s hands were on his face and Magnus was thrilled when he was met over the center console, saving him any embarrassment of launching himself over it. The kiss was a mixture of hungry and greedy, his mind racing over the way Alec’s hands snaked their way up, one curling around the back of Magnus’s neck and the other cupping the arm that rested on the console as if to hold him steady, solidify his place there. It was a kiss that said ’this is mine’ on both sides, yet one that told Magnus that he wasn’t being played as he thought, that Alec’s intentions were true. Magnus’s breath escaped short and hot as the kiss deepened, feeling the warm, damp swipe of Alec’s tongue over his bottom lip, only to be followed by the blunt edges of his teeth, tugging, teasing… but just as before when sneaking out of the house, it was over as quick as it began. Still, their lips lingered, barely touching, and a smile formed on both as Alec rested their foreheads together.

“Let’s… Finish that kiss at my place.” Magnus said once he’d cleared his throat, forcing out the words as all his resistance was used to hold back. This was his, finally. Someone who caught his interest, who chased and let him play coy and make him work for it; someone who did just the same and gave Magnus a thrill. This was his Alec, and he was no longer Magnus Bane the psychic of Brooklyn, he was his Magnus. Alec’s Magnus.

One day I’ll take you to the stars, but tonight I wanna kiss you in my car.

I promise not to go too far, but tonight I wanna kiss you in my car.

[berniesrevolution]

JACOBIN MAGAZINE

Labor movements emerge from class conditions. This seems easy enough to accept but too general to provide solutions to US labor’s problems. If we turn to history, it would be hard to argue that major advances or retreats were caused by just one factor — be it economic, political, or organizational — rather than many. Most important labor histories, from E.P. Thompson’s Making of the English Working Class to Jefferson Cowie’s Stayin’ Alive, center on the idea of multiple causality, or what Louis Althusser called “overdetermination.” These authors drill down beneath quantitative indices of social change to the qualitative dimensions of everyday life. They find — again and again — that cultural practices, such as “blue Monday” among nineteenth-century craftsmen, or “disco sucks” events in the 1970s, helped accelerate or inhibit working-class action.

So far, however, most of our contemporary thinking on union decline and renewal has sidestepped this question (with notable exceptions, like the work of Paul Buhle). We focus heavily on unions’ internal structures and organizing strategies while integrating accounts of political economy, labor law, and worker demographics. A common, unstated assumption is that if only the right organizing model, legislative reform, or economic conjuncture presented itself, workers would burst forth in a new wave of membership and militancy. What is left unexamined are the ways precarious employment and the rise of a host of substitute activities have reshaped workers’ practices, identities, and their willingness to take collective action.

In 2015, I went to Woonsocket, Rhode Island, with these questions in mind. It was a storied center of textile production in the early twentieth century and of militant, social-democratic unionism in the 1930s and 1940s. But it had fallen on hard times, suffering the ravages of deindustrialization and failed attempts at renewal, though over a longer time frame than Flint or Detroit.

My visit was not purely academic. During my teens, I had lived in a neighboring town where people looked down on Woonsocket. Earlier, growing up near Lowell, Massachusetts, I spent almost every school trip touring its textile museum’s sanitized version of mill life. And before that, my grandfather and his generation had worked in Rhode Island mills. Though decades removed, his family’s culture still bears the marks of hardship, solidarity, and relative gender equality imprinted by that first wave of industrial capitalism.

When I walked Woonsocket’s largely empty Main Street with its iconic “Bienvenu” sign and scattered former factories, therefore, it was with more than a detached analytic gaze. I spoke with many residents — sixty, so far — and asked them about things I knew: work, wages, unions, politics. Everyone had something to say.

Artie, a forty-eight-year-old out-of-work carpenter told me, “These are hard times, bro. I’ve probably built a million houses, I’ve been a productive part of society, and for what? Some fucking asshole up in Boca Raton?”

Theresa, a forty-two-year-old single mother who had escaped an abusive relationship only to find a cold shoulder on the job market relayed her experience: “I filled out an application and they weren’t hiring anybody who didn’t have a college degree. They wanted people who are ‘future-oriented,’ they don’t want riff-raffs.’’

And Amanda, a mom in her twenties who had moved from Massachusetts for the cheap rent, recounted similar struggles applying for aid: “They denied me every single time saying that I make too much money. But when I open my fridge, I have no milk — like, I can’t afford to get it. I feel like I am always stuck under something. I’m stuck under the things that I can’t have.”

Deprivation was not hard to find. Nor were expressions of resistance and favorable views of unions. But beneath economics lay a deeper source of suffering that I was ill-equipped to understand. It provided both joy and pain in ever-shifting doses, and though more private in practice than union or political activism, it had clear social dimensions. I am speaking, of course, of opioid addiction.

Artie, who came from a “drug addict family” and said, “I do drugs and smoke weed,” was also adamant that “I’m not a heroin head; I’m not a fucking junkie.”

Theresa, who was on methadone when we spoke, found that heroin “helped me do what I’ve got to do. It gets me get through the day. If I could afford it, I would still be doing it.”

And as Kevin, a twenty-nine-year-old former convict and meat-packer explained it: “A few of my friends passed away this year because of the dope. Everybody is doing it — everybody. It’s the culture.”

Drug use and abuse were pervasive in the lives of Woonsocketers — their own, their friends’, their families’. It was a practice more immediate than wage exploitation and the struggle against it more salient than that against employers or the state.

At the level of culture, where identity is formed socially through channeling desire, substance dependence seemed to have replaced wage dependence, and recovery to have replaced unionism. This dynamic, buttressed by the confluence of union decline and overdose death at the national level, confounds most approaches to union renewal. It suggests that workers’ loss of power is no longer simply a deficiency to be corrected, but a problem that has bred its own answers. Responding to these answers in a way that overcomes shame while tapping the moral energy of recovery should be a central task of union activists.

Figure 1: Union Decline and Overdose Death Rates in the US, 1973–2016

Figure 2: Union Decline (1983–2016) and Overdose Death Rate (2016) by US State

Pearson’s coefficient = 0.33; p-value = 0.017 Sources: Hirsch and Macpherson 2018; Centers for Disease Control and Prevention 2017.

Precarious Work, Distant Unions

When one thinks of New England labor, Woonsocket doesn’t usually come to mind. Places like Lawrence, Lowell, or Fall River might come first, followed by Manchester, Worcester, or Providence. Indeed, Woonsocket is diminutive compared to these peers: its population peak of 50,000 in 1950 was less than half of theirs.

But its primary industry — woolen and worsted textiles — had a longer, skill-dependent shelf-life than cotton-centered production. While those better-known cities’ labor movements were hobbled by the early flight of cotton in the 1920s and experienced the 1934 textile strike as a rearguard defeat, for Woonsocket it inaugurated an impressive rise of worker power under the Independent Textile Union (ITU).

The wolf finally came for woolen and worsted too, as employers headed south in the 1950s. But the intervening years allowed Woonsocket’s mostly French-Canadian working class to take part in the CIO upsurge and taste its material gains.

“[T]hese workers,” argues Gary Gerstle in his seminal history, “made the city … into what Fall River and then Lawrence had once been — the bastion of organized labor in New England.”

Under the leadership of Franco-Belgian socialist Joseph Schmetz and American-born Lawrence Spitz, the ITU organized 84 percent of Woonsocket’s workforce, achieved record wage gains, and sought to wrest control of daily life from employers and the clergy with an ambitious cultural program that Gerstle calls “working-class Americanism.” Though delayed by ethnic insularity and church-enforced piety, class, in something close to its Marxian form, happened in Woonsocket.

And class has continued to happen there, in ways less liberating. Unions have largely evaporated and work, for many, has become intermittent and low-wage. Jobs were something subjects endured and were compelled to constantly seek but were not a stable source of bonding or identity. Even more so unions: none were current members and only a handful had ever been, though many had relatives who were.

The unifying experience of work, once central to the formation of union consciousness, was broken if not absent entirely.

April’s history was illustrative. “I dropped out in ninth grade,” she told me, “and from there I’ve done all kinds of small tedious jobs like babysitting, mostly retail and customer service. That pretty much sums it up, that’s my life. Most of it has always been short term.”

(Continue Reading)

[popularchips-blog]

Check Out the Top 5 Male Beauty Micro-Influencers in Singapore

New Post has been published on https://popularchips.com/dailies/check-out-the-top-5-male-beauty-micro-influencers-in-singapore/

Check Out the Top 5 Male Beauty Micro-Influencers in Singapore

It remains the case that in most parts of the world, it is socially acceptable only for females to put on skincare products and to apply makeup. It should come as no surprise then that the beauty scene in most countries is filled with female influencers. But this beauty scene is expanding and it is gradually becoming more and more acceptable for males to show the world that they, too, wish to take care of their skin and to have that flawless finish that their female counterparts have achieved for the longest time.

Beauty brands who are looking to jump onto this trend should look to hiring micro-influencers in the scene. We’re going to help you with that by introducing you to 5 male micro-influencers from Singapore who could become the next big thing in the beauty scene!

Here’s the criteria* we have used to select these 5 micro-influencers:

Total no. of followers: < 50 000

Sorted according to number of local (Singaporean) followers

Percentage of male followers: > 30%

Must have mentioned a skincare, makeup, perfume or hair-care product in 2018

I. William Tan (@william82sg)

With 21.9k followers and 7.2k of them from Singapore, William has the highest absolute number of Singaporean followers of all the micro-influencers on our list! He is interested in “travel, dining, lifestyle and men’s grooming” and even has an arrangement with Black Hair Salon (@blackhairsalon) where followers can quote his name to get a discount.

Of all the micro-influencers we have selected, William is also the individual who has the greatest number of collaborations with skincare brands, having worked with popular names such as L’Oréal Men (@lorealmen), Kiehl’s (@kiehlssg) and Anessa (@anessasg).

Your skin won’t look young 👶🏻forever, of course. Start protecting it every day, even if the sun ☀ isn’t shining. … For convenience, I like the @anessasg NEW gold Perfect UV Spray Aqua Booster which is formulated with essence of fruit of rose, hyaluronic acid and glycerin. This UV Shield gets stronger when wet💦! ✔Sweat & waterproof ✔Stronger UV protection when in contact with sweat or water ✔Friction-resistant ✔Added 50% beauty skincare ingredients that gives long-lasting intense hydration & protection against premature skin aging & damage by UV rays ✔360° protection against UV rays from all angles Grab them at selected @watsonssg , Welcia-BHG BHG Singapore and @donkisg in Singapore! #anessa #anessasg 📷: @ivannavich

A post shared by William Tan 陈家辉 (SG) (@william82sg) on Jun 4, 2018 at 1:06am PDT

It’s time to get #BetterWithAge with L’Oreal Men Expert✨. Wrinkles, dark circles, eyebags — these are some of the skin problems that become common as we get older. Recognized as Singapore’s No.1 Mens’ Brand and the No.1 Anti-Ageing Brand, L’Oréal Paris Men Expert offers tailor-made technologies for every man’s skin. Introducing the NEW L’Oréal Paris Men Expert Vita Lift Anti-Ageing Moisturizer and Eye Serum, infused with French Vine Extract – a powerful antioxidant that reverses damage caused by free radicals, which causes ageing. I personally like the moisturizer because it is light and absorbs into the skin in seconds, leaving a non-greasy, non-sticky, ultra-light finish. You also have to try the eye serum which is the first of its kind in Loreal Men Expert’s range! Its metal tip applicator allows for easy application as you can massage the serum in without using your fingers Enjoy an introductory price of $18.10 each (Usual Price $25.90) for the month of June for both the moisturizer and the eye serum. Available at all major retailers. #lorealmen #lorealmensg #sp 📷: @ivannavich

A post shared by William Tan 陈家辉 (SG) (@william82sg) on Jun 1, 2018 at 5:01am PDT

Immerse with the most soothing, calming and refreshing iconic Calendula Collection from @kiehlssg. .. Formulated since 1960s, every bottle of Calendula product contains the finest quality ingredients and sun-dried hand-picked Calendula Petals 🌻. … My skin feels soft and refreshed after using these products. … [🌻COMPLIMENTARY SAMPLE KIT🌻] Yes, all you have to do is visit any @kiehlssg store and grab a Calendula Trio Sample Kit from the friendly Kiehl’s Customer Representative (KCR). Keep Calm and Calendula away! #poweredbypetals #kiehlssg

A post shared by William Tan 陈家辉 (SG) (@william82sg) on May 22, 2018 at 5:25am PDT

II. Gerald Png (@geraldpng)

In second place is Gerald Png with 21.1k followers, 6.6k of whom are from Singapore. Gerald was first runner-up in Teenage’s Gorgeous You! competition in 2015. Being a finalist in a beauty competition gives him an added advantage, since his followers are likely to associate him with his good looks. Some of them may even hope to achieve such good looks by using the products that he uses.

Gerald has collaborated with Lab Series (@labseries_sg) and Kinohimitsu (@kinohimitsusg) among other skincare brands.

Mirror mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all? Back in China, 江苏，it was really sunny and I’m afraid that it’ll damage my skin due to the sunray but good thing I brought my @labseries_sg Day Rescue Defense Lotion SPF 35 PA ++++ with me! It is a lightweight, invisible and non-greasy daily moisturizer with loads of SPF protection uses Hydra-Endure Technology to hydrate and protect the skin from the sun’s damaging UV rays. So now even if it’s sunny, I wouldn’t need to be afraid anymore! Thank you @labseries_sg #labseriessg #labseriesformen #labseries #china #江苏

A post shared by Gerald Png (@geraldpng) on May 27, 2018 at 9:20pm PDT

Who says men can’t drink collagen? 🙆🏻‍♂️ A collagen a day definitely keeps your skin shiny and glowing every single day! Will continue to love and learn myself. ❤ Thank you to @kinohimitsusg for inviting me over for Collagen Day! #kinohimitsusg #collagenday #loveyourself

A post shared by Gerald Png (@geraldpng) on May 7, 2018 at 9:12pm PDT

III. Benjamin Tan (@benvoda)

With 40.5k followers in total and 6.5k of this audience from Singapore is Benjamin, who proudly calls himself a “Skincare Products Junkie” in his Instagram biography.

Many of you have been wondering what product do I use for my night facial routine! • For the past month, I have been trying @esteelauder ANR, the only night repair serum patent till 2033. It has been pretty good so far. Hope to achieve a more radiant me when I see you guys! #ELCBeautyInsider

A post shared by Benjamin Tan (陈政序)🐧 (@benvoda) on Feb 28, 2018 at 1:59am PST

Benjamin’s Instagram account sees an engagement rate of close to 8%, more than twice the Singaporean average of 3.77%, and this is in no small part due to his commitment to replying to his followers’ comments on the platform. In the example shown on the left, taken from the sponsored post above, he replies not just the followers who comment about the product he is promoting, but also those who have complimented him, creating a greater sense of closeness with his followers.

Estée Lauder appears to be Benjamin’s only collaboration with a beauty brand.

IV. Danil Palma (@whathebronte)

With 30.1k followers and 6.1k Singaporean followers is Danil Palma, who appears to have snagged himself quite a number of collaborations, with beauty and non-beauty brands alike. These brands include Red Bull, Zalora and Laneige among others.

Laneige’s new Water Bank products are a LIFESAVER! 🤩 It’s lightweight yet super hydrating— Hydro Essence is perfect if you have combi skin like me. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Pop by the Laneige Water Bar Pop-up at Plaza Sing from now till 20 May. Experience the different stations to find out your skin type and the hydration it needs! 💦 ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ #LaneigeWaterBarSg #LANEIGESG #Waterbank #MoistureEssence #HydroEssence

A post shared by Danil Palma (@whathebronte) on May 17, 2018 at 5:58am PDT

As of now, Laneige appears to be Danil’s only collaboration with a beauty brand.

V. Red Seo (@redseo)

Finally, Red is a micro-influencer with 7.9k followers and 4.0k of those from Singapore. Of the 3 influencers we have identified in this series, Red is the influencer who has the highest percentage of his audience from the country.

Red frequently does staycations at various hotels in Singapore, tagged with his own hashtag, #TheStaycationGuru, and many of his recent posts have been about the Fenty x Puma collection, but he also collaborated with Lab Series earlier this year to promote their facial products for daily use.

My daily face essentials – @labseries! 🙃✨ Thanks for always taking care of me @labseries_sg @zacharyzh! ❤ #labseriessg #labseries x

A post shared by RED SEO (@redseo) on Feb 4, 2018 at 8:06pm PST

* The influencers we have selected for this article were chosen with the help of Popular Chips‘s proprietary platform. If you would like to find out more about how you can use our platform to find micro-influencers in any industry (not just beauty), don’t hesitate to reach out to us here!