#gang they make me maybe a bit unwell

[nico-di-genova]

A Lesson in Braking

Chapter 2

Read on Archive of Our Own

A/N: hehehehehehe (my only thoughts while writing this fic).

Warnings: NSFW and a brief mention of anti-harm dorm furniture.

“I fucked an old guy last night,” Lance says to Esteban, when he’s lying on the floor of his dorm room, head resting on the Spider-Man pillow he bought Esteban for his birthday last spring. “Behind the Barnes & Noble. Hand job.”

Esteban hums. He’s  sitting at his desk that he’s moved to slot beneath the single small window of his room, curled over his laptop and working on some complex string of numbers. Three weeks into the semester and Esteban is already drowning in assignments – Lance doesn’t envy him.

“He ate my cum,” he continues, picking at a fraying edge of the pillow. When he pulls at the red string it snags on the fabric and then releases, growing longer in Lance’s grip. He should buy Esteban a new one, maybe a whole bedspread to match. The thought occurs that he could buy a matching set, just to sleep on during the nights when he’s too drunk to get back to his own place and crashes in the living room.

Esteban hums again, pushes his glasses further up his nose, keeps clicking away on his laptop so that the number sequence only grows longer. Lance can only catch pieces of it from where he’s lying on the floor, head angled backward to stare up at Esteban as he works. But even the small bit he can see is enough to give him a headache.  

“When I kissed him I tasted it.”

That gets him.

Esteban sighs, leans back in the chair as far as it will go given its anti-tip design – dorm furniture made to prevent kids from hanging themselves from their light fixtures – rubs at the bridge of his nose and then falls back forward with a groan.

“You’re telling me this, why?”

Lance pouts, tips his head further back on the pillow so he can get a better look at Esteban with one arm on the back of his chair, leaning down to stare at him with mild judgement.

“You don’t want to know about the old man sex I had?”

“I can barely tolerate hearing about the normal sex you have.”

Lance laughs. The spider-man plush, also bought by Lance from the birthday trip to Disneyland last spring, rises and falls on his stomach with the movement. Technically, he has homework for his intro to Marketing class, but it’s more fun to laze around on Esteban’s dirty floor, talking about his sex life, than it is to learn about how to make people buy things. Besides, he’s grown up listening to his dad rant about his successes in the industry, so much so that his first word might as well have been entrepreneurship. It shouldn’t be a hard class to pass.

The dorm room is so tiny he almost runs the whole length of it, one foot nearly to the door, his head at the base of Esteban’s chair, one knee propped in the air. One of his arms is spread wide enough that it’s laying underneath Esteban’s bed, fingers toying with the shoelace of a sneaker that’s been kicked off underneath. It’s a familiar sight by this point, Lance taking up space in Esteban’s room, his life, with ease and spreading out enough that he can be found in nearly every corner of it. Esteban always makes room for him, sometimes will join him on the floor when his course load isn’t too much. But junior year is already different from the two prior, kicking off with a speed that is giving Lance whiplash.

He misses Sovi, the freshman dorms that once made him feel caged, but provided infinitely more freedom in that they weren’t tied to the paths that had led them here.

“My normal sex life just involves Pato, you’d rather hear about me fucking Pato?” He asks, smirks, just barely dodges the pencil Esteban flicks down at him.

“I don’t want to hear about you fucking anyone! Get a journal!”

Lance muses, “I guess there was also that one guy a few weeks ago. From that party in Q,” the building a few doors down from Esteban’s. It sat on the shore of the lake and far enough away from the central hub that university police tended to overlook it. Esteban had called Lance four beers deep a week into school and told him to get there quick, didn’t specify where ‘there’ was, so Lance had to use Find My to even locate him. When he’d pulled up the party had been in full swing on the third floor, and he was welcomed into the cramped apartment by Esteban who reeked of alcohol and weed. Lance ended up fucking one of the guys who lived there, riding him hurriedly and enduring the guy keeping a sweaty palm pressed to his mouth so he didn’t make too much noise in the room they’d locked themselves in.

 Esteban squints at him, “You said that guy was shit.”

“He was.” He came first and then didn’t even bother to get Lance off.

“So why the fuck would you want to talk about it again?”

“Because you don’t want to hear about the good old man sex.”  

Esteban’s nose crinkles in disgust, “Well how old was he?”

“I didn’t ask.”

The mechanical engineering is quickly forgotten, Esteban spinning around fully in his chair and staring at Lance with wide eyes. Lance grins up at him innocently, flutters his eyelashes, scoots over on the pillow as a silent invitation for the man to join him on the ugly blue carpeted floor. Esteban doesn’t take it, yet, Lance is still confident he can convince him.

“How old did he look?”

“I don’t know, forties maybe?”

“Forties?! What the fuck, Lance!?”

“What?”

The deadpan stare Esteban gives him isn’t new, it’s pretty standard actually. “You are insane. And stupid.”

Lance, because he likes testing his luck, pushing at the boundaries of his and Esteban’s friendship, seeing where the line is so he can be prepared for when it snaps, keeps going, “I’m seeing him again tonight.”

He wishes he’d been filming, just so he could preserve the way Esteban’s eyes get impossibly wider. Finally, Esteban gets out of the chair, but he doesn’t join Lance on the floor, instead he paces the length of the room, hands held on his head and mumbles a rapid string of words that Lance doesn’t quite get but he thinks are mainly swears.

“You are joking, yes? Tell me you are joking.” Hands on his hips, towering over Lance, he looks like a giant. Tall and lanky with big eyes behind his wire-rimmed frames.

Lance hadn’t been. He’s been texting Fernando since late last night, ignoring calls from his dad in the process. So far the conversation has consisted of little substance, just enough to establish that Lance is a junior, Fernando is retired, and lives in one of the mansions on the other side of the lake that is right outside Esteban’s prison cell-sized window. Mainly they’d talked about Fernando’s cock, how Lance is upset he didn’t get to see it, taste it – how he’d like to return the favor preferably outside of the backseat of a car and somewhere a bit more comfortable.

He wants to be called beautiful again, reverently, spread out on silk sheets and spread open by Fernando’s fingers. He blames the accelerated horniness on the dry summer he’d just had, the time spent at his father’s house with little else to do and no one to hook up with because Lawrence had insisted on spending as much time as he could with Lance. They’d gone to the track to watch a few races, the office where Lance was meant to be shadowing, galas and banquets, and the golf course most mornings so Lawrence could ensure Lance actually had something to show for the tuition he was fronting. Lance knows it was mainly a last ditch effort on his dad’s behalf to maintain their relationship, before Lance slipped off back to Florida and began predictably sending him to voicemail. Which is why he had even bothered enduring it in the first place, when he just as easily could has gone off to the Mykonos with a group of guys from his frat.

He'd refrained from debauchery all summer, was paying the price for his abstinence now. But, like always, the cost was something to which Lance paid very little, until the bill began to raise eyebrows, as Esteban’s now are.

“Lance. Tell me you are joking!”

“Why would I be joking?”

Esteban glares down at him, while Lance sprawls out further across the thin carpet, concrete flooring beneath digging into his shoulder blades, and smiles. It’s wide, lazy, slow to draw across his face. The sort of shit-eating, self-assured, smirk that Esteban hates.

“It was good sex, Este! He did this thing-“

“Stop! No! Stop! I don’t want to know.”

Lance stops, goes quiet, but continues to smirk. In his pocket, he feels his phone vibrate, probably Fernando again. They’re meant to be meeting in a few hours, once the suns gone down enough that being outside doesn’t make him feel like he’s melting. When Fernando can take him to the bar in the shopping plaza nearby and treat him to a beer before he fucks him senseless, as he’s been promising all day.

He doesn’t tell Esteban this, figures he’s maybe traumatized him enough for the day. Instead, he changes the topic to Esteban’s course load, feigns interest in the math still open on his laptop. Esteban is all too willing to explain it to him, to turn his attention away from the phone Lance pulls from his pocket and grins at with cheeks turning red.

Fernando has sent him a photo of his outfit, button of his slacks undone, zipper pulled low,  hand holding the waistband below his hips. He has a tattoo on the inside of his forearm, close to his wrist, something Lance hadn’t noticed in the dark of his car last night, but that he now can’t draw his eyes away from. It’s a cross of some sort, produces the sort of sacrilegious thoughts that he can’t linger on for too long for fear of losing his religion.

‘Wear something nice,’ Fernando’s text says, when he manages to read it.

Lance doesn’t own much that fits the description, other than a suit he saves for formals, but he figures it maybe doesn’t actually matter that much. Fernando promises to rip whatever it is off of him anyway.

Esteban throws another pencil at him when he tries to show him the photo, holds his hand up to block the view and then lands the writing utensil right on Lance’s nose.

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

His dad calls when he’s fresh out of the shower of his own apartment, steam curling in the air around him and his phone vibrating steadily against the granite countertops of his humid bathroom. He answers before it goes to voicemail, figures he owes his dad this because it’s the third time he’s called since that morning, and he doesn’t want to risk pissing the man off too much.

“Hey,” he says as he’s wrapping a towel around his waist, slicking his wet hair back out of his face with his free hand. He leaves the phone on speaker, lets his dad’s voice fill space as he busies with getting ready.  

“I’m going to assume you’ve been ignoring my calls because you are going to class.”

He only has one class on Tuesday’s, and it’s finished by noon. Advanced golf merchandising, a pointless elective where he’s meant to be learning the management of a retail location. He takes notes, enough to retain the important bits, but he already knows management isn’t where he’s going to end up. His dad would secure him some corporate position within his company before that was even an option. Which, he doesn’t want either, can’t stand the thought of being forced to wear a shirt with a collar every day.

“Yeah, I just got back from campus,” he lies, he’s been hiding out at Esteban’s since class ended, it’s seven now. The lie comes too easy, but the truth would only hurt the both of them – that Lance is avoiding his father because their conversations hurt more than they help these days. That Lance is growing, but it’s in a direction away from Lawrence, from the idea of who his dad thought he would be.

His dad wishes Lance were still small, and Lance wishes that too, but only because when he was a child hurting his dad only resulted in a brief scolding. Now it leads to awkward silences that neither of them know how to fill.

“Class is going well?”

“Um, easy so far, yeah.” They’re only three weeks in. “Other than this financial accounting class, it’s brutal.” He’s already had to ask Esteban for help, already knows he’s going to need to visit the library for tutoring.

He wipes steam from his mirror with the palm of his hand, catches a glimpse of his dripping reflection. Somehow, he needs to assemble himself into something relatively attractive within the next ten minutes, only for it to most likely come undone the second he slides his helmet over his hair. There’s a twisted sort of humor in him wondering how best to style himself for Fernando, while he’s on the phone with his father, pretending to care about classes that had stopped being fun once Lance realized they were actually supposed to lead to something.

“You spent all summer looking at the books,” Lawrence says. Which is true, but it had made more sense when things were hands on. Now it’s just a jumble of words and numbers on a whiteboard, a professor who knows the course is meant for weeding out those who are too weak to continue, and who looks at Lance every time he shows up late with a knowing sort of disappointment.

People didn’t used to look at him like that, it’s a growing sentiment the more Lance stumbles.

“Yeah, I know. It’s just- it’s different. All reading and equations and- I don’t know. I’m not a numbers guy, dad, you know this.”

“You got it pretty well while you were here.”

Only because he’d felt his dad’s eyes on him the whole summer, felt the pressure and the weight and need to prove he could do something. His professor doesn’t bother to look at Lance once he’s sat at a desk, which means Lance zones out, doodles designs in the margins of his notes and then wonders why the numbers don’t add up while he’s doing homework later.

“It’s different,” the exasperation in his voice is audible, he pauses where he’d been drying his hair with a towel pulled from under the sink. Closes his eyes. Breathes. “But I’m trying. I’ll- I’ll figure it out.”

“I know you will, Lance. I didn’t say you wouldn’t.”

They’re being careful around each other, the eggshells just beginning to crunch beneath their feet. Neither one of them want a fight and Lance can feel the tension of it through the phone, the tightening of something in his chest that threatens to break every time he speaks to his father now. This is why he lets it go to voicemail.

Fernando texts him, he sees the notification come through as he’s staring at the phone, hands braced on the bathroom sink. Probably asking if he’s on his way. Lance’s hair is still dripping water in cold tendrils down the back of his neck, a puddle forming on the carpet at his feet. He hasn’t even bothered to find an outfit or brush his teeth.

“Look, dad- I- um, I gotta go. I have a, uh, a study thing with Pato-“

“Oh, okay, yeah. I’ll talk to you soon.”

Lance closes his eyes again, bows his head, tries not to care about the hurt that’s audible in his father’s voice and finds that it somehow manages to dig between his ribs anyway. He hangs up before there’s the chance for the line to fracture further, and then he busies himself with texting Fernando back.

‘You are still coming?’ Fernando asks.

Lance says he’ll be there soon, and then he focuses on the toothbrush in his hands, getting himself ready, and ignores everything else.

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

“I need a drink!” Lance yells over the music, leaning further into Fernando, who holds him up with ease. “A shot!”

Fernando’s hand on his waist tightens when Lance rocks on his feet. They’re standing in the press of bodies on the dance floor, people on all sides. The crowd makes it easy for Lance to press against Fernando, the flashing lights adding to the disorientation. No one notices the way Fernando’s got one hand gripping Lance’s hipbone, the other on his ass, tucked into the pocket of his jeans and cupping the curve of him.  

They’re the same jeans he’d worn last night, pulled from the crumpled heap on his floor and slid back on because he couldn’t find anything else. If Fernando has noticed he doesn’t say anything, too distracted by the white linen button-up that Lance wear, only half done-up and exposing nearly the full expanse of his chest in the multicolored lights. Lance knows it puts the chain around his neck on full display, makes his collarbones stand out, shows how broad he is, and produces the impressed reaction Fernando had exhibited upon first seeing him.

He’d bought Lance his first drink, and then the first requested tequila shot, leaning on the bar top and staring at the exposed column of his neck as Lance tipped the liquor back and downed it with practiced ease. Lance had seen the way Fernando’s eyes had darkened as his adams apple bobbed, looking from the corner of his eye just to see the response that would be elicited with the movement.  

“What do you want?” Fernando asks now, hand on his hip coming up to pull Lance down to him so his lips just barely brush over Lance’s ear.

He shudders, breath stuttering when Fernando’s fingers tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck and pull just enough that there’s the promise of something better later. He’s been teasing Lance since Lance first arrived, the ghost of a touch, a tongue tracing over the sweaty line of his neck, enough to have him hard in his jeans but never doing anything to solve the problem.

It’s the most public foreplay Lance has ever engaged in, even if everyone is too drunk or too involved in their own games to even notice.

“Vodka?” Lance yells, knowing he probably seems young for only ordering shots, but he’d only just turned twenty-one last October. Most of his experience with alcohol has been bagged wine fountained before entry to a party or the mix of Kool-Aid and whatever liquor could be procured into a giant tub for jungle juice. Shots are simple, uncomplicated, and he knows he can handle them. Plus they hit fast, or at least feel like they do, give him the liquid courage needed to grind against Fernando as Pit Bull blares around them in the crowded bar.

The Keys is a mixed sort of space, half occupied by college kids who were too lazy to drive all the way to Rusty’s and half-filled by the locals who are looking for fun outside of their mansions. It means he and Fernando don’t draw attention, Lance fits in with the group of kids in their backwards caps and low cut shirts, Fernando blends with the guys in their pressed button-ups and black slacks. He just looks hotter than the others, the pants hugging his waist and ass well, clearly tailored. And the peak of a tattoo Lance gets on the back of Fernando’s neck as he follows him back up to the bar, Fernando’s hand around his wrist towing him through the crowd, separates him enough from the older guys smoking cigars outside on the patio. He wants to know what the tattoo is, slide Fernando’s shirt off his shoulders and trace the ink with his tongue.

But that’s for later, for now he lets Fernando guide him, lean him against the bar top, slide a hand back into the pocket of his jeans because the shape of his palm over his ass is becoming familiar. He flags down the bartender, orders two shots of Vodka and then they tip them back together. Lance can feel how flushed his neck is getting, wonders if the red of it is spreading to his chest, his cheeks. His hair that was still slightly damp from the shower is frizzing in the humidity of the packed space, falling over his forehead.

Fernando stares up at him, lips wet with vodka and his own spit when he licks them, Lance follows the movement, starts to lean forward like he intends to taste the lingering alcohol himself. Fernando stops him with a hand on his chest, fingers splayed across bare skin, index finger dipping into the hollow of his clavicle. Lance shudders, Fernando feels it.

“Let’s get out of here, yes?”

“Yes.”

Lance can’t drive his bike, just drunk enough that he knows he couldn’t keep his balance. Instead, he climbs into the passenger seat of Fernando’s Aston Martin, and deposits his own keys in the cupholder, casting a forlorn look back at his gear in the backseat. The same seat he’d come undone in last night, now occupied by his motorcycle helmet with the sticker of a cat waving the Canadian flag – something Pato had found online and ordered because ‘it’s Canada, Lance! You know, you!’. Fernando had asked him about it when he parked earlier, traced the outline of it before Lance had taken his helmet off, lifted Lance’s visor so he could see his eyes more clearly as he did so.

When he looks back at Fernando in the driver’s seat the man is staring at him. Lance knows what it looks like when someone wants him. He knows the way Pato gets all slack jawed and dopey-eyed, eyes flicking to Lance’s lips every two seconds even though he wouldn’t even try to kiss him. But Fernando’s look of want is different, more demanding and all-encompassing. He looks like he’s plotting the best course of stripping Lance out of his clothes before they’ve even reached their destination, like he is thinking of the best way to take him apart.

Maybe it’s because he’s more experienced, or maybe it’s because he’s less. Lance doesn’t know enough about him, anything really, to know if he is the first man Fernando has hooked up with or not. They still haven’t found much time to talk, or maybe just haven’t wanted to make the effort. Lance is okay with that, his idea of foreplay is not long discussions and get-to-know-you’s. He doesn’t have the patience for that, much prefers Fernando’s method of cutting to the quick and easy of it.  Which Fernando does when he leans across the console enough to grab Lance by the chain around his neck and pull him in for a kiss.

Lance is still not used to the kissing, just opens his mouth and lets Fernando’s tongue slide into it because he’s not practiced enough. He’s okay with letting Fernando take control, likes how he doesn’t have to think about it, just follow. Fernando tastes like vodka, and Lance swallows the familiar taste of it when their spit mixes and he can no longer tell whose is whose.

When Fernando pulls back Lance tries to chase him, is stopped again by a hand on his chest, firm and unyielding.

“You are still okay with coming to my place?” Fernando asks, and something in the way he says it is slightly sobering. It makes Lance remember his bike two spots over, prepared to be abandoned for the night and hopefully still there come morning.

“Yeah. Definitely.”

“I will drive you home, instead. If you want. Up to you.”

“No. No I’m good. Trust me.” He’d prepped himself in the shower and everything, knew what he was getting into before a drop of alcohol ever touched his tongue. “I’ve been thinking about this since last night.”

Fernando eyes him, glances down at his chest where his skin is still red and hot and bare against his hand.

“Okay. God, you are beautiful.”  

The praise shoots straight to Lance’s cock, has a quiet moan escaping him, something he only just barely manages to bite back with the press of his teeth into his bottom lip. Fernando catches it anyway, grins like he’s realized the praise wasn’t just a one-off from the hand job last night, but something Lance actually enjoys.

"Don’t worry, pretty boy,” he promises, “Make you feel better soon.”

[meeks-just-wants-to-scroll]

Asking asking askiiiing...

Micah: 5, 9

Javier: 7, 8

Pearson: 14, 26 (Freebie: What would his favorite food be to make, if he didn't have to cook outdoors and in bulk? i.e. not being stuck with stew.)

Micah

5: What's the first song that comes to mind when you think about them?

At the moment I have I Want It All by Lana Del Rey stuck in my head so I am a bit biased… at the moment. (Such a cunty song for him).😁

For serious songs I associate with him, Frontier Psychiatrist by The Avalanches is spot on. It is fun, it is chaotic, it sounds like a collection of disconnected memories and audio clips, it focuses on the unwell mental state of a person, so on…

I know some people tie metal music into Micah. Maybe it is me not liking metal music, but I’ve always associated Micah with wind instrument band music. American Venom or various songs from the RDR1 and RDR2 sound track capture the power of Micah to me; he carries the name of his past kin and wields it like his duel revolvers. He is feared and it only feels right a triumphant band of trumpets and electric guitar accompany him.

9: Could you be roommates with this character?

Haha NOOOOOO. Regardless of if it is canon Micah or a modern AU Micah, I think he would be a pain to deal with. Micah mainly does his own thing so maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. I don’t wanna dwell and put TOO much thought into this, but I feel like Micah would be a cruddy roommate whenever he is inside the house, but the majority of the time he is out of the house doing something illegal or morally dubious.

Javier

7: What's something the fandom does when it comes to this character that you like?

Tough, not because there isn’t a lot I love but because there is a lot that I love. The fandom has been pretty good to Javier in my opinion. Maybe too good and excuse him of his faults but that is not the focus of the question.

I do like when the fandom sheds light on Javier’s past, his family, his flaws, and his struggles. Idk if I have seen any art or fan fiction about Javier and his sister, but I want to. Idk if I have seen anything even about Javier in Mexico prior to the VDL gang. The small crumbs that are talked about by the fandom, I reaaaaally appreciate.

8: What's something the fandom does when it comes to this character that you despise?

I am not sure because the fandom is usually respectful about Javier. There isn’t anything I despise, at most I roll my eyes.

I was going to say I felt the constant use of google translate Spanish in fan fiction felt ooc but I realized over time that Javier just does that and interchangeably uses English and Spanish in-game. Plus there is no one right way to right a character. Even if it was ooc that would be fine.

I think people (once again) infantilizing and excusing Javier of his flaws is an annoyance. That and steam rolling his rough edges and flaws to make him this suave guy who gets all the ladies. This man returns to camp smelling like fish and with dirt covered hands from worm collecting. He may have good clothing and hygiene but this man is also unsexy in his own ways. He is unconventionally sexy. You don’t need to replace parts of him to make him “better”. He is already a good character, you just gotta appreciate what’s there.

Pearson

14: Assign a fashion aesthetic to this character.

D: oh no. I was not ready for Pearson headcanon time.

I feel like much of what Pearson already wears (minus the top hat and a few others) would fit into modern day as some sort of thrifted aesthetic, assuming the clothes are cleaned and not blood stained.

I especially like his sweater outfit which makes me think he would enjoy nice big sweaters the girls find on social media and then buy for him. They’re almost all muted colors and patterns. He especially likes the ones depicting nature like this one.

26: favorite food to make with no restrictions.

I don’t have a solid idea for this one so excuse me as I take this in a unserious route: BURGER!

I can just imagine Pearson in a modern AU being a grill dude. He just wants to BBQ and feel good with a beer in his hands on a spring/summer afternoon. He isn’t obligated to provide food for the gang anymore, but he is happy to be invited over by Dutch to talk and grill.

Pearson is a man of varied cuisine so burgers aren’t his only thing. He does others. Burgers are just a crowd pleaser, not too difficult to make, and easy to customize. He might’ve even tried making those new fangled vegan burger black bean things for the gang members who don’t eat meat anymore (cough cough, Mary-Beth).

[randomwriteronline]

Do you think love can bloom even despite Greg Farshtey if we don't have mouths between two sets 15 years apart?

so a friend got me a g2 Kopaka--

Mata Pohatu was a gift from my beloved beautiful chum @cantankerouscanuck and when i went to pick up my other boy my friend n i ended up doin a lil photoshoot at their house bc i couldnt resist trying to make them kiss, which was Fucking Hard due to the mata build's terrible posability but thank god Pohatu's got at least one loose leg and Kopaka has many more joints and is so stable. homeboy was holding this whole thing together all by himself like the gallant gentleman he is

my only regret is not having a proper camera with cool lenses and all to properly devote an insane amount of effort to this stupid thing... have a documentation of our tribulations under the cut instead XD

first problem we incurred in (aside from my shaky ass hands making some pictures blurry) was the height difference.

it doesnt look terrible bc kopakas got his knees bent in the photo but effectively the only way pohatu got to his face was by standing on his tippy toes, and while his steel toed boots did give him the added cms necessary they did NOT let him stand on his own, so either we held him up or he fell over even when propped against a wall. we tried pinning him to the wall with kopaka but he still slipped so both cute ideas had to go down the drain

(we also tried a classic kabedon pose but kopakas fucking pauldrons SUCK for arm mobility so tragically, that was also scrapped)

the good news was however that they COULD hold hands! sorta. kinda. im still counting it. the mata hands have axels for fingers, so they fit snugly in the handpieces the 2015 gang has :)

only problem with it is that

straight in the tits.

(me trying to browse a tag in peace but overly horny fanart pops up)

BUT ANYWAYS. the hand holding did provide some stability and so we started trying out poses by seeing how far we could tilt pohatu while keeping him standing - this because he has another problem, that being that his head bobs up and down with no way to keep it up or down on its own, so we had to work with gravity

came out a lil foreboding, like kopaka is threatening him. but we're getting closer!

thankfully me being a big ol sap helped in figuring out how to make the whole thing more tender bc i love that shit. so we decided to push pohatu's loose leg out to balance him and one of his arms up, like he was reaching for kopaka's mask, which was also very good bc kopaka's hand lodged itself right between pohatu's tiny elbow and hip so he looked like he was wrapping it around his waist. then we adjusted them a lil bit, teaked them here n there, and

OH YEAH.

OH YEAH BABY WERE GETTING SOMEWHERE NOW

we had to uh. briefly stop. and laugh really hard for a second bc pohatus entire head fell off. i dont have photos for that but it was so sudden and unexpected that we had a fit of hysteric giggles

as you can see however, their faces are Not touching. this is due to the aforementioned problem with the Mata neck, plus the fact that kopaka couldn't bend further down to close the gap on his own, though tbf cut him some slack hes already holding the both of them up as best as he can

so we meddled a lil bit to pull pohatu more upright and strengthen kopakas pose so they wouldnt topple over, considered a maskless version, scrapped it bc they looked VERY silly, and THEN. AT LAST

THE ELUSIVE BONKLE KISS..........

from as many angles n lightings as possible bc im Unwell

AND a cool version from the hand-holding side bc the transpieces look great and i find it very sweet :)

but yeah that was a fun time :D it was great and the lads have been untangled and retired on a shelf where theyll stay nice and tight hehe

hope yall enjoyed these, they were great fun to make and i think they came out really well despite my shitty hands and cameras. maybe ill do more or not, who knows ahah wait what was that.

that sound... its like. plastic smacking plastic... to mimic kissing...

you dont think... the bionicles... they couldnt... no...

oh... oh good heavens. oh theyre canoodling in there

[dgiacomo]

For what it's worth, I'm definitely noticing a difference in the posts. I thought you drew Giacomo and the gang pretty well already, but wow, they’ve had a serious glow-up over the past year! So much character in their expressions and interactions. Not to mention the amount of detail in the setting evolving along with them lately! I for one don't mind a bit waiting for new installments with this much effort and care taken with them. :)

[Aw, thanks, Wildfire! The biggest change will have been that when I started this comic, I was incredibly out of practise and hadn't really drawn anything since 2018 due to illness... so I was working with eyes that couldn't gauge how the proportions were looking any more, how big heads should be or facial layouts... which was really hard for me, personally, because I'm somebody who basically drew every day from the day I could hold a pencil, I hadn't really BEEN out of practise before, so not being able to gauge these things suddenly was scary, if that makes sense...

I made Giacomo to force myself to draw every day again, even if the fatigue was strong and even if it looked awful. Because the only way out of that kind of state is right through the awful part. So what you're seeing now is more like what my stuff SHOULD look like when I'm not struggling to draw at all XD;

I'm still unwell, but at least my art is starting to feel a little more like I know what I'm doing again. It's primarily the reason I went the original route with the art, it allowed me to practise, get ok art out that read well and also do it with a quick turnaround... but this blog/comic has had basically no growth, really. It's still scraping the barrel for engagement and nobody knows what it is, even a year later...

Very few people actually stick a like on the posts and a tiny fraction of that reblog them... so I can only assume it's because the art is lacking... Maybe it sounds shallow, but I want to entertain people with what I do... but I just can't do that if I can't catch people's eyes. =( Unfortunately... this is my best.

I really, really appreciate that you enjoy what I do though, let me tell you. You're one of the people I'm always waiting to hear from in the comments when I make a post. =) Your presence is dearly treasured. Thank-you!]

[heirscrchd]

oh no, azula gets a life changing field trip with zuko (and friends) ft @maddmuses (please forgive my horrible spelling, i was on mobile)

Arson — Today at 6:28 AM

The fire gang goes on a life changing field trip? The beach but it spans a whole book of its own lmao I honestly would love that Part of azulas rehabilitation is going around and having to basically to community service or something Ty lee is there since she can kinda take out azula Zuko is there cuz he doesnt want azula to be alone in this Mai is there cuz….well she doesnt want to be stuck in the capital by herself Ursa and kiyi can move in and take over temporarily with iroh while theyre on their trip

Madd — Today at 6:31 AM

Ty Lee when Zuko's explaining the mission: Take out or… "Take out" 😏 😏 😏

Arson — Today at 6:31 AM

Omg But yeah i mean. I could kinda see it. I can see some places like not wanting azula around again but like In a way forcing her to exile like zuko had, to help humble her only shes wirh mai and ty lee and zuko. More ppl because shes a bit more mentally unwell so they need more than iroh to help if shit does down lmao Which could lead to an azula alone episode where she does kinda escape And idk maybe she ends up fucking it up because surviving in earth kingdom wilderness vs fire nation isnt the same Gets stuck in the cave of two lovers and ty lee is able to find her. Because azula would use her bending fire to keep walking so shed never find the exit but with ty lee she has to trust how she cares for azula and go in blind But also the fire gang finding badgermoles being an g r y Que them just sprinting out or literallh being yeeted out of the tunnels

Also lowkey bumi fucking with them He isnt angry or upset in the slightest but he does fuck with them by having them do nonsense chores that are much more difficult than their description Also maybe force the fire gang to think less of optimized way in business or serious topics and think more on how to have fun with what youre doing and enjoy the time together over just getting a job done

Madd — Today at 6:38 AM

Re: the tasks/chores Ty Lee is goofing off with them from the get-go Scrubbing floors? She ties the brushes to her feet and skates around etc.

Arson — Today at 6:38 AM

Y e s Omg 👏👏👏👏 "Clean dust bunnies??? What does that even mean?? Wete going to be here for days???" Que ty lee finding the one bunny from the floppsy trial whos name is dust bunny no idea if that rabbit actually has a name or not

Madd — Today at 7:03 AM

Everyone else: Dusting Ty Lee, giving Dust Bunny a bath: No guys c'moooooon! He's a dusty bunny!

Arson — Today at 7:04 AM

I mean running around in the holes and encolsure would make them dusty lmao

guys ive fallen in love with this little AU too much now. please stop me before i start a whole thing now

[rexscanonwife]

Ok I feel a bit unwell tonight (gee I wonder why ._.) So since I can't do much else I gotta spew my thoughts and be a little insane about this song for a while

Ramblings under the cut ofc

OUGGHGHH OKKK this whole song is so fucking good but I'll start with this bit for now but my god the whole song has this theme of someone singing TO Achilles, begging him to come away from some edge or precipice. Ofc there's lots of ways to look at this but I choose to think of it as Anakin teetering on the edge of falling to the dark side, thinking that he has no choice.

'The self is not so weightless; nor whole and unbroken' UGHH Anakin carries so many heavy things in his heart. His pain, his grief, his GUILT, his conflict. Yet he's not ONLY these things. I'll never be an Anakin apologist PER SE (except when it's funy) but every bad thing he does can usually be tracked, and so can his deterioration THATS THE WHOLE POINT. Despite all this he's been a great friend and brother, he has love and hope and faith in his heart as well as all these bad things.

'Remember the pact of our youth' the unyielding loyalty and affection that Brea and Anakin have for each other!! But it's true, she'd follow him anywhere, not only because she trusts him and knows what a capable leader he can be but she literally wouldn't be who she is today WITHOUT him. Without his friendship and without the ways they've encouraged or allowed each other to grow 😭😭😭

I'VE SAID NUMEROUS TIMES ON THIS BLOG THAT LOVE TORE ANAKIN APART. More accurately his inability to keep holding it inside him, his fate not letting him express it properly, the fear that he'd lose it and the grip he has on it eventually crushing it UGH MY GOD and I didn't screenshot it but the first verse has 'all of us, some of us love you/it's not really much but there's proof' BUT HE COULDN'T SEE IT 😭😭😭

And maybe the second part of the chorus is more Brea being OPTIMISTIC, maybe in a state of denial.

OK so the song does this cool thing where it switches back and forth in a couple verses to the 'inner voice' of 'Achilles' that berates and criticizes him, but obvi in my narrative I'm choosing to see it as literally Palpatine 😂😂 and ofc the parentheses would be both Brea reaching out to him, but ALSO everyone who loved Anakin, and the tiny glimmer of him that still remembers who he was. I love also that while trying to ease him with words of encouragement the parentheses also just like...basically tell the other speaker to shut up 😂 like yeah Brea WOULD straight up just tell Palpatine to go fuck himself!!

Ok and this bit gets me SO hard. Cause if u listen to it (which I highly recommend but it's ok if u don't 🫶) the opposing voices harmonize and then sing in unison, and to me it gives me a really strong visual of Anakins inner turmoil!! And not only that, it makes me think of my AU where instead of fleeing the temple during Order 66 in the confusion she sees that its Anakin leading the attack and decides to try to confront him!!! And I can see it being something she says to him, and their one on one fight that would ensue 😤😤

Ugh and not to mention how brilliant an Achilles comparison is, as I've mentioned I'm a sucker for religious and mythological imagery. Achilles. The PERFECT warrior, powerful, and NEARLY flawless. Emphasis on nearly. His end being brought upon him by that one thing.

I could go on and on about EVERY verse and little bit about this song tbh but this post would be forever long but my god. My fucking god. I've been thinking about this a lot today as u can see 0_0

[echo-of-sounds]

pregnancy

Small headcanons of how Aizawa, Toshinori, Hizashi, Fatgum, Gang Orca, and Hound Dog would be through your pregnancy.

I don’t write about giving birth (as I’m mildly terrified of doing so) so I didn’t add anything about that. Please don’t ask for me to. And even though I’m not interested in getting pregnant, I think I’d be okay with it if Kugo or Ryo were the father.

EDIT: I love picturing all of these men with little girls. It’s just so cute!

Warnings: uh, pregnancy

Aizawa Shouta

Shouta isn’t one to jump for joy when you tell him. However, you will get to see his handsome smile when he grabs your waist, breathing out a light laugh of happiness as he tightly hugs you. His smile won’t disappear for a while. Every time he glances at you, one simply finds its way onto his face.

It may not be by a whole lot, but his behavior changes. Just a little. When you’re out and about, his hand finds its way to your back or elbow much more often, particularly in a crowd. It’s the paternal instincts kicking in. His favorite cuddling position, laying between your legs with his head on your stomach, becomes harder the farther along you are. He adjusts to laying behind you, keeping a hand on your tummy throughout the entire night.

Shouta hides his worries well. Even the people closest to him have a tough time telling what exactly is going on with him. Sometimes, it’s a good thing. He’s a stable person to lean on. But it’s difficult to deal with when you’re hormonal and emotional. He pushes himself so hard to speak more. There’s no way of him understanding everything you’re going through, but when he opens up, he can tell just how much you appreciate it during the tough times. So he does it near-daily, checking in with each other before bed.

He hates how busy his life is. Well, he’s always kind of hated it. Now it’s worse because his partner’s pregnant, and he’s stuck in a room with screaming children when he should be bringing you to your appointments. Shouta attempts to make up for the absence by heading home every night and helping around the house more. Step in. Explain how you value his help, but also need him to relax. If he gets overworked, that would only stress you more.

Shouta changes his eating habits and fitness routines. He wants you to eat well for yourself and your child. He wants you to keep exercising for yourself and your child. He simply wants your body to be healthy. Don’t grumble because he’ll throw your complaining back in your face when the Lamaze coach explains how important physical health is. But don’t worry, his cute smile makes up for the teasing.

Yagi Toshinori

Toshinori is starstruck. Too many thoughts flood and fight. He loves children and has always wanted a family. Being able to father one with you is indescribable. And he never thought the universe would grant any of that. On the flip side, his fear is also undefinable. People know who he is now; who knows what’s out there, waiting to expose All Might’s weakness. The rapid thoughts may bring a tear or two. Cup his face and kiss them away, reassuring him that everything’s okay.

The fears follow him throughout your pregnancy. Like all things (with you and him), there are good days and bad days. His emotions ramp-up during your emotional and physically unwell days. He tries his best to push them down to focus on you. But they eventually end up spilling over. It’ll be common for both of you to cry at the end of the day, snuggled together, talking about the future, worries, and anticipations.

In general, Toshinori isn’t that protective. He trusts you and your abilities. Just because you’re pregnant, doesn’t mean you’re suddenly disabled. You can still do things. Although, he does become a bit of a helicopter. Whenever you bend over to pick up a bag, he beats you to it. He swoops the laundry basket from your hands, claiming, ‘You shouldn’t be lifting heavy things,’ despite it not even being ten pounds. He’s just very watchful of your movements.

He’s very active in dieting, doctor’s appointments, and planning. He eats well, so it’s easy for him to aid you in that respect. For doctors, he has quite a lot of contacts and knows many doctors from his time in the hospital. He asks around, only accepting the best for you. Planning, shopping, and setting up the nursery are his favorite parts. He loves choosing the sweetest colors, softest blankets, and, of course, all the adorable All Might onesies, toys, and superhero books he can find. The nursery is set up perfectly.

Toshinori doesn’t admit how incredibly your pregnant body enchants him. It isn’t always a horny, sexual need. It’s about admiring your body and what it’s creating. He just wonders at you. All the time. Sometimes the changes may make you feel insecure. He’s always there to listen and assure you how amazing your body is. If you want cuddles and kisses, he’ll give them with a smile. If you want gentle lovemaking, he guides you onto your back and gives you exactly what you want.

Yamada Hizashi

Expect a loud song of love, a bear hug, and jumping for joy when you tell him. Hizashi loves kids. He thinks they’re amazing and say some of the greatest things. And he’s beyond excited to see their quirk. Of course, it doesn’t mean he’ll love them any less if they’re born quirkless. He just loves imagining a little one with a similar quirk running around your place.

He is all about redecorating and planning. The entire apartment is getting babyfied and rearranged. The nursery will be beautifully painted. He regularly comes home with cute outfits and stuffed animals. Partly, it’s because he’s just so excited. The other part is he wants you to relax through the pregnancy. No stress, pressure, and unnecessary burden on your shoulders. He’s there to make sure everything goes as smoothly as possible.

Hizashi doesn’t just spoil your unborn child; he spoils you, buying you those pregnancy pillows, your favorite ice cream, driving you everywhere, etc… He just hates how much time his jobs take. He’d rather spend his time with you. To help, he’ll ask for time off of patrols, choosing to be closer with you, physically, mentally, and emotionally, during your pregnancy.

In the later months, Hizashi is all over you. Seriously, he will not leave you alone. He’s very handsy, kneading and licking your swollen, sore breasts, and stroking your belly. Your body, and everything it’s doing, is utterly gorgeous to him. He’ll suck away, gently nursing on your nipple while dozing off to Tv, occasionally switching to the other so it isn’t left needy.

Toyomitsu Taishiro

When you tell Taishiro, you’ll only be able to get out a few words before you’re lifted off your feet and spun around. He smooches all over your face, laughing and cheering about how amazing and perfect and stunning you are. You’ll have to ask to be put down lest you get sick from all his spinning. But his compliments keep coming. They won’t dwindle for a while. There’s just too much love in his body to keep inside.

Whatever you’re craving, no matter if it’s pineapple dipped in ketchup, he gives without complaint. He may try some of your odd combinations. Who knows? You could be on to something new. At the same time, he also watches out for your health. The cravings suck. He understands that. He truly does. But if you ate something sweet/not as healthy for lunch, then he plans a healthy dinner for you. Your body’s going crazy. It needs its nutrients.

Your worries are always taken seriously. It could be the most absurd thing to be anxious over. Tai always listens. His cute smile and never-ending positivity help a ton. Your body and brain are going through a lot. He’ll do his part to validate all your feelings. He talks down the anxieties as you eat pickles on ice cream, making sure you are and feel heard.

Since he works one job compared to the others, he’s able to be with you much more, notably during the hard-to-handle days and at appointments. And he picks up extra chores so you can rest through aches and pains. Any choices you make regarding your pregnancy and birth, he supports. He may not agree with everything, but he loves you, and it’s your body. He’ll always put your comfort and wishes first.

Tai treasured your tummy before. But now, seeing you growing with his child, he’s absolutely enraptured. He places nightly and morning kisses on your belly. When he wakes you up, his kisses trail down to the bump. Every night, he rubs lotion into your tummy, kissing and cooing to his child. It doesn’t matter if you’re only one week pregnant, and it’s just a clump of cells in there. Tai still sings to them.

Gang Orca

Kugo is in disbelief when you tell him. He freezes, staring, hardly hearing your words. Give him five minutes. He’ll process what you said and snap back to the present. Watch out because you’re going to get lifted high into the air and maybe tossed like a father does a baby. He’s just practicing. It’ll only take one or two days for him to slip into paternal mode. It’s damn near instinct for him.

As per usual, he’s a gentle paragon behind closed doors. Throughout your pregnancy, he melts into a puddle of sweet honey. His overall affection skyrockets. His hands and claws are as tender as possible whenever they touch you, doing whatever you need him to: massaging your back and legs, rubbing lotion all over, or brushing your hair. He reassures you through tears. He prepares healthy meals that satisfy your cravings. And he holds you all night, keeping you safe on his chest and in his arms.

Kugo goes to every single checkup and appointment. It doesn’t matter if it’s just an ordinary visit to your primary care doctor; he calls out of work and goes with you. At any ultrasounds, expect a few tears, especially when you hear the heartbeat for the first time. He holds them in until you’re alone. The second the door closes, his forehead is nudging yours as small, loved-filled tears fall. He never thought he’d get a family. Part of him thought he didn’t deserve a family, but you’ve proven that false repeatedly.

The farther along you are, the more he watches out for you. He checks in every morning to make sure you took your medicine and vitamins. He washes you so you don’t strain yourself. If you’re waddling, he offers his arm for support and helps you stand. If your back hurts, he applies a heating patch to your lower back and puts your shoes on for you. If you need it, he can carry you to the car and into where you’re going.

As does everyone, Kugo has doubts about his quirk and abilities. People have always viewed those with mutations differently. And it can affect their health, leading to numerous doctor visits and tests. He doesn’t want his baby to deal with the staring, whispers, self-doubts, and distress he did. To support him, talk in detail about his fears and help him realize he’s never disappointed you or hurt anyone. Kugo’s exactly how he should be.

Hound Dog

Ryo doesn’t have a tail, but you’ll definitely see a little happy wiggly before he hugs you. The following week, he keeps you close as he acts differently: rubbing up against you to ensure you smell like him, touching your nose with his, lapping along your neck, sleeping incredibly close, and occasionally smelling between your legs, licking the air around there to smell better. It’s awkward, almost weird, since it isn’t average ‘human’ behavior. But if you love him, let him do it. Please. Understand his nose works differently. It reassures and comforts him to smell you, checking in to see if anything’s changed.

Ryo gets protective when you’re on your period: When you’re pregnant, it’s so, so incredibly worse. He hovers, grumbling low at those walking by. Others barely hear it. It’s intense enough for you to feel it when he’s behind you. He doesn’t like people running up to you, or startling you, or roughhousing or playing in any way. He’s lenient with children, less with teens. Women get a deep growl and scowl. God help any man that approaches you. You might have to have him wear his Hero outfit’s muzzle until you give birth. Though, that might not help because then he’d be protective of two people.

It’s only the teensiest amount better at home. He makes you rest, almost too much. After work or some time outside, he shuffles you to the couch so you can’t overwork yourself. He’s a pleasant change of pace from his typical gruff self. However, as great as he is at the physical needs, he still struggles with the emotional aspects. You can cry on his shoulder, complain, and talk about your worries all you need to. He’s just a bit clunky when it comes to reciprocating the soft emotions. But he puts all his heart into it, and it’s easy to tell.

Ryo is also one who loves pregnancy sexy. You’re swollen and sensitive, and he loves watching your breasts bounce, maybe even leak a little depending on how far along you are. And since you’re already pregnant, he releases and stays inside. After, he lays behind you, keeping himself deep in you despite being flaccid, just feeling how wet and aroused and full you are because of him. When the heated moment is finally done, he licks you clean, nearly getting drunk off your smell.

[froggy-frogz]

Hi, I know I already had a request put in, but i was wondering if you could do another one? I'm going through a rough time with a break up, and I have no one to comfort me right now. i was wondering if you could do a brett (inside job) x reader? Like Brett and y/n are best friends, and y/N is going through a hard time and he has no one to comfort him, but Brett finds them in a storage closet and comforts them. Also, could the reader use he/they pronouns? If that's no to much to ask

A/N: I'm super sorry that you're going through a rough time :( and dw, I don't mind at all, you can submit as many requests as you like. Sorry I didn't get it out till now though! Hope you're feeling a little bit better hun. [Also if you ever want to talk, or anyone reading this needs some to talk to, my DMs are always open! I'm not the best at advice but I'll listen!]

- - -

Brett Hand x Reader

Warnings: None!

- - -

You were having an awful day. You weren't sure why, maybe it was just you overthinking again, or you were getting paranoid that you weren't good enough to work here. Hell, you were surrounded by some brilliant people and you felt small compared to them.

Normally you were okay at work, sure you had your moments but you were always able to calm yourself down.

Today was different though, as you weren't able to shake the feeling of unwellness that was swelled up in your chest. You didn't want to talk to your friends about it, because, despite everything, you weren't sure how they'd see you afterward. Sure you guys had been through a lot, but you didn't want to be seen as a hassle.

That's how you found yourself in some random office supplies closet, bawling your eyes out as you used your hands to muffle the sounds of your sobs. It was pathetic, wasn't it? You crying in a closet. You felt bad if Larry, the janitor were to accidentally find you in here.

You were in a meeting with the gang when some snarky remark from Glenn set you off. Normally you and Glenn didn't have any issues with each other. Sure you didn't always see eye to eye on certain, if not many politics, but generally he was nice to you.

You weren't sure why what he said to you hurt the way it did.

There's a loud, sudden knock on the door that makes you jump a bit, and you get immediately scared as your hand reaches for the doorknob. You weren't able to tell who's knock it was, and for the most part, it had pretty quiet in the hall.

You open the door and there's a mix of relief and embarrassment as you see Brett standing there, a worried expression apparent on his face.

"[Y/n]... You doing alright?" He asks gently as if he didn't want to scare you.

"No." You sniff, wiping your face free of tears, "I feel like shit."

Brett looks around for a second before stepping into the closet and closing the door, before leaning on the wall next to you.

"What's wrong?"

You let out a snort, what wasn't wrong at this point? God now to add to that, Brett had now seen you cry. You knew he wouldn't tell anyone but he still saw you.

"A lot. I just don't feel good, y'know? Like it's too much to handle. I don't know if it's work or if it's what Glenn said earlier but I just feel shitty."

The man next to you is quite as if he doesn't know what to say, but after a second, he mumbles to you, "Can I hug you?"

You were a bit shocked that he'd ask that right now, but Brett was a very touchy-feely guy so you guess it made sense.

When you nod and give him the okay, he wraps his arms around you, tucking his chin on your head. If it was anyone else doing this, it'd be uncomfortable, but it was Brett, sweet, kind Brett who was the one person that you could count on here to make you feel better.

"Everyone got pretty upset at Glenn," Brett says quietly, a tiny bit of amusement in his voice, "It was a little funny to see everyone ganging up on him, but once you didn't come back I got worried."

He hugs you tighter, and you hesitate, but hug him back, pressing your teary, snot-covered face into his shoulder. You'd have to apologize later.

"I'm here for you [Y/n], sorry I didn't notice earlier." He says softly, "I may not know what to say but I want to help in anyway that I can."

"Thank you," You mumble, knowing fully well that he was already, indeed, helping.

[blankdblank]

The White Dove Pt 14 - Washington & The Blip

The White Dove Masterlist

.

“Can I help you?” Fury asked finding Misique inside his home only to see you removing a wad of explosives from his ac vent that had him look around and pull out a pen shaped tool from his pocket to light up the walls with an infrared light showing markings of a gang that had been hitting random locations.

“Not particularly,” you said and added the explosives to the bag you had pulled others from.

“Huh,” he said and turned to face you. “Where the hell are these punks?”

“At a concert,” you said causing his brow to arch up. “Alibi,” Making him nod as you screwed the cover back onto the vent. “That was the last, idiots keep using the same C-4, I can hear it screaming miles away.”

“Screaming?” he asked facing you fully.

“Even gunpowder gives off sound waves, explosives let you know where they are. If you listen.” Gesturing at the walls you said, “Lemon and baking soda in some water sprayed on the marks should get rid of them. Or it’ll burn the paper.”

Off the step ladder you had brought with you stepped and folded it down to the size of a notebook to fit in the bag as he said, “This doesn’t mean I trust you now.”

“Pluto doesn’t trust you either, call it even.” You said walking to the door making him turn to watch you go.

“She knows about me?”

“Bit hard not to. Do you not remember the carnival?”

“How’d you meet?” he asked and you glanced back at him, “You protect her, saw that when Kingpin took her. When Pierce got too close. You are her bright yellow shadow.”

“Does it matter? Truly need to know every detail of Pluto’s life? Will that make you feel better about the scars she carries? I wear a mask to keep the target on me so she can wash the blood they forced her to spill clean. One of us deserves to be free.”

“Why can’t you both be free?” he asked out of sheer curiosity.

“Cut off one head,” you said and his lips parted.

“Hydra, you were trained by Hydra?”

“Leviathan, actually, but then again who hasn’t been swallowed up by Hydra these days? They love to fluff their numbers.”

“How did she meet Pierce?”

You lifted a finger saying, “Cut off one head,” then raised up a second finger in a reach back to open the front door, “Whatever you do, don’t be hasty. All the press or Stark might say about me, they only catch the echoes. I have flaws but you can’t understand what you don’t care to see.” As you stepped through the door you said, “Good night Mr Fury.”

“Goodnight,” he murmured and watched you leave and turned to check his house for anything that could have been left behind and curiously ended his night following your tip on how to clean the marks off making him wonder all the more why you chose to help him. Only concluding that maybe if you went after him it could bring heat down on Pluto, for now at least he had a good view on who was pulling Pierce’s strings and what to look for on his daily actions.

.

That negative slew of results on your genetic testing did more than you expected for your confidence and adding to those were the varied results of propaganda film exposure tests that with your bees now had you physically unwell but free from being torn back into another episode. Venom’s help especially came in handy, tracing your memories back you could swarm bees to blot out the messages, so at least you could watch the films again to see them as they were intended as if for the first time. And from that safety came a surge of strength just in time.

One blast too many near to a dam and through the streets walls of bees spread around a pathway evacuated by means of triggering alerts systems to hack tv’s, computers, phones and even smart watches to guide people away from the one guiding the waves through the streets of New York.

“I think you’ve helped enough Stark!” you shouted from a webbing anchored sail equipped rowboat you steered atop the walls of water that followed your guided path to spill back out on the other side of the city leaving the flooding to a minimum with as minimal damage as possible. Though he didn’t listen.

And for near to three minutes when he ended up blasting Rhodey out of the sky trying to hit you on a try to help Venom with the duo, who had initially to start all this off set off a weather machine to cover their own heist, you had hold of the unconscious War Machine’s leg until your bees were able to zap his heart back to steady cardiac rhythm. Soon as you helped to drag him onto the platform on a building under construction he almost had been slammed into through his haze he watched you walk past him to get back to where you were needed. Rhodey down was more than enough to finally get Stark out of your hair long enough to neutralize the real threats then slink home in time to get some rest.

 …

“Pluto,” Morita said finding you on your way into school as you crossed off the final day to March in your planner making you shut the book and look up at him with a quick grin.

“Dean Morita,” you said and he drew in a breath to ready for what he had to ask.

“Some of the parents have been complaining, not much to do with you, however they are complaining that the line of chaperones is skewed unevenly, since you are emancipated. I wanted to ask you about your adopted brother.”

“Eddie?” you asked in the brow lifting pause he gave you.

“Yes. For the academic decathlon we need a chaperone to join Roger Harrington on the trip to Washington. It has been a nightmare trying to get anyone to pick up another shift from the parents of the team members. I was curious if he might be willing to help us chaperone?”

“I can ask. I know he’s chasing a lead on a story to do with a Governor who has been shaking his emails, could actually help to have him head out with us.”

“Good, that’s good.”

“Did you need him to drop by today?”

“If he would be able to,” he said and grinned on his way to answer the call of his name while you sent a text to Eddie who said he’d be there shortly after the morning meeting at the Bugle before he was free to chase his story again. Plans by the end of the day were written in stone and everyone had the copies of their flight tickets by the end of the week for the trip the following day.

.

Near to dawn at the airport you all met up and the other five students on the team, normally you all would drive, however one of the parents of the other students works in an airline and scored cheaper tickets for all of you to travel there and back. Together with bags checked in a row you all sat waiting in the flight gate while Roger Harrington looked at Eddie asking, “Do you, do you have children?”

“No, just, helping to look after Pluto.” He said then asked, “You?”

“Not yet, no, just engaged. Took a while after the divorce to get back on that horse. You married?”

“No, almost, once, didn’t work out.”

“Someone else?”

Eddie’s head tilted to the side and he said, “You could say that. I, um, got heavy on this story I was working on and that, well the aftermath sort of tore us apart. Still friendly, just, scorched that bridge, call and make sure we’re still alive sort of relationship now.”

“I get that,” Roger said making Eddie smirk.

The hour long flight at Eddie’s side went smoother than the task of checking in to the hotel which took a terribly long time after a simple paper snafu Roger had set off. Eventually however you were able to leave your bag in the room you and Eddie shared to head down and take a bus ride to the center where the decathlon nationals were being held. The days you were here would be busy with stops on a tour of the city between time slots to compete against others.

A meeting with the Secretary of Defense was amongst the first stops in their try to gain some good PR since the last one had been swapped out after a car accident had them beyond capabilities of fulfilling their role. Up through the several layers of security and floors with tours of the offices you passed Roger kept glancing back as you seemed to be distracted. Water offered to you with a thumb covering most of the mouth of the bottle you poured some out in needy plants crying out for it. All you could was done to keep from focus on stolen whispers from across the room of others on the upcoming Project Insight you learned of in a security dig for potential threats the month prior.

Though the oddest diversion noted being a slip of you into an empty office with a sad looking dog on a miniature couch listening to some obscure jumble of notes meant to be music had the animal lift its head. To watch you press the second saved station then the third to put it on a slow jazz station that had the dog sigh contently and relax back across its couch in your slip back to join the group and your confused teacher. Even in school you were a bit odd when it came to plants and animals, much like today however when it was going to rain your focus was more spotty than usual. Thankfully for them the contest was the following day when the forecast was set for sunny skies.

.

“So, um, Buddy got a call. They could use a hand, and a distraction.” Eddie said making you smirk and both slip out to get out of this hotel and halfway across town to help Phage out. While the duo bounded through the hideout you kept watch.

Though in the means to get back again in two teams while the flocks of hummingbirds you used to help distract passers by helped to hide your own stroll away through the crowds otherwise obliged to look anywhere but at you. “Oh no,” however halfway one of your formerly extinct birds you brought back had you hop on top of a building to shoo it away from what could only be a crude bug zapper. “No, no,” you muttered and crept across the gap of a roof and rain gutter onto an awning, that by usual standards should have held your weightless self. Had Phage of course not sprung up onto your back avoiding a spotlight from what he assumed to be a police chopper but was a news chopper filming. And thanks to his cumbersome self you split the awning and braced for the fall as the metal arms and fabric tangled around your body as he sprung up into the tree hearing the door of the building open.

Wide eyed you stared up at the jumpy former soldier who burst out his door with bat in hand whose eyes fell onto your tangled self. “That was yours,” you said and back inside he tossed his bat to step over to you and lower down.

“Were you on my roof?” he asked in disbelief pulling a knife from his boot he was going to use to slice the fabric he held in your sight to see he wasn’t going to do anything but cut the material.

“That hummingbird breed, it’s extinct, and the um, electric thing, could kill it.”

He looked up and seeing the bird shifted to reach over and unplug the chord pressed into the wall to shut off the threat to the colorful bird he watched fly off as you nodded Phage back from attacking the stranger. “Safe and sound,” he said looking to you again, “What type of birdwatcher are you chasing wings at night?”

“Kind that gets a rare sighting.” You said making him chuckle.

“Sam,” he said showing you the knife again, “Gonna cut you loose.” Gradually he made a cut and sliced higher careful not to harm you or what you were wearing. “How old are you?”

“15, I’m just short,” you said making him chuckle, “Pluto.” That had his eyes on you again after another shift of your head to keep now Venom who was also in the tree from pouncing down at the sight of the knife. “My name.”

“Ah, nice, always wanted a unique name. Samuel, middle name’s Thomas, not very unique.”

“God has heard, and, twin, not bad for meanings. My middle name means for the love of play.” His brow arched up, “Lagertha, mostly people just recall the Viking Queen who bore the name.”

“You study Vikings?” He asked sheathing the knife to work the metal to help you wiggle free.

“My mother’s ancestor fought at Lagertha’s side,” you said fully impressing the man. “My father’s clan was just as bold, one of their men held off a siege of ninety men all on his own. Fell valiantly defending the town until reinforcements returned from a hunt to feast in honor of the Norns.”

“Not bad,” he said tossing the metal aside when you managed to get back onto your feet and brush your backside off. “You okay? There’s a hospital nearby. I can call your parents.”

You shook your head and said, “Orphan,” parting his lips and you said, “Besides, school trip, should be getting back. I’ll um, I’ll pay you, for the, awning.” You said forcing a hand out he smirked in accepting for a shake and he nodded his head in return for yours. “Good night, stay safe soldier.”

“How’d-,”

“Shirt,” you gestured to his military support group shirt and he nodded again as you stepped back to turn and trot over to the sidewalk.

“Night, stay off more roofs tonight,” just stealing a look back to confirm you had the right house number while he turned and sighed to gather the mess he was going to throw away to the whirl of his brain at the curious teen he had met. The yowl of a cat however had him say, “Jasper,” and turn to find his neighbor’s cat, “Jasper Cattabunga Cornelius III! Don’t you mess with that bird! It’s extinct!” to be seen later scolding the cat who tried and failed to pounce up onto the roof to chase said bird currently building a nest in a nook above one of his windows.

“He seemed nice,” Eddie said exiting an alley making you smirk and roll your eyes to the sound of Phage’s Other who climbed into a car he parked on the road outside that alley.

“He did. How expensive are awnings?”

“Um, can get pretty pricey. I can call a guy, wasn’t what, five, feet across?”

“Bout right.” You said.

Harmlessly you managed to slip back into the hotel unnoticed, across the shared bed in a sideways sprawl relaxed against Eddie’s legs you rested. Able to see both the tv and the laptop he was using to log into his online poker account. “You’re gonna want to hit,” you said making him look at you.

“But the last one was a seven…” He murmured to himself and hit the button as you said to have him get exactly 21 on the required bouts of Blackjack between rounds of Texas Hold ‘Em player teams reshuffling from hour to hour.

“There was three two’s coming up.” You said making him smirk.

“How is it you can count electronic cards?” He asked playfully in the pop up of a window to move him back to the Hold ‘Em tables.

“Not hard to. Have to hard wire the system to follow the rules or the randomizer will fall into unfair patterns they won’t be able to control the spread of winnings. I can teach you.”

“Oh I can count cards,” he chuckled accepting the move, “Just amusing how you can get that brain of yours to beat the computer at it too. Can’t wait to see how you can take your games in person from playing that guy in the park who tried to beat you with his magic tricks.”

“Only lying in person is the difference.” You said accenting the final word with a flick of your tongue awkwardly as if there was something stuck underneath it causing him to keep looking at you.

“You ok? Getting tired?” he asked knowing from an earlier comment that you hinted it’d be hard for you to sleep here as the sheets reminded you of the ones from your fake house in Russia.

“Feels like, my tongue’s going numb and tingling.”

“Like with allergies?” he asked pausing his game to sit up a bit making you do the same as he said, “Open up.” Ready to see if he needed to fetch one of your honey based allergy remedies out of your bag from a detergent or room air freshener reaction. The pale glimmer that shone between your lower row of teeth had him say, “Lift your tongue.”

“You know about my mark,” you sighed out only for him to cut you off.

“Your teeth are glowing,” he said bringing out his phone to when you lifted your tongue in a stretch up towards your nose and in flattening it he got a clear image captured of the Norse symbols were glowing between the still darker pink star around them with each of the nine points to it that gave off a faint shimmer. “Huh,” he muttered and showed you the picture taken in the close of your mouth with a turn of his phone. “Doesn’t usually do that.”

“Why would the Valkyrie and Vegvisir symbols be glowing?” you asked yourself looking over his face. “Maybe it glowed when Heimdall visited me,” you said hopefully and he gave you a clueless nod of support. “Maybe he’s coming back to visit with a warning this time.”

“Anything is possible.” He said and you both relaxed again to focus on the poker until you could feel yourself nod off and he shut off the laptop. Now with a newer bit of cash to add to his savings from winnings you had helped him get since his first lessons during your first big healing session you were bedridden for a weekend after meeting months prior. Winnings to ensure the both of you were gaining a rainy day fund to keep afloat if the worst was to happen. Mostly across his chest he nestled you to keep as little contact with the sheets to prevent jolts awake from the texture and extra security of a blanket brought from home he laid over your back and under your arms to ensure you didn’t touch the comforter while asleep.

.

Morning didn’t do anything to lessen the glow of your mark and through breakfast the need to be careful of not showing your lower teeth or tongue didn’t seem to be necessary in a forced show of a smile to a fellow student to prevent anything stuck in teeth to prove no one else could see the glow. A new development that had you curious as to what that meant and for Eddie Venom on edge in case it truly was a warning that something or someone was coming. Another unnecessary distraction on top of this long morning or competition followed by an evening tour of a new museum exhibit you would tolerate until you could go to the hotel and hide from the world.

Though again when you were seen adjusting a potted plant more into the sun inside the venue for the debate a few feet from the group who were going over flash cards of notes Roger came up to your side. “What are you doing?”

“It’s in a shadow, it’ll die.”

After a puff of air he said, “Okay,” waving a hand to the side that had been hovering between you, “Didn’t say anything about the fuzzyness with the rain, but then there’s the watering of the plants in the Secretary’s office building,”

“They were thirsty,”

His brows arched up, “And then the dog and the radio.”

“Oh come on,” you said cutting him off, “He’s got a mini couch how is he not going to relax to smooth jazz?”

He lifted a finger, “Fair point, but this, now this, moving things, we can’t just move things.”

“It’ll die, just because people can’t hear-,”

“Hear what?” he cut you off and your lips remained parted a moment.

“The plants, people can’t hear them.”

“That’s an odd choice of words.”

“Everything I say is odd.” You fired back.

“Not entirely true, the occasional fable or riddle but mostly comprehensible. Plants don’t talk.” And you rolled your eyes making him point at you, “That! What is that for?”

“The whole planet talks. Seismic movement, ocean currents transmit audio frequencies, winds whine or wail, not even mentioning storm currents, the whole universe makes sounds even down to the smallest organisms within it, just because ears aren’t fine tuned enough to comprehend their warnings doesn’t mean they aren’t giving them.”

“What type of warnings?” He asked with eyes narrowing.

“It’s dark, we’re going to die,” you said gesturing to the plant whose blooms had perked up considerably in the moments of sunlight.

“I’m watching you,” he said and you turned your head to find Eddie stealing a glance your way, “No more moving things.”

“Just because I care about plants doesn’t mean I’m distracted. Not all of us get to be Stark and blow up buildings all day long.” The words had him shift and face you a moment in his stopped try to guide you back to the others and you sighed. “Some of us have to rebuild the planet when men like him are through, blowing it up.” And his gaze softened to the moment of mournful look in your eyes, “My mother taught me, to listen, in her garden. So I listen. Explosion to explosion, I listen.” You didn’t wait for him to guide you back you just turned to walk yourself to the seat near to where Eddie was standing to be pulled into the huddle that paused at the pass of the usual rivals.

Stare downs commenced before the huddle continued in their vanish from sight finding their own private place to settle down to ready mentally for what was ahead. Hours the day would stretch on with one half of the topics the decathlon competition covered out of the full math, science, history, economics, literature, art, music, speech, interview, and essay.

How you performed on the debate team and knowledge in a vast amount of subjects had Roger with Eddie in the audience smirking as you filled in the gaps the other students could not grasp fully. Every answer sure to add to the score of the team that the duo smirked in passing on you had a fair margin of a lead by the end of the day after checking on the other rooms. Where more teams had been facing off with their own groups of opponents to cut down the final rankings of those who met the point cap the following day.

.

Off the bus that had been sent, leaving the golden jacket for your school on the bus as the others did the same in your mint blouse, black vest and high waisted trousers to appear to be suited like the guys on the team and not be the only one in a dress. You peered up at the museum scraping the bottom of your tongue against your teeth, another failed try to calm the growing sensation. In a lift of your foot behind you off the back of the blindly the lay of the hem was freed from snagging on a strap on the back of your wedges you’d worn to not be too terribly short on parts when you had to be at the podium. All together to the entrance your group walked with Eddie at your side handing you your white and black animated cat wallet he had been holding onto during the morning to keep it from poking you when you got up and down.

Beyond the ticket booth under watch of an assigned guide straight to a private exhibit you were led for another bit of press for the trip. A show of the new Captain America exhibit; stop by stop you listened to audio and read the inscriptions between murals of images and visual clips on mounted screens. Right in front of the section on Bucky Eddie moved in to drape an arm around your back melting you into his side in front of a life size image of him detailing where he was born and grew up. It wasn’t him but Eddie caught on enough that your body didn’t want to move on as if being pulled back into a memory or requiring an order to do so he gave in a silent bump of his body to guide you along.

“You alright?” you heard and froze in seeing Steve Rogers who had snuck in hearing there was a group of teens coming to the opening week of the exhibit on a private tour. “You froze, I know it sounds scary but we all knew what we were risking when we signed up for war.”

“You do know he’s not dead, right?” You asked and his mouth dropped open in the drop of your hand to bring out your phone. Which on it held a copy of the pictures taken from your fake family to have snapshots of that life as much as possible if needed. Including one with you in the cockpit of an aircraft with Bucky in the co-pilot seat peering dead on back at the camera actually taken on the way to your first mission to neutralize a target under supervision of your Winter Soldier who would keep you in line and ensure the job got done. Eddie had seen the images and when Steve saw it his face fell with the color draining from it.

“I need that picture,” was all he could say before he was guided to give a speech, with as pleasant a look on his face as possible. The statement was again repeated when he had been contacted by SHIELD and into a notebook inside his pocket he let you write down your social page handle where you had posted the image months prior. Including another image with you in a tactical suit to show you were set for a faked skydiving lesson with Bucky helping you with your harness that would be part of the same several part mission, to parachute in a reclusive location to find the hideout. Images that when shown to others proved to be a conundrum as nothing seemed to pan out beyond the now abandoned airfield Steve insisted on being flown to so he could check it out himself.

.

Once out of the exhibit you were free amongst other teams from the same academic decathlon in exploration of the rest of the museum. More and more the tingle in your tongue grew until you had to slip into a bathroom when it felt like you were being cut along the markings. In the mirror you eyed the scars that filled your mouth with bright yellow light only to close your mouth and head for a stall when the door was being opened. What little you could let out easing a bubble of pressure from nerves was in a seat inside the private stall for a moment to calm yourself down. Until the woman, who helped her small son relieve his own bladder then wash his hands, had left you alone again to redress and exit the stall for another peek while you washed your hands.

No one else could apparently see what was going on with your mouth, at least that was what you assumed until a golden and crimson haired pair of sisters not in the competition passing by tapped their mother’s arm. One look at you caused her to have the elder summon her husband to usher them away while the mother palmed something from the back of her ponytail. A dark haired man from another hall at notice of the husband come to warn them at being sent to fetch his child as well had his lanky self and broad shouldered husband with pale white braided hair come to gather with the woman to search for apparent danger. “Okay, that’s not good,” Eddie murmured and with a hand on your waistband lured you closer to his side to be ready for anything with Venom rising to just underneath his skin.

Hunt for danger apparently went unnoticed by one on a task of alluring a female staff member. The muscular man followed her onto her next stop to hand out refresher packs of pamphlets he had chosen to woo until he took notice of the gathered trio. Instantly you knew he recognized them because out of his pocket he whipped a miniaturized scroll that as it unraveled it expanded. Across it in Old Norse was read a spell that blanked the minds of the trio of Asgardians to cover his try to flee. That however was short lived to the sound of a crash.

By the dozens floods of people led by an enraged man wielding a staff coated in glowing etchings came into view through the waves of dust from the outer wall of the museum. Behind the racing masses a ghostly eleven women wreathed in shimmering armor and wafting colored material drew your focus in the launch of a proudly brandished spear. With a quick shove you pushed Eddie away freeing the spear intended for the formerly fleeing man you dodged by an inch to crash into the wall behind where he was standing.

Hard and fast the formerly flirting man took hold of your arm in a dart aside to use you as a human shield during a scream filled scramble of teens and adults away from the explosion and angry mob. Steely other worldly glares from the women landed upon you as the world seemed to blur to the whisper Yggdrasil to name the Beserker Staff the lead mortal had hold of it warned you not to touch if freed from his hold. Three crashes, one of glass and two of stone snapped you back to the present, and right away you raised a foot to kick the man back away from you hurling him in a slide back until he met with the wall eight feet away. A projectile from the hole that appeared in the wall on your left came to a halt when you took hold of what now in front of your nose was revealed a hilt of a mythical sword formerly on display in the Norse exhibit.

Eir-Gram, forged by Loki the God of Mischief himself, exploded around you in a blink a cosmic rush of power that halfway muted the world around you. Wide eyed Eddie still stood frozen as did every human aside from the mentally bewitched mob and the four confusing strangers who the flirting man had wiped the minds of seeing them here armed. “What is this?” the woman who had first palmed something now looked at the concealed weapon asking, “Where am I? Who are you?” Answered by both men asking the same questions.

Circles of sparking portals released robed Sorcerers with hands summoning weapons and spells to fight the masses while you used the sword in hand to block another spear attack. Through the mob one of the ghostly women who a Sorcerer failed to harm or come to contact with magically or physically passed, not entirely physical but no less vulnerable to the slash of the blade in your hand in her try to fight you away.

Her and another in precise slashes collapsed to the ground freeing you a moment as they focused their efforts on deterring the Sorcerers and the escape of the flirting man who tried to flee. A moment for you to approach the trio who one handed you touched their temples to ignite their eyes granting you flashes of a golden kingdom before their eyes blinked to normal when your touch drew back. Suddenly from you and your still glowing tongue in a question of their eyes darted to the danger that urged them to draw their hidden blades, and in their clarity you asked, “What’s happening?”

“Disir!” was the response and wreathed in light the now armored trio wielded weapons to bring down the mob and try to at least buffer attacks of the cursed Disir here to hunt the disguised Sigurd who ignited in the summon of his own armor to save himself. Eir-Gram was the only one to bring down the eleven, who had each taken their own tries to cut you down only leaving a trio of inconsequential cuts on your left forearm, bicep and right side now dripping with blood to stain your wrinkled and cut blouse.

Eleven across the floor watched you brush aside the Beserker Staff the unstoppable leader of the mob he swung with all his might with apparently no effort at all to punch him in the side when his body followed his arm in a turn. Causing him to release the staff in his flight across the room to the rubble coated floor. Another man on the ground tried to reach for the staff that with a step on top of it you slid out of his reach. His arm retracted to a sudden crash and explosion of a dimensional portal that had you plant your feet and ready the sword across your raised free arm that also granted you a view of how badly your arm cuts had been.

Out of the portal a red armored giant male figure with glowing eyes and red skin clearly hinting he wished to be taken as a devilish being. “Few mortals would dare to hold their blade aloft in my presence.” He spoke directly to you as the formerly mind wiped Asgardian trio had lowered theirs along with the Sorcerers who all looked to you, the one the fleeing man had scurried to hide behind. Across his lips a wide smile split open and he said, “However few mortals wage the battle of emerging a Hell-Lord. The Norns have spoken of you, I shall not cross arms with you, I am aware of your might even in this dividing form. The halls of my dimension of Hell are flooded with the corrupt souls you have cast my way. Never have I found such an ally. My name is Miphisto should you not know of it.” The name had you begin to lower the blade and your free arm keeping your eyes locked on him.

“You know of me?”

You asked and he let out a roar of a laugh to answer joyously, “All of Hell and Helheim alike echo of the might of Pluto Lagertha Sigyndottir. I see you before me and even myself am in awe. And these eleven Disir, what do you intend of them? I have long wished to employ them.”

“All yours,” you said making the man behind you snicker cockily you swung your sword wielding hand back to jam the hilt pommel into his forehead to step aside gripping him by the neck to hurl him at Miphisto. Mid air he was halted for the remaining living Disir to hiss and drag themselves towards weapons as you said, “Feed Sigurd to them. I am certain they will be grateful to you.”

Lowly his laughter filled every inch of the hall as in a swipe of his hand the Disir who had fallen and were dismembered pieced back together again and came back to physical form while the others were physically mended. All eleven turned to chase after the prisoner he hurled through his dimensional portal, to kill the man behind the curse former King of Asgard Bor had placed on them eons ago. “One hundred years and a day, I shall employ them, and then release them back to your care. One hundred years and a day, I shall await our next meeting and the seas of souls you shall cast my way to mark the distance of such a gap.” Off the ground the mob was levitated to join him in lifeless or paralyzed masses until his portal snapped shut and you looked to the orange robe clad bald woman on your left.

“Pluto Pear, I am the Ancient One.” She spoke plainly without any fear or uncertainty in her eyes unlike a few of the robed ones behind her.

“Ancient One, that, a title? You know what, don’t need to know. Thank you, for helping. Are you making everyone freeze like this?” You asked glancing at wide eyed Eddie who still hadn’t moved or been able to be touched in this apparent parallel dimension you were trapped in.

“This is the Edge,” one of the Asgardians spoke and gestured to the sword in your hand, “The blade unlocks it when wielded by one who is worthy.”

“Ah, any clue how to unlock it?”

“The threat is not neutralized,” The Ancient One spoke again and pointed to the staff at your side on the floor. “Would you grant my protection for that weapon? It cannot be left amongst mortals nor returned to Asgard unless under possession of the one who was meant to wield it.”

“No one else will get it?”

“No one,” she replied.

And like a child you blurted out, “Pinky promise?” and had raised your free hand with pinky finger extended that without blush or mocking grin she looped her own finger around yours to engage the oath.

“I swear it,” she said and in the release of the hold your foot slid the staff closer to her enabling her to lift it magically and levitate it through a portal another Sorcerer had summoned and with a nod of her head she passed through vanishing.

Igniting again the Asgardian trio drew back their armor shielding their weapons in the snap of a shrink to the blade in your hand to the size of a letter opener that freed itself from your grip to tuck underneath your pant leg inside the top of your right wedge heel. Sudden screams and crash of rubble that was suspended mid air reanimated again as the Asgardian men closed the distance tearing at their sleeves to help stop the bleeding on your clearly stunned self. Lost for what had just happened and if it was a dream to the spill of clouds of dust into the room.

Eddie right back up shot to check on you himself to not leave your side and in time the puzzling footage would be watched by higher ups when it had been copied to allow them to do so. One sword would be found missing and the man who pulled a laughably named ‘magical scroll’ apparently was to blame as nothing else showed up on the film aside from rubble of explosions which were used to most likely cover his exit.

“Head Count!” Roger shouted adding, “Midtown! Gather up!” His eyes connected with Eddie’s as he nodded and kept hold of your hand that had latched onto his to not be trapped away from him again.

In groups everyone was accounted for and all the teens from the rest of the decathlon gathered up to meet in the front walkway to the sound of first responders on the way. Small scrapes and bruises were found for the most part and to the spray of disinfectant on your side and arm through the torn fabric to clean the odd slices unlike blunter gashes or scrapes others showed. Between twinges of your facial expressions a cop asked you what happened, through a bee you already watched the security footage and shared on the explosion and flinched shove to Eddie and the man you kicked away. Though at the freeze of the footage showing something shot through the wall you shook your head saying, “Something came out of the wall, and it cut me, then everyone was gone. The mob, the guy who grabbed me.”

Alone again sans glowing tongue markings, the trio named as a signal of warning from the Queen of the Valkyrie Goddess Frigg herself, before being sent away themselves. And waiting on being cleared in a low whisper you shared everything with Eddie who tried his best to help you understand it yourself. No one seemed to have any answers and for what felt to be hours you were left to sit inside your bus until everyone had been checked and questioned. Small patters of rainfall sounded as you felt something was wrong when every sound of plant life, animals and insects went silent all at once. And to calm this bout of feeling helpless you wished to block what could be a possible reason for this hint of danger you were missing. Open in your palms with eyes and hair covered thanks to Eddie’s jacket he’d given you to hide under and muffle a bit of the growing storm and flashing lights dancing around the inside of the bus you slid your phone screen upwards to connect through it to your laptop in your apartment in New York with your hive.

Mark Antony, one of your rarer bees who had a lofty job was kicked into a frenzy to put a stop to the greatest threat you could think of. Project Insight, three carriers floating menacingly in the sky had thousands of guns and now with the code Mark Antony kicked off all across the world criminals were locked onto and in a list were gunned down one by one.

None in SHIELD could stop the onslaught, merely watch as the targets on a list they couldn’t wipe clean were confirmed as killed for the deadly blip far worse than the Purge. Criminals, convicts both in and out of jail. Both convicted or paid their way free. Country by country from cartels and crime bosses to simple brutes or stalkers without care of who they targeted were now gone amongst those living secret double lives yet to be uncovered.

Everywhere but North America now was flooded with cries for answers and as answers were sure to be found would look to those who did not face the effects, the country whose Purges were masterminded by someone else. They didn’t know what to think and as the numbers were checked and arms neutralized on those carriers to prevent a second surge of hacks news rolled in endlessly of countries who had stunningly lost up to a third of their populations.

That however was cover, this country was facing another attack of a different kind. Complete overhaul on the VA system handling Veteran care alongside the medical field were cracked down on. Over a year you had compiled lists and one by one actual costs of making drugs were enforced with enforced caps for supplies for implants or prosthetics or other mobilization or lifestyle aids. All of that was a nice top layer but as it delved deeper your other rarer bee, Charlemagne, broke down medical bills and edited them all turning medicine from a cash cow to a service of care as it should be. With that came insurance loopholes that enforced insurance companies to pay as they should and not contest what they clearly should cover.

Two lengthy messages would circle the country shore to shore of the guidelines that would be shown pertaining to medicine outsides of avenues of greed and if not heeded those behind violations would be annihilated.

You didn’t know what to do or what was making you feel like this so you drew the first blood to grant a smoke screen to grant time to escape. Whatever you expected to feel this was unthinkable and barely scratched at when gradually noise of plants, insects and animals savoring the rain began to sound like falling dominoes around the damaged museum and lot you were trapped in. “Buster play Pawn Stars,” you said uncovering your head breaking the noise on the bus to have eyes shift to the projected show on the roof of the bus that you all could lean back and relax to the amusing show until you were freed.

A grimace from you and tuck up with hand smoothed over your cut ribs had Roger lean over the end of the chair from the aisle he was patrolling to keep himself calm to ask lowly, “You alright Pluto?”

The question had Eddie outside interviewing someone twitch his ear hearing it from Venom who was focused with higher senses on you and everything else, “Just bit nauseous, usually eat by now.” You lied to cover the indescribable mixture of joints throbbing from nightly growing pains kicking in at the setting of the sun, hunger and nerves that had a metallic unpleasant sensation in your gut that had you close to getting sick if you didn’t eat or get out of this bus soon.

“Okay, I’ll ask if we can go again.” he said with a kind pat on your propped up knee and went down the stairs to talk again to the cop on guard outside of the bus until you were clear to go. Hurt kids who were scared and tired wanting to just clean up, eat and go to bed pulled a heart from the cops who had gotten caught up in radio chatter on all that had happened since the attack here.

.

“Let’s get you clean,” Eddie said helping to start the shower and stole a quick hug saying, “Pizza, on its way, take your time.” The blade that had refused to return to its display also refused to grow again or do anything remotely magical making you huff and tuck it away in your bag only to turn finding it on the night table to be in the open while you ate and slept. Emboldened by its certainty that now in your possession it was beyond detection from any mortal not within your chosen clan. To the running shower you went with fresh clothes in hand to seal the bathroom door for a break unfortunately with just your thoughts. Well, your thoughts and echoes of chatter from your bees keeping watch over all that had been set off.

Needless to say, Project Insight was a thing of the past. Far beyond the protection they hoped it to be while others on these shores got a breath of fresh air in protecting their families from big pharma who was crashing in the stocks right now. And for all the wishes to get out now the cash was gone threats to those wishing to jump ship and cut off production of meds or medical supplies were repeated as many times necessary until the message got across. Not even the Judicial System could turn this train around as tries to hack in to change things back were met harshly with exploding hard drives leaving an entire conversion out of digital means to break out of the system you had laid out which some were highly considering to avoid helping others. Charlemagne refused to back down or allow any leniency against the issued orders.

In a towel however back to Eddie’s bed you went leaving the shower running for him to take a quick turn himself. To the smell of pizza from the ten boxes atop the bed complete with six orders of breadsticks, cookie pies and an order of marinara pasta and four large sweet teas you dried and changed into shorts and a baggy sweater. Careful to add new bandages on your scabbed cuts to keep up the look for tomorrow when you had towel dried your hair and wound it back into a long braid, tying it off as Eddie exited in a fresh pair of sweats with shirt in hand he pulled over his head letting out a puff of air.

“That got cold fast,” he said and tossed his clothes onto the foot of your bed by the open bags and smiled climbing across the bed to settle down at your side. “Joints hurt still?”

With a nod you answered, “Did I do something wrong?”

“About the medicine or insight?” he asked.

“Both,” you replied softly and he drew you into his chest kissing you on top of your head.

“Whole hive lit up after the museum, wasn’t just you. Something was coming, and it’s gone now. You scared it off. And I think it just might buy us a good vacation this summer.” He said making you peer up at his grinning self, “Someone has to go and see how the world is readjusting. Airlines are closed so far on the other half of the world so Jameson agreed Central and South America, few months I can have off to go and dig up something good. And you get a trip away from Stark and that annoying Osborn kid.”

“Beserker staff,” you said and reached for your wallet to bring out the card you were given at the fair. “I have to call the Beserker. Maybe he’ll know something.” As you wet your lips you dialed the number lifting the phone to your ear.

“This the locket guy?” Eddie asked and started to divide the food listening as a noisy air on the other end of the line kicked in.

“Hello?”

“Elliot Randolph?” You asked.

“Yes? Who is this?” the voice asked over the sound of clamoring voices locked in a terror.

“Pluto Pear, you, um, we met at a fair about my locket.”

“Yes!” he said recalling you at once.

“You said you are a Beserker and I was wondering about Beserker Staffs?” His lips parted and you said as he tucked himself in a quieter room, “I don’t know if you know of Sigurd, but he was at a museum in Washington DC. He spotted three Asgardians and their children and, read this scroll to wipe their minds. But the Disir found him and they had a mob with a man who had a staff. Yggdrasil told me not to touch it when I got it away from him. You might not know him but Miphisto appeared.”

“Miphisto, you are certain?” he asked having shifted in the seat he had found inside the university he worked at.

“Yes, he said that was his name, and apparently that all of Hell and Helheim know my name.” He left the air quiet a moment as you took in a breath and then you continued, “But, anyways, there were these sparking portals, back on the staff, that let out these monks? They were dressed as monks but could do magic. I only got one of their names, the woman in orange, called herself the Ancient One?”

“The monks took the staff?”

“Well she asked if I would let her keep it safe from others. Yggdrasil said not to touch it and I don’t know how to store it, but she seemed to. I got her to pinky promise she wouldn’t let anyone else have or touch it. She floated it back through their portal with them.”

“Ah, I know just who you must mean. How very clever to have a Sorcerer swear a pinky promise, the act is quite profound throughout the galaxy and not lightly entered into. Yes, it would have required me to return it myself to Asgard and it is far too hard to store it even with my knowledge on them. I fell in love with this world, you see. So I broke it in three. The Disir must have aided the men in locating the pieces.” He said then asked, “How did you dispatch them?”

“Eir-Gram was on display, broke a few walls to fly at me. Set off this, force.”

“The Edge,” he chuckled in amusement, “Ooh, what I would have paid to see their faces, it must be no surprise that your name is well known then able to gain that blade’s favor. Only Odin’s Executioner was able to wield it before Odin ended her reign of power when the realms were conquered. I much prefer your possession of it to hers, she was rather ruthless upon even my kind and the Valkyrie when set upon her.”

“Do you know why it wouldn’t let me leave it there? Or put it in my bag?” He chuckled as you said, “I feel bad, partly stealing it from a museum.”

“No, I cannot imagine it would ever choose to return to display when able to be near a warrior of noble blood even if it will not display its powers again,” he said smirking at a guess for he struggle it must be giving you. “Give it time to learn you and in time it will become more reliable when other formidable foes become more present.” He wet his lips and asked, “After the museum, you didn’t happen to, feel anything?”

“I did, did you?”

“Oh yes I did. We all did. We have a network us exiled Asgardians. Then thousands were cut down, but that was not the trouble.”

“No, it felt more like a someone.” You muttered in Eddie’s creep closer to the phone hearing languages muffled through walls growing louder in search of your ally proving to be some form of Spanish.

“It was, although this, they’re calling it a security blip, nearly a million are dead now, all criminals, but someone did aim for something.”

“The Symbiotes I know their hive was buzzing as well.” You added in the open of the door and went quiet to the muddled request for him to come back and help with the makeshift hospital the university had been turned into for those around the cut down from car accidents or otherwise harmed in second hand events. “We don’t know what it was.”

“We will keep our ears out and if we uncover any signs I will let you know. Keep Eir-Gram close, not that you have much choice it will follow you anyways. For now I am needed to handle patient intake. Stay safe, this is your personal number?”

“Yes, my cell phone,” you answered and he signed off leaving you to simply reach for a slice of pizza to look up at him saying, “I scared something.” Then took a bite of the pizza to the fall of an unexpected tear he brushed away and leaned in to kiss your forehead and then shifted to tuck into the food focusing on the show chosen to play on your bee as every channel had been taken over with breaking news broadcasts on what had been set off. Every bite was eaten and savored with drinks downed to the last drop to help coax you both off to sleep with you in his arms and Venom perched up to keep watch out of his shoulder just in case.

.

Morning came and with it a trip back to the same breakfast buffet where a confidence boosting speech like the one last night was given to get your team over the awkward hump shared by all students from every school. Echoed in the one given at the start of the final half of the decathlon that after a timid start came to a close end where the deliberation seemed to go off forever but painfully in a group hug you all crashed in hearing you came in first place and your rivals cheered just as hard coming in second place.

Every team this year after the museum was being given something by the Secretary of Defense you had each met on this trip as if to make up for the museum attack. Small favors or tickets for your states to sporting events or various shows or exhibits you might be of interest in. Eddie at least was pleased to join you at the new aquarium you had wanted to visit since hearing of it being built years prior. Trophy in hand Roger led the way back through the airport where you simply had to watch as your new sword tucked inside of your shoe went beyond discovery through security that seemed happier when you added the shoes again and carried it with your things to the gate.

Roger would take the trophy home with him to take to the school later. And you would stop with Eddie to the Bugle for him to hand over his first hand account of the museum attack and bit after on the decathlon that Queens brought home to help bring focus to a local school to remind people good things were still going on at home. Chatter of this attack being bigger than Misique’s reach of Purges was also a sort of mystery in itself as she had an alibi overhauling the medical community which none could exclaim she had the ability to hack the systems for what she’d done and the craft that set off the security blip at the same time.

‘Far above her pay grade’ was quoted by a Senator who had been at war with Stark for his own reasoning on why she couldn’t be behind it. Well clearly he and others who swore she wasn’t behind it the loudest were tied to Hydra, who had their own aims for the project to begin with now spoiled by your actions. They wanted a mass slaughter, but not those you had chosen, ones who could fight back and spoil their plans for gaining control of the planet now set back decades after this fiasco. Now no country would ever agree to anything like this again and surely all of them were ready to order those craft be parked somewhere as soon as possible or gunned down if need be.

What drew your focus however off the chatter was when you walked closer to the wall of windows aimed at another row of buildings. Under or against windows were pasted signs with a message across them, ‘Thank you Misique’ that parted your lips. Down on the street from above you could see car hoods with similar messages painted in washable paint to match messages all over the state, and to be seen later online across the country in gratitude from the masses including several military bases. Videos on youtube mentioned your account you had made for Misique with comments flooded to your few videos and shared the struggles with the medical world that had been written against them for years when it proved to not be profitable for big pharma.

Up on your left Jameson’s secretary smiled in saying, “Been putting them up since blip day. Big picture, she really is incredible. Hundreds of people swear to fix it every election, one swoop. Eddie said she had a plan for something bigger, didn’t imagine it would be this.”

“Ooh, but I imagine if they didn’t hate her then they surely will hate her now.” You said making her chuckle to herself then turn to answer Jameson’s call.

Out of your pocket however you pulled your phone and smiled at the message from Isaiah Bradley with thanks and a congratulations on the win his grandson had shared you posted about on your social page.

For all the focus on this maps being brought out to plan the summer trip ahead would be focused on for both historical significance as well as locations near to devastated landscapes thanks to big businesses you hoped to see if you could do something to help restore them if not just a bit. Though when you got home and Eddie was off to check in with his Mate and a few friends who came to town to check on family you had a couple pages to add to your alien adventure journal that shockingly drew nearer to needing a second by the day.

Pt 15

All –

@sherala007​, @mariannetora​​, @jesgisborne​, @knitastically​, @catthefearless​​, @theincaprincess​, ggbbhehe4455, @lilith15000​​, @alishlieb​​, @fizzyxcustard​

 Not nsfw(smut) - @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore​

X Marvel-Cast - @himoverflowers​, @theincaprincess​

@jiminapickle​

[secretsickysideblog]

dumb lucky

"“you know my favorite color?” bucciarati slurs, brows furrowing. “anyway, it also came in purple, and black, and ivory, so I bought all of them, and uh…” “that’s cute,” bucciarati smiles, and abbacchio nearly dies at the way he looks while smiling unabashedly, weak as it may be right now. “you know my favorite color.”'

a mission takes bucciarati and abbacchio all the way to a town in piedmont where bucciarati finds himself fever-riddled in the midst of a snowstorm. abbacchio finds silver linings.

(sicktember day 1 - fever)

read under the cut!

It’s only tradition for things to go wrong for Passione. 

Well, perhaps that’s a lie--normally, they get dumb lucky. But this means that when things go wrong, they go incredibly wrong in multiple ways at once. It’s only fair for the amount of times the gang has narrowly escaped death by the skin of their teeth. And Abbacchio is grateful that neither he nor Bucciarati are running the risk of death right now; it could be much, much worse.

But this mission could certainly be going much better. After all, Abbacchio never thought he’d be buying fever reducers in a little town in Piedmont, Italy as a part of the job of Neapolitan Mafioso. He hadn’t expected to be led all the way to Piedmont in the first place. 

Easy mission my ass, Giovanna, he laments internally, rolling his eyes as he compares the prices between on and off-brand fever reducers. Abbacchio doesn’t usually bother to buy things like this, but Bucciarati’s fever--yes, a fever that had managed to swell up to a whopping 39 degrees overnight while on a mission--definitely needs to be treated. 

He settles on both bottles, and he grabs a pack of water bottles, too. Abbacchio peruses the shelves, considering what else Bucciarati might need. He’d rather not come trudging out through this snow again if he could help it; it started coming down last night and hasn’t shown any sign of stopping since. He grabs another thermometer, a can of soup, and he’s about to head to the register when he spots something else that catches his eye.

It’s a large blanket in blue--Bucciarati’s favorite shade of blue (not that Abbacchio bothers to remember things like his Capo’s favorite color), and god, does it look soft. His gaze wanders to the window. Snow falls in clumps, kicked up into a white mist by the wind, and Abbacchio could shiver just looking at it. He does shiver thinking about the short walk back to the motel through that storm. 

Abbacchio sighs, runs his fingertips over the inviting fleece. A blanket couldn’t hurt. 

He grabs it and tucks it under the arm without the basket only to spot that there’s another of the same in purple. And another, in ivory? Abbacchio isn’t someone tempted by luxuries, but blankets in the cold seem like a necessity. 

So he picks up both. Because Bucciarati has to sweat out the fever anyway, right? He’s too out of it to be angry, anyway. 

Abbacchio lugs the three heavy blankets and the basket of various other supplies to the register, fishing around in his pocket for his wallet. The cashier looks over his selection as she rings up and bags each object, smiling fondly. 

“Taking good care of someone, I see.”

Abbacchio huffs, lips quirking upward to a ghost of a smile. “Yeah, I guess I am. It’s about time he lets me.” 

“These blankets are on sale, you know. Buy one and the other is half-off,” and, in an expertly-crafted manner of egging him into it, the cashier finishes her sell with, “Everyone loves a good blanket. Perfect to cuddle up under.”

Abbacchio doesn’t anticipate growing the balls to ‘cuddle-up’ with Bucciarati, but something about the idea sways him into it. He stares at the blanket shelf in consideration for a long moment before giving in and grabbing a fourth, this one in black. 

The cashier is, clearly, proud of herself. Abbacchio can’t find it in himself to get as annoyed by this as usual. He did fall for her marketing scheme, after all. Can’t bitch about it if he gave in. 

Altogether, he walks out of the store with five bags slung on his arms, four of which are occupied by heavy fleece and tied off to avoid any of the snowfall. His boots feel like weights as he trudges through planes of muddy white, wrapping his scarf tighter around his neck. His hands are freezing--he wishes he’d bought gloves. 

When he finally returns to the motel room, Bucciarati is curled up on the bed. He looks just about the same as he did when Abbacchio left which is, admittedly, like shit. His hair, lacking its typical braid, fell in uneven layers wherever it wasn’t sticking to sweat-soaked skin. The only real color in his face is across his cheeks in bright, splotchy red, and though his eyes are closed now, they’ve been glazed over all morning. 

Abbacchio shakes his head in disapproval, wondering how Bucciarati managed to just ignore this, because he knows damn well it didn’t just spark overnight. He must’ve been feeling at least vaguely unwell before they’d embarked on this (unexpectedly) lengthy journey. Abbacchio tells himself, as he has every time he starts thinking about how his Capo sucks at self-care, that he’ll just bitch at him about it later; criticizing a sick person is mean, and besides, there’s not enough cognizance in his fever-addled head to comprehend annoyance right now anyway. 

He unties his scarf, shrugs off his coat, and unbags the items on the small coffee table in the room. Bucciarati stirs into half-lucidity, as told by the mix of a groan and a whine that slips from him after a bit of shifting around. Abbacchio looks over to him, seeing his hazy blues blink open, and he immediately grabs the bottle of fever reducers to force down his throat now while he’s just awake enough to swallow and not awake enough to protest.

“Here,” he holds out a bottle of water and two of the pills for Bucciarati to take, which he does after taking a second to process the command. He moves sluggishly, but he manages to get the pills down and put the water bottle on the nightstand. Abbacchio feels his forehead with the back of his hand, frowning at how much he’s burning still.

He goes to pull away. Bucciarati doesn’t let him, grabbing his wrist and holding his hand there.

“What are you doing?”

“Cold,” he mumbles, letting his eyes flutter closed again. “Feels nice.”

Abbacchio opens his mouth, closes it. Thanks the lord above that Bucciarati can’t see the way his cheeks heat up as though he’s contracted a fever. After a moment of hesitance, Abbacchio brings both of his hands up to cup Bucciarati’s cheeks, and the other man sighs contentedly. 

“Well, if it’s cold you want, maybe you should go take a nap in the snow,” Abbacchio jokes.

“Hm,” Bucciarati takes a breath. “Perhaps I should.” 

Abbacchio stares down at Bucciarati. At the way his eyelashes, dark and thick, fan out across his cheeks. At his lips, still pretty and pink and miraculously not very chapped. Even now, sick as a dog, Bucciarati is gorgeous. Abbacchio could watch him forever, he’s sure, but then he realizes how creepy he’s being and abruptly pulls away. Bucciarati’s eyes open with a dejected look to them, and Abbacchio reminds himself that it’s not because it’s his hands, it’s because his hands are cold and Bucciarati is delusional with fever.

“Uh, so, I got you two kinds of fever reducer, and you’re gonna take it whether you like it or not,” Abbacchio starts to say, clearing his throat. Bucciarati hums, half-listening. “I got water. A can of soup, if you get hungry, but since you just woke up I’m sure you’re not yet.”

Bucciarati doesn’t respond, so Abbacchio assumes he’s right. He’ll make him eat something later. 

“And,” Abbacchio unties the other four bags, “I know you’re not looking to get warmer, but fevers have to be sweat out, right? I got blankets. They were on sale.”

Bucciarati almost whines, though it’s quiet, subtle. Abbacchio opts to ignore it, because it does nothing good for his heart. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know, but look, it’s your favorite color,” Abbacchio holds up the blanket in proud display. Bucciarati looks at it, but it’s clear that he’s not fully seeing it. 

“You know my favorite color?” Bucciarati slurs, brows furrowing.

“Anyway, it also came in purple, and black, and ivory, so I bought all of them, and uh…”

“That’s cute,” Bucciarati smiles, and Abbacchio nearly dies at the way he looks while smiling unabashedly, weak as it may be right now. “You know my favorite color.” 

Abbacchio takes the tags off the plush fabric and chucks it at Bucciarati. Bucciarati, as expected, makes no move to catch it. It takes him a minute to slip the fleece off of his head and onto his lap. This process is repeated four more times as a mountain of plush fabric piles up on the bed--the singular bed, which Abbacchio would be incredibly nervous about if this was a year ago, but they’ve been stuck in the ‘unfortunate’ one-bed scenario too many times for him to care anymore. 

“This is...so many,” Bucciarati murmurs, staring down at the pile. He runs his thumb along the hem of the blue one. “They are soft, though.”

“I don’t know if you can feel how cold it is in here, much less out there,” Abbacchio gestures towards the storm just beyond the windows, “but we needed them. I don’t know how long we’re gonna be stuck here, between your fever and the bastard we’re after.”

Bucciarati nods, absently petting the blankets. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Falling ill,” Bucciarati says it like it’s the most obvious reason to apologize in the world. “We’re stuck here. It’s my fault.”

Abbacchio rolls his eyes. “Stop apologizing for things you can’t control.”

Bucciarati looks like he wants to protest, but then his expression turns confused as if his own thought process doesn’t make sense to him anymore. Abbacchio snorts at the sight and shakes his head before climbing into bed beside the other man and urging him to lay back down.

“I’m all sweaty.”

“I don’t care,” Abbacchio pulls one of the many blankets around them up to his shoulders, and another about halfway above that. He lets Bucciarati kick the others aside. “You’re warm, and I’m cold. I’m finding silver linings.”

Bucciarati chuckles a little. If he were any more coherent, he’d make a joke about Abbacchio’s usual pessimistic cynicism being an act; the latter is almost grateful, at that thought, for the fever. The wind howls outside as the storm picks up. It’s definitely not an ideal situation, but it could be much worse.

Bucciarati turns to nuzzle his face into the crook of Abbacchio’s neck. Tentatively, Abbacchio wraps an arm around him.

Maybe this was just dumb luck in disguise. 

[fanfiction-inc]

Could I get headcanons for Hosea finding out Y/n is pregnant with their baby 🥺❤️. Maybe even Arthur if you feel like it. Thank you!

But of course, my dear! And I'm sorry if these are a bit shorter than the others. I hope you enjoy no less! ❤

Hosea

You and Hosea had been together for a long while now, starting out since nearly the time you joined the gang.

Separated from the others during a bad storm, stowed away in one of the abandoned cabins up in the mountains until you could regroup.

Sharing warmth, sharing a bed after a couple drunken confessions when alcohol was used to warm the belly and cheeks.

From there, you two have been inseparable, and it didn't go unnoticed.

It was public at this point, everyone around the camp knowing about the two of you since that day after the storm, returning to camp with all too fond looks and smiles only lovers would exchange.

Despite the gap in age, not an eye was batted in your direction.

Dutch was supportive of the relationship, happy that his closest friend was happy.

Arthur liked you, liked your kindness to everyone and Hosea especially.

John found that if everyone else liked you, you couldn't be that bad.

Now, this relationship wasn't all just kisses and cuddles like the others had only been subject to see on the off chance.

There were far more intimate moments that were hidden away for only the two of you to see and feel.

So when you approached him on the night before he's supposed to leave for a hunt with Arthur and spill out that you think you're pregnant, he was amazed.

Truly amazed by the revelation.

He was an older man, and it was widely known even in that day and age that the older you were, the less of a chance for children.

Though yes this was a limited chance, it wasn't zero.

"And...And you're sure that y'are?" Hosea questioned.

He looks at you, watches your nervous form fiddle with your thumbs and eyes try to avoid him.

He can tell how you feel. Insecure, worried. He was worried too.

What if he wasn't there for you with this child, if he died due to this life and you were left with a little boy or girl to remind you of your loss?

"I'm pretty sure. I've been sick to m'stomach, been unwell for the last few days and I...I didn't know how t'tell ya till now."

He soon comes to you, arms going around your middle and letting his forehead rest against your own.

"I didn't want to disappoint ya with a child." Your whisper of words has him tilting your chin up so your gaze meets his own.

"Sweetheart, you could never disappoint me, and especially not with a potential child!" He smiled that same goofy smile you fell in love with, gaze sweet. "I want this with you. I want a family."

He delivers a kiss to your lips, quick yet delicate, thumbs brushing away any stray tears that spill when you return his kiss.

Arthur

It hasn't been the longest while that you've known Arthur.

He started courting you when you frist joined the gang, using his cowboy charm to earn a giggle from your lips and ruggish good looks to capture your attention.

It wasn't his efforts that had gotten you with him, though, it was his insecurities and sweetness that slipped through on the off occasion.

How he was a "good man" in your eyes when he never saw himself as such.

So when you started getting more intimate, you two could get a bit carried away on many occasions.

Thus, leading to this moment where you sit nervously at his side, the man processing the words that came out of your mouth.

"So...So you're sayin' that I'm gonna be a pa," He pauses, looking at you. "And this kid is ours?"

"Yeah, Arthur. It's ours. I haven't been with anyone else and with how often we... Well, y'know, it makes sense." Your tone is calm, as if ready for whatever he may say.

You've got this if he doesn't want to be a father.

You can raise this baby on your own.

At least...You keep reminding yourself of such.

It takes him a moment to look at you, hand coming over to take your own and gaze softening when he sees your downcasted and thoughtful features.

"Hey, we're gon'do this together. Me and you." His lips kiss at your knuckles, drawing your attention back to him.

He smiled when he sees your surprised look, then the smile that creeped onto your lips.

"You, me, and our baby." You whisper, his body moving in for a quick kiss.

"Gon'be the toughest kid in the west." He remarked.

RDR2 TAG LIST:

@lise-soontobemarried | @imtootiredforreddit | @morgans-cowbaby | @btsloversaregreat | @sokkasdarling

[theartistknownaslymond]

Oh also I can’t remember if I asked, but maybe an Oonagh playlist if you’d like? (Lmk if I’m requesting too many of these haha)

Not at all! Love getting these asks :D And this one was waaaaay too fun, I could have kept adding things forever. Managed to wrestle it down to 15 tracks...

Hard-wrought with Unleashed Storms - a playlist for Oonagh O'Dwyer in the band AU (link to Spotify)

The Dubliners - Óró Sé Do Bheatha' Bhaile

David Bowie - Oh! You Pretty Things

Gang of Four - We Live As We Dream, Alone

Grace Jones - Nipple to the Bottle

Cocteau Twins - The Spangle Maker

Carpenters - Ticket to Ride

Horslips - Hall of Mirrors

David Sylvian - When Poets Dreamed of Angels

Shriekback - The Big Hush

The Cure - Pictures of You

The Velvet Underground & Nico - All Tomorrow's Parties

Shakespeares Sister - Red Rocket

PJ Harvey - Sheela-na-gig

Kraftwerk - Das Model

Melissa Etheridge - Come to My Window

Comments below the cut. CW for discussion of domestic violence, EDs, you know...Oonagh stuff.

We begin with an Irish rebel song, of course. When you can also translate the opening lines as 'Welcome oh woman who was so afflicted, / It was our ruin that you were in bondage, / Our fine land in the possession of thieves… / And you sold to the foreigners!' I think we can safely call this an Oonagh song on every level.

Oh! You Pretty Things is early Bowie from Oonagh's modelling days, having a blast with her friends, living a life her family thoroughly disapproves of, and doing her bit to arm the nationalists on the side.

The Gang of Four track just makes me think of Oonagh's spikiness and cynicism, the way she throws herself into making money from her career and Cormac just doesn't believe she can really be doing that well from such a silly job - though he's happy to spend her earnings just the same. Then Nipple to the Bottle is another song about her and Cormac, alcoholism and dv, her defiance, plus Grace Jones has the kind of career Oonagh thinks she would love. And yes, I realise the song is actually about the breast vs bottle-feeding debate. But I suppose Oonagh probably has strong feelings about not being able to feed Cai herself given how unwell she becomes under Gabriel's care on the ashram, so it fits either way.

The Cocteau Twins track is just so sinister, very Berlin (QP) Oonagh, about both Cormac and Gabriel (though she doesn't know it about the latter yet). Ticket to Ride is her escape to the ashram (and yes I am deeply annoyed Karen Carpenter changed the pronouns, because it's Oonagh leaving, not Cormac), sad but at peace, and Oonagh is doubtless well aware that Karen Carpenter is battling with severe ed just like her. Horslips are another Irish band Oonagh would be fond of, and Hall of Mirrors covers everything from modelling and dysmorphia to the gas-lighting of Cormac and Gabriel. Eerily, the carnival music in the background reminds me a lot of Ticket to Ride, too.

The David Sylvian track is another one that covers her relationship with Cormac, her aunt Therese's deliberate ignoring of Cormac's violence because he's a poet and a 'great man' and the fact she puts up with him for so long for 'the cause' as well. Just imagine Francis playing a cover of this (it's a bit late, really, '88 I think, but go with it) and Oonagh raging in the audience at his audacity, but also being kind of moved that he's noticed and cares.

Softly explore each hallway and room

Like a thief in a haunted house

You never know what you will meet next

A monster or a mouse?

It's time to face up to yourself

Come and watch your head distort

This one's interesting

Shows a crack right through your heart

Then the Shriekback song is one I chose first because of the sound - it's exactly the sound Oonagh wants to cultivate in her break-through, and when she and Thady Boy sing it's precisely this kind of thing. The lyrics don't hurt either, mind:

She rises early from bed

Runs to the mirror

The bruises inflicted in moments of fury

He kneels beside her once more

Whispers a promise

"Next time I'll break every bone in your body"

And the well-wishers let the devil in

And if the river ran dry they'd deny it happening

Pictures of You is for Oonagh reflecting on her modelling career, reclaiming her identity and what she likes about herself. Musically I think she's really into early goth like The Cure.

Is there a flame in the dark?

Is there a bright hard star?

These creatures look the same now

We freeze wherever we are

We wake alone in the blackness

We sleep wherever we fall

One dream all around us

This big hush infects us all

All Tomorrow's Parties is one I had on the mini-playlist for Oonagh ages ago and it's just too her not to put it on here (see also Kraftwerk, Das Model). Definite Nico vibes to her brief attempt to get into pop-stardom, and she, too, has a quirky voice rather than a, uh, good one for singing.

Shakespeares Sister - Red Rocket is a bit of fun from a great Irish artist, but it's also a bit about the ashram:

And then oh, if I could draw, I would draw Oonagh and Marthe going absolutely ape-shit in the crowd as PJ Harvey sings Sheela-na-gig - reclaiming sexuality and Irishness and autonomy and just 'washing that man right outta my hair'. Finally, Come to My Window is also for Them - early '90s lesbian chart domination!! They deserve it.

Life's a bitch then you die

No more dancing in the sky

Part on another star

You can't get there in a car

Find a new religion

Going on a mission

Making a decision

To face my soul

[seraphdarlimg]

wish I were (pt4)

  harry calls reader drunk to pick him up, later on finding him sat at her piano and playing a little song

masterlist

‘heather’ by conan gray WARNINGS - ANGST, swearing, fluff WORD COUNT - 4,418

_________________________________________________________

   Just fine is how I was feeling. I was lucky enough to be able to get started straight away with a new song to work on from a different artist. Practicing new instruments and talking to new clients have been what I've thrown myself into for the past 3 weeks.

Though drowning myself into work has kept me busy and given me excuses to ignore the hundreds of calls and texts from Harry, it felt like months had pass instead of only one. I seem to forget more about them and only remember the look on his face when I turn my back on him and left. Instead of memorizing chords and words, my brain can only comprehend the words we said and the last time I felt his touch or embrace. When I want to remind myself of what he did, the moment on the balcony is the first thing that comes to my mind and I curse myself for it.

I missed him, of course I did. As I sit in front of my laptop with an opened tab on a recording program, I am instead met with another creator's block and thinking about Harry again. Two points of thought that I hate being stuck in at the moment. The empty bags and containers of snacks and my dinner surround me and I'm wrapped in a blanket while a sad playlist is playing on spotify. It was a depressing sight.

But I can only image the state that Harry's in. After everything, I still miss and care about him, wondering if he's excited about the album release tomorrow or if he's hydrated and taking the fact that I've chose to walk out of his life better than I am. It's pathetic really, but it's part of it and I can only hope to learn to live without him through time. If that is something I can even think of doing in the first place.

He hasn't called or text throughout the whole day though. I didn't want it to bother me but it did, even if it was time away that I'm asking for. I glanced at the black screen of my phone, pressing the button to turn it on. 12:23 AM and no notifications.

'i do love you, i'm sorry' one day ago. This is a good sign. This should be a good sign.

I sighed, forcing myself to turn away from my phone and focus on finishing this piece. The instrumentals are there and the rhythm is set, but coming up with lyrics prove to be difficult when I feel physically and emotionally drained.

It was late anyways. I would of been asleep by now to get ready for tomorrow, but it was most likely made clear I wouldn't be celebrating with the gang. I told Jeff the excuse that I had a meeting up north for the valid reason, even though everyone already knows what happened between the two best friends. A lunch with Sara and Mitch a week ago started off normal and pleasant as always, but had ended with Mitch bringing up Harry and me leaving abruptly.

"He's a mess. Hasn't left his house and has been ignoring everyone all week. We don't know what really happened between you two, but it's obvious that you haven't been the same as well."

The mention was enough to irk me. "Can we not right now?"

"Look even though we care about you, it's still non of our business to get involved. But it's still our jobs to see that when someone we care about is bothered by something, we make sure they are aware of it. Both of you aren't happy and should simply talk about it."

"It's not that simple Sara, he's too stubborn."

"It doesn't have to be now, but eventually. You yourself know that what you two have is way too special to just walk away from."

"Yeah well what if it's not? What if it's just not what everyone expects it to be? That even if we somehow make it work throughout everything, he's just going to run off to someone else again who'll just be better in so many ways."

"He's not the type of person to do that and you know it."

"I thought I did."

With my head rested on my hand, I feel my eyes droop. The instrumental of the song played on repeat on the program as I try to come up with words. Heartbreak and insecurities are the only topics that come to mind with the upbeat sound. I close my eyes for bit, letting the first stage of sleep take it's toll while my brain works overtime producing lines of rhymes.

But my ringtone drives me out of it. I only force my eyes open when I pick up my phone and answer the call, not thinking of who could be the only possible human being to call me at this hour. I sighed, pausing the recording and saving it. "Hello?"

"Hiiiii love! Karl told me I should call someone because I've had too much apparently. Can you please tell him that I'm a grown man that can handle my alcohol?" Shit.

"Harry- wait hold on, you're drunk now? Don't you have... who are you with?" My voice was tired and already raspy. It took longer than needed to process what was actually happening.

"Oh just all by my lonesome self at first... imagined you here a few times but I know that wasn't true, but Karl the bartender is here now!" His voice was muffled and almost drowned out by the sound of a pub. His words were slurred and I can only rub my temples at the situation he's already put me in.

"Why did you call me for this."

"Well my phone's dead and you're the number I memorized." He said softly after hearing my tone. I shouldn't, but he's drunk and alone.

"I'll call Mitch-"

"Only want you. Please?" I can imagine him pouting and I was too tired to argue with him.

"I can't do this right now..."  

"Bubs, my head is starting to hurt and everyone is not being nice. Except Karl, Karl is a nice dude."

Maybe if I wasn't overworked and sleep deprived at the moment, I would of been in the righter state of mind. But the other half of me that worried about his state took the opportunity to see him once again.

"Where are you, Harry?"

***

It was easy to find a drunk Harry Styles at a pub. A small local one that we've been too once or twice in the past, enjoying each other's company over a glass after studio hours. And there he was again, sat at the stools we'd sit on and wallowing to Karl the bartender.

"Hey." I placed a hand on his shoulder after making my way through the small crowd that gathered around him that's been listening into his conversation. His eyes light up when he turns around and sees me, while I take in how disheveled he looks. His curls are messy and his bloodshot baggy eyes tells me he's been crying for a while.

"You're here." He mutters softly after he takes a moment to register that it's actually me. I only give him a small nod in confirmation, feeling that heart ache as he pulls me into a hug. "I'm sorry." I hear when he nuzzles into my neck, most likely apologizing when he sees how tired and unwell i am as he does.

"It's okay, come on let's get you home." I managed to let out, pulling away, guiding him out of his seat and away from the bar. "Oh okay, bye Karl! Keep the change." I send the bartender a grateful smile to which he returns with a pity look on his face.

"Just hold my hand Harry okay?" I tell him when I remember how clingy he gets when intoxicated. He doesn't hesitate to do so as we make our way through the crowd and out of the building.

I managed to get him in the passenger's seat without much interaction, now in the driver's seat and cursing at myself when I realized I didn't have enough gas to take him to his house. I didn't have the energy to go to the gas station this late.

"Are you crying..." He asks, pouting when I placed my face in my hands, taking deep breaths. "Please don't be sad, love." I shook my head, counting in my head as I felt Harry lean over and watch me.

"How many did you have?" I asked when I built up the will not to cry and turned on the ignition.

"Didn't bother counting, didn't matter." I kept my eyes in front of me as I drove while I felt his still on me.

"I would beg to differ. Shouldn't be my responsibility anyways." I quickly countered, noting the sharp tone in my voice and the frown I could imagine on his face.

"I'm sorry...I really wanted to see you."

"Hmm, and getting wasted and being an inconvenience is the way to get my attention." There was a second of silence and I glanced at him to check if he was still conscious, only to see that frown and his head hung in shame. My eyes trailed to the pearl necklace tucked into his sweater, as well as a yellow ribbon tied where it clasps together.

The grip I had on the wheel loosened but I sighed as I hated how guilty I felt after, aware how difficult it was to be mad when he was hurt. "That was harsh..."

"Nooo, I deserve it. I really do because I was mean to you and I don't ever want to be mean to you. Because it hurts me too ya know? More than it did when you walked away...I'm sorry that I hurt you."

I didn't say anything after that, spending the rest of the car ride back to my place in silence.

***

"You don't have to be rich, to be my giiirl. You don't have to be cool to rule my wooorld..."

My annoyance conflicted with the flutters my heart was feeling as Harry was softly singing all the way from my car to my sofa, hand held and clinging to my side the whole time. He plopped down, immediately taking a pillow. "Ain't no particular sign, I'm more compatible wiiith- hey you have that record right? Can you put it on pretty please?"

"It's 2AM, I'm not putting on a record right now." I took off my shoes and coat, graciously doing the same for him when he pouts and rests his head back on the couch. "Aw, you used to not care about that before. Is it because of your neighbors terrible taste of music to blast so late at night?"

"What?" I rubbed my eyes, standing up and going to the kitchen. I couldn't hear his mumbled response, but I returned with a glass of water to see him humming with his eyes closed. He cuddled the pillow close to him and I rolled my eyes, almost laughing at how he was tapping his foot along with the song he was playing in his head.

"Here..." He holds his hand out expectantly and I gave it to him. He takes a drink while I place his coat over the coffee table and go to get him an extra pillow and blanket.

"Oh everything hurts." He whines as I place the pillow down on the end of the couch. "My heart mostly, but that's so cheesy of me isn't it? Yours probably hurts more m' sorry...wish I could take it away."

It wasn't just his naïve words that had my eyes start welling up with tears, but it was also the realization of how he can easily break me down. I couldn't last a whole month without being there when he needs someone, when I was the one who wanted to leave. It was also probably the realization that I had grabbed the same blanket we used to set that little picnic in the studio.

"Wish I didn't cause it in the first place." He added, which led to me sitting down on the chair next to the couch, holding onto the blanket a little longer as delirium was starting to set in.

"I don't think we should have this conversation now, Harry... this is so unfair." I mumbled, rubbing my eyes.

"It is, but I'm scared I won't get another chance." My silence gave him the answer he was already aware of.

"What exactly do you want another chance of Harry, enlighten me." I closed my eyes for a minute, only to open them to see Harry looking at me in a different way. It's different, but I've noticed it before.

"Loving you." He's hesitant with his next words, most likely having sobered up a little. "I hadn't seen Heather for a few days after you left, told her later on about what happened. Took your advice though, talked to her and everything. It just wouldn't work out in the end...couldn't see myself with her in the future."

"But now you do with me?" I softly muttered, holding myself back from reaching out to him. He only nods, having that guilty look on his face because he's fully aware he doesn't deserve it. My droopy eyes are glued to his and that damn pearl necklace, too many thoughts in my head to come up with one whole response.

"Should of just called Mitch. You're an idiot for giving yourself a hangover on your release day." I finally said after a moment of silence.

"Hmm? Oh that, no that's not happening." He says casually, playing with the embroidery on the pillow he was hugging.

"What do you mean?"

"I've postponed the album thingy indefinitely or something."

"Aren't you finished with it?"

"I mean it's got 12 songs and everything but I don't know if it's really finished, I don't know." He shrugs and I'm almost annoyed by how calm nonchalant he is about it.

"You never know things Harry."

"And I hate it, I knooow! I don't know why I can't just figure it out and I hate that I'm hurting you because of it." He frowns, rubbing his eyes. "But I do know now that I love you. Really love you. Maybe if I figured that out sooner, you wouldn't hate me bubs."

I fiddle with my fingers, given up on trying to collect all my thoughts together a long time ago as I can only allow myself to take in his words and listen. He was right, in any other situation where I wasn't tired and delirious, I probably wouldn't even be in the same room as him. So here I was again, allowing myself to hurt in order to make sure he's taken care of.

Maybe it's what I deserve though. He left Heather because of me. I caved into myself at the though that I ruined the relationship of two people who loved each other simply because I didn't get the memo. She is everything in his eyes, he's proven that, so why didn't I just leave them be?

"Ugh, you probably hate me calling you that now but you know I won't stop cause you are my bubs! Like how I'm you're H. Oh... well, you stopped calling me that so...maybe not anymore but I want to be. Can I be your H again please, I miss that too." My thoughts were cut off  when he continued, finding him now lying down with his eyes closed.

"Maybe one day." I reassured him hesitantly. We would of stayed friends, we wouldn't of had to fall apart, if I had just left him alone.

"Was a weird nickname anyways, just a letter." He mumbles as I stood up, laying the blanket over him while he still holds onto the pillow.

"You sort of gave it to yourself though, get some sleep Harry."  I managed to get out, facing away from him to hide the tear that fell. He should be trying to fix his relationship with her and not me.

"Yeah, but you just started calling me it and I fell in love with it." I take one more look at him before I shut my door, seeing his face nuzzled into the pillow and the glint of a small smile on his face as he drifts off to sleep.

***

8:23. I slept around 2 and woke up 7 hours later to faint piano keys. I took in the soft melody, not recognizing it but enjoying it for a second before I forced myself to sit up and rub my eyes, realizing how dry my skin was from crying. It was definitely a sad song made up of only four chords and a fitting way to start the day as I remember the person who is most likely playing it.

I didn't want to face him, my head feeling too mushed to deal with anything else other than work. It was a weird situation to realize, the man I fell in love with and broke my heart is playing piano after I took him in when he was drunk. He tells me he officially breaks up with Heather after realizing he loves me.

He loves me?

No he doesn't. He should still love her, should be trying to get back to her now that I'm out of the picture. But he hasn't been trying too for the past month, focused on me this whole time. But why?

I snapped myself out of those thoughts quickly, knowing how terrible the following ones would be. I didn't want to think about it anymore, wanting to forget and move on. And as I quietly open my door and peaked out onto my apartment, I see his mess of curls sat on my keyboard with the blanket wrapped around him. He was considerate enough to lower the volume at least.

I took a deep breath and walked out quietly, leaning against the door frame as I continue to listen. "Part of the album, has some of your lyrics in it." He says when he notices my presence.

"Hmm. You told me that you've postponed it." I crossed my arms as he finishes the song with a long note. I see him nod, now looking down at his hands on his lap before adjusting the blanket to fully encase him.

"Yeah I did. It didn't feel right, putting something out there that I should be proud of, but you not being there to be happy with. You not wanting too in there first place, when you put your heart and soul into it, all because of me."

I frown, looking away from him when his intense eyes met mine. "It's too early Harry..."

"You told me it wasn't a good time last night too, so when is?" He huffs and I roll my eyes.

"I don't know after I have my fucking coffee?" I scoffed, uncrossing my arms and heading towards the kitchen. I hear him sigh, not saying anything else as I prepare a cup for myself, already annoyed and stressed out. I felt him staring at me while I avoided making eye contact, rubbing my temples.

"I'm sorry if I was trouble." He says, still sat down on the keyboard with the blanket wrapped around him.

"You're sorry for a lot of things." I sighed, pouring coffee into my cup.

"I am. But I don't know how to really apologize to you when you won't even let me talk to you."

I placed my cup down, suddenly forgetting about my coffee and finally looked at him. "Well what do you expect Harry? After everything you think I'm just going to trust you again? I told you I was done, I wanted to walk out of your life."

"But you picked me up. You still care, that still has to means something." He's frustrated now, desperate even and it only frustrates me more.

"Ah yes, decent morality to not leave an A list celebrity drunk in room full of strangers. That really dumb of you to do by the way, without any bodygaurds- what were you thinking?" I said, noticing how he was fiddling with the pearls that hung around his neck.

"The past month has been hell for me and all I wanted to do was see you. I feel so fucking guilty and sad and it's eating me up because I know I don't deserve any sort of reassurance from you. But at the same time, I so badly just want you back and I'm sorry for how selfish and arrogant I am." He was crying and I soften a little because of it. He tries holding it in, looking down as he quickly wipes away the tears that fall. I don't bother hiding mine anymore, having gotten used to it by now and I was tired of it.

"I've been in pain since December. Four months that you put me through so can blame me when I just want it to stop? I am so exhausted because no matter how much I throw myself into work, all I can think about is you and loving you."

"But I love you too, shouldn't that be enough to try again?" It should of been and he knows. Maybe if he realized it sooner, during his birthday, things would be different.

"You've proven that it's not." I say disappointingly, willing myself to walk over and sat down next to him, looking ahead at my piano in front of me. "I don't know what to do anymore Harry. Why can't you let me have this? Let me move on."

"Cause you and I both know we can't leave each other, too emotionally attached. I need you in my life bubs, everything sucks when you're not in it." I laugh a little at that, because it was true in a fucked up way.

"That's so unfair, why did you have to hurt me?" I hesitantly lay my head on his shoulder before he droops the other end of the blanket around me.

"I know most of my relationships don't last. Deep down I've always loved you but I couldn't let myself fall for you because I didn't want to ruin us. The thought of us breaking up and never seeing each other again just terrified me because I never wanted to lose you, ever. But I fucked up and managed to do so anyways, and I hate myself every day as much as you do." He starts playing the song again as he speaks, but it plays it down a key and slower.

"I don't hate you, can't bring myself too, but you shouldn't of been afraid to talk to me. You know who I am, we would of worked through it no matter what." He nods, followed by only the sounds of the piano melody.

"I'm in love with you." I hear him say softly after a little while out of the blue. It catches me off guard, finding it so foreign to hear those words come from him.

I let out a soft self deprecating chuckle. "No you don't. You care about me, but you don't love me. Probably saying this out of guilt or spur of the moment type thing and I can understand that, but you love Heather. She's good for you, perfect even."

"But I fell in love with you. She's not you." His brows are furrowed together as he frowns.

"Yeah, I'm not her." The small glint of my smile quickly fades and he notices it.

"What I did during my speech was very shitty. Gemma pointed it out to me right away and it's one of the biggest things I ever regret doing." He stops playing when he sees me deep in thought, slowly taking my hand to test the waters. "But I need you to understand what I said was true, that you are such an important person to me. You are beautiful, and kind, patience, and just so fucking good to me, love. I want to cherish you because it's what you deserve and I will deal with as much rejection for you to forgive me and give me another chance. It's worth every heartbreak if it means I get to love you again."

I find myself in an intimate situation, looking into his eyes at such a close proximity, our faces only inches away from each other. I was pleading to him with my eyes, begging him not to hurt me again while the look on his face was one I used to be familiar with. He was frozen while the fear that it would only just happen again held me back from moving. His eyes fluttered down to my lips, as if asking for permission and my head was refusing it. But every other part of me wanted to feel those lips again. I looked down at his, my hand taking hold of his and placing it on my chest to where my heart is before he made the move to finally press our lips together in a small kiss.

I wanted to sob because it felt right. I felt the butterflies again and the complete state of satisfaction. This time was gentle as well, but Harry put so much love into the kiss, cupping my cheek with his other hand when he feels how fast my heart was beating.

It only took a second more before I slowly pulled away, still tightly holding his hand against my heart as he could sense my doubt. "It's going to take some time okay? Probably a long time but you caused me a lot of heartbreak. But I never stopped loving you H, as much as I didn't want too anymore." I said seriously, and his eyes lits up with hope. Holding back his smile as much as he could while he nods because he heard that little nickname again.

"I'll give you as much time and space as you need, thank you. I love you so much bubs." He pulls me into a hug, nuzzling his face into my neck and I feel instantly calmer because of it. I rest my head on his shoulder while he mumbles sweet words into my skin.

"Promise I'll be good to you."

______________________________________________

A/N: :o it’s complete. I finished it yay! I’m so proud with how this series came out and I genuinely hope you guys do as well. I’ve started my semester and it’s going to be hectic so writing will take longer to come out, but there will be future stories that I’m really looking forward to writing and sharing :)

taglist: @big-galaxy-chaos​

[pinktatertots99]

PLEASE WRITE KANKRI HITTING ON RUFIOH THROUGH AN ELABORATE THESIS ITD BE SO FUNNY

nonnie...i would be so honored. THIS ONES FOR YOU and all my like, five rufkri shippers out there.

basically kinda sorta more a love confession but ey its kinda flirty with wha he talks about.

also for some who need the helps: rufioh uses 1′s for i’s, kankri uses 6′s for B’s, and he uses 9′s for O’s -ye i’m adding this just incase, we all need reminders cause kankri’s can be a fucking headache of a quirk-

-COUGHS- my archiveofourown link to this fic -COUGHS-

_____________________________

your name is rufioh nitram and your taking a breath for yourself for once. you find yourself in a dream bubble you re-imagined as your old lost boy's location: tall blue and pink tree's with red cherry colored petals on them and littered at their tops various treehives connected via bridge's, stair cases, the gist.

you lay back on one of them that was your's, a big blocky one that has a couple windmills on top of it laying on the ledge that covered the top of your front door. kicking your leg absentmindedly as ol nostalgia rings through you, you barely get this kinda alone time but talk bout the advantage's of dream bubbles and damara's nice descendant escorting you.

until you hear the grass crunch from under you. you could just ignore it, finally steal some time for yourself but that’s not how your gears work; damn rogue bullcrap. you open your colorless eyes and move to look over your left where your sitting and spot a blob of red and feel a weird sense of relief.

its none other then your groupies lead spokesman kankri vantas walkin around trying to find you from how he keeps looking to his sides. kankri’s...something alright. sure everyone complains bout how much he babbles on bout half baked facts, preachy, pushy, an angry lil firecracker; actually maybe that’s why he’s so angry.

oddly though your not around alot for those, you’ll eyeroll at somethings but otherwise he’s pretty chill around you. bonus he’s celibate so you finally have someone who won’t try hitting on you every time you breathe in their direction. also your a mutant like him so mutant bro’s unite you’d think, it was cool finding you weren’t the only ‘cullbait’ of the gang honestly.

you go to get up and stretch your wings and back a bit. you may aswell make a sick entrance. you go run two steps and jump, your falling for a few seconds and it has your adrenaline pump before your wings pick up their flapping and have you flying downward slowly.

you saw kankri see you with near panic but pretty neutral look, dude barely had any sorta reactions but that was alright if it meant you could spot the teeniest moment he’d be thrown off as you land on the grass softly five steps away from him.

“9h.” he replies as you snicker. “pretty s1ck r1ght?” “in y9ur ling9 yes 6ut i advice y9u t9 please try n9t t9 use it s9 l99sely especially ar9und th9se in medically unwell situati9ns.”

you rub behind your neck. “sorry. anyways wha’ up? pass1n by?” you notice a pile of papers in his arms, maybe he’s gonna go preaching to some of those new human ghosts maybe? your betting the dude with the pointy glasses will be a conflict to him if he does.

“9h n9 actually i came t9 find y9u.” he states and you perk up a bit. find you? “megid9′s descendant was kind en9ugh t9 esc9rt me here.” ah her, you really should’ve figured. you take a step or two closer lookin down to see him cause dude’s fuckin short. “yeah? uhhh alr1ght, well what’s up?”

he looks back to his papers almost, hesitant? kankri vantas nervous? tarnish the thought till he looks back up clearing his throat. “genetical uniqueness.” ...what? “what?” you ask as he continues. “genetical uniqueness in 9ne’s self is a kn9wn fact9r 9ne sees in an9ther that is a small step to a gr9wing infatuati9n in said individual whether it 6e aesthetical, physical or pers9nality wise.”

...you...you don’t know what’s going on. is he giving a lecture? seminar? on genetics? oh gog messiah’s dangit kankri may be your boy as you’ve called him before (not around him you know better) but man there’s only so much of him you can chill with until it starts getting to well, this point. you don’t stop him though cause kankri vantas never stops until he’s finished.

“s9me f9rms 9f genetical uniqueness c9uld c9me fr9m all 9f th9se and m9re. f9r example, an unc9mm9n s9cietal genetic that while n9t unc9mm9n can 6e seen as a f9rm of interest to s9me9ne and unique. whether freckles, hatchmarks or, wings perhaps.” your wings flap at that.

“9f c9urse t9 t9uch 9n the first three f9rms 9f attraction i mentioned if y9u d9n’t mind my reference 6ack t9 the su6jects at hand, an aesthetical attracti9n t9 certain f9rms 9f attire and style that differ’s fr9m 9ne’s 9wn can 6e an9ther. 9f c9urse this is entirely su6jective as n9 indivudals are the same 9n this manner h9wever 9pp9site’s attract seem t9 have m9re likelih99d t9 find 69nds in a multitude 9f ways. examples 9f this kind 9f su6ject is perhaps a rebel-esque design that c9rrelates t9 s9me a resistance t9 a c9nf9rma6le s9ciety with it’s 9wn strict regulati9ns and laws. s9mething like rigid and ripped attire 9r sharp disc9l9red hair c9uld 6e examples that 9ne wh9 while n9t p9ssibly sharing th9se designs with them finds inspiring t9 l99k t9.”

you look at your ripped jeans and vest. you...kinda still dont know what he’s going on about, but you keep listening.

“the sec9nd aspect, physical is 9n a similar subjectivity as while 9ne finds a physical aspect 9f s9me9ne attractive an9ther will n9t. h9wever physical attracti9n inv9lves s9me f9rm 9f the 9ther individuals 69dy they deem as p9tentiality t9 perhaps engage in a quadranted arrangement with said individual whether h9rns, fangs, a smile that gives a pleasant crease to their facial structure, their 69dy language when shy 9r excited, perhaps even height as acc9unta6le as studies sh9w a pred9minant interest in a taller partner for feelings of pr9tecti9n, sta6ility, 9r an9ther f9rm 9f 9pp9site’s attracting if the 9ther party isn’t their perceived interest’s 9wn height.”

you rub the back of your neck...nervously. your not dumb your getting some serious implications. you don’t wanna believe them, nah no way kankri’s celibate maybe he’s talking bout someone else? alotta their team has nice smiles and taller then him or dress ‘rebelistic’ as he calls it.

“lastly there’s attraction to pers9nality. m9st w9uld like a pers9nality they find in s9me f9rm similar t9 their 9wn t9 gain n9t 9nly m9re in c9mm9n t9 create a 69nd 6ut als9 as a starting part f9r c9mm9nality t9 make it easier t9 take the necessary steps. s9me h9wever may find attracti9n t9 a pers9nality that differs fr9m their 9wn. why is dependa6le 9n certain pers9nal aspects but m9st are 9ut of jeal9usy f9r seeing s9me9ne they are n9t, 9r perhaps admirati9n t9 have what they have 6ut cann9t 9r are una6le t9 yet due t9 their 9wn pers9nal reas9ns and s9 they try finding a partner wh9 has s9me 9f th9se aspects they cann9t harness. n9t in a c9ntr9lling way mind y9u n9r t9 use them 6ut due t9 a f9rm 9f admirati9n and interest.”

you nod as he perks up. “ah, ap9l9gies h9wever menti9ning quadrants earlier. they have a varying r9le in these f9rms 9f attracti9n 6ut i failed t9 reitterate this 6eing m9re 9pen t9 interpretati9n 9n any f9rm 9f quadrants i’m referring t9 as many 9f these examples in this thesis can 6e f9r any quadrant. als9 ap9l9gies f9r the menti9n 9f this su6ject due t9 y9ur recent 6reak fr9m y9ur matesprit i didn’t mean f9r any kind 9f harm t9 y9u 9n it.” “nah 1t’s okay 1 get 1t. 1′m f1ne.”

he nods going back to his papers, least it looks like he’s almost done. “thank y9u. n9w where was i? right. n9w many examples 9f pers9nality attracti9n vary fr9m pers9n t9 pers9n 6ut i shall use a hyp9thetical and keep in mind it’s 9nly hyp9thetical. perhaps s9me9ne is rather una6le to s9cialize with any f9rm 9f 9ther parties due t9 varying 9pp9site interests or 9stracizati9n fr9m said gr9up. perhaps they meet s9me9ne wh9, perhaps shares s9me f9rm 9f genetical uniqueness t9 them, perhaps als9 having similar experiences t9 what their shared s9ciety 9r even different s9cieties share similarities t9. b9th gr9w and act very differently due t9 h9w they react and are raised in said s9ciatal climate. while the first hyp9thetical partner gr9ws t9 6e m9re f9refr9nt and 9pen t9 their 9wn th9ughts that s9me find c9ntr9versial the sec9nd partner is pers9nally flexible with an exteri9r design and m9re positive pers9nality s9me find m9re likely t9 fl9ck t9 them m9re.”

he’s hiding behind his papers but you swear you saw those cheeks turning a tint of red. your blushing too but you don’t know if its the same as his. your pumpbiscuit is beating hard but you don’t know if its infatuation or anxiety.

“perhaps, when the first pers9n sees this they find themselves just as infatuated to make themself kn9wn t9 this pers9n due t9 their 9pen relia6ility. perhaps they als9 feel a f9rm 9f jeal9usy that they are unable t9 have the same people-friendly exteri9r t9 them and, wish they had that ability t9 d9 s9. may6e the 9ther seems, at least t9 the first individual, 9pen t9 them and what they have t9 say 9r are fine with spending time with them that has the first individual to sl9wly c9me t9 terms with their 9wn feelings 9n this pers9n. even, s9 far as t9 admit even with their 9wn pers9nal views 9f themselves and their 9wn 6eliefs, they may find them, expenda6le t9wards this individual.”

okay no the beating is anxiety now, this is WAY too much you see it all now and your...scared. your really scared now. he sighs and clears his throat again. “in c9nclusi9n i 6elieve these f9ur fact9r’s are likely c9mp9nants t9 6uild a f9rm 9f r9mantic attracti9n 9ne may find in an9ther. s9, what did y9u think 9f it?”

your horrified, your rubbing your arm nervously and trying to put on a smile for him. “1t’s...pretty good yeah. real conv1nc1ng.” you feel like such a douchebag right now getting nervous. your recent break with horrus was, okay shitty to say, but it was nice having a break from romance.

you know you know that’s really shitty, but you feel the need to put all you can in it and you get drained and can’t keep going sometimes. its like the break charges you up so then your back to giving him your all and it repeats. it sucks, but he loves you and you feel even more douchy at the idea of telling him you can’t do it anymore, ever, after yanking his chain for this long.

you...don’t want that for kankri. your at a 50% charge right now on romancing least flushed wise, you never tried the other quad’s before. what if he wants flushed? you can’t do that you’d lose him if you pulled what you do to horrus on him cause you really kinda, don’t know how to stop or talk about it. 

even then you don’t even know if your both broken up for good or what, you could end up with him again and then it’d be a damara situation and you don’t want kankri to be your next damara he keeps grudges way longer then her (which your surprised she tolerates you enough even with her grudge but you digress).

even then all he talked about felt, surface level. like everyone’s crush’s on you; except meenah which guess this means she’s the only one never to flirt with you now. damn it. still though he doesn’t even really know you, sure he could learn but, do you really want him to? learn about how much of a fraud you are? how all this is an act and you honestly have no fucking clue why anyone likes you? how you can’t be your own troll? gog he’d be so disappointed he goes on about trolls equalizing and needing their own rights to be their own troll but you can’t do that; not even for him probably.

point is: your shit at flushed and you don’t want kankri involved. you wanna give him those free feelings your classpect is supposed to do. hard part is, how’re you gonna let him down?

before you can think further he speaks up. “i’m glad y9u think s9. y9ur an excellent listener rufi9h i d9 genuinely appreciate it.” you see a twitch at the end of his lip and it pains you the fact he almost smiled. “perhaps we can have m9re 9f these meetups next time?” he asks taking a step to leave.

your surprised but kinda relieved too, least he’s not asking you out, but then again he’s also coming back sometime. meaning he might get more and more confident to actually pop the question your not ready to burst his bubble with your response with yet.

you smile though and wave at him. “ahah, sure sure 1′ll be here for 1t. or, we can meetup here?” he nods moving to look away as he walks off. “i will make n9te 9f that f9r 9ur next c9nversati9n. take care nitram.” he states, you watch as he gets more distant and vanishes in the forest.

you sigh long and relieved and go to fly back to your spot, moving to lay down on it though as you let it all soak in. your rufioh nitram and you just got flirted with by the kankri celibate vantas himself.

[caranfindel]

Episode recap/review: Walker 1.14

I didn't expect to recap 1.14 and yet here I am, still avoiding my unfinished Summergen fic. I'm actually writing this in real time, as I watch the episode. So for once I'm not pretending I don't know what happens. I literally don't know.

We begin with Cordell and Grandpa clearing up the crime scene. How much do I love Cordell saying "Daddy?" A lot. And not in that way, you perverts. It just really brings out the Texan.

Liam is in bed, recuperating. He gets a call (note that he calls himself William professionally, which is news to me, and I like it for whatever reason) from someone asking for a comment, which he starts to angrily refuse before Gramma Walker grabs his phone and hangs up. Gramma Walker going all Mama Bear for Liam is also interesting, and unexpected. But Liam says "I can take care of myself" and she says "No, you can't. None of you boys can." And then looks sadly out the window, where Cordell and Grandpa are taking down the crime scene tape. I just have to think "none" and not "both" means she's thinking of poor dead Hoyt, who she obviously loved like a son, if not more so. (More evidence for the Hoyt is her lovechild file? Maybe.)

Geri shows up, wearing an unnecessary cowboy hat and Hoyt's old jacket. She's bearing Hoyt's last will and testament, written on a bar coaster! Oh, my heart. And in case you can't read it:

If I get shivved in the shower or some old horse kicks me upside the head. For real Liam stamp it and everything - I leave everything to Geri/"Geraldine Broussard"/angle [sic] face sweet lips etc. So that plot I bought over in Tanglewood is for her and whatever I got in my pockets or elsewhere. See ya in the next life.

Angle face!

I'm not sure this would stand up in court, since he didn't even sign his last name, although it is witnessed by William Walker. Anyway, it's a moot point, because the land Hoyt intended to give Geraldine "Angle Face" Broussard is transferring to new owners, effective tomorrow. Which makes no sense. The deal fell apart because he died, and yet it's so soon after his death that the police tape is still up. New owners wouldn't be in the picture that quickly. Reverting to previous owners, because it was owner-financed? Sure. But not new owners. (Whatever, Caranfindel. Move it along.) She asks Cordell to go with her to gather his personal belongings. And to bring the kids. Hmmm, let's see how Stella can mess this up. (Tanglewood is 71 miles from Austin. Of course I looked it up.)

But first, Cordell has to sign paperwork to begin his leave of absence. So he didn't actually intend to quit. I mean, we all knew he'd be back, but I kind of thought he was, at the time, intending to quit for good. Does Connie the HR person have a big old crush on him? There is hand touching and deep, serious gazing.

Touch him, Connie. Touch him for those of us who cannot.

Micki is sitting right outside the conference room where he signs his papers but still acts surprised that he's in the building. Did she not smell the rosemary mint shampoo as he walked by? He thanks her for the flowers and apologizes for not calling her back. And then cancels their lunch plans so he can go off with Geri and the kids.

Someone said this on Tumblr, and I think it bears repeating here. It's interesting comparing Cordell's grief, over his wife and now his best friend, to Sam's grief. Cordell is clearly deeply affected, and is also clearly moving on. Sam is just unhinged.

Elsewhere. The gang stops for lunch and reminisces about Hoyt dressed as Santa, wearing assless chaps. Well. That's memorable. (Also, I know people who did the whole leaving horse manure and pretending it's reindeer poop thing. Some people are just a lot more into Santa than I was.) Trevor (Travis? Whatever) called Stella. She's apparently avoiding him. Probably a good call, sis. Maybe the only one you've made in 14 episodes. (To be fair, I didn't watch the first four.)

Micki shares tacos with her boyfriend, whose name I can never remember, having been stood up by Cordell. She tells him Cordell seemed "off," which is great now, Micki. Why didn't you pay more attention to that feeling last week? The BF thinks Micki herself might be off, because she misses her partner. And she calls him family. Captain What's His Face comes to talk to Trey (that's his name, dammit) and asks if he knows a guy who goes to the same physical therapist's office. Friends, when I've done PT, I don't even know people who go to my therapist, let alone just go to someone in the same office. But maybe folks in Austin are just friendlier than they are round these parts. Oh, wait. The guy is missing, and was last seen in a heated discussion with Trey? What's up with that, Trey?

Tanglewood. Cordell asks the nice lady (realtor? owner?) about Hoyt's "personal affects," and she says "they are probably out grazing." Because Hoyt's personal effects are four horses and a llama. Which Geri owns now. "Where am I going to board four horses and a llama?" she asks. Cordell is oddly befuddled (and adorably, cause y'all know how I feel about befuddled Jared), as if he didn't live on a ranch. With horses. The family business, remember? The kids are entranced. I would be too. It's a damn cute llama. One of the mares actually nursed the llama, so they're family. (Watch out for falling anvils.)

Micki's house. Trey says the "heated discussion" was the missing guy showing him a judo move. Captain asks Trey to ride along and help him investigate, and poor partnerless Micki asks if she can come with.

Tanglewood. Apparently Hoyt's personal affects also included gear for the four horses, because everyone is saddled up. Geri doesn't seem like an experienced rider - she keeps her hand on the pommel of the saddle, which I always heard was a rube move. (At least she's not clutching the saddle horn. No shade. It's hard not to. It's a perfect handle and it's just right there.) Cordell, of course, rides perfectly, as he does everything perfectly.

Everything except his job. And raising his kids. But do I care about those things? Not so much.

Geri thinks the llama looks unwell. What is she, a llama expert? A veterinarian? And what are they doing on this trail ride anyway - taking the herd back to the Walker ranch? It's 71 miles away! It's an hour and a half driving! How will they get the truck? Why didn't Cordell just say "let's go back to the ranch and get Daddy's cattle trailer?" WHY.

(No one cares. No one but you thinks about these things.)

Stella is on her phone, but it turns out she's (allegedly) re-reading Hoyt's last text, not chatting with friends. And then she says she was "responsible for everything." Oh, wait. We're going there? Stella is finally going to face the music? Cordell says it's not her fault, but they're interrupted by the llama, who apparently is in distress. Cordell wants to leave him at a random homestead. Permanently? Like, "excuse me, ma'am, but can you take this llama?" Or just while they get the horses home? I dunno.

August doesn't like this, because the llama and the horses are family. Geri distracts him by claiming Hoyt wanted him to have the jacket she's wearing, although I find this rather dubious, because why did she wait so long to mention it? Why is she wearing it herself? It's a lucky jacket he won from a tarot card reader and card hustler named The Mystifying Mehar, who was "infamous for getting out of trouble because of that jacket." Cordell then asks Geri to go off with the kids while he hangs back and tries to ditch the llama. Oh no, Cordell, don't do that. He's family!

Back at the ranch, Grandpa chases off some more journalists. He also ignores Gramma's concern about his cancer.

Trail ride. We skipped the whole bit where Cordell found someone willing to take in a goddamn llama, caught up with his kids, and told them what he did. They're mad that he wouldn't even try, and then Stella impulsively rides off, almost falling into a revine.

Team Sassyboots 2.0 questions the missing guy's wife. Turns out he left a note. Doesn't sound like he's as missing as they thought. He said he would "fix everything," i.e., their upcoming foreclosure. They check his workshop and find evidence that he was a military contractor, and apparently this means he should have no money problems whatsoever, because they don't understand how money works. His gun safe is empty, so they figure he's on some kind of "black ops" job. And if it's going to be complete by Monday, I assume it's something local, and not a military operation.

Walker Ranch. Someone who is Liam's "political opponent" comes to take care of him? And he's bringing barbeque? Is it poisoned? Gramma says Liam can't have barbecue because he's on bedrest, as if one had anything to do with the other. And... Grandpa wants to go mushroom hunting with her? Is that what the kids call it these days?

Trail ride. Cordell found someone to keep the horses. Temporarily? I'm still confused. Stella and Geri talk about Hoyt, and Stella asks about her forgiving him. Thinking about some forgiveness toward your own bad boy, Stella? She says "the two of you were always kind of like the dream to me," which is odd considering they were off-and-on, while her parents were very much on, and definitely seem more like couple goals. But okay. Stella confesses again that she is responsible, and Geri says "you let love in, maybe; that's your worse crime." I wonder if Stella blames herself for the fake truck crash that started the whole domino effect, or if she even realizes that's what happened. Obviously Geri wouldn't. Hmmm, I wonder what August thinks about all this?

Walker Ranch. Whoever this political opponent is, he must be a family friend, because he gave a toast at Cordell and Emily's rehearsal dinner. "Hey, when did your brother have such long hair," he asks, looking at a picture of the happy couple. Liam is growing facial hair again. I like it. Opponent suggests the spicy barbecue will put hair on Liam's chest and Liam tosses it aside and says "no, dammit, after I spent all that time waxing?" And Liam might drop out of whatever race he's in. I don't really care about that part. Let's talk more about Liam's chest.

I love that they can use actual Padalecki family photos as Cordell and Emily photos. No bad Photoshop needed!

Team Sassyboots 2.0. I don't really care about this missing guy either. Skipping it. You know, I understand this is meant to be an ensemble show, and Jared Padalecki and his stupid pretty face and long legs are not going to be in every scene. But Micki working a case with her boss and her boyfriend just bothers me and I don't want to be a part of it.

Trail ride. They're bedding down in the barn for the night? What the fuck? Where are they? Why didn't they just drive home? I'm so confused! Cordell and Geri talk about Hoyt some more. Cordell makes an awkward comment about "us together" and then amends it to mean all of us together, as in you and me and the kids camping right now, not, like, you and me together together, and then does a little eyebrow thing like whoo, good job, talked your way out of that one. NO, CORDELL, YOU ARE NOT AS SMOOTH AS YOU THINK YOU ARE. Anyway. There's a lot of guilt about poor dead Hoyt. Cordell tells Geri her name is still on the Sidestep lease (lease? I thought they owned it?), as if being part owner of a bar is always going to be a good thing, with no liability at all. And they don't kiss, for which I am grateful. The horses are really acting up. I hope nothing's happening.

Cordell checks on the horses and apologizes to the mare for leaving the llama behind. He realizes he made the wrong choice. "You know what," he says. "Let's go fix this."

I adore him.

Walker Ranch. Grandpa and Gramma have been mushroom hunting and are now getting silly. Um, what kind of mushrooms did you two find? And then Grandpa says "tonight's about Hoyt," which I do not understand. "I saw the joy he gave you," Grandpa says. Yes, Grandpa, and do you not find that even a little bit fishy? And then he decides to build something.

Trail ride. Cordell went and retrieved his llama! He is precious. I love him so much. He has some pratfalls in the same ravine that almost caught Stella, and then his family shows up and rescues him. (Can I point out that his "a-ha-ha" laugh is the same one we heard when he opened his gift from Dean in "A Very Supernatural Christmas" and I'm not sure it appeared in any other episode?) August offers the Lucky Jacket to use as a llama harness to haul the little guy out of the ravine. Oh, and it turns out the llama is about to give birth.

And, while I'm skipping Team Sassyboots 2.0, it's hard to ignore that Micki is now in a UFC fight. That might have been an interesting story after all. Y'all can fill me in.

Walker Ranch. They're building a little stable. Because this big horse ranch doesn't have enough stables. Liam, who was bedridden to the point of not being able to eat barbeque yesterday, is now helping build. He gets a text from his former fiance, who wants to talk. And Grandpa has decided to treat his cancer. Happy endings all around!

Micki's house. She says she was passive-aggressive with Walker because she's afraid of losing him. I get it, sweetie. He's someone you don't want to lose.

Trail ride. August is carrying the newborn llama, wrapped in the Lucky Jacket. Geri wants to cut out before they get to the ranch. She's going to ride the bus home? Seriously? Isn't her car at the Walker Ranch? She and Cordell talk abou their unfinished business. Yeah, like the fact she was probably involved in your wife's murder? That unfinished business, Geraldine? Grandpa meets them before they get to the ranch and informs them he has a strict no-llama policy on the ranch. But luckily, he just built an alpaca stable. They’re alpacas, not llamas. So, Geri called him, but how did he know they were alpacas? Did she send pictures? I am so confused. Anyway. The new family goes into their new home. They name the baby alpaca Hoyt, of course.

Little Hoyt, guys, he's the sweetest thing.

Breakfast. Political Opponent gives Liam a contribution. Oh, I get it. They're running for the same office, and he thinks Liam will draw votes away from his other opponent. Shrewd. Stella calls Trevor and says she might need to leave the past behind. And you are the past, Trevor. Cordell sees a truck pull up and runs out to meet Micki. She apologizes for holding a grudge over him leaving. She tries to shake hands and he hugs her instead. She thinks they can just be friends now instead of partners, and he says they're not friends, they're family. And then she oohs and aahs over the alpacas, which she recognizes immediately as alpacas and not llamas, and also points out that little Hoyt is actually a girl. Oops. Awkward. Cordell is surprised she can just tell. "Most people can." Yeah, you are the worst rancher's son ever. Then Cordell sees the fence is carved with a memorial to Hoyt. Aw.

He is also the sweetest thing.

So. Less drama than last week. More warmth. A ridiculous B story that was as annoying as giving Cas his own plot. Will I still watch next week? Yeah, probably. I have questions. How did Grandpa know they were alpacas? Where is the baby daddy? Can Cordell and his rancher father really not tell the difference between a male and female alpaca? Why is Geri riding the bus home, when her car is at the Walker's? Why is she avoiding the Walker Ranch? Will August ever get his own plot again?

It's just a shame that this episode didn't have any shout-outs to Supernatural, like the last one did...

[bandit-o-s-usb]

Perry's Weekly Shounen Jump Recap

I read manga, a whole bunch infact. I like talking about them and recommending them. So consider this as short couple sentence reviews about the weekly catalogue for Shounen Jump. Things above the cut are must reads imo and everything else is scatter shot. Images below are for the first 5 manga on the list in order.

PPPPPPP tugged at my heart strings and brought me to tears with Reijiro's backstory, it felt both real and unreal and I hope we get to see more follow up for what is quickly shaping up to be my new favorite story. The art is phenomenal too in setting up a very dream like world with the gravity of our own. Maybe it's personal bias though I just relate heavily to these kind of narratives -- for obvious reasons ;≥;

Mission: Yozakura Family was also really good I'm loving the set up for this next arc, I think as a final boss so to speak this current set up brings a good challenge to the Siblings. the coulor pages continue to blow my mind too in their complexity. This next fight is gonna rock.

Magu-Chan made me cry and for a comedy series that's just "Cthulhu in my pocket" that's incredible -- also sunrise and sunset by the shore break me just a bit.

Black Clover had the perfect first chapter for the end of the biggest scale arc yet and I'm expecting alot of great ugly crying next week before the inevitable bomb reveal.

Sakamoto Days doubled down on a really good and impactful message and is setting up another exquisite fight with some amazing artwork and panel flow. I appreciate that the author isn't making it a thing to have Sakamoto slim down just to fight, it feels really thematically correct.

Bringing us home is Ayashimon -- the new series by the mangaka who made Hell's Paradise (I haven't read all of it but what I got saw was amazing) is Incredible and I can see it getting Fire Punch levels of "Oh What The FUCK". I think rival Yokai Yakuza gangs duking it out in Kabukicho will be great and our protagonist is genuinely unwell in the head for some pretty deep reasons. If you loved Chainsaw Man then you need to read this.

More under the cut.

Doctor Stone did some science stuff and continues to be just okay... Doctor Coomer's Look alike came back

JuJustu Kaisen showing alot of good growth with Yuji and I think that it's fitting to have the atonement be done in a court... Loving the current bad guy.

Undead Unluck is going pretty well at working on Killing God and I really love how these games have been formatted, if you love JoJo thinking/gambling fights you'll love the set up, but the pay off is more oriented at dedicated Undead Unluck Fans

Blue Box happened romance bits are cute idk it was middling.

Mashle fucking owns I loved seeing a metal rod be turned into a baseball kit for a gag, truly one of the best Looney Tunes type manga out there. Ayashimon and One Punch Man all fit together as a family of cartoonishly strong guys... Maybe Sakamoto too.

Spy X Family is adorable and I love it so much its just augh so cute!

And a farewell with arms to Neru: Way Of The Martial Artist, the ending was rushed and that sucks for what was shaping up to he a really down to earth passionate story about the art of martial arts. I appreciated the style and and the weight realism with how it was drawn, and It had alot of genuine heart and Neru himself was a really great character. I think whatever comes next Hiragi will be worth looking at.