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rvspberry · 3 years

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Idk if I’m gonna end up posting this on AO3 because it’s very different from what I usually write.

But below the cut is some Johnny Lawrence sexuality crisis angst with a happy ending if you feel like it. (Heavy Christian themes and Lawrusso ending ahead.)

He was righteous, on high, the Almighty personified. Forgiving, and gracious in victory, and good through and through. Set his mind to something and he could make the whole world come alive.

That’s how Johnny felt at the Tournament, at least, when the entire crowd swarmed the floor and lifted LaRusso onto their shoulders, and Johnny snagged the first place trophy. Handed it up like an offering, a sacrificial lamb — all that Johnny had at stake, all that he’d lost, given freely and openly to this holy being.

The crowd grew louder. Johnny called out, “You’re alright, LaRusso. Good match.”

Got a pained, “Thanks,” in return.

He’d touched someone holy and lived to tell the tale.

Once Johnny is at Bobby’s house that night, since Sid and Laura flew to Miami for the week before Christmas, he asks Bobby to pray with him.

“You okay, Johnny?”

Johnny glances up to find worried blue eyes looking over at him, sizing him up — no, not quite. Measuring him, trying to gauge Johnny for what no one could see. Bobby’s eyes are such a different blue than Johnny's, clear and crisp but never cold. Johnny wonders if Bobby sees anything, if Johnny shows anything.

“I just…” Johnny rasps, gripping the glass of water in hand again and taking a hesitant sip. They told him at the hospital that he’d have to rest. Asked if he wanted to press charges, but Johnny just shook his head. “I need some guidance.”

“No better place to look to than to Jesus,” Bobby agrees, reaching out to take Johnny’s hands. He closes his eyes, and Johnny pauses for a brief moment, body going stiff, before he follows suit. Takes a deep breath as Bobby begins. “Our Father, who art in heaven. Hallowed be thy name.”

Daniel.

“Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven,” Bobby continues.

Johnny squeezes his eyes tighter and tries not to let his grip tighten, too.

“Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.”

Please forgive me. Please. Daniel. I’m sorry.

“And lead us not into temptation—”

Daniel’s eyes. His grin, his mouth, his lips. Daniel’s body. The confident smirk when he gets up into Johnny’s face.

“—but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory,” Bobby finishes, squeezing Johnny’s hands. Johnny blinks his eyes open, jaw clenched, to see Bobby giving him a small smile. “Forever and ever. Amen.”

“Amen,” Johnny repeats weakly, clenching his teeth against the urge to cry. To sob.

To throw himself onto the floor and mourn the loss of a life he’d had for years now, the life he’d fought so hard for. The life of a champion, of a winner, the life of a kid from Encino Hills. The life of someone normal, a leader, head dog even though he came into this life late, no rules established, flying blind and feeling his way into his place.

“You’re sure you’re okay, man?”

“I’m not,” Johnny chokes out. Hangs his head.

There are too many thoughts in his head, too much guilt and shame, and he can’t focus on one without the other flaring up to take his attention. Back and forth, back and forth, between Kreese almost killing him and Daniel’s sensei saving him and Daniel winning the match, to needlessly tormenting Daniel all semester and making a bigger ass of himself each and every time. Over and over, like it was on a loop.

“Do you want to pray again?” Bobby asks, voice dropping lower. “Sometimes it helps. The… repetition. Try to focus on the words this time. Focus on God. Let the spirit take you.”

Take me where? Johnny thinks, but he just tightens his hands around Bobby’s and nods.

“Our Father, who art in heaven…”

When Bobby leaves at the end of the summer to go to college in Oregon, a special school for religious studies, he leaves Johnny with his new number and a prayer book.

“If things get hard, turn to God,” he reminds Johnny. Pats Johnny’s back while they hug tightly. Johnny hasn’t been apart from Bobby since they became best friends at thirteen, both newly enrolled in Cobra Kai. “God has a plan for all of us, and you can find all your answers in the Lord, man. You just have to be open to hearing them even when they’re not the answers you want.”

Johnny keeps the prayer book. Says a prayer every night. Calls Bobby once a week, like clockwork, and stops drinking. He gets kicked out of Sid’s house when he turns 18 in July, gets a job as a handyman, then starts apprenticing for a carpenter, then starts working construction. It’s hard work but it’s honest work.

Every time his eyes turn to one of his coworkers, when they catch on the sweat and grime smeared over their muscles, or the curve of their ass, or the line of their jaw, Johnny recites one of those prayers in his head.

Dear Lord, please give me strength when I am weak, courage when I am afraid, love when I feel forsaken, wisdom when I feel foolish, comfort when I am alone, hope when I feel rejected, and peace when I am in turmoil. Amen.

Every time he gets asked out for drinks by his well-meaning colleagues, he politely declines and spends ten minutes praying in his car after his shift is over, hands blistered, muscles aching.

Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among sinners and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Amen.

Every night, Johnny lays in bed and freestyles his prayers. God needs to know, he probably already knows, but he needs to know that Johnny doesn’t want to be like this. He wants to change. He wants answers. He wants to be open to them, just like Bobby told him.

“Go out tonight,” Bobby laughs when Johnny calls him on a Saturday at his usual time. “Just get out and have some fun. Go to a movie. Buy yourself dinner, whatever. Go meet someone. You’re just working and sleeping. You need to live a little, Johnny.”

Is that what God wants me to do? Johnny thought to himself. To go out and find a woman to settle down with? Is that God’s plan?

It’s what Johnny’s supposed to do, right?

“Okay, okay,” Johnny groans into the phone, ready to slam it back onto the receiver when Bobby whoops in elated triumph. “Some good, clean fun. Fitting for the best friend of a pastor’s son.”

Johnny goes to the movies. The new sequel to Alien, aptly titled ‘Aliens,’ looks halfway decent. Definitely not a good clean movie, but Johnny can live a little. It’s on its last leg, only playing the earlier showings, so Johnny snags the ticket since he figures he can be mostly alone that way. He loiters in the lobby trying to decide between popcorn or an overpriced box of candy to go with his soda. The bored teen behind the counter pops her gum and rolls her eyes as she waits for him to make up his mind.

He doesn’t fidget as he looks in the glass case, even as much as he wants to. It’s been conditioned out of him.

“Back straight, shoulders down, chin up, Mr. Lawrence.”

“Hey, can I get a large popcorn please?” comes a voice from beside him.

Johnny glances over, shaggy hair whipping around his face, and spots the one person he thought he’d never see again. Daniel LaRusso looks the same as he did before — a little taller, maybe, his long limbs filled out a little more, but still the shrimpy kid who kicked his ass.

Same eyes, same voice, same body.

Same mouth.

Dear Lord, please give me strength—

“Johnny? Johnny Lawrence?!” Daniel’s words cut through his prayer.

Johnny inhales sharply. He has to control himself. Give me the strength when I am weak, courage when I—

“Holy shit, man, look at you,” Daniel laughs, tapping Johnny’s bicep tellingly. A year-plus in construction had done wonders for his body, and his arms in particular. “Like a brick shithouse. Are you on steroids?”

“No, I work construction.” Johnny doesn’t know why his voice sounds so rough. He clears his throat and tries again. “Hi, LaRusso. Small world meeting you here, I guess.”

“Yeah, man! You here with anyone?” Daniel glances around, as if trying to pin someone else in the lobby to Johnny, but there was no one to match him up with. No one to match up Daniel with, either.

“No. You?”

“Flying solo today,” Daniel croons, running his hands down his chest. Johnny blushes and looks up at the ceiling.

Hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with thee—

“What movie are you seeing?” Daniel asks, taking the tub of popcorn from the teen and passing a bill over the counter. He snagged a handful and popped a few butter-soaked pieces into his mouth.

“Uh…” Johnny glances down at his ticket. “Aliens.”

“No way! Me too!” Daniel says around chewing the popcorn. He pauses and looks at Johnny with his head cocked curiously. “You wanna watch it together?”

O, my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended You. I detest all my sins because of your just punishments, but most of all because they offend you, My God, who are all good and worthy of all my love. I firmly resolve, with the help of Your grace, to sin no more and to avoid the near occasions of sin. Amen.

The movie theater is empty. There’s butter on Daniel’s bottom lip, shining in the dimly lit room. Johnny licks it off in the black silence of the end credits.

Kissing Daniel feels like coming home. It feels like touching something divine, and Johnny’s stained gold in all the places they touch.

Is this God’s plan? Johnny asks himself. Daniel’s fingers tug at his hair, nails scraping gently over his scalp. Johnny pulls Daniel across the seat and into his lap as he swallows Daniel’s moan.

Below Johnny’s hands, Daniel feels like an answer.

#lawrusso #lawrusso fic #johnny lawrence fanfiction #daniel x johnny

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blackberry-gingham · 4 years

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hello! 💕 i love your writing so much, your imagines are always so well done. and i was wondering if you could do an imagine abt the boys finding out and comforting you abt your self harm (it’s always been kind of a touchy subject to me and i’d love to see how you think they’d react) much love 💕✌🏻

TW: Mentions of Self Harm/Cutting and Blood

Hm, well I can try... I'm going to be honest, this is a little gritty for me and I don't really have much experience with this topic aside from personal stories from those around me, but I'll do my best.

These imagines are going to focus basically 100% on the boys reactions and how they'd care for you, so it won't be like super in depth on the actual self injury.

Oh and one last thing, I don't think I could be comfortable posting this without giving the reader the ending they deserve for a scenario as serious as this, so if you notice the endings are a bit repetitive, just know that's intentional.

---

George

The first thing he smells is the blood

He was on his way to relieve himself, when the stench of it flooded his nostrils, even from down the hall

Immediately George jumps into fight or flight mode, his heart beating in his ears

The only other person in the flat is you

He calls your name, urgently, but not yelling just yet

The door is on a crack when George arrives

You did it on purpose. You know you want to be found, but you don't know what to say...

George knocks gently and calls your name again, "Is everything alright?"

All this time you've been trying to pull yourself together, but the concern in his voice breaks you

"G-george...", You trail off sobbing bitterly

It's all the permission to enter he needs

You're curled up into yourself, sitting in the tub. It's empty, but George's razor is laying on the side

Sobs wrack your half naked body and all George can think to do is hold you

He climbs into the tub with you, paying no mind as the drops of blood stain his dress pants

"I'm here, I'm here..."

George holds you in a tight hug and lets you cry into his shirt

He notices the open cuts along your flesh and suddenly he puts two and two together

However, he doesn't say anything about it, instead he waits until you've calmed down a bit

Once you're ready he helps you up and sits you on the toilet

As gently and respectfully as he can, he asks what's going on

George gives you time, and you work up the courage to talk to him about it as he dresses your wounds

He listens to everything you have to say, and when you're all cleaned up, he does everything he can to make sure you're taken care of and as relaxed as can be

Once you're asleep, George shoots John a call and asks for advice on how to best help you

John advises that he should've taken you to a doctor if the wounds were that bad, but George promises to try and ask you to go in the morning

It takes a lot of courage from you, but you agree to get your injuries seen

Once at the doctor, they recommend some therapists for you

George encourages you to get the treatment you deserve, and does anything at all that he can to support you through the process

John

It's the end of a long day, and John has just freshened up for bed

But first, he's off to take his medication and grab a cup of water, just like every night

He approaches the kitchen, then slows down to listen

There's a distinct hissing and grunting coming from around the corner

At first he's just confused

He knows it must be you, but what on earth are you up to?

John turns the corner and flips on the light, and that's when his heart drops

You're leaning against the counter and the utensil drawer is open

In your hand is a steel steak knife

It's dripping blood

You're entire arm is covered in gashes, and you don't look very well

John doesn't waste a minute on words, instead he jumps right to action

He restraints you in a bear hug, pinning your arms to your side

Probably not the best reaction he could've picked, but he simply can't risk you doing anything that might make you lose more blood

You drop the knife and scream, your knees buckling under you

You're hurting

Ashamed

Frustrated

Afraid...

You burst into a violent fit of sobs, shaking so badly, John has to readjust his grip

He sinks slowly to the floor with you and you lean against him limply

John does his best to give you some reasurance, and tell you that everything will be alright, but he knows you can't stay here

In a flash, he grabs his boots, wallet, and keys and takes you to the hospital

You lose consciousness on the way there, but luckily with some fluids and a blood transfusion, you pull through

John waits a few days until you're healed to talk about that night with you

He's gentle and careful about his words, but he implores you to give therapy a try

You absolutely deserve it after all

He recommends the one he sees, but of course you can have anyone you wish

John does everything he can to support you in your healing journey and helps you see it though

Paul

After a day of recording Paul comes home on the look for you

He's got a nice little evening planned, maybe a movie and some takeaway to unwind

What he wasn't expecting, was to hear you sobbing and screaming behind a locked bedroom door

He calls your name, and pounds on the door, terrified that someone is in there with you, hurting you

You don't respond, only continuing to cry

Paul can't wait any longer, you need him now

His first instinct is to try and break the door down

He give a few shoulder charges, but to his frantic frustration, it doesn't seem to be doing much

"Paul, stop!"

At last you speak and Paul obeys

Tears are already streaming down his eyes, he's so scared and confused for you

Hesitantly, you unlock the door, terrified and ashamed to reveal your secret

There's a bit of blood coming from your scalp, and little patches of your hair are missing

More blood can be found under your nails, and that's when Paul notices the scratches on your arms

You don't say anything, instead more tears escape you as you quietly cry

But you don't have to say a word, Paul figures out what he needs to himself

He takes you in his arms and consoles you until you know you're safe

Paul's spent enough time hearing about John's therapy sessions to have a decent education on things of this sort

He asks if he can take you to a doctor, just to make sure nothing gets infected and that your injuries can be properly treated

You agree and get taken care of, but before you're cleared to go home, you and Paul discuss therapy options with the doctor

There's plenty of options for you to take a route to healing that you're most comfortable with, and Paul is proud of you every day and every step, for being strong enough to get the help you deserve

Ringo

All Ringo can see is how terrified and in pain you are

He doesn't notice the cuts and the blood until after

And by that point, he feels hysterical with anxiety

He's so overwhelmed with both the desperate desire to help you, and the crushing confusion of what to do that he's frozen

After a moment, he snaps out of it and rushes to your side

He's crying nearly as much as you are, which understandably only makes you twice as upset

Ringo asks you what he can do, desperate for some sort of guidance

But you can't respond, you're too overwhelmed yourself

For now, he resorts to just holding you

It's the only thing he can do to try and calm himself and not upset you any more then he already has

Once he's had some time to collect himself and think, he does his best to help with your wounds

He's already ruined his shirt with blood, so screw it

He takes it off and tears it into bandages, administering them where needed and talking to you all the while

It takes longer then you'd have liked, but eventually you're able to calm down, even after the stress Ringo unintentionally put on you

"There now", Ringo's voice is shaking, but he's doing all he can to keep it together for you

He's finished apply his shirt bandages, "You need a proper doctor love... Do you think you can do that?"

You bite your lip, trying to hold back another bout of tears, but you nod

That's all Ringo needs to hear

He helps you up and takes you straight to the doctor

While you're being treated, he calls the lads, whoever will listen, and tries to get reasurance that he did this right

John scolds him for upsetting you, but otherwise tells him he was right to get you a proper doctor

Before he hangs up, he strongly advises Ringo to, gently, ask you about seeing a therapist

Ringo swears it, and holds to his word, making sure to stay calm and be respectful of your emotional state when he asks

You decide that that is what you want, and the two of you discuss local practicioners with the doctor

All the while that you're on your healing journey, Ringo does everything he can to educate himself on anxiety, depression, and triggers in order to be more helpful for you along the way and in the future

#the bealtes #tw blood #tw self harm #tw cutting #john lennon x reader #george harrison x reader #paul mccartney x reader #ringo starr x reader #beatles imagines

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blue-bird-kny · 4 years

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“Don’t Touch Him”

Yay finally the first post!! please enjoy and always please let me know if you enjoyed it and don’t be afraid to request! Anyhow enjoy~

Warning: Violence, Swearing

(1k+ words)

It was supposed to be a simple mission: One week in a small village to find why groups of bodies were being found dead and kill whoever was doing it. Something that your boyfriend, Sanemi, should have been able to handle in half the time assigned.

However, that was ten days ago. No note, no crow, no sign of warning, it was like he’d fallen off the earth. Knowing him and how stubborn he could be, you knew he’d never send any sign of distress or call for help.

This fact only added to the worry that's been gnawing at your insides for the last few nights as you took to pacing in the garden of the estate you two shared. “We’re hashiras” you thought to yourself as you stared at the sun that was soon to set. “Sanemi can handle himself, he doesn’t need me worrying about him” you continued. Even so, why couldn't you silence the growing voice deep in your mind? “He needs your help, something isn’t right” the voice chanted until finally, you released a frustrated groan as you stood up “That's enough” you told it.

Pulling on your haori (which had been a gift from your hot-tempered partner) and securing your nichirin blade to your hip, you scribbled a small note and sent it with your crow to Shinobu. “Please be okay” you pleaded as you sprinted off to find Sanemi.

~*~*~*~

Sanemi stood in the center of a clearing in the forest, the blood from multiple wounds poolng at his feet. He’d been carless, he can admit that much.Once he arrived, he knew that this couldn't be the work of some low class demon and should have sent his crow to inform HQ. After nights of killing low rank demons, he finally weeded out the masterminds behind this sick show. Two ex-Lower Moons stood before him, smiling wickedly as they delivered blows to his battered body. Sanemi would never let them hit him easily and was able to get more than a few good licks on them, but they were not in such dire condition as he was.

“Say, do you think if we delivered the head of a hashira to him, we’d be given more of his blood?” one of the demons questioned. Inhaling deeply, the other responded “I don’t know but his blood smells delicious. I haven’t had a decent meal tonight and I'm ravished” they finished by licking their lips and drooling.

“What is going on, why am I getting my ass handed to me?!” he questioned as he moved to land a fatal attack on one of the two demons, but almost as quickly one of the demons moved behind him ramming their foot into his back. He gasped in pain as he laid on the floor, no doubt he had a few broken bones and torn muscles. “We’ve had our fun, I say we end this here and move on” one insisted as they moved towards Sanemi.

Painfully moving to stand, Sanemi reached for his sword. “Don’t touch him” a strong voice Sanemi knew all too well demanded a few feet away. (y/n) stood tall at the other end of the clearing, a dangerous aura surrounding her. “You’re saved! They’ve sent a little girl to come and rescue you” the demons laughed. Sanemi smirked as he thought “They’re so fucked”. “Well this little girl..” (y/n) started, stalking her prey, waiting for any movement, “has had enough of your bullshit. Frankly, you’re lucky you two are still breathing” she sethed, words filled with rage. “Oh we’re so sc..” one demon started but before they could finish, (y/n) swiftly moved behind them and sliced their head off clean.

Soundlessly landing on the ground, her murderous gaze fell on the remaining demon, who clearly had put his guard up. Sanemi watched from the ground, unwilling to miss a moment as the demon ran towards (y/n) in a futile attack, “Breath of blizzard forth form: crystal rain” (y/n) muttered. Shards of ice began to rain from the sky, impaling the charging demon and pinning him to the floor. “I really should never piss her off.” Sanemi thought to himself as (y/n) calmly walked toward her next target, now stuck to the floor.

“No! This isn’t how I die. Please women I begg..” the demon pleaded as he stared up at her. “No use in begging,” she interrupted “you were a goner the second you laid a finger on him” she explained as she pointed at Sanemi. “She's so hot” he seductively thought as he sat up. “Please!..I” the demon wailed one final time before silence filled the air. In a way that was almost angelic, (y/n) sliced his head off and watched as it rolled away. “Shut up, people like you have no place in this world” she added annoyed before turning her gaze to Sanemi, rushing over to him. “You saved my ass, that was sexy as hell” he remarked when she crouched to his side. “Ever the gentlemen” she chuckled. “Always..” Sanemi coughs, small traces of blood spotting his chin. Assessing his wounds, (y/n) put pressure on some of the deeper wounds “Shinobu will be here any moment, I asked her to come with medics if we weren't back before dawn” (y/n) stated worriedly. Sanemi watched as (y/n)'s face filled with worry as she pressed her hands against a nasty slash on his side, “God I love this woman so much” he lovingly thought as he began to sit up.

“Wait Sanemi you shouldn’t move till..!” (y/n) was cut off as Sanemi pressed his rough lips against her considerably softer ones. It wasn’t very long nor was it one of their most intense kisses, but the moment their lips touched, they could feel every ounce of passion and raw love they felt for each other. Sanemi pulled away just as the medics arrived hurrying towards the pair, “Thank you (y/n)” he whispered just so that (y/n) could hear, before putting on his usually brave face for the medics tending to his wounds.

“Anything for you, my love” She smiled fondly.

Main Masterlist

I feel like Sanemi was slightly ooc but I'm really trying to get into the groove of writing for each character. Thank you~Amanda

#kimetsu no yaiba sanemi #kimetsu no yaiba #sanemi x reader #kny hashira #demon slayer x reader #demon slayer #shinaguzawa sanemi #demon slayer sanemi

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thebibliomancer · 4 years

Text

Essential Avengers: Avengers #232: And Now... Starfox!

June, 1983

“From Titan with love... Starfox!”

oh god no

Err. Anyway.

Last time on Avengers Z, the Avengers were bad enough dudes and lady dudes to rescue the president from wooden dopplegangers. The sinister and badly dressed Plantman (not to be confused with a Mega Man boss) summoned a giant-sized man-shaped swamp thing to battle the Avengers. They were doing a decent job fighting it when Starfox crashed his spaceship into it in his rush to join the Avengers.

And now, what happens after that.

Hawkeye is a terrible patient.

So also last time, a ceiling fell on Hawkeye’s leg and it be broke. He’s apparently the kind of dude who thinks its more manly to refuse anesthetic so She-Hulk has to literally pin him down long enough for Ordinary Doctor Donald Blake to cast it up.

And wow, that cast goes all the way up!

Where did you break your leg, Clint? At the sternum?

Actually this reminds me of Avengers: Earth’s Mightiest Heroes because Hawkeye got his arm snaked and in-this-version-a-paramedic Jane Foster was asked to look at it but Hawkeye was similarly uncooperative there.

I wonder if that was an intentional reference or whether an accurate portrayal of Clint’s sparking personality just gets you there naturally.

But with the casting call done, Dr. Donald Blake makes to leave, making a point to mention how lucky that he was in town instead of in Chicago where he supposedly lives.

THUS Thor’s secret identity is secure forever.

Wasp and Captain America take Ordinary Doctor Donald Blake to the elevator to show him out but really, he just transforms back to Thor in the elevator.

Because Cap and Wasp already know his secret identity. As does Dra- oh wait, he’s dead. As does Iron Man.

In fact, after Cap mentions he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to seeing Dr. Donald Blake transform, Thor mentions very few mortals have ever seen the change.

Thor: “E’en Iron Man -- with whom I did share the secret of my dual life -- seldom watched me assume my godlike form. I believe it disturbed him.’

Wasp: “Uh-huh.”

Uh-huh is right. That’s a weird, random character beat! I wonder why it bothered Tony. Is it the god part? Transformation in general? Would it bother him to watch Bruce Banner turn into the Hulk? Or Captain Marvel/old broke version and Rick Jones chaaaaange places?

I’m intrigued. And yet there’s no further information. Hmm.

Anyway, the three founding or retroactively made a founding Avengers pass through two sets of ultra-security doors because obviously the thing in your base you most want to protect is your conference table.

Its got the cool, personalized chairs. Don’t judge.

As always, I wonder what symbols the other Avengers get.

Wasp delayed the resumption of the Avengers meeting (because it got interrupted by presidential ransom situation last issue) by a half hour because she wanted to run some things past Thor and Cap.

Wasp: “After all, we are the only core members on active duty and... well... I wanted to ask you both first... should I step down as Avengers chairwoman?”

Thor asks if she feels unduly burdened by the job but she says no, in fact it makes her feel so aliiiiiiiiiiive.

Cap: “Then stick with it, Jan! You’ve been doing a fine job! What on Earth made you even think of stepping down? Surely you don’t blame yourself for Iron Man leaving -- ?”

Surely in fact, she does do.

That weird call they got from an Iron Man quitting the team has shaken her. She probably thinks its because of Wasp dumping him. And in fairness, Tony ghosting the team happened not very long after that. But its not actually related.

Also apparently, Captain Marvel (the new cool one) was made a full active member and not an in-training to fill the vacancy Iron Man left. But now Hawkeye has gotten injured and there are no reserve members available.

Hercules is off doing him knows what. Beast is with the Defenders. Wonder Man is on the West Coast, presumably trying to make it in Hollywood. Vision and Scarlet Witch are trying to be civilians.

Wasp: “We used to have too many members around. Now we may not have enough!”

Yeah, ever since the roster shake-up that was soon followed by Hank’s No Good Very Bad Day, the Avengers have had a bit of a difficulty in keeping the team at good numbers.

Dammit, Hank!

Thor suggests, hey, we have Eros of Titan hanging around asking to be made a member. Why not... let him?

Thor: “Perhaps we should induct the brash Eros! He is swift -- and nearly as strong as an Asgardian!”

Cap: “Yes, but is he Avengers material? Does he have the proper training?”

Wasp: “Training! That’s it! We could try him out as an Avenger-in-training! It worked for Captain Marvel! She was almost totally unused to super-powers when she came to us, but she developed into a peach of an Avenger! With a little on-the-job training, I’ll bet Eros would fit in, too!”

So she calls the White House and asks if the president is back from his kidnapping yet. She has networking strings to pull.

And this honestly brightens her right up. Being group leader really does make her feel so aliiiiiiiiiiive. That and being able to call in favors from the government.

Twenty-six minutes of calling in favors later, Wasp reconvenes the meeting, this time with special guest Eros.

She asks why he wants to be an Avenger.

Eros: “Why not?”

This gives Hawkeye an anger and he bangs the table and also accidentally bangs his broken leg.

Eros decides to expand on his answer and says that he’s a lover of adventure and what better way to seek it than as an Avenger? He’s already aided them in the past so they already know of him.

Thor: “Aye! Against the threat of your mad brother, Thanos!”

Eros: “Too true. But I believe your brother Loki has also given the Avengers trouble hasn’t he?”

Wasp has to interrupt and tell the two to keep family matters out of the conversation. She makes a better moderator than some.

Eros: “You are quite right, Wasp! I hold no one -- god or man -- responsible for the actions of relatives! I seek but your fellowship! Indeed, I can think of no assemblage so appealing... so charming... anywhere in the cosmos!”

Wasp, Captain Marvel, and She-Hulk seem to approve of this answer.

... WAIT ARE YOU USING YOUR CHARM POWERS ON THEM? EROOOOOOOOOOOOOS!!!

Anyway, since Hawkeye is out of action-

Hawkeye: “What do you mean, ‘out of action’? Who says I am?”

Cap(tain America) says he is and tells him he can’t be expected to charge into action with his leg in a cast. Which Hawkeye sadly agrees.

Anyway, since Hawkeye is out of action, Wasp decides that the Avengers can accomodate Eros as an Avenger-in-training. But the government did have one condition for letting his alien man become an Avenger.

He needs a codename.

Wasp: “Frankly, the president was hesitant to approve of anyone named Eros. He would rather you were called something less provocative in public.”

Hey, fuck you, Reagan.

But Wasp has an idea.

Wasp: “You’re a pretty foxy guy... and you’ve been out among the stars... how about ‘Starfox!’”

Good god, Wasp. Did you really just name this man Spacehunk? You’ve gone mad with power.

Also, I jumped the gun last post. I didn’t realize that Wasp comes up with his codename here so I was using Starfox to refer to him already.

Also also, he has a fox emblem on his shirt. Why does he do that if he wasn’t Starfox yet? What does the fox represent in Titanian culture??

Eros: “Starfox? I don’t know... Is this necessary?”

Captain America: “Well, it could make things easier, and you’d still be Eros to your friends. After all, my real name isn’t Captain America!”

Eros: “It isn’t?”

Hah.

I adore that last exchange.

Imagine the incredulity in the tone. ‘I thought that Earth names were Just Like That.’

Anyway, Eros accepts the name Spacehunk Starfox and the position of in-training so Wasp decides to get him started right away.

Remember that thing with the president and the wood men? Happened like an hour ago?

Well, there’s a Navy task force tracking the submarine which was spotted escaping from the scene and they’ve requested Avengers help. But, eh, why send the whole team?

So Wasp sends Thor, Captain Marvel, and Starfox-in-training.

And in fairness! That’s a trio that can handle a whole heck of a lot with their respective powers!

So off they go.

Starfox: “Duty and glory, Thor! Songs shall be written about this day -- even if I must write them myself!”

You know. That’s actually a very good attitude to have. Eros will be the fanfiction he wants to see in the world.

With that issue handled, Cap(tain America) and Wasp head off to take care of some other business.

Leaving She-Hulk and Hawkeye with only each other as company.

Hah.

On their way to the mission, Captain Marvel zooms all around, practicing her cornering in flight. As a new superhero... like its been under a month, I think? Captain Marvel still thinks flying is the neatest thing.

And she’s right!

But she’s also discovered a new ability. Since her energy form is made of energy and she has control over energy. Instead of flying around as a vaguely her shaped glowing blur, she can concentrate to create a light image of herself, why not!

She has made herself harder to draw but easier to portray!

Thor: “Your radiance rivals that of the golden apples of immortality!”

Captain Marvel: “I’ll have to take your word for that!”

Hah.

She zooms over to where Starfox is flying. Captain Marvel has been eyeing him throughout the book, which Wasp has been assuming was because he’s a space hunk.

But maybe she just wanted to learn more about Captain Mar-Vell because that’s what she asks Starfox about.

Starfox: “He was a gentle warrior... a noble soul. He was a true hero... Worthy of rank and name!”

I guess the description or the sadness Starfox still has at Mar-Vell’s death makes Monica feel like shit, like maybe she isn’t worthy, so she zooms ahead to let the navy know the Avengers are on their way.

Starfox: “Have I offended her?”

Thor: “Eros, I begin to wonder if your reputation with the ladies is truly deserved.”

Hah.

But also: If you have magical fuck-me powers you don’t need to actually be charming, I guess? Dammit, Starfox!

Captain Marvel arrives on the deck of the navy task force flagship as a bolt of lighting (SHAZAM!), alarming the navy in two ways.

First, lightning. Its just so loud! But second, wait the Avengers only sent one person?

Captain Marvel goes nah I got Thor and Spacehunk but they’re slowpokes. Not moving the speed of light. Imagine.

Admiring Admiral: I don’t know who the redhead is, but I’d sail into Hades itself with Thor in my crew!

Its fun the insight we get into how respected and beloved Thor is. I don’t think that’s the case anymore with modern Thor. The marvel citenzry has just become jaded to the cool hammer man.

The admiral explains the situation. That they’re chasing the submarine seen in the area of the presidential ransom attempt. But its hiding in an undersea canyon that navy frogmen kero kero can’t reach and that its somehow been deflecting depth charges.

The admiral was going to wait for navy subs to arrive but hey, if the Avengers want to try, this is their book.

Meanwhile, in aforementioned sinister submarine, the horticultural horror... Plantman! Nah, just kidding. He’s a goofus and I will point and laugh.

His cool sub lets him pre-explode the depth charges before they reach his sub but even he doesn’t want to tangle with trident-class submarines so he wants to skedaddle. And if the navy is blocking his way, the navy gotta pay.

He activates his PLANT RAY which is a real thing, look it up, and energizes the kelp in the undersea canyon.

The kelp reaches up like a kraken, a kelpken, and starts trying to pull the navy ships under.

Thor: “‘Tis an attack by yet another form of plant! Our unknown foe has struck again! Stand you back... the son of Odin shall end this threat!”

And then Thor jumps into the ocean, leading a confused Starfox to ask whether Thor needs to breath.

Captain Marvel helpfully informs him and the audience that Thor can hold his breath for hours.

Thanks, Monica!

And then some kelp yanks Starfox and then Captain Marvel off the ship.

Meanwhile, a very expensive Manhattan apartment occupied by a grumpy Tony Stark.

Tony Stark: “Why waste good money getting a T.V. remote control fixed, when I can do it myself faster an’ better? Hah! When I’m done with it, it’ll do more’n change channels... it’ll walk the blasted dog!”

... Tony, how though?

And do you have a dog?

What is going on in your mind?

His remote repair reverie is interrupted by a binging and a bonging on his chamber door. Only this and nothing more.

He grouses about the interruption but HEY ITS HIS FAVORITE PEOPLE! Its Wasp and Captain America!

They’ve been stalking him, a little.

The pressing matters they had to attend to was running down a list of homes owned by Tony and searching them one by one to find him.

He’s happy to see them though and offers them some morning whiskey. Or bourbon. Or perhaps chocolate soda.

Look, I googled eyeopener and its booze you drink in the morning to wake up although I’m pretty sure its afternoon now and if you need to drink booze to wake up, you might want to consider limiting your intake actually. Especially for Tony Stark who had an entire story arc about alcoholism. Dammit Tony!

Wasp: “Eye-opener?! Tony Stark, where’s your mind? We’ve been worried sick about you! No one’s been able to find you for days on end -- you haven’t answered Avengers emergency calls -- and when you did call this morning it was to resign!”

Tony Stark: “Now jus’ hold yer horses! Maybe I have been outta touch... but I’ve had my own ‘mergencies to handle! An’ I didn’t call you this morning! I don’t even know what you’re talking about!”

Iron Man: “He’s right! I’m the one who made that call!”

Imagine being someone who reads Avengers and not Iron Man. How blown would your mind be seeing Iron Man fly into a room Tony Stark is already in?

Somewhat, right? Somewhat.

Imagine being Captain America and Wasp and seeing Iron Man fly into a room where Tony Stark is when you know for sure that Iron Man and Tony Stark are the same guy.

Cap demands to know whats going on and who is in Tony’s armor.

Tony Stark: “Jus’ who he appears to be... Iron Man, my faithful armored companion and bodyguard... jus’ like it says in the Stark International press releases! Ya see, boys an’ girls, ol’ Uncle Tony has decided to quit the hero biz while he’s still ahead of the game! No more playin’ Iron Man for me! Nosirrebob! Time to let a younger man wear the boilerplate!”

Oh.... Tony.... if this only weren’t the perpetual superhero narrative, you might be able to bow out gracefully.

And its not like this is gracefully anyway. As indicated by the charmingly tousled look, the slurred speech and the morning drinking in the afternoon, Tony is quite drunk.

Wasp asks New Iron Man to confirm and he does. He clarifies that the reason he quit the Avengers is because he doesn’t feel experienced enough yet to hold his own on the team.

And apologizes for the confusion. The Iron Man helmet has voice modifying circuits so New Iron Man (secretly James Rhodes) sounded just like Old Iron Man (aka Tony Stark). He didn’t realize that the Avengers knew Tony’s secret so didn’t realize he’d just be creating an intriguing mystery prompting readers to check out the Iron Man book slash confuse the Avengers.

Tony Stark: “Yeah... I forgot to tell ya that Cap an’ the Wasp were in on the ol’ secret. Thor, too! Oh, well... no harm done!”

Then he drinks some more booze alcohol. Cap asks him doesn’t he think he’s had enough? And Tony is like hey no I don’t and don’t butt into my life kthx.

Wasp: “We don’t want to pry, Tony! We just don’t want to see you throw your life away... like Hank did.”

Tony Stark: “I am not Hank Pym, lady! I’m nothin’ like your ex-hubby! I don’t need your help -- an’ you don’t need mine! The Stark Foundation will pay the Avengers’ bills with or without me! So, if you’ll kindly get out of my life -- !”

Oof. Why does everyone Wasp dates turn out to be a jerk?

I assume she was just leaning into it the time she dated Havok. But otherwise, oof.

They really have no choice but to leave Tony to make his own bad decisions. At least he was responsible enough to get someone else in the Iron Man armor?

Geez though. Geez.

Hate seeing you like this, Tones.

Meanwhile, back in the Atlantic Ocean... Captain Marvel fairly casually assesses the situation of being dragged into the water.

Captain Marvel: “Never saw any kelp like this before! It grips tighter than an octopus, and it feels as tough as steel! I could just turn to some form of energy and slip out of it, but then it could grab some poor sailor!”

So instead she explodes, which she can do, shredding the kelp holding her.

Then off she goes to find how Starfox is faring.

He’s faring okay. Just casually punching some kelp like it ain’t no thing.

But since teamwork does make the dream work, she blasts the kelp for him. Starfox thanks her though also says that he could’ve kelped himself.

They discuss how they can hear each other perfectly well underwater thanks to SCIENCE! The science of water conducting sound. I find it a bit dubious but whatever. Not as dubious as the next bit.

Captain Marvel asks how Starfox is breathing underwater.

Starfox: “A thin shell of air clung to me as I was pulled under... due to the gravitic potential of my body, I suppose! It all relates to my flying abilities. I was surprised myself! This is the first time I’ve ever taken an ocean plunge!”

Fun way to discover that, huh!

Also, heck, how long does a thin shell of air last underwater? How shallowly do you breathe, man!?

-google- Huh, Wikipedia has this description of his powers using almost the exact words (although not the word order) from this scene. I feel that it does not come up much so this is the primary source.

It also says that he doesn’t need to breathe as much as a normal hooman. So that’s answered.

The two newest Avengers find Thor already has things well in hand freeing the propeller without need for any further kelp.

So all three Avengers surface (and Thor retrieves his helmet, which in a nice bit fell off when he dove into the water and just floated on the surface).

Thanks to ex-boat cop Monica Rambeau knowing navy semaphore, she recognizes the signal from the navy vessel that the enemy sub is making a run for it.

And since none of these three Avengers have trouble fighting underwater, Starfox suggests they give chase.

Plantman: “NO! Not the Avengers! Not again!”

Yes, again. Yes, always.

He shoots some anti-personnel torpedoes, hoping they’re enough to stop the Avengers.

“They’re not.”

Hah. I love when captions get sassy.

The Avengers soon are busting into the sub, breaking through bulkheads and coming for Plantman.

Plantman realizes that they’ll have him trapped in the control cabin in seconds. So he pulls the last resort lever that his silent partner told him to pull as a last resort.

Some manner of escape sphere forms around Plantman, launching him high into the stratosphere and capsizing the sub right on top of the Avengers.

I mean, they’re beefy. I’m sure they’ll be fine.

But no time to verify that, SCENE CHANGE.

Over on Central Park West, She-Hulk has carried Hawkeye all the way from Avengers’ Mansion to his apartment. On foot.

Dang! Mighty nice of her! Even Hawkeye points out that he could have gotten a cab.

(But do we believe that Hawkeye has money for a cab?)

After gently dumping Hawkeye on his couch, She-Hulk asks if he wants to have her stick around. She literally has nothing better to do today.

Hawkeye: “Will you get out of here and leave me alone!!”

She-Hulk huffs off in anger because this is a rude way to thank someone who helps you home.

Hawkeye even realizes that he shouldn’t have yelled “but I can’t stand to have anyone mother-hen me! Besides, I have things to do... important things!”

Yeah, Hawkeye does seem like the kind of guy who hates getting any help at all because men are self-reliant and junk. Toxic masculinityyyyyyy!

And the important things? I dunno! He calls his head of security workplace Cross Technological Enterprises and tells them to send a car for him.

That’s probably going to be a thing in another issue. God forbid it be a thing in another book. I’m not made of time. I’m still dreading West Coast Avengers where Hawkeye goes off and makes his own team. The jerk.

Okay, back to the plot.

Thor, Captain Marvel, and Starfox of course shake off a submarine imploding on their heads without much effort. Starfox is the most shaken by it. Guess the new guy isn’t used to submarine implosions lol.

Meanwhile, Plantman’s escape pod keeps escaping up, up, and away but mostly just up.

Then a prerecorded message from Plantman’s ‘silent partner’ and/or ‘mysterious benefactor’ plays.

Wizard: “Plant-Man! This is a recording. If you have been so stupid as to get yourself in a predicament where you needed to use the emergency handle, you are now hearing this message.”

“While I appreciated your aid in escaping prison, the equipment I gave you should be considered payment in full. I owe you nothing more than an explanation.”

“Thanks to my anti-gravity generators -- which you activated along with this module -- you will soon find yourself safely in orbit!”

Plantman: “In orbit!”

Wizard: “There, you will be of no further embarrassment to me or our ‘partnership’ as you so distastefully called it. You will be beyond harm... for as long as your oxygen holds out. Farewell!”

Oof. Ice cold.

Ice cold, the Wizard.

Captain Marvel phases through the pod floor to basically say the same thing.

Plantman begs her to save him from his own dumb decision making. She’s like huh look, I don’t really know about anti-gravity but I do have an idea.

Then she blows a hole in the side of the pod.

And the pressure difference blasts Plantman out of the pod, right through Captain Marvel who has turned into intangible energy.

Captain Marvel: “Don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

HAH!

That was mean, Monica. I love it.

But as Plantman hurtles screaming toward the ground, Thor catches him and tells him to stop screaming beside.

Thor: “Cease your cowardly whining! The Avengers do not wantonly kill their foes... not even such as you!”

These days though... well... probably still not wantonly? Depending on how you define it? Maybe during War of Realms though. The kid gloves came off then.

Starfox is loving this by the way. The whole thing that just happened.

Starfox: “What grand sport! Yes, I think I’m going to enjoy being an Avenger!”

‘Ha ha we made that guy think he was going to die!’

Also, Plantman’s outfit looked green and purple in the sub. I guess it was the lighting because its just jolly green now. But its still a terrible outfit.

Meanwhile, back at Avengers’ mansion, Wasp is back from Tony Stark locating duty! She-Hulk is back from being angry at Hawkeye duty!

She-Hulk mentions that she took Hawkeye to his apartment and for a loudmouth, he has a really nice apartment.

She-Hulk: “I wish I could find a nice apartment, but I’m still getting lost in this town. I don’t know where to begin looking.”

Wasp: “Well, if you’re so set on getting a place of your own, why don’t I give you a hand?”

Wasp is going to fulfill her delayed promise to take She-Hulk apartment hunting! And hey, why not focus her efforts on a friend that will let her help?

So Wasp changes into street clothes (or since we see her shrink later, its more that she changed her Wasp outfit and put clothes over it, which is almost like getting dressed in street clothes) and takes Jen out on the town.

Apparently, the Daily Bugle has the largest section on rentals and real estate of any New York paper. I guess they need something aside from diatribes about Spider-Man to attract subscribers.

Ben Urich’s award winning investigative journalism can’t pay all the bills.

Because this is the same New York which frustrated Tigra, some idiot immediately starts hitting on She-Hulk at the newsstand.

Some idiot: “‘Ey, beeg mama! I love that green body paint! You need any help removing it? Huh?”

She-Hulk: “Stuff it, creep! Or better yet -- stuff you!”

And she puts the garbage man in the garbage can. Where he belongs. While Wasp literally looks the other way.

She-Hulk: “Sorry, Jan, I just don’t care for men with fresh mouths. This sort of thing would never happen in California.”

Wasp: “Oh, fer shure...”

That sounds like the polite way of saying ‘Doubt.’ Surely there are sexist jerks everywhere?

Sadly for the She-Hulk Apartment Hunt, her expectations are also a little LA centric. You’re just not going to find an affordable condo with a hot-tub in New York.

Wasp asks what She-Hulk has against the free rent at Avengers Mansion with its built-in sauna that they’ve apparently always had but never mentioned.

Avengers Mansion is real nice!

She-Hulk says she can’t get behind the idea of living where she works but as someone who works from home its actually highly recommended! Although, She-Hulk’s situation is more ‘firemen live in the firehouse’ so it lacks the ‘don’t have to wear pants to work’ aspect.

Then the apartment hunt is interrupted by an incoming crossover slash a stampede.

She-Hulk grabs a random panicking passerby out of the crowd and asks whats going on but he can’t give a good answer.

She-Hulk: “Hot dog! I was hoping something would happen to break up the monotony. So far, this afternoon has been a big, dull...” -THUD-

First, I love She-Hulk’s enthusiasm for punching.

Also, hey, who put thin air in She-Hulk’s way!

There’s some kind of invisible barrier right across the sidewalk.

She-Hulk instantly decides that the thing to do is to TEAR INTO THE PAVEMENT TO SEE HOW DEEP IT GOES.

Instead of, y’know, feeling to see how wide it stretches.

Wasp tries blasting thin air too but to no avail.

Despite She-Hulk reminding everyone that “at close range, your sting can knock down a wall!”

And when she really tries, a whole house.

She-Hulk: “Wasp... This is impossible! We’re Avengers! Nothing can stop us!”

Wasp: “She-Hulk... I’ve the strangest feeling it just did.”

And apparently: this is to be continued in THE ANNIHILATION GAMBIT! Which is a crossover with Fantastic Four!

Which means I actually need to pop over to an Avengers Annual first because despite running into the invisible wall (Sue, is that you?) the Avengers are doing stuff on the Moon before getting involved.

I dunno. I’ll see when I get to it.

And you will too! Provided you follow @essential-avengers! Also maybe like and reblog? Who can say.

#avengers #Plantman #the Wasp #Captain America #Thor #Captain Marvel #Monica Rambeau #she hulk #Starfox #Iron Man #Tony Stark #James Rhodes #we learn whats going on with iron man #starfox has a good day #hawkeye is a rude #essential avengers #essential marvel liveblogging

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popcornbutterflymedia · 3 years

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it’s a little before seven in the evening as i am attempting to begin writing this post on the day a former president has died. in other words, i am winging it and praying it comes out half decent. i have been winging all my the posts for this show, but writing this post about this particular episode at the tail end of the last week is interesting, to say the least.

upon first viewing on iwanttfc, i had already tweeted “consider this the soul of the show.” at this point we’re not even halfway to the entire series. that declaration carries such weight, but this episode did prove to be the soul of the series. this is also the first episode i’ve had a visceral reaction to, beyond the understandable kilig. i was lightheaded, stumped, and on the verge of tears after the first episode viewing, that’s probably why this is taking awhile to put out.

this also feels like an episodic answer to a lot of questions.

max has entered the lion’s den, lost, but with her defenses up. deib was less than prepared to fight back, considering the circumstances, but he was quick to gather his wits about him, pinning max where he is at an advantage. even now, as i am writing it, i feel it - it’s a notch above giddiness, it’s an awareness, it’s pushing the envelope in a way that’s right for their age, but still surprising, and refreshing. it’s the naughtiness of the sly smiles, the role reversal, and the trading of banter, all of them collectively are building blocks to max and deib’s dynamic.

the banter graduates to actual conversation, that, for people who are considered arch rivals, is surprisingly decent, and seemingly cordial. both max and deib give as good as they get, much like a tennis rally where either one refuses to be on the losing end. this amuses to no end, and ups the kilig factor in such an intelligent and substantial way. this is how you know, this part of the series is their story. more on this later.

outside of the boy’s room, the banter becomes a challenge, a daring as represented by a pool table, and the number of games that such table hosts. these pool games between benison’s star player and mindoro’s top billiard player, and pool center fixture, these games are metaphors, with the stakes higher each game, for their rivalry, and their curiosity about each other. more so his curiosity about this slip of a girl who he finds difficult to win against. i daresay, at some point he gave up trying to win, and just gave in seeing her in a different light. deib’s eyes give him away, and as for donny’s eyes, finally doing the work, this is it, and it’s a sight to see, a growth to enjoy.

it’s a given that belle makes donny’s job easier for him. four episodes in, and i am still in awe at belle’s ability to transform. it’s still surprising, how she willingly gets lost in character. i am watching max, but she doesn’t make me forget that i am watching belle. it’s a weird thing i have watching actors in character - i am aware i am watching both the character and the actor wholly and simultaneously, and belle is one of the few who makes me do that with ease.

deib’s mother announces her presence, interrupts the pool tournament shaping up between taguro and sensui.

in front of his mother, deib the star bear, the alpha disappears. he signals for max to leave, and just when she was about to, max is invited to join them for dinner. it is insisted that she join her for dinner. he warns his friend: 'don't say anything that will get us into trouble' prompting said friend, max to wonder, what could she ever say that will put them both in trouble?

at the dinner table, the silence weighs heavy between mother and son. a silence foreign to the lone guest, a silence she attempts to diffuse, by talking about anything other than subjects, as touchy as family, and the like. then again, between this mother and son, the line between touchy and permissible topics of conversation are blurred and fragile.

food! food is a free for all, food is a benign subject. the food's delicious, is it her own recipe? max is genuinely curious ma'am. the woman across the table laughs off such a formal honorific. call her auntie, she says. 'tita' is more like it. 'tita' it is, max decides. not stopping there, max asks if she'd gone to one of deib's games to see his lay ups and three pointers. she regaled him with embellished stories of his reputation, of being an all around star student and an instant friend. this, much to the mother's relief - her son is apparently surrounded by good people. max was able to do all this, when all deib asked of her was to not get both of them, into trouble. just like that, the girl single handedly broke the tension and dispelled the air of formality, in a way no one else has. if that isn't enough of a surprise for deib, max held the door open for him, and granteded him access to his own mother's heart, and let hope spring in his own.

after dinner, we find max and deib in his room, steeped in the assigned work. it's an easy silence between them, proof that from that dinner encounter, something new and beautiful and unnamed grew between them. he pays her his due, and thanks her for not damaging his reputation more in front of his own mother. so he knows how to say thank you, after all, she's surprised...in jest. he allows it. and so insues an exchange of histories, and fears and lessons. she reads him so perfectly, he's supposed to be scared, or condemn her, or banish her from this earth, or whatever it is the deib lhor enrile does to those who get a bit too close for comfort. he, instead allows it, giving her unprecedented access to his friends, his brother, his heart. and his heartbreaks. he dares to get closer himself, in the most physical sense so the curiosity planted at the pool table grew exponentially. that is until she breaks the spell. there is resistance in letting him in, which he knows to hold against her. he wins, and she relents. we learn of a ghost of a past love, a young love. a better player than deib is.

just a note though: for a past love who ghosted her, max boasts of rj being the better basketball player still. this could be true, based on who I am guessing rj is, but consider this: could she be clinging onto the untarnished memory she has of this first love, disregarding the pain she was caused, because straying away from that memory will allow her the space to fall, and that's what she promised herself she would never do? if that's the case, max is just as complex as deib is, maybe even more so.

after knowing her story, he did promise to go up against this ghost of a lover, in a one on one game of basketball and win it for her. someone is making her promises now. that's unsettling.

meanwhile, the barb is winding down as alpha two plus lorde strolls in. they keep it open for the boys who are in for a later night shot of caffeine, sweets, a shot at love perhaps?

art and sweets and flirtatious, funny quips are choice ammunition in this game of love, or something like it. naih's confidence is legendary. she gets away with her boldness because of criza's charm. joao, you know, that boy always makes it work.

tob and michiko are easy, because rhys and kaori make it easy. i understand the visual. I get the chemistry. I swear I get the hype. I have been waiting for this. you all know that. they've only cemented their place in the industry as new partnership, and there are hardly any words for it, a chemistry this strong. theirs is an unspoken connection and sincerity that cannot be taught. they are all that.

it is clear, though, that this is deib and max's story. see, I have been hyping myself up for thst tochiko moment, probably from the time when we still had very little news in the junket about donny and belle. and they did deliver, they did not disappoint. max and deib's chemistry surprisingly captured my heart from the get go, though, especially in this episode (as they should, this is, again, their story anyway). if I was a teenager, I would be fawning over tochiko's eye to eye silent conversation and up to now, I still do to some extent. I'm just older now. give me substantial kilig more than anything any day. give me kilig in context. kilig that opens up the heart. kilig with emotional intimacy.

max and deib in the fourth episode is kilig (just as tob and michiko are), but I can't stress enough, just how much and why. from the entire conversation from the banter to the interaction with the mom to the entire encounter in the room, they aren't trying to make us kilig. it isn't exactly sweet, but you'll reach a point where just the mere act of people wanting to have a conversation with you is life changing, when someone cares enough not to put you in more trouble than you expect, matters so much more. it shows you your worth. and that to me is the sweetest most loving thing ever. that is, even before both of them acknowledge that love between them.

a breakthrough has been reached. walls have been shattered.

the day of their school presentation, the event is met with an air of uncertainty, not for the two's lack of skill, but because two people from separate ends of the social spectrum are to work together, which up to that point is unprecedented.

the presentation started out shaky even for max and deib themselves, but once they got drafted, they had the audience, most of them, at least in the palm of their hands.

'we are all bullies, yet we are also victims. the cycle never ends...because we are all trying to survive this cruel world, trying to succeed, trying to grow. trying to discover who we really are. trying to accept who we really are. trying to be accepted for who we really are...'

this was followed by definitive apologies from both deib, for bullying, and max, for judging, and not necessarily helping to make things better. this prompted the entire community to mingle, and make their own apologies.

a few things about this whole moment:

there is such power in calling things as they are, calling things by their name. 'bully' and 'victim' are such weighted words and there is such a relief in taking responsibility for your disgressions and through that responsibility allowing your victim to embraced their pain guiltlessly.

there is also such power and humility, that while one did not do anything explicit, to stop the cycle, they did not do anything to make things better, easier. there is humility in realising that even as a victim your own pain, might have caused more pain to others.

apologies matter. the word 'sorry' matters. and it matters across the board. while metaphorical apologies are in some ways acceptable, and poetic, sometimes, the simpler, the better. a sincere 'sorry' should suffice. no one is ever too old to apologize.

now, even the sincerest words have parameters that are dictated by how many listen, and how many don't. and that's what we cannot control. there is power in recognizing who you are in the community, and that, especially when you are in a place of influence, you have the power to create change. the power to stop the cycle. there is peace in knowing we've done all that we could to make things better, just like deib had his own moment of reckoning.

as for max, the moment she stepped into that school, she was meant to be a trailblazer, and even at this point, she had been nothing but an agent of change.

I am curious now, how she is changed by the newness of her surroundings and the possibility of a budding love?

everything is well and dandy for everyone else, max and deib even had that little moment by the tables, again with the simple but powerful chemistry. everyone is changing (this is a shoutout to melizza again. every time the camera pans to her, especially when max was speaking at the auditorium, you could sense an internal transformation. she knows the assignment well, huh? )...everyone else, but aimee. I feel sorry for her. it makes me want to know more of her story. what makes her cling to being mean? why the volatility? more than anger, there's curiosity. I feel sorry for her. there's more to be told. breakthroughs open the narrative up for more, newer stories.

this was a fast one to write, but I held off until these last few moments, because it's incredibly triggering and just as healing. more than the kilig I understand and we all enjoy, the real message is the importance of communication, telling people how you really feel. don't let them assume and don't assume they know. it's also important to call things as they are, even if it's ugly, even as it hurts. some days, there is no replacement for a 'sorry,' a genuine apology.

be gentle. be kind. listen. everyone, after all, is a story.

#tv #tv: he's into her

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lunaraen · 5 years

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I figure a number of the people following me probably do because of a shared interest in Minecraft: Story Mode, and I’m absolutely going to take the time to gush and recommend a different series with a similar sense of humor and ability to balance the jokes with emotion. I know some of the people who follow me are also interested in series like Percy Jackson and Trollhunters, and I think The Last Kids on Earth series is on a similar level to them too, in the sense that it deals with stories about awesome and terrifying adventures featuring teenagers who are just doing their best and who haven’t lost their senses of humor. The Last Kids on Earth also has the benefit of, while being presented mainly through text, having many fun illustrations.

TL;DR: The Last Kids on Earth, written by Max Brallier and illustrated by Douglas Holgate, is a delightfully fun book series that twists what you might expect from a post-apocalyptic story with a just as fun Netflix mini-series adaptation, and while only Book One is up on Netflix now, it’s an hour and seven minute long episode. The series seems to be decently stocked in most libraries, including electronically, so if you’re looking for something fun, silly, and with heart to read, I definitely suggest at least checking out book one. If you want something fun, silly, and with heart to watch, and you also happen to have Netflix, I also definitely recommend watching Book One.

(Oh, and are you a total sucker for found families like I am? This series has you covered.)

More details about the first book and examples of the art and writing under the cut!

For starters, the series has a wonderfully fun art style, and the cover for the first book lets that shine. The other books’ covers are all fun too, but I think tumblr would kill this post many times over if I tried to include them all.

[ID: Illustrated cover, four defiant teenagers stand in a mostly circular formation while grey zombie-like figures with glowing yellow eyes surround them from behind. Each teenager is wielding a weapon, some of which are partly concealed and harder to identify. The character centered at the front holds a splintered and sharp baseball bat and is wearing nondescript pouches. The teenager behind him wields a crossbow with a modified soda-bottle-arrow loaded in it. The title reads “The Last Kids on Earth” in stylized green text with a dark blue border, while in smaller less stylized white text it reads “Max Brallier Author of Galactic Hot Dogs” at the top and “Illustrated by Douglas Holgate” at the bottom.]

The main character of the series, who we meet forty two days after the start of the apocalypse in his town and the Possible End of the World as We Know It™, is Jack Sullivan, a 13 year old whose foster family kinda-sorta-entirely ditched him at the first signs of trouble.

[ID: A white, black haired teenager frowning and holding a splintered baseball bat and a hockey stick while one foot rests on top of an unusual spiny reptilian-like monster head. The text above him reads in black “JACK SULLIVAN -The Hero-” while a number of flavor-text text boxes point out and describe different aspects of his apparel. One pointing to his hand reads “Annoying hand-nail I can’t stop picking at”. Another pointing at his bat says “Louisville Slicer™”. Another for his shoe, reading “Worst. Shoes. Ever.”. The hockey stick is labelled “Hockey Stick, for conking zombie heads.” The pouch at his side are described as “Emergency Peanut M&M Pouch”, while the filled water balloons also hanging at his side are labeled as “Grapefruit juice hand grenades- a blast to the eyes blinds almost anything.”]

He’s our narrator, and he copes largely through humor- a skill he needs even before the start of the apocalypse, because he’ll put himself in danger and say things he shouldn’t if it means sticking up for his best friend.

[ID: Text that reads “I felt Quint’s hand on my shirt, trying to stop me, saying ‘Jack, it’s fine...’ But it wasn’t fine. I hate jerks- whether they’re monster jerks or zombie jerks or just regular human jerks.”

Followed by illustration of characters on bus, Jack turned around in his seat and supporting himself with the back of his chair as he asks “Hey, Dirk, why don’t you pick on someone your own size, huh?” Quint, a black teenager, is sitting behind him and is partly obscured, staring at Jack and Dirk. Dirk, a large, tall white teenager with a mullet/mohawk, is a distance away from the characters and in the foreground of the image, and replies, “Find someone my size and I will.”

Text resumes, reading “I shrugged. ‘I’m sure we can find someone your size. Right, Quint?’ Quint looked out the window and closed his eye and started humming to himself, like he wasn’t involved in this. Sonofa... I turned back to Dirk. ‘Maybe a very rotund panda bear? That might be closer to your impressive figure.’ Dirk reached out and grabbed me by the collar. ‘Hey, Watch the jacket,’ I said. ‘It’s a five-time-hand-me-down. Might even be an antique.’ Dirk growled, ‘You think you’re funny?’ ‘I do. But to be fair, I also think people slipping on ice are funny. And guys getting hit in the groin. My sense of humor isn’t exactly sophisticated.’”]

From the start of the book, Jack handles the apocalypse pretty well, spending his time cataloging the monsters he comes across, keeping track of self made video-game like achievements like knocking off zombie hats, and we first find him focused on trying to get in touch with his previously mentioned best friend, Quint Baker.

[ID: Similar to previous flavor-text text box picture of Jack, with a black teenager smiling, wearing a lab coat and cap, holding a pocket watch, and wearing a large backpack with odd looking technology sticking out of it. In black, the text above him reads “QUINT BAKER -The Best Friend-”. A box pointing to his hat reads “Old-man cap.” Another points to his hair, reading “Hair smells like movie theater popcorn butter.” The pocket watch is described as “Pocket watch for looking dorky.” The text pointing at the technology sticking out of the backpack says “Always working on a new gadget or experiment.” The text for the lab coat reads “Wears a lab coat as a jacket for no good reason.” His sneaker is labelled with “Non-athlete’s foot.”]

Actually- to give you an even better idea of the series’ humor, this is pretty much where we start with Jack, followed by him explaining what he’s been doing and how he got here.

[ID: Jack in mid-air, the bat raised above his head and his legs bent to suggest he has leaped forward, above a large multi-eyed spiny monster that has many sharp teeth, two large tusks, and a long drooling tongue. In black, text above the creature reads “Deadly Duel!” In the lower right-hand corner, all-caps white text in a small black box asks “Who will triumph?!”]

(By the by, the “duel” kind of goes the way you think it would.)

[ID: Text reading “Well, basically, he triumphs. The monster’s massive hand snatches me out of midair. I’m a thimble in his gargantuan grasp. I try to grab hold of my baseball bat blade (aka the Louisville Slicer) but the monster’s crushing grip pins my arms to my sides. He pulls me in close to his face. Thick saliva, like slime, oozes down his lips. His eyes scan me over and his gaping nostrils flair as he inhales my scent. I feel like that blonde babe in King Kong. Only I don’t think this beast wants to hug me and love me... He sniffs some more, blowing my hair back as he exhales. I turn my face. His breath, it’s just- wow- my man here needs to floss. I’ve encountered other freaky beasts over the last forty-two days, but none like this. None that examined me: looking me over, smelling me, studying me.”]

Then we get all the fun backstory end of the world stuff.

[ID: White all-caps text at the top reads “Total monster zombie chaos” while below a large multi-armed, spiny, sharp-toothed, furry monster towers over a sea of zombies, flinging one car in the air as another car sits in the background.]

The end of the world monsters include everything from weird unfamiliar creatures like the one above to more familiar weird creatures like the typical zombie below.

[ID: A zombie in ripped clothing, with black text at the top labeling it a “Classic Zombie”. A speech bubble from it in shaky text reads “Mmuhhh...” and various flavor-text text boxes surround it. The speech-bubble is labeled as “Constant, creepy moaning.” The head’s text box reads “Those empty eyes- they’re spooksville.” The mouth is pointed at and its box says “Bite you and you’re one of them. Undead!” One pointing at its back warns “Stink like hot garbage.” The feet are described as “Slow, until they get close- then fast!”]

And for all the wisecracks and jokes about how well he can handle the new apocalyptic world, early on Jack is shown to be more than just a 2-D smart-mouthing teenage protagonist. He’s pretty good at coping, but he’s still 13.

[ID: Illustration above text, showing a walkietalkie shattering as it hits a rock. Black all-caps text reads “Smash!”

Normal text reads “I stared at the walkie on the ground below. I needed to talk to Quint, but -I’m embarrassed to admit- I was too scared to go down there. Too freaked out. Too scared. Too everything. So I curled up on the floor. I pulled a jacket down over me. I put my earphones in to drown out the sounds of chaos outside. And I slept. I slept for days. It got worse. Zombies everywhere. Giant monsters on the horizon. I blacked out the tree house windows and stayed put.”]

Jack doesn’t stay alone for long, though, and the first book follows him and his friends as they help each other not only survive their crazy new world but also live in it, and maybe actually have some fun along the way. While the first book largely focuses on the group coming together, later stories ramp up the scope of adventures and the threats they face while letting the characters’ interactions and care for each other shine. There’s fun development to be had and cool monster-butt to kick.

(This was my first time writing image descriptions- if you think they can be improved, let me know!)

#The Last Kids on Earth #Last Kids on Earth

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dawnrider · 4 years

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All 30 of the writer ask :) ♡

HOOOOEY, @hnnwnchstr So I’m going to cut out the ones I’ve already been asked and the ones that are asks for specific fics.

1. What was the first fandom and/or pairing that you wrote fic for?

Inuyasha, InuKag. Followed closely by (Vision of) Escaflowne, Van/Hitomi

2. Do you participate in any writing events or challenges throughout the year? If so, what do you like about them?

I did Inuvember last year, which was the first time I’d participated in anything like that. It was good for me to get over some of my anxiety about posting new story ideas. I also participated in the impromptu Valentine’s Day “event” and then the more organized Inuyasha White Day earlier this year which we had a lot of fun with!

3. Do you write fics from start or finish, or jump around?

Definitely jump around. It’s a curse for finishing plots, but it does help keep me from getting really really stuck.

4. Do you outline before you start writing? If so, how far do you stray from that outline?

Almost never? I did a bit for Masquerade, the Inuparents side story, but mostly to make sure I didn’t forget anything and to keep it within the plotline of what I’d already written for Your Lying Smile.

5. What is the perfect environment for you to write in?

Coffee Shop, hands down. But I rarely get to do that, so often the next best thing is a comfy couch spot in my house. I really need a better armchair...

6. If you’re really concentrating, how many words can you write in a day?

UHHH. I don’t really keep track of that very well. I tried one of those apps that tracks it, but it was hard when I typically have multiple story tabs open at the same time. But I think in one day, my top was like… 5000 words, give or take? Recently. Back before Grad School and kiddo, I probably did more in a day than that over multiple stories.

7. Which part of writing do you struggle with most?

Drawing out the plot. My plotlines are always too short and not… complicated enough, for lack of a better word. It’s something I’m working on.

8. Do you listen to music while you write? If so, share a song that’s been inspiring you lately.

Sometimes. I have a Spotify list of “liked” songs that range from punk to R&B to alternative to pop. I don’t have any specific story for it yet, but Sara Bareilles’ Once Upon Another Time has been haunting me lately.

9. Do you prefer to write AUs, canon divergence, or canon-compliant fic?

Based on my Drive folders, I’mma say AUs (43+ is hard to argue with), but Canon-Divergent is probably next in line.

10. Do you enjoy writing dialogue, exposition, or plot the most?

Exposition. My writing is pretty description heavy with dialogue sprinkled in.

13. Is there a trope you wouldn’t write if it was the last trope on earth?

Darkfic. I can’t not have them have a happy ending in some capacity. It might be a little bittersweet (some of you probably know the fic I’m thinking of) but ultimately they end up together and happy.

14. If you were stuck on a desert island with only two characters, which would you pick?

Specifically from Inuyasha? Inuyasha and Sango, because Sango would come up with a plan to get us off the island and Inuyasha would make it happen. Also Shirtless!Inu...

16. What is your most underrated fic?

This is a weird question. Anyway, um… I guess To Sleep Perchance to Dream? I haven’t updated it in a while so I think it’s fallen off people’s radar.

17. What fic are you most proud of?

Return to Me, I think? Short as it is, I think I accomplished what I set out to do in that storyline.

18. What is a line/scene you’re really proud of? Give us the DVD commentary for that scene.

Oh Lort… Too many stories to sift through… Most recently, a scene between Izayoi and an OC in the upcoming chapter for YLS: Masquerade. She’s understandably distraught from her ordeal and she’s trying to buck up because she knows crying won’t help anything. But the OC, one of the other women who was taken, comforts her and reminds her that it’s alright to lean on others sometimes. I like the tenderness of a woman being a shelter and a rock for another woman, even who don’t know one another well, instead of it being that a man comforts her.

19. Who is the easiest/hardest character for you to write about? Why?

Easiest: Inuyasha. Aside from the fact that I feel like I’ve gotten his speech patterns down decently well… I identify with him in a lot of ways.

Hardest: Erm… Miroku? I have a hard time pinning down the intelligent grifter/perv/thoughtful monk balance. In my AUs I tend to make him some other field rather than have him be a monk because in a different context, I doubt that would have been his path. Scholar, doctor, advisor, professor/teacher… Those make sense for him to me.

21. What is the one fic that got away?

I’m assuming this means one that I meant to write but didn’t… But that’s not really my thing. LOL. I keep all the WIPs. I may not keep writing all of them, but I keep them all in my “pocket” for a rainy day.

22. Have you cried while writing a fic?

Yes. Not much, I’m not much of a crier, but I got teary writing Inuyasha’s fear/pain/regret in Given and the mutually angsty scene in Underlying Truth.

23. If you had to remix one of your own fics, which would it be and how would you remix it?

Given is actually a remix of an earlier fic I called A Demon’s kiss which started with the same premise, but focused more on them talking out their feelings and without quite the depth of emotion. But for something I’ve posted and needs a reboot, it would be A Silent Affair. I need to rewrite huge swaths of the interpersonal interactions, particularly between Inuyasha and Kagome.

30. Tell us an idea for a longfic you want to write in the future.

I mean, LONG is not really my forte (see aforementioned issues with plot development), but I have shared little bits of my post “apocalypse” fic Gone and my other space fic Caged Bird which could be longer. I also have the Farscape AU which I haven’t officially named… still… But that will be more episodic than plot driven.

#hnnwnchstr #I DID IT #That's all of em

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musicanddancingthroughlife · 5 years

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Shklance -- Alone (Sharpshooter Series)

Pretty sure I’ve posted some of this once or twice, but I finally finished it, so have the rest too. This is the full story, though it looks like it’s part of a series. I’m pretty sure the series just has a common theme, but we’ll see if and how that changes in the future. Anyway, I love writing about Shiro and Keith taking care of Lance (and yes I am projecting thanks). Anyway, hope you enjoy it.

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

“Lance, what has gotten into you?!” The silence that followed Shiro’s question only angered him further. “LANCE.”

Hunk moved in front of Lance protectively as Lance cringed back. Keith and Allura looked on in horror, while Pidge stepped up next to Hunk. Despite her size, she could sure be intimidating. Keith gripped Lance’s arm, only squeezing harder as Shiro went on a weird rampage, anger met in ferocity only by Hunk’s and Pidge’s own.

Keith wrapped his arm around lance’s shoulders, moving to lead him out of the control room and back to their bedrooms.

Keith tugged Lance into his own bedroom, rarely used now that the three of them were dating, but still kept fairly neat and clean. He easily settled Lance on his lap, then pulled a blanket over to them, carefully but tightly wrapping it around Lance.

Despite his arm steadily being trapped by the blanket, Lance didn’t even blink. He let out a quiet whimper and leaned back into the solid warmth of his boyfriend. Keith cuddled him close, whispering endearments and petnames and stroking his fingers through his hair.

They both knew Shiro was stressed, both tired and suffering from extreme nightmares (and really, who wouldn’t be?), but sometimes Keith wondered if he was the only one who noticed that Lance seemed to be struggling just as much, if not more, some nights. After Keith had returned from the Blade, he knew there was a few nights Lance snuck out of bed, leaving a still and silent Shiro, and spent a few hours in the Observation room. Keith had found him quietly sniffling there, or sometimes he ran into him on his way back from the training room. He was always eager to return to their bed with Keith, and though he’d noticed Lance was a little clingier than usual those nights, Keith didn’t mind and so said nothing. Besides, it wasn’t uncommon still for him to get homesick, though it had gotten better since they had visited and saved Earth. Especially, after they had managed to figure out communications with Earth. So… maybe there was more to it.

Keith glanced back down at his trembling armful, feeling a strange sort of rage towards Shiro. They had agreed they would always be there for each other, and especially they for Lance. He was special to them, and didn’t always take very good care of himself. He gave away too much. He gave too much of himself to others. Too generous. Too selfless. He couldn’t help but press Lance closer to him as he remembered Lance collapsing after he took that hit for Coran. Lance mewed in protest, forcing Keith’s mind back to the task at hand.

He knew Shiro didn’t mean to hurt Lance the way he had. The guilt in his eyes when Hunk had leapt to his defense said as much. Keith wondered if maybe Hunk would know what was bothering his boyfriend. Maybe something had happened while Keith was gone. It was ages ago, but… It was worth asking, at least. Keith glanced down at the now-dozing Lance. He was worth it.

Keith ended up holding and cuddling Lance a lot longer than planned. He didn’t even realize how late it was until a very upset-and-sheepish-looking Shiro peeked in. Keith shot him a half-hearted glare but was too exhausted for much else.

“How is he?” Shiro’s voice was merely a hushed whisper, and a rush of relief flooded Keith at that. He shook his head. “It was rough, Shiro. He’s really not doing well.”

Shiro shuffled in slowly, doubt made visible in his eyes by the soft lights Keith had left on. “I know. I’m sorry.” Before Keith could respond, Shiro continued, “I thought he seemed a little off lately, but I also really hoped I’d been imagining it. Still, I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did.”

And damn it, but… Keith really couldn’t stay mad at Shiro.

Shiro must have been something of it in his face, because once he had deemed it to be safe, Shiro joined them at the bed, bending over to scoop up the bundle of Lance and walk him to their shared bedroom. Keith followed close behind.

Lance let out a quiet whine, squirming and nuzzling closer to Shiro’s broad chest. And Shiro knew he was in trouble with Keith, and that he had no right to Lance right now, but he had to stop himself from cooing out loud at the sweet boy in his arms. It had been a while since he had been able to really cuddle with Lance like this. It seemed like he was always after the boy for something or other, and Lance himself had been quite distracted as of late. Come to think of it, it had been a while since he’d really spent any kind of quality time with Lance. At least with Keith, he could say they had spent time strategizing and planning, but Lance had never really helped with that. Not in the same way, at least. Though, that was hardly his fault. He had tried, but… Shiro had always brushed him off. He looked down at the peaceful beauty in his arms. With a sigh, he leant his head forward to nuzzle at Lance’s forehead, smiling gently at the sigh it earned him. He really hadn’t been there for this darling boy, had he? He remembered the way Keith had been there for Lance, pride buzzing in his chest. At least they were still there for each other.

It wasn’t until Shiro had thoroughly tucked their sweetheart into bed that Keith asked, but he had to know. “Shiro, seriously, what’s been up with you? Why did you go off on Lance like that today?”

It took him a few minutes to answer, but he forced himself to as he focused on Lance’s hair, tugging gently at the soft strands that were growing out, much to his horror, but his partners found it endearing. “I’m not entirely sure, Keith.” He owed it to both of them to be honest. “I’ve just… ever since the attack on Earth, I’ve felt so much pressure. Now everyone on Earth knows what we’re trying to do. They’ll know if we fail, and they’ll know that it’s our fault. I can’t… I can’t fail them.” He turned glassy eyes on his boyfriend, willing the tears not to fall just yet.

“I can’t fail Allura and Coran, or Hunk and Pidge. I can’t fail you and Lance. You’re all my family, and I have to make sure Lance gets back to his family. Otherwise everyone will know it was my fault.” He let the tears fall, though his confession wasn’t quite done yet.

“And I’ve just felt so lost, and, and angry. I’ve lost so much, and the universe keeps trying to take from me and I don’t deserve what I have and I don’t even know how to save this…” Shiro turned to Keith with a desperate, pleading look in his eyes, “I don’t know what to do right now.”

Keith was stunned. He had rarely seen Shiro look so upset, or so devastated. He knew part of the problem was the sleep deprivation the man was suffering from, but he’d had no idea of the rest of it. But. Now that he knew the issue, he could dedicate himself to fixing it. He studied the broken, tired man sitting before him as his mind raced for a plan of attack.

“All right, love, here’s what we’re going to do.”

First, Keith was determined to get Shiro the rest he so desperately needed. Shiro protested, but the next morning, Keith recruited their wonderfully forgiving third and together, they managed to bully Shiro into getting more than two nights of decent sleep a week. This definitely helped to improve his patience and attitude. Even Coran had seen a difference, which surprised Shiro, as they didn’t normally talk to each other.

Keith was also determined to give Shiro the snuggles he didn’t know he was craving, but that’s where his plan hit a bit of a snag. Everyone knew that Lance gave some of the best cuddles, but he seemed extremely hesitant to sit with Shiro for too long. After a few minutes of contented silence, he would always manage to wriggle his way out of their blanket nests, announcing he had something he needed to do. Sometimes he claimed he had promised to help Coran or Allura, other times he conveniently remembered a question he had for Hunk or Pidge, but without fail, he refused to sit with the two of them for more than ten minutes.

Though Keith knew that the physical contact Shiro was getting – as well as the sleep – was helping, he also knew that they needed to do something about their darling boy. Time for the second stage of his plan.

Shiro was pleased to find that this stage actually required his help, and that it focused on someone besides him. He was grateful to Keith for the attention he was giving him, but he was also more concerned about Lance than himself. He felt that he needed to do something to make his foul behavior up to their boyfriend. Keith wasn’t the only one who had noticed Lance leaving their bed in the middle of the night frequently. (Though, Shiro did have to admit that now he was getting quality sleep, it was a lot easier to pay attention to what was happening to those around him.) Unfortunately, anytime Shiro or Keith brought it up or tried to talk to Lance, he brushed it off before darting away. It was as cute as it was frustrating.

But Shiro was determined to change that.

Keith, oddly enough, had been the one to try and find a softer approach to the issue, but it didn’t take long to convince him that this would be the easiest. After all, they had already tried soft, hadn’t they?

So, after insisting Lance take up his old position of sleeping between the two of them instead of on Keith’s left side (and when they hell did he change sleeping positions and why the hell had Shiro not noticed or said anything???), they slowed their breathing and feigned sleep. After nearly an hour, Lance tried to sleep out from the between them. Of course, this was made difficult by his new position, pinned between them, and also by the hands that had shot out to grip his wrists, forcing him to remain in the bed. Lance stayed quiet, but he still squirmed and kicked. Keith shifted his weight so he could pull a leg up across Lance’s and save Shiro some bruises, and Shiro placed his own free hand of Lance’s heaving chest.

“Lance. What’s wrong?” Keith glared, and yeah, maybe Shiro could’ve eased into it, but even in the dim starlight, he could see the exhaustion and pain in Lance’s eyes and it was killing him. He went to rub Lance’s stomach. “C’mon, kitten, talk to us, please?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Lance spat at them, though the effect was ruined by his heavy breathing.

“What the hell do you mean it doesn’t matter?” Keith demanded.

“Look, it’s not something we need to worry about, okay? I know that I’m useless, and that I need to work harder and be better. I get it, okay? Just let me adjust to that—”

“Lance, what the hell are you talking about?” Shiro broke in, bewildered. “Where did you get that idea?”

Lance resolutely slammed his mouth shut. He was still struggling, either trying to further cover his mouth with his hand, or to twist his face into the pillows beneath him but neither of them allowed that. Finally, Lance had to admit defeat. He slumped against the bed, still panting heavily. He mumbled something and Shiro sighed. “A little louder please?”

“…you did.”

Shiro could feel the anger rising in Keith, but couldn’t spare the attention or energy to deal with that. When the fuck did he say that? Why the fuck did he say that? He knew he didn’t mean that, had never even thought that, so why the heck did Lance think he did? Why was Lance even still with them, with him, if he thought Shiro believed that? Why did he have no memory of saying anything like that? Before he realized it, he had loosened his grip on Lance, and Lance tried to bolt. Thankfully, Keith was quicker and caught him, pinning him back against his chest, arms and legs wrapped around him so securely that Lance didn’t even try to escape the hold. With Lance secure, Keith returned to glaring at Shiro, but Shiro didn’t respond.

Instead, he stared at his new arm, thinking hard. “Lance,” he said slowly. “Did… did the clone say that?”

Keith froze. Lance’s mouth remained stubbornly closed, but there were tears trickling down his cheeks. Shiro felt like the breath had been knocked out of him.

“Lance,” he breathed. He grabbed Lance’s hand in his own, other raised to cup the side of his face, looking directly into those incredible blue eyes. “I swear to you I don’t think that. I love you. You’re precious to me. And I need you. We need you. Please don’t shut us out and please stop letting yourself hurt by yourself. Let us be here for you.”

There was a few minutes’ silence where Lance just stared back at him, still crying, mouth slightly agape. But then finally, finally he nodded. Keith relaxed his hold on Lance, nuzzling gently at the top of his head. Shiro let out the breath he’d been holding and leaned in to hug both of his beautiful boys closer to him.

Even if it took him the rest of his life, he was going to prove to Lance just how important he was to Shiro.

#shklance #vld #shiro takashi #keith kogane #lance mcclain #voltron #vld fic #voltron fic #voltron legendary defender #mywriting #how to care for your sharpshooter #shklance fic

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garrettsiwicki · 6 years

Text

The Gandrew Conundrum

Or better named, the post where I talk out of my ass. Okay, so let me preface this by saying I am in no way claiming any of this is true. This is just a point of view my brain has created from what we’ve seen or headcanon’d about Garrett and Andrew. I don’t truly know anything about Garrett, Andrew, or anyone relating to them. This is just my opinion of where I personally see them right now. If you wanna take it seriously, okay. If you wanna take it as a headcanon and have fun with it, okay. It’s all in good fun and not meant to be taken as gospel. If anything just run with it for fanfics or something. :)    So anyway, here is my analysis/headcanon/conspiracy/whatever about Gandrew. It’s not all fluff and cuteness, so keep that in mind. I tried to write it as down to earth as possible. Enjoy. ❤️

Garrett. I think his feelings/situation is a bit more straight forward than Andrew’s. Garrett has openly said “if I was a girl, i’d put a ring on it [Andrew]” and has joked about being in love with one of his straight friends before (the friend who made him that bike). So it’s pretty likely he harbors some kind of feelings for his “dear close sweet handsome friend” Andrew, whom he appears to be closer and spend more time with. I think Garrett does have feelings for Andrew, and I think he knows he has feelings for Andrew, but of course Andrew (at least to Garrett’s knowledge) is his “straight guy” friend and obviously you can’t just announce that you, a gay person, have feelings for your “not-gay” friend. Hell, it’s difficult to announce you have feelings for your best friend when you’re in a straight relationship. Adding conflicting sexualities to that makes a whole new layer of confusion. Because of this possibility/fear I think Garrett has resigned himself to accepting that it’ll always be something fantasy, that he shouldn’t allow himself to entertain the thought because it’ll “never happen” and he’s just the “silly” gay friend who fell in love with his straight friend.  (I’m not calling Garrett silly, it’s not silly at all, but he may think that) I think if Andrew showed interest toward a relationship, if it was totally Andrew’s decision to open up about it and pursue something, then Garrett would have no problem pursuing some kind of relationship. But of course, like I said, Garrett is not ready to start this conversation himself. (Note: When I say Garrett doesn’t fully acknowledge it, i’m not saying Garrett can’t brag on or compliment Andrew. He does those things all the times and we all see how smitten he is, i’m just saying he won’t go to Andrew and verbally tell him “I LIKE YOU ROMANTICALLY” lol)   Now for Andrew.   Andrew’s feelings are a bit harder for me to pin point, largely due to the fact i’m not 100% sure how to explain what I mean, and also my opinion is known to jump back and forth, but nevertheless i’ll try to make this sensible.   (A lot of this explaining has to do with discovering yourself/being closeted/etc so keep that in mind.) I think Andrew identifies as straight, and therefor is assumed straight by those around him, but I also feel like he’s never been dead-set on it. And what I mean by that is, the average straight guy will tell you they have no intentions of ever dating a guy. They’re straight and it’s not their thing. But with Andrew I feel he’s never been super defensive of his heterosexuality. Andrew has never shown signs of hyper-masculinity or really caring about what people perceived him as. Yes, that could purely be due to the fact he’s just a decent and accepting guy, but I feel like there’s a bit more to it. I feel like he doesn’t feel the need to establish his heterosexuality because while he has only dated women, and overall assumes himself as straight, I feel like he’s one of those people who has acknowledged to themselves that they wouldn’t be closed to the idea of dating a guy if one day they had feelings for one. (Note, hypothetically being open to dating someone of the same sex is vastly different than actually dating an entire real person) Now, that being said, many people in the queer community started off with a similar woke mindset of “i’m straight, but if I liked someone of the same sex I wouldn’t be opposed to it” before realizing they were actually queer. Just like many of us were big LGBT+ Ally’s and related to/liked a lot of queer media before realizing we were queer ourselves. It’s sometimes a stepping stone to realizing you’re queer, I guess you could say.  This is where I think Andrew falls.   Andrew is obviously comfortable with the LGBT community, his current friend group appears to be very diverse and heavily queer, and he seems to not be afraid of liking things that may be perceived as feminine or “gay” by the average cishet person. Andrew is at a stage a lot of queer people have been at before, which is being a Super Cool Straight Ally until one day “Oh wait... maybe i’m not just an Ally.”. This is something that can happen when a queer person finds themselves around more queer people and more queer media than before. No, I don’t mean he’s being “turned” gay or some dumb shit like that, what I mean is if a queer person is in a more open and diverse environment (the squad, youtube, etc) that they maybe weren’t in before, that person can start to realize things about themselves they’ve never been able to really acknowledge, label, or be open about before.  (This is why I smirk at the comments saying “Andrew is getting gayer” because yeah, lol. For lack of a better term, he is. He’s not being made gay, but he is getting more comfortable in himself.) Andrew is at the stage where he knows something is different. He knows he puts Garrett in a different category than his other male friends, he knows he doesn’t /like/ seeing Garrett flirt with other guys. When Garrett hangs out with Jeffree, Andrew has to post about some other friend he’s hanged out with. If Jeffree makes a joke about sleeping with Garrett, Andrew has to mention he slept over with a friend too. He knows what he’s feeling is jealousy and he’s trying to put this new feeling in it’s place, but he’s still not ready to let himself fully admit that he’s gone and fallen for his best friend. See, Andrew has always struck me as having a shy, maybe a bit nervous, personality. I think it’s definitely possible he overthinks different situations in this life, and falling for your best friend is definitely something someone might overthink. I think it’s also very possible he’s slightly self conscious and tends to doubt himself a lot in stressful or confusing situations. So it’s not that he’s against what he’s feeling, he’s not grossed out by it or negative toward it, but it’s that he won’t let himself *believe* it’s happening. If that makes sense. I think he panics and tries to rationalize it into something else because “I don’t have feelings for Garrett… do I? No, we’re best friends. That’s all it is.”  “Garrett couldn’t possibly have feelings for me… there’s no way”   “I’m just being dramatic, Garrett doesn’t like me… ” etc.   Most everyone, including myself, has had the #gay panic when realizing they’re queer. He’s never experienced this before with a guy, definitely not with someone so close to him, and I think he’s a bit shell shocked by it. So he self doubts. He overthinks. He tries to rationalize it because there *must* be another explanation for it... there’s no WAY he’s fallen for his best friend, that only happens in movies, right? And when I say Andrew can’t admit it or is confused by his feelings, I don’t mean it in a homophobic or demeaning way. I mean coming to terms with yourself, even if it’s just the newness of everything, can be a lot to take in at first. It’s an experience with a lot of feelings and thoughts. Even if someone is open to it, it actually happening can take a minute to get used to. Hypotheticals and real life are two entirely different ball games.   Now for another big question…. do they realize each other has the same feelings, and do people around them realize it?   Like I said earlier, I think Garrett doesn’t allow himself to believe it’s there. He thinks Andrew is straight and it’s all just his silly feelings, so while he might notice hints here and there he doesn’t let himself believe it’s anything. He won’t assume anything until Andrew tells him directly to his face. (Poor Andrew, lol)   For Andrew I think he notices more than Garrett. He can see Garrett likes him a lot and it’s not that he doesn’t want that, but like with his own feelings I think he tries to rationalize it and overthink it. When Garrett compliments him and brags on him, he tries to tell himself that it’s JUST because Garrett is a nice guy. It’s JUST because Garrett is funny and extra. Garrett compliments EVERYONE, I’M not special (he is). Like with his own feelings, in the back of his head he knows what it is and he does hope for it, but it’s gonna take a bit of time for him to let himself believe fully it’s there.  (may it be due to the #gay panic or just his own self doubt) As for their friends… obviously they notice. Garrett tweeted about wanting a boyfriend once and Matt replied with a tag to Andrew, so obviously anyone could tell they’re the couple in their friend group who everyone teases about getting together. Do I think their friends realize it’s THIS serious yet? Maybe not. Teasing and genuine belief are two different things. I think their friends definitely think they’re good together, and wouldn’t be surprised if it happened, and tease them about it, but like with everything else Andrew’s alleged straightness still adds a tiny bit of hesitation to everyone’s belief. So I think they know, but maybe they don’t notice it’s quite this serious yet.   As for the actual squad (Shane, Ryland, and Morgan)… I don’t know. I’ve never been able to exactly pin point my thoughts on their POV. I think they believe more than Garrett and Andrew’s other friends, simply for the fact Shane and Ryland are both queer and could see things from a different POV than Garrett and Andrew’s other straight friends. Not to get too fanfic-y, but I think Shane would definitely be one of the first people to realize “oh shit, this is for real. It’s not just teasing anyone.” (if he hasn’t realized already).  Shane struggled a lot with his bisexuality and has been through this before, he would definitely be someone to notice the tell tale signs somebody else might not. - Anyway, there ya go. As of right now, this is my view of everything Gandrew. May it drastically change one day? Yes. Does it change a little bit everyday depending on the circumstance and new content? Yes. So again, take from this what you will. It may ring some truth, it may be entirely bs. But hopefully you all at least enjoyed reading it. :)

#gandrew #I'm only putting this in the Gandrew tag bc i'm paranoid of Andrew or Garrett seeing it #I mean they could search for Gandrew and see it but it's a bit less forward than putting it in their name tags #my analysis #personal

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jinris · 6 years

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one step more

a/n: fun fact: when i started writing fic again, i wrote a bunch of plance that i never finished (in one of my wips i wrote a paragraph of k/a and here we are now). anyway last night while i was procrastinating, i decided to clean house and figured i’d post this little christmas section from a longer wip that i wrote over a year ago lol

pairing: pidge/lance (can be platonic but crushes are implied) words: 993

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“Right. Anyway, what’s the last stop? We already gave everyone their presents.”

They stop in front of Pidge’s room, but far enough that the sensors don’t detect their presence yet. Lance grins at her.

“Not everyone,” he responds with a burst of excitement. “Wait here!”

He clasps Pidge’s shoulders reassuringly while Pidge opens her mouth to protest, but Lance doesn’t give her time to say anything. He runs down the hall – back to his room, Pidge hypothesizes – and in a minute, he comes back with a mysteriously-shaped green package topped with a Christmas poinsettia-red bow. Pidge doesn’t want to believe it. They hadn’t talked about exchanging gifts for one another.

“Merry Christmas, Pidge!” Lance declares, his bright teeth shining in his smile.

“We never discussed this!”

“I know, but I couldn’t resist. Open it now. I wasn’t sure if you’d like it.”

Pidge takes the present from his hands and handles it carefully. She studies the package carefully. It’s nicely wrapped, as nice as it can be given its non-traditional shape. It also isn’t very heavy, and Pidge really can’t guess what Lance could have possibly gotten her. When did he have the time, anyway? The pair of them had barely been able to sneak around getting presents for the others without getting caught. She quirks an eyebrow at him.

“Just open it.”

Pidge has never been good at unwrapping presents, so she unceremoniously rips the green wrapping paper and finds another layer of semi-transparent plastic. She tears the plastic open too, and her eyes widen at her present. She already can’t wait to hang it up in her room.

“Lance, how?” she asks incredulously. In her hands was a set of fairy lights, just like the ones on Earth. “There’s no way you could have…we didn’t see anything when we went to the Terra store?”

“I know, I kinda asked Ryner for a big favor,” he explains, scratching the back of his head. “So they’re not exactly like the ones you have in your room on Earth, but do you like them?”

“Totally! Can you help me put them up right now?” Pidge asks animatedly.

A wave of relief washes over Lance and he nods, smiling. “You’re going to need help reaching all the high places.”

“I thought you were actually a decent guy for one second,” Pidge teases.

“You mean you didn’t before?” replies Lance, pretending his feelings are hurt. Pidge scoffs, grabbing onto his shirt and pulling him into her room.

It only takes about ten minutes for Pidge and Lance to pin up the fairy lights above Pidge’s messy bed and to connect it to a power source. Standing on her bed and meeting Lance at eye level in a rare occurrence, she grins at him. She reaches over to turn off the ceiling lights, and the fairy lights shine brilliantly. Lance watches Pidge’s face as she admires the small bulbs of light. She turns back to him.

“Thank you, Lance,” she says softly, looking into his eyes.

“Merry Christmas,” he replies, and despite the fact that Pidge is the one wearing his jacket, he feels exceptionally warm. For a moment, they lock eyes and Lance can’t seem to look away.

“Actually…I have a present for you too.” There is a playful tone in her voice. She jumps off from her bed, walking past him and opening her closet. As expected, Lance finds her closet painfully cluttered with random junk, but he waits patiently.

“Close your eyes,” orders Pidge. Lance shuts his eyes. He hears her shuffle items around in her closet, and then closing the closet, presumably having found the present. She walks back to him.

“Hold out your hands.” Lance lifts his arms, his palms facing up and trusting Pidge completely not to give him something gross. He feels her place a smooth, flat object in his hands.

“Okay, open your eyes.”

He opens them.

Lance bursts out laughing, “No way! Are you serious?”

Pidge beams up at him proudly. Admiring the neatly-arranged stack of dark brown puff pastries, Lance carefully removes the plastic, setting it aside, and takes the first pastry on the top. He eats it in two large bites, and as he tastes the homemade pastry, he tries not to make a face. Pidge suddenly feels a sudden wave of panic, her own facial expression falling.

“Cuban pastries? I think? Not Hunk’s best accomplishment,” he jokes, pastry still in his mouth. Pidge pouts, feeling hurt, and punches him lightly in the arm.

“I made them! I thought I’d make them for one of my best friends, who talks about them all the time, but I guess he doesn’t appreciate them!! Do you know how long it took me to make cream cheese?!”

She reaches over to snatch the plate back from him, but Lance chuckles and lifts it above her head. Pidge crosses her arms and pouts again, looking at him apprehensively. He finally swallows his pastry.

“Pidge, I love them, this is the best Christmas present ever, but they look and taste terrible,” he answers honestly, leaning in and hugging her tightly with one arm. Pidge’s pouting face is squished against his chest, and she stubbornly refuses to respond to his apology. Lance isn’t deterred. He puts the plate down on Pidge’s nightstand and wraps his second arm around her.

“Pidge, I’m not going to share these with anyone, not even Hunk. I’m eating every last one of them,” he promises.

Lance feels Pidge’s mouth curl up despite herself into a small smile against his chest, and he knows she won’t stay mad at him.

“You better,” she mumbles, raising her arms to complete the hug. “Merry Christmas, you jerk.”

“Merry Christmas, Katie,” he teases, letting go of her and taking another pastry from the plate. Lance grins when Pidge’s eyes widen and her cheeks turn a deep red from the shock of hearing her name. He thinks nothing of it, of course.

#plance #pidge #lance #voltron #f: voltron #c: pidge #c: lance #p: plance

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amiafairyprincessyet · 5 years

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Alright... Don’t say I didn’t warn you...

Here it is: the exhaustively detailed breakdown of my 1920s costume/outfit for the interactive theatre event I went to! I’m posting this 60% because I can’t shut up about historical fashion, 30% because it’ll be fun to re-read years down the line, and 10% because hey maybe you’ll find it interesting.

Let’s start with how I built the outfit and started to form the character for it!

The two most important pieces for this outfit were the dress and the hat, and I can’t quite remember now which one I bought first. It looks like both purchases hit my bank account on the same day, so that doesn’t clear things up. I think maybe it was the hat?

Alright, so let’s start with the hat. Now, see, I love the 1920s but they really don’t love me back. The main problem I have is with the popular silhouettes of the clothes, but I also have a serious issue with the hats--I’m allergic to wool. Cloches are the stereotypical 1920s hat and almost ALL of them are made of wool. I can’t do it! But, sometimes, you can find ones made of straw. I’ve been meaning to buy a cloche for ages (tbh it’s ironic I didn’t do it until I had long hair) so I’d been planning to buy a straw one. Now that I had an occasion, I was ready to make that leap! I searched for straw cloches on Etsy, found tons of cool ones, and then drastically reduced my options when I started paying attention to sizing. (My head is both literally and figuratively big and I have A Lot of hair.) I finally settled on this one from itbecomesyou.

I actually wasn’t planning on buying a dress specifically for the occasion--I have one or two things that I could fudge a little and it’d look okay. (Certainly better than, like, a cheap Halloween costume, which is what some people were wearing.) But I was right by the thrift store anyway, so I popped in and looked around. The green dress was almost the first thing I spotted, and I got my hopes up right away. I could tell that it would fit loosely and have a low waist on me, even if that’s not how it was intended to fit--it’s actually from eShakti so it was custom made to someone’s measurements! That person also clearly donated more than one dress, because there was another dress there in the exact same style made of chambray--I’m wearing it as I write the first part of this post, actually. For some reason, I think the chambray one is a little smaller, but that’s not relevant.

The dress definitely isn’t perfect--I think it’s kind of obvious that the waist is elastic, and it’s still way too defined. The skirt is also a bit short. (Skirts in the ‘20s weren’t as short as popular culture would have us believe!!!) I figured it was supposed to be the late ‘20s (specifically ‘27) and the skirts got to the shortest point around then, so the length was forgivable. But the waist? Iffy. Like... with the full skirt it’s ALMOST got a bit of a robe de style silhouette going on but it’s not really all the way there, either. It’s a very confused dress. (Or it’s really just meant to be a more fitted style for someone a size up from me. Whatever, I like loose clothes and I’ve already worn it a bunch of times!)

When I was initially planning, I was originally going to put my hair in a low updo rather than a faux bob. That would actually be period-accurate--a lot of women who didn’t want to cut their hair did it! They’d often do a lot of work to keep their length while faking or imitating the look and shape of a bob. So I figured that with my long hair and my not-quite-boxy-enough dress I would just be unfashionable and poor, newly arrived to the city. Especially because this is clearly more of a day dress than an evening gown. My hypothetical character wouldn’t have the means to buy a dress just for going out in the evenings, and she’d maybe come straight from work (as a secretary, since that’s my actual job and I wanted to keep it simple) without changing.

As for the rest of my clothes... Well, between the hat and the dress I could see I was going in an earth-toned direction, so this was the only cardigan I had that would work. I have NO IDEA if it’s period-accurate or not. The scarf wasn’t really planned, but I thought I needed something with a bit of pizzazz, or else even my dowdy and plain “poor, rural secretary” outfit would be too boring. My compression stockings are obviously a) medical gear that I kinda just have to work around, and b) not at all accurate. Pretty sure in the ‘20s they still wore thigh-highs (sort of) that you had to hold up with straps. My shoes are okay, they’re character shoes from a musical I was in, so they’ve got a much thicker heel than most modern heels do. The shape of the heel isn’t quite right but like... I don’t think anyone’s looking THAT closely. (Okay, maybe I am.)

As for hair and makeup, well, my makeup isn’t as dramatic as you might think it should be for the ‘20s. Like I said in the makeup post, I shared that misconception too, up until pretty recently. Most of the standard misconceptions of 1920s fashion I already knew about, because I am. a nerd. But I thought that the makeup was pretty heavy! I re-watched Karolina Żebrowska’s video on the ‘20s and actually paid attention when she talked about the makeup this time. I was kinda relieved when she said that the makeup was much lighter than you’d think, because this outfit would look pretty weird with heavy makeup, since it’s a casual/unfashionable day look. I didn’t do any particular research other than glancing quickly at the examples of “normal” makeup that she showed because I was being lazy. Also, don’t come for my eyebrows. I like them and I refuse to do anything to make them look super-thin.

On to the hair, which is probably the most complicated and most important part! Like I said, I was originally planning to just do a low updo instead of a faux bob. However, when I got the hat and tried it on, I realized that a low updo wouldn’t work with where the hat sat on my head/how it fit me. A faux bob would also mess with the fit, but my hope was that it would be a bit better. I didn’t practice at all before the day of the event, I just kinda decided that It Would Definitely Work. So here’s how I did it:

Pincurl hair the night before

Wear hair down in pincurls the next morning

Humidity deflates curls within an hour, wear hair in improvised updo for rest of day

Try to redo pincurls in the afternoon

Oh shit it’s humid they’re still wet

I don’t own a hair dryer

OH WELL

Take top section of hair, sticking fingers in and parting so that you’re separating out the section in front of the ears

Go up to top of head in inverted V shape, so that a lot of the hair at the back of your head is not in the chunk you’re holding (how much depends on how thick your hair is)

Clip that chunk up; look ridiculous

Braid the hair that’s down--my hair is super thick so it made five braids

You want a LOT of your hair to be in these braids

Pin braids flat to the back of your head--similar to what you do to fit hair under a wig cap

Let down clipped up hair

Sigh over the fact that it’s barely wavy at this point

Make sure side part looks clean

Take back-most chunk of loose hair and grab a decent section, maybe an inch wide?

Grasp one small subsection of the hair in that section

Tease all the hair of the section--you don’t need to go overboard

The one piece you held onto should still be longer and straighter than the rest

Curl that bit around your finger a bit and then pin it up under the braids right at the back

Repeat for all but the two front-most sections of hair on either side of your part

Don’t tease these, just try to make the waves look nice with some subtle pinning and then pin the bottoms up

Oh shit you don’t own hairspray better hope this stays

Shove hat on top, DO NOT take it off for the rest of the night

I had a hilarious conversation about my hair with one of the actors, who was in character as a ~mystical flapper~. It went something like this:

me: Yes, I know it’s all the fashion these days to bob your hair, but I just couldn’t bear to cut it! Really my hair is this [gestures to top of chest] long, but I’ve got it pinned up.

actor, in character as someone in an era where “toxic orange” is not really a feasible hair color: That’s your real hair!?

me, with no hesitation: I’m Irish.

actor:

me:

me: That’s... orange. It’s orange. That’s why.

actor: :O

I then rolled with my ~brilliant improv~ and introduced myself as Bridget Kelley for the rest of the night. To be fair, I am almost certainly related to someone with that exact name.

The other bit of characterization I came up with (which I never really got to do much with) is that Bridget was a serial killer? I have no idea why I decided this, but I actually chose it a couple days ahead of time. I think I just had Chicago on the brain, since it’s set in the ‘20s. I also made her socially awkward but kind of the opposite from me where she was intense/focused/non-fidgety/interested one-on-one and shy as hell in crowds. I’m generally a fan of crowds as long as no one tries to socialize with me, because I can just hang out anonymously. I like being one-on-one or in small groups with people I like, but with random strangers I absolutely hate it.

And that’s basically it! I had a lot of fun at the event and I was really lucky and caught a ride home with an acquaintance I didn’t even know was going to be there. We got “raided by the police” at one point, and I also spent a decent chunk of time in the corner sewing. Good times!

#blog business

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attackofthezee · 6 years

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STUCKY REC LIST 10/6/18

I realized it’s been a bit since I did a rec list! I link to fics I’ve read and enjoyed over the week in my weekly writing round ups, but I don’t tag those posts as fic recs (it feels a little too self promoting to tag something about my own writing with fic recs, I can’t seem to do it) soooo I feel like it doesn’t count. So here, have a list of fics I highkey recommend right now. They’re all beautiful majestic fics and everyone should read them.

The Heart of a Dying Star by layersofart (layersofsilence), velleities

As ancient legends have it, mighty magical weapons can be forged in the heart of a dying star.

Wanda, driven by her desire to avenge her brother’s death and backed by Hydra and their secret plans, uses ancient magic to knock a star down from the sky.

Halfway across the land, Steve, the Captain of the Avengers Guard, finds a fallen star named Bucky.

Do you want to feel like you’re reading a fairy tale? Because like, this fic feels straight up like reading a fairy tale. It’s wonderful and soft and also like vaguely a Stardust AU while not actually being a Stardust AU and tbh it’s wonderful, just wonderful. Go read it and fall in love with Star!Bucky and total sweetheart Steve Rogers just like I did.

Howitzer by spacebuck

Bucky Barnes, figure skating champion, is forced to switch his skates for hockey ones when he leaves for college. Problem is, he's never played hockey before, and now he has to be good enough to get the scholarship he needs. Enter Steve Rogers, Carter University Men's Hockey player, who's decided that he'd do anything to get this guy on his team.

Cue five am runs, overwhelming classes, new friends, plenty of snow, and a sport that's fast becoming a way of life.

This fic has been on my To-Read List for approximately six thousand years, and part of me regrets not reading it sooner while the other is really glad I waited because I was reading it while having a rough week and guys, it was like the cure to my overdramatic issues that week. I like hockey a decent amount because it’s dudes being mildly homoerotic on ice and I find nothing bad about that, but I don’t really know about hockey, y’know? And after reading this I felt like I knew about hockey, which was a pretty fantastic experience tbh. I haven’t felt that feel since my fave fic back in Bandom days left me super interested in rugby for a while. Also the relationship between Steve and Bucky in this is fucking beautiful, and the descriptions of the games left me feeling incredibly invested in them and the author deserves literally all the love for that.

What's left behind by Niitza

The thing was, after waking up in that new century, that strange future where nothing and no one was the same, not even himself, it had never occurred to Steve to wonder again if the effects of the serum were permanent.

Catch me outside perpetually screaming about this fic. It’s told in chunks of 200 words and while I found myself inevitably wanting more of every chunk it also worked so well for this fic and is also something I admire because while I believe in brevity, I also have absolutely zero self control and if a scene wanted to be 500 words I’d end up writing 500 words. It’s just, it’s SO GOOD, and if you’re like, super bad at focusing like I am the way it’s told is a surefire way of catching attention and sucking in. It’s just really beautiful and wonderful and I recommend that you don’t take my word for it and go read it to find out for yourself.

Keep the Torch Lit by thepartyresponsible

“Logan,” Charles says, delicately. “Do you know the whereabouts of the Winter Soldier?”

“Nope,” Logan lies, easy as anything. “Haven’t heard a damn thing, Chuck.”

“Logan,” Charles says, “have you forgotten I’m a telepath?”

“Well,” Logan says, a little less pleasantly, “I sure forgot you’re a Goddamn nosy son of a bitch.”

Listen, okay, this fic is not Stucky, at least not technically. Technically it’s Logan/Bucky with past Steve/Bucky but like even the Logan/Bucky isn’t really the focus and if you want to (like me) it’s definitely possible to read future Stucky into this fic. also this is my rec list and I do what I want ya’ll. The focus on this isn’t the shipping, and tbh that’s what makes it so glorious. The focus is on the goddamn glorious motherfuckin Wolverine, aka the love of my life since I was a wee lass watching the x-men animated series back in the 90s and falling facefirst into simultaneous crushes on both Logan and Rogue. Biromanticism ya’ll, it started early. This fic is hysterical. Logan’s voice is so spot on and so very LOGAN that every line manages to be grumpy and hysterical and also reveal that hidden layer of just caring too much that I really believe is like, the true hallmark of a well written Logan. He doesn’t want to care, but he does care, and that’s like the crux of all his issues y’know? That’s why he takes in asshole super soldier assassins that half the world is after when they give the shitty reason of ‘war buddies, you gotta.’

I could write several paragraphs on my epic love for this fic but I feel like the biggest reason to read it that I can give is that I’ve now read it three times and as a person who barely ever reads things even twice, that’s a huge thing for me. Also it has an appearance of a Charles who’s kinda a dick and tbh that’s how I love my Charles.

ALL OF THAT BEING SAID, if you can stand Bucky being even hinted at being with someone other than Steve, and if you don’t for some strange reason hate Wolverine (which if you do, who hurt you????) then go read this fic. It’s 4400 words of fucking brilliance.

Baby You Should Stick Around by neenya, nephropsis

If somebody had told Steve he and Bucky would end up raising Bucky's clone as their son, he'd probably have- wait, no, he wouldn't have done anything, because nobody would ever have said that.

And yet. Here they are.

Listen, this is one of those fics that I opened up expecting something fun and lighthearted and y’know, just a normal kidfic. What I got was 33k of a seriously beautifully written fic that gave me some seriously intense feelings. It was not what I expected whatsoever and it was all the better for that. I, personally, need to occasionally open up something I don’t expect to make me feel and then experience all the feelings because I am in the words of my former therapist ‘a shaken up soda bottle, building up pressure and just waiting to explode.’ True story. MY PERSONAL ISSUES ASIDE, this is beautiful and sad at times but with like, a really wonderful ending that made me feel A LOT OF THINGS. (The point of this is that this fic made me feel a lot of things. Like just, a lot of things. So many things) And there is this certain quality to the writing, at least to me, that really lets you feel the fact that Steve is having Issues and Steve is not realizing these Issues, and because of that he’s not able to be entirely present in this life that he has with Bucky. It’s wonderfully unique, and wonderfully written, and while not one I can reread super often (because of those aforementioned FEELINGS) it is seriously such a quality piece of work and one I’d somehow never stumbled upon despite it being written four years ago.

Black Dog by leveragehunters (Monkeygreen)

So long ago the details were lost to time, people began creating guardians of the dead. They were made from dogs, dogs who were buried in graveyards before anyone was laid to rest, their spirits arising as black dogs, bound protectors of the human dead.

Steve had always wondered what would happen after he died. He hadn't expected the answer to be 'wake up in the cemetery he'd been buried in', but here he was, some kind of ghost, and he could see the trees through his hands. It wasn't so bad, and he wasn't alone—a sleek black dog, golden eyes glowing bright, was happily waiting to greet him.

Decades later, on what was supposed to be a quiet, peaceful, definitely-not-life-changing walk through the woods, Bucky stumbled across an abandoned cemetery and into the impossible.

(It's a ghost story and a love story and a story about dogs.)

I’ve talked about my love for absolutely everything leveragehunters writes, I know I have, but oh my god, Black Dog hits it out of the goddamn park. There’s A GOOD DOG! AND STEVE IS A GOOD DOG EVEN THOUGH HE’S NOT REALLY A DOG! And Laika! I GENUINELY CRIED OVER LAIKA! And I DON’T OFTEN CRY OVER FICS!! I just, this was so beautiful and there’s always something so special about leveragehunters’ world building in their urban fantasy and magical realism fics in that it never feels heavy handed, never feels like I’m getting a bunch of info dumped on my head, but I always leave the fic feeling like I’ve seen this brand new world and understood it in the way the characters do even if that world is just a little bit left of the one we’re in now.

Also this is just a really good, nice fic to read while curled up with one’s dogs so y’know, if you’ve got dogs, definitely have them nearby to love on while you read this. It makes the experience like 1000x better.

despite the threatening sky and shuddering earth (they remained) by praximeter (Zimario)

“They really didn’t want the mask to come off.” Hill thumbed through the scans, and pulled out a film that she then handed over to Sam, face mostly expressionless but for the flat line of her pursed lips.

Sam accepted the film and held it up to the light, angling so both he and Steve could see it, squinting at the outline of the Winter Soldier’s skull, and the blips of unnatural white that showed up, God, in his brain, not to mention about half his teeth, plus the mask, with its thin protrusions—

“Those are pins,” Steve realized. He looked over at Hill. “The mask—it’s nailed to his face.”

Hill’s face was as unmoved as ever. “Like I said. They really didn’t want it coming off.”

Picture me screaming like a pterodactyl every time I even think of this fic. I kept seeing this fic, kept seeing it recced everywhere, kept scrolling by, kept seeing it recced by people who’s work I love and read and admire, and KEPT SCROLLING. And then finally, finally I decided to devote myself to 70k of what I assumed would be a lot of emotional pain. I was right. This was painful to read, the parts in Bucky’s pov especially so, but it was also so, so, sooo very good. I found myself clicking to the next chapter as quickly as I could and wanting to sink right back into it if I had to go do something. It’s just, it’s so good, and if by some chance you haven’t read it yet do yourself a favor and don’t be like me and keep scrolling past it.

#fic rec #stucky fic rec #stevebucky fic recs #stucky #captain america #marvel

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yallreddieforthis · 7 years

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I Can’t Believe It’s Not Richie

Fandom: It (2017)

Pairing: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier

Rating: T (for language)

Words: 2.7k

Pre-relationship. Movie canon-compliant but not book. Also posted on AO3

It seems impossible that a person can be both that shitty and the shit at the same time but like...it’s Richie. And since Richie doesn’t give a single fuck about following any kind of rules, Eddie guesses the ones that govern Eddie’s emotions don’t apply to him either. Greaaaat.

Sometimes Eddie can't believe it's Richie.

Maybe even most of the time, like when everything out of his mouth is your mom and my wang and it's just words, it's not even funny, and Eddie can only tune him out or try to talk over him. Richie cannot shut the fuck up for one goddamn second. And it's not even like Eddie can pin it to anything specific—like, oh, Richie talks more when he's angry or nervous or excited—because he does it when he's every one of those things and any other thing besides. The tone may change—the subject matter even—but the talking. Never. Stops.

Eddie doesn’t really consider himself a beacon of cultural knowledge, but he does own a TV. So he at least has a vague idea of what a British person might sound like, which is more than he can say for Richie. Richie also owns a TV, and yet his British Guy impression is so god-awful that Eddie has to assume he’s basing it on someone’s description of a fever dream they once had about a London street urchin from the eighteen hundreds. This only applies to the actual words though, not the pronunciation—which is pretty much indistinguishable from just Richie being Richie—and that’s across the board for all the voices, not just the British Guy. For someone who loves imitating other people as much as Richie does, it’s unbelievable how remarkably all his Guys sound like they’re from Derry, Maine. Because shouting out mangled phrases he half-remembers from the time he watched Mary Poppins six years ago—in the most American voice imaginable—is still somehow Richie’s interpretation of a British accent.

That isn’t even the worst part of The Voices though. The worst part is that Richie seems to have a sixth sense that alerts him to the exact moment at which it would most infuriate Eddie for him to do one, and invariably it’s as if a little light goes off in the least-developed part of his brain that says Time To Be Italian! (or Southern, or German—he has a constantly expanding, but not noticeably improving, repertoire) and it’s like he just has to do it right then. Sometimes it makes Eddie want to scream at him. Sometimes Eddie does scream at him. But screaming makes no difference; Eddie knows perfectly well that Richie will absolutely do it again the second the urge strikes him, no matter how inappropriate the timing or what Eddie does in reaction.

He's fucking gross too. Not necessarily grosser than the rest of them, but he certainly subscribes to the teenage boy brand of hygiene that dictates that he only really has to shower when Eddie finally shoves him away with a you smell like a sweaty nutsack. Of course then Richie inches closer and it's all how would you know, huh? and Eddie has to be like because I have nuts too, dipshit, and if you never wash them you'll—

And then all his warnings about bacteria and fungal infections are drowned out in the your mom and my wang and vague, half-heard rumors Richie repeats about people from school that Eddie knows aren't true, and he's pretty sure Richie doesn't even believe himself. Fuck him and his terrible, nasty-ass jokes.

Some days he thinks Richie purposely doesn't shower specifically so that he can torment Eddie with his unbearable boy stank. Or how he'll like, step in dog shit and just sort of shrug and wipe the sole of his shoe in the grass and then keep going with whatever he was doing like he's not literally tracking shit everywhere. If Eddie were to step in dog shit—which he wouldn't because he watches where he's going like a sane person—it would bring his entire day to a screeching halt. He gets that he's in the minority when it comes to these kinds of things, but he doesn't get why.

And then Richie has the audacity to suggest that Eddie's just as bad as the rest of them—when he says things like you’re convinced your shit doesn't stink, or it’s the smell of your own breath wafting back in your face—like he thinks Eddie is kind of gross too. Which shouldn't bother him, but it does. Somewhere very, very deep down in his gut he has a nagging suspicion as to why that might possibly be, but he's hell-bent on ignoring it at least until the inevitable destruction of the planet Earth, if not even longer. And that’s going like...pretty well for him. Reasonably well. Maybe a little less well than it used to be, but he's almost fourteen now and he thinks he should probably have a solid handle on the whole thing within the next couple of years.

But even if Richie wasn't either of those things—annoying, disgusting—there's nothing really exceptional that he is. It's not like he's a genius; the gigantic, goofy glasses make him look smarter than he actually is, and he gives as few shits about school as he does about anything else. Eddie is sure that Mrs. Tozier has never been to a parent-teacher conference where she didn’t hear the phrase if he only applied himself, and he’s equally sure that every one of the teachers who said it knew that they were wasting their breath. If Mrs. Tozier—or anyone else—stood even the slightest chance of motivating Richie to care about pre-algebra, there would have been upward mobility in his GPA long before now. Eddie has to assume he does at least some homework—if for no other reason than because he hasn’t been held back yet—but as far as he can tell, Richie bent over a textbook at home is a sight as yet unwitnessed by mankind.

Richie’s not athletic either—by any definition of the word—at least not until they decide to make Competitive Talking an Olympic sport. He’s really good on his bike, but that’s a skill he developed out of practicality because the alternative is being stuck walking all over Derry, and it’s not like being able to ride a bike is something to brag about because even Eddie can do that. But Richie’s not a fast runner. He can’t do a push-up unless it’s the kind that only count as push-ups when girls do them, knees on the ground. He can’t even throw a spitball into a trash can from three feet away (his performance in the Rock War against Bowers and his goons was a crazy, adrenaline-fueled exception)—and like, okay, the bad aim can probably be chalked up to his horrendous eyesight, but even beyond that there’s this general, overall lack of coordination. Eddie has what amounts to a universal pass that effectively excuses him from participating in PE for his entire school career, so he’s never been physically present for what goes down on the yard, but he can pretty much piece it together from the scrapes and bruises all over Richie’s arms and legs. It doesn’t matter what unit they’re on—dodgeball, baseball, soccer, tetherball—Richie plays only one position: target.

He doesn’t fare any better in the kind of extracurriculars that teachers and parents care about, like music. Richie is an aggressively bad singer—a fact Eddie is forcibly reminded of every time anyone has a birthday because Richie always makes a point of sandwiching Eddie between himself and someone who won’t run away (usually the birthday kid’s mom) while he belts out an eardrum-shattering rendition of Happy Birthday at the top of his lungs. Richie seems to interpret birthday party invitations as personal challenges for him to sing louder and worse, challenges he has so far risen to spectacularly on every occasion. The song gets longer each time too, because he never forgets to include Frankenstein on channel nine and the big fat lady on channel eighty and whatever new, ruder verses he’s scrounged up out of nowhere between the last birthday party and this one. Richie’s singing is actually one of the most obnoxious things about him, in Eddie’s opinion, which is really saying something.

He is so unrestrainedly, deliberately awful that Eddie could honestly imagine some idiot adult who doesn’t know Richie listening to him screech the chorus of Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go over and over in Eddie’s ear (the newest sabotage tactic he’s been deploying at the arcade to try to make Eddie lose at Street Fighter) and thinking wow, maybe that kid actually has a beautiful singing voice but doesn’t want anyone to know because he’s worried people will make fun of him. They would be wrong, of course, because even when he’s not actively trying to suck, Richie can’t sing for shit. Eddie doesn’t have to know anything about music to be able to tell that Richie’s real singing voice—the one he almost never uses—is flat and off-key. And forget about instruments because whenever someone makes the mistake of letting him get his hands on one, he immediately tries to shove it down his pants—or worse, Eddie’s pants—and pretend it’s a wang.

There’s art—and Eddie has noticed that being a really good artist can absolve someone of the sin of sucking at everything else. Bill, for example, is talented enough with watercolor pencils that if he drew people’s attention to his sketches, he could probably get away with not knowing how to write a half-decent thesis statement or multiply fractions (even though Bill does know how to do those things) because people would just affix the tortured artist label to him and stop giving him shit about the stutter. And Richie actually draws a lot—probably as much as Bill if it’s purely a question of quantity over quality—it’s just that the only things he seems to be interested in drawing are dicks, and the places he chooses to draw them are all technically the property of the Derry Public School District. Also, his fine motor skills are at least as bad as his gross ones, because his handwriting looks the way his singing voice sounds, and the dicks he draws make Eddie question if Richie has ever even looked in his own pants before.

And yet, despite all of the incontrovertible evidence that Richie is actually a walking disaster, there are other times that Eddie can't believe it’s not Richie to everyone else. Or even like anyone else.

It could be argued that it’s almost inevitable due to the sheer volume of jokes he tells, but every so often Richie will get one absolutely, unassailably right. His timing, his word choice—the heavens open, the planets align, and suddenly everybody around him is laughing so hard they can't breathe, Eddie included. His eyes usually end up watering when it happens, but he squints through them to look at Richie because in those moments, Richie glows like nothing else. He tries to act like it isn’t a big deal that everyone is pissing themselves from whateverthefuck he just blurted out of his incessantly flapping mouth hole, but Eddie can tell how thrilled he is when people actually find him funny. It's happening more and more often nowadays, enough so that Eddie sometimes wonders if maybe Richie is wasting his time at school after all. And who needs sports or music or art anyway?

And he could be a whole lot worse about Eddie’s germ thing if he wanted to be, like how some people give him hell about the pills and the inhaler and the hand washing. Richie doesn’t have detergent hands but he sure as shit will mouth off to anybody who gives Eddie a hard time about his. He can’t say Richie doesn’t at least try to look out for him, in his own weird way. Or Bill, or Stan, or Mike, or any of them. It causes more trouble than it’s worth more often than not, especially because Richie doesn’t have any discernable muscle with which to back up his shit-talking, so it probably would honestly be better if he would just like...not. But Eddie can’t really help appreciating it all the same.

But the hardest thing to ignore about Richie—and Eddie wouldn’t admit this to anyone, even under threat of death by clown—is that his memories of what Richie did for him over the summer have become a kind of personal, private shield against fear. They all try to avoid thinking about It as much as they reasonably can (which isn’t much; it’s not like you just go and forget about the time you and all your friends climbed down a haunted well so you could almost get eaten by a demon clown in the sewers), but Eddie’s positive he isn’t the only one who lies awake at night when the sound of his own pounding heartbeat is making him too nauseous to sleep.

The lights are off because it’s almost worse when they’re on. Maybe if he can’t see It coming, it’ll just eat him real fast and get it over with before he even knows what hit him. Still, he doesn’t want to die—instantly is preferable to slowly, but even better is not at all. So he’s developed a set of dozens of little rules for himself to follow—like no turning over, no breathing too deeply, no limbs outside the covers, no long, slow blinks (quick ones are okay; otherwise it’s eyes all the way closed or all the way open). Realistically he knows that not a single one of these rules means jack shit to anyone outside his own brain, but somehow no-ing himself into what amounts to a vegetative state eventually bores him to sleep. Okay, usually it does. More like occasionally. Actually it’s only worked like twice, but whatever. He’ll take what he can get at this point.

Sometimes Eddie thinks he has it worse than anyone else. Well, maybe not worse than Bill. But the rest of them—he isn’t sure if any of them can really understand exactly how fucking useless he felt down in that god-forsaken lair with his arm in a cast. Bill and Beverly were awesome, Mike was like a goddamn soldier, Stan was great after he’d finished crying and even Ben, who Eddie basically thinks of as the most inoffensive kid on the planet, was tough as balls. And Eddie felt like a worthless piece of shit. He hates his arm for being broken, and he hates his nightmares for always including the broken arm. It’s coming at him—just him—and his arm is hanging limply and there’s not a goddamn thing he can do—

And that’s where Richie comes in. Only when he thinks about Richie bitching Bill out for getting them all into this shit situation while inching toward the mountain of broken toys, Richie grabbing a baseball bat and saying now I’m going to have to kill this fucking clown...only then does the terror that surrounds him all through the night start to ease up.

And then he thinks a little further back about when he fell through the floor and broke his arm in the first place, about how all his friends were crowding him and freaking the fuck out, and Richie just looked at his arm and said he was going to set the break and snapped his bone back into place while Eddie shrieked at him to do not fucking touch me. Just like, grabbed his arm where it was dangling the wrong way and fucking did it.

Sometimes… Sometimes Eddie is positive that if It were to show up in his house on any given night, Richie would immediately come crashing through his bedroom window, swinging a baseball bat. Because somehow Richie would know if It returned, would know It was coming for Eddie, would show up in time. He’d show up and keep his shit together while Eddie couldn’t. He’d probably sometimes miss with the bat, but Eddie kind of suspects that it wouldn’t matter. Richie would stand between Eddie and It and just sort of suck all the scary out of the room with his endless, pointless trash-talking. And when Eddie thinks about it that way, it’s like you know what? Screw John McClane; Richie Tozier is Eddie’s hero.

And then Richie sticks his sweaty armpit in Eddie’s face and goddamn it Eddie can’t believe it’s Richie.

#it (2017)#reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #my fics #pre-relationship #the greater fool #sorry i'm an old person and it took me a million years to figure out how to post fics on tumblr

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outlanderfanfics · 7 years

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Getting to Know Owlish Peacock

Next up in my Getting to Know series, I've interviewed another amazing Outlander fanfic writer, @owlish-peacock36!

Owlish Peacock, a.k.a. Ali, was born and raised in Kentucky, U.S.A. She has a very diverse background, being mostly German, Irish, Scottish, French, and English, with a little bit of Native American—though, you couldn’t tell it by looking at her. She can only speak English, although she did take Spanish for four years in high school, so she can understand a bit of it. She is now 25 years old and has only been writing Outlander fanfics for a little over a year. In school, she obtained a Bachelor’s degree in Education and is currently working on her Master’s in Higher Education Administration. She is also currently a full-time substitute teacher for her local high school, teaching English for the rest of the school year. For fun, she enjoys reading, writing, playing video games, baking, plus being an amateur makeup artist. Her unique talents include being good at memorizing and being a surprisingly decent dancer. Her boyfriend says her talent is compassion—how sweet! If she could travel through the stones, she would go to either Colonial America or the English countryside in the 19th century.

Read on to see the full Q&A.

What inspired you to start writing Outlander fan fiction?

I had gotten into Outlander after watching the first episode of season 1. From there, I was hooked. I read the books, I watched the show. Around Fall/Winter 2016, I became curious about the online presence of Outlander. I began searching for blogs and fansites. That was when I began reading Outlander fanfiction. I had read fanfiction before, but had never written it. I had always loved writing, so I decided to take a stab at it. I had ideas, and I wanted to share them. I contacted gotham, spoke with her a bit, and she boosted me. That’s that, pretty much. I’ve been writing ever since!

What are some of your favourite quotes that you have written?

That’s a tough question, honestly. I can give you a few that I like, though:

“Wide awake, Jamie painted without abandon, and without thought. He had no outcome in mind for this cacophony of color and texture, but he knew that he had to do it. He had to put these…these feelings down on canvas.

He surveyed his colors.

Orange? Yes, orange. Fiery. Flames. An accurate depiction, he thought. His body radiated warmth, all centering around his core. His heart.

He wondered if he could recreate Claire’s skin. A soft pale color with a light, peachy glow. Long, ivory lines: her legs wrapped around his…

Red. For his hair. His colors melting into hers. His fires setting her earth ablaze.

More of her. More of him. Movement. Collision. Explosion.

Love?

Perhaps.” – Alla Prima: Chapter 5

“He couldn’t stop himself though, couldn’t turn back. His body would not allow him. So, he trudged behind this spectral being, guiding him through a valley of death.” – Ghosts in the Daylight: Chapter 3

“She seemed to glow, as if lit from within by a candle. The world around them darkened; she was the only light.” – Seek, and You Shall Find: Chapter 7

“He rolled over, then, pinning her beneath the weight of his love. He tickled her with stubble and lips, and she adored him in kind.” – Imagine Reality: Chapter 5

What is your writing process when writing your fanfics?

When I begin a story, I usually have a clear beginning and end in mind. From there, it’s a matter of filling in the blanks. I usually have a good idea where I want a story to go, but that doesn’t mean I’ve never veered off and taken a story completely off course!

I don’t have a specific writing schedule; I’m sort of a temperamental writer! I love writing, but if the mood doesn’t strike me, I can’t churn out a story. When the mood does strike me, though, I’m writing like crazy! Sometimes I’ll write at 2 am, sometimes I’ll write during a break at work. It just depends on the day!

I’m not a huge editor of my writing. I’ll proofread it, but most things I post are first drafts. For me, editing can take some of the “in the moment” emotion away from my writing. I’ll nitpick until it isn’t any good anymore. So, I just leave it alone.

What is your favourite genre to write and why?

I always feel more comfortable writing modern fics. That way, I can take some snippets from life and sneak them in there. However, I always tend to add fantasy or supernatural aspects to my writing, whether they are set in the past or in modern times. In that way, I sort of create my own world inside this existing Outlander world.

What has been your favourite season of the show so far and why?

My favorite season has probably been season 1. It seems to have that perfect mixture of romance and adventure and humor. Plus, it’s the first one, so obviously it’s going to hold a special place in my heart.

Have you read any of Diana’s books? If so, which ones? Do you have a favourite book?

I’ve read the main eight a couple times, but I’ve never read any of the spin-offs/novellas. I don’t necessarily have a favorite; I have multiple favorites! Outlander is always fun to read, simply because it takes me back to the very beginning of this adventure. But, I also love Voyager, and seeing how the characters have/haven’t changed with age. And then there’s Drums of Autumn which is great for a couple reasons:

1) I love seeing Jamie, Claire, and Brianna together and

2) I live on the eastside of the US, so I see places every day that make me stop and think, “Fraser’s Ridge could be here…”

Lastly, A Breath of Snow and Ashes just makes me super emotional. Those are the top four!

Do you read/write fanfics for any other fandom?

I’ll read some every now and then, but I only write for Outlander.

What is one random fact about you that you have never revealed on Tumblr before?

I was Prom Queen my senior year of high school. It’s trivial, but kind of cool because I didn’t expect it.

I also met Jack Antonoff (musician) one time.

And there you have it. A deeper look into the mind of yet another one of our beloved fanfic writers. I haven’t added her stories to my archive YET, but you can check out her fanfiction master list on her blog.

#outlander fanfic #owlish-peacock36 #outlander #fanfics #aotw #outlanderfanfics

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oelfinessend · 7 years

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just can’t handle it, must get round to it

Hello, @tsukiharu. Here’s your secret santa step in. I’m incredibly sorry for the delay, but I was stranded away from decent coverage and electricity, and had to climb the roof to check my mail :/. Moreover, by the time you replied I’ve already began writing and while I certainly have ideas for your prompts they will take a while to write properly if you’d still want them. My attempt at arranged marriage and courtship has run away as early as the second page, so all I can do is give you this bizarre AU and hope you won’t hate me :[

Find the fic on <a href=“http://archiveofourown.org/works/13460478“>ao3</a> or in this post.

‘Greater than many you will fly.’ They wrote. ’Higher than your wildest dreams you will be taken.’ Was promised. ‘And for all will be price.’

Except Tony won’t fly and pay the price because he is Howard’s price, carelessly promised for many trinkets.

He knows it since before he can remember, that his father agreed to give away his own child for a chance to find Captain America.

He also knows that whatever his being a ‘price’ might entail so far it involves him being miserable, added with impressive substance abuse and whole weeks he spends in his workshop. Tony has his workshop only because of Obie, who allows him to invent, to think, to create. Aside from his bots and JARVIS, he can converse only with Obie and Rhodey. The staff is afraid of him and the world seems to be focused entirely on his every move, analysing the rare precedent of a prayer being answered.

Tony meets Pep like that. She masks her gentle curiosity and the following pity very well and later they disappear whatsoever, and for that he will be forever grateful. This is the lifeline that allows him to keep going, to live while Howard Stark becomes a husk of himself with eyes still burning with unholy fire, with the spite of the damned. He is a recluse, immersed in his projects that promise to drain the Stark fortune. SI is all but given to Obadiah who likes to lure Tony into his dealings and Tony hires a maddeningly competent Virginia Potts to be left with the only thing he really cares about - making stuff.

Soon enough, Pep is involved in SI far more than she is in Tony’s life, which is understandable, and somehow Tony finds himself looking at his new assistant. The guy is standing right in his workshop, looking friendly and soft around the edges. Then it turns out it’s impossible to chase this intruder away, his soft edges are bullshit and soon Tony finds himself snarking back at Adam.

He’s awesome, that guy who grasps Tony’s jargon and ideas and keeps up and gives as good as he gets and doesn’t take any bullshit thrown at him. Adam is putting Tony on edge, though, the puzzle pieces never quite fitting and something always missing in the picture.

Two or so months of amazing creative process later, Tony is doodling idly, having just showered and eaten, because Adam is a prude and won’t go anywhere near if Tony ‘is not presentable’.

This is the day everything goes to shit, because Howard decides to show his zombie face an hour before Obie storms in, demanding to see Tony.

Obie narrows his eyes at Adam, demanding to state his identity, while Adam looks bored and unimpressed, which is his default expression. In fact, he looks unnervingly interested in Howard, which kinda makes Tony hate them both (and, as usual, hate himself, because what else could he have expected, what did he think, he could be interest-)

“Address me in that manner once more and your tongue shall be buried ahead of you.”

This is a growl and everything falls silent. Adam smiles his thin smile and cocks his head.

“Who are you?” This is the first time Tony’s heard his father speak in years and his voice is scratchy, low. His eyes are still unnerving, portraying his unyielding focus. Adam keeps on with being unimpressed, though, only moves and paces around Howard, looking him up and down.

“Midgard’s grown disrespectful since I’ve last visited it.” He muses and changes, just like that, his hair growing longer from its stylish cut, skin pales and eyes grow green, so bright that Tony can actually discern the colour from across the room. Then not-Adam is moving back towards Tony, his movements smoother, somehow more powerful and just as the transformation the fact that Tony isn’t scared is baffling. He is actually relieved. This is some closure, finally, to (not) Adam’s unnerving edge and clearly, the bullshit ‘price’ thing is coming to its end.

“Are you Adam?” Tony asks carefully, his lizard brain alarmed at that prowl.

Head cocked, eyes laughing, the man smiles. “I am Loki.” Is all he replies.

Loki. Tony knows that name, he’s spent countless hours reading on any supernatural being known to the Internet and Loki is… interesting. Not really appropriate, in Tony’s opinion and surprising, given Howard’s prayer.

Apparently satisfied with whatever reaction on Tony’s face he sees Loki smiles again and sprawls into a chair, impressively pulling off his almost whore-like posture. “Now you may leave us alone.” He addresses both Obie and Howard and both dig their heels.

“I’m not leaving Tony with whoever you are.” Obie intones darkly and Howard steps forward, looking almost feverish.

“Who are you to appear in my home and demand this after making me wait for so many years!” He almost shouts and his voice breaks slightly out of disuse.

Loki sighs irritably. “Mages of Asgard cannot break a prayer-bound promise. Your demand was heard and it was satisfied - your mind was clear and fast for many years, was it not?” He waves dismissively as Howard opens his mouth. “Don’t let your hubris blind you, mortal. No one on Midgard is able to go weeks without any sleep and yet your thinking was unhindered. Such was the blessing given to you. Whatever you decided to do with it concerns me not and I am beginning to tire of your presence.” He smiles at the procured indignation and turns to Obie. “And you don’t have to worry, mayhaps if the Fates favour us we can all go to Afghanistan.”

At that Obie pales strangely and seems to deflate. Looking bored, Loki switches his gaze to Tony. “This is getting ridiculous. I will await in your workroom.”

Left alone and gaping at the empty chair, Tony scrambles away from Howard’s burning glare and Obie’s thoughtful one. As stated, Loki is in his workshop, occupying his usual place with his newfound dramatic flair.

Loki patiently sits through Tony’s almost-meltdown and only blinks at the following barrage of questions. It happens that Loki is a prince and a mage (ha! Tony will need far more than a couple of parlor tricks to even contain his laughter, never mind taking this seriously) and the Head Seidrmaster in Asgard. It doesn’t really matter except that it totally does, because apparently Howard’s half-assed (by Loki’s standards) prayer reached one of those seidr-people and for whatever reason they decided to go along.

“A prayer gives a remarkable bout of power, of happiness.” Loki explains patiently, giving off surprisingly Pepper-like vibes. “An inexperienced mage has to be exceptionally strong of will to resist that. Uldr was not.”

Tony snorts. He doesn’t really care (he does, a little, Loki is a living story and also a lot of people would literally give their limb for a chance to talk to him).

“When I found out about the deal it was too late.” Loki purses his lips unhappily, eyes becoming hard. “And the duty of overseeing this fell to me.” He makes a vague gesture with his left hand. “I admit I have forgotten about the Midgardian lifespan and allowed myself to linger a bit too long.”

Tony huffs, asks about the lifespan thing and blinks at the answer. Five thousand Asgard’s years, Loki says, more for a mage. Asgard’s year is nearly four of Earth’s.

Talk about unimaginable scales, Tony honestly can’t comprehend the life where decades are nothing, where your milestones are hundreds.

His mind blanks out a bit at that and when Tony finally scrambles his brains back in order he finds himself alone.

There is very little time for him to begin feeling abandoned or offended because soon he hears the commotion. By the time Tony decides to investigate he is again in Loki’s company and for a change the other man looks pleased.

The following days are, for a lack of a better word, busy. Everyone has a lot to do; Howard is trying to pin Loki down and get something from him, Loki vanishes and appears as he pleases, his mood changing just as suddenly. Obie is suspiciously docile while Pep is busy arranging the business so that it belongs to Tony. That is a sudden development and apparently both Howard and Obie are okay with Loki basically telling them what to do. Well, not really, Howard is all of a sudden a lot more present in the mansion and Tony’s life. Tony is busy planning building his own tower where he will live as far from this gloomy place as possible. He discovers that managing a company is fucking hard, especially if you just basically got it and the attention he thought he is accustomed to is even more intense and seemingly every person in the world wants something from you.

Loki doesn’t help. In fact, Loki revels in the chaos, which is unsurprising, given his title. He refuses to accept numerous invitations or even pleas coming for him. At the same time, he somehow helps Tony, because navigating people is hard and Loki knows how it’s done. It’s pleasant, even, that change of pace and scenery, the constant challenge and, most importantly, the freedom. For the first time Tony is able to get out, to do as he chooses and give a finger to anyone objecting. Not always and not really, but he moves out and never looks back.

***

“What you are describing is marriage.” Tony says flatly, looking down at Loki. Which is only because he’s standing six feet higher, overseeing the construction of his tower. Because now he can build himself a fucking tower.

“Yes, in your language and culture that is the closest concept.” Loki allows and returns the look. He manages to stare Tony down, the fucker. “But you need to take into consideration that ‘the marriage’ as you know it is just the most long lived and respected form of union on Midgard, which is untrue for most of the other Realms. I’ve been married by Aesir customs, married twice.” He jumps to Tony, covering fifteen feet in one effortless leap. “What the All-Father demands is different.”

“I don’t care.”

Tony doesn’t, he doesn’t care about some medieval crap with predestiny and respectful unions.

“‘Medieval.’” Loki spits. “Your charming egotism will help in your business, I think.” He smiles toothily at Tony’s outraged grimace. “Your conservative and limited brain is so busy clutching at comforting concepts you can’t even hear me properly.”

“Conservative and limited?” Tony hisses in disbelief, because wow. “Explain how is your magic-bound shit is not limited? It was without my fucking consent and now I need to fucking marry you because some guy I don’t even believe exists says so!”

“Consent.” Loki snorts. “Don’t cheapen the word. Your father consented for you, as is your land’s custom. It can’t be marriage because I am not a lawful citizen of Midgard so this argument is obsolete. And it’s not marriage by the Asgard’s law, Anthony.”

“Yes, we are just bound by your voodoo shit and take responsibility for each other’s actions. Wow, that’s not marriage at all.”

Loki’s eyes narrow and face relaxes, which is beyond alarming, he’s on his way to being livid.

“Not by Asgard’s law.” He repeats in a soft, calm voice. “And what a hardship it will be, with that law not recognized on Midgard and as such you being a man free to pursue whatever fancy might strike you. Ah, what a burden to be protected by the royal House of Odin, to have an opportunity to learn the ways other realms live and evolve, to perfect your inventions in ways unimaginable to any on Midgard.” He gives a tender smile, which gives an unpleasant contrast to the offended fury of his glare. “But that’s a scientist’s reasoning, so what am I even thinking?”

And, because he loves having the last word, Loki disappears. Tony swears loudly and explicitly, hoping that the words will reach their target.

Loki doesn’t pop out the following day, or week, or month. Tony goes from scared to angry to repentant to offended to furious.

By the time the bastard decides to finally show his face the Tower is ready, a shiny, perfect thing better than anything Tony could’ve dream of. In a fit, tied in knots about Loki’s absence, he decided to stop with the weapons and now is busy dealing with the fallout. The press hounds him, Obie keeps throwing him dark looks and even always flawless Pep looks harried.

Tony arranges for a new PA and that is exactly when a timid-looking guy decides to throw a fucking grenade at him. Tony is too busy staring as the grenade is being disintegrated by a golden mist to hear the crunch of bones.

He looks up at Pep’s scream and follows the guy as he drops to Loki’s feet, his head turned almost 180. There’s a moment of silence and they are alone again, body vanishing along with Loki.

“You fucking motherfucker.” Tony growls, which is a bit lame, but whatever. What the fuck is he thinking, disappearing and then-

Loki is here again, with a loud, uncharacteristic noise. He looks at Pepper and throws another body at her feet.

“I though corporate espionage is against the law on Midgard.” He sneers, nudging at the woman. “Or do you invite killers willfully?”

Pepper, bless her, calms down immediately and peers down at the woman, who, Tony can see now, is alive and just unconscious.

“Are you bleeding?” Is what she asks next and Tony snaps his eyes higher. Loki’s lips press together and it brings out the unhealthy grayness of his face.

“Look out for her.” Is his reply.

“Wait a second.” Tony springs into action, cursing himself for standing there like an idiot. Loki picks up the woman and gives Tony an unimpressed stare.

“We need to talk”. Tony says quickly but it’s too late.

He curses again and turns away from Pep’s curious and pitying eyes.

Fucker, selfish fucker, that Loki.

Tony doesn’t bother with goodbye, just goes to his fabulous penthouse and pulls the feed. He tells himself it’s purely to learn who wants him dead but in truth he concentrates on Loki as he appears in a burst of sparks and grasps the man’s head, long fingers sure, experienced. Loki sways a little as he pick the body up and sways again when he reappears with the woman - who Tony needs to investigate also - and Loki’s never swayed, even when he played his part as Adam.

He hates himself for the fact that all of his anger and indignation disappear and now there is only worry and brittle hope, stronger than ever, because Loki protected him, he obviously came because that golden thingy alerted him and the fact that Tony was, err, spelled, apparently, is a bit condescending but mostly returns the warmth missing since after their last conversation.

Tony hates that he is mostly okay with the weird not-really-marriage thing because it will give him an added leverage to pin Loki down and explore other planets, fuck that, other star systems, Tony was really having a childish reaction. Maybe he needed the time to stew and think this shit over, who knows. Now he just hopes that Loki’s alright and comes back soon. He chases the thoughts of ‘six months are nothing to his fifteen thousand years, he can disappear for a year this time’ away with effort. Tony hopes.

“Sir.” JARVIS wakes him gently. “Sir, you have a guest.”

“Whatever.” Tony yawns, tries to stretch his neck.

“It’s Mr Odinson.” J says with a hint of gentle reproach and Tony bolts out of his chair.

“The living room, sir.” JARVIS provides.

Loki is standing in front of the glass wall (because Tony’s had enough of the mansion’s semi-darkness), cutting an impressive figure against the windows. For the first time he’s dressed in not Earth’s clothes. There is a lot of leather and what looks like gold designs on his boots and sleeves.

At Tony’s steps Loki turns around, revealing more gold on his high collar and what looks like a stylized breastplate. He looks kinda like the prince he claims to be.

“You needed to talk.” Loki says evenly, keen eyes watching as Tony moves forward and politely looks at Loki’s face and not his alien clothes.

“Yeah, well.” This is so uncomfortable, fuck. “Want a drink?”

After a moment of consideration Loki inclines his head. His gaze presses on Tony as he moves to the bar and waves in the direction of the couch, hoping the gesture is welcoming and effortless, not dismissive.

Loki is surprisingly omnivorous so Tony takes a decanter of whiskey, because there’s no way he’s living through this conversation sober. By the time he makes it to the chair Loki’s already settled, more collected than his usual sprawl of limbs.

“I have conversed with JARVIS briefly.” Loki starts and Tony, who was just a second ago busy manning up to apologize, is blindsided a bit. “He has new servers and capacity, isn’t he better as your assistant?”

The question is voiced with a gentle curiosity, which is very polite, and Tony hates it. He snorts and waves his glass.

“But I programmed J and I can silent him. That’s sometimes counterproductive.”

He waits for a snort or a derisive smile at ‘counterproductive’, but it never comes and Tony frowns. “C’mon, what’s with that diplomatic stuff?” He can’t quite bring himself to apologize, not because he doesn’t feel guilty, but because- Tony doesn’t even know himself.

Loki’s eyes are unnaturally green and very bright.

“What do you wish to talk about?”

Honestly, sincerely, Tony just can’t. What the fuck is up with that bastard?

“What do you think? Where were you, why the fuck did you just leave and didn’t bother to, I don’t know, visit and rant at me? What’s that misty thing and what the fuck did it do to a grenade? Why weren’t the pen Pep threw at me three weeks ago misted away? Are you alright? Because you didn’t look all that great just this morning. Where did you take that guy and I really want to investigate, you know, my attempted assassination. And is all that shit with not-marriage still valid or you just decided to fuck off for good?”

Loki’s brows shoot up at that last part and admittedly Tony has revealed a bit more than he intended.

“Hmm.” Loki visibly relaxes, his body sprawling more and face more open. He looks up. “In order: I think there are multiple questions you want to talk about, I have left because there were too many hurtful words on my mind and some blows are easy to make and hard to recover from.” Loki’s eyes are heavy under his slight frown. “I had no desire to make a visit for a quarrel and I have duties I needed to attend to on top of that. I left a protection spell working and it is somewhat sentient so it couldn’t react violently to the Lady Pepper’s pen. I am well, the alert came in a bit of situation but the Aesir are more resilient than you of Midgard and any wounds I received are healed by now. Your assailant's body is kept for future purposes and the union still needs to take place.”

“Somewhat sentient?” Tony repeats and forces himself back on track. “Well, thanks for holding back, I suppose.” He doesn’t know what to say. Tony feel stupidly grateful for that, shit, he is angry but he’s also glad that Loki didn’t eviscerate him, because he very well can, both with words and, apparently, with his bare hands, fuck. Tony just knows that he’s most likely will rewatch the footage of this evening when Loki leaves. With that thought in mind he blurts. “Are you staying over? There’s a floor for you.”

He wants to disappear as soon as he says that, but Loki brightens a bit, not a hint of derision on his face. “A floor for me?” He smiles, but it’s a pleased smile.

“Yeah, well, aren’t you a prince?” Tony tries for lighthearted. It was a foregone thing in his planning, even after Loki decided to hide his face, that there would be a place for him, and what a joke to give a guest room when Tony has the whole Tower and it’s Loki.

“Show me.” Loki says, as he always has, when he was Adam and demanded to know everything about Tony’s work and when he is Loki and wants to know everything about Tony’s life.

Loki likes his floor, which is a bit strange, because Tony had no idea what to do with the interior and left it as it is - bare walls, which makes him a bit of a dumbass to invite a guest to sleep on cement floor.

Still, Loki is obviously pleased. “Ah, and can I raise the walls as I see fit?”

Tony shrugs at that, because whatever. “You have to let me get J’s sensors here, though.”

“I’m afraid my seidr will intervene with their workings anyway, but I’ll think of something if that’s necessary.” Loki allows, making a dismissive gesture and successfully making every wall disappear. Tony blinks at the sudden illusion of low ceiling and turns around in light panic. Thankfully, the elevator is still present.

“Are you competing with the palace of Asgard, Anthony?” Loki asks with a smile as he steps around, looking back and forth. There are multiple shiny balls springing from his hands and floating around and giving the surroundings a warm hue.

“I’m Tony Stark.” Tony huffs in reply, which sounds a bit stupid but Loki nods in understanding. Then he makes a forceful step, more like a stomp and the space begins to morph.

In a matter of minutes they are standing in an inviting hall, with light walls and ceiling adorned with what looks like multiple polished crystals. Loki disappears into a wide, large arc of pale stone and by the time Tony catches up the next room is transformed also, there is a large black bowl in the middle, made of what appears to be semi-transparent rock.

“Is it one of your customs?” Tony calls while Loki is busy creating low padded stools or something. At the inquiring glance Tony shrugs and motions at the bowl. “I know you are not vikings but you must drink a lot.” The bowl is easily seven feet in diameter.

Loki looks uncommonly bewildered then he huffs. “It’s a fireplace, Anthony.”

“A- A what? It’s not a fireproof room!”

He receives an impressive eye roll in reply. Loki settles on a very soft-looking seat and gives Tony one last dirty look before dumping firewood and with a snap of fingers there is fire. Bright golden light which lights the bowl from the inside, making it rich red with deep blue streaks running roots-like from the bottom of the bowl.

“There will be no smoke.” Loki says, looking at the ceiling intently. There is nothing to see for a mortal eye but aside from pleasant warmth there is no smell or other sign of open fire. Tony settles closer to Loki and stares at the crackling fire.

“You can’t create matter.” He says at last because he can’t really think of anything else.

“Of course not.” Loki replies. “The law of Universe doesn’t work like that.”

“Right. Because you knew physics so well.”

It was Tony who had to explain everything to him, even if Loki is an exceptionally fast learner.

“Oh, do be more condescending. I never learned Midgard’s sciences and why would I? You have only recently began to get closer to understanding the world around you, while Svartalfar scholars knew how to create local singularities long before the birth of eucumene.” Loki snorts gently at the last word. “To be able to change the Universe at will one must understand how it works; to apply pressure at exactly the right point in the exact amount. This is what a mage is, and magic as you so charmingly laugh at is nothing like what I grew up learning. We do not deal in toad hearts or whatever your tales concocted. We study the workings of seidr and the World Tree and work with the knowledge we gather, we do not hope for a result.”

“So. Still physics.” Tony grins at Loki’s huff and nudges a bit closer. “And what were you doing? How did you make all this stuff?”

“I did not make the fireholder. I fetched it from my workroom, such items are not created overnight. Mostly I just rearranged the matter residing here. There will be more work to make the floor to my liking, but it will do for now.”

“Wow, your mageness, you’re easy to please.” Tony gives the bare room a telling look and grins. He missed this.

“I slept on bare stone or wet shore many a time. This is no hardship.”

“Sure, Loki Grills, as you say.” Then, after a pause, Tony itches again. “So, you can take whatever you want from wherever?”

Loki scrunches his nose. “I need to be familiar with the place and with the item in question; my workroom is imbued with my seidr, it’s the place I know the best in all the Realms, as such concentrating on it and reaching out is no hardship. Otherwise it’s easier to shift somewhere and extract what is needed by hand. Small items I carry around.” He makes a smooth gesture rotating his wrist and there is a bottle in his hand.

“Are you telling me you have a pocket dimension?” Tony asks, because. Because.

“You call it that, yes.” Loki nods. “But it’s more like a cluster of bends in space, individual for each item. It’s easier that way.”

Tony blinks at him, what the fuck, you bastard, how could you- it hits him suddenly that Loki’s been teleporting this whole time and apparently Tony’s been so deep in denial that he wrote it off as some bullshit pseudo-god power, but no, Loki has just been bending time and space and leaping light years away and back with just a thought.

“Do it again!” Tony demands, hopping closer and concentrating solely on Loki’s hands. He has a moment to hate himself for sounding like an eager kid (he feels like an eager kid, but that’s a heartbreak for another time), then Loki lifts both hands and makes a flowing, rotating gesture, then grasps as a book appears out of thin air. He passes it to Tony, who takes it with a rare reverence.

The book is solid. Quite heavy for its size, no thicker than Tony’s thumb and bound in an unknown material with three clasps made of dull red metal. They are completely smooth without a hint of a slit and flow into the cover seamlessly.

Maybe the questions are apparent on Tony’s face, because Loki reaches and expertly flicks open the clasps.

“This is my latest, ah,” he frowns, looking for the word, “dissertation, you might say. It’s a standard protection for spell-filled writings, they can be violent without proper containment.”

Tony feels like Harry Potter, only rich and insanely smart and having not mumbo-jumbo words but extraphysics in front of him. Some pages are nothing but symbols and they are obviously words but there are often blocks of completely different symbols. Sometimes there are diagrams, one page opens by itself and Loki has to slap it and burn the drawing back into the page. The lines make Tony’s brain hurt a bit because they are clearly not even three-dimensional.

“Enough.” Loki says gently and takes the book back. He slaps it closed with force and the clasps morph together. Tony wants it back, his own, science fairytale literally in his hands.

The book disappears again and instead Loki holds Tony’s favorite mug. He turns it around in his hands, drums his fingers along the rim and then gives it to the owner.

“Here.” He says with a slight smile. “It will contain four times its measure of liquid and will keep it of starting temperature.”

Tony stares at him of a moment, then his gaze snaps to the unassuming (and now very clean, of course) mug, then back. Then Tony frantically looks around, but of course there is nothing here and he bolts to the elevator. The crystals in the first hall twinkle in rhythm with their gentle shift in brightness but Tony sees and hears none, he is busy tearing down to his kitchen and firing commands at Jarvis, who is not very pleased at having a whole floor basically cut out from his reach.

“Later, J.” Tony promises as he dumps iced water into the mug and watches it disappear. The bottom of the mug is foggy and Tony can’t see where and how the water goes but after a while it begins to fill and then he dumps the water in the sink, watching as it flows.

It’s not a real science test, but Tony is still feeling like a kid and he feels ridiculously happy, as if he’s received a gift he asked but didn’t believe he’d get. Except he couldn’t even ask for that, that casual, fast and effortless bending of all the laws he knows.

“It will contain solid objects according to its visible size and expel the dirt after a while.” Loki says from behind Tony, startling the man. “For safety concerns I spelled it unbreakable in usual circumstances, but be aware that upon destruction the contained space will enlarge and then implode, affecting at least seven feet of surroundings. Concentrating laser on it will most likely result in destruction.”

Tony gapes at him and carefully places the mug on the counter. Suddenly he can see the awkwardness in Loki, in the way he stands and patiently waits for the reaction, his face relaxed but eyes alert and ready. Tony doesn’t know what it is Loki is preparing himself for, doesn’t want to know why he is so uncomfortable with giving gifts but there is too much in his chest to contain so he dives forward and gives Loki a hug.

It’s an awkward thing, marred by Tony’s indignation at Loki’s too tall frame and the fact that he isn’t used to being physical, but it beats talking about problems, so Tony grasps at the soft texture of Loki’s jacket and after a moment a hand is placed carefully on his shoulder. It doesn’t press him closer but neither is it pulling him back so that’s a win.

From that point on it’s like the floodgates are open and Tony can’t stop reaching out and touching. It takes some time to notice and some more time to analyse and in the end it’s Jarv who concludes that it’s most likely that sir’s actions are a result from severe touch starvation. Well, that explains it.

Actually, no, it doesn’t explain Tony’s childlike joy when the whole business with the ‘union’ is explained properly, doesn’t explain a sneaky thought at the back of his mind that Loki can’t really go away and abandon Tony. It’s an unpleasant arrangement in concept but does Tony care? Not in the least, not anymore. From what he saw Loki enjoys his company and it’s very much reciprocated, so that’s it.

The whole ordeal is far less impressive than Tony’s expected, what with Loki’s title and big words about magic. There is the teleportation (which is severely unpleasant on what feels like molecular level) and Loki’s determined eyes as he takes Tony’s hand and places it on a warm bluish panel in a column of solid black stone.

“Recognized.” A solemn woman nods and a dozen of figures go on their business. That’s it, the big thing Loki was raving about is summed in a couple of seconds, because ‘of course, Anthony, the ceremony or any redundant flair is harmful to the dealings of seidr’ (so cute, there is not redundant flair).

Tony has much larger things to concentrate on, like for example the strong possibility that his sexuality has taken an abrupt one eighty and there is a whole list of moments normal at first but which are constantly on the back on his mind, like milestones leading to the inevitable.

There was that awkward hug in his kitchen, the first time Loki laughed freely, that day they spent under the invisibility spell, the purple spires of Svartalfheim, Loki’s hunting outfit and his dress armor which to be fair Tony has seen maybe a fraction of a second, because he kinda needed help for his latest experiment and was exploiting his right to call. Loki wasn’t impressed and left immediately; Tony pulled the feed to try and catch the moment of his arrival and, well. He wasn’t aware Asgard’s fashion trends tended towards ‘obscene’ or ‘obscenely revealing’.

Despite the numerous willing women he’s picked up in blatant protest, Tony feels wrong-footed somehow, unable to even recognize his attraction. He knows he’s getting clingier, abusing Loki’s goodwill and patience, but it’s just good. Tony will stop as soon as he’s told to, until then, he’ll take what he can.

This stellar plan is destroyed by the betrayal of Tony’s own body. He’s busy listening to Loki explaining how their flying ships work, maintaining just enough brainpower to ask appropriate questions now and then, while most of the focus is directed at the way Loki’s chest expands on inhales and rumbles when he speaks. After a while there is a pause and Loki says, “Is that particular topic arousing or are you just in the mood?”

Tony freezes, but it’s too late, he’s pressed himself close so thoroughly that there is no way for misinterpretation. For a couple of agonizing moments he keeps still in a childish hope that if he wishes for it hard enough it will all disappear - his boner, Loki’s attention and the fact that he can’t even jerk off properly anymore, because there is one person on his mind and he’s afraid of mind reading.

Not getting an answer Loki simply lays a hand on Tony’s shoulder, a heavy, grounding presence and it’s electrifying. At the resulting shudder, the mage exhales softly.

“Or there is that.” He says nonsensically and his hand travels to Tony’s jawbone, a steady torture. Loki’s eyes are always attentive, but this is something else; in the back of Tony’s mind there is a thought that their position is ridiculous and more than resembling covers for numerous trash romantic novels the maids used to read and think their hid so well. Then Loki kisses and Tony comes alive, scrambling forward a bit to align them better and put his hands everywhere at once. He doesn’t know what he wants but that apparently it was a bit too long and if there isn’t sex in the immediate future there would be violence.

Only Loki delivers, oh he does; it is an interesting experience to be the one pampered and indulged: the prep takes hours, literally, and afterwards Tony just lies in a fucked out haze, carding his fingers through Loki’s hair lazily.

It’s a pity his brain doesn’t really shut up for long and soon he twitches restlessly, making the body above stir. Loki frowns down in disapproval, the usual sharpness of his gaze tempered. Tony grins and it’s most likely that his grin is dopey but who cares.

“Can we have science pillow talk? Because that’s the best and about those ships-”

Loki springs into action, one second he is giving Tony an Unimpressed Eyebrow, all relaxed and pliant, the next the mage is crouching over, eyes intent, promising. The kiss he delivers is no less brain-numbing than the first one and Tony pants a little, feeling, to his horror, the beginnings of erection.

“Are you going to kill me with sex? I’m not sure I’ll live through it right now.” Sure, Loki is a master of edging and he makes the torment totally worth it and more, but there are things mortal men are just not able to do.

“Oh, well, we’ll have to do something about that.” Loki shrugs a little, smug and unrepentant; he doesn’t take things further, though, just pins Tony with his weight and frowns a bit.

“I must admit I intended to kill you initially.”

There we go, away with that arousal, thank you, Loki.

“Um, what?”

The mage shrugs minutely. “It seemed like a mercy to us both; I had no intention to be shackled to some mortal imbecile and you are too fragile and young to take to the court.” He makes a pause, visibly fighting with the following words. “Good thing you are not what I expected.”

“Aww.” Tony drawls, immediately relaxing. Maybe he’s spent too much time with the bastard, or maybe he’s just wired wrong but he accepts the admission for what it is: it’s silly to expect different logic from Loki, thousands years old warrior and diplomat of warriors. “I’m so charming the tall, dark and murderous decided against offing me.”

“Am I not handsome?” Loki sniffs, but he smiles a bit, eyes bright and more relaxed than ever.

“You know you are, I’m not feeding your ego. Seriously though, that’s some Twilight shit.” Tony laughs and laughs more when he receives a gentle bite in reprimand. “Yes, I managed to snatch a magical immortal rich prince! That calls for screen adaptation with inaccurate portrayal of sex. I’m too fabulous for a bland cast, though.” He grins unabashedly at Loki’s restrained mirth. “Also, I have multiple MIT degrees and hold patents for most of SI’s innovations, but that’s all trivia.”

“Oh, yes, clearly I was struck with a sense of Fate.” Loki adds wryly.

“Uh-huh. And spent so much time in disguise because you are adorably shy. Shy will do instead of you snapping necks with your bare hands and returning from hunts covered in blood and guts.”

“That happens rarer than you are inclined to think.”

“Maybe. Doesn’t mean you make a pretty sight.” Tony hums, absurdly happy and content. “On that matter, why Adam?”

Loki blinks in silent question.

“I mean, there is a perfectly acceptable Luke, for example.”

“Luke.” Loki deadpans. “If we ever go in disguise anywhere on Midgard I’ll make sure to create an appropriate alias, Tommy.”

Tony scrunches his nose. Like that, it does sound stupid. “Point taken. So you just picked up a random name?”

“Pretty much, Toby.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Ahaha, the initial draft was around 20 000 words of disjoined notes dealing with shit I have no patience towards now, like Obadiah, Iron Man armor, Howard, Fury, Natasha, Shield, Loki-Jotun thing, Asgard, Egyptian and Greek deities (I just threw it away, because fleshing out at the beginning stages was just under 6000 words and I’m just, eeeeeh, deadline, Oel). Yes, I thought of it. No, I couldn’t fit it all in without it taking a couple of months and growing into multi-chap. One day, maybe, who knows.

#fge2017 #my fics #frostiron #loki/tony stark

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