#ignore how bad the congas sound

[bra1nwashed]

another clip from band rehearsal

we used the whistle on our guiro lol

[toiletwipes]

and i'd give up forever to touch you

extra chapter. all i can breathe is your life.

Summary: It's discount, disco Tuesday and you've decided to drag Wilbur along too!

~3.4k words. masterlist.

---

he finds himself wrapped in one of your adventures, you being determined to find inspiration to keep writing music and living life the way you always loved. he didn't get any of it, but you were his friend, and he didn't mind all that much when it was you.

at the moment, you'd taken him out for a drive, refusing to tell him where you'd be going but beforehand you'd painted shapes onto both of your faces, with neon green and yellow and pink paint. diamond and hearts on yours, clubs and spades on his, not to mention the outfit you demanded he wear. demanded is a loose term, you merely gave him a look, puppy dog eyes, and he folded like a lawn chair.

the paint had dried and left his face feeling itchy but every time he raised a hand, you'd slap it down. "if i have to hold your hand, i will, don't test me, will." you had teased but you definitely felt your breath stutter at the thought, and he wasn't fairing that much better. holding hands?

much to his surprise, he found himself standing in a short line for roller skates, lights dim and people skating in a large rink. you had paid for the tickets and everything, insisting all he had to do was skate. how hard could it be?

for him, unnecessarily.

the moment he stood up with the skates tied to his feet, he could barely stand still, threatening to fall over in three different directions. his long legs have finally backfired on him from all the times he's mocked you for being shorter.

but you, you glided through the air, stopping by his side as you steady him, a little giggle in your breath. and he could see the outfit and the paint coming together. while everything else had dimmed, the paint and clothes glowed. and you didn't look so bad like this.

not to mention the skirt you chose for tonight, with shorts underneath of course, but it was hard to remind himself that you're just friends.

that you didn't wear it for him, why would you when you're just friends?

he whines inside of his head, so cruel, as you help him to the edge of the rink, holding onto the wall. most of the skaters stay close to the inside of the circle, lucky for you two as you guide him to the edge of it, feeling the breeze from everyone.

you cut slide backwards as you hold both of his hands and guide him through the motions. "just one foot in front of the other, like you're sweeping dirt behind your feet." you say, but as he tries to kick his feet, he trips himself and falls into you. you curse as you both tumble to the ground, wilbur's face shoved into your stomach and your knees wedged into his armpits.

"you okay?" you call over the music, ignoring the slight ache in your elbows and butt, patting his shoulder.

he lifts his head and is met with your face staring him down and all he can see is the paint and the whites in your eyes glowing. and he can't think, nothing processing. is that what a god looks like, he vaguely hears in the back of his mind.

"wilbur?"

without another second to think, he's scrambling off of you, as much as he can with the skates tied to his feet still, but he can see a slight impression from the paint, somehow, in your white shirt.

you don't notice, only snickering as you pull yourself to your feet and he just so happened to be looking up and oh fuck.

he can see up your fucking skirt.

and it doesn't matter that you're wearing shorts, because he's still fucking looking. until he covers his eyes and attempts to stand without any aide. god, he knew he was a pervert but shit. not that he could forget the sight when it's burnt in the inside of his eyelids.

"oh my god, you're so stupid," you laugh and tug on his arms, and drag him back to the wall, getting him to stand eventually.

he groans, leaning his forehead against the wall with both of his hands gripping the sides as tight as he can, "how am i supposed to skate if i can't even make it past the entrance? what was the point of bringing me?" he says, looking up at you as you survey the area, and you just shrug, a small smile playing at your lips.

"it was a discount tonight, figured you'd might enjoy learning," and you're tugging his arms again, looping one of your arms into his to help guide him. "and besides, you'll never learn if all you do is mope and whine about it!" and you press on his back and chest, getting him to stop slouching and telling him how to balance his weight the best way for him, before nudging him forward and watching his arms lock up, feet straight as they roll right towards the chairs lining the walls.

he falls to his knees when he reaches the chairs, and you don't hesitate in calling him dramatic, stopping right in front of him as he pulls himself to sit.

"i think-" he gulps down air like it's water, "i think i'll sit here for- for a minute." you try to pull him up but he shakes his head, insists that you get a headstart into skating, he'll probably figure it out after watching you do it anyways.

you skate away, only after he reassures you once more he's more than okay sitting for a moment.

and you make it look more than easy. you skate across the glossy floor like it was made of butter, weaving your way in and out of the crowd as if you had places to be. and in a brief moment with no one in front of you, you slow down, arms lowered to your side as you enjoy the chilled air, a smile growing as you begin to move your legs and arms again, doing two more laps before you come back to wilbur.

he doesn't have much to say.

"wow."

and he just accepts the punch to his shoulder, rubbing out the ache as you laugh.

"it's just practice, that's all it is."

"you probably practiced like a professional, knowing you." he teases, eyes flickering from the endless moving mass, glowing in the darkness and back to you.

"to be fair, my parents loved taking me here as a kid, didn't help that they knew the owners," you shrug, chest heaving a little bit as you spoke, your breath not yet even.

"that does help," he says, fingers pressing into his knees as he briefly wonders when this place will close. not that he's not having fun, it's just that he doesn't know how to skate at all. and maybe it doesn't help that skating comes to you like breathing does. "so what's-"

"-alright, skaters, it's time for the first special skate, the couples round, if all the single people could please safely exit the rink-"

"oh that's our cue," he says and as he stands you tell him to just hold onto your shoulders, you'll lead him out of the rink. but just as you get to the halfway point, you're singled out.

"to the strange couple, please refer to the default hand-holding, and not the conga, thank you,"

your brain short-circuits to the point where you miss the exit and, on accident, rejoin the circling mass of skaters. wilbur, who's right beside you, is panicking.

"y/n- i can't- i can't do this- i can't skate," and he's breathing too hard as his limbs begin to lock up, you shake out of your stupor and gently take his hand into your own and try to distract him, going from telling him you believe in him, telling him to just bend his knees and you'll guide him like before. then you offer something else up.

"if we get through this lap, we'll do anything you want and i can't say no," you tell him, and it's unbelievably hard to say anything but yes please get me out of there.

and all he can get out is a strained yes, quiet as anything over the music that reverberates through their chests, over the sound of the wheels against the floor.

but you guide him through it, slow and towards the outside of the rink, where most of the couples weren't, and its painful to watch him stiff as anything, barely holding himself together. but as the time passes, you find yourself back at the exit, and he doesn't hesitate to latch onto the closest free table and sit down. he's swallowing mouthfuls of air, maybe a little bit dramatic you humor to yourself, but for the most part he looks tired already.

you stand next to him, reaching up to card your fingers through his hair. "you did so good, wilbur, you made it," he doesn't say anything as he leans his head back as you work your fingers through small tangles. doesn't say anything as the praise burns at his groin, and hopes the dim lights and his physical exhaustion covers the fact that he might have a praise kink.

you lean down to whisper in his ear, "alright, we got through it, what would you like to do now?" and it takes a lot for him to hold back begs and whimpers, but he manages to say something along the lines of food.

you lead him back to your original table with your shoes sitting on top, you ask him if he wants to take the skates off and he doesn't even hesitate to pull them off as soon as he's sitting again. you have to laugh, but then his head rolls around his shoulders and looks at you with dark eyes and it catches in your throat.

eyes wide and mouth open, he knows that this view is dangerous, but keeps looking. though, you seem to pull yourself together and give yourself a thorough shake, your fingers, hands, arms, and torso wiggle in your seat. shaking off whatever it was that had you frozen.

"alright, come with me to get food?" you ask and he nods, standing up and finds that standing without a death machine strapped to his feet is much easier now. with the challenge gone, he starts to walk and then finds you latching onto his elbow with glowing, puppy dog eyes. "drag me?" you pout and he gives in, so easily, you wonder if he would ever say no to you.

your skates facing straight, he pulls you down the pathway between tables and finds himself at a bar area, you barely stopping from slamming into his sides, and he has to wrap an arm around you to settle you still.

you stay still alright, his arms warm from the exertion, and the slight sheen coating his skin makes you want to wring him out like a hand towel and at the same time, you want more than his arm around you.

but you're not toeing the lines of your relationship right now, you're fucking ordering food.

"what can i get for you today?" you skim over the menu above the employee's head, and will answers him curtly, you responding just as quick, handing over the right amount before waiting for the food itself by the edge of the bar.

you lean your knuckles into your cheek, breathing out a dramatic sigh to get wilbur's divided attention. he barely turns around at the sound of another sigh and by then, he's got an unimpressed look printed on his features.

"what is it going to take for you to loosen up? you move as if your bones are popsicle sticks held together by glue."

"you don't know my bones," is all he says before nodding to the employee handing him his chips and water, not even wasting a second before opening the bottle and drinking half of it to soothe the dry itch in his throat.

"you didn't answer my question, will," you inch closer to him to sing it in his ear, but he turns his face to look at you, instead of forward, and you're now nose-to-nose, so close together, just barely a breath's distance.

your breath hitches and he hears it, above everything else, he hears it and just barely closes his eyes and closes the distance. you don't move until you realize where you were again, and you're pushing on his shoulders, skating across the floor with the bag of pretzels and bottle of water in your hand. wilbur walks behind you confused, more along the lines of afraid of the car ride home where you inevitably stop talking to him and demand he never speak to you again. had he read all the signs wrong? did you hate him?

you yank the shoes off your feet, taking the pair and wilbur's to the front, pulling on your converse as you left the rink with him trailing behind you, feeling more than ever like he fucked up. he knows he fucked up in his life before but it never felt as big as this.

the sky is dark and feels unforgiving as you, but you're taking the drinks and snacks and throwing them into the back without him saying anything.

and then you're closing the door and looking at him with your hands still open, as if you're still holding something, and he's about to ask a question, ask if you're okay or something like that, when you yank on the collar of his shirt and press your lips against his firmly, leaning your back against your car, hidden away from potential onlookers.

he braces himself with both hands landing on either side of you, your mouth distracting him more than he'd ever thought. fucking hell, he thinks, your lips soft, warm, and he can't help but chase after yours when you pull away for a second. you're looking at him with half-lidded eyes, and then you're leaning into him, hands sliding up to cusp his face, before tucking your head under his jaw and lips attaching to his neck, sucking and biting and soothing the bites with long swipes of your tongue.

wilbur feels so warm- so hot as you continue to leave hickey after hickey, it feels too good and he grinds his hips against yours, feeling a moan bubble in his throat when a hand covers his mouth, "don't let them know what we're up to, mkay?"

he almost whines beneath your hand but you're right back to his neck, pleasure spiking up in his spine every time you bite down and every time your tongue flattens against every lovebite.

eventually, the sound of the doors constantly swinging open and closed grabs your attention than the trembling man under your hands and mouth, leaning back as you look at the mess you made of him.

"wanna head home now?" you whisper, reaching up to push his hair out of his face, pressing a small kiss to his jaw.

home. not your dorm, not his apartment, home.

he nods, barely holding it together as you lead him back to the passenger side, closing the door and heading towards the driver's, a little pep in your step. you nod at the other skaters leaving and they give a slight nod back, unbeknownst to the man you're slowly ruining that sits in your car.

getting in, you're faced with a mess. glancing at his neck, you reach back and down for something soft, pulling it up, you see it's your old jacket, something you had for years and… something to cover your friend in for now. "here, if you get cold, because i'm feeling hot." you hand it over to him, before turning the ac up all the way, cranking it to the maximum settings and feeling the bitter cold on your very warm skin.

it was an excuse, of course, but you weren't going to tell him that as you see him very quickly pull it over his head. had you gotten it in a size that fit you, it might not have fit his long torso, but oversized? perfect on him.

you don't see him pulling on the edge of the hoodie, breathing deeply as he could to take all of your scent in. something akin to weed and cinnamon. something home would smell like, he figures.

it takes twenty minutes before you reach the dorms, and it takes another minute before you're inside your designated one, finding rosie and jared curled into the sofa, jumping at every turn in the horror movie on the tv.

"we're back," you say, as you head into the kitchen and pull out another bottle of water, drinking it in as you're well aware of the eyes you have burning into your skin.

swallowing the last gulp, you throw away the empty bottle before looking the man in your hoodie in the eyes and seeing just the very edge of hickeys peek out from the collar. stepping close to him, you reach up to his face and grasp his chin fairly soft, pulling him down just enough to kiss him slow and deep. when you pull away, the dried paint is dripping slightly down his cheek. you swipe it away as his eyes stayed shut.

"we'll be in my room, call us if you need us," you say but they were too absolved in their scary movie, too busy to notice the man practically shaking under your touch.

leading him to your room, like the thousands of times before, and leading him to your bed like the thousands of times before, but this time you give the door a slight kick before it closes. this time you kiss him and let him press you into the bed, hands burning everywhere they touch on your skin.

the nerves in his body feels shot when you reach under the hoodie to press your cold fingers against his skin, pressing against his stomach and gasping into his mouth when he does the same, flicking your shirt up a little to dig his fingers into your hip.

pulling away to breathe, you slow down, your heart pounding against your chest as you come down from a high that you knew would become a problem later on. you lean your head back into a pillow as he slows down too, his sticky forehead against your bare shoulder.

"would-" your mouth sticks together but you push the words forward, "would you be okay if we went to sleep right now?"

you didn't want to ruin anything more than you already did. knowing yourself, you probably confused him. you knew he had feelings for rosie but damn it if you didn't try at least. now look at where it's got you.

you don't see him nod, only feeling the bed dip as he moves off of you and moving to lay down in front of you. he gives your arm a nudge and when you move it, he leans into you, curling into your side as he gives you no room to think. all you could think about was him.

breathing in his hair, you smelt the shampoo from before, the slight smell from the rink, and then the damp feeling of sweat stick to his hair.

yeah, you would need to shower again in the morning. and yeah, you'd probably need to talk about this again. but couldn't you at least enjoy the way he can't seem to leave you alone? Can't you relish in the fact that he wants to be near you and not her. letting you mark him up. you could enjoy it, if not for a second. for the moment, you could enjoy the feel of him grounding you.

as for him, he doesn't know how much luckier he can get. so as your breaths slow in between, he sticks his head into the crook of your neck, just breathing you in and relishing the close proximity he has once again.

he may not have gotten to bury himself inside you but this is fine all on its own, head feeling light from how close you are together.

he presses a kiss to your skin before letting himself sleep in your arms.

(you almost cry when you felt his lips against your collarbone. wondering if this is the modern version of torture and who's administering them from above.)

...

taglist: @fxnxtical @ghostburlovebot @ollie-overscore @roygbivvie @beehive-syst3m @boiled-onionrings @mayempress @bringm3th3n1rvana @yui-san0 @comonlokbut2 @lurkey-lurker @tiredofsatansbullshit @serendipityryn @facelessmatchstick @sewagespaghetti @dogsandrocketsocks @unhelpfulghosty @struggling-with-time

[tcsauaskblog]

I'm not sure if you already explained this in the same story, but I'm curious, what exactly happened to Donald the day of the barn incident? (I mean what broke him mentally, I know exactly what happened, but what was the cause)

Funny enough, this was one of the few times where there wasnt a catalyst that brought the event on.

Sometimes, the bad brain juice just starts pumping for no reason, and that day, there wasn't anything to smooth out the creases in Donald's anxiety filled mind.

You could probably make the excuse that it was a bunch of little things that piled up in Donald's head, that caused him to have the meltdown he did.

The bad dream of his parents car accident the night before. The rip in his good shirt. The failed English test at school. The rainy weather. There could have been any number of reasons that added up to a mental load that Donald could no longer carry.

But sometimes, the self hate and heavy thoughts are just an arm length away, always there, without Donald having to reach far for it. And sometimes you just wake up on the wrong side of the bed, and those mean little voices that Donald tries so hard to ignore and push down every day seem a little bit more resilient than usual, and Donalds tired, so he doesn't fight them as hard as he should. So they linger, and protrude and poke and point out every flaw they can throughout the day.

Like how he isnt good enough. How he'll never be good enough. He can't live up to his parents expectations. He can't Lookout for his sister and cousins the way he should. Hes not useful or needed or wanted and hes just a big burden thats in the way.

And oh God, how hes just so, so angry, all the time. No normal person can ever be this angry right? Any what does he even have to be angry about anyway? Hes got a roof over his head, food on the table, a shirt on his back and probably the best family and friends someone like him could ever ask for so why... why does his heart race like this? Why does his hands shake, and his vision go red and his chest hurt like he'll never be able to breathe normally again?

Most the time, he can ignore it. Most the time, he can distract himself with Della's antics and Gladstone's prodding and Fethry's endless knock-knock jokes and most the time he can just let himself be buoyed along with their shenanigans and joy. Let himself be distracted from the rage thats always half cooked in the boiling pot that is his chest and ignore the mean voices in his head and forget that self hating little conga line thats on constant repeat in his heart.

But Della had stayed after school to work on a history project with a friend, and Gladstone said that he had a date to get to, and Fethry said that one of the barn cats gave birth the other day, so he wanted to hang around the kittens and take care of the mama a bit before the storm hit, and suddenly all the mean thoughts felt louder when he was left alone.

Felt louder when he actually had the time and quiet to be able to hear them.

And sometimes the rage is mind numbing, Donald often finding gaps in his memory after certain fits reach a point that his sanity can no longer account for his he just... he blanks. He blacks out and usually comes to with someone cooing soft words of reassurance to him, to relax him, to pull him back from that dark curtain blanketed over his rationality.

But sometimes... sometimes Donald is present. He's fully aware of the red blurring into his vision, of the dark cloud forming over his head. And he has to make the conscious decision that whatever it is thats about to happen, he has to be somewhere where his cousins won't easily walk in on him and somehow get caught in the crossfire.

He thinks, if he had to explain it, that it works like how a panic attack comes on. Most of the time, its just something random, something you wouldn't even think of as triggering at first, that sets it off. But once it starts, you have about a minute to compartmentalize that

1) you're having a panic attack.

2) its probably gonna be bad, so sit down in a place that you can be safe for awhile while you break down

3) if you can, let people that you trust know that you're having a panic attack and go from there

Donald can feel the anger come on like a curtain slowly falling. Hes too tired to fight it, too tired to try and ignore the pain it cause and just how right those little mean voices are sounding. So he makes the conscious effort to move, get out of the house now. Go to the empty barn, the one Fethry isn't in.

He doesn't bother shutting the barn door, he can't think that far ahead. All he manage to focus on is putting one foot in front of the other and matching a gulping breath with each step. His hands are already shaking and his eyes are going blurry with fear leaden tears by the time he reaches one of the old broken down bailers.

His heart his pounding hard enough to leave bruising when he takes an involuntary swing with his fist. His knuckles connect with something metal and sharp and red is suddenly everywhere. He sucks in a sharp inhale when an explosion of pain blooms across his hand but one of those loud voices in his head says he probably deserves it. And it sounds so convincing that Donald doesn't think twice about disagreeing before he takes another, angry swing.

And another one.

And another one.

He loses track now, but he's present for all of it. Theres a rational voice somewhere thrown in the mix that he should probably stop. That this was dangerous. That his family would be worried about the state he was in if they saw him. But its drowned out. Barely audible above all the other thoughts circling in his head.

What did it matter anyway? He was already so pathetic. This wasn't new for Donald, the kid who couldn't do anything right. A couple of punches to get some small micro aggressions out were nothing in the long run. As long as Donald didn't hurt anyone, didn't hurt or scare his family, then it was fine. He could smack around the broken farm equipment for a few minutes or an hour or two, and the few scraps and cuts and bloodstained fists along the way were nothing to worry about.

He'd wait the anger out. Let it have its way with him. Let the storm pass over and deal with the consequences of his actions later. It would be fine.

If he was the only one who got hurt, then it would all be fine.

[inactiive-shit]

Skeptical Belief

 Fandom: Sanders Sides

Prompt: Ghost hunting

Warning: Deceit, Remus, demon-thing

Pairing: Primarily platonic Analogical; background romantic Intrulogical, Anxceit, Royality, Remile

Words: 3,715

@sanderssidescelebrations

​Note: they do talk about temperature in degrees fahrenheit. For reference, 32 degrees fahrenheit is the temperature at which water freezes and is equal to 0 degrees celsius

It was two in the morning, and Logan watched Remus spread their sleeping bags out on the dusty floor, open and layered one on top of the other. Logan would’ve complained, said that they were taking up more space than using them as they were meant to would, but it was getting increasingly cold (colder than it should have been, maybe) and if he didn’t sleep next to his space heater of a boyfriend, he might get hypothermia and die.

So spreading out the sleeping bags would do.

“If we die here, I am going to kill you,” Dee said. He was curled into Virgil’s chest, who was on the far side of Remus. The cold must be pretty awful for him. It shouldn’t have been so cold.

“No one else who came into this house has died from any sort of paranormal experience,” Logan said for the umpteenth time since they had arrived at the house. “In fact, it’s impossible to prove that anyone has ever died from the paranormal because we have yet to even prove its existence. Which is the exact reason we are here.” Logan slid under the blankets on the outer edge of their giant blanket-pillow-conga-line. The eight of them had all come with separate sleeping bags, but it was seeming more and more like preserving body heat and stealing each others’ was going to be the priority.

“Logan, do you even believe in the paranormal?” Roman demanded from across the room. He was sitting in the blankets next to Patton who was on Dee’s far side. “It doesn’t seem like a very logical thing to do.”

“Yes, Roman, obviously I believe in the paranormal, otherwise I would not be trying to prove it exists. You know, I already explained to you why we are doing this. Do you live to ignore me?”

“No,” Roman said, offense coating his voice. “I live to love Patton.” He grabbed at Patton sides to make him shriek.

“I’m just glad we’re all hanging out together,” Patton giggled, wiggling away from Roman’s fingers. “It’s been so long, and even if it is in a dirty old house, well, at least we’re all here.”

“Aw, Patton, that’s so sweet,” Emile gushed. He was on the other side of Roman. Remy was pushed to the farthest edge from Logan, and about as happy about this whole thing as a honey badger. Honestly, Logan could not have told you why they all decided to come; only two of them were invested in the investigation (Remus and Virgil), two wanted to hang out with everybody (Patton and Emile), and Dee, Roman, and Remy were actively against coming here.

Still, they’d all shown up, and now they were all part of Logan’s very first filmed investigation. He’s been wanting to do it for a while, for science. (It’s only breaking and entering if you’re not doing it for scientific purposes, it’s only bullshit if you don’t record the results.) Virgil, just as determined to catch a ghost on camera as Logan was, had brought one of his good, professional cameras for them to use. Logan was eternally grateful for his best friend’s support.

Remus was invested because, despite what the others thought, he was actually very supportive of what Logan liked. He also wanted to break and enter and provoke a spirit, but in the name of science, so did Logan. So they were pretty damn well aligned on that front.

“Patton, I thought you would be against breaking the law,” Remy said, sounding snappier than usual. Logan sometimes wondered if Remy was psychic; he had an uncanny ability to foresee how things would turn out, and he often gave random pieces of advice for no discernable reason. (He once told Logan he might save what he was working on. Logan had, simply because it was good to save your documents often. Not two minutes later his laptop crashed and lost all the progress he’d made after the save. It was totally inexplicable.)

“I mean, nobody’s lived here in a long time,” Patton said. “And the worst thing in the house is probably just some cockroaches.”

“Cockroach? Where?” demanded Remus. “I’ll take care of it.”

“There better not be any cockroaches in here,” Roman said. “I will walk right out of this house and take that van all the way back to the city. I am not waking up with bugs in my hair.” Roman shivered so dramatically it pulled the blankets off Logan. He yanked them back, goosebumps already breaking out over his skin. It was too cold in this house for October, and especially when the low for the night wasn’t even supposed to dip to thirty.

Logan jotted the information down in his notebook and then began adjusting Virgil’s camera.

“Don’t worry, Ro. I’m sure none of the bugs are going to come near us,” Patton murmured.

“Yeah,” Virgil added. “They won’t want to get too close to your snoring.” Dee snorted and Roman gasped.

“You take that back, Dark and Stormy! I do not snore!”

“Whatever lets you sleep at night,” Virgil said. “Even if you keep the rest of us awake.”

“Hey!” As the battle raged on, drawing in Remy and Emile too, Logan carefully set up whatever equipment he could reach without leaving the warmth of the blankets.

“What’re you doing with that?” Remus asked, pointing to the spirit box Logan was fiddling with.

“Making sure the calibrations are correct. It should pick up any voices that we can’t hear, assuming it all works. There is, unsurprisingly, little scientifically conducted research on the paranormal.”

“I do so love when you talk dirty to me, Lo,” Remus sighed, looking at Logan in a way that he could only describe as adoring. Logan flushed.

“If anybody is going to be talking dirty,” Dee interrupted, “it will be me and I will be talking about how disgusting our blankets are after touching this floor.” He dragged one finger across the floorboards and then held it up, gray even in the poor lighting. “Disgusting.”

“Shut up,” Virgil said. “I’m doing laundry when we get back and you know it.”

“I don’t want you to touch this muck, either.” Dee wiped his finger off on Remus’s blanket. “God, we’re all going to get infected and die.”

“Oh, it’s not that bad,” said Emile. “Plus, nothing can compare to what happened last time we went out on one of Logan’s adventures.”

“Scientific venture,” Logan corrected him, taking a sip of water before capping the bottle and placing it next to his pillow.

“Covered in cow shit,” Remy countered.

“And mud,” added Roman.

“Not to mention-”

“I thought it was fun,” said Remus. He pulled Logan to lay down on top of him. “We got to roll down a hill.”

“And got covered in literal shit,” Roman said.

“You screamed like a baby,” Remus said fondly. He rubbed Logan’s arms. “You’re freezing, Nerdy Wolverine. Are you okay?”

“It is quite cold,” Logan said. “But I assure you, I am capable of handling the cold.”

“Are you sure you’re okay, Lo?” Emile asked. It was the first time all night he’d sounded genuinely concerned. “It’s kind of stuffy over here.”

“It’s what?” Logan asked at the same time a cold draft hit his skin and a shiver wracked his body. He pulled himself up from Remus to grab the thermometer sitting a couple feet away. “Emile, what does the thermometer read?” There was a moment of silence as they shuffled around to reach it.

“It’s about sixty-five,” Remy said.

“I swear it feels hotter than that,” Emile added. “Let me see that.”

“That’s insane,” Logan whispered. He tapped on his thermometer a few times as though it were a broken remote. Then he began writing in notebook again.

“What is it, L?” Virgil asked, propping himself up on an elbow.

“This thermometer says thirty-five,” Logan said. “There is no way it should be that much hotter less than twenty feet away in an enclosed room. This is-this is impossible.” Remus took the thermometer out of Logan’s hand and took a look.

“Now it says forty,” he said. Logan spun to see, wrote more down.

“Pass it to Virgil,” Logan ordered, not looking up. “Emile, pass that one this way.” The thermometers made their way across the room, getting readings from each person as they went. Thirty-five at Logan, forty at Remus, forty-five with Virgil, all the way down to sixty five where Remy was. It was not possible to have so much variation in such a small area. There weren’t even any warm air currents due to the chill outside and the heating hadn’t working in almost two decades.

“I need to look at the heating and cooling units,” Logan muttered. “The electricity, possible drafts. With a stretch of logic, this could maybe not be paranormal, but it would take so many factors to line up that it is almost entirely unprobable.” He looked up from his notebook, felt the smile on his face that he couldn’t stop. “This could be real, scientific data of an anomaly at least, if not something supernatural.”

“Do it in the morning,” Patton said. “It’s already late, you don’t need to stay up any longer, kiddo.”

“But something could have changed by the morning. For accurate, scientific data, I need to do it now.”

“Nope,” Remus said, wrapping his arms around Logan and rolling him to the inside of their blankets. “We already stayed up all night last night-”

“Ew. I did not need to know that,” said Roman, gagging.

“-and I’m exhausted, but I can’t sleep without my teddy bear.” Remus squeezed Logan and Logan was engulfed in his warmth. “You’re not allowed to get up.”

“Remus,” he protested.

“Nope. Nighty-night.” Remus laid on top of him.

“Night, everybody,” Patton added. “Sweet dreams.”

“You can’t control your dreams. Unless you’re a lucid dreamer, and that’s pretty rare, but anyway,” Emile said, curling into Remy, “I hope it’s a refreshing sleep.” Agreeances of either sentiment were echoing through the room, and then the lights were dimmed and they were all trying to sleep.

Everyone except for Logan and Virgil who had come here to catch a ghost, goddamnit. They were going to stay up even if it involved lying about it. So Logan began doing complicated math in his head, hoping that would keep him awake until he could get to his water bottle for his energy drinks. A full night’s sleep could come later; they had a mission.

About thirty minutes later, Logan carefully sat up and shifted to look at some of his equipment. It was a couple degrees colder, but nothing else of note had happened. Logan reached over and poked Virgil’s shoulder. Virgil stayed still just long enough to make Logan think he’d fallen asleep, and then he slowly started moving.

“You were making me doubt your dedication,” Logan whispered. Virgil shushed him and gently pulled Dee off his chest. As soon as Virgil moved out of the way, Remus and Dee rolled into each other, which conveniently created just enough space for the pair to sit on the outside of their blanket train.

“Dee’s a light sleeper, I had to be sure he was out,” Virgil said. “He’d definitely kill me for staying up again.”

“Well, he can complain about it tomorrow once we have a spirit on film and evidence to back it up.” Logan reached for his water bottle. “What do you-uhm.” He couldn’t find his drink. Logan looked toward his pillow where he’d put in, but there was nothing there. “V, my drink is gone.”

“Where’d you put it?”

“Right there.” Logan motioned. “Did you move it?” he asked, staring at the spot. Virgil sighed.

“Why would I?” he whispered, not nearly as bothered as Logan by the bottle’s disappearance. Then again, it wasn’t Virgil’s bottle. “Remus probably did, though. That’s the exact kind of thing he’d do to undermine the integrity of the investigation.”

“I do not appreciate you quoting me at me out of context about my own boyfriend,” Logan said, “though it is nice to know you listen.” He searched the room with his eyes. “You don’t see it anywhere, do you? I need to know where it went.”

“Uh,” Virgil muttered, searching now too. “There. By the T.V. stand.” He squinted, a little more concerned. “You should probably ask Remus if he moved it.” Logan shoved Remus’s shoulder just enough that he would answer. There was a fine line between coherent and able-to-remember.

“Um, Remus, did you move my drink?” Logan asked, eyes fixed on the bottle.

“No,” Remus mumbled, mostly asleep and definitely not in any state to be moving things without alerting Logan. He pulled Dee a little closer.

“Huh,” Logan said, and pointed the camera at the bottle. He shared an excited glance with Virgil. Carefully, he removed himself from the sleeping pile and crept across the room. He could voice over this part later. For now it would be better to catch anything happening around him with the night vision on the camera, and try not to wake the others for what could be nothing.

“Logan, get back here,” Virgil hissed. “You don’t know how that got over there.”

“There’s only one way to find out,” Logan retorted, picking up the bottle. He inspected it closely and, to his bewilderment, found an ashy handprint. “Look at this.” He presented the bottle to the camera before passing it to Virgil. A shiver worked through Logan’s body and it was hard to say whether it was from fear, anticipation, or the cold.

“What the fuck?” Virgil whispered. “L, what the fuck?”

“It’s proof,” Logan said, voice shaking. “It’s-” A creak sounded from the next floor up, like someone stepping on the old floorboards. He froze, looked at Virgil.

“We’re investigating that,” Virgil said.

“Don’t forget the camera,” Logan said. They pulled on their boots and Logan grabbed the spirit box and thermometer. Virgil lifted the camera and nodded at him. Taking the lead, Logan set off for the stairs. They ascended silently, listening for any other errant noises. At the top, another creak sounded. They froze, watching intently. Virgil nudged Logan’s arms and mimed talking.

“Hello? Is anybody there?” Logan asked. They waited with bated breath for an answer, but none was forthcoming. “Let’s just keep going, see what’s up here that we could’ve missed earlier,” he muttered to the camera. They went forward at a snail’s pace, hoping for anything to happen.

And then a door swung open with a terrifying creak.

“Need some oil on them hinges,” Virgil said, voice higher than it normally was. Logan gulped, staring.

“We’re going in, right?” he asked.

“Definitely,” Virgil said. He had a white-knuckled grip on his camera, and Logan shivered. He glanced at the thermometer: twenty-eight. Shit.

“It’s getting colder,” he said, inching closer to the door. Virgil snorted.

“I had no idea.” Logan heard his teeth chatter together, and then he shoved the door the rest of the way open. It whined the whole way, longer than even the squeakiest of hinges usually made noise, and then the door stopped. The room was empty save for two dark shoe prints. It looked like the same thing that had been on Logan’s water bottle.

He took a step closer. Virgil grabbed his arm like a vice. “Did anyone ever die in a fire here?”

“Henry Smith,” Logan said on autopilot. “1899. The entire house was destroyed. They rebuilt this one decades later, but the original was in this exact spot.”

“Okay. Okay,” Virgil said. He released Logan’s arm. “This is probably Henry Smith, then. Let’s do this.” Logan watched as Virgil steadied his shaking hands and then took one step into the room. Virgil followed.

“Come in,” said a disembodied voice, just low enough to send shivers down Logan’s spine and settle a feeling of wrong in his chest. His breath was knocked from his lungs and puffed in front of his face, visible.

“Oh, shit,” Virgil whispered. The shadows moved in a sort of humanoid shape, reaching out for them. “Oh, shit!” Virgil yelled at the same time Logan shouted, “Fuck!” They both were pulled out of the room by their shirts. Remy was standing there, madder than Logan had ever seen him.

“Run,” he snapped and raced for the steps. Virgil was on his tail, Logan half a step behind. There was a fourth pair of footsteps behind them, too close for comfort. Logan thought he could feel a hand ghost over hair, what the fuck.

They clambered down the steps in a frenzy, not making any effort to be quiet, Virgil and Logan screaming. They hit the landing and launched themselves for the front door, at which point Virgil stopped, door held open.

“The others,” he gasped.

“We’ll get them,” Logan snapped, shoving the equipment into Virgil’s hands. “Get these outside before they get broken.” Virgil didn’t hesitate. Logan and Remy dived back for the living room, and Logan was glad to see they were all awake already.

“Lo? Is everything okay?” Remus asked. Logan grabbed his water bottle and Remus’s shoes.

“Who was screaming?” Patton yawned.

“We pissed something off, we need to leave. Now.” Logan pulled Remus up and then Dee. “Move, move. Come on, hurry up.” A dark laugh echoed down the stairs. Patton squeaked, and then everyone threw themselves into overdrive. They managed to get out the door in less than a minute. All the blankets were still in the house, but Logan was not half as concerned about the blankets as he was the evidence Virgil was cradling.

“Let me see what we got, let me see,” he muttered. Virgil was already playing the camera back.

“What just happened?” Emile asked, hands shaking ever so slightly. Logan motioned him over to see the small screen of the camera. They all crowded and watched as Logan crept up to the water bottle, watched Virgil and Logan both freeze, their mouths move.

“Where’s the sound?”

“I don’t know,” said Virgil frantically. He fiddled with the settings, smacked the camera gently against his hand a few times, but nothing happened. “That’s not right.”

“It’s-it’s fine. You’ve still got the spirit box, right?” Logan asked. Virgil nodded. They focused back on the screen, watched as Logan went up the stairs, watched as they both stopped moving again. They watched as the door opened by itself.

“Holy shit,” Roman whispered. They got closer to the door, watched as Logan almost stepped in, watched as Virgil stopped him. They watched as, in the room behind Logan, shadows moved along the floor, far too purposeful for comfort.

“I didn’t even see that,” said Virgil, sounding sick. Logan felt a hysterical giggle rise and swallowed it. He kept watching as they went into the room, as the shadows really started moving then, slithering toward them. He watched as they both stumbled out backward, watched as a face with red eyes and sharp teeth and a bone-chilling smile flashed in the darkness. Then they watched as the film corrupted and the file disappeared from the camera.

“What the fuck?” Virgil said numbly, looking at the camera. He clicked through his memory card. Everything was gone. “What the fuck?” He glanced at Logan.

“The spirit box,” Logan said, lurching for Virgil’s pocket. “The spirit box.” He pulled it out and rewound it to when the creak came from the second floor. It was all there, if staticky, up until Virgil said, “Okay. Okay. This is probably Henry Smith, then. Let’s do this.” The squeal it emitted then was so loud and unexpected that Logan dropped the spirit box - and watched it shatter on the concrete. It almost felt like it had been smacked out of his hand.

“I don’t understand half of what just happened,” Roman said slowly. “What did just happen?”

“How did you know where we were?” Virgil asked Remy, totally ignoring Roman. “Or that we were about to die.”

“You think I was dumb enough to go to sleep with you two idiots in the same place? No, ma’am. I learned my lesson with you two. Can’t trust y’all to go to the grocery store without almost dyin’.” Remy’s southern accent was rearing its head. Logan wanted to be offended, but Remy wasn’t wrong. Still, that didn’t negate that he was acting funny-like he was lying. “Now y’all better get in that damn car. We’re leavin’.” He stomped to the car and yanked the driver’s door open. Emile slid into the passenger seat. Logan collected the shards of his spirit box, useless as it was now, and climbed into the van. Remus settled in next to him, wrapping his arms around Logan.

“You’re freezing,” he muttered. His mustache tickled Logan’s face. “Are you okay?”

“We got actually evidence of a ghost, real video of things that happened, and it’s all gone,” Logan said. “I am the opposite of okay.”

“I know, Lolo,” Remus said. He pulled them a centimeter closer together. Any more and Logan would be sitting on Remus’s lap. “But at least you have your water bottle, right?” Logan startled, examined the water bottle he was, in fact, holding. It still had what looked like an ash handprint on it.

“I-yes, at least I have that.” Logan smiled. “Thank you, Remus.”

“Anytime,” Remus said, kissing Logan. The van started and Logan glanced out the window just in time to see that terrifying face leering at them from the second floor. He made panicked eye-contact with Virgil in the mirror.

“We’re coming back, right?” Virgil whispered in Logan’s ear from the seat behind him.

“Obviously,” Logan whispered back. Remus smiled dreamily.

“I can’t wait until we all die together,” he said. Logan snorted and leaned into him.

“At least it will be together,” Virgil whispered.

“Yes, at least there’s that.” Logan finally fell asleep for the first time in two days on the drive back into the city. It was almost morning, and none of them would be doing anything before noon, but Logan could sleep now and maybe when he woke, he’d find a new way to catch a ghost. It was just a matter of belief.

[jaymendell]

Every Road Will Lead You Home (4)

prompt: day four prompt | @thenightofthelivingwriters

if you have a prompt you would like to link/suggest to me, please do!

When Tobias opens his eyes, he is halfway through the motion of bringing a flute to his lips. He pauses.

It is the dead of night. He is standing in the middle of a town square, the fountain next to him adding the gentle sound of rushing water as a backdrop to his thoughts.

His host, this time, has been quite generous in giving him information. Namely, the fact that he helped this town out with a very pressing rat infestation, and was promptly cheated out of his reward.

Well. Tobias isn’t running a charity, here.

While Tobias does not know how to play the flute, his host does, and his fingers follow long-memorized patterns as he begins with a low note flowing into the darkness of the night.

More notes follow the first, and before long he is playing a slow, haunting melody, his own body swaying in time with the music. It is not long before he is joined by others, a group of over a hundred children gathering around him.

One hundred and thirty, to be exact.

Tobias takes a step forward, carefully watching as the children follow behind, forming the world’s weirdest conga line. As he reaches the town’s gate, he steps to the side and allows the children to exit first, still playing his flute.

They all have glazed eyes and dopey grins, twirling and dancing with every step. They look so happy, as if there’s nowhere else that they would rather be. Of course they do. This body contains enough of the Fair Folk’s enchantments to be capable of at least this much.

When Tobias takes one last look into the town, thinking about how he was going to go about this, he notices three small figures lagging behind. One of them is attempting to join the rest of the children, but they walk with a heavy limp, and simply can’t catch up. Another is holding onto the first’s sleeve, drugged smile diminished by a furrow in their brow as they stumble over a piece of loose cobblestone. The last is walking behind them with a concerned expression, no trace of magical influence to be found.

Ah, there they are. Tobias hadn’t been sure how many of them there would be, considering that it changes depending on the version of the story, but he is happy to take all three.

He plays one last sharp note on his flute, ensuring that the other children would continue on to their destination, and approaches the three stragglers.

The child who had been unaffected by his music stares at him warily, hands clenched into fists. They hover protectively behind the two younger children, but make no move to speak.

“Hello,” Tobias says, taking care to keep his voice soft. His tone is almost musical, a slight layer of enchantment layered in. He really can’t afford for them to start screaming now. “Are you going to join the other children? We’re all going to a very fun place.”

“A fun place?” the girl repeats quietly, still clutching onto the boy’s sleeve. Her eyes are covered by a misty film, but still staring directly at Tobias nonetheless.

“Yes. Think of it as… a vacation,” Tobias says. He knows exactly how creepy he sounds right now, but there really is no other way to put it. “Just for a little while.”

“Why?” the boy says bluntly. He winces, slightly, as he shifts weight off of his disabled leg, but otherwise shows no discomfort.

“Your parents made a deal with me,” he says. He’s not planning to lie to them. “And this is to ensure that they follow up on that deal.”

“So… you’re holding us hostage for money,” the boy says. He does not sound very impressed at this.

“Well, if you want to think about this in purely economic terms… then yes, that is exactly the situation.” What? Tobias already said that he wouldn’t lie.

The boy glances back at their silent companion, and when the other nods, his frown smoothes out into an excited grin.

“Alright,” he says, grabbing onto his two companion’s hands. “We’ll go with you. This place better be as amazing as you say it is!”

Tobias raises a brow at the easy persuasion, but smiles in acceptance.

With no more hesitance, the three children follow Tobias out of the city gate, and directly into a beautiful pastoral landscape. It looks nothing like the land outside of their town, and that is because it isn’t.

When the children are settled in to sleep, all one hundred and thirty-three of them still giggling with the leftover magic flowing through them, Tobias lets out a weary sigh. He, too, goes to sleep, needing the energy it will give him.

The next morning, he leaves before the children wake, ignorant of the three stragglers curiously watching him go. Within moments, he is striding confidently through the gates of Hamelin Town.

Time moves differently in the other realm.

“Last year,” he says, unbothered by the angry, screaming mob that greets him the second they recognize his clothes, his face, his flute. “Last year, I gave you a great service. This year, I could give you another. Are you willing to pay the price?”

...

in which Tobias continues to be very bad with children. that’s what this series is really about, everybody. just our protagonist having genuinely no idea of how to talk to children. hope y’all enjoyed, lemme know what you think! <3

tag for this series | my ko-fi

[sailor-cresselia]

Zi-O 39: Team Den-O... has arrived!

Insert Den-O Shenanagins here~~!

Zi-O Episode 39 liveblog under the cut~

~

So, Grand Zi-O can just. Summon the Legend Riders themselves out of some point in time by pressing their statues. This is fine.

And it’s almost definitely summoning them, because while Build and Kuuga had their general Rider Kicks going… OOO was lifted directly from Episode 3, one of the few times he used the Tatoba Scanning Charge Kick. You can tell because of the broken columns that showed up with him – he kicked straight through them in the episode, and they’re here again.

… Actually… That was the moment that the OOO arc showed Eiji losing his powers. Him landing on the ground after that specific kick, without the yummy in sight.

HUH.

Also, pressing the statues to trigger the summon makes their emblems show up, which is a nice touch.

Hi Deneb! Hi Yuuto! I’m only just starting Den-O, so it’s going to be a while before I get to you, but I liked you in the Rider 4 special, so I’ll probably like you back in your home series, and here!

I can’t say I blame you for being concerned about that power, either. Grand sure is something.

We have a Woz Speech! IWAE! For he is now UNSTOPPABLE!

Wait. Unstoppable?

WOZ, DON’T TEMPT FATE LIKE THAT! You have just triggered the flag that will make this go very, very poorly!

Either Sougo starts going Bad because of this, or…

Well.

Final Forms in Phase Two Rider usually come about after a very specific circumstance. A very unpleasant circumstance.

…dying. I’m saying they usually come into existence after/because the rider dies.

I can’t even exclude Wizard and OOO from that, either. Haruto got Infinity after basically forcing his phantom back to life after it had been killed. And Eiji… well, I hold that his final form as OOO is Tajador, because screw the dinosaur medals, but Tajador is inherently a boyfriend form when he teams up with Ankh. And we can’t have that happen unless we get Ankh BACK.

(I HAVE seen this episode raw, as it aired, but Zi-O IS an arc-based show, so we don’t know what’s gonna happen in two weeks to keep the pattern going~)

~

Woz has officially skipped from accidentally spoiling by reading a sentence ahead, and is just showing us the spoilers now. Time travel, man.

Woz: “Oh, whoops, were you reading over my shoulder? Never mind all that.”

Woz: “Anyway, let’s go back a few days, to when we’ve still got two watches left...”

Me: “When’s the Drive Arc?!”

~

Poor Geiz and Tsukuyomi. First they come across this random train, crashed in a construction lot. Then four monsters come out – and start arguing with eachother. You know, as Imajins are prone to doing. And then they go to ‘ask the locals for help.’ Because that’s such a good idea, Urataros.

HEY. URATAROS.

DO NOT HIT ON TSUKUYOMI.

BAD TURTLE.

YOU’RE GROUNDED.

(I have literally two episodes with you under my belt and I’m already fed up with the constant flirting and lying. This does not bode well for my Den-O experience.)

Woz: (stops time to recap)

Woz: “And then there’s these assholes.”

… You know, intellectually, I knew that the clock in Woz’s Recap Vault was the one they used for Cronus back in Ex-Aid. But knowing that, and finally seeing that they didn’t even bother filling in the weapon icons that are in the ‘interior’ circle…

Toei, please. I know that usually Woz is in front of that side, so it would usually go unnoticed, but… come ON. If you’re going to repaint the thing, at least put something over that very distinctive part of the face.

~

Aw, drat, there isn’t enough of OOO visible in the opening of the OP to see if the columns are there. If we could tell, then that Twenty Years of Rider Kicks Vault could be the ‘and you thought this was just a flashy part of the opening’ callback at the end of the season.

(Can’t see him in the ‘everyone completes their frozen kicks after Zi-O and Geiz go by’ segment, either, at the “we’ll slip through the raindrops of time, together” line. DRAT.)

~

UNCLE TOKIWA. You need to start questioning things more. Although him assuming that the Imajin are Oni because of Sougo’s ‘important oni friend’ is actually really clever.

Geiz and Tsukuyomi are just so tired, they must have had to wrangle these four dorks over here… and said dorks want Uncle Tokiwa to repair the Den-Liner.

The train.

This poor old man. He just wanted to fix clocks for a living, is that so wrong?

...Well, Urataros isn’t quite lying, I guess? I mean, a time traveling train is clock… adjacent. Technically.

AND THEN RYUTAROS IGNORES HIS PROTESTS. BECAUSE THAT IS WHAT THE PURPLE DRAGON KID DOES, APPARENTLY.

AND JUST HOPS ON IN.

THIS IS FINE.

And proceeds to literally lead the imajin in a conga line out of the shop.

This is a thing that is actually happening.

Nobody knows what to think, least of all Sougo.

Woz: “…I’m really sorry… these four idiots are our lead to the next watch…”

Sougo: “I have more pRESSING CONCERNS RIGHT NOW!”

Geiz and Tsukuyomi: (are exhausted)

~

Okay, first off, Heure, Hora, you didn’t actually need to stop time for this conversation. There wasn’t anyone around as it was.

Second, thank you for reiterating the ‘two watches left’ comment. It’s a bit redundant, but my reiterating my “where’s my Drive Arc” comment is too, so. Y’know.

Third…

I’m really glad that Heure, at least, is noticing that this is too easy. That something is leading the other riders to him.

(It’s Swartz. I’m telling you, he’s got ulterior motives, that nobody is going to like. It’s Swartz.)

Pity that Hora doesn’t seem to care.

(You two need to GET AWAY FROM THE MAN IN PURPLE. He has nobody’s best interests in mind, including yours! GET OUT OF THERE!)

~

Victim of the week time!

Coming up to a grave… Angry guy in hoodie says that the guy in a button-up shouldn’t be there. That he’s the reason his (hoodies) sister is dead. So, Button-up’s probably the late sister’s boyfriend, then.

Hoodie chases Button-up off, and is approached by Hora, who offers him a chance at revenge. She promptly shoves a watch in him, turning him into Another Den-O.

…So, since we’re getting a proper Den-O arc, with Another Den-O and everything… does this mean we can get proper arcs for W and Kuuga, too, or are they just stuck in the movie? Because I really want to know if Another Double was actually two guys, the way he sounded like he was. And Another Double’s design is SO cool, I just really want to see it actually interact with people.

Hora: “Come with me, we’re stealing a time-train.”

Another Den-O: just goes along with this

Button-up: TAKUYA’S A MONSTER WHAT DO?!

Small floating orb of light: it’s free real estate!

Button-up: sand everywhere

~

Back on the train…

It. Really does have more similarities to a clock than a train?!

This shouldn’t surprise me, but somehow it still does. It definitely confuses the heck out of Sougo, despite it being his clocksmith uncle saying that he can definitely do this.

...Said uncle then proceeds to imitate Ryuta’s dance moves. This is fine.

And then everything starts shaking, because OF COURSE Another Den-O is outside. Kudos on the train-track patterns to the energy projections in his attacks, though. That’s a nice attention to detail.

… his name and year are on his butt. On the little half-skirt he has, actually, but right over the butt.

This is ‘fine’.

Sougo: “Another Den-O? Okay, Trinity time, then, since we still don’t have this watch!”

At least he gave them a little warning. Not MUCH, but the guys WERE transformed this time, at least!

...Sougo, I know that the name and year are usually on the back, but were you actively checking out Another Den-O’s butt?

Sougo?

Sougo, I’m waiting for an answer.

Oh, no? Just gonna go fight? Okay then…

Except the Zeroliner says no, you’re not, because here it comes, cutting you off and dropping off Yuuto and Deneb!

:giggling: THEY DID THE ACTOR THING AGAIN!

Sougo: “?!?! Kiriya Kyosuke?”

(flashback with Hibiki sounds)

Yuuto: “Whomst?”

Sougo: ‘Have they started forgetting, again?’

So, Deneb brings a whole new meaning to ‘finger guns’, huh? Fair play isn’t exactly going to cut it with someone as potentially overpowered as Zi-O, especially when you’re trying to prevent him from becoming a terrible overlord.

Ooo! So the others CAN see out of their shoulderpads! Otherwise, Geiz wouldn’t have been able to key Sougo and Co in that Another Den-O was about to make a break for the train! (Yuuto, please stop distracting the boys, they do actually have a job to do outside of yoinking everyone’s powers)

Okay, good, Yuuto does agree that stopping the evil doppleganger from getting the magic train is probably a good idea. Pity that Hora then warps a de-transformed Takuya back out of there.

~

So… Deneb’s basically The Mom Friend to Yuuto, right? That’s the impression I’m getting, anyway. “Please make friends with Yuuto, he’s so lonely. He does it to himself, but I’ve been trying to break him of it since 2007. Here, have a candy!”

(MOM. FRIEND.)

Yuuto’s trying to stop Sougo from becoming Oma Zi-O – and we have confirmation once again that Geiz knows that this Zi-O never could. That Geiz still says he’ll take him out if he does.

Yuuto, much like me, doesn’t think he can, and is also determined to Stop Zi-O From Obtaining Grand.

(IT’S SO GAUDY someone PLEASE teach Sougo how to dress himself I BEG you)

(HE’S STILL WEARING AN OVERSIZED BELT UNDER HIS SHIRT. SOUGO PLEASE.)

Sougo has zero intentions of becoming anything but a beloved overlord… and Yuuto’s not having any of it.

Deneb: “I’m sorry about Yuuto, he has trouble interacting with people sometimes, gets a bit rude, please stay friends with him!” hands Sougo the basket of candy ‘Okay, bye~!”

Momo: “HI THERE! I’M HIJACKING YOUR FRIEND, DON’T MIND ME!”

That feeling when you realize that even if he were changing outfits, Momotaros wouldn’t have to do much of anything to make Geiz fit his aesthetic…

~

Uncle’s almost done fixing the train! He’s not so sure about it being a clock, but… well, he’s almost done! And. Is lifting. A giant gear. The width of his torso…

KINTAROS! He is an old man, and you’re always going on about how strong you are, aren’t you?! HELP HIM LIFT THAT!

Also, the picture Ryutaros drew is adorable and I hope that he lets Uncle Tokiwa keep it.

~

Momotaros: “Anyway, I’m here to take care of that little copycat problem. I’m insulted, he’s doing a terrible job of copying my look – ooh, some of Deneb’s candy? Thanks!”

Tsukuyomi runs off in hot pursuit – somehow not realizing that it’s not Geiz speaking. Momotaros, you should have actually used your name, for crying out loud. I get you’ve got an ego, but really.

Sougo… looks really hesitant and broody.  

He’s not sure about doing this anymore.

~

Meanwhile, apparently Button-up didn’t move in the last, like, hour since he was hit by that Imajin… who’s just a generic Mole Imajin. Lame, but fine. He asks him to help save Takuya. That’s so sweet of him! I mean, it’s going to backfire horribly, because Imajin, but still!

~

Sougo’s really quiet as he asks if Yuuto’s right – if getting all the RideWatches will grant him ultimate power. When Woz says it will, that he’ll be undefeatable…

Sougo just wants it so he can defeat Oma Zi-O. That’s the only reason he’s still gathering the watches.

Thanks for the flashback the completely brutal beating that Sougo took in episode 15! That didn’t hurt to watch again at all!

Woz: “To have power equal to Oma Zi-O’s would mean you can stand on equal ground with him. Only you are capable of that, my overlord.”

Sougo: “So I don’t have to have any doubt. I’m going to obtain that power.”

Sougo, you are raising all sorts of death flags here! Death of personality, death of moral compass, normal death, any one of these could happen! Please don’t do this to us.

~

Another Den-O is even carrying his sword like Momotaros does! Nice touch!

…Tsukuyomi, you need to start researching people as soon as you guys meet them. You saw Ryutaros take over Uncle Tokiwa, and apparently Momo’s told you he was Momotaros. And yet you still look super confused when he tells you again.

...and then she has to do Geiz’s transformation for Momotaros. This is shenanigans, pure and simple. And I love it.

MOMOTAROS. DO NOT ATTEMPT TO PUNCH YOUR PALM WHEN YOU ARE HOLDING A BUZZ SAW.

And then here we go, Let’s Us And Them Fight time! We’ve got… Four teams, this time around? Another Den-O, the Mole Imajin, Team Zi-O (currently with special guest Momotaros), and Team Zeronos.

:rubs hands together:

LET’S DO THIS.

Trinity Time~!

Except for the part where Geiz isn’t home right now~ I guess it’s been a while since Momotaros has run into Tsukasa, because now he’s super confused about going through a form change again. To be fair, usually he’s just getting his own form – not getting turned into a watch and dropped into a Psychic Sentai Cockpit.

Momotaros, externally: “Aw, man, it was just getting good!”

Momotaros, internally: “Why can’t the reality warpers let us not feel these changes?!”

(I will never be over Final Form Rides, and neither will ANYONE who got pushed into them.)

So, in the Trinity Team Chat, Sougo and Woz are incredibly confused. Momotaros is there. Geiz is also there, and apparently Sougo’s subconscious psychic powers have given him a chair so that he’s not out cold on the floor.

…Well, at least Momo’s used to bodysharing? In more ways than one? Because there’s Climax form, and that’s the four main Imajin.

This is too many people in one body – mOMO NO YOUR FIGHTING STYLE DOES NOT MESH WITH THIS SKINNY NOODLE THAT FORMS THE BASE!

Oh no, Yuuto and Deneb are just so confused. “Why is the red asshole in the cataclysm asshole?! WHATEVER! Deneb, let’s go!”

Deneb’s still mom-friending on main, even in Vega form, much to Yuuto’s despair.

Ohh noooo. Takuya – Another Den-O – wanted the powers so he could save his sister. HNG! MY HEART!

And there’s the Denliner, right on time! So Uncle Tokiwa managed to fix it, after all!

…Oh my Gaim. Oh. My. Gaim.

The Imajin let him drive the train.

OKAY, OKAY, YOU WIN.

Junichiro, you’ve got name privileges back! That’s just TOO COOL.

Woz: “Guys, wasn’t Another Den-O after the Denliner?!”

Sougo: “OH NO! YOU’RE RIGHT! GUYS! WE HAVE TO FINISH THIS UP!”

Why are you guys attacking ZERONOS?

BOYS.

that’s the wrong person.

See? Now look at what you’ve done! Another Den-O just hijacked the Denliner!

And since Button-Up’s contract was to help Takuya… well, he meant ‘help’ as in ‘save’, but Be Careful What You Wish For. The Mole Imajin takes off into the past.

So, Trinity breaks up for now. At least Geiz is awake again! And goes immediately to try and beat up Momotaros. He has it coming.

Woz mentions that if they had the Den-O watch, they might be able to find out where they went…

And Momotaros, aka the Main Imajin who fights as Den-O, tries to tap out from the choke hold Geiz has him in, holding up a red-and-white watch.

He already trusts Sougo, after all. Has since HeiGen Forever.

… … …

nani the fuck?

The Den-O watch starts glowing.

The watches back at the shop start glowing… and warp themselves over to Sougo, coalescing into one large, gold, gaudy-as-all-get-out watch.

Grand Zi-O~

“So this is supreme power...”

Sougo, I don’t think you should be excited about that…

Also, that Drive watch is the one that Geiz brought back in time, so. Um. That one shouldn’t count towards Grand. (WHERE’S THE DRIVE ARC, TOEI?!)

~

We’re going to get Momo-Woz in the next episode! Whooooo! This oughta be FUN!

Also, more Zeronos Altair form, Den-O CLIMAX FORM, and…

Uh-oh.

That’s Oma Zi-O. Not just in appearance – he’s talking to Sougo, too.

Uh-oh.

~~

This episode was a RIDE you guys!

[blue-beeeerrryyy]

Made in the A.M || Noah Centineo

So I haven't written anything (besides my short answer essays) in months. And with all this hype over Noah Centineo (who I've been obsessing with since season 3 of The Foster) I thought I would join the conga line of tumblr Noah hype and write my first ever series. So I got a lot of inspiration from One Direction’s last album, Made in the A.M. and I’m going to attempt to use every song but if I don’t use all of the songs as a continuation, the other songs will be one shots, or random points in the reader’s story. But the first part is going to be based on the song, Temporary Fix. Furthermore, if you guys want to listen to the album while you’re reading, I highly encourage it (but you are not required to).  Also if would like to be on the taglist, lemme know.

Chapter One -Temporary Fix

You knew who he was. The type of guy who knew his effect on girls and woman alike. You knew he wouldn’t take you home to meet his mom, never show you off to friends, or take you on cute little dates. But you didn’t want that at first.This is the story of how you fell in love with the internet’s boyfriend, before he was the internet’s boyfriend.

Noah was at some club drowning his sorrow after what he thought was the love of his life. You noticed him verily quickly, since you watched The Fosters since the beginning and glad of what he brought to the show. You thought about going up to him and asked for a picture. You stopped in your tracks when you noticed he was drinking alone. Noah saw you coming up to him, but became confused when you turned around and walked back. He continued to watch you from the bar. He thought you were beautiful, with the way you laugh and dance. Even though he wasn’t over his ex, he just felt the need to have you in his life. Soon after he finished his drink, he left the bar and was making his way to you.

You felt his presence before he said anything. You thought it was one of your friends with the drink you asked for, only to be met with a drunken stranger. He started to talk to you but with how heavy his slur was, trying to understand him was like understanding a baby’s gibberish. The more and more he spoke, the closer he got to you, and before you knew it. He had grabbed your ass. You could see Noah in your peripheral, walking at a fast pace towards you. He must have seen the whole thing. But you didn’t need his help. What happened next probably shocked everyone who was watching. You lifted your right knee right into the creeper’s crotch so hard, his balls might be in his stomach. Once he was on the ground, you started screaming your head off until you felt a hand on your elbow. Ready for round two, you swung around to slap the person holding you. Once you made eye contact with the person, you stopped mid-swing.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry.” you cried to your best friend Dallas. Dallas just laughed at you and motioned to the crowd that had surrounded the situation. You smiled at everyone and just went towards the bar.

Noah watched you shy off from the attention, and heads towards the bar with looked like a friend. He loved that, his ex loved the attention from not only him but others. Hence why they’re exes. He observed you trying to get the bartender’s attention with no such luck. He went to the empty space next to you and your friend and hollered the bartender’s name.

You were having trouble getting the attention of the bartender, who was too busy flirting with the blonde at the end of bar. You got scared when you heard someone yell next to you. Whipping your head around to the ear intruder, you see Noah standing next to you. He smiles at you and your friend and you blushed so hard you could feel the heat coming off of you. The bartender finally made his way down to you guys and waits for Noah to order, completely ignoring you and Dallas. You rolled your eyes at his ignorance and told Dallas how he wasn’t going to get a big tip from you.

“I’ll have what I was having earlier, and whatever they want.” Noah said over the loud music. You whipped your head so hard that you thought you got whiplash. He just shrugs and gives a wide grin. You told the bartender what you and Dallas wanted while getting the cash out for the drinks. That’s when Noah shook his head at you and said, “I got this.”

You didn’t want to intrude on Noah’s night but you wouldn’t say no. While you guys waited for your drinks, you struck up a conversation with Noah. you guys had talked for so long that you hadn’t even realized that your friends that you came with had already left and the club was pretty empty. Noah noticed you looking around and noticed what you saw.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” you nodded your head, feeling adventurous. Noah called for a Uber, and wrapped his arms around your shoulders. You were fangirling a little bit, but trying to be as discreet as possible. Noah brought up some random topics to talk about while waiting for the uber. You were discussing the show Friends, but got interrupted by the buzzing of his phone letting him know his uber was here. You noticed the black SUV and pointed it out to Noah. After hoping into the vehicle and having small talk with the driver, he turned up the music and gave you and Noah some privacy.

With the liquor courage still running through your veins, you jumped into Noah’s lap and started kissing him senseless. With it being so late, the streets weren’t that jammed packed so you made it to Noah’s apartment fairly quickly. You and Noah said your goodbyes to the driver and walked into the apartment building. When you finally made it to Noah’s door and it was unlocked, you were pinned to the wall. You giggled at the curly headed boy, who was attacking your lips, neck, and shoulders. He pulled you off the wall and started to make his move towards the bedroom. Clothes were flying everywhere as you were getting closer and closer to the mattress. Your exposed legs hit the edge of the bed before falling onto it, Noah still kissing you as you fell.

You woke up to find yourself a t-shirt that wasn’t yours and hickies all over your body. You were slightly hungover but thank goodness it was your day off. You looked around the room for your clothes. You knew what happened last night, the details being just as clear as if you were sober. You had met Noah Centineo last night. You held a conversation with Noah Centineo without sounding like a fangirl. And you played hookie with Noah Centineo. But now that it was the next morning, you needed to go and disappear from the world for a bit. Thank goodness, you could hear water running, assuming that he was in the shower. Which gives you the perfect time to dip on out of here. You got on all of your clothes and grabbed your purse from the entryway floor. After checking your phone for the time and notifications of your friends spamming the group chat. You wondered if you should leave a note? You decided that it wouldn’t be weird and took out a pen from your purse and grabbed a paper towel from the kitchen.

Hey, last night was fun. Sorry to dip out while you were in the shower but I wasn’t expecting anything besides awkwardness. So to avoid that for the both of us, I’m heading home. But if you ever want to like hang out or anything hit me up.

After putting many holes into the paper towel, you left your phone number and headed towards the door. Hearing the shower turn off as you opened the door, you dipped out in the direction to the elevators. Your phone starts to buzz in your hand, scaring you shitless. Your uber was outside, and you breathe a sigh of relief. As you got in the uber car, your hand vibrated and you saw a text from an unknown number.

Its Noah

You laughed at the simplicity of the message but saved the number regardless. You had made it home about an hour later cause of traffic, and became bombarded with squeals and questions. Dallas, Lily, Sydney, and Cammie can’t contain themselves, so you have to yell at them to shut up so you can answer everyone’s questions in an orderly fashioned. It was about a hour and some change later when you finally were left to your own devices. You decided that you needed a shower since still being in your clothes from last night and just wanting to get rid of sweaty-ness that you accumulated from the heat of LA and last nights workout session.

After that much needed shower, you were laying in your bed, scrolling through some social media timeline, when you got a text from Noah.

Whatcha doin?

Laying in bed, why?

Wanna go to the pier?

Ummm sure, what time

Right now ;)

You started freaking out because Noah Centineo was asking to hang out with you. But you were supposed to have a girl’s night since its the first night in months since all of the girls were off at the same time. Maybe you could convince him to postpone till tomorrow.

I actually cant im supposed to hang with the girls tonight. What about tomorrow?

No its cool talk to you later

You felt bad for leaving him hanging, but the girls are more important.

It’s been a couple of weeks since you and Noah met, and you guys have pretty much have established that neither of you were looking for anything. Which is good for the both of you seeing as you both had just got out of crappy relationships. But that doesn’t mean you guys hadn’t added an a certain benefit to this friendship. You had just fallen asleep after working all day, only to be interrupted by an uncontrollable buzz coming from nowhere else but your cell phone. You answered with a sleepy hello, instantly being met with a loud deep voice.

“(y/n)! What are you doing?” the brown haired boy yelling into the phone. It sounds like he’s at the gym, from the noises of weights and punching bags. Just cause you don’t go to the gym that often, doesn’t mean you don’t know what those sounds are.

“I was asleep, No.” you yawned. “You know cause some of us have actual jobs that we have to go to everyday.” you say sarcastically. Noah chuckled dryly at your sass.

“You’re just so funny. Do you wanna come over?” now you’re fully awake and have already agreed to come over. Luckily you haven’t been drinking so you can drive yourself to his apartment. You had packed a bag just in case you can’t make it home in time to get ready for work. It was just one of those nights apparently.

[wolfie-dragon-rider]

Director's cut for "Black as Night" chapter 5: Nightmares!

Alright then! It took me a while to get to this, but I’m doing it now! Thanks for asking! The chapter can be found HERE

Chapter 5, Nightmares, was the first true Hiccstrid chapter of the story. It established their (extremely awkward and painful) relationship after the incident, and makes both of them realize what Hiccup’s blindness will mean, both for Hiccup who can’t do a lot of things anymore, and for Astrid who will have to assist him from now on. 

It starts with Hiccup waking up in the middle of the night, having to go to the toilet. Hiccup had woken up briefly from the sedative-induced coma he had been in in the previous chapter, but back then his situation hadn’t sunken in yet. He was still too confused, too sleepy, and probably too high from the painkillers to be able to think about what happened. 

He wakes up with a (slightly) clearer head here, and while he now knows he’s blind (and can obviously see it for himself), he hasn’t truly realized the implications. He’s gonna have to learn the hard way as he navigates his way to the outhouse. 

I tried to show Hiccup’s analytical mind here early on. It runs through possible scenarios quickly, considering where he could be.

“He sat up, determined he could do this, and prepared to get up from the bed, when he realized he had no idea where he was. Was he in his own house? Gobber’s house? Gothi’s house? The Great Hall? He moved his hand over the wooden supports of the bed, and sighed in relief when he felt the familiar notches he had carved in there years ago. He was in his own bed, so he must be in his own house.”

Still, although he determines easily he must be in his own room, he can’t navigate it easily. He stumbles over a chair immediately, and nearly falls off the open loft (I now realize I changed the way his room is situated somewhere along the way, as it became a more private closed room in Blind Spots). 

Still, he makes his way outside, determined to not let his disability stop him, an attitude that receives knocks throughout the story, but that he never truly abandones. 

We now get a POV change to Astrid, who is having a nightmare. This nightmare scene was one of the first scenes I planned, and I still have a clear picture of it in my head. I’m very proud of it, and personally think it’s well-done despite how cheesy nightmare scenes can be. 

One thing that might not be obvious for a casual reader, but what I was very careful about, was that, from the moment Astrid hurt Hiccup to when she finds him later this chapter, Astrid’s fears and worries have been entirely about herself. We see it very clearly in this nightmare. 

She is afraid that her father will be angry with her, saying she’s not a true warrior. She is scared her mother will be disappointed in her, not for hurting someone, but for breaking a promise. She is scared her ‘friends’ (and I use the term very loosely, I don’t think Astrid has a closer bond than neighbors with them in this AU) will think her pathetic and weak. Will think that she is worse than Hiccup. She is more ashamed of throwing up at the sight of Hiccup’s wounds than she is about actually inflicting those wounds. 

She is afraid of Stoick’s reaction and how it will impact her. Will she be exiled? Executed? Tortured? Hiccup hurting her back in the final part of the nightmare is the solidification of this fear, that she will be hurt the way she hurt him.

Nothing in this nightmare is about what she actually did to Hiccup and how it will impact him. It’s the same in chapter 4. She hasn’t had the chance to process what she has done, but at this point she feels fear, not guilt. Shame because she broke her promise, not because she crippled someone for life. Astrid is, at this point, a cold person, hardened by her father’s rigorous training and her sense of duty. 

Still, she starts to feel disgust at Hiccup’s face, the face she created. Hiccup wasn’t the only one traumatized by the events of that day. Astrid will never forget that face as long as she lives. 

But she doesn’t want to think about that. Astrid is feeling more emotions about this than she’s had in years. I think Astrid at this point (in the movies as well) is someone who expresses any emotions she has through anger and violence. She has never learned to express them any other way. She doesn’t know how to identify what she’s feeling, if it’s guilt or shame or anger or fear. This incident opened the floodgates and gave her feelings that she cannot express through anger, because anger was what caused this incident to begin with. In a way, her snapping and hurting someone through her anger has now become a sort of trigger to her (we see this in chapter 12 when she punches Hiccup in the face and is immediately disgusted and repulsed with herself). 

So she does the only thing she can think of to deal with all this, which is running away, exhausting herself, anything to stop having to think about what happened.

POV change back to Hiccup, who is trying to find the outhouse. Here he is having a similar issue as Astrid, trying not to think too closely about what happened. Unlike her, he’s trying to avoid the emotions by thinking rationally about the problem at hand. Still, he gets lots in doubt and indecision, foreshadowing his later anxiety. 

The doubt overwhelmed his brain, and he started to feel dizzy. He desperately tried to visualize the hill, but without his eyes he found it was impossible. It felt like there was no hill, like he was standing in some black room, or floating in a sea of darkness. From his perspective he might as well be standing on a lone sea stack or in the heart of Rome. It would look exactly the same.

This is where I introduce the overarching metaphor of The Black Room. I nearly called the entire story The Black Room, actually, before deciding Black as Night was a better title. The black room was an extremely useful narrative tool for me, because it’s such a versatile visualization of what Hiccup is feeling. It can be a claustrophobic cell or an infinitely large empty desert. It can be a sea he’s drowning in or a maze he wants to navigate. I use it in a lot of ways, before finally giving it closure as Hiccup accepts Astrid with him in his black room in the final chapter. 

Now the conga line of hurting Hiccup begins. He falls painfully, rolls down the hill, and ends up in a mud pool. 

“The gods really do hate me,” Hiccup thought as he crawled out of the pool, his vest covered in mud. Desperately, he started crawling in a random direction, praying to any god he could think of to help him.

The gods seemed to think this was a very funny game, though. Hiccup crawled through what felt like a rarely used street, when he was startled by a raven loudly calling right next to him. He felt his pants become hot and wet as he jumped away from the noise.

Hiccup had never felt as pathetic as he did in that moment, realizing that he had soiled himself.

He dropped down on the ground, thinking about his predicament. He had no idea where he was. He was covered in mud and piss. He was fairly certain he hurt his head, and he could feel scrapes on his arms. It was the middle of the night, so nobody was around to help him.

This is Hiccup’s lowest point. At no point in the story, except perhaps when Stoick takes Toothless away, is Hiccup in such a lonely and pathetic position. This is the start of his journey, as he slowly, with the help of Toothless and Astrid, regains his dignity and capability. 

This is also where it truly sinks in what blindness will mean to him, what he won’t be able to do, how the village will react. Unlike Astrid, who turns her emotions into outward anger, Hiccup turns his emotions into inward self-hate. He thinks he’s pathetic, that he’s weak, that no one could ever care about a disgusting worm like him. Astrid desperately tries to deny that she’s a bad person, Hiccup almost embraces it. 

Like Astrid, who tries to rationalize what she did was okay because he was annoying, he tries to rationalize what happened to him by blaming himself. It’s a coping method to explain the fact that Astrid, a person he so admires, did something so horrific to him. 

Hiccup simultaneously begs for reassurance, someone who will help him and tell him things will be okay, someone who won’t call him weak, but is also sure that such a person cannot exist. The only person he can think of is his mother, but she is dead as far as he knows. So he cries, unable to express his emotions any other way. 

POV switch back to Astrid, who finds Hiccup on her desparate run. She initially tries to act like a warrior in response to the sound. It’s a way for her to reassure herself that she is still a good warrior like she wants to be. It’s a big part of her self-image, and her hurting Hiccup shattered it. She doesn’t know what she is anymore. 

She approaches Hiccup, thinking him utterly pathetic. However, she doesn’t judge him yet. When she reads the words he wrote in the dirt, she is actually surprised. She doesn’t think him useless, despite her rationalizations that he’s weak and deserved her lashing out at him. She’s also surprised because Hiccup always seemed cheerful and unaffected by the bullying, not at all depressed. 

Astrid suddenly remembered her conversation with Gobber the evening before. “I’d advice you to help Hiccup adjust to his new life,” he had said.“Show that you are a great warrior, but also a great Viking,” She hadn’t understood that remark at the time. Wasn’t a good warrior automatically a good Viking? But maybe being a Viking was about more than fighting dragons. Maybe that’s what her mother had been trying to tell her when she told her to play with the others.

She felt sorry now that she had only listened to her father’s advice, while ignoring her mother. She wished her parents were here now, so they could tell her how to deal with the helpless boy in front of her. Yesterday she would probably have left him there. She would have been disgusted by his weakness, thinking he should just grow up and stop being so weak.

Today, she wasn’t so sure.

This is Astrid re-evaluating her values for the first time. Until know, and for a while longer still, she practically worships her father. “Her father said it was so, and she wouldn’t contradict her father.” is a line from chapter 1. “…her father always said” is a constant line in her thoughts. Warriors don’t cry. Warriors are strong. That’s what her father says, so it must be true.

She had never imagined her father could be wrong, but here she feels something she’s not supposed to feel. She feels pity. She sees Hiccup here, utterly pathetic and knowing it’s not his fault. She cannot deny any longer that it’s her actions that put him in this position. She is to blame, not him. She knows her father would tell her that Hiccup is weak, that she should look after herself, that he’s too pathetic to look after. 

And she just can’t agree with this. She feels too much guilt and pain and empathy and anguish within her to abandon Hiccup here. She rationalizes that it’s part of her deal with Gobber, and for a large part it still is, but even now she’s already starting to help Hiccup because it’s the right thing to do, not because she’s ordered to. 

She starts talking to Hiccup, but he’s horrified someone saw him like this, and tries to run. It’s only when he’s cornered himself that he even starts to realize it’s Astrid, and even then he’s suspicious. She is the very last person he wants to see him like this. Despite what happened, he still has a crush on her. Still, he’s confused that she doesn’t act like he expected, with mockery and disgust. He lashes out, trying to get her to ‘break her act’, so to speak, and just get the bullying over with. 

She sighed and sat down next to him. Yesterday she would have hit him by now, angry that he would doubt her sincerity, but she knew that this wasn’t a time for punches. “Come on, Hiccup, we both know you need help right now. Will you at least tell me what happened?” she asked him.

He still seemed unsure, and he turned his face away from her.

“I’m not going to laugh, okay? I promise.” she tried, desperate to pierce this wall he was building around himself.

“Okay, fine. I woke up and I needed to go to the outhouse, but I couldn’t find it. I got lost, and then I fell into a mud pool, and then I wet myself because I got scared of a stupid raven. Happy now? Happy to see how useless I am?” he suddenly said with an angry tone, but she could hear his voice shaking near the end, filled with shame and sorrow.

She remained silent for a few seconds, then she stood up and grabbed his hand. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” she told him.

He snapped his face towards her as his jaw fell. He was frozen for a few seconds, then he managed to produce a shocked “Why?”

Astrid awkwardly tries to build a connection without violence, while Hiccup projects his self-loathing onto her. The idea that she wants to help him is so foreign to his mind he can barely process it. As far as he knows, this girl has ignored him her whole life, and their only interactions have been filled with annoyance and disgust from her end. She has never offered to help him, and now, when he’s so pathetic, she does. He can’t understand it. In his shock he allows Astrid to lead him away. 

Finally she secretly erases the self-loathing words Hiccup wrote, wishing he wouldn’t think about himself like that. That’s the sign that despite all her “It’s just a job” rationalization she’s doing, she genuinely feels bad for Hiccup, and realizes that that is not a healthy mindset for him to have. She feels… not empathy yet, but sympathy for him. Something a strong warrior like her isn’t supposed to feel. 

The final POV change, back to Hiccup, as Astrid leads him to the hot springs for a bath. This is the big test for Hiccup in this chapter. Astrid has passed hers by reaching out to help Hiccup. Now he has to accept it. Trust is a vital part of their relationship in this story, and this is where it starts. 

Hiccup tries to cope once again with logical analysis, running through possible scenarios. He expects it to be a prank, that the other teens will ambush him. 

“Uhm. You’re going to need clean clothes. How about you take a bath and leave your dirty clothes here on the bank, and meanwhile I get some new clothes from your house? Are your clothes in your room?” she asked with that cheerful voice. It confused Hiccup. She was talking like this was some normal, everyday thing, like she was asking him to pass her the salt during dinner, or like they were discussing the weather.

But Astrid telling him to take his clothes off while she searched his room was definitely not an everyday occurrence.

Hiccup’s further confused by Astrid’s outward calmth here. He can’t tell what she’s thinking (honestly, neither can Astrid at this point). His still lingering crush, combined with teenage boy hormones, complicate things further, as the situation is awfully intimate. 

When he had cleaned himself up as best he could, he finally allowed himself to relax. For the first time that night he felt completely at ease. He still felt confused about Astrid’s behavior, and he was still shocked by his sudden blindness. But here, floating in the warm water, his terrifying black room had become a safe sanctuary, like there was nothing in the world but him and the pool.

“Hiccup? May I come closer?” Astrid’s voice suddenly asked, piercing the black walls around him.

This is another example of how the black room mirrors Hiccup’s emotional state, and how his blindness affects his perception of the world around him. 

Hiccup suddenly felt unsure. What if this was some big prank? What if Snotlout and the twins would ambush him as he climbed out of the pool? What if Astrid was really looking at him right now, preparing to laugh at his scrawny body?

But then he realized he couldn’t know that. He had no idea what was happening beyond the range of his fingers. He could only trust that Astrid was telling the truth.

Did he trust Astrid? That seemed to be the main question. Did he really have a choice? He couldn’t stay here forever, and she had seemed genuine so far, even if he couldn’t understand her motives. He decided to take her word for it, and crawled out of the pool.

He found the towel exactly where she said it would be, and dried himself as quickly as he could. He then took another step and found clothes. He used his hands to identify the different clothes, and put them on. But the time he put his boots on he finally felt human again.

Here is Hiccup passing his test. He grabs Astrid’s outstretched hand. He decides to trust her. It’s not permanent, and he doesn’t have much other choice her, but she doesn’t betray his trust here. Everything is exactly as she promised. 

Astrid lead him through the front door of his house and up the stairs without saying anything. She let go of his arm to move something, probably the chair he had fallen over earlier. They stood there awkwardly, neither knowing what to say. Hiccup was still lost in his thoughts, his mind unable to stop thinking of more things he’d never be able to see. He could feel the depression returning, and he hoped Astrid would leave before he’d start crying again.

Suddenly pain tore through his arm, and it took a moment before he realized Astrid had punched him.

“That’s for going out alone,” she said. He could feel his face falling as he realized she was still angry with him.

But then he suddenly felt her arms wrapping him into a tight hug. He froze, unsure of what to do, his arms hanging in the air behind Astrid’s back. Before he could react, she released him, awkwardly moving backward.

“That’s for… everything else,” she said. Hiccup suddenly felt overcome with a giddy happiness, and a snort left his mouth.

“You better not tell anyone about that! No one can know I hugged you!” she said, like it was a dirty word. She sighed, and her tone became softer.

“You know what? I’ll make a deal with you. You don’t tell anyone about what I just did, and I won’t tell anyone about what happened to you tonight. Deal?” she asked.

He couldn’t stop a smile coming to his face as he said “Deal,” He now had some sort of secret with Astrid! She suddenly grasped his hand hanging by his side, and shook it.

“Okay then. You should go to sleep now. I’m coming back in the morning, to bring you to Gothi,” She told him, sounding unsure of herself. “I’m going now. Uhm, bye Hiccup,” she said, and a second later he could hear her run down the stairs.

Astrid feels a lot of emotions after the events of the evening, and she doesn’t know how to express them as anything but anger. That’s why she punches him. But (unknown to Hiccup) she immediately feels guilty about it. She feels sad and alone herself, in need of reassurance. So she hugs him, surprising even herself. 

This is the start of their relationship. Them establishing their rules and boundaries, in a way. Here it’s already established that they’re going to have something secret, something private, something special. Of course, it’s still awkward and formal and done through deals and handshakes, but this is the first time we have Astrid protecting Hiccup as well, promising to not tell anyone about what happened to him. Not that she was going to tell anyway, but she now understands and cares that the village knowing would hurt him. She does this selflessly, though she dresses it up in selfish motives. 

Maybe she really meant it when she said that she wanted to help him. But why? Out of guilt? Some sense of honor? For a moment Hiccup allowed himself to consider the case that she helped him because she liked him, but that was ridiculous.

Whatever it was, she had helped him, and she had treated him nicer than anyone had in years, except for Gobber.

“Maybe there is someone who cares about me after all,” he thought as he fell asleep, a smile still on his face.

And in his dreams he saw Astrid’s face again, smiling at him as she hugged him close.

Hiccup goes to bed vaguely hoping for a relationship, more, even if Astrid hasn’t even considered the very possibility of it, but this is a staple of their relationship in this story. Hiccup has to deal with the contradiction between the Valkyrie he worshipped and admired from afar, and the flawed and awkward girl who hurt him, and who also helps him. While Astrid has to accept that she likes Hiccup the Useless, and that her feelings are more important than the opinion of the village. And that’s what the rest of the story is about. 

This became waaaaay longer than I expected or planned, but I had fun writing it! I hope it didn’t become boring! If you want to know about other chapters or stories, feel free to ask!

[unwiltingblossom]

I really want to be done with this, since of the people who actually follow me they’re not Marvel centric and who wants to see a bunch of opinion blogs about a movie they probably haven’t even seen, but oh my gosh, I just want to talk about the scene where they try to give Tony a mini heart attack and everyone just wants to complain about petty things instead.

Lemme talk about why You Are Wrong about hating certain things in Endgame, cuz at least that’s a thing I do in Naruto and other fandoms too. Spoilers.

To be clear, I’m sad about the deaths. I’m especially broken-hearted about Steve, because it’s not possible for Falcon to replace him, so there’s no point even trying. Tony is a bummer, but he’s basically just RDJ, so we’ll still see him being Sherlock and typecast as Tony Stark like figures. All Tony Stark adaptations will be made to copy him still, he’s not really gone. Part of why Captain is gone is because Chris Evans doesn’t want to be him anymore, so that death just feels much more real. You can’t replace the quintessential boy scout from the 30s with...anyone, really.

I’m also sad about the pseudo-deaths, but. Despite that, I don’t agree with the movie complaints. Let’s get into those.

First: No, there wasn’t really any other way for Tony to end. RDJ has been done with the character since IM3, he’s been trying to write him out over and over and just can’t. “He’s retired” can’t work when they have no Tony replacement and go up against world-ending threats, and I don’t think he wants to be tied down to cameos and phone-ins. Death was the only answer for his character. As much as I hate losing Captain, that was a similar situation. Unless they replaced those actors - and that’s tough, especially in RDJ’s case - the characters needed to go with their actors, and their roles/personalities were such that anything but death wouldn’t do that.

We’ll get back to why those were the best endings they could give the characters while still being abrupt and sad, and making it feel like there was actual loss and sacrifice required, but let’s meander over to Thor briefly because his is somewhat shorter.

Buzzfeed woman: If you cannot handle TV shows that have fat characters or fat jokes, please seek counseling and get help.  It sounds like you have some serious issues with your self image and self confidence, and frankly it’s just not a good thing if your entire day is ruined and you’re dropped into a depression because you hear someone make a joke that’s not even about you. Don’t blame other people and expect them to change for you, because they won’t. Seek to be more secure in yourself.

Everyone else: The reason why Thor seems ‘diminished’ all movie is the same reason why Captain Marvel isn’t there 90% of the movie - no, no, not because they just shoved him into the plot at the last minute to promote his movie, the other reason  - he’s just too strong. This is a recurring issue for him in Avengers movies, and they may try to just de-Avenger him going forward to avoid this in the future. Avengers movies are ensembles, everyone is supposed to be necessary, but to set the enemies to a level where people like Black Widow are useful means that Thor could shrug and wipe out most of them except for the boss. And sometimes even the big bad isn’t that scary - CM and Thor could both take down Thanos without infinity stones just too easily, and the plot needed to believably take the heroes from ‘completed gauntlet’ to ‘Thanos has the gauntlet’, which is a lot harder than IW where he was always 2-3 steps and stones ahead.

Fat Thor worked double-purpose to explore the crushing guilt and issues with Thor - he was barely hanging by a thread in IW, losing at the end of it and then having it confirmed at the start of Endgame that there was no hope was too much - and sidelining him most of the movie. It weakened him because he no longer had the focus to just lightning blast Thanos’ army into dust and he was physically out of shape and so not as strong as he was before, making Thanos an equal enemy to him again. Because he was physically unimposing, the Avengers didn’t lean on him and expect him to do everything, which allowed him to go and face his mother again, which allowed him to get the hammer and dual-wield, confirm he was still worthy, and give Steve that moment everyone had so badly wanted to see for years (as Steve’s swan song). The story was never about how Thor was still just as strong even out of shape, because the point is that his own self-loathing and inability cope was destroying him and he needed to heal from that before he could even begin to recover. GotG3 or T4 will be about Thor regaining all that. Endgame was about Thor finally coming to grips with the overwhelming weight of guilt that had been ruining and driving him for several movies now.

And in the end, even once he was able to snap out of his funk and start recovering, he didn’t magically shed all that weight and get back into fighting fit. (That, too, is something for GotG3 and/or T4) Because recovery is still a process that takes time. In my opinion, the way they have Thor deal with his trauma and guilt is as realistic as they had Tony deal with it.

As for the ‘fat jokes’, that’s just taking things out of context. It ignores all the other serious things that Avengers makes jokes about. They always inject levity into things and seek comedy where they can, because the plots are usually so heavy that if they don’t, the movie becomes depressing and draining. In IW/Endgame this is especially so, because so many people die and so much is lost. Fat!Thor and the Fortnite game moments are some of the only opportunities they have to put some humor in. And the Avengers use insulting humor toward each other quite often. War Machine calls Peter - who was at that time dead and had serious issues he was grappling with himself - an idiot because he’s dancing along on a planet to music on headphones. Bucky calls Steve stupid knowing this would be the last time he saw him (at least at that age). Basically, the jokes were necessary to keep the movie from choking on its own darkness and they were in-character (plus, indicators of the fact that they didn’t trust Thor to be the responsible party, forcing other characters to have a role instead, and keeping Thor from any responsibility later for “why didn’t he use the stones to--”)

So. Yes, it’s disappointing that Thor didn’t really get to flex, but at least he was present, and it’s allowed him to begin to heal from the trauma conga line he’s been on ever since Thor 1. It’s really not an issue that people make it out to be, and it seems like people are just being overly specific in their sensibilities. Make fun of Thor’s long hair, his missing eye, his cluelessness about the modern world? That’s fine. Make fun of Rocket when he’s the product of horrific experiments? That’s fine. Make fun of any number of serious issues, or just insult their friends in some humorous way? All okay. Make fat jokes? SUDDENLY it’s just not okay and super mean!

Don’t read too much into things like that.  Like the buzzfeed woman claiming his mother ‘nastily’ told him to eat a salad. She was just being a mother, looking at a son who five minutes ago seemed to be in his prime and now had completely collapsed and was desperately looking for direction from her. She must have gathered that at least from his perspective he’d never get to see her again, so it was effectively the last advice she’d give him. “Eat a salad!” is just “Take care of yourself, eat well, please!” in the gentlest, shortest way possible. Don’t be like that woman. Don’t read malice where it isn’t.

MOVING ON.

Tony and Steve.

I know, it’s sad. But these were the most logical conclusions to their stories, both from their own perspective and when you consider how their characters were juxtaposed off of each other. Ignoring for a moment the actor situation, the characters needed to die because if they didn’t we’d just end up with a Battle of Winterfell situation where everything was set up to look hopeless but then things worked out so no one important died. (except Heimdall. Poor Heimdall, he didn’t get snapped or brought back via time shenanigans. I’m guessing he got the fatal Actor’d, since Idris didn’t like being him)

So, knowing that they had to kill one, and therefore because of their connection in the movies it had to be both, let’s look at why they were the most reasonable and perfect deaths to give them under the circumstances while still remaining sad. “And then they lived to death” is hard to do if it’s not Doctor Who, so it’s not really an easy ending to write for a character you need to immediately exit the franchise.

Tony.

Finally we resolve the plot with Pepper. They get married, they have a child, they have five years living together married- this is on top of the eleven years they’ve been in a relationship since Iron Man, and the years before that of flirtatious tension and a relationship that’s non-romantic. Five years was just the time they had living a domestic and quiet life, raising their child, not the complete length of their life. Tony got to live with the love of his life and finally do something right, and in the end Pepper gave him the go-ahead to risk not only himself but their whole family to protect the rest of the universe.

In the end, he ‘fixed’ his failure from IW, defeating Thanos personally. He was the one responsible for the timeline being ‘the one’ where they succeed. He finally found some peace with his father and history, he created something beautiful - for once, he left a legacy that wasn’t death and destruction or weapons, but a sweet little girl who will make the world a better and brighter place.

And Tony made that full circle from the first story, affirming that it was never the suit, but Tony Stark, who made Iron Man. He is Iron Man. Those are his last words, and part of the gruesome death was there to ensure they were. Though there’s also something powerful about him saying nothing and snapping his fingers instead like they’d originally written it to be. But, look. Tony Stark was a man who sent weapons all over the world, caused thousands, if not millions to die because of those weapons and then changed due to the guilt of realizing what he’d done. His character has basically been caught in a loop ever since of trying to fix things by creating more weapons to protect people instead and just causing more death and more harm in the process.

Finally, though, with a snap of his fingers and the cost of his own life...he made an army disappear. He saved not just half the universe this time, but literally all of it, every single being alive can thank Tony for it (ignoring the celestial beings who would have stopped Thanos but shh, MCU hasn’t introduced those). Look at the symbolic nature of Tony Stark being the one to turn an army - and all of their weapons - into dust in a moment. He saved everyone, and he finally erased the ugly stain of his weapons from the world in one fell swoop. Symbolically, this is the most perfect way to end his character, and something the comics will never be able to give Tony.

In a more practical sense, it was also necessary. He’d never be able to truly step away from being an Avenger. His own paranoia and sense of guilt means that no matter how much he’d want to live his own life, he’d always be dragged into things, risk his life again, and Pepper + Morgan would constantly have to worry about whether he’d come back or not. And he’d mess up again. He’s too afraid of the future, needed too much to control things. Ultron would happen again. The Superhero Registration would happen again. Especially when/if Steve would die, there’s no one holding him back anymore. Narratively, his story needed to be finished, especially if he was going to be the one to snap anyway. So yes. Death was the necessary price. And it did need to be that harsh, gruesome thing. Not just because we see over and over how painful it is to use those stones, but because this was a loss. His death was quick, but it wasn’t easy. The price that the universe paid to be saved was Tony Stark’s life, and him just vanishing afterward would have felt cheap and robbed the people around him of their closure.

And again, it worked perfectly as the counterpoint for Steve. His life was short but he died protecting everyone else. He died so that he didn’t have to watch anyone he loved die instead, and he died surrounded by the people he cared about, finally redeemed of his sins.

Then there’s Steve.

Now, I don’t think his death was necessary like Tony’s. But because Tony did die, it does make sense they might kill Steve too. And I don’t think anyone would question that if they chose to kill Steve in the battle against Thanos. But if they did that, someone would have been blamed. Carol, Thor, Scott, Tony, whoever. Someone would get the blame, and I think it would have been extremely demoralizing to see Captain America die during the battle, where morale was so paper thin already.

Plus, like I said, his needed to be a counterpoint to Tony.

Tony got to have his time with the love of his life, but then cut it short for the sake of everyone in the universe, died young, before anyone else, sacrificed etc. It fit his personality, his fast-paced, short tempered quippy self.

Steve is the one with the unnaturally long life, forced to live for over a hundred years and losing everyone and everything around him. Peggy is the love of his life, and unlike Tony he had to watch her transform from a young woman to an old frail thing who had moved on without him, and then eventually die while he was still in the prime of his youth. He has no future to look forward to. Because of his lifespan, all that’s going to happen is him watching his friends all die around him one by one, Nat, Tony, Sam, Bucky, Bruce, etc.

In the end, he’s finally given the opportunity to do the impossible: go back where he belongs. Go back to the world with everyone that he remembers and loves from his past. Go back to the woman whom he loves the most, who he’ll never truly move on from. Live, like Tony always told him to.

And so - with Bucky’s blessing, I’ll note - he does. Everything about Steve has been the displaced, long suffering soldier, and in his ending, he finally gets to come home from the war.  He already sacrificed himself and the love he should have had with Peggy way back in the First Avenger. He should have died in that ice, he planned to, just as Tony does. And thus, the only proper ending for Steve isn’t a heroic sacrifice - because he’s already made his - but being able to finally live the life that he gave up for the world. In a way, it’s Tony’s last gift to him, as Tony finally created a time machine to send Steve (who he weirdly thinks of as a friend) back where he belongs.

But even so, Steve is Steve. He got to live his life with Peggy and grow old, but he still watched her die. Again. He lost Peggy twice, and everyone he knew from that timeline  as well - not only did he leave it and all them behind, but most of those people would have died (I like to think he saved Howard Stark, though, for the Tony who never knew him and for that Bucky). And he’s still not dead. Which means he’s still living (at least until they say he died off-screen, anyway), and he may yet still watch more of his friends die around him before he can finally find his rest.

Basically, their endings are counterpoints to each other, and also perfect for themselves. Tony flares up bright and burns out in spectacular fashion saving the universe, and Steve is the long-burning candle, the last light that lingers in the darkness after everyone else flickers out, the one who can’t sacrifice himself even when he tries, and so all he can do is live until the end, and pass on his flame to someone else.

They’re both sad in different ways, and they’re both the best kind of ending the writers could have come up for those characters in particular.

and now a few quick rebuttals to the common complaints in particular:

Tony’s survivor’s guilt IS why he goes back to save Peter and the others even at his own personal risk. Anyone else would have refused to help or even actively interfered, because the risk of losing their child would be too much. The risk of failing and still losing their child, when the world was continuing on without any future danger to it, would just be too much.

And that’s another reason he died. The guilt would have eaten him alive if anyone else had snapped and saved the universe for him.

Thor was not ‘fine’ in Infinity War. He was clinging to the thin hope that he could stop Thanos because he was essentially destined to stop Thanos. He had to believe that he had a greater purpose and everything happened the way it did because it had to. He’d been clinging to that for a long time, in fact, and when he failed to kill Thanos, failed to save everyone, that hope was ripped away from him. He didn’t just collapse because he failed Thanos, he became lost and adrift because everything that he built his identity around vanished and he didn’t know who or what he was supposed to be or do anymore. He needed his mother to tell him to be who he is and not who he’s supposed to be to save him from that. And he still remarks at the end that “I’ve never had nothing to do before, I’m not sure what to do with that.”

I wrote a bunch of stuff about why Steve isn’t being selfish and all of those quibbles are silly, but then accidentally lost that, and I don’t feel like rewriting it. Other people have covered that anyway. Steve isn’t being selfish. He creates a world line where everyone gets to be happy, and in the end he gives that up so that he can give his friends closure again, and spend time with them in his twilight. They didn’t lose Steve, he just aged to the point he should have been.

Avengers Endgame timeline isn’t complicated, it’s very simple. I’ll make that a separate post though. In short: they use the world lines theory Steins;Gate uses, so paradoxes are functionally impossible. They literally cannot happen.

[scarletwitching]

I know you would probably hate this, but, what do you think makes House of M popular? How this comic cloud people's judgement? How it affect new readers/casual fans's views? What are the factors that draw people in and fixed their impression? Just some observation, some people seem to enjoy the touchy family "feels", some may just like heroes snapping(like it's so cool), and sometimes it's Power Parade(it's deemed disrepctful to say she is less powerful than someone else).

It’s popular(ish) in mainstream fandom because its effects lasted a very long time, which makes it seem important, and because it’s a mash-up of a couple of enormously popular and beloved storylines, Dark Phoenix Saga and Infinity Gauntlet, set in a then-new alternate universe. It’s two old things smashed together and combined with a new thing.

That’s the short answer. The long answer is… long, and it’s actually about the underlying reasons people are okay with some offensive stuff (because that’s what I wanted to talk about). I’m putting this under a cut so that, when people who don’t agree with me inevitably read it, I can link them to this.

There really is a country song for everything.

It maybe goes without saying, but this is a House of M post so it mentions, however briefly, the usual HOM-related subject matter: ableism, infertility, people on the internet glorifying genocide.

Everyone likes things that have somewhat unsavory elements or unfortunate implications. With superheroes, the whole thing is – forgive me – problematic. You can find meaning and value in parts of it, but something is rotten at the core. One of the uncomfortable aspects of speculative fiction fandoms is how terrible things become normalized. Because we’re only talking about fiction. That makes it okay, right? It’s tempting to parrot these notions of “good” queens and “rightful” kings or to go along with the canon logic that justifies violence and ignores the sovereignty of nations that aren’t the US.

I bring up that last one because, in modern superhero fandom, buying into the canon logic often means defending US imperialism under the guise of defending a specific character or story. There’s always a justification for it in-universe, so the way it relates to the real world becomes some extraneous detail that only a jerk would mention.

It’s the Thermian Argument. It doesn’t matter what the underlying message or consequences, however (un)intentional, are. It matters that I like Thing and any problems you find with Thing are the result of you not focusing on very specific details that make it “make sense” in the story. Remember the old Tumblr adage that you can like problematic things so long as you acknowledge the problems? I would just say you can like whatever so long as you don’t bury your head in the sand and scream, “It’s fine! You just didn’t pay attention to the story!!”

What I’m saying is that there’s a lot of justifying how bad literally every part of the story is by saying it all “makes sense” and so all criticisms are invalid. If a person is traumatized, it just makes sense that they would [waves at the entire story] do that. It’s very sad when your imaginary kids die, y’know?

The people who like House of M tend to cite its fetishizing gaze on women’s mental illness as a feature and not a bug. The fault in that argument is that, as far as I’ve seen, none of the people making this argument have Schizophrenia. Or Schizoaffective Disorder. Or any personal experience with psychosis whatsoever. At the very least, the vast majority of them don’t, so they’re not part of the group being misrepresented.  

The issue of what is “good” mental illness representation is complex. Sometimes, people who are struggling or have struggled relate to characters who lash out or do destructive things. People can find solace in imperfect places. Everyone’s just trying to get by in this hellscape, and if a comic made you feel understood or just plain better in some way, that’s a good thing. But It’s a very “I got mine” argument to focus on that and ignore how those stories might affect others. You can’t reclaim something that wasn’t insulting you in the first place. I find the claim that there’s something universal about Sad Wanda Crying unconvincing given how emblematic HOM is of media representations of psychosis. If you’re not always being portrayed as a serial killer, the weight of this story will easily fly over your head.  

Then there’s the not-small matter that the people being insulted – really, specifically insulted – by HOM are groups that aren’t a big part of public discourse. The severely mentally ill and people with fertility issues. Not that those are on equal footing, but they both have a certain invisibility and the idea that something might be hurtful to them is treated as a joke. Reproductive issues are intensely personal, and most people want to keep them private. There is a lot wrong with media representations of infertility, but if talking about it means opening up about your experiences, it’s no wonder people don’t want to or are only willing to in a receptive space.

Also, I suspect a lot of people didn’t read the X-Men stories that came after and are viewing this entirely from Wanda’s perspective. There’s something narcissistic about sad, sad, sad characters being sad about their sad, sad, sad life. It invites the audience to focus on that one person’s struggles – often as a stand-in for their own problems – and ignore everything else going on. This is one of the critiques of “manpain” storylines. There’s a layer of self-involvement built in. Killed a bunch of people? But they were sad! Sad, sad, sad! We’ve all got problems, man. The world breaks everyone. Not everyone kills Hawkeye two different times.

This is particularly true in spec fic where every backstory is a trauma conga line. Your fave may have suffered, but realistically, so did everyone else.

Redemption arcs can have that air of narcissism too. Woe is me, I have done bad. If they get really self-obsessed, you get The Very Worst Kind of Story, the one where the villain is someone who has been wronged by the “redeemed” character and they want revenge. It’s a way of appearing to confront the damage done while actually minimizing it and discrediting the victims. Protagonist-centered morality to the extreme. Only Good Victims™ matter, and therefore, the redemption seeker is exonerated. All charges dropped on account of the victim turned out to be a jerk!

(That’s not what this post is about. I watched a movie the other day that had this problem, and it gave me a lot of feelings. It was Power Rangers. Leave me alone.)

Getting back to what I said at the beginning, the thing that bothers me isn’t so much that people like something I don’t like. I agree with Grant Morrison’s assessment that HOM is lukewarm at best, but I can still see why someone might like it. The bigger problem is how people like quote-unquote problematic things.

Which is to say oh my god, you guys have to stop acting like genocide is cool and badass. Finding a story valuable is one thing. Claiming that Wanda is so awesome because she can warp reality and wipe out all the mutants and “when will your fave” is another thing entirely. It is not okay to brag about genocide. Ever.

EVER.

Not even when you’re talking about fiction.

I know that saying a character is more powerful is the unquestioned trump card of comics fandom, but 1) that’s iffy in the first place and 2) it’s especially bad in this case. I used to think of the “my fave is more powerful than yours” dick-measuring contest solely as an expression of Boys Club thinking, something juvenile that celebrates physical strength above all else. But there is something more insidious to this logic. Saying that having more power – by which you mean a greater ability to commit acts of violence and hurt others – is the same thing as having more value is disturbing logic. The way that superhero comics equate power with goodness is part of why they’re considered fascist. Every time you indulge this fantasy that having more power makes something better, that power is virtue, the spectral form of Alan Moore appears and hurls copies of Watchmen at your head.

Buying into this furthers one of the worst messages in the genre. I’m not saying anyone who argues over which character is more powerful is a fascist, but this logic should not go unexamined. Why does it matter so much which character is the better at inflicting harm than all the other harm inflicters? You can use the cheap argument that they’re heroes and they’re doing good, but superheroes are, to a worrying degree, used as avatars of the US military. They’re only unblemished, pure-hearted Social Justice Warriors™ if you don’t pay attention to any stories featuring them.

And when you’re not just arguing that being powerful is better, but that the act of committing genocide is a key part of that superiority?? That’s beyond disturbing. How can people not notice how terrible that sounds? Outside of the narrative and the twisted reasoning of superhero comics, what are you really saying when you say that? Might makes right is questionable enough, but when the expression of “might” is ethnic cleansing?

Someone, please explain the thinking that leads to these posts. I’m lost in a flurry of question marks. What compels a person to declare, openly, that what’s cool about Wanda is that she got rid of all the mutants? How does someone conclude that glorifying genocide is okay because it’s a fantasy genocide? Why do thousands of people reblog these horrifying posts?

Why?

Why?

WHYWHYWHY?

On second thought, don’t explain it to me. I don’t want to know.

[seniichi]

Flower Bouquet

Summary: Green doesn’t often feel loved. Red and Gold want him to be. (Or how in a handful of months, Red and Gold learn that they want nothing more than to make Green feel like diamond.) Duo Nameless and Inspiship for one (1) @murdeirin for the gift week conga.

Note: If you like my work, please consider donating to my Ko-Fi account - Seniichi.

“He likes flowers,“ Gold tells Red one day over lunch. Ever since Red had come down from the top of the mountain, Green had been in a decidedly worse mood, though the reason why was anyone’s guess. Red looks mystified, gesturing with one hand in a question of why that would be significant. “Because he just got back from doing work in Pallet Town, and he could really use someone who cares right about now.” Gold says flatly. “I mean, unless you don’t.” Red flinches at the accusatory tone, glares at how Gold frames it. Of course he cared! The man stands up, now thoroughly affronted, and disappears. Gold continues eating lunch, a smirk on his face.

To say Green is bewildered when Red arrives, a soft bouquet of lilies in hand would be to understate his confusion. But he accepts the flowers, skeptically eyes the roots while Red hides behind his hat, cheeks red. He’s thoroughly surprised when Green’s face breaks into a genuine, if confused smile.

“That’s sweet Red,” Green smiles up at the man, ducking a little to see under his hat. He stretches up to lay a kiss against his cheek, expression soft and smile warm. Green takes the flowers off to a flowerpot, and Red slowly unfreezes from the embarrassed - but oddly pleased - statue he’d turned into. The next time Red visits, he can see his flowers growing in a pot. He curiously signs a question, and Green’s smile spreads. “They still had roots silly,” Green laughs at him, tugs on his hat playfully. “They took root pretty well, I’d say.” Green leans over to kiss the top of Red’s head. “Thanks for them - They really made a bad day better.“ Red gives a flustered response that amuses Green, and he escapes while he still has the chance.

The next time he sees Gold, the boy is running around with a basket of eggs. The boy waves at him, and he waves back carefully.

“... Green loves Eevee.” He says at last, when Gold stops by him, panting for air. The boy frowns.

“Yeah, he’s mentioned it.” The boy points out. Red shakes his head, frustrated at the lack of understanding. He doesn’t like talking out loud, and he has to emphasize it, using his signing to punctuate his meanings.

He loves Eevee. Red knew how Green adored the fluffy things, always cooing over his Eevee’s ruff and spoiling the darn thing rotten. Gold’s eyes widen.

“Ooooh. I see.” The boy gives a grin, salutes him. “I gotcha captain.“ The boy speeds off, and Red resigns himself to an annoyed chewing out from Green later.

“So, what’s so special about this batch?” Green asks Gold when the excitable boy takes his hand and leads him into his daycare. In response, Gold whistles. Green’s eyes widen at the sound of a lot of little voices of a familiar pokemon preceding the veritable flood of twenty extremely fluffy coats as the Eevees purr on him, clambering over his shoulders and licking his face. Green’s laughing, but this is cute, they’re really damn fluffy, and Green can’t help but fall in love. He barely looks up when Gold guides him into the living room, leaving him to enjoy his afternoon.

“I kind of ignored you...” Green’s embarrassed, hand rubbing against the back of his neck. Gold smiles at him warmly, bumps his fist against a shoulder.

“Honestly, I needed someone to distract the Eevees for me,” Gold grins openly. “I haven’t been able to cook undisturbed for weeks. Feel free to visit anytime you like - I could use a chance to make Pokemon food without them climbing up my legs and trying to get at them.” Green laughs, a faint flush on his cheeks.

“I’ll remember that.” Green says his polite goodbyes, waving slightly as the gym leader leaves to focus on other things for the evening.

The next time Gold sees Red, the man gives him a faint smile and thumbs up. It starts this way, so simply. Green does a hideous amount of work for an atrocious amount of pay, and it’s in their interests to see to it that he’s happier - the rest of the league doesn’t need him to be so stressed out.

But spending time with Green, just the two of them - or all three, depending on what they’re doing - brings far more into play, feelings growing deeper every time they saw the delighted expression on his face, the rapturous joy they had helped bring about.

“I think it’s pretty safe to say we like him,” Gold greets Red with that statement after one of their practice battles. Red looks a little offended at first, but Gold raises a challenging brow and the man wilts a little. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m not acting on those feelings.” He says easily, misses Red’s doubletake. “I really like him. I like him a lot. But we both make him happy, and he’d be pretty heartbroken if he had to choose.” Red looks torn, but shuffles his feet in agreement.

“I don’t think he’ll ever pick,” Red says the words quietly. Gold looks at Red, tilts his head up to match the taller man’s gaze.

“And can you live with that?” He asks. Red seems to waver at first, before a faint, determined expression crosses his face. He nods firmly.

“Yeah. I can live with that.” Gold grins.

“Great. Listen, I’ve got a plan for Friday - there’s a movie opening up, and I was planning on taking Green - but if you’d like to come, I can spare an extra ticket.” Red looks at him in interested suspicion, before taking his word as genuine and smiling slightly.

Sounds great. He returns to signing now that the important part was over. He was kind of sad, but after Gold leaves, Red can’t help but smile a little. He was making Green happy. And someone else was too. That alone was worth it.

[condensed-theorem-shop]

so I remembered that the mary sue litmus test was a thing and decided to do it for Nostalgia (ah, teenage writing worries)

for the character I picked WWII!Jean, default timeline (i.e. if no other character intervenes)

final score: 40 points: “Extremely high chance your character is a Mary Sue. VERY risky range.”

honestly the whole thing and the result is So Entertaining to me, because I remember when this seemed like a Deep and Important Test of Literary Merit

but now it’s just like -- half the questions make me go “why would you ever do that” and the other half make me go “why WOULDN’T you do that”

of course my character’s life is one dramatic event after another! anything else would be boring! of course I picked his hobbies because they sound neat, why would I write about boring hobbies?

but also of course I poke fun at his flaws and use them as plot devices, that is the point of flaws! and obviously he makes stupid mistakes that have consequences, and is definitely not a role model, and isn’t based on my child (seriously? that would be super weird even if I had one)

it’s just so orthogonal to how I think about writing now? like, “is really good at stuff and has good stuff happen to them” is +mary sue, and “is bad at stuff and has consequences” is -mary sue, and that just seems like such a weird division to be making, because what feels like indulgent writing to me (and so what I mostly write) is more like “interesting things happen to them that showcase the extremes of their personality and abilities”

I am pretty sure this is a much healthier way of thinking about writing than thirteen-year-old Mori who actually cared about mary sue tests had. if nothing else, I have much more fun this way. and other people seem to like reading it, so: cool

(checked boxes under the cut, if anyone is curious)

1. (c) Is your character’s name taken deliberately from a character from another fandom that you like?

5. Is your character described, illustrated, and/or depicted as looking especially beautiful, handsome, or cute with little to no effort?

6. Does anyone sincerely praise or comment upon how cute/beautiful/handsome your character is; or refer to your character as such when talking about or to your character outside of lovemaking, showing affection, or trying to cheer your character up?

7. Does your character have a great body/physique, which you describe, show, and/or illustrate in detail?

26. Does your character voice political, social, and/or religious opinions or beliefs which you share?      (a) Does xe convince others that xir way of thinking is right?      (b) Is spreading these views one of your character’s biggest motivations, or even xir sole motivation?

32. If your character is openly defiant or disrespectful toward authority figures, is your character always justified and in the right?

33. Are any other actions that get your character into trouble with authority always justified from your point of view?

43. Does your character always have money to spend on extravagant frivolities or whatever xe really wants or needs at the time?

45. Did you choose your character’s occupation and/or hobbies because you think they sound neat, glamorous, prestigious, or exciting?

46. Does your character share your favorite types of movies, music, clothes, hobbies, etc?

47. Is your character some sort of genius or prodigy, and/or is unusually accomplished for xir age, time period, place, occupation, and/or social status?

49. Is your character simply the best or among the best among xir peer group?      (b) Are other characters extremely impressed or astonished at your character’s skills and/or virtues?      (c) Do they impress even the most cynical, jaded, exacting, and/or experienced?

60. Not counting xir first language, how many languages does your character fluently speak?

64. (a) Did [your character’s] mistakes ever result in important property or items being seriously endangered, damaged, or destroyed?      (b) Did these mistakes ever result in people being seriously endangered or injured?      (c) Did these mistakes ever result in anyone dying?

65. Do most, if not all characters who disagree with your character’s choices and methods turn out to be evil, manipulated by someone evil, or at the very least working for a dubious or selfish agenda?

66. Does your character ever single-handedly take out more armed forces than you can count on one hand using xir awesome kickass skills in one go?

72. About your character’s parents/guardians/overseers...      (a) Are they unfairly restrictive or unnecessarily harsh?      (c) Or do your character’s parents/guardians/overseers let xir do whatever xe wants and never really get in the way or ask too many questions?

82. Concerning your character’s friends and acquaintances...      (a) Is your character liked by nearly everyone xe meets?

86. If your character wanted, could xe have sex with or date any or almost any of the characters xe finds attractive?

89. What about any of these?      (h) Physically abused and/or bullied?      (i) Sexually abused/raped?

92. Has your character otherwise lost:      (c) [A] close friend?

96. Does your character angst about something that xe did in the past?      (b) Death of xir own family?

RPG characters section (seemed most applicable to glowfic)

1. Do you constantly put your character at the center of a dramatic scenario, to the point where your character’s life could be described as a drama conga line?

De-Suifiers section

1. Do you ever poke fun at your character’s faults/weaknesses and/or use them as plot devices or gags?

2. Has your character ever been honestly selfish, petty, lazy, shallow, or pointlessly cruel?

10. Does your character have a truly debilitating phobia that does not disappear at a crucial moment?

11. Has your character ever run away from anything simply because xe was a coward?

14. Has your character ever faced a problem xe had no way of overcoming on xir own and had to rely on others for help?      (b) Did xe give up after failing?

16. Does your character ever seriously question the morality of xir actions and/or is left with a lingering doubt that xe may not have done the right thing?

17. Does your character suffer post-traumatic stress disorder as a result of everything xe has gone or goes through, and doesn’t get over it after a dose of good loving/snuggling from xir love interest?

20. Does your character ever admit to being wrong, even if xe doesn’t really mean it?

21. Has your character ever ignored wrong-doings against xirself and/or others because xe simply didn’t want to get into trouble?

22. Does your character act in odd and/or awkward ways that other people find strange and confusing rather than endearing, and these people aren’t called or portrayed as foolish/stupid because of it?

26. Do you view your characters more like tools than friends/children?

27. Did you spend days, if not months carefully and thoughtfully researching any of the following so you could try to write them as realistically and sensitively as possible?      (a) The type of abuse your character experienced and the long-term effects that can come from it?      (b) The long-term effects that can come from any other traumatic experience your character faced?

28. Do you take care that your character’s personal hardships and traumas aren’t presented as uniquely more horrible or worthy of pity than absolutely anyone else’s, and/or make sure that other characters’ problems don’t take a backseat or vanish mysteriously while your character gets mollycoddled?

[littleplebe]

Caution - Weirdness ahead. Read at your own risk.

Inspired by this post and based on @glynnisi's insane prompt. If you want to blame anyone for the following piece of crack, blame her. I know I do.

For as long as he could remember, Steve had been attracted to Darcy. She was smart and plucky, open to new friendships and remarkably accepting of all the madness that surrounded their lives in the tower. He had met her by accident, having ventured into the labs for the first time in search of Bruce only to stumble upon her instead, standing on a table and trying to get into the vent above. (“CLINT! You give me back my taser or I’ll fucking end you!”) One look at her and Steve knew he would fall hard. There was just something about her, something freeing, that made him want to take her hand and run away, regrets and responsibilities be damned.

And that’s exactly why he couldn’t tell her how he felt about her. Bucky was out there somewhere, alone and fending for himself, struggling with his memories and the things he had done. Finding him had to take precedent over everything, even Darcy. Steve told himself that he would do something about his crush after he found his best friend. Yet he couldn’t help himself from obsessing over the very real possibility of Darcy meeting someone else while he was gone, thus destroying his chance with her forever.

Thankfully, his fears remained unfounded and when, months later, he returned to the tower with Bucky by his side, Darcy was there waiting for him, her eyes shining and hands spread wide in welcome. It felt good to fall into her arms again. Comfortable and safe, she looked and smelled like home. Bucky was all right, the Soldier was under control. So, maybe Steve could finally make his move, make Darcy his like he had always wanted.

He found himself sitting alone in the common room one day, unseeing gaze fixed on the blank television screen, when the object of his desires hopped onto the couch beside him.

“Hi,” said Darcy, leaning in to kiss his cheek. She sat back and smiled at him, unaware of the butterflies doing the conga in his stomach. “What are you thinking about?”

“Food,” he fibbed quickly before mentally kicking himself. He could have told her the truth, could have responded with a smoldering ‘You’ and went from there. Too bad Steve wasn’t the smoldering type. Bucky was better at that kind of thing.

Darcy laughed. “Want me to whip up something for you? Something sweet?”

Oh, how well she knew him.

He shook his head. This was his chance. He could suggest going out, turn it into a date, grab her hair and ravish her at the end of it…

“Or we could go out,” she offered in a small, hopeful voice, stealing words right from his mouth.

His thoughts went wild with possibilities and he had to bite his lip hard to keep a wide and uncharacteristically dopey smile from being unleashed. But before he could respond, Natasha strode in followed closely by Bucky. The latter took in the sight before him, his eyes sweeping from Darcy to Steve and back, before he thrust his hands in his pockets and slouched in reluctantly.

“Sorry for the interruption,” said Natasha. Her unapologetic gaze landed on Darcy and she gave the brunette a once over. “Steve and I are going out. Keep this loser company, will you?” She jerked her thumb at Bucky, who blinked and looked at Darcy, shaking his head hard. Steve was doing the same thing.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Bucky growled at the same time that Steve said, “Why can’t they come with us?”

“We have an op to discuss,” responded Natasha curtly. “It’s classified.”

“Can’t it wait?”

“No.”

Steve groaned. And just when he was about to make some sort of headway with Darcy…

She shrugged when he apologized to her about leaving her there. “Pfft. Don’t worry. Barnes and I are going to be great pals.”

Steve smiled. “Okay.” He slapped Bucky on the shoulder affectionately before walking out of the door with Natasha. “Be nice to her.”

It wasn’t until later when Natasha casually mentioned Darcy being a perfect potential anchor for Bucky that Steve realized what a friendship between his best friend and his best girl would mean.

Darcy’s parting words rang ominously in his ears. Barnes and I are going to be great pals.

No. No, that was impossible. Steve had known Bucky his whole life. His tastes were different. They had never fallen for the same girl. Never.

---

He was wrong.

Because Darcy was special.

---

He had been avoiding her.

He had been avoiding Bucky as well.

Darcy’s constant presence was instrumental in Bucky’s recovery and Steve saw more and more of the old Bucky emerging each day. He couldn’t be happier about it, but with that happiness, came a certain sense of sacrifice and emptiness. Because he knew, Steve knew that Bucky had fallen for her as well. It had been a quick transition, from strangers to ‘I wanna be with her all the fucking time’, the same cycle that Steve had gone through after he had met Darcy.

It was painful to watch.

Bucky and Darcy watching T.V. in the common room, Bucky lounging on the spot that was once Steve’s.

Bucky and Darcy in the kitchen, talking over each other as she taught him how to cook, something she had never done with Steve.

Bucky beating Darcy at board games.

Bucky gently grasping her wrist when she tried to feel his hair, offering to cut it for him.

His gut twisted at the sight and he choked, spinning around and hurrying out of the room. Bucky deserved this, he deserved to be happy, and if Darcy was the one that made him happy, well then Steve would step aside. Because friendship with him was more important than anything Steve would ever have with Darcy.

The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth but it was the right thing to do. And that’s what Steve Rogers was all about, wasn’t he? Someone who would always do right by others.

---

Darcy caught up with him one lazy Saturday morning, her face red and eyes spouting fire. She came to a stop an inch away from his chest and glared up at him.

“Why are you avoiding me?”

Steve stared at her, caught off-guard by her anger and proximity. “What? Darcy… I…”

“I barely get to see you, I haven’t talked to you properly in weeks.” She growled and shoved him angrily. “What the fuck is your deal?”

He caught her hand when she made to shove him again. “Darce…”

“Did I wear you down? Do you not want to be friends anymore?” Her chin trembled worryingly and his resolve to stay away crumbled. He wrapped his arms around her and pressed her to his front. She came willingly. She always did, no matter how angry she was with him or anyone else. Steve had always been able to comfort her.

“You didn’t wear me down, okay? I’ve just been busy,” he lied smoothly, running his fingers through her hair and trying not to revel in the feel of her clinging so desperately to him.

She sniffed and buried her face in his collar. “I miss you, Steve. It’s not the same without you.”

“You have Bucky,” he reminded her gently, grudgingly.

“Bucky’s not you,” she said immediately.

His heart jumped at her words. Surely she didn’t mean what he thought she meant.

“I thought you liked Bucky.”

She pulled back, frowning a little. “Oh, I like him. I like him a lot. But I want to hang out with you, too. It’s like… you don’t even care about us anymore. You’re off doing your own thing.”

Steve sighed. The problem was, he cared a little too much for them. But how could he explain it to Darcy in a way that didn’t make him sound like a complete ass?

“That’s enough moping,” Darcy commanded suddenly, breaking into his morbid thoughts. “You don’t need to explain anything to me. Just… you know, be around. I like seeing your pretty face every day.”

He gulped and nodded.

“And be ready. We’re going out tonight.”

His arm instinctively tightened around her. “You and me?”

“No, silly.” She giggled. “Bucky will be there, too. Can’t leave him behind now, can we?”

“Of course,” he said heavily, stepping away from her. She stood up on her tiptoes and pressed a noisy kiss to his cheek.

“See you at seven. Don’t be late.”

He watched her go, hair bouncing around her shoulders and eyes twinkling as she turned to give him one last wave. How could one person make his heart beat faster and break it into a million pieces at the same time?

“Touching.”

Steve whipped around to see Bucky emerge from the shadows, arms crossed and eyebrows raised.

“Eavesdropping on people is rude, Buck.”

“Not when I’m the topic of conversation.”

Steve shook his head and turned to leave. He was in no mood for games.

“Hey,” Bucky said, catching his arm and forcing Steve to meet his gaze. “What is your problem?”

“Leave me alone, Buck. I’m not in the mood to talk.”

“That’s news to me,” Bucky said sarcastically, metal fingers firmly clutching Steve’s arm. “You’re never in the mood to talk these days.”

Steve clenched his jaw and glared at him in stubborn silence.

“This is about Darcy, isn’t it?”

He slapped a hand to Bucky’s metal fingers and tried to pry them off.

“You’re in love with her.”

He still wouldn’t say anything.

“Dammit, Steve, talk to me!”

“What?” Steve exploded, throwing his hand up in the air. “What do you want me to say? Yes, I’m in love with Darcy. No, I’m not going to do anything about it.” Ignoring the stunned expression on Bucky’s face, he continued stonily, “You’re welcome to have her all to yourself, Buck. Just leave me out of it.”

“What the hell!” His grip on Steve’s arm tightened and he winced. “I’ve done nothing to warrant such behavior, Steve! I’ve not laid a single finger on Darcy till now.”

Steve scoffed. “But you want to!”

“It doesn’t matter if I want to or not. I’m not the one she wants!”

“Neither am I,” snapped Steve, finally freeing himself from his grip.

Bucky gaped at him. “You’re joking, right? Have you seen the way she looks at you?”

“Yeah, and she looks at Thor the same way. And Jane. And you…”

“You idiot, she talks about you all the time and acts like you hang the damn moon!”

She talked about him all the time? Well if that wasn’t flattering as shit, and really good for his ego. He stood there, temporarily speechless, wondering how he had been so fucking stupid about making his move when she thought so highly of him.

But then he looked at the resignation on Bucky’s face and thought of all the times he had seen Darcy and Bucky together, and his stomach fell. “You’re wrong, Buck. The last time I saw her, she kept going on and on about how much progress you’ve made as an amateur cook.”

“That’s ‘cause I have!” Bucky said indignantly, completely missing the point.

Steve sighed and shook his head. “I can’t do what you’re asking me. You deserve to be happy more than I do.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Such a martyr.”

“This isn’t right,” Steve continued resolutely.

“I’ve honestly lost count of the times you’ve spouted utter nonsense in my presence.”

“I’m serious, Buck.”

“So am I,” said Bucky firmly. “Let’s just forget everything and go to dinner tonight. If neither of us is going to act on our feelings, then we’ll leave the decision up to Darcy.”

Steve didn’t like the idea at all. He wanted Darcy all to himself. He was allowed to be selfish for once in his damned life! He was just human after all.

But he knew he couldn’t do that to Bucky. Hell, he couldn’t do that to any of his friends. This was as good a plan as any. So, he sighed in defeat and nodded. “Yeah. Let Darcy decide.”

Bucky snorted at the hopelessness in his voice. “Trust me when I say you’ve nothing to worry about.”

If only Steve could believe him…

---

The dinner never happened. There was a call to assemble and Steve only had enough time to message Darcy telling her he’d make it up to her later before they were all suiting up and piling into the quinjet.

A man, supposedly a wizard, was wreaking havoc on Times Square. By the time the Avengers got there, another wizard (this one sporting a red cape) had joined the first and they were engaged in a fierce battle of strength and sorcery. At first, the Avengers didn’t understand what was happening or if they were even needed there. These men were magicians! How could you defeat a magician without magic?

“The Avengers are here! Fashionably late as always,” the wizard with the red cape greeted, even as his hands produced some sort of orange energy to zap the enemy. “I’m Dr. Strange. And this is my friend Mordo. He’s acting a little crazy right now but he’s really a good guy deep inside.”

Steve exchanged unsure glances with Thor and Tony. What the actual fuck?

In retaliation to Dr. Strange’s words, Mordo did something crazier. It seemed like he possessed the power to conjure some sort of demon monsters and soon Steve and the others found themselves surrounded.

“Well, here goes nothing,” deadpanned Clint, before releasing his first arrow.

And the fight began.

Steve regretted not bringing Bruce with them. The area was already badly destroyed; the Hulk would have just worsened it. However, even with Natasha leaping from one demon to another, Clint pelting arrow after arrow, Thor’s electricity blowing several demons into smithereens and Tony wildly blasting his repulsors, it still wasn’t enough. Mordo just kept conjuring more demons to keep the Avengers from joining in the real fight.

He was extremely powerful and Steve could see the strain on Strange’s face as they fought. He threw his shield at a demon creeping up behind Natasha and turned to Bucky.

“We need to get behind him,” he panted, catching his shield when it whizzed back to him. “He uses his hands to do magic. If we can… I dunno…”

Bucky considered it. “I get it. If it doesn’t do the trick, we’ll at least have tried.”

“We might get zapped.”

“Or worse, turned into demons.” Bucky grinned. “Let’s do this.”

“Thor, Tony,” Steve spoke into the comm. “We’re going in. Cover us.”

“On your mark, Cap,” said Tony, flying over them and keeping the demons at bay with well-aimed repulsor blasts while both super soldiers ran toward Mordo.

Later, if you asked the Avengers what happened next, none of them would be able to tell you for sure. Not because whatever happened, happened so fast that no one caught it. Also not because a strange glow surrounded Steve and Bucky the moment they jumped on Mordo and twisted both his hands behind his back, thus taking the brunt of his power into their super souped-up systems.

Mostly. Mostly, it was because what happened… didn’t make any fucking sense at all.

Mordo was defeated because of Steve and Bucky’s heroics but when Dr. Strange sent him and his demons backpacking through a portal and after the glow faded, there was only one body lying prone on the ground where there should have been two. Alarmed, Tony zoomed over to see if one of the super soldiers had accidentally been sucked into the portal.

He hovered over the unconscious body, unsure.

“Uh, Thor,” he said quietly into the comm. “Guys. You might want to see this.”

“Is Steve all right?” Natasha asked, running over, while Thor flew down from above.

“Jesus!” gasped Clint, when he saw what they were all staring at.

“Weren’t there two men here?” Dr. Strange politely inquired, appearing beside them and looking very satisfied with himself about the victory.

“You,” Tony snapped, spinning to face the sorcerer. “You’re coming with us. Now!”

---

There was a strange weight on his left shoulder, a certain sense of physical imbalance focused more on his left side that made him feel like he had grown an extra limb there. He groaned and cracked his eyes open, blearily taking in his surroundings. He was in the med bay of the Tower. His head felt heavy and his entire body ached. What the hell had happened?

The last thing he remembered was getting ready for dinner.

Darcy, a voice in his head reminded him and the memory of what had happened at Times Square slowly filtered into his mind. He closed his eyes, listening to the heart monitor beeping steadily to his left. He was alive. He was okay. He was going to be f— wait, was he thinking in Romanian?

“I don’t know Romanian,” he croaked.

The beeping of the heart monitor sped up as he panicked. What on earth was happening? The door to the room opened and Bruce and Helen rushed in. Helen hastened to the heart monitor and switched it off. Bruce came to stand by the bed, a pen and doctor’s pad in his hands. He had never seen Dr. Banner look so unsure in his life. He almost looked afraid.

“Who are you?”

That was a weird question to ask. Bruce knew him. They had fought together. Bruce made him tea every morning.

“Steve Ro…” he trailed away. There was a voice inside his head insisting he was someone else. “Bucky Barnes… no.”

“No?”

Why didn’t he know his own name? Was he Steve or Bucky? Was he—he blinked—was he thinking in Romanian again?

“I’m not sure,” he mumbled in puzzlement.

Bruce and Helen exchanged significant looks. Something wasn’t right.

“Where’s Darcy?” he asked instead.

“She’s at the lab,” Helen informed him kindly. “She doesn’t know you’re here.”

“Can I see her?”

“Not yet, St—soldier.” Bruce fumbled with his doctor’s pad. “Do you… feel any different?”

“Aside from the fact that I’m thinking in Romanian, not really.” He laughed nervously. “My left arm does feel a little weird.”

He wiggled his fingers experimentally and brought his arm up to study it. Oh good, his metal arm was intact.

His metal arm.

His metal…

“Jesus, fuck!” he exclaimed, scrambling into a sitting position and shoving at the arm with his right hand. “What the hell? Bruce! Why do I have a metal arm? BRUCE!” he roared, his panic reaching phenomenal levels in a matter of seconds. “Ce se întâmplă cu mine? Ce se întâmplă?!”

“His heart rate’s increasing again,” Helen shouted.

“I got it.”

The last thing he remembered was Bruce producing a needle and Helen holding him down as best as she could.

---

When he woke up again, he wasn’t alone. Natasha and Clint were sitting on either side of his bed, playing ball.

“Darcy,” he moaned, voice hoarse with sleep. He was pretty sure he had been dreaming about her. “I want… where’s Darcy?”

“Interesting,” mused Natasha.

“What’s interesting?” Clint wanted to know.

“Bruce said their thoughts clash. Darcy is the only constant in their mind. It’s interesting.”

“Shut up, Natalia. Your voice grates on my ear drums.”

She sat up straight, missing the ball Clint threw at her. “Bucky?”

He shook his head. “Steve.”

She raised a brow. “Then, why did you call me Natalia instead of Natasha?”

“I don’t know,” he replied, grimacing slightly. His brain confused him.

“This is so weird,” said Clint, looking spooked. “Should I call the doctors?”

Natasha nodded and the archer quickly left.

“Just tell me what’s wrong with me.”

“I don’t… I don’t know how to…” He hadn’t thought he would ever see the Black Widow fumble for words. She was always so precise and her calm businesslike manner in difficult situations was an inspiration to them all.

“Spit it out, Nat.”

“We think Steve and Bucky are no longer two different people,” she said hurriedly, watching him closely for a reaction.

He looked at his left hand, his metal hand, and paled.

“Shit!”

“Strange says Mordo’s magic merged you two together… somehow.”

There was a shuffle outside the door and the other Avengers plus Helen Cho filed in.

“How do you feel, soldier?” Helen asked him.

It was weird to be called soldier instead of his name. But what was his name? Was it Steve or Bucky?

“Can you fix us?” he demanded.

“I… uh… we’re working on it.”

“Come on, Cho,” Tony piped up seriously. “Don’t lie to the man. We don’t know how to separate you, soldier.”

Everyone’s eyes went to Thor next but he, too, had nothing to offer. “Asgard knows not how to aid you with this dilemma. I’m sorry, my friend.”

His face fell. His first instinct was to rage at them, to throw things, use his metal arm to get shit done, but that was Bucky. The Steve inside him forced him to remain calm, to think about this rationally with little to no violence involved.

“None of us have ever seen anything like this before,” said Bruce, rubbing the back of his neck uncertainly. “We don’t know how to deal with this.”

“Can’t Dr. Strange do anything? Magic bound us. Magic can unbound us.”

“Strange left to find a cure… but Steve,” Tony paused and shook his head at his slip of tongue. “It might take some time.”

“Or more time,” Clint muttered under his breath.

Man, he was totally and completely screwed this time.

---

The first thing he did after he was discharged from the med bay was find a mirror and look at himself. It was surreal. The man staring back at him looked familiar and new at the same time. He had Steve’s eyes, Steve’s neat mop of hair and Steve’s lips. But the hair was darker like Bucky’s, there was stubble on his face, his jaw was more pronounced and then there was the fucking metal arm that they both shared. It didn’t feel heavy anymore. After a week in the hospital and some helpful physiotherapy sessions, he was used to it.

What he wasn’t used to was the sorry state of his mind, which was constantly at war with itself. Steve and Bucky may have been best friends but they were very different people with different tastes and contrasting emotional responses to situations. When Bucky wanted Cheerios, Steve craved cake. When Steve wanted to watch television, Bucky wanted to play board games. Bucky liked to jog, Steve wanted to race. Steve was nothing without his shield, Bucky was all about knives. The worst part of it was that his physical health and fighting ability was also being affected by this. He lost sparring matches to Tony for Christ’s sake who wasn’t even a skilled combatant.

“Why did you make that jump?” demanded Natasha from her seat by the mat while Tony helped him up.

“I think I was going to go for the high jump and sweep kick.”

“That would have been effective. Then, why did you fall?”

“I don’t know. My body decided that the duck and side punch would be a better move.”

Natasha pursed her lips and thought about it. “You have two different voices inside your head telling you what to do,” she stated bluntly. “You can’t fight like this. Until Strange can find a solution, you need to learn to control your mind.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get that. But what do you mean I can’t fight like this?”

“It means you’re officially relieved of your world saving duties till we say so.”

“Fuck you, Natalia!”

“Language,” Tony said mildly.

“I’m your leader!”

“Not anymore,” Natasha said, brilliantly veiling her reluctance at having to say these words. “Thor will take your place until you can figure your shit out. In the meantime, we’re all here to help you as best as we can.”

“I won’t listen to this!” He turned and stomped out, kicking at the nearest dumbbell as he went. First, they wouldn’t let him leave the Avengers block, then they wouldn’t let him meet Darcy and now they were pulling him off superhero duty as well.

How much worse could his life get?

This is your fault, Buck.

It was your idea to jump on Mordo, punk.

---

He was sitting in his in-suite kitchen, staring at a box of untouched pizza, when he heard faint scraping in the vents. He pricked his ears and listened closely for a second or two before shrugging and going back to his brooding. He hadn’t seen or talked to Darcy in two weeks. JARVIS has been keeping tabs on her for him but not seeing her was making him restless. Tony thought Darcy (and probably everyone who knew the super soldiers) would freak the hell out at the sight of him. But he couldn’t see how confining him to the upper floors of the tower was an apt solution.

Besides, if the Avengers were doing well enough handling the new him, so could Darcy. She was a strong dame.

The scraping noise returned, closer this time, and he stood up suspiciously, blue gaze swiveling up to see a mane of dark hair hanging out of the open vent.

“What the…!” he uttered in surprise before there was a feminine shriek and the next second, he had his arms full of— “Darcy?”

Her cheeks were flushed and she was breathing hard. He glanced up at the hole in his ceiling. Had she really just crawled out of a fucking vent? His immediate instinct to reprimand her for her carelessness flew out of the window when he noticed the way she was looking at him, eyes wide and lips parted in utter awe as she studied him unabashedly.

“Look at you,” she whispered, raising her hand to trace the sharp line of his jaw.

His pulse jumped at her light touch and his mouth went dry as he drank her in hungrily. Her skin was as smooth as ever, lips as lush and pink as he remembered, she was wearing the Mjolnir printed tank top that she loved and, God, but she was absolutely breathtaking! It felt like he was seeing her after years and couldn’t stop staring at her.

She squirmed uncomfortably in his arms and he carefully placed her on the kitchen island, pushing closer to stand between her legs because hell if he was going to let her out of his reach again.

“Thor told me but I couldn’t believe him,” she said softly, thumb absently swiping over the scruff on his chin. “This… you… shit! You look so different.”

He didn’t know if she was talking about Steve or Bucky but he didn’t care, not when she was touching him the way she was, light fingers running over his shoulders, tracing lines on his metal arm, reaching up to flick a piece of hair from his forehead… it was innocent exploration, he knew, but it was turning him on. He boldly placed his hands on her waist and squeezed.

“This doesn’t freak you out?”

Her eyes swept over his face again before she replied, “A little.”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“I missed you.”

“Who?”

“Both of you.”

His heart skipped a beat and when she shifted closer expectantly, he gave in and let her draw him into a hug. She was warm and soft just the way he remembered, her ample curves fitting perfectly into the hard ridges of his body. He closed his eyes and buried his face in the crook of her neck, breathing in the familiar scent of jasmine mixed with sandalwood. Now that he had her in his arms, he couldn’t comprehend how he had survived without her for two weeks, without seeing the undying twinkle in her eye, without the impish curve of her lips, without those tiny moments of weightlessness when she kissed his cheek or rumpled his hair or smacked his arm when he won at scrabble.

“I missed you, too,” he told her, reluctantly pulling away.

“Good.” She grinned. “Because I’m here to stay.”

---

She wasn’t kidding when she said she was there to stay. They made quick work of the pizza while commiserating about him being under house arrest and Darcy being forbidden to see him.

“Tony actually had JARVIS change my clearance level so that I couldn’t get up here,” she told him incredulously. “Well, joke’s on him ‘cause I’ve learnt to use the vents now.”

Later, they retreated to his bedroom, where Darcy leapt shamelessly on the bed and he sat on the floor, leaning his head back onto the mattress. A second later, she crawled across the bed to lay her head next to his, her dark waves tumbling over the edge like a waterfall. He turned his face to see her watching him speculatively.

“What does it feel like?” she asked. “Do you hate it? Is it confusing?”

“A bit.”

“Have your memories merged as well?”

“Hmm. I remember flying the plane into the arctic and I also remember being tortured by HYDRA. It’s weird.”

“That’s terrible,” she said with a frown. “How do you deal with it?”

He shrugged. “I have dealt with it, before the merge. So it’s not that bad. I get combined nightmares sometimes but that’s not as worrisome as frequently wanting to do different things. Be it in combat or movie preferences or my work out schedule, it’s like… one side of my brain is in constant conflict with the other.”

“Listen to the dominant side,” she suggested instantly.

“Both are equally dominant.”

“Ooh,” she said cheekily. “I bet they are.”

“Behave,” he scolded, fixing a mock glare on her.

She giggled. “So, what are you going to do?”

“Dunno. Wait for Strange to fix me, I guess.”

“What if he can’t?” she asked anxiously.

He winced and looked away from her, not knowing how to respond. If the Sorcerer Supreme couldn’t figure out a solution to this mess, he didn’t know who could. His adam’s apple bobbed heavily as he stared at the ceiling, vainly trying to control his riotous thoughts. He was thinking in Romanian again but it was broken, as English randomly seeped through. Everything still made sense because he was fluent in both languages but the opposing directions his thoughts sometimes ran in was frustrating.

Darcy shifted closer and circled an arm around his head to cup his throat protectively. Her hair tickled his shoulder and she nuzzled close to speak fiercely into his ear, “I won’t let anything happen to you. We’ll figure this out, okay?”

“Okay.”

---

She woke up with a plan next day and told him to stay put in his suite while she went to get some things. She returned with people, not things.

“What’s going on?” he asked when Thor and Clint followed her in half an hour later.

“Simple exercise,” Darcy chirped happily. “Clint, take your place at the table. You two are going to arm wrestle.”

He looked at both men dubiously. Arm wrestling? “What’s that going to achieve?”

“Just do as she says, buddy,” advised Clint. “She’s got it all mapped out.”

“Had a dream about it,” said Darcy proudly. “Now wrestle.”

They clasped hands and Clint mouthed, “1, 2, 3, go.”

It wasn’t a fair fight. Clint was strong but not stronger than two super soldiers put together. To his credit, he lasted a good minute before admitting defeat.

Thor was a different matter entirely. He was a demigod and Clint yawned loudly in the background while they wrestled for long minutes. In the end, Thor got tired of holding himself back and swiftly slammed their clasped hands down on the table.

“Forgive me, my friend,” he said unapologetically, grinning wide.

All three looked at Darcy, who was watching them hopefully, as if expecting them to have figured out what this all meant. When no one said anything, she rolled her eyes and explained, “One, now you know your strength. Two, what did you just do while you were wrestling?”

“Tried to win?”

“Exactly! Your mind was focused on one thing – winning.”

He frowned at her, completely nonplussed, before realization dawned and his eyes widened comically. “So, if I can do it once, I can do it again. Focus on one thing.”

“Right. You don’t need to listen to a dominant side. You need to come to a common ground. Compromise the best you can or else try new things that you haven’t tried before.”

“I like this idea,” Clint chimed in. “You can try new fighting techniques, mate.”

“And you need to start meditating,” continued Darcy, bouncing eagerly on her toes. “It helps calm the mind and improves focus.”

“Bruce can help with that,” agreed Thor.

“I’m going to get Nat and Tony in on this,” said Clint, all businesslike. “They can help.”

“This might just work, Steve,” smiled Thor before following Clint out of the door.

He huffed irritably. “Why do people keep calling me Steve?”

“It’s the eyes,” said Darcy, smiling softly. “You have Steve’s eyes. It’s the first thing people notice when they look at you and it reminds them of Steve.”

He nodded slowly. Suppose that made sense.

What do you think? Is it okay if people call us Steve?

What’s in a name?

---

Everyone had to admit Darcy’s plan was genius. A month into it and he was already showing signs of progress. He had set a simple routine for himself: meditate with Bruce every morning (meditation really put a lot of things into perspective), spar with Natasha and Clint after that. It was demotivating, not to mention maddening, taking continuous hits at first, unable to make up his mind about which move to use in the split second that Natasha took to attack him again. But he liked to think that he was slowly getting better at it.

Tony was responsible for knowledge distribution. Steve was interested in technology and its use while Bucky was fascinated with the science of it all. So, he was learning to indulge in both. Knowing more not only made him feel intelligent, it also helped simplify his decision making process. Thor kept telling him to think like one man, not two. Because that’s who he was now – a new man, stronger, faster, smarter. Thor’s advice wasn’t impossible but it was easier said than done.

Meanwhile, Darcy’s job was to take care of the little things, like categorize his movie and food preferences, encourage him to do better each day, calm him down whenever he got aggravated with his unique situation, and just in general her job was to exist. Her existence made everything better. She was his sole anchor, the only person capable of making him laugh these days. When he was with her, his thoughts were in perfect sync. Because she was the only thing in the world that both Steve and Bucky wanted…

There were still times when he caught her off-guard and she would spend an inappropriate amount of time staring at his face in wonder while he tried his damnedest not to be affected by it.

“Darcy,” he said the third time it happened, snapping his fingers in front of her face.

She jumped and looked away. “Sorry… sorry.”

“What are you thinking,” he asked curiously, “when you look at me like that?”

“I don’t… know,” she replied, avoiding his gaze. “Nothing in particular.”

He saw right through her. “Liar.”

She flushed prettily. “I can’t help it. You’re different… but same. And hotter.”

“Woah.” He sat up straight, suddenly very interested. “You don’t think I was hot before?”

“You were,” she hastened to reply. “But now, it’s like… more. You know?”

He shook his head innocently. He really wanted to hear her say this.

She huffed and continued, “It’s like… a combination of blue eyes, warmth, righteousness, charm, mystery and… the murder strut.”

He was amused. “The what?”

“Oh, you know,” she said, waving her hands helplessly. “The way Bucky walks.”

“I see.” He leaned forward, resting his chin on his fist. “What else?”

She glared at him, realizing what he was trying to do. “Eat your fucking soup.”

He barked out a laugh and happily returned to his dinner, occasionally stealing glances at Darcy, who was steadfastly avoiding looking at him. He was seeing this side of her for the first time. It was endearing, not to mention gratifying, to see her fumble in his presence. He couldn’t deny her recent behavior toward him gave him hope.

But once she left, doubts began to creep into his head. What he was doing, flirting with her? He was supposed to exercise control when it came to her, at least until Strange could find a way to fix him. It had been his own decision, before the merge, to let Darcy choose between Steve and Bucky.

Some would say the situation had sorted itself. There was no question of choice between two people anymore, it was just him now and the merge made him want Darcy more than ever; but what would happen when he went back to normal? Moving ahead with her now would unnecessarily complicate things later. So maybe he should stay away.

The only problem with that plan was, as time passed and his thoughts slowly started to sync, he got used to this body, to the new memories, new personality traits and the new way of looking at everything. The two conflicting voices in his head had all but faded and anything that remained… well, those were his own thoughts, emotions and decisions. His. Singular.

He was starting to believe that he was one person. Not two trapped in one.

---

Natasha deemed him field ready one fine Monday morning after he had pinned her to the mat no less than three times in one session.

“Let’s see,” said Clint, checking things off a list. “Master tactician, excellent Frisbee thrower, great with knives, expert marksman, skilled at hand-to-hand combat… damn, you’re the whole package, Sergeant Justice.”

“What did you just call me?”

“You’ll need a new name, of course,” explained Clint, grinning. “Nat and I have thought of a few. Nomad, Sergeant Justice, The Shadow…”

“The Shadow?”

“It’s cool.”

He rolled his eyes. “Why can’t I be the Winter Soldier?”

Natasha quirked a brow. “You don’t mind?”

“Why would I mind? I am the Winter Soldier.”

“But you’re also Captain America.”

He shrugged. “Captain America is a known entity, a public face. No one has seen the Winter Soldier. Plus, I have the metal arm to prove it.”

Clint and Natasha exchanged looks, then Natasha smirked and announced, “Fair enough. Welcome back to the team, Winter Soldier.”

He snorted. “Don’t be cheesy.”

---

“How are you guys going to explain Captain America’s absence?” Darcy’s muffled voice carried through the closed bathroom door.

“I don’t know,” he called, toweling himself lazily. “He probably fell into a volcano or something.”

“You better be joking!”

He snickered. “Maybe he died protecting a fellow Avenger. Pretty heroic, eh?”

Wrapping the towel around his hips, he opened the door and stepped out, eyes sweeping the room for Darcy. To his left, the door to his closet was open and her tiny feet peeked out from below.

“Leave the room, Darce,” he ordered gently.

“Wait.” And then her feet disappeared.

What the hell was she doing clambering up his closet?

He went to stand behind her. She was unsuccessfully trying to reach the top shelf. “Where’s the blue shirt you wore last Thursday?” Her voice was strained and, in spite of his amusement at her antics, he took pity on her and reached up to swipe said blue shirt from the pile.

“This one?” he asked, holding it before her eyes as she jumped down.

“Yes!” She snatched it from his hand and turned around with a smile that faded the second her eyes landed on him. “Oh.” Pink tinged her cheeks and she stood rooted in place, blinking rapidly at the low slung towel around his waist.

She was making him feel hot, too. “Darcy. Out. Now,” he said, resting a protective hand on the knot of his towel.

“Right. Yes,” she mumbled, looking a bit dazed. “I’m going.”

She elbowed the closet door shut as she went but stopped a few paces ahead, having remembered she was still holding his shirt. “Wear this,” she said eagerly, backtracking to give it back to him. Her knuckles were white from clutching the fabric a little too tightly. “You look nice in it.”

He tried not to be flattered by the effect he was clearly having on her, for it wasn’t because of him. Was it? It was because he wasn’t clothed. It was a natural reaction. It was probably embarrassment…

Darcy cleared his doubts the next second when she surged up and pressed her lips to his. He froze, shirt slipping from his fingers and eyes going wide. What?

She pulled away quickly and eyed him nervously. “I… sorry. Shouldn’t have done that…”

He gaped at her, heart pounding wildly and lips tingling from her touch, before his instincts kicked in and he yanked her into his arms. She let out a surprised squeak and braced her hands on his chest, peering up at him with big hopeful eyes. He let his gaze drop to her mouth and dipped his head experimentally. She immediately tilted her face up, her eyelids fluttering heavily and pink lips parting in silent invitation.

A helpless groan escaped him at the sight and to hell with it he decided before sinking his metal hand into her hair and sealing her mouth with his in a rough kiss. She gasped at his intensity, her nails scraping over his pectoral muscles in a way that made him shudder and push her back until she was pressed against the wall. He couldn’t be gentle with her, not when he had waited so long to hold her, taste her, not when she was so soft and pliant in his arms, his to devour and possess if he so wished.

She let him crush her body to his, let him be demanding. Her breathy moans filled the air around them as he hungrily kissed down her neck, nipping and licking until she snapped her hips into his, begging for more. He was breathing hard when he pulled away, his wayward hand slipping out of her blouse and coming to rest on her hips.

“We should stop,” he panted, even as his fingers stroked and kneaded her flesh, unable to let go of her completely.

She opened her eyes to reveal pupils blown wide with lust. “Wha… no!”

“I can’t. I can’t do this.” He waited for the haze in her eyes to clear and made sure she was listening before he continued, “Being with you now will only complicate things when I… when…”

“When you what?” she challenged, her voice hitching due to breathlessness. “Not five minutes ago you were talking about killing off Captain America. You know things are never going to go back to the way they were.”

“But Strange—”

“Would have found a cure by now if there was one.”

He shook his head miserably. “It isn’t fair to you.”

In response, she launched up on her tiptoes and kissed him hard. “Now you listen to me, Mr. Nobility,” she ordered calmly after pulling away. “You don’t have to be so torn up about this. Sure, Steve and Bucky are a part of you. They made you. But you’re a person and you’re allowed to do stuff and want stuff. Plus, you say you’re better, right? You’re you. And I want you.” She paused and raised her eyebrows at him. “Got it?”

Her words both stunned and thrilled him. She was right. He was better now, in so many ways than one. And he may never go back to being who he was before. This was his life now and he was surprisingly happy, especially now that he knew Darcy wanted him.

“Are you done or do you want to brood some more?” she teased, wrapping her arms around his waist and bouncing up to press a kiss to his shoulder.

He huffed out a laugh and closed his eyes, letting her explore his skin with her lips. “I’m done.”

“Good. Now drop that pesky towel.”

---

6 months later

They were in the Avengers kitchen, stealing sweet lingering kisses over breakfast, when Tony walked in, followed by Dr. Strange.

“Heya, lovebirds,” the billionaire greeted cheerfully. “Look who’s back with news!”

“I think I may have found a spell to reverse—,” Dr. Strange began proudly only to be interrupted by two loud voices telling him to,

“Fuck off!”

[memerabbit]

lord birthday sentence meme

part one, find the artist here!

7 mental tricks to overcome depression ”Stop thinking about graveyards. I mean, bones? And souls? Those are gross things that are also highly sad. Stop it.” ”Stop thinking about castles of despiar. Yes, boo hoo, there are many such castles. But you do not live in them, child!” ”Stop thinking about gloom bandits. Yes, these folks are scary. Yes, they kill. But why dwell on badness?” ”Stop thinking about blood music. Sweet lord you have bad taste that only encourages sadness!” ”Stop thinking about the destroyed days. Days can be good, if only you let them.” ”Stop thinking about crushed snails. Because honestly! Maybe they prefer being crushed? Since they have no purpose? Because they are basically snot?”

how to be great at small talk ”In a small barrel with a clown called Stinky Shane.” ”Kinship. Forged by blood. Eternal love. An endless strife.” ”I got arrested, gosh darnit. Like a dang hooligan.” ”Oh rapturous visions! Oh silver-tongued delights!” ”My troubles come forth in unspeakable numbers.” ”To crack my stack and get all magnificent.”

9 conversational tricks “I put a boogie dollar down.”  “Do you slap the dimpled balls?”  “Mama’s got the nasty jam.” “That’s a gold hat, cool cat.” “This gig gonna smash me hips.” “Dip me in ya Monday milk.”

8 text messages you can send to someone if you want them to stop texting you [text] Sorry for the delay, I’ve been sniffing my blood buckets. Would you like to get a whiff of them someday?  [text] My new phone number is 1-800-HOP-OFF-MY-NARDS. Please redirect all texts to this number. [text] I cannot text you back because sadly I have carrot fingers. :( [text] Am I your pretty baby? Your very pretty poopy baby? Your poopy? Yoour gross poppy pig? Your poop poop wipey? [text] I want to cover you in ravioli and stuff you in a freezer jk lol :) [text] Guess what? I am pregnant. Old Man Grimley is the father.  [text] I will text you back, but first fetch me a vigorous ram.  [text] Do you still not get it? Let me put it this way: I intend to dig a lovely garden and YOU AIN’T GOT NO HOE.

10 things you should never shout while dancing at a party “Give heed, countrymen! There is borne up to us the sound of a drum!” “In the name of St. Francis, I shall kick the air like a steed in heat!” “By what accident of history have I come to shake this booty?” “How glorious I feel! My legs how they dither!” “May I request a hand to steady me, lest I tumble into that vast chalice of nachos?” “And now I shall assemble a conga line to encircle the establishment!” “Oh glorious sinner that I am! I am in courtship with my dear friend’s father!” “I am no stranger to crimes of the heart!” “I am a carrier of some kind of hoof disease!” “I am the bastard child of the Archbishop of Canterbury!”

how to live a fancy high-fashion lifestyle ( in 8 easy steps ) “Don a cape. To ‘don’ means to ‘wear like an idiot.’ Do that with capes. Come to fashion!” “Put on long blue shoes and a big bow hat. Delightful!” “Wear a jeweled collar. A luxury neck is yours!” “Paint your face bright red or purple. Resemble a berry. Such juicy is way so fashion!” “Ride a tiny horse through a forest at the magic hour. Squint your eyes. Sigh. Woods are big fashion!” “Sip on a spazzling wine. Raise your glass and say LONG MAY THE MEMORY LINGER. A fancy life is so becoming your life!” “Return home. Ignore your family unless they are big fashion. They must enjoy fancy! And love it on you!” “Eat a cold taco, alone in your room.”

[wizardrywilting]

my favorite quotes from the rebranding

ch. 1: “Nicolas,” she sighed. “Sleep is harder when you grow up.”

“So? Try.” Then he left, and she was forced to nap.

---

Lydia’s father sighed. “Stop scaring away the trainees.”

“You take softies now?”

---

Lydia had to take a very deep breath to handle this. “Where did you get a pigeon? Pigeons don’t just... chill in goddamn Blue Stone.”

---

“People like us don’t change. You can't change your destiny, your DNA. You’re like me, and always will be.”

---

“Why are you full of rage?”

“Tragedy,” she spits.

“What is the tragedy?”

She spins around and leaves, hearing her father laugh.

---

By the time you get this, I’ll be back in Ireland, and possibly at HQ for the Order of KFC. (Does Britain have KFC? If not y’all are missing out.)

---

They restrained themselves, for once.

---

“Woah, are we-” “-interrupting our little sister’s gay awakening?”

---

Hermione’s offended look would fuel Lydia's patronus, if she had one.

---

“So, about you and my godson.”

“Oh for fuck - we’re not dating!”

---

“My grandmother screams way louder than that idiotic mushroom shit you’ve got for a mother.”

ch. 2: Hermione was even in a heated debate with the cashier, who looked like she’d never wanted a job less.

---

Above them, hanging from the rafters, Ginny swung like a monkey.

---

Lydia shot up in excitement.

 “I know that particular yell!”

---

“A girl can only go so long before she stabs a clingy old man.”

---

Ginny, who had stood nearby, knelt beside Lydia and moved her hands enough to wipe the tears that had found their way to Lydia’s chin.

“It’s alright, you did good.”

---

“It’s my opinion that every adult needs a good dressing down by a kid every so often. Keeps ‘em humble, you know?”

---

 “Lydia. Just because someone is kind to you, it doesn’t give them the right to discredit you and your feelings. Your pain is valid, and real.”

---

Mrs. Weasley didn’t enjoy the conga line that Lydia, Ginny, Ron, Nicky, Sirius, and the twins formed for Harry - or maybe it was the chanting. Either way, she didn’t enjoy it as much as Harry did.

---

ch. 3:

But she’d be lying if she said she didn’t pick up more shifts than essential, just so she didn’t have to process her feelings.

 Because she had a lot of feelings she’d rather repress.

---

Trevor was on Neville’s head.

---

Neville was whispering to a cactus as if it were a puppy, Luna was painting polka dots on Ginny’s face, Ginny was talking about Dean Thomas

---

 “I had a knife phase.”

 “No, that’s still going on.”

---

 “OH! POTTER NEARLY GOT HER, BUT A BIT OF NAUGHTY SWEARING GOT THE BETTER OF HIM! SHAME, HARRY. LYDIA’S QUICK BOMBARDA, THAT’S AN EXPLODING SPELL BY THE WAY, NEARLY GETS POTTER, BUT IT SEEMS...OH WOW, HAS HE DROPPED HIS WAND?! NO, NO THAT’S MCBRIEN, TURNING IT INTO...WELL NOW FOLKS, I’M NOT SURE WHAT JUST HAPPENED.”

---

Lee yelled again, “IS THAT...IS THAT A WIN FOR LYDIA? I REALLY DON’T KNOW WHAT TO CALL THIS. FRED, GEORGE? ANGIE?”

---

ch. 4:

“That’s your potting face. Is it time for Georgie and I to bow down and pledge service to our soon to be overlord?”

---

“When I declare supreme rule over the world you two will be at my side. We’ll even get a three seater throne.”

---

“You’re the only ones that can ever talk me out of things. So, if you asked me not to, I would actually listen.”

---

“Humans are sappy.”

---

Luna said, sounding absurdly happy for her situation, “But then a scary girl punched me!”

---

Luna came from behind and slapped Rhiannon. “Hush now, you’re acting silly.”

---

“you humans are so fragile.”

---

“....Demons?” Ardrig asked, then shook his head. “Nevermind, I want plausible deniability.”

---

“Ah! You’re doing it at Christmas, then? that won’t be traumatizing at all.”

---

“Eh!” Lydia made a sound like a buzzer.

---At that Ardrig laughed so hard his face turned blue, and he said, “I don’t despise you, Miss McBrien.”

That was as close to an ‘I love you’ as Lydia thought she’d ever get.

---

“You’re not a bad person for not being miserable.”

---

Shut up, I’m not making a move on your brother!”

  “Which one?”

Lydia startled so badly at Ginny’s voice she accidentally threw her sandwich.

---

“Now come on, I came to get you because Harry’s trying to do a backflip off the Astronomy Tower and Colin’s filming it.”

---

Let it be known that Lydia knew she shouldn’t take the bait. She should finish the joke, and laugh it off. Lydia knew this. And yet...

---

“I’ll...I’ll go there right now, Lydia. I’ll apparate there, and I’ll punch her. I’ll lock her away, like she did to you.”

  “No you won’t.”

  “I would, if you asked.”

  “But I didn’t.”

---

Cue explosions of root beer-mento-concoction all across the Great Hall.

---

Umbridge is screaming, Dumbledore is laughing, Pansy Parkinson is sobbing into Draco Malfoy’s robes.

---

“But how do you know Harry’s a good kisser?! He could just be awful!”

---

Lydia only wished Ginny were here, because she quite enjoying the stupidity of boys.

---

Oh, poor Harry. Poor oblivious, socially awkward, human disaster, Harry.

---

“Wait a minute!” Harry suddenly exclaimed, “Have you been writing to my godfather? Are you penpals?!”

---

Hermione and Professor McGonagall are giving her pity looks, and goddammit where is her knife?!

---

Lydia is slightly confused why Sirius is here, but she quickly remembers he isn’t dead yet.

---

“Christmas trees are not my forte, but you know what is? Firewhiskey and Led Zeppelin! G’night!”

---

“Get rid of your dignity, and we won’t embarrass you so often, Mate.”

---

“Stop psychoanalyzing me.”

---

“Fine, but Mum adopted her before she even got to the Burrow.”

  “Mum adopts everyone!”

---

ch. 5:

“She’s so pretty, isn’t she?”

Neville stared blankly at her.

“She’s alright. I mean, she’s rather plain. Your hair is shinier than hers.”

“But still, her eyes are very pretty. I like brown eyes.”

“Really? I think yours are better. Who likes brown eyes?”

Frowning at him, she said, “Baby, you’ve got brown eyes. So’ve like, half of our friends.”

“Okay, but you’re still prettier. What was that about, anyway? Are you actually going?”

“Why not? It won’t hurt, and she seems rather nice.”

“Desperate, more like.”

---

“They shrieked in my face, they spit on me!”

“They were excited!”

---

Before Lydia could decide if she should be offended or not, Ciara reached for her chin and kissed her.

---

Ardrig blinked.

“You are saying you often take shirtless boys out of their dorms?”

---

Fred grinned at her through the pain.

---

ch. 6:

“Why is Kenneth Towler watching me sleep?”

From the floor, Kenneth sputtered something unintelligible out.

---

Like a coward, Lydia ran and hid behind Fred and George until Professor Sprout announced they would be leaving.

---

Though normally not one to, Lee snarled at her.

---

There was a moment of silence, then Lee yelled, “I’m going to kill that girl, she had no right - give me your knife. I know you brought one, give me it. I haven’t got a wand.”

---

Angelina grabbed onto Lee’s chest from behind, grunting out, “Lee Angelio Jordan! You will not kill on Lydia’s behalf! It is rude! ”

---

(Luna isn’t about color shaming, to be clear. It’s just an alarming color, is all.)

---

For the first time in her life, Lydia disregards Luna’s warning.

---

ch. 7:

“Little what , Professor? Finish your sentences, it’s improper to leave them hanging.”

---

“And what will that do, dearie? Your mum and dad aren’t here.”

“Yes, they are. In fact, my dad’s in that classroom. Now drop her hand!”

---

“I’m gonna be okay.”

“Yes, you are. You’re going to be okay because I’ve got you.”

---

Ignoring it because she's a Gryffindor dammit, she kicks twice on the door.

---

Lydia was reminded, once again, that Madam Pomfrey and Professor Flitwick gossip about her.

---

“I give off Hermione Granger vibes?!”

---

Trevor was croaking quietly from his spot on Neville’s stomach, unaware Crookshanks was about to snatch him. Stoner was trying valiantly to prevent it, sitting on top of Crookshanks.

---

ch. 8:

“Actually, we could add the valerian sprigs to her omelette. The elves like to spit in it, the more willful ones, that is. It wouldn’t be hard to get Rosy or Penny to slip a few handfuls in.”

---

Grinning, Fred whispered, “Ooh, your crush is sleeping in your lap! How romantic! ”

Lee joined, “What next, a walk during sunset?”

“Or roses?”

“Perhaps a picnic!”

---

Love was…

Love was her spot between the twins, warm not from her jumper, but from their arms around her.

Love was Luna painting her arms blue, purple, and pink.

Love was Ginny wrestling her in the sunny apple orchard of the Burrow, getting tired and just sunbathing.

Love was Harry falling asleep in her lap, her hand in his curls, completely at peace.

Love was Mr. Weasley kissing the top of her head, telling her she was his, too.

Love was good, and warm, and kind.

Love wasn’t Ciara.

---

“Miss McBrien! What is the meaning of this?!”

Raising a bloody eyebrow because, what does she think?, Lydia gestured around her.

“Won a fight.”

---

Professor Flitwick looks impressed and upset about it.

---

ch. 9:

Tipping an imaginary hat, George added, “Thanks for the offer though.”

---

“You don’t have organs,” She reminded him casually

---

What was the protocol for being taken to a Prefect bathroom by a girl you barely knew when you were covered in syrup?

---

Cats followed her around all day, hissing and scratching at any part of her they could get. Umbridge was in tears the entire day, asking the kittens why they hated her. Even Mrs. Norris was doing it, something that broke Flich’s heart.

---

ch. 10:

“Okay. Good luck dismantling our government.”

“I’m not - whatever, thanks.”

---

“Now stop kicking me and act like you don’t share a single brain cell with Ron!”

“Oi!” Ron yelled, but they ignored him.

---

“Your favorite dungeon! The gloomiest of the roomiest. The-”

“That’s enough,” Lydia rolled her eyes, not that he could see since she was on Harry’s stomach still. “Convince him to stay here so I can get up. He’s too bony to be comfortable.”

“...Are you sitting on my godson?”

Harry turned the mirror, and Lydia waved.

“Hello! I’m glad you’ve not been tortured.”

---

She hadn’t even turned her head to look at him when he spoke, which probably should have been telling of her anger at the situation.

---

Ginny asked, “Lydia? What’s with that look?”

Angelina grinned.

“That’s called retribution, love. And I think Lydia’s got plenty of it to dole out.”

---

“Harry,” she says, sitting next to him on the floor, “I have a proposition.”

He looks up at her.

“And I’ve got a Charms essay.”

---

A sigh.

“Just one death?”

---

She stands up, and has to stop herself from laughing when the porridge drops to the ground with an audible splat!

---

She was laying it on thick, and Lydia knew it. But Umbridge was lapping it up like a thirsty cat faced with a dish of milk.

---

“Y’all,” Lydia gasped, "I’m socially awk’ard.”

---

“Severus, thank you for your help. I’m sure you have better things to do than argue with a child.”

---

“Besides, you have to be healthy. Maeve and I need good models of behavior!” Natalie pipes up from Colin’s lap, looking too happy about that.

Maeve, on the floor reading, nods and the two girls high five.

“What the hell!” Lydia yells, flopping against Neville’s side with a pained grunt, “I can’t be a mother, I’m sixteen!”

Neville pats her head.

[dippedanddripped]

10 CLASSIC HIP-HOP SONGS TO LISTEN TO WHILE HAVING SEX

By Stereo Williams

For the purposes of this examination, sexy rap songs come in two styles: the sensual and the raunchy. The most sensual can feel as seductive as a smooth quiet-storm classic; the raunchiest can make the most bashful bride buss it open. Here are five of each. First, some romance...

Classic Sensual Rap Songs

“Hey Lover” LL COOL J, featuring Boyz II Men

This smoothed-out dirty mackin’ classic is one of LL’s most definitive tracks. The Ladies Love side of his persona is in full effect, with Nate Morris, Mike McCary, Shawn Stockman, and Wanya Morris providing the slick hook over a sample of Michael Jackson’s “Lady in My Life.”

“Prototype” OutKast

Andre 3000’s half of Kast’s Grammy-winning double LP Speakerboxxx/The Love Below sees the ATLien scratching a serious Prince Jones, but it’s also a showcase for his brand of romantic oddness, best showcased on this guitar-driven ballad that makes love and sex sound cosmic.

“Mind Sex” dead prez

M-1 and Stic.man weren’t always just raging against the machine. What set the politically minded duo apart from an act like Public Enemy is that they weren’t averse to showing a more sensual side, as epitomized in this ode to gettin’ it in with someone with whom you actually share a mental and emotional connection.

“I Need A Girl (Part I)” Diddy, featuring Usher and Loon

The sequel might be more club-friendly, but the slinky original is a romantic and seductive slice of early-2000s’ slickness. Usher croons the hook as Diddy pines over the kind of woman he wants in his life and Loon chimes in, outlining the perfect woman for him. Both this track and the sequel stand among the best Bad Boy tracks of the era.

“How Do I Love Thee” Queen Latifah

She gets stereotyped as a sister-girl message rapper, but Dana Owens’ career is more varied than that. Exhibit A is this slinky track from 1992, a song that sounds like a lost Madonna B side, i.e., “Justify My Love.” Latifah coos in her most seductive voice, outlining how much she wants her lover accompanied by congas and smoothed-out instrumentation.

But sometimes you don't want it smoothed out. Sometimes you want it ignorant and ugly. So...here ya go.

Classic Raunchy Rap Songs

“Azz & Tittiez” Three 6 Mafia

It’s a perfect booty-shake anthem from the dark legends of Tennessee rap, and nobody does stripper music better than Juicy J. It ain’t about sweet and seductive, but more sweaty and sleazy. Fun stuff.

“Love in Ya Mouth” Kilo Ali, featuring Big Boi

The forefather of Atlanta rap was never shy about freaky songs, and this ode to oral sex is one of the most classic tracks in his repertoire. Big Boi’s guest spot serves as the perfect accent to the nasty perfection here.

“How Many Licks” Lil Kim, featuring Sisqo

The Queen Bee is hip-hop's most legendary sex symbol for a reason. On this skittering single, she rattles off all of the lovers she's left in her wake (Tony the Italian, a brother named "King Kong" for very specific reasons, etc.) with the self-proclaimed "Dragon" delivering a soulfully sleazy hook. Nobody does it nastier.

“Put It in Your Mouth” Akinyele

Ah yes, a catchy little ditty from the freakiest rhymer Queens ever produced. Akinyele was never known for subtlety, and this semi-hit from 1996 was his crowning achievement as a single. The song is about — well, y’know — and the hook became a fixture in strip clubs and on dance floors throughout the late 1990s.

“Pussycat” Missy Elliott

Misdemeanor rapped about sex a lot more than people seem to acknowledge. And while she had way bigger sex-themed singles, there’s no denying that one of her most memorable odes to bumpin’ uglies was this R&B-heavy ode to her lady parts. She knows she has the skills to get a dude sprung, and she gives her thang-thang a little motivational speech before puttin’ it on him.