#the power of dancing restored my electricity!

[reds-skull]

Finished the batch of animations I downloaded last time, might do some with Ghost next because I already have his model...

[satansamwriting]

hewoo I was wondering if you still had those request open and if you could do (mk11) Raiden x chaosrealmer! male reader please?

Dark Raiden with MChaosrealmer reader

Hiya! You are the first to ask me for a male reader, which I was quite excited about!

On a small note, for those who are wondering the same, I don't think all ever close my resquest so feel free to send an ask anytime.

Anyway, I didn't know which Raiden you wanted since in Mk11 there's dark raiden or past raiden. So I chose the one I thought would be funnier to write. Also you didn't specify if you wanted a headcanon or not sooooo I wrote you a small story instead. Hopefully you enjoy it!

Disclaimer : As usual, English ain't my native language. There might be mistakes in this and I apologize for them.

Trigger warning : Blood and Gore

Perched upon a large tree, a man gleefully observed the small earthrealmers below. The group seemed to be playing some kind of game. However, what had captivated the man was the chaos they had created. 

It reminded him of his home. The home he had left behind in order to explore, to see what chaos looked like in the other realms. 

Standing, (Y/n) stretched, ready to start researching for chaos elsewhere. A loud cracking noise forced him to glance upward, just in time to notice the red lighting bolt coming his way. 

(Y/n) vision went white. His muscles contracted, the shock paralyzing him. Unable to keep his balance, (Y/n) fell backward. A sickening crunch made him wince as he crashed on the ground. 

Blinking away the black dots in his vision, the man stared at his broken arm. Well, more like a shattered arm than a broken one.The sight wasn’t pretty. Parts of the bones were sticking out here and there while blood dripped from the open wounds. Taking a deep breath, (Y/n) slowly reassemble his arm, mending broken bones back together. Testing the arm once it was restored, (Y/n) nodded to himself for a job well done. Finally, he let his eyes wander around, taking in his new surroundings.  

A few feet away from him stood a man. His red glowing eyes were fixed on (Y/n). Electricity coursed over the man’s body. 

“Your race is not welcome on earthrealm, leave before I run out of mercy.”

As if to prove his point, the man raised his staff and brought it down to the ground, producing waves of lightning bolts. In what supposedly was a move to frighten the chaosrealmer into retreating back, it only helped strengthen the interest of the man. He felt the chaos within the stranger. It was enticing. 

Standing nonchalantly, (Y/n) smirked at the fury in the other’s eyes. 

“Bring it on.”

(Y/n) hadn’t had that much fun in a while. The fight was erratic. The man, (Y/n) would realize after closer inspection was in fact Lord Raiden, fought with clouded eyes. Anger fuelled his every move, making him unpredictable. Grey clouds covered the once sunny sky, darkening the surroundings. Laughter escaped (Y/n) lips as he deflected yet another one of Raiden’s lighting bolts. 

For a while, the two danced around each other, exchanging punches left and right. It seemed like neither was gaining on the other, fighting on equal force. But as the kombat persisted, the chaosrealmer sensed his energy depleting. 

Raiden swung his staff, hitting the man across the chest. Breathless, (Y/n) fell to his knees, an arm thrown around his stomach protectively. 

Deafening thunder echoed in the sky, before lightning bolts fell like heavy rain, ravaging (Y/n) body. The pain was excruciating.The man felt as if molten lava was poured onto his skin. Painful whimpers escaped his scarred lips, but the Thunder God wasn’t satisfied with this. Taking advantage of the weakened state of (Y/n), Raiden took hold of his head and with a powerful push, snapped the chaosrealmer’s neck. 

Calm settled back around them. For a moment, only the harsh breathing of the god could be heard. Slowly, the grey clouds dispersed, revealing the blue sky behind. Staring at the unmoving body of the chaosrealmer, Raiden scoffed. 

“Perhaps I should deal with your realm personally.” 

Turning tails, Raiden prepared himself to leave when a gurgling chuckle stopped him. Electric red eyes watched slightly horrified as the man thought to be dead slowly raised from the ground. Burnt fingers wrapped themselves around the head of the chaosrealmer. In one quick movement, the man snapped his neck back into place, spitting a mouthful of blood afterward. Grinning from ear to ear, the man cocked his head to the side almost playfully. 

“Leaving so soon?"

(Y/n) skin healed from the nasty burns. In a matter of time, the man looked just like he used to be before the fight. Only the dried blood on his skin and chin remain unchanged.  

Preparing himself for another round of kombat, the man frowned when the god turned away, his attention taken elsewhere. 

“Trouble in paradise?”

Lightning formed around the god’s wrist, swirling like a small tornado. 

“Don’t think I’m done with you.” He spat before a blinding light enveloped him. With that, the god was gone. The promise of other fights to come made (Y/n) smile. 

Whenever their path crossed afterwards, the two of them would be at each other’s throat. One with the intention of ridding earthrealm of the potential threat the chaosrealmer could become, the other for fun and the pleasure it brought him. Unknowingly for them, the more they fought each other, the closer they became. 

During one of their many kombat, a civilian was caught in the crossfire. Having been at the wrong place at the wrong time, the poor woman had walked through the park just as Raiden threw his staff. 

Were it not from (Y/n) who caught glimpses of the woman as he avoided the weapon, she would have been impaled by the weapon. With inhuman speed, (Y/n) ran to her and pushed the woman out of the way. 

He felt his skin tear and his bone break as the staff impaled him. A part of him was impressed with the strength of Raiden's throw as the weapon pinned him to the ground. Blood bubbled up in his mouth forcing him to throw up. Fire seemed to ignite whenever he tried to breathe.Through unfocussed eyes, (Y/n) searched for the woman. When he came up empty, he was relieved. She got away unharmed. At least, that’s what he hoped for. 

“Why save her life?”

A slight pressure was applied on the staff making  (Y/n) wheezed while his legs involuntarily twitch from the pain. One of his lungs was definitely pierced. Which would explain the constant blood dripping from his mouth and the hellish sensation as he breathed. Hands on the staff, (Y/n) stared in front of him. His blurred vision could barely perceive the red glowing eyes of the god. Trapped on the ground, he was at the mercy of the god. Raiden stared at him for a while, twisting his staff one way or the other in order to elicit a response from (Y/n) . 

“Why…not?”  

Muffling a scream as he was forced upward by the staff being yanked from the ground, he stood on shaky legs. His grip on the weapon kept slipping from the amount of blood staining his hands. The god, however, made no move to completely remove the impaling object from (Y/n). 

Despite the pain, (Y/n) knew he would heal from this injury. Raiden was not the first to impale him with something. He survived much worse. Well, he would survive this only if the god doesn't disincorporate him while he's out. Which, giving it some thoughts, was most likely to happen. Death, however,  was the ultimate chaos in all living things. For that matter, (Y/n) did not fear it, he embraced it. Wet coughing escaped his smiling lips. Without thinking, (Y/n) gripped the staff firmly and pushed forward. The burning and stretching was suffocating but he held on. Now closer to the god, he could see his face better. Devoid of his usual grumpy expression, Raiden's bore no emotion. 

Using the last shred of strength he had left, (Y/n) leaned toward Raiden, bringing his bloodied lips to the god’s. As consciousness slipped from his grasp, the chaosrealmer broke away in order to glance at the god one last time. 

“Guess…you win this one.”

The words left his mouth before darkness enveloped him. 

///

Perched on a large tree, (Y/n) hummed to himself as he watched the soldiers below train. Finding the view quite boring, the chaosrealmer plucked a nut from the leaves. A smirk on his face, he threw the nut at one of the soldiers. 

Almost instantly, the soldier turned toward the closest person and shouted accusations their way. Being innocent in all of this, the other soldier shouted back. One thing escalated to another  and soon the two were at each other's throat. Accidentally hitting the woman soldier beside them as they fought, she retaliated with a punch. More and more soldiers joined in the fight. 

“Now this is much better.”

(Y/n) laughed, enjoying the chaos that ensued. As much as he took pleasure in observing the fight, there was a reason why he came to this place. He had hoped that, by causing chaos around the camp, it would have attracted the attention of a certain person. After all, the god had shown him mercy that day.

 (Y/n) remembered waking up, surprise and confusion taking over him. He had been so sure the god would have taken the opportunity to get rid of him once and for all. However, not only did he leave him there, the chaosrealmer suspected the god had a say in his recovery. (Y/n) placed a hand on the healed wound. Days, even months had gone by after this, with no signs of Raiden. Well, if the god refused to come to him, (Y/n) would.Under the warm sunlight, the chaosrealmer left his hiding spot. 

As expected, two soldiers guarded the entrance of the camp. Although,  he was astonished to see how quickly the two were incapacitated. Frankly, (Y/n) thought those men and women were better trained than this. Either they truly didn't see him coming or he simply overestimated Earthrealm's defenders. Staring at the unconscious soldiers, (Y/n) shook his head before moving on.

He hated how the place was in order, not a single thing out of place. It made his skin crawl. The sight of it reminded him of a nasty realm that was constantly trying to rule over his own. Passing yet another neatly arranged set of tents, (Y/n) sighed. These people would never get to experience true freedom. 

It took a long time before one soldier noticed the trespasser. (Y/n) wasn’t hiding either. Walking in plain sight, for all to see and yet not once before did anyone question his presence. Until one soldier did. The man fought better than the two guarding the entrance. Giving a parcel of hope back. 

Eventually, more soldiers joined in the kombat, much to (Y/n) utter pleasure. He tried his best not to work the men and women too much, after all he was only there to attract the attention of the god. A shame really.

Basking in the chaos, (Y/n) groaned when a bullet pierced through his tight. Another one lodged itself in his right shoulder making him lose his momentum. By now, multiple soldiers surrounded him, their guns raised ready to shoot in case (Y/n) wasn’t standing down. Party poopers the lot of them. 

Smiling even as one of the soldiers hit his head with the butt of their gun, the chaosrealmer let them restrain him. Forced to stand up, his eyes grew with excitement when thunder roared above. Not two seconds later, a bright red lightning bolt descended from the sky. In its wake stood the man (Y/n) was interested in. 

“What is the meaning of this?”

Locking eyes with the god, (Y/n) couldn’t stop his smile from growing even more. 

“You usually don’t let me roam around earthrealm for a whole month without a fight.” 

Dislocating his shoulders and twisting his arms in unnatural ways to get away from the soldiers holding him, (Y/n) relished in the sounds of disgust his captors made.  

“Just thought since you always come to me, why not come to you this time.”

The god said nothing, his face remaining stone cold while his eyes glanced around the many unconscious soldiers littering the ground. Some had nasty cuts and bruises, while others had broken arms or broken legs. Finally, his eyes went back to (Y/n). Soldiers waited with anticipation, wondering what the powerful Thunder God would do. 

Raiden raised his staff into the air, electricity swirling around the weapon before he brought it down.The same blinding light enveloped them. However, this time, when (Y/n) blinked, he found himself in a completely new area. He was alone, with the Thunder God. They were on each other seconds later.

Usually their kombat was bloody and violent. Both trying to injure and even kill the other. But this was not one of those fights. There were least cheap moves, less electricity and not a single drop of blood was shed, apart from the fight with the soldiers. 

The staff was knocked away quite early into the kombat. Having landed somewhere nearby but Raiden didn’t seem to care. 

Gaining the upper hand, (Y/n) tackled the god to the ground. Straddling his chest in order to prevent him from moving, (Y/n) took hold of the god’s wrist pinning them above his head. Heavy breathing filled the otherwise silent area. On an impulsive decision, (Y/n) crashed their lips together. The kiss was a battle of its own, filled with teeth hitting against each other and harmful bites. Making the mistake of letting his guard down, (Y/n) felt the lightning before seeing it. 

Letting go of Raiden’s hand, the god took the opportunity to flip them over. A large hand wrapped itself around (Y/n) throat while the other pinned the man’s wrist above his head. 

“Why did you heal me that day?” (Y/n) asked, his eyes glued to the red ones. 

Under the god, (Y/n) took notice of the missing hat. He wondered when the god had lost it and if Raiden had noticed as well. 

Distracted, he couldn’t help the small yelp that left his lips as a tingling sensation coursed through his body. Wriggling under the god’s strong hold, he felt the hand around his throat tighten. It wasn’t that the sensation of electricity flowing through him was unpleasant, far from it, it was just strange, almost soothing. (Y/n) eyes focused on Raiden's hand. The god was sending tiny electric charges down his body. Soon, the two bullet holes from earlier closed, and any remaining injuries healed. Once the god was done, he leaned forward brushing his lips against the other’s.

“Why not?”

[intobarbarians]

*does a little dance so the electricity gods restore my power*

[snowflake-of-destruction]

"don’t remember this place being such a shithole" for the first line meme

The explosion rocked the street.

“Just a little whoopsie doodle from my baby! My bad!”  Mei Hatsume called, stepping out from the sideways slanted cement supports of the collapsed (already collapsed before she got to the scene, relax) parking garage she had been hiding behind.

Aftershocks almost knocked her off her feet.  “Nothing to worry about!”

Two swirling, dark, smoky portals entirely too reminiscent of the now deceased for a second time Kurogiri rose from the ground like steam off a grate and widened to show multiple figures taking shape in their depths.

“Some to worry about. Evidence for it being my baby’s fault is inconclusive and will never hold up in court!” Mei chirruped, still more fascinated than scared, dancing closer instead of away, taking the advanced guard even though there were several hero students and UA staff members on the scene more suited for being the first to confront possible danger.

Cleaning up disaster areas left by the war was the current replacement for Hero Studies and other practical job training classes for all courses, but at least UA had returned to session and there was a chance that the futures of of all the second and third years that should now be third years or already graduated could get back on track. 

“Stay back!” Eraserhead warned, swinging ahead of the excitable pink haired girl with aid of his capture scarf. “Hawks, with me. Hero students, follow at a distance. Support, business, and general studies are the last line.”

The new history teacher flew on restored wings (a gift from Eri Aizawa, one of the first of many she’d given after the fighting had stopped) to join Eraserhead, katana in hand, already unsheathed.

The hero students obeyed the homeroom teacher, but only barely, Deku and Dynamite only a head behind Hawks, and Ingenium and Shoto keeping pace on the ground.

The first portal closed, darkness sweeping away to reveal two men, both about average height. The rust red wings that unfurled from the back of the one on the left were unmistakable even from a distance. They were the mirror image of Hawks’ own, as was the face attached to the body they were attached to. The body itself was not quite the same silhouette, however. The arms and legs were thicker, built toward strength instead of speed. This Hawks could still be described as “wiry,” but only just. He didn’t invite questions about whether he was hollow-boned like a bird too, nor did he need large jackets to make him look more broad. This Hawks had foregone his flight suit for baggy pants paired with a tight, sleeveless turtleneck that showed off not just the muscles of his arms, but flame tattoos streaking up from wrist to shoulder. His hair was longer than the real Hawks had ever kept it, and gathered into a short ponytail.  If he was a copy, he was imperfect, which only made him more unnerving, though not as unnerving as his companion. Skin so pale it could almost be called translucent and shaggy white hair starkly contrasted with a navy jumpsuit with electric, icy blue piping and high boots the same color, picked to match the dancing, lively eyes of the man that were set to assessing the scene as the approaching heroes assessed the impossibility of Dabi (because it was obviously him, despite the lack of grafted skin, staples, or scars) returning to life. 

“I don’t remember this place being such a shithole,” Dabi mused, rather unconcerned for someone with a small army rushing at him–though he always had been in such situations.

Eraserhead activated his power, hair rising off his neck and mechanical eye whirring as it aided his natural one. The support team had managed a prosthetic that could channel erasure and even mimic Mei’s power and zoom for long distance, but it would only work while erasure was active in the other eye, so Aizawa was still limited by his need to blink.  “Identify yourselves and your purpose.”

The call was a weak concession to proper protocol.

“Keigo Todoroki, hero name Hawks, and this is Blue Spirit. Touya Todoroki. Who the hell are you?” Hawks’ tattooed doppelganger spat, looking warily at the Hawks that landed in front of him.

A hideous noise akin to audio feedback from an amp the size of a large pick-up truck interrupted them as the second portal shot up stories into the air before vanishing, sending four figures tumbling from the sky.

Eraserhead wouldn’t have looked but the cacophonic sound had already made him blink, so, as it was, out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of the large, fluffy, surprisingly solid cumulus cloud that formed and swooped up through the air to catch the falling newcomers–and then he couldn’t look away.

Dabi, Touya, Blue Spirit, or whatever the man who had once sought so many deaths called himself now could have set Eraserhead ablaze and he wouldn’t have noticed a difference.

The cloud lowered the new foursome nearer to the ground, where three of them leapt off and landed in crouches before straightening to standing, movements very close to completely in sync, though the effect was more endearing than intimidating, how carefully they’d practiced on full display. The fourth stayed floating, cloud shrinking to serve as a hovering throne for one.

 "From the SCREAM of the dawn!” the blond figure yelled. 

“To lazy, cloudy afternoons,” the floating figure continued.

"To the witching hour after the sun sets,” a woman most people gathered on the street had thought dead obliquely referenced her own hero name, Midnight. 

"And the darkest hours before the next dawn that erase the mistakes of your previous day and lead to the future,” a subdued, mellow voice that didn’t actually sound all that much like Eraserhead, though the man it emanated from was near identical except for his two eyes and the shockingly tight jumpsuit he’d been poured into, carried on. 

All four heroes wore coordinated and almost identical costumes: painted on black jumpsuits in the thin material Midnight favored with black motorcycle jackets with brown patched elbows that seemed to be copied from Present Mic’s hero costume layered over them, thick and practical boots, black fingerless gloves, goggles, and flowing capture scarves in different colors. 

They posed together and finished their slogan as one, the other three voices drowned out by the bellowing blonde that had started them off. "KEEP YOUR EYE ON THE BLUE SKIES"

Bakugo spoke for everyone when he said. “What. The. Hell?”

“So my baby ripped a hole in the fabric of the universe and let in a few alternate realities. Medium to large things to worry about. I still call ‘whoopsies.’” Mei Hatsume brought everyone to the same page. 

[tonybina-india-2020]

Day 10 : The Gulaal - Jaiselmer

18th March 2023

After a vegetarian meal under the stars we retired early to our room for a shower and a chill.

This hotel is fabulous however the view from an our window is of a building site  although looking out from it now, I can’t actually see anyone working the machinery that has been left there.  We’ve also had several power cuts, the most notable, was one that caused a total black out whilst I was showering. It was completely pitch black with not a glimmer of light, so I though it best just to keep warm under the hot water until the electricity was restored

Todays first stop was Gadiser Lake, a holy expanse of water that is kept topped up by a canal. Within this lake are catfish around 5 foot long and they have the circumference of a large bucket. Gangi, our guide said that people fished these near mythical monsters for food, however they didn’t taste at all good.

Behind the lake were the Ghats, which are the cremation pyres for Hindus and next to them the burial plots for the Muslim 

Our next stop was Jaisalmer Fort which also goes by the name Sonar Quila (Golden Fort) as it rises from the desert itself and seems to become one with the golden hues of the sand. The setting sun adds its own magic and shrouds the fort with mystique. The fort is constructed in the classic style of the royals by local craftsmen. This fort is a world heritage site and around 5000 people live within its walls, mostly from Brahim and Rajput descent.

Its narrow streets are cobbled, broken and steep and gutters run along along side. We left our transport at the bottom gate and began our long slow walk into the fort. I was careful not to slip on the worn stones, but a very old man was squatting on the ground with a chisel and hammer knocking tiny holes into the ground to make the surface a little rougher.

The traffic of men, women, children, dogs, scooters, motor bikes and cows came from every direction, we veered and swerved around each other in some sort of dance, there was me jumping out of the way at every horn blast, trying to avoid the dung that was so freely strewn across the ground, but the cows refused to move and stood their ground, their docile, unblinking , brown eyes staring resolutely ahead of them.

We went into a Jain Temple to admire the stonework on its wall and columns. 

Jainism is one of the world’s oldest religions, originating in India at least 2,500 years ago. The spiritual goal of Jainism is to become liberated from the endless cycle of rebirth and to achieve an all-knowing state called moksha. This can be attained by living a nonviolent life, with as little negative impact on any living thing. Some Jains even refuse to eat anything grown from under the ground, they cover their mouths to stop them inhaling insects and in some cases employ people to walk ahead of them, sweeping the ground and thus avoiding stepping on any forms of life.

By midday, the aroma of the fort grew heady with the smell of cooking food, petrol fumes, cow pats and urine or sewage of some sort. The intense heat didn’t help at all and I was ready to get back to the calm of the hotel.

A visit to the sand dunes was planned for this evening to see  the sunset, however this excursion included a camel ride. In all honesty my conscience wouldn’t let me go. I know how some animals are treated in this country with little concern for their welfare and well being, for the sake of 15 minutes of entertainment, the poor camel may have suffered a lifetime of pain.  So we declined and sat by the pool instead catching up on news and dozing, the cool desert wind like a warm blanket covering us.

So tomorrow we are on the move again.

[blind-as-a-noibat]

MY MUSE'S POKEMON MOVES

⛅️ [ NORMAL ] — Protect: This move enables the user to protect itself from all attacks. Its chance of failing rises if it is used in succession.

🔥 [ FIRE ] — Will-O-Wisp: The user shoots a sinister flame at the target to inflict a burn.

🌊 [ WATER ] — Life Dew: The user scatters mysterious water around and restores the HP of itself and its ally Pokémon currently in the battle.

🌱 [ GRASS ] — Magical Leaf: The user scatters curious leaves that chase the target. This attack never misses.

⚡️ [ ELECTRIC ] — Electro Ball: The user hurls an electric orb at the target. The faster the user is than the target, the greater the move's power.

🧊 [ ICE ] — Frost Breath: The user attacks by blowing its cold breath on the target. This move always lands a critical hit.

🥊 [ FIGHTING ] — Bulk Up: The user tenses its muscles to bulk up its body, boosting its Attack and Defense stats.

🧪 [ POISON ] — Toxic Spikes: The user lays a trap of poison spikes at the feet of the opposing team. The spikes will poison opposing Pokémon that switch into battle.

⛰️ [ GROUND ] — Sand Attack: Sand is hurled in the target's face, lowering the target's accuracy.

✈️ [ FLYING ] — Fly: The user soars and then strikes its target on the next turn. This can also be used to fly to any familiar town.

🔮 [ PSYCHIC ] — Heal Pulse: The user emits a healing pulse which restores the target's HP by up to half of its max HP.

🕸️ [ BUG ] — Pollen Puff: The user attacks the enemy with a pollen puff that explodes. If the target is an ally, it gives the ally a pollen puff that restores its HP instead.

💎 [ ROCK ] — Power Gem: The user attacks with a ray of light that sparkles as if it were made of gemstones.

👻 [ GHOST ] — Confuse Ray: The target is exposed to a sinister ray that causes confusion.

🐉 [ DRAGON ] — Dragon Dance: The user vigorously performs a mystic, powerful dance that raises its Attack and Speed stats.

💀 [ DARK ] — Foul Play: The user turns the target's strength against it. The higher the target's Attack stat, the greater the damage this move inflicts.

⚙️ [ STEEL ] — Iron Defense: The user hardens its body's surface like iron, sharply boosting its Defense stat.

🌷 [ FAIRY ] — Crafty Shield: The user protects itself and its allies from status moves with a mysterious power. This does not stop moves that do damage.

[thenursediaries]

Guardians of the ICU: A Glimpse into the Day of an ICU Nurse

As I step across the parking lot, the usual calm that accompanies the beginning of my hospital shift is disrupted by a flurry of activity. The distinct sound of an incoming helicopter fills the air as security personnel rush towards the landing pad, their faces etched with a sense of urgency. My gaze shifts upwards, drawn to the approaching helicopter descending from the sky. Its powerful blades beat the air into submission, creating a whirlwind of anticipation that tugs at my senses. I can't help but wonder about the purpose of this unexpected aerial arrival. Is it a critical medical evacuation, an urgent transfer of a patient in need of specialized care, or perhaps the return of a heroic healthcare team after a successful rescue mission? The possibilities play out in my mind like scenes from a suspenseful drama, each narrative more gripping than the last.

As I approach the hospital doors, the gravity of the situation sinks in. Today, it seems, is not destined to be the "quiet" day I had hoped for—a respite from the chaos and unpredictability that often characterizes life within these walls. Instead, the atmosphere is charged with an electric energy, a reminder that the world within a hospital is a microcosm of life's most pivotal moments. As I step inside, I brace myself for whatever challenges and emergencies may come my way, knowing that the unpredictability of healthcare is a constant companion on this journey of healing and humanity.

The parking lot's commotion is quickly overshadowed by the urgent tones of the overhead chimes, signaling an imminent shift in the hospital's rhythm. Before I can fully process the helicopter's landing, the familiar and chilling words, "Code Blue, ICU 2," echo through the corridors. It's as if the hospital itself holds its breath in anticipation, the urgency palpable in every heartbeat. With a mix of apprehension and duty, I realize that fate has a different plan for my day. The Code Blue—a call for immediate life-saving intervention—resonates deeply, and I can't ignore the sinking feeling that I am about to enter a realm where every second counts. It's a stark reminder that in the world of healthcare, the unexpected can shatter the tranquility of even the most ordinary moments.

As I make my way towards ICU 2, my steps quicken with a blend of adrenaline and professional determination. The sterile walls and hushed conversations become a blur as I navigate the maze of hallways. While I had hoped for a quiet day, the reality of my vocation often means facing the tumultuous ebb and flow of critical situations. With every stride, I mentally prepare myself for what lies ahead. The medical team's collective expertise, the synchrony of efforts, and the unwavering commitment to a patient's well-being are the cornerstones of these emergency responses. As I push open the doors to ICU 2, my focus narrows, and the gravity of the situation takes precedence over any prior expectations.

Amid the controlled chaos, I join my fellow healthcare professionals in a dance of organized urgency. Each gesture, each decision, and each intervention is executed with a sense of purpose that transcends the chaos. In this moment, my role becomes a lifeline, a conduit for the expertise and compassion that can tilt the balance between life and loss. As time stretches and contracts in the heart of this high-stakes scenario, I am acutely aware that my pursuit of a "quiet" day was a fleeting wish in the face of the unpredictable nature of my calling. While the moments leading up to the Code Blue were filled with uncertainty, my resolve and dedication are unwavering. Because beyond the noise and the frenzy, beyond the challenges and the adrenaline, lies a profound sense of purpose—the privilege to be part of a team that fights tirelessly to restore life's delicate equilibrium.

The arrival of dayshift nurses adds a sense of unity and purpose to the room, as if our collective presence could somehow influence the course of events. Amongst the flurry of whispered conversations and concentrated expressions, a crucial inquiry emerges—who is responsible for the care of this patient today? A subtle exchange of glances with the night shift charge nurse conveys the answer—it's my name that has been drawn from the hat, making me the chosen one to navigate the complex web of responsibilities that this situation demands. We have a heartbeat.

With a blend of anticipation and resolve, I approach the bedside where the patient lies, surrounded by a symphony of beeping monitors, medication tubing, and medical devices. The soft morning light filtering through the windows paints a scene of both vulnerability and tenacity, a stark reminder of the dichotomy that exists within the walls of a hospital. A succinct handover of information unfolds—a relay of crucial details from the night that led to this Code Blue. The exchange is swift yet comprehensive, a verbal tapestry of insights that I must internalize rapidly in order to navigate the uncharted waters that lie ahead.

Amidst the flurry of activity, a crucial question emerges—one that highlights the intertwining of medical urgency and human connection. "Has anyone informed the family? Are they en route?" The significance of this inquiry reverberates throughout the room, a stark reminder that beyond the clinical procedures, there are lives interconnected with family by bonds of love and concern. With a renewed sense of purpose, I step into my role, acutely aware of the weight of the situation. Time is of the essence, and every decision I make carries the potential to alter the course of this narrative. As I continue to care for the patient, I find myself at the epicenter of a high-stakes performance, where expertise and compassion entwine seamlessly.

As I engage in the meticulous dance of medical intervention, I can't escape the weight of the family's impending arrival—their questions, their emotions, their hopes—they all hang in the balance. Amidst the controlled chaos, I realize that I am not just a nurse managing a medical crisis; I am a beacon of reassurance, a translator of medical jargon, and a source of strength for both the patient and their loved ones. In the midst of the urgency and the orchestrated chaos, I am reminded of the profound privilege I hold—to be present at the intersection of science and humanity, to provide solace amidst uncertainty, and to bear witness to the resilience of the human spirit. And so, as the day unfolds, I carry the weight of both medical responsibility and emotional support, steadfast in my commitment to navigate these uncharted waters with unwavering dedication and compassion.

I steal a fleeting glance at my watch, its luminous digits marking the time—8:30. In the midst of the whirlwind that has consumed the morning, this seemingly innocuous piece of information strikes me as a testament to the uncanny ability of time to both stretch and compress, to bend and shape our perceptions of reality. It's a reminder that within the confines of these hospital walls, the concept of time is a fluid entity, capable of distorting our sense of continuity. As I stand in the midst of the controlled chaos, my thoughts momentarily drift towards the start of the day—a morning that held the promise of routine, of familiar tasks and calculated responsibilities. The sunlight filtering through the windows seemed to paint a canvas of ordinary expectations, only to be disrupted by the urgent crescendo of a Code Blue. It's almost surreal how a mere two hours has managed to encapsulate a spectrum of emotions, actions, and decisions that extend far beyond its numerical value.

A knock on the doorway breaks the rhythm of the room, and I turn to find the patient care tech standing there with a purposeful expression. Her words need not be spoken; her presence and the gravity in her gaze convey the message—I brace myself; the patient's family has arrived. With a nod that acknowledges the unspoken understanding, I signal for her to usher them in, my heart quickening in anticipation of the emotional roller coaster that awaits. As they step into the room, a wave of emotions washes over me—the blend of anxiety, empathy, and determination that accompanies such pivotal moments. Their faces, etched with worry and uncertainty, mirror the gravity of the situation. I take a deep breath, drawing upon the wellspring of strength that resides within, knowing that my role extends beyond medical care. I am not just a nurse; I am a source of solace, a translator of complex medical language, and a guide through uncharted territory.

The room, once a stage for clinical intervention, transforms into a sanctuary of human connection. I extend a warm greeting, my eyes meeting theirs with a mix of compassion and resolve. As we gather around the patient's bedside, I listen intently to their concerns, their questions, and their hopes. Each word they utter is a testament to the profound bond they share with the patient—an affirmation of the intricate web of relationships that is woven within the realm of healthcare. Navigating this emotional terrain requires finesse—a delicate balance between transparency and compassion. I offer explanations in gentle tones, translating medical nuances into relatable narratives. I hold their hands, both figuratively and literally, as we embark on a journey of understanding and decision-making. Time seems to stand still as we delve into discussions that extend beyond medical prognosis, into the realm of human resilience and the intricacies of the heart.

Amidst the emotional ebb and flow, I remain a steady presence—a guide through the tumultuous waters of uncertainty. As their questions find answers and their fears are revealed, a palpable sense of acceptance begins to emerge. It's a reminder that amidst the clinical complexities, healing extends beyond the physical realm, encompassing emotional well-being and the restoration of hope, in both life and death. The emotional roller coaster we navigate together is far from linear, filled with twists and turns that evoke a range of emotions. Yet, as we ride through the peaks and valleys, a sense of unity forms—a shared understanding that transcends roles and positions. In that moment, as the patient's family finds solace in my guidance, I am reminded of the privilege and responsibility that come with the nursing profession—to be a source of support, an advocate for healing, and when healing is no longer an option—a guide for peace.

As the patient begins to decline, my gaze remains fixed on the array of monitors that punctuate the room with their flickering lights and digital readouts. There's a palpable tension in the air, a silent anticipation that courses through the room as we collectively prepare for the impending storm. With a sense of purpose, I anchor myself in the moment, acutely aware of the delicate balance between clinical preparedness and emotional resilience.

Turning towards the patient's family, I seek to convey a message through my eyes—a message that transcends words and medical jargon. A message that implores them to brace themselves for the storm that is on the horizon. Before I can translate my thoughts into words, the monitors erupt into a symphony of urgent alarms, their shrill cries announcing the storm's arrival with an unforgiving cadence.

In a split second, I raise my voice, summoning the support of my team, the urgency evident in every syllable. Their response is swift and synchronized, a testament to the unspoken camaraderie that binds us together as ICU nurses. Swiftly, I pivot towards the patient's bedside, my fingers instinctively finding the button on the wall, a gesture that triggers a sequence of events that reverberates throughout the hospital. The overhead speakers crackle to life, their familiar tones slicing through the air with an urgency that demands attention. "Code Blue ICU 2," the words echo with a gravity that acknowledges the severity of the situation. In that moment, time seems to ebb and flow, bending to the demands of the crisis at hand. The room transforms into a theater of coordinated chaos, a choreographed ballet of medical professionals who seamlessly meld their expertise in a dance of life and death.

Amidst the orchestrated ballet of medical professionals, a gentle but firm hand guides the patient's family away from the epicenter of activity. The patient care tech steps forward, a reassuring presence as she gently ushers the family out of harm's way. Their faces etched with a mosaic of worry and hope, the family members yield to the unspoken understanding that their loved one is now in the hands of our dedicated and skilled ICU team.

In the midst of it all, I stand at the crossroads of urgency and compassion, my role defined by a delicate balance between clinical proficiency and human connection. As the room pulses with energy and purpose, I am reminded once again that our sacred duty extends beyond the confines of medical science—it embraces the realm of empathy, comfort, and the profound honor of being a beacon of hope amidst life's most challenging moments.

As we tirelessly work the code with no response from the patient, the realization of the inevitable blankets us. A heavy, collective exhale that carries with it the weight of a battle fought valiantly but ultimately conceded. It's a somber recognition that courses through the room, an unspoken understanding that transcends words, settling upon us like a gentle but resolute mist. As the physician steps out of the room to confer with the family, a brief interlude punctuates our shared experience. We stand together, a tableau of camaraderie and shared purpose, our gazes momentarily fixed on the closed door. It is a moment of unity, where the boundaries of our roles blur, and we stand as a unified front against the relentless march of mortality.

The physician reenters the room, his presence a harbinger of the outcome we had hoped to avoid. His words are measured, delivered with a gravitas that only a seasoned practitioner can muster. "We have exhausted all our means," he states, his voice resonating with a mixture of professional resolve and empathetic weight. In that moment, a collective sigh reverberates through the room—the acknowledgment that the fight, while valiant, has reached its terminus. With a heavy heart, we cease our struggle. The monitors, once beacons of hope, now emit a steady hum—a poignant backdrop to the solemnity that envelops us. The rhythmic beat of a heartbeat has given way to silence, a chilling reminder of the fragility of life. The time is noted—1617—a stark inscription that marks the culmination of our efforts.

Outside the room, the physician's footsteps echo down the corridor as he conveys the devastating news to the waiting family. The door closes behind him, and in that moment, the room is suspended in a heavy silence—a stillness that seems to hold its breath. And then, the sound emerges—an anguished moan, a lament that rises and swells like a wave, carrying with it the weight of grief. The mournful cries grow louder, intertwining with the fabric of our shared sorrow, a requiem for a life that has slipped from our grasp. In the midst of this heart-wrenching cacophony, our collective presence stands as a quiet anchor—a reminder that amidst the storm of emotions, we remain steadfast in our duty, our empathy, and our unwavering commitment to stand by our patients and their families through life's most difficult moments.

As the family reenters the room, their footsteps carry with them a blend of weariness and gratitude. Their eyes, red-rimmed and brimming with emotion, meet mine—a silent acknowledgment of the bond forged amidst the chaos of the past hours. In their gestures and expressions, I see a mixture of exhaustion, sorrow, and appreciation—a testament to the shared journey we have embarked upon.

One by one, they approach, their arms enveloping me in a series of heartfelt embraces. Their gratitude is palpable, a gentle current that courses through each hug, each whispered word of thanks. It's a bittersweet exchange, a connection formed through both the somber moments of the code and the compassionate conversations that followed. Amidst the hugs and expressions of gratitude, they share their stories—vignettes of a life lived, anecdotes that paint a vivid picture of the person they've lost. Laughter mingles with tears as they recount cherished memories, their voices a poignant melody that fills the room. I listen, offering a supportive presence as they navigate the delicate terrain of grief and reminiscence.

The clock on the wall ticks relentlessly, its hands marking the passage of time—a testament to the ebb and flow of life within these sterile walls. The sun casts long shadows through the windows, a poignant reminder of the hours that have slipped away unnoticed. With the departure of the family at around 5:30 pm, a sense of quiet settles over the room—a respite that I use to catch my breath, both physically and emotionally. The whirlwind of the day has left its mark, an emotional journey that has taken me through moments of intensity and vulnerability. I find a corner in the break room, a temporary sanctuary where I can gather my thoughts.

As I unwrap lunch that was forgotten amidst all the chaos, a tear escapes my eye—an unbidden release of the emotions that have been building beneath the surface. It's a solitary moment of reflection, a brief pause to acknowledge the weight of the experiences that have unfolded throughout the day. I wipe the tear away, a gesture both instinctive and symbolic, a reminder that even in the midst of the storm, there is a need to find solace within oneself.

In that fleeting moment, the break room door swings open, and I am jolted back to the present. A colleague's voice reaches my ears, earnest and tinged with a sense of urgency. Another nurse's patient is crashing—another life hanging in the balance, demanding our collective expertise and unwavering resolve. Without hesitation, I abandon my half-eaten meal and rise to my feet, the weariness that had settled in my bones momentarily forgotten. Adrenaline courses through my veins, reigniting the familiar fire of determination that fuels me in moments like these. The break room door swings shut behind me, its gentle creak a reminder of the constant ebb and flow of life within these walls.

In hurried steps, I retrace my path through the corridors—a familiar journey that leads me back to the heart of the ICU. My heart races, echoing the urgency of the situation at hand. As I join my team, the familiar faces of my colleagues reflect a shared determination—a silent understanding that in this moment, our collective efforts are paramount. Time seems to blur as we spring into action, a symphony of coordinated movements and precise actions. The patient's room becomes a stage upon which we dance—administering medications, adjusting equipment, and working tirelessly to stabilize the precarious balance between life and the unknown.

In the midst of this orchestrated chaos, the events of the day fade into the background—a reminder that in the ICU, each second is a fleeting moment of life itself. As we pour our skills, our empathy, and our unwavering commitment into this critical juncture, I am reminded once again of the profound privilege and responsibility that comes with the role of a nurse. With every beat of the heart monitor, with every shared glance between teammates, we stand united—guardians of life, advocates of hope, and witnesses to the fragile dance between mortality and the human spirit.

And in the midst of the chaos and the heart-wrenching moments, as the clock continues its relentless march and the weight of emotions threatens to overwhelm, I am reminded of a truth that sustains me. This is why I do what I do. The tears, the late nights, the emotional roller coasters—all of it is eclipsed by the profound impact that each action, each decision, and each connection can have. It's in the moments of shared stories with families, the fleeting smiles amidst the turmoil, and the silent understanding between colleagues that the essence of my purpose takes shape.

As I stand at the precipice of yet another critical juncture, I am fortified by a quiet resolve—a reminder that even in the face of life's most challenging moments, my role as a nurse is a privilege beyond measure. It's a calling that transcends the pain and the heartache, weaving a tapestry of compassion, skill, and humanity. So, I take a deep breath, drawing strength from the countless lives I've touched and the lives that have touched mine. With every step, with every gesture, I am guided by a profound sense of purpose. This is why I do what I do—to be a beacon of light in the darkest of times, a source of comfort in moments of uncertainty, and a guardian of life's delicate balance.

[moominpapasfanficblog]

Sniff’s Invention

On the fun of family projects

Sniff began explaining the idea his accident with the old record player inspired in him, “We need two electrically powered, sturdy record players, one for each paw…set up within easy reach…and something in middle to switch between the two and play with the sound at will!”

The Snork began drawing furiously on the large sheet of drafting paper. He was clearly genuinely inspired. William interjected with suggestions as he drew. Snerf and Sniff watched in fascination. In a half hour, The Snork sat back on the stool in front of the drafting table and let the others survey his first draft.

“What do you think, Sniff? It will be easier to order the turntables. We will have to design and build the…uhm…mixing board ourselves. I think I might be able to cobble a prototype together from the replacement parts for my jukebox. We’ll also need to order buttons, switches and knobs and more electrical wiring.”, said The Snork.

“I love it! The most important switch will be the one that switches between the two turntables. It’ll have to be really sturdy, so I can switch back and forth between the turntables whenever I want without worrying about breaking it. It should be big and easy to move back and forth.”, said Sniff.

It took a month for all the parts of Sniff’s invention to come together. Sniff and his family looked at them gathered on The Snork’s work table for a few minutes before beginning to carefully assemble them with Sniff’s supervision. Snerf was particularly delighted to be included in the assembly process in earnest. His claws proved to be even better than pliers and tweezers in wiring the device and his eagerness to please his parents made him approach the job with care. Before they knew it, the device was finished and ready to be plugged in. The mixing board was in between the two turntables and hardwired to them. It spaced them out perfectly and everything was in easy reach of the operator. Sniff was overwhelmed with excitement and had to force himself to be careful as he turned it on and put records of Swing music on the two turntables. He set the turntables in motion and placed the needles on the records.

The lively dance music poured out of the electronic speakers, but the two recordings were mixed together without distinction, creating a slightly unpleasant cacophony. Sniff started trying the switch that allowed him to choose between the two or mix them together to whatever degree he liked. The effect restored the melodies of the two recordings and mixed them in new, unique ways. Sniff was emboldened to try the various knobs on the mixing board that modified the sound. The music changed in fascinating ways. He then put his right paw on one record and then the other and forced them back and forth on the needles, but this time with real, deliberate effort. The effect was extraordinary. The records came to an end and Sniff stood back in wonder at what he himself had done. His family was equally in awe and it took a few moments for them to begin applauding Sniff’s first try at using his invention.

“I…I’m going to need a lot of practice before I’m ready to try this thing…my Disc Jockey Table, in front of anyone but you. Please tell me if I start forgetting any of you and what you mean to me. I MIGHT be ready in time for the big pre hibernation party. Will that be alright?”, asked Sniff. His family gathered closely around him and enveloped him in a loving group hug. It was all the answer he needed.

To Be Continued

[swtki]

Enemy - E. C

Pairing: Edward Cullen x Vampire! Fem! Reader

Summary: Edward meets his seductress once again

Warnings: Smut, 18+ content, banter between muses, femdom, Sub! Edward, not in an alternate universe just set in the seventies, Volturi! Reader, oral (m), mention of Edward being killed, swearing of course, Vaginal sex, kinda dubcon but not really? Public alley sex.

A/N: Edward smut is hard you mfs better love this.

If he had a working heart, he was sure it would be pounding so loud the whole city could hear. He sat on his balcony, eyes scanning the crowded Paris streets. To find her, the woman who was to destroy him. Alice had warned him just a week ago, her vision being one of chaos and pain. Behind it all, was a womans face. Not just any face however, it was Y/N. A member of the Volturi, whose heart was set on pulling him limb from limb. Everyone in the house had decided it would be best if Edward were to depart from their permanent home, flee to Paris for a short time. He was akin to being alone, but to be alone while watching over your back 24/7 was not the same. While he hated every second of his existence; He knew that if he were to give up and let her kill him, she would surely only continue to his family. He couldn’t let that happen, so he kept moving in the shadows. She wouldn’t move on until she had his head.

He racked his brain, trying to figure out a long term plan as this could only work for so long. She was strong, killing her wouldn’t be easy nor would it be something he wanted to do. Perhaps he could change her mind, he could talk her down from her dedication.

He sighed, walking into the main room and grabbing his jacket.

He needed to eat.

The elevator ride down was slow, and he tapped his finger against his thigh. How he hated human life, but at the same time desired it more than anything. Tedious elevators, the need to eat every single day, the need to sleep. The doors finally slid open, allowing him to walk down the lobby and out of his building.

The street was unusually crowded at this time, the past five days the streets were deserted as soon as the clock struck nine-pm. He couldn’t run to the closest forrest or country plaine, he needed to leave the area before they could see him take off.

So, he started walking. Voices filled his head - the French didn’t try to hold back compared to Americans. Thats when he realized, it was friday night. There were people flooding the streets. More specifically, humans flooding the streets.

“Shit.” He breathed out, knowing that he’d not only have to cancel his meal, but interrupt someone else's. He started walking to the loud music, cursing himself for being this stupid. Who other than Edward Cullen would want to find his potential murderer?

As people danced to the music, he slid toward the bar. He ordered a beer to maintain face amongst the others around him.

“Merci.” He started to turn back to the dancing bodies, but stopped when he heard the order the bartender was receiving.

“Un whisky et un verre de ce champagne.“ The man said, waiting for his drinks to be prepared. Thats when Edward realized. He had ordered champagne. Both the human man and the bartender had thought it was weird someone would order champagne in a club like this. But she always ordered champagne, always. It was what she would tell her victims to order before she took them outside.

He watched the man take the drinks, hoping he was wrong about the partner. He cursed as he realized he wasn’t. She drank, flirted, and of course lured him outside. Throwing some coins on the bartop, he quickly followed. But, he was too late. Her body was flush against the human mans, she was having a bloody good meal. Edward would be lying if he didn’t debate joining her.

“I see you’re still denying your nature.” She pulled off of him, letting the body drop as she stood still.

“I see you’re still wearing red so you don’t need to worry about stains.” He replied. She smiled and turned to him, looking him from head to toe. “I don’t know why you still despise me after all these years, Y/N.” her smile faded.

“Despise you? No, Edward I quite admire you.” She walked over to him and pressed her hand to his shoulder, “I really do think you’re one of the strongest of our kind. You could be stronger, but you suppress yourself. You drink rats blood, while I drink how our kind is meant to. Shame, really.” She walked behind him and her hand wrapped around his neck. He couldn’t move, her powers overtook him. “Imagine the life you and I could lead if you would just submit”. He shuddered at the last word. He was always a sucker for her when it came to seduction and she knew it.

“What do you want?”

“Oh, nothing much. I just want the natural order to be restored.” She smiled and kissed his neck sofly. “Imagine yourself, in Italy with the most powerful of our kind. You could have me every night - for the rest of eternity.” his eyelashes fluttered as she continued kissing his neck. “Do you want to see how good it would feel to be with me every night?”

“Please.” He whimpered. Thats all she needed to release him from her grasp and push him against the dark brick wall. Their lips connected as if they were puzzle pieces, moving in perfect harmony with each other. She pulled away, slithering down on her knees, she was going to make him realize how much he needed her.

“Shall I?” She asked, running her hand up his thigh softly.

“Yes, God, please.” Edward begged, she loved hearing him beg for her touch.

“You always were weak when it came to sex, wonder if you still moan at the smallest, little,” Her hand groped his growing cock. His stomach fluttered with pleasure, and he couldn’t hold his moan, “Touch. Edward, you can read my mind, you can see what I have planned.” He looked inside her head, seeing the pleasure she could inflict upon his body if he would just wave a white flag.

As she took off his trousers, he debated surrendering or not. Was she worth living a life he wanted nothing more than to shun? Every time they saw each other, the sex was electric almost. She made him feel like a prey being hunted by a predator, and he loved that. As much as he hated to admit it, part of the reason he kept turning down the offer was because he didn’t want to ruin the cat and mouse relationship. He knew she loved the chase, that was why she was so persistent. But did he still feel a hatred towards her? Yes. He had seen her slaughter entire groups because she didn’t get her way. But tonight, he decided, he would wave a white flag and lower it once the sun rose.

He snapped back to reality, she hooked her fingers around the waistband of his briefs, looking up at him through her long lashes. He looked down, beginning to place his hands on her head, but was stopped by her pinning him to the wall. Her gift was useful in many situations.

Tugging down, she smiled when his dick was finally isolated. He was all hers tonight, he was painfully hard for her and only her. Her hand grasped the shaft, pumping a few times before licking a long stripe up. He made a moan of pleasure and she rewarded him with taking his length down her throat. She gagged and felt his hips buck, making her withdrawal.

“Wait-” He began.

“No, you broke the rules. What did I tell you about greed, Edward?”

“That it had no place in our sex life.” She smiled and stood, slapping his cheek a few times.

“Dress. We’ll be going to my hotel room, you may not deserve anything, but I do.” He rushed to pull up his pants and follow her.

She pushed him down on the bed as soon as the door was shut, lifting her dress up, she straddled him.

“Imagine, you agree and this is every night for the rest of our time.” Pulling down his pants she spat on her hand and guided him to her slick cunt. He slid in with ease, making her eyes roll into her skull. He could hear her mind scramble as she slowly rocked her hips. “Feel so fucking good, shame you have to be so fucking stupid.”. He was sure if he had blood he would have just bitten it and bled out. She was so fucking hot, watching her nails dig into his firm stomach. He adored her from this angle, especially when she didn’t even bother to to take her clothes off.

“Can I touch you, please?” She smiled and nodded, letting his hand move so his thumb could skillfully rub her clit, making the coil in her stomach tighten. Her movements got faster, and he heard her mind beg for more. He slightly lifted his hips while continuing his fingers. Her orgasm washed over her, causing her to scream out in pure bliss. She stopped her hips, swinging her leg over his body and straightening her dress. He looked at her in confusion, he still hadn’t cum.

“You can cum when you agree to join me. I had my fun, now leave.” She said coldly. He pulled his pants back up, stumbling back to the apartment he had spent every night and day in. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t consider saying yes to her.

As long as it was her

—

Like my content? Reblog! It helps me out so much and shows others my work. So, all I ask is that you reblog it!

[stupid-sloot-headcanons]

“You will learn to love me.” - With Heisenberg and restorator darling, please? Perhaps when this is her first experience?

Heisenberg/F!Darling: "You'll learn to love me."

TW: Dubcon, loss of virginity, forced marriage

Weddings were usually a joyous affair. Gorgeous dresses, dancing and enjoying your loved ones' company, celebrating the life you wanted to share with your one-and-only... ____'s wedding was not at all like what she or her family might have hoped it would be. For one thing, none of them even knew where she was; she'd spent the last few months trapped by the terrifying man who'd kidnapped her from the Romanian wilderness, a man named Heisenberg who had a gift with metal that bordered on supernatural. As a restorator she would've been fascinated if she wasn't terrified of what he could do with that power of his, especially when his "work" littered his factory with corpses and their scattered body parts. The only other company she had were the wolflike monsters and patchwork creations that followed Heisenberg's orders.

He'd actually bothered to get a wedding dress for her, an admittedly beautiful traditional gown made by the women in the village. The delicate lace along the sleeves and the vibrant embroidered flowers and patterns on the vest looked so out of place in the dusty and rusted-out factory. The villagers were eager to celebrate their Lord's marriage and hadn't stopped sending flowers, pastries, clothing, and handmade talismans for long-life/love/fertility to the outskirts of Heisenberg's property until he'd stationed some of the Lycans to scare off the throngs of annoying worshippers and well-wishers. ____ didn't know if it was better or worse that Heisenberg and her would be the only ones at the wedding; she was terrified of being alone with him, but the way the villagers stared at her and threw themselves to the ground while reverently calling her "Lady Heiseberg" left her uncomfortable to say the least.

____ stared at her reflection in the mirror and tried her best to prepare herself for what was to come. I can still try to escape, but...being his wife just makes it feel more hopeless. She bit the inside of her cheek and glared at the reflection of her dress through her veil. I'll have to be tied to him, even if I'm being forced to say those fucking vows to always stay with him until "death to us part."

She didn't hate him, at least not as much as she did when he'd first taken her. She definitely feared him, but that was just common sense when your captor has an army of corpse-machines, werewolves, and can control electricity and metal with his mind. He'd been more accommodating than he'd expected for a kidnapper. He had been sexually forceful sometimes whenever he groped her or turned her head to kiss her, or lightly rutted against her body when the two of them slept in the same bed. But he'd also given her a room to herself, and insisted on not forcing himself on her completely until he'd made her his wife--another reason she was dreading this day. He'd appreciated her restoration skills and the two of them had actually shared some enjoyable conversations while spending time in his workshop. And he was fiercely protective of her when it came to his equally monstrous siblings and mother. Part of it seemed to be selfishness, not wanting them to go after HIS woman, but he'd consoled her after that wretched little doll of Lady Beneviento's had insisted on "playing" with her by chasing her and tearing at the flesh and skin of her legs. His voice had been soft when he'd promised to not let anyone hurt her, and having him hold her was comforting.

The sound of her bedroom door opening snapped ____ out of her thoughts, and she saw Heisenberg walk into the room. He wasn't wearing his usual trenchcoat, and instead had on an outfit that ____ had never seen him in before: a black vest with similar embroidery to her own outfit, along with a white blouse underneath with fur-trimmed black sleeves. His pants were also black, save for the bit of dust around the hem from walking around the factory. His shoes were made from dark leather and had the same fur trim as his shirtsleeves and the inside of ____'s vest. His signature sunglasses were absent, and his hair was freshly washed and combed.

Heisenberg stared at ____ for a moment, looking her up and down as she stood in her wedding clothes. He had seen what they'd looked like folded up and hanging in her closet, but it was nothing compared to her wearing them. He wasn't used to seeing something so delicate and beautiful, especially in his factory. "Everything's ready," he said. He put one arm around ____'s waist and kept a gentle yet firm grip around her. "Since Miranda gave us her 'blessing' beforehand, we don't need to have her here to watch and attend in all her glory," he quipped. "God knows that bitch would ruin this whole thing just by being here."

____ let Heisenberg lead her to his own room, where a small leather box lay on his bedside table. He used his powers to shut and lock the door behind ____ while he went to grab the box. "I don't have much from my real family," Heisenberg said, carefully opening the lid. The inside was lined with cloth, and inside was a pair of exquisite wedding bands. There were some signs of age in the metal, but the small opalescent jewel nestled in the center of the bridal ring shone as if it had been polished just yesterday. The other ring was less flashy, with the only flair being am etched ridge in the shape of a mountain on the top, inlaid with gold. "This ring's one of the only things I've got from them." He took the groom's ring and slipped it on his own finger. "I want to say it was one of my great uncles who made it? One of them was a jeweler, I think." He shrugged and held his hand out to admire how it looked. "My mom slipped them into my things after Miranda's people had come to take me and my cousins away. I think she knew it'd be the last time she saw all of us together."

____ noticed the strange tone in Heisenberg's voice as he recalled his last memory with his family. She'd never heard him reminisce about them before; with how far-off and melancholy he sounded, she knew why it wasn't something he discussed that often. Just as she was about to try to say something to try and comfort him, he took the bride's ring with one hand and slipped the box into his pocket. He took ____'s hand and squeezed it. "There's no set of vows we have to take," he explained with a half-smile. "One of the perks of being royalty in this shit hole is anything you do is fine, no matter how informally you do it. Not like the villagers are gonna complain about us not following all the traditions, so it saves a lot of time. But..." Heisenberg stared intensely at her as he slipped the ring onto her trembling finger. "One day, you'll learn to love me. I promise that."

____'s hand felt as if it were chained to a sinking weight, pulling her through the ground and crushing her. There was no way out. She'd be "married" to this man who'd ruined her life, isolated from the rest of the world and completely at his mercy. Her heart leaped into her throat and she suddenly felt a rush of dizziness; she stumbled forward and Heisenberg caught her, helping her back upright and holding her in his arms. He brushed her clothed hip with his thumb and then lifted her veil to fully reveal her face. Before ____ knew it, Heisenberg's lips were against hers as he tilted her head back slightly to deepen the kiss.

Heisenberg ran his fingers through her hair as he lowered her onto his bed. ____'s heart raced and panic ran up and down her spine as she lay on the bed. He was taking off his shoes, unbuttoning his vest...reaching down to take off her veil. "K-Karl," she stammered, "I'm not...I've--"

"Never done this before?" He rested one hand on her vest before unbuttoning the golden clasps and sliding it off of her shoulders while she just tried her best to stay still. "I figured as much." Heisenberg smirked and moved one hand underneath the skirt of her dress, creeping up her thighs and stopping just inches from her panties. "You always get that funny little look on your face whenever I touch you for a bit in bed, almost like you're feeling a certain way for the first time. Wouldn't surprise me if you've never even touched yourself."

Goosebumps rose on ____'s legs as Heisenberg ghosted his fingers over her pubic mound, and she looked away as she rubbed her thighs together. Was she really THAT obvious about it? "I know I can't stop you," she said quietly. She bit her lip and tears welled up in her eyes as she tried her hardest to not envision what ____ was about to do to her. Maybe he'd start to tire of her once he finally fucked her and got what he really wanted, and he'd let her go. Would she get blood on the sheets and her dress when he entered her? Would he even care? She could already feel his cock prodding her through his pants; it was a strange, foreign presence that filled her with dread. She knew that some men had penises so large that they could fill someone up all the way to their cervix...just how painful was this going to be once he took all of his clothes off? How harsh would he be now that he didn't feel the need to be so accommodating and kind once he finally claimed her?

____ sniffled and looked up at Heisenberg pitifully. "Please be gentle," she begged. "I don't want...I know it can hurt a lot during your first time, so just..."

Heisenberg cocked his head slightly and rested his fingers on the flesh of her right thigh. "It can hurt if you don't do it right," he replied, sounding a little confused. "What, you think I'm just gonna whip my cock out, go in dry, and finish after a few pumps?"

____ looked up at him, not sure of what to say. "You want to f-fuck me, don't you?" She sounded more confused than accusatory. "That's why you kidnapped me. That's why you've tried to be nice to me and make me trust you." Her shoulders drooped slightly and she clenched her jaw. "I just figured that you wouldn't care that much about...about making me feel good, at least not as much as yourself."

Heisenberg's brows furrowed, but only for a moment before leaning down to kiss her again. ____'s eyes widened at just how gentle this kiss was compared to the one he'd given her after slipping his ring on her finger. "I didn't kidnap you just to be a cocksleeve," he replied with a slightly disappointed frown. He caressed the inside of her thigh and trailed his lips down to her collarbone. "If I wanted that, I would've just raped you the first night you were here." ____ moaned softly as he moved one hand underneath her blouse to massage her breast, and a sudden rush of heat pooled between her legs as he used his other hand to play with an extra-sensitive bundle of nerves through her underwear.

"Kidnapping you doesn't really help my case," he said begrudgingly, "But I do love you, you know. As much as I can love anyone after the shit I've been through." He toyed with her nipple and smiled when he felt her hips rock a bit as he circled around her clit through her panties. "You're not my whore, you're my wife. So tell me what you want, and how you want it. And I'll give it to you."

____'s entire body felt so warm underneath her wedding dress. The places he was touching her felt so tingly, just like how they did whenever he groped her before tonight. Somehow though, this was different. Her fear wasn't as prevalent and the heat bubbling up underneath her skin wasn't from shame. This felt gentler. This felt good. So, so good. He wasn't lying to her about doing whatever SHE wanted; for once, she felt like she had a semblance of control while in bed with him--previously her kidnapper, but now her husband.

____'s voice was breathier than she expected whenever she spoke again. "C-could...could you put your mouth on me?" She rested one shaky hand by her chest on top of his own. "On my breasts, where your hand is right now. I want to f-feel more of...of this." She was struggling to articulate just what she was feeling and what she wanted, but Heisenberg just grinned as if he'd heard her loud and clear. When he lifted her thin white blouse over her head, leaving her in just her skirt, panties, and stockings, he immediately latched onto her right breast while he continued to play with her left nipple. ____ gasped and bucked her hips as he swirled his tongue around the pebble of flesh; his stubble grazed her soft skin, and the texture made her shiver.

Heisenberg finally moved his lips back with a small pop and switched to her other breast while he circled even faster around her clitoris and occasionally stroked the damp spot around her cunt's lips. "Can you feel how wet you are down here?" He chuckled and hooked one finger around the waistband of her panties before pulling them off of her completely. "I definitely won't hurt you if you're dripping like this from just my fingers." He slowly inserted his middle finger inside of her tight walls and eagerly looked at her face as she moaned and moved her hips to take even more of his hand. "Does it hurt, honey?"

"Ah, n-no..." ____ had never felt so hot and lightheaded and FULL. There was a stretch, but it wasn't painful; if anything, she wanted to feel more and more of it. "It feels good, so good..." Heisenberg curled his finger inside of her and laughed again at how his wife cried out in pleasure, practically shoving her pelvis forward to fuck herself on his hand while her pussy clenched around him. "More, more, please! That felt even better, do it again--o-or, or put another finger inside, or your whole hand or your cock or--"

Heisenberg shushed her and slightly increased his pace as he slipped another finger inside of her. "Easy, tiger," he teased with a smile. "I'm not using my cock until you cum at LEAST once on my hand. I haven't even gotten to taste you yet!"

"But...don't you want to feel good t-too?"

Heisenberg felt his hard-on stabbing through his clothes as he rutted his hips against the mattress. He'd get some relief soon, but for now he wanted to show her just what she really meant to him. He could fill her up with his cum and fuck her silly later--right now, he wanted to make sure his perfect little wife enjoyed every single second of her wedding night the way she deserved.

This WAS a celebration of their love, after all.

[skippyv20]

New England was plastered!

Hi Skippy & Friends-Pilgrim checking in from the Cape. We did lose power early yesterday as the storm hit but were lucky to have it restored late in the day. Thankfully our big generator powered us through. We have it set for only the most necessary connections when we do lose our electricity. Our house is nestled down in a wooded hollow by an estuary. We did have several dead trees removed last fall that were dangerously close to the house. That was good timing because the Cape clocked over 80mph gusts making the tall pine trees dance a wild dervish as they spewed powdery snow trails. We did get one side of the driveway cleared in the afternoon but have to do it again today-Sunday and sunny now. Drifts are high in spots.

As children raised on Long Island, (which received up to 22 inches yesterday) we loved hearing reports of big winter storms on the way. We kept our fingers crossed for lots of snow and a few times we lucked out when schools had to close. Whoo-hoo! Who cared about having to pay back the days missed in sweltering June! We were free and the town was transformed into a wintery wonderland.

Sledding became our "Olympic" event. After hours mastering the twists and turns on our steep road, it was so special when Moms offered hot cocoa to any and all kids. Finally, the chilly, wet clothes, newly aching muscles and setting sun signaled it was time to head home. Sets of woolen mittens, boots, scarves, coats, hats and snow pants were draped around the old furnace creating a climate of their own. Mom was always baking another batch of cookies, filling the kitchen with her warmth. I think she liked the change of pace too. Our family bonded, becoming happier, enjoying each other's company. Dad could even take a break. He somehow found more sleds and coached as we took off from the top of the hill flying down the snowy icy rutted tracks. Heaven.

Well, I suppose it's time to find that inner child again; put on the extra pair of pants, tug on the dog-chewed-minus zero boots, find gloves and my old ski hat and the roomy barn coat to handle the extra layers that thankfully also has multiple pockets for lots of tissues; now prepared to step off the front stoop into another sparkling, wintery wonderland to conquer the mountain-err driveway. It isn't Switzerland or Park City, but our knees are saying that's just fine with them. Over and out for now.

Thank you for sharing such wonderful memories, great post! ...takes me back to my childhood as well....snowballs, snowmen, and snow angels....tobogganing, skating....great stuff... enjoy!😊❤️

[rpd-rookie]

Pollen - Chris Redfield x Fem!Reader (NSFW)

Summary: A new type of mutamycete has been discovered in a remote region of South America. As a scientist working for Blue Umbrella, you are sent along with BSAA Captain Chris Redfield and his team to conduct research on it. Unfortunately, everything goes to hell when the infection goes out of control and start contaminating the unit ...

Author’s Notes: This is a request sent by the Queen of Headcanons (@missmamacitaoliveira​). It is basically porn with a plot and I chose to characterise it as "mild dub!con" because the sexual interaction depicted in this one shot is definitely the result of an arousal both characters (Chris and Reader) experience because of the mutamycete that contaminated them. Consent is given but the sexual act in itself is still a mix of fear and lustfulness at least at the beginning of it. Read at your own risk.

Warning: Sex Pollen / Smut / Mildly Dubious Consent / Rough Sex / Masturbation / Language 

           Golden spore-like particles were beautifully floating and dancing in the air outside the sterile plastic tent, shining like millions of innocent little fireflies but killing like a deadly swarm of wasps. They were covering the surrounding forest in yellow, from the trunks of the trees up to their tops, rotting the bark and the leaves, turning them into a thick yellowish mold capable of liquefying even the most solid of steels. A one-of-a-kind fascinating spectacle you had never thought to witness one day.   Incredible – yet scary - what this new type of fungus was capable of doing.  

Your earpiece crackled loudly in your ear, making you grimace and you dropped your leather notebook on your desk. “We’ve …sot … bit of sit…tion.” was all you could make out, the words sounding like gibberish because of the permanent interferences caused by the large cloud of mutamycete that had spread and contaminated the ambient air and the flora in the forest area by the riverside. “What kind of situation?” You asked, already removing a white Hazmat suit from a hanger. A never-ending sizzling was buzzing in your ear now, making it impossible to ear whoever was trying to communicate with you. “Hello?” You said as you adjusted the device to restore the communication. But all of a sudden, some static electricity – probably generated by the interferences - fried your earpiece in your ear, making you squeal in pain and fear and troubling your vision for a second. “Shit.” You cursed as your threw the broken earpiece to the ground, a low buzzing echoing in your head. “Why does it always happen to me?”             You quickly slipped on the rubber suit, put on some chemical overshoe boots and grabbed Umbrella’s latest air-filter helmet before heading towards the exit.             Luckily for you, you didn’t have to wander outside for too long as an officer rushed towards you, pointing at the military green tent that happened to belong to the medical unit that accompanied you on this mission. “Hurry, please.” He said with an alarmed voice that sent shivers down your spine. Something was definitely wrong.

           You ungraciously followed him to the tent, your uncomfortable get-up making it hard for you to run properly. After all, it was made to work in a lab, not play commando in a remote tropical region of South America.             Once in there, you immediately noticed two soldiers convulsing hard on their medical beds, struggling to breathe in spite of the oxygen the mechanical ventilators were providing them. Their faces were bright red, covered with pustules and blisters; their skin peeling off as if some acid had splashed on them.             “What happened?” You dared ask, your widened eyes staring in shock at the poor men whose painful screams where muffled by the masks covering their melting faces. “Unsuitable gear. Thank your corporate overlords for that.” You glanced at the man who had answered, recognizing the angry powerful husky voice in spite of the deformation caused by the gas helmet he was wearing. “Captain Redfield, I’m sure…” He waved you to shut up and you obeyed, knowing that now was not the time to start an argument with him. It would not end up well, Redfield being too impulsive and stubborn to have a calm conversation with you even in more peaceful circumstances. His reluctance to work with Umbrella Co., you supposed. “How can I help?”   “You’ve been studying this new mold, haven’t you?” Chris asked as he rushed to immobilise one of his men to allow a medic to sedate him with a syringe of morphine. “Might care to explain what’s happening?”         “I’ve only studied the infection on the nearby vegetation. I don’t know what’s happening to them.”    You mumbled, trying to keep your composure and ignore your growing concern and panic caused by the gut-churning vision before you.       “Just tell what you know!” Chris growled as he pinned his struggling teammate down on the white mattress with an incredible strength you found scarily impressive. “It’s basically the same mutamycete that we collected at the Baker’s except that it was somehow genetically modified to have a reproductive morphology similar to plants and flowers. That’s why it looks so much like pollen.”         “Make it understandable for a 5 years old, Y/LN, please.” Chris demanded with an annoyed sigh and you nodded though you didn’t really know how explain days and days of complex scientific research in a few simple sentences.     “Alright. The previous mutamycete permitted to turn dead people into Molded, sort of. This new version does the same but it can also reproduce … breed if you prefer. A simple contact with a compatible host can lead to fecundation that can ultimately lead to lots of Molded babies. But I don’t need to develop that part, do I? Everyone in this tent knows how to make babies, I believe.” You scoffed, finding a certain comfort and some safety in sarcasm. But now was not the time for humour and you understood it perfectly when Captain Redfield glared at you. “Sorry. I tend to make bad jokes when I freak out.” And you were definitely freaking out right now. “But to sum up, this new mutamycete basically mimics the primary instinct of a G- virus infectee.”     “Meaning?” Chris asked, his voice sounding an octave lower certainly because of the knot in his throat the simple mention of the G-virus had created.       “It basically has a vital need to procreate, relentlessly searching for the right host to fecundate.” “So you’re saying that my men are what … pregnant with Molded?”          He frowned and you could hear all his worries in his voice. He genuinely cared about his men. Very admirable and honourable. “I don’t know, Captain. I’m just telling you how it works on plants. Might be different for humans… I hope. Do you have an ultrasound scanner?” “ No, but we have one at the lab.” The doctor said. “ Then we need to evacuate quickly. And I …” You took some surgical pliers from a medical trolley and a test tube from your pocket. “…am going to need a sample to study all this.”

You approached one of the soldiers who was now basically dozing because of the morphine and slowly removed one of his gloves to cut one of his nails in order to later study his DNA. But as soon as your fingers touched him, he woke up with a start and jumped you, growling like a beast and grabbing you by the waist with a superhuman strength, almost digging his nails in your flesh through your clothes.         You first instinct was to scream. Not the most efficient thing to do, you agreed. But, fortunately for you, you were accompanied by men who had better first instincts and reflexes than you. Chris pushed his man away from you and pounced on him, grabbing him almost brutally by the wrists to slam him down against the bed. You put a hand over your pounding heart and stared, terrified and powerless, at the enraged man squirming to get up. His eyes were dark and hungry and fixed upon you as if he was unable to focus his attention on anything else. “What the fuck, Carter?” Chris roared as he used all his weight to keep his soldier in place. But Carter didn’t care. Carter didn’t even look human anymore. And watching those two men struggling on this bed was like watching two lions fighting on National Geographic. Except that it was terrifying. Fucking terrifying.

           Twenty-four hours later, Carter and his teammate were dead and their bodies still burning up like hot ember had been placed in the morgue section of the lab for you and your colleagues to study. But, in spite of the disgusting bloody experiments you led on them, you couldn’t take your mind out of the near-death experience you had been through at the camp. It haunted you, making it almost impossible for you to focus exclusively on your work. Those eyes. That darkness in them. That hunger that looked more and more sexual and lustful the more you thought about it. It was making you shiver in fear and discomfort. You had never seen anything like it before.       You shook your head to make the images go away and concentrated again on your researches. You had been studying fours little rats in a glass cage for hours, trying to see how their systems reacted to the new mutamycete. But for now, six hours after injection, only an unusual high body temperature could be noticed.

The automatic sliding door of your lab opened with a hiss, making you slightly jump. You briefly checked the clock on the wall. 10:38pm. You didn’t expect any visit that late especially not a visit from Chris Redfield. “Captain Redfield. What are you doing … here?” You furrowed, staring at him with concern. He didn’t look so well.     “Something’s happening to me.” His voice was cavernous and raspy and he sounded almost out of breath as if he was chocking under his black turtle neck.             You immediately got up, resisting the instinctive urge to come closer to check up on him and took a few steps back. “Alright. Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong and I’ll see what …” You weren’t able to finish your sentence as Chris crumbled to the floor beneath him, growling as if he was trying to resist something, his nails dug in the grooves of the white tiles. “Oh my god, Chris.” “I feel like I’m burning up.” He struggled to say. And this time you rushed towards him. You couldn’t leave him like that. You had to do something.          

Knelt onto the floor, you grabbed his broad shoulders to help him lean his back against a lab bench. His face was scarlet red and pearls of sweat were dripping along his forehead. You wiped them away with your sleeve. They felt weirdly sticky and had a strange sour smell. But what worried you the most was the heat radiating from Chris’s body. You could feel it brushing your face. It looked like the man had been microwaved. “Don’t move. I’ll call for help.” You tried to get up but Chris’ hand caught your arm in a firm strong grip that made you wince. “You don’t… understand.” He managed to say, panting, his extremely dilated brown eyes staring at your (colour) confused ones.

Without forewarning, he placed your hand over his crotch, a gesture you found disgusting, salacious and incredibly inappropriate and that instinctively made you squeal and try to get away from Chris’ grasp. He was incredibly hard. “What the fuck?” You gasped, horrified as you tried to quickly get up. But you lost your balance and clumsily fell on your rear. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.” He confessed, suffocating. “I’ve been like this for the past hour or so.”         “The past hour?” You repeated, not knowing how to react or what to do. “Please tell me you can do something.” Chris begged, truly shamed and panicked and perfectly aware of the how indecent and degrading his behaviour must feel to you.   You stood up to focus on your breathing and regain your calm. “Okay. Everything’s going to be fine. Breathe.” You needed to have your mind clear if you wanted to help Chris. You needed your scientist mind back. “Are you … aroused?” You said, genuinely uncomfortable to ask something so intimate.           “Fuck, Y/LN!” Chris growled, glancing down at his pants. “ Isn’t it obvious? I’m freaking hard!” “Clearly.” You cleared your throat. “Don’t move.” You rushed towards your cupboard to rummage in it. “I’m going to give you GnRH antagonists. They can suppress hormones like testosterone. It should ease your pain for a while, or at least long enough to be able to find something that might help you. It’s possibly an effect linked to a long exposure to the mutamycete. Got you.” You took the vial with your trembling hands and turned around to go back to Chris. But what you didn’t realised was that Chris was just right behind you.

You bumped into his large chest and accidentally dropped the vial onto the floor. It broke into a thousand pieces as it landed on the tiles and you cursed, internally blaming yourself for your stupid clumsiness and your panic. “Please don’t tell me that’s what I needed.”       You grimaced, scared to tell him the truth as you could tell he was getting angry again. Then again, who wouldn’t?       “There might be another way.” You tried to reassure him but you knew it was vain. “Another way?” He harrumphed with a growl of pain as he leaned against your desk to breathe deeply. “What way?”     “ Well, have you tried to … you know…” You mimicked a pumping motion with your hand, not daring to say the word. “Masturbate?”         “You’re serious?” Chris’ darkened eyes widened, refusing to believe you were actually serious. “This is your medical advice? You want me to jerk off!”           “Yes, that’s what I want … I mean advise.” You corrected, probably as uncomfortable than him right now, if not more.           “Are you guys at Umbrella all dumb or is it just you? I don’t even know how I still can walk, Y/LN. I’ve never been that sensitive in my entire life. I feel like if I touch myself I will actually explode, like literally. I can’t jerk off right now!”  

There was an awkward silence that didn’t last long as Chris turned around to shout his suffering again. Though this time it was mixed with an animalistic rage whose cause was still blurry to you. Was it mad at you? At himself? At his condition? At Umbrella? … All of it?     You sighed and approached him. Hands on his back you helped him face you. “I can’t believe I’m about to do this.”   You told yourself.      

You put your hand over Chris’ male parts, making him wince and hiss, to blindly look for the zipper, staring away from him on purpose. “What the fuck are you doing?” He asked, slapping your hand away from him. “You got a better idea, soldier boy?!” You retorted, wishing there was another solution and that this all situation was merely a nightmare. You opened Chris’ trousers and disgustedly slid your hand in his briefs. “Ouch, easy!” He grumbled the second your fingertips touched him. His member was so sensitive and aching right now.       “This is the worse day of my life.” You admitted as you delicately took his hot swelling length, which was thicker and heavier than what you expected, in a limp grip. “Pff. I’m sure part of you enjoys it” Chris said in between two guttural moans, a sensation of both suffering and pleasure tensing his abs and clenching his jaw. “You must think it is karma for all the times I’ve been an ass to you.”             “What?” You harrumphed as you stopped moving your hand, genuinely offended. “How can you believe I’m enjoying it? You’re sick.”           “Then why are you all flushed?” He asked.

All this panic and concern for Chris had made forget about your safety and yourself in general. You touched your cheeks. They were abnormally hot and you could feel their sudden redness tickling your skin. “Embarrassment and panic.” You retorted, trying to convince yourself more than Chris. After all, wasn’t it the most plausible reason? Unless… “Or the mutamycete and in that case it’s all your fault and if I die I’ll come and kill you.” You started panting and Chris stared at you silently. “What? You think that masturbating you arouses me? Pff, you should know better than anyone right now what it means to be aroused.”         “Y/N” He called out by your first name. He had never done that before.   “What?!” You screamed, pissed at him.         “Shut the fuck up and keep going.” He ordered with a severity worthy of his military status. “Seriously?” He didn’t reply, seeing no need for an answer, and you reluctantly resumed your soft motion on his engorged cock, feeling the prominent thick veins throbbing against your palm as Chris suddenly began removing his military vest and his turtleneck “Are you kidding me?” You mumbled in between your teeth, definitely not liking this situation. “I’m burning up. I can’t stand my clothes anymore.” But soon your eyes occasionally started glancing towards Chris’ broad and hairy chest. He had a formidable body. God, what the hell were you thinking?   “Please tell me you’re gonna cum soon.” You begged but he didn’t respond. A bad sign. “Gosh, I must be doomed.”     “Perhaps if you actually put some effort in it.” Your eyes widened at him. Was it really criticizing the way you were jerking him off? “Seriously, Mister ‘Ouch I’m too sensitive’?”     “Don’t mind me. I get it. You’d rather do something else than help me right now. And I know this must feel very degrading. Well guess what? I’d rather do something else than being jerked off by you.” You stepped back. You had had enough of it. “Then go ahead.” You waved at the door. “Leave and get out of your bloody mess on your own. I don’t give a fuck. Actually you should have done that from the very beginning instead of coming to me. Why did you come here anyway?”             “I have no fucking idea, Y/N. I was in my quarters and seconds later I was here. I can’t explain it. I was like … guided here. ” You frowned, finding this honest confession extremely weird and yet not so absurd, your scientific brain making a parallel between Chris’s words and the way the mutamycete was permanently searching for a host to breed. The conclusion that Chris might want the same thing froze you to the spot, scared and apprehensive, a bit like a deer caught in headlights. Why hadn’t you thought about that earlier?  “And the more I look at you, the more I stay with you… I wanna fuck you so bad. And I hate myself for it.”

You gulped, finding yourself unable to regain control over your paralysed body as an instantaneous wet hotness formed in between your legs. You tried to repress it but Chris came closer, his darkened chocolate brown eyes staring at you the same way Agent Carter’s eyes had stared at you under that tent. It made you shake, expecting with a certain amount of fear what was bound to happen.     “Fuck! You have no fucking idea how hard it is to resist the urge to just slam you against that desk and shove my cock into you.” Your heart skipped a bit and the air got stuck in your lungs. You couldn’t breathe anymore. Terrified and yet so atrociously aroused it was making you want to hurl. A strange sensation – certainly a result of the contamination - you had never experienced in your entire life and you didn’t know how to process.     “I’m calling security.” You announced as you somehow managed to rush towards your desk. “They’re going to place you under quarantine. That’s what I should have done from the very beginning.” You tried to seize your phone but it was immediately taken away from away from you and thrown across the room before you could even push a single button.  

You trembled again when you suddenly felt Chris’s towering body press against your back, his hardened member pushing against your butt as his muscular arms were forming a caging embrace to prevent you from escaping. “Then why haven’t you?”  He whispered in you ear, his hot breath tickling your neck and making you shiver, this time more in arousal than in fear. “I don’t know.” You mumbled in a whisper, feeling your heart pounding like crazy in your chest because of the exquisite proximity between Chris’ strong body and yours. This was insane.

You moaned when you felt Chris softly grazing his teeth against the sensitive skin of your neck and then gasped with a certain apprehension when his large hand grabbed your throat to squeeze it, knowing he could choke you to death with ease right now without giving you a chance to fight back. “Tell me you want this.” He murmured, rubbing his pelvis against your rear hoping teasing you would convince you to give in to him. “I won’t touch you unless you want me to. But please, please, tell me you want me to.” You looked back at him to stare at his eyes. In their hungry darkness, you could notice that Chris was still in there, spotting his integrity slightly gleaming behind the veiled pupils. He was fighting the temptation caused by this stupid fungus. But how long could he resist? Or better question, how long could you resist judging by the wetness growing in your panties. The answer? Not long.

“Do it.” You whispered so low, hoping he would not hear you and let go of you. But he did hear you and he didn’t wait. He pulled your skirt up to your waist and ripped your panties with a swift powerful motion that made you squeal and hold on tight to your desk.     “I don’t think it’ll take long.” Chris said with a raspy voice as he dropped his trousers and briefs to his feet, finally freeing his throbbing cock that sprang erected and hard as a stone pillar. He watched it for a second, admiring it twitching and begging to be relieved. Then he stared at you, at your naked butt and your glistening red lips. “Gosh, you look delicious.” He said to himself before spitting on his finger to lube his length. Last thing he wanted was to hurt you. “You’re sure you’re up for this?” He asked again, not knowing how he would react if you said no. “I’m sure. Just fuck me, please.” You whimpered and Chris smiled as he guided himself towards your entrance. He moved briefly in between your half-closed thighs, right against your tight lips, to spread your juices along his shaft before kicking your calves to make you spread your legs for him.       Once the access granted, he finally pushed himself deep into you, sliding him member so deep it almost disappeared in you. You winced and moaned, nails dug in the wood of the desk, when you felt him stretching you, definitely not used to welcome such girth inside your pussy. “Holy shit.” You cursed, with a small tear in the corner of your eye. “You’re so big.”           “I know. Sorry.” He chuckled, his hand wandering down your back. “You’ll get used to it.” You cried out when Chris suddenly pulled out to push himself back inside of you with one single hard move. The force of his thrust made you fall flat on the desk. “You got nothing against rough sex, right baby girl?” Baby girl? The pet name made you furrow. What was next? You calling him daddy? “Cause I’m in that kind of mood right now.” He growled as he repeated the same motion, making you muffle a new loud moan in the leather notebook on which your head was resting. “Let’s get this over with.” You growled, already breathless.

Chris’ pelvis smacked loudly against your ass, making it bounce, as his heavy balls hit your swollen clit. “Fuck!” You shouted, hating the sensation as much as you were liking it. And he did this over and over. With time, you grew accustomed to the brutality and even happened to find a blissful pleasure in his roughness. Hell, you could even hear how wet your pussy was. “You like that? You want it faster?” You nodded and he grabbed your hips to pull you even closer to him and started relentlessly pounding you from behind. You screamed his name, wondering how he could still be that rough and yet that fast. His cock was literally a jackhammer hitting you hard inside, not that you minded. “Yes, just like that.” You said as you brought your fingers to your swollen clit. “Do you want to cum already?” You heard the cheekiness in his voice. He was amused.   “Aren’t you the one who said it wouldn’t last long?” You retorted with a mocking smile that he definitely noticed in the tone of your voice since he grasped a handful of your hair to pull you back against his chest. “You’re going to regret this tone, young lady.” He bit your lips, making you almost bleed and kissed you with a hunger and a ferocious passion that would certainly let your lips bruised for days.

And as he did, his fingers crawled towards the buttons of your white shirt to violently tear the clothe apart, reducing it to rags and making the small metallic buttons fly in the lab. “Let me see those boobs.” Chris ordered as his hands squeezed your breasts, feeling the hard nipples pointing through your laced bra that he ultimately removed with the same burning ardour he had shown while removing your shirt. “So perky and pretty.” He confessed in a whisper as he pinched the rosy teats between his fingers. “Do you like them?” You asked, biting your sored lips           “More than I like you. That’s for sure.” The rebuke made you sourly laugh. “I don’t like you either.”     “Good.” He turned you over to face him and pushed you against your desk to make you sit on it, throwing all your stuff to the ground before laying you down on it. You instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist but that’s apparently not what Chris wanted as he put both your feet above his left shoulder with a grunt. “And don’t move.” He commanded and his hand slapped your breasts. They reddened almost instantly but the overall sensation was exhilarating, making you clenched your walls around Chris’s cock. “Fuck, don’t squeeze me like that.” He complained and you chuckled. But your laugh was brief since Chris caught you by your legs again and resumed his previous pounding.

You head tilted to the side and a stream of OHs and AHs escaped your mouth. You were completely at Chris’ mercy, lost in an intense bliss that made you completely unaware of the world around you. There was only pleasure. Pleasure and Chris.         You toes went to feel Chris’ muscular pectorals, curling up more and more by the second. “I think I’m gonna cum.” You confessed with half-lidded eyes that you could barely keep open now. “Yeah?” You nodded. “You want me to help you?”       “Please.” You whined, desperately wanting to let the ticking bomb of pleasure between your legs explode. “Alright then.” His arms circled your waist and he hoisted you up against his chest with an incredible ease. You were certainly very light for a man as strong as Chris.         His small dark hair tickled your breasts, making you shiver and you wrapped your legs against him as well as your arms around his neck. You could feel it still inside of you and you were waiting eagerly to se how he would manage fucking you in that position which was far from easy. “Hold on tight.” He announced as he squeezed your ass to make you slide up and down his penis. The first moves were sloppy and clumsy but what followed drove you back in intense delight. The perks of being fucked by a man who had definitely been spoiled by Mother Nature.

Your body perfectly angled against Chris’, hands now holding on tight to his large shoulders, you could feel your clit rub atrociously well against the bush surrounding his member that your pussy had excessively creamed. “Chris. I’m cumming.” You shut your eyes and cradled against his body to keep yourself in place when the exhilarating moment you had been longing for finally happened.             You shouted so loud as you clenched your walls against Chris’s cock you wondered how no one rushed in your lab to see what was happening in there. “That’s it baby girl. Cum for me.” Chris hissed, his mind split between your pussy squeezing him tightly and your nails scratching his shoulders to the blood. “Fuck, Chris!” Your climax knocked you out, rendering you dizzy and limp, and you let yourself slump against Chris, head over his shoulder.             “Alright time to truly finish this.” He chuckled and knelt to the floor where he laid you hot body on the tiles. The coldness made you tremble but you were too giddy and tired to mind. Nevertheless, you sensed Chris lie on top of you, his massive body sprawled over yours almost crushing it under his weight.

His shaft found his way back in your relaxed pussy and he weaved his hand in your soft hair to pound you for the last time. Only soft almost soundless moans escaped your mouth but you could tell that the effect of your powerful orgasm was slowly fading away as your energy was slowly growing back and regaining your limbs. “I’m gonna cum in you.”         This was a terrible idea, risky even, and you knew it. But you didn’t know how – or didn’t want – to fight back, actually desiring to feel Chris’s hot sperm spurt inside of you. So instinctively, you managed to circle his waist with your legs and spur his hard rear to make him go deeper inside of you. “Eager girl. You want to take my cum so bad, don’t you?” He scoffed and kissed your lips hard as he pinned your wrists up your head to finally release his sticky white seed in your vagina with a guttural animalistic grunt that echoed in the lab. “Take it.” He growled as he kept pushing himself hard inside of you to be sure not to waist a single drop of his semen.

Chris pulled out of you and gazed at you glistening red pussy, glad to see that his cum was not oozing out of you. “That felt so good.” He admitted before allowing himself to fall next to you with a sigh of content and enjoy the coldness of the tiles against his sweaty body. “And you know what? I actually feel a lot better.” You didn’t answer, exhausted but more especially lost in your thoughts. Gosh, what have you done?           “You’re alright?” Chris asked, his voice finally back to normal. You glanced at him and noticed even his eyes had found their sweet chocolate colour back. “ Y/N”   Your name echoed in your head and you suddenly got the impression that your body was abnormally convulsing. “Y/LN! Y/N” Chris repeated as he urged to hold you. “Y/LN. Hello?” You felt your mind slowly dozing off, finding yourself unable to answer. What the hell was happening? That was the last thing that came to your mind before it completely shut off. Then everything went dark and only Chris’ voice calling your name remained. “Y/LN! Open your eyes. Wake up!”

           You woke up with a start, lost and wondering where you were, your startled eyes scanning your surroundings in search of something familiar. It took you a couple of seconds to realise you were laying on the ground and that you actually were in your tent, a the camp. “Y/LN” Your eyes met Chris’. He was staring at you with concern, his hands firmly holding your shoulders. “You’re alright?” You stared at him, still very astonished and then, you spontaneously jumped in his arms. “Chris! You’re okay!” The relief in your voice made Chis frowned and he slowly pushed you away. “Yes. You?” You nodded with a smile.   “So it was a dream?” You asked, expecting an answer from Chris which was completely absurd. “A dream?” He repeated. “Are you sure you’re okay? Did you bump your head or something? Hurt yourself?”     “No.” You shook your head, not getting why he looked so worried.         “But your ear.” He pointed at it, not daring to touch it and you brought your fingertips to it. A thick liquid was pouring out of it. It was pus and blood. You were bleeding. Why were you bleeding? “What the fuck?” You looked around you only to spot the fried earpiece on the ground next to you.           The interferences. The static electricity. It had certainly burst your eardrum and made you faint and … “It was all a dream.”

[rapturerecords]

Song: Slave to the Blues / Oh My Babe Blues

Artist: Ma Rainey and her Georgia Band

Record Label: Paramount 12332

Recorded: ca. December 1925

Location: Project V13 teaser

A rare song from a rare label. Here’s “Slave to the Blues” presented by the infamous Paramount Records label. Regrettably due to both its age and the somewhat non-standard practices of recording and pressing at the label, the audio quality leaves something to be desired, but I have tried to clear up some of the noise.

This year is rather auspicious as it is the 10 year anniversary of the 2010 teaser for Project V13 on the Fallout website and also the recent release of a new film Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom on Netflix. This record happens to have been made two years before the recording session depicted in the film.

When logging into the now-defunct Fallout Online website, players were greeted with a series of Polaroid photographs being tossed onto the table offering shots of buildings and concept art while this song emanates from the glowing record player and radio combination console on the right.

Recorded in late 1925 in the winter, this song is one of the few songs from the 1920s used in Fallout and would have been the oldest recording used in the series.

A period Chicago Defender print ad for Ma Rainey’s “Bessemer Bound Blues”, recorded during the same session. Also listed are other Paramount Record titles.

Born Gertrude Pridgett, though otherwise known as Ma Rainey, she lived a fairly colorful life rife with intrigue and rumor. Even her birthplace is uncertain with various sources giving credit to Alabama or Georgia.

As her named suggests, she is dubbed the “Mother of the Blues”, combining elements of vaudeville and early “jass” (later spelled as jazz). She and her husband William “Pa” Rainey toured extensively throughout the South in the 1900s and 1910s with live performances in minstrel shows and vaudeville. It’s around this time she coined the term “blues” to describe her music as well as developing a relationship with Bessie Smith, also up and coming.

Though demand for recordings by black musicians was high, the color barrier meant that Rainey was not able to be shellacked until 1923 by signing with Paramount.

While she recorded with many jazz stars of the day and made over one hundred recordings with Paramount, the film focuses on her last years with the label which would also go bankrupt by the 1930s.

Regrettably, there are comparatively few photos of Ma Rainey, but her voice still echoes from the grooves.

Left: A still of the 1984 Broadway cast, Center: A Playbill for “Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom”, Right: A reverse shot of the same scene from inside the recording room from the 2020 film

Strictly speaking, Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom is not an biographical film, but rather a restaging of the 1984 August Wilson play of the same name which dramatizes a 1927 recording session in Chicago. Many of the scenes take place outside of the recording room and focuses on conversations between the band members. With the exception of Ma Rainey herself, while the roles of the musicians, the recording engineer and so on undoubtedly existed, the characters are largely fictional.

The title refers to a song and dance of the same name, and of course Ma Rainey’s version of it as yet to be recorded until near the end of the story. The above record label represents the central MacGuffin which is never directly seen in the film, but drives the plot forward. While much has been said about the characters portrayed in the film including the last film role of Chadwick Boseman, here’s a closer look at one of the more muted mechanical stars of the 1920s recording process documented in the film.

Triptych of a heat wave: an electric fan, an ice-cold 5¢ bottle of Coca-Cola, and a box of discarded lacquer discs.

A slight change to the script of the play is the changing of the setting from winter to summer as foreheads glisten with perspiration. While dialing up the oppressive heat brings more prominence to the electric fan and Coca-Cola scenes (the character Levee also attempts to repeatedly open a door for ventilation), the original recording session for “Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom” was in the winter of 1927. Perhaps the winter release of the Netflix film was meant to be a reminder.

This also has an impact on the recording session itself. The film depicts the recording session using smooth black lacquer discs (sometimes called acetate discs though they do not contain that material). As the recording engineer tosses the bad takes into the bin, it shows they are thin metal discs covered with a thin layer of nitrocellulose lacquer.

Industry films showing wax blanks used to make the initial recording before heading to the plating process. Note how the wax is polished to a shine, the disc is thicker, and of a lighter color than lacquer. The text intertitles indicate silent film footage. The first three rows date to the 1920s with the third for a Columbia Records pressing plant. The last row is a film from the 1940s showing RCA Victor still using wax recording blanks. All are for shellac 78 rpm records as the vinyl LP would be introduced in 1948.

Industry films showing lacquer covered blanks used to make the initial recording before heading to the plating process. Note how the blanks are glossy black and much thinner. The first row is from the late 1930s showing lacquer discs being used to eventually cut shellac 78s for Variety Records. 1948 would bring the invention of the vinyl LP and more common color footage. The second row shows updated footage from RCA Victor in the 1950s now using lacquer discs to press newly invented vinyl LPs. The last row also shows lacquer blanks for Capitol Records. If you don’t recognize Mel Blanc’s face, you may recognize his voice from innumerable Looney Tunes cartoons. 

Contemporary film footage from record pressing plants during the 1920s more commonly show thicker one-inch discs made of wax being used in the record lathe. Lacquer discs were more commonly used in the decades following.

A wax disc would have melted in the sultry summer of Chicago which gets as hot as it does cold in the winter. While it was easy to keep a wax disc warm, cooling technology had not progressed so far during that period. Many of Ma Rainey’s recording sessions appear to have been made in the winter or at least the cooler months in Chicago and New York. A humorous anecdote about a 1930s Bob Wills recording session details packing the wax master recordings on couple hundred pounds of ice to beat the Texas heat.

Though phonograph cylinders were made of wax a few decades prior, these wax discs made during the recording process was the origin of the term “spinning wax” popularized by disc-jockeys.

Regardless of wax or lacquer, this recording is extremely fragile and unable to be played very much. Similar to today, the process still continues to metal plating where multiple more durable metal copies are mirrored before eventually stamping out the right side up grooves into a vinyl slab, or more appropriate for the era depicted in this film, a shellac record.

Production designer Mark Ricker called the record lathe the “fifth star of the movie”. There are scant details about where they obtained the record lathe except it was from a recreator in the Los Angeles area. It is possibly related to the work of Nicholas Bergh who had restored a working 1920s record lathe which was featured in the documentary film series American Epic. The series explores this period of early recorded music and the people in front of and behind the microphone including Ma Rainey. In addition, contemporary artists attempt to adapt their music to the rigors, quirks, and restrictions of a 1920s recording studio. Jack White also produced on the film as well as producing the extensive Rise and Fall of Paramount Records box sets. Admittedly, the two machines aren’t a perfect match, but there is a very similar brass weight driving the entire mechanism which spectacularly snaps and crashes to the floor in a recording session.

With lacquer discs being used to preserve radio broadcasts by the late 1930s, it is likely the record lathe was adapted to work with lacquer discs since they are still in use today and more common to come by than wax discs.

Also notable during the session is that all the instruments and the vocalist share one microphone. The request for a second microphone was likely for dramatic effect. Similar to the acoustic era, the early electric microphone era were still experimenting with proper placement. It is a testament to the power of Ma Rainey’s voice that it can be picked out amongst the surface noise as the instruments and vocals move in and out of focus.

These were the days before the invention of magnetic tape and a substantially reduced recording booth without hulking amplifiers, control boards, and tape machines reflects that. Multi-track recording, overdubbing, or even audio editing was very difficult to accomplish in the pre-tape era. One microphone, one take, and direct to disc, otherwise the recording had to be done over.

While wax could be remelted or perhaps shaved, a flubbed take on a lacquer disc could not. Despite what some of the characters say, 6, 7, 8, 9 takes for the first song of a set-list would be expensive. Paramount would go bankrupt in the following years.

Paramount Records had a storied history nearly rivaling Ma Rainey herself though the record itself largely serves as the MacGuffin in the story. While the name of the record label was never directly mentioned in the film, there are some loose references. The advertising placards around the door mention offerings from a chair factory which Paramount originated. The Wisconsin Chair Company added making phonograph cabinets to its list of operations before delving into making their own phonographs and a record label in 1918.

Like Ma Rainey’s manager, the roles of the recording engineer and the record producer were likely combined into one character, Sturdyvant of Hot Rhythm Recordings, as the sign outside says.

Due to the popularity of the “race records”, Paramount had actually rented or owned recording studios in New York, Chicago, and in Wisconsin. Jay Mayo Williams or “Ink” Williams served as an unofficial liaison between Paramount and the African-American community, even convincing Ma Rainey to record for the label.

However, the label was plagued by low-quality pressings and inconsistent recording practices. Some records even have other songs heard in neighboring rooms. Williams would leave to produce his own record label Black Patti and later was head of the race records department at Decca.

The coming of the 1930s and the Great Depression spelled the end for Paramount Records. Employees were let go or reportedly paid in the metal record masters. Though many were sold for scrap metal, local rumor has the disgruntled employees throwing the masters into the Milwaukee River.

As a result, much of the Paramount Records catalog has become exceedingly rare or outright lost to the ages.

As a coda, a final scene was added to the film which was not present in the original play. A white orchestra plays a restrained version of a composition heard earlier by the Levee character. The bandleader is not named, but strongly resembles Paul Whiteman, one of the most recorded of the dance bands of the day. His trademark mustache and oval head were frequently caricatured even on his own record labels. Though he never recorded for Paramount, he was at the Victor and Columbia labels at the time, in addition to the circumstances of the recording session in the film there is an added layer referring to the background of his controversial self-styled moniker “The King of Jazz”.

Listen to the flip side “Oh My Babe Blues” here.

[malecsecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, adaline-blooms!

For @adaline-blooms​. Wishing my dear giftee a healthy and happy Christmas, and I hope you enjoy this gift!! <3

Read On AO3

*****

Chapter 1 - When You’re Feeling Weary

Alec is just making sure he’s mixed Magnus’ martini to his very stringent specifications when the man himself, looking entirely too put together to be feeling the supposed exhaustion Izzy’s text just warned him about, makes an entrance that has Alec eye-rolling in the fondest of ways.

Dressed in the all-black outfit with electric-blue accents that has to be Alec’s favourite, Magnus already has his attention, but the sultry neck-roll that he pairs so well with that heaving sigh guarantees it. Only before he can respond to this display of effortless sensuality, Magnus performs a well-timed heel-pivot and flops dramatically down onto the couch, with the limbs flung wide being a particularly nice touch.

Even by Magnus’ usual standards, that was impressive.

“Busy day, huh?” Alec asks, ambling over as he adds the obligatory olive. Trying, but largely failing, to keep a straight face.

“You could say that, Alexander,” comes the weary reply, followed by another sigh.

So adorable.

“Then perhaps this might help?” he enquires, holding out the drink and waiting for the reaction.

One glitter-rimmed eye cranks open. The smile is Alec’s reward.

“Well, it’s certainly a good start,” Magnus replies, eyebrows dancing as he somehow musters the energy to make it to a half-seated position, and swallows it down in one.

Okay.

“Another?”

With a wink, Magnus hands back the glass, and Alec is happy to comply. Grinning to himself as Magnus starts sniffing the air.

“Alexander, I know I may be hallucinating through sheer fatigue, but is that mouth-watering aroma I can smell coming from our kitchen, by any chance?”

More than a little offended but willing to forgive in the circumstances, Alec passes Magnus ‘liquid medicine number two’ and gallantly sees to the removal of his boots and coat.

“I’ll have you know that I’ve been practicing. Hard.”

Magnus still looks unconvinced.

“Fine. Hold onto your drink,” he warns before hoisting his disbelieving husband over his shoulder, ignoring the shriek and the spills, and marches into the kitchen where he’s only marginally more gentle about depositing him on the countertop. “Now do you believe me?”

Shame-faced, Magnus nods. His wide eyes take in the organised chaos of Alec’s dinner preparations, which Alec hopes will produce the best eight-ounce steak Magnus has ever eaten. Well, at the loft, at least.

“My apologies for doubting you, Alexander. It was just, given how-”

Palm raised, Alec halts the unnecessary explanation mid-flow. He did have form in ruining meals, after all. But not this one.

“I get it,” Alec assures him. “But like I said, I’ve been practicing.”

Two strong legs hook around his hips and draw him closer until they’re trapping him against Magnus’ body. Magnus gives him a quizzical look. “How could you possibly have known that I would need exactly this today?”

“My rather concerned sister gave me a heads up about your heroic exploits at Croton Point about an hour before you came home, because she was worried you may be feeling the consequences of having dealt with a particularly stubborn horde of Kuri earlier. Hence why everything to restore your depleted magic is already in hand.”

Alec knows he looks pretty pleased with himself, but seeing how visibly touched that news makes this man in front of him is also a worthwhile cause to be happy, without a doubt.

Raising his half-empty glass, Magnus addresses his gratitude to the ceiling. “Thank you, darling Isabelle.” Then swiftly downs the contents, before winding those equally strong arms around Alec’s neck. “You, however, deserve something altogether different as a sign of my heartfelt thanks.”

Alec couldn’t agree more, gladly accepting the thoroughly gratifying kiss that puts fire in his blood as his due for being thoughtful.

“Consider that the first of many you’ll be receiving tonight,” Magnus promises, as his thumb traces the outline of Alec’s kiss-swollen lips.

It’s Alec’s turn to heave a deep sigh.

A playful Magnus is a powerful thing, but if he wants Magnus brimming with energy to get those kisses, he needs to flex his culinary muscles without delay.

Only when he explains this is he reluctantly released.

Supplying a third martini to a now doubly-thirsty Magnus, Alec then focuses entirely on his cooking. Dodging those grabby limbs isn’t easy though. Mostly because their remarkably-energetic owner is a mischievous little shit who is in the mood for games.

A mood that Alec is hopeless to stop, not that he really wants to, even as he plates up the medium rare triumph and pours another zinger of a cocktail. Mostly thanks to Magnus’ excessive pleasure-noises as he works his razor-sharp jaw to chew, extends that elegant throat to swallow, and uses that wicked tongue to lick his lips.

Who needs actual food when you can provide a feast, Alec muses, chin resting in his palm as he dreamily enjoys the multi-sensory feedback he’s getting from a very aware Magnus. Is there anything better than seeing this man happy? Alec doesn’t think so.

He’s so eager for his second thank you kiss that Magnus has barely had time to put down his knife and fork before Alec’s dragging his chair out so that he can straddle him, their giggles making it harder but neither’s complaining.

“You continue to surprise and energise me, Alexander,” remarks a husky-voiced Magnus when they come up for air. “That was delicious.”

Alec’s about to thank him with a kiss of his own, when he adds, “The steak wasn’t too shabby either,” and they’re off giggling again.

Alec doesn’t think he’ll ever not blush when Magnus compliments him, and trying to hide behind his hands only results in being called “all kinds of cute,” so he sucks up all the embarrassing-but-secretly-pleasing adjectives being thrown at him and tugs his tormentor in the direction of their bathroom for phase three of his recovery.

Once he’s plonked Magnus in a chair and plugged his nonsense with a fifth martini, Alec fills the lavish, claw-foot tub with water, adding the iridescent blend of unknown boosters that he knows has to be used sparingly else Magnus will be on a super-charged magic rush again for days to come.

Alec didn’t think his body, or their bed, could survive that again.

Or could they?

Magnus’ filthy laugh means he’s not the only one thinking dirty thoughts, but Alec hasn’t gone to all this trouble to have both of them wiped out at the end of it.

“Cut that out,” he warns, to no avail, as he pulls the menace to his unsteady feet and begins the ever-enjoyable task of ridding Magnus of his beautiful clothes.

Meanwhile, Magnus is taking every opportunity to derail his efforts with kisses here and caresses there, deaf to Alec’s admittedly half-hearted protestations when he starts to return the favour of undressing him. All of which makes it impossible not to reciprocate with eager touches of his own.

Alec tries one last time to be good, even as he’s stepping into the bubble-filled bath and pulling Magnus down to rest against him. “I’m supposed to be helping you get your energy back, Magnus, not encouraging you to spend more.”

Magnus gives a lazy shrug of his shoulders, even as his hands begin to wander. “Then we’ll just have to take things very, very slowly.”

Oh well. He tried.

Chapter 2 - When You’re Feeling Sad

Alec’s just signing off on what feels like his hundredth mission report of the day when a message from Magnus shows up on his phone.

Mind if we postpone tonight’s plans? Fancy a quiet evening instead

His hesitation is brief, even if he’s surprised Magnus wants to skip on their much-anticipated theatre trip.

Not at all. Everything okay?

This hesitation is longer.

Tell you when you get home x

That’s all the reason Alec needs to clear his desk and inform Underhill that he’s done for the day. He knows Magnus had clients today, but he hadn’t been worried about them. As he heads home, he’s left wondering what could’ve happened since their goodbye kiss after breakfast.

The loft is in near darkness when Alec arrives, save for a sliver of light that spills from the balcony door left ajar, and the mild concern that prompted him to return early is replaced with a heavier sense of foreboding as he makes his way out there.

Hunched over the balcony wall and nursing what looks to be at least a double whiskey, is how Alec finds Magnus, and although his face can’t be seen from this angle, everything about his posture radiates a sadness that worries him.

“Magnus? Are you okay?” he asks softly, somehow still unprepared for the sorrow that’s etched on his husband’s face when he turns around and slowly shakes his head.

In two strides, Alec’s there to gather him up in a comforting hug, giving Magnus all the time he needs to explain what’s made him upset.

“We lost a promising young warlock today,” Magnus begins, barely audible from where he’s burrowed into Alec’s chest. “Her name was Zoe. A girl Clary saved the night I met you, after her father was killed by Valentine.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that, Magnus. I think I remember that name though,” Alec tells him as he presses a kiss to Magnus’ forehead. “Wasn’t she the one you asked Tessa to train at the Spiral Labyrinth?”

Magnus nods, a smile at least present in his voice now. “That’s right. She always had her head in a book, hungry for information. Gifted with an eidetic memory and a talent for learning languages, she really did have a very bright future ahead of her, until....”

Alec waits as Magnus drags in a shaky breath before continuing.

“As Tessa explained it, Zoe had recently added tutoring to her list of accomplishments. Something I was aware of, but I wish now I’d taken the time to ask her about. In lieu of her late father, I’d always felt a certain parental responsibility towards her. Anyway. While she was there, at the home of the family who hired her, she collapsed. No warning, no complaints of feeling unwell. No chance of help.”

Alec’s hands try to soothe but he doesn’t interrupt, preferring to let Magnus work through his emotions.

“I-it’s just such a shock, Alexander. Such a waste. Tessa said they can’t be sure it’s not magic-related yet, but...I’m finding it hard to accept that she’s gone. That I’ll never get to witness everything she undoubtedly would’ve become.”

Untangling himself momentarily, Alec brings him over to the lounger where he plucks the whiskey from Magnus’ hand and sets it down on the nearby table before they move in sync to settle in that age old way of dispensing comfort, with Magnus curled up in Alec’s lap, his fingers combing through Magnus’ hair.

“Magnus, I can only imagine what you and Tessa must be feeling right now. Passing way before her time, and so suddenly? It’s tragic. But I’m here for you. In whatever way helps you the most.” He’d protect him from every loss, every hurt, if he could.

“This is already helping. Truly,” Magnus assures him, head resting against Alec’s chest in order to hear the heartbeat he’s frequently said helps to send him to sleep.

Alec hopes it does now, and allows the long, peaceful minutes to stretch, feeling the tension in Magnus’ body gradually ease. He’s about to suggest they lie down instead, when Magnus speaks.

“I’m sorry about cancelling our plans tonight. I hope you’re not too disappointed?” A hint of amusement colours Magnus’ question and so, Alec takes his cue.

“Me, look forward to a show? Have you met me?”

It makes Magnus chuckle, but it’s a tired one. A state that’s reflected in how long it takes those beautiful eyes, too weary for glamour, to find his, and that elegant hand to cup Alec’s cheek in that way that never fails to make him feel precious.

“I have, and I will never be as grateful for anything else in this life, Alexander.”

The barely-there kiss is so reverential that Magnus finds sleep before Alec’s able to voice words of his own, but he hopes Magnus already knows how thankful he is too.

Closing his eyes, Alec promises to make a point of telling him as soon as they both wake up.

Chapter 3 - When You’re Feeling Overwhelmed

Alec’s not sure what’s initially responsible for disturbing his fathoms-deep slumber, but the muffled stream of expletives he hears in that very familiar voice definitely has his attention now.

Reaching out blindly for Magnus’ side of the bed in the forlorn hope that he’s mistaken, Alec groans when all his fingers encounter is cold silk. Opening his bleary eyes to confirm the distinct lack of Magnus in their bed, he tugs on a t-shirt and stifles a yawn as he sets about finding the errant husband who’d promised he “wouldn’t be much longer” hours ago.

He’s just stumbled into the dimly-lit corridor outside the bedroom when a series of kabooms, followed by what Alec can only assume is a heartfelt curse in some ancient tongue, brings him not only to the half-open doorway of the unusually-chaotic apothecary, but also fully to his senses.

Surrounded by various experiments and too engrossed in the energetic scolding of his own fisted hands to notice Alec’s arrival, is a wildly dishevelled Magnus, whose exhaustion is writ large on his handsomely expressive face.

Alec decides they're both in need of a hug.

Hitching his top over his nose so as not to inhale any of the sulphur-and-spice-scented smoke that’s fogging up the room, Alec ventures cautiously inside.

Doing his best to avoid bumping into the extra tables that are covered in a myriad of mixing bowls and mason jars, and the messy assortment of ingredients that are strewn in between them, Alec inadvertently startles his fragile husband with his sudden appearance, causing him to dislodge a cylinder of liquid that scorches a hole in the priceless Persian rug mere inches from their feet.

At which point, Magnus promptly bursts into tears and collapses in a graceless heap on the floor. Feeling terrible, Alec joins him there and holds him as he whispers abject apologies that barely make it through the racket of frustrated sobs, until finally, in between sniffles, he receives forgiveness in the form of a salt-stained kiss.

“Magnus, what are you doing in here? Whatever it is, surely it can wait until morning?” Alec asks, using the hem of his shirt to wipe the worst of the tear stains from Magnus’ face. Even smudged and saddened, he’s still easily the most beautiful man Alec’s ever seen.

“Loathe as I am to admit it, Alexander,” Magnus replies in between hiccups, “I’ve bitten off more than I can chew with my current list of client orders, and instead of rectifying this sooner, I shall now have to admit to them, and to myself, that my own hubris will result in them either being delayed or cancelled all together.”

Even his gulp is cute, Alec muses, before pondering the best way to go about saving Magnus’ hard-won reputation from the brink of destruction, preferably without the need for any humiliating apologies. Given the time constraints, he can only think of one.

“I’m assuming at least some of those orders need filling by tomorrow if you haven’t been able to sleep yet?”

Sheepishly, Magnus holds up six shaky fingers, and regardless of whether or not the answer had been that or six hundred, Alec was not about to see those orders fail. Not with so much at stake.

Getting to his feet and pulling Magnus up with him, Alec offers his suggestion as his hands make light work of straightening out Magnus’ robe and his hair.

“Here’s what’s going to happen.” A hopeful glint in those warm brown eyes almost distracts him. “I’m going to put some pants on and make us both a generous mug of strong, black coffee while you salvage what you can here, and then,” he chuckles, cupping Magnus’ eager face in his hands, “I will try my best to help prepare the ingredients you need, so you can then concentrate on whatever process is needed for each order.”

Concerned, Magnus grips Alec’s waist and asks, “But it will take at least two hours for all the distilling and blending to be done, and then there’s-”

“Uh-uh, none of that. Positive thoughts only, Mr Lightwood-Bane, you have a humble assistant that needs training, after all,” Alec counters, dropping an encouraging kiss that threatens to flare out of control until Alec takes a firm step backwards.

“We’re supposed to be working,” he warns, wagging his finger at his unrepentant mentor and backing carefully out of the room, much preferring the sound of Magnus’ laughter to the sound of his tears.

With the aid of caffeine to boost their concentration and a near constant supply of cheeky kisses and inappropriate booty grabs, along with a lot of hard graft, dawn finds them bone-tired but relieved that their joint sacrifice has paid off.

Now, with two orders already boxed and ready to go, three in the final stages of resting and one that just requires filtering every half hour, Alec finally feels confident enough in their ability to meet the delivery deadlines to insist that Magnus, a spent force at this stage, catches up on the sleep denied him earlier.

Magnus’ mumbled protests eventually peter out as he’s carried bridal-style to their bed and tucked beneath the sheets, his peaceful expression being all the reward Alec needs to see him through the final hours of his vigil.

Chapter 4 - When You’re Feeling Worried

Having arrived home sooner than expected from his weekend of intensive Portal Enhancement lectures in Stockholm, Magnus can’t deny he’s more than a little disappointed not to be greeted by a strong pair of arms and an enthusiastic pair of lips.

Especially when his reason for curtailing his professional obligations was so he could be here for Alec on the eve of his important meeting with fellow institute heads.

Proud as he is of Alec’s commitment to change, they both know there’ll be many who will try and resist his controversial proposal that they each create their own Downworld Cabinet without delay, in order to deliver on promises made to their counterparts. As he’d said many times, no change worth making was ever easy.

A deep sigh escapes him.

Just for one day, it would be nice to let the mantle of responsibility slip from their shoulders and have nothing but each other’s happiness to worry about, but Magnus will gladly take every day he can get with Alec and cherish it, whatever the challenges may be. And right now, the challenge is to discover the whereabouts of his husband.

Skype catch-ups and hastily-arranged phone sex are no substitute for enjoying the tangible presence of your biggest supporter and primary stress-reliver rolled into one.

Only stopping long enough to make sure his research papers are stored securely in the apothecary’s safe and his case is banished to the bedroom, Magnus portals to Alec’s office where he finds his very own sleeping beauty sprawled awkwardly across the couch, surrounded by pages of scribbled out presentation notes, cartons of barely touched food and a dozen or so coffee cups that have been drained of every drop.

Another deep sigh escapes him.

Heart full at seeing that much-missed face, youthful in its slumber, but feeling guilt over allowing himself to be persuaded that Alec’s preparations were all going well and his smiling reassurances were genuine, Magnus vows to do better in future and prepares to get Alec, and his proposal, back on track.

Shrugging off his coat and folding it over the least cluttered surface he can find, he locks the door behind him with a quiet flourish and soundproofs the room, because as far as Magnus is concerned, only he should be privy to those adorable little snores.

Unable to give into the overwhelming urge to wake Alec up with slow kisses, Magnus settles instead on burying his face in the soft, untidy curls that still smell of sandalwood, as he kneels down to better wrestle Alec’s heavy limbs into a more comfortable position.

Guessing that Alec probably hasn’t slept much in the last twenty-four hours, he decides to leave him be for a little longer and covers him in the cashmere blanket that Magnus insists on being kept here in case of emergency naps, reviving the fire with a flick of his wrist.

Rolling up his sleeves and allowing his gaze to sweep those handsome features one last time, he turns his attention to the task in hand.

In the absence of a conscious Alec to berate, Magnus grumbles his way through the clean up operation, aware most of his annoyance is aimed at himself for not being here to help, but also knowing that sometimes, their work has to come first. He wishes it didn’t.

Decluttering the desk, and lamenting how Alec always manages to look after everyone but himself, Magnus' annoyance at all the unnecessary edits Alec has made to his already-perfect speech evaporates. As he organises them into what he thinks was the original order, it’s too easy to picture how Alec’s self-doubt would’ve made him see flaws in his preparation that just weren’t there.

Oh, Alexander, I wish you’d told me how you were really feeling.

Wrinkling his nose up at the pungent leftovers and the dark circles staining the surface of the desk, he quickly gets rid of the rubbish, replacing the stagnant odours with the mouth-watering smell of baked goods and beverages from their favourite bakery.

If he places it right under Alec’s nose in the hopes it wakes him up, so what? Magnus has been separated from the beautiful man that’s so temptingly draped across the cushions for two very long days and nights, and he’s missed him dreadfully. Surely, Alec has had enough rest by now.

Toeing off his boots and climbing cat-like over Alec to wedge himself against the back of the cosy couch, Magnus carefully adjusts the blanket to cover both of them and snuggles in, breathing in the familiar scent of the man and feeling at home in every sense of the word.

Arms tighten around him on instinct and Magnus can’t suppress his smile when it’s followed by a sleepy, “That’s better.”

“Much better,” Magnus whispers, trailing soft kisses down the side of Alec’s throat that can be reached without disturbing him....too much.

Appreciative noises fill his ears and embolden him to seek out more skin, until Alec is finally roused to wakefulness and greeting Magnus with kisses of his own.

“I must say, this is a very, very nice surprise,” Alec informs him once he has Magnus securely settled on top of him.

“I’m very, very glad to hear it,” Magnus replies, finally content but unwilling to let things he’s worried about slide just yet. “Alec, listen,” he begins earnestly, “you have to tell me when-” before Alec interrupts.

“When things get on top of me? I know, Magnus, and I’ll do better next time. Really,” he sighs, eyes closing briefly before they urge him to believe his words. “I shouldn’t have tried to hide my stress. I should’ve been honest with you about how I was feeling about tomorrow.” Tipping his head towards the cleared space, he adds, ”Preferably, before it got to whatever that was.”

Believing him, Magnus plants a lasting thank you kiss on his cheek. “May I humbly suggest that those unnecessary changes you made to your excellent speech be forgotten?”

“Sure thing,” Alec quips, eager to show Magnus just how much he’s been missed. “It’s like I’ve told you before, I can’t think straight when you’re not around.”

Magnus hums in agreement. “And as I’ve told you before, I can’t do anything without thinking of you.”

Alec’s eyes are dancing with mischief as he quickly flips them over to start working on opening Magnus’ buttons.

“Then it’s clearly in both of our best interests to stay as close to each other as possible.”

“Clearly,” Magnus agrees, following suit.

Then finally, their reunion begins in earnest.

[minnie-marvel]

When It Rains, It Pours (Thor x Reader) Part 2

After an intense battle, the avengers have saved New York from being corrupted by Loki’s evil. The time has come to bring him to Asgard to face judgement and proper punishment. You’ve been enlisted by Tony Stark to help create a device that will temporarily disable Loki’s abilities in order to ensure he won’t escape. However, when you go through a test run of the device with the mighty Thor you find that the device malfunctions and instead takes away Thor’s powers instead. How will you help the God of thunder now that he remains powerless against his brother’s ill will. Thor x Reader Part 1 Words: 3,005 A/N: I lived bitch. Bet y’all thought you’d seen the last of me. Jokes on you I still am determined to finish this pic even if it takes the rest of my life!!! That being said, I am aware that it has been a long time since I’ve posted and people might have moved on to different fandoms or just different writers! Feel free to let me know if you’d like to be removed or added to my tag list!! Thanks for reading!!! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "What the hell did you do to me?!" You shouted again. You pushed yourself from up the ground so that you sat on your behind instead of being sprawled out across the lab's floor like some kind of fur pelt. You blinked rapidly as you tried to keep yourself from reeling back in pain. Your chest felt like someone had doused it in gasoline and thrown a match on top while your hands felt like someone had crushed them with a hot iron.

"Easy there Rookie, just take it easy alright?" Tony groaned pushing himself to stand.

"What did <I>we</I> do to you?" The god of thunder bellowed from his spot. Unlike the rest of you, he was having a significantly harder time finding his way to his feet. "What did you do to <I>me</I>?!" He shouted pointing an accusing finger at your body.

“I don’t understand!” you finally found your way to a battered steel counter and used its surface to help support you as you rose to your feet. There was a constant tingle in your hands, and when you looked down at them, you felt your heart drop at the sight. Thor’s familiar blue electricity crackled and danced against the back of your hands.

“What… what happened?” Your voice was undoubtedly broken now, the unbearable unease from the unknown finally settling into you.

“Something went wrong,” Thor grunted.

“Something went wrong?” Tony rubbed the back of his head while he turned to the golden-haired god, scowling. “Val Hallen, you were supposed to be the expert on this supernatural shit. What do you mean something went wrong?”

Thor shook his head frowning. “There must have been something wrong with the handcuffs… Yes, that’s the only way. Clearly, the workmanship of the handcuffs was faulty.”

You looked at Tony only to see his jaw go slack in disbelief. “No. No no no, I tested those handcuffs out at least a hundred times before handing them off to you. Those things were foolproof. The only thing that they were missing was the Asgardian runes.” He took a step forward to Thor pointing a finger back at him.

“If something in this project could have possibly been faulty, it had to be because of <I>you</I>.”

You rubbed the temples of your forehead, feeling a headache settling in. What in the world was happening? Even if you wanted answers, no one seemed to be addressing you at all. Thor and Tony were busy bickering back and forth playing a game of who’s to blame while something was wrong with you. Your agitation which started as a simmering steam at the beginning of this encounter was now bubbling approaching a boil.

“Everyone just stop talking for a minute for god’s sake!” You shouted now throwing your hands up in agitation. When your palms flipped outward a surge of energy coursed through your body again, funneling out of your hands in the form of lightning.

Tony’s eyes widened and took a dive bomb towards the left, his body skidding across the floor just barely missing the bolt of lightning. Thor lacking the strength to move, only put his arms out in a frail attempt to defend himself. The lightning aimed towards his body hit his arms directly causing him to fall over on the ground again in agony, his body seizing and switching as electricity attacked his body.

Seeing the god of thunder being rendered helpless by your hands sent a terrifying shock through your body. You stumbled back into the counter as you raised a hand to your mouth before staring at it and slowly lowering it back down to your chest. You held your hands together, hoping that if you kept them clasped within one another it would stop you from hurting others.

“I… my hands they…” You stammered looking down at your palms again, the lightning licked against your fingers again, as if they were waiting for another chance to strike.

“I need answers.” Your voice was desperate as you choked back tears. “Now.”

You hear Tony sigh as he reaches down beside Thor taking him by the tricep and lifting him slowly until he was at an appropriate height. Your boss slung Thor’s arm around his shoulder supporting the god sighing as his eyes met you.

“From what I can see, it looks as though you’ve consumed Thor’s power. I’ve only seen that blue electricity come from him and well… Point Break here looks like he’s been hit by a bus.” He shrugged the arm that held the arm jostling the titan of a man like he was a sack of potatoes.

You stared at Thor who couldn’t even manage to lift his head towards you in acknowledgment as Tony spoke. Your breath started to quicken, each breath taken just seemed as though it weren’t enough.“But how could this happen… Thor is a god and I’m just a mortal I… Is this going to kill me?!”

“That is… well.” Tony paused suddenly looking at you, his eyebrows furrowing together as he contemplated deep within his mind.

“Well, rookie… to be completely honest with you I don’t know.”

You could feel the electricity crackling against your palms again. You couldn’t control it, you couldn’t control anything. Your entire body had been transformed into a ticking time bomb and you had no idea how to prevent it from exploding. What was worse, one of the most intelligent entrepreneurs in technology couldn’t find an answer for you either.

“Worry not mortal.” You heard Thor groan finally managing to support himself slowly with the help of Tony’s arm. “I may be powerless, but I am still a god.” He muttered strands of golden hair falling between his eyes. He took a long deep breath as he straightened his posture up, his gaze still lingering on your burning with a will that undoubtedly could shake the heavens.

“I will save you.”

You saw the man reduced to a helpless body across the floor moments ago, but it was clear that his divine energy came from more than the power of his thunder.

With a hand still propped on Tony’s shoulder for support, he looked around the wreckage of the lab finally taking in the destruction.

“Stark the handcuffs. They did take away my power correct?” He asked looking back towards your trembling body.

Tony sighed but nodded eventually. “It seems to be that way, yeah.”

Thor returned his nod and jerked his neck to both sides suddenly making two loud pops before he took both arms and began to stretch them out slowly by crushing the other between his bicep and forearm.

“Then that’s all that matters.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

You both stared at the god in disbelief. Suddenly he was striding towards you slowly, his physical strength seeming to have already been restored. He stood only a foot away from you now and stood taller than you, still meeting your eyes with stormy blue irises.

“If the handcuffs indeed take away power then they will be sufficient. When we arrive in Asgard, we will find a way to return my powers to me.”

You swallowed a hard lump that had settled in the back of your throat once Thor stepped in front of you. “We?”

Thor nodded slowly. “I cannot keep up the ruse that I still hold my power as my own without you.”

You reeled back in disbelief. “You want me to help you pretend that you still have your powers in Asgard?”

The god of thunder stood his ground. “Yes. If Loki even smelled a lack of power in me he would use anything and everything to destroy me and take over my kingdom again.” he took another step forward towards your body, the space nearly being closed between you.

“I cannot let that happen.”

“If I might cut in for a moment,” Tony interrupted, walking over to you and Thor. he put a hand on your shoulder and snatched it back when he was quickly zapped with a static shock. He looked over at you with feigned annoyance. He knew you didn’t shock him intentionally, but he thought the face would lift the mood. It didn’t.

“My new assistant has only just been introduced to this new world of heroes and aliens and gods and the like. She has no idea what she’s getting into-”

“Neither do I,” Thor replied cutting him off. “But it must be done.”

“Can we just talk about this?” Tony asked exhausted, placing an arm between you two now. Thor finally tore his gaze from you to the billionaire.

“The only person who needs to talk is the mortal,” Thor said simply turning his gaze to you. You were waiting for him to make another stubborn comment to get Tony to get off his back when he suddenly dropped to a knee.

The god slowly took your hand in his looking up at you, eyebrows furrowed in a fierce determination.

“Miss… I am not asking you to help me. I am <i>begging</I> you.”

You tried not to let your jaw drop at his words. A god was begging you? You could feel the electricity building in the hand that Thor took. When you glanced at your connecting hands you saw that the lightning was striking against Thor’s skin. Yet, when you looked back into his eyes you saw the determination never leave his gaze. His lips were pressed into a hard line as he bore the pain of his power from another, but he never once relented.

You visibly deflated slowly. With Thor at your side, maybe you had a chance.

“Well… who am I to deny a god?”

You laughed bitterly as you slipped your hand from his, taking it back into your own holding your hands together to try to keep from hurting anyone else. You looked back at Tony now a bit sheepishly.

“Does this mean I have to put my two weeks in?” You asked.

Tony sighed and shook his head, planting a hand on his hip while rolling his eyes. “Let’s say you’re putting your vacation in early okay? Just don’t make this a permanent relocation. As you probably know I kind of fired the rest of my assistants today.” He gave you a smirk before taking his arm back and pulling his phone out of his pocket tapping away.

“So, when are you two planning on leaving?”

“Before the sun sets today.”

Tony nearly dropped his phone only catching it seconds before it shattered against the floor. “Before the sun sets? As in, three hours from now?”

Thor finally rose to his feet again folding his arms against his chest. “If not earlier. My father will want to contain Loki as soon as possible, and if I do not bring him to Asgard he will retrieve him himself.” The god paused looking between you both cautiously. “I believe you’d prefer me in your hair than my father.”

Tony hummed in thought tapping his phone against his chin. “God of thunder versus God-king… I think I’ll take my chances with Baywatch over here.” He turned to you now pointing the phone at you while he continued.

“I’ll arrange your leave of absence for you. We’ll call this an intensive project on behalf of Stark Industry. Everything will be covered for you before you can say ‘Tony Stark is the best boss ever and sure he got me into a mess but he will be paying me enough to buy two small islands and a private jet to travel to each.’”

You gave a half-hearted smile. “Thank you, Mr. Stark.”

He gave a loud groan. “Really with the formalities again? I think we’re past the point of being just a boss and employee since I’ve got you in this situation. For the love of… well Thor please just call me Tony.”

You only continued to smile. “Of course...Mister Stark.”

Tony sighed but pulled you into a one-armed hug. “Well, you know what they say about dogs and old tricks. I’ll be patient.” he shrugged. “You two should get ready. If you want to leave for Asgard before sundown you’d better get a move on.”

When you turned to face Thor to ask about the next plan of action you saw him walking towards Mjölnir which was firmly planted in the ground where he laid before when your blast first went off. It seemed as though he were staring at the hammer for an eternity before stretching an arm out, fastening a hand against its leather handle. There was a moment of silence before he closed his eyes and lifted.

You sighed in relief as you saw the legendary hammer lift to Thor’s hammer. So, he was still worthy after all.

Thor nodded, taking in a deep breath, regaining his composure before turning to you. “Well small spark, it's about time we introduce you to my brother?”

“Small spark?” You repeated.

“Well, since you had not told me your real name I thought to give you a nickname to call yourself.”

You introduced yourself and watched as Thor stroked his chin in thought.

“I think small spark suits you better. You do hold my power now, maybe if you prove yourself useful, you can be called Lady of Thunder.”

You pressed your lips into a thin line. It seemed as though he were in good enough spirits to still tease you. You would have teased back but you didn’t feel like being smote by a god. Even if Thor didn’t hold dominion over thunder any longer, you were sure he could pack a powerful punch if he wanted to.

“Let’s go see that brother of yours shall we?”

---

You walked beside the Lord of thunder as automatic doors slid open, revealing an open-cell paneled glass and a slender raven-haired man inside. He was sitting on the floor unnaturally cool until He looked up to see you and Thor entering the room. He looked battered and bruised beyond compare, but his bright green eyes shared that same inextinguishable spark that Thor held.

“Thor.” The raven-haired man said his eyes scanning over to you quickly. “I see you’ve brought a toy.”

“It's time to bring you home brother,” Thor ignored the last comment staring him down.

“We are <i>not</i> brothers.” The trickster god hissed. “And that is not my home.”

“Father wants you to return to Asgard,” Thor stated.

“As his prisoner.” Loki laughed with a roll of his eyes.

When Thor didn’t deny his statement, you saw Loki’s expression twist into an unnatural scowl made up of pure hatred.

“Well, aren’t you going to subdue me? Strike me with lightning and bring me to my knees?” Loki scoffed.

You felt your chest seize up with anxiety. Was that what was supposed to happen? Thor hadn’t told you anything about actually using his power in his presence. If Loki was as intelligent and conniving as Thor had portrayed him to be, he would surely discover your secret in an instant. You looked slowly to Thor who didn’t return your gaze.

He took a step forward towards the cell and you followed close behind him. Oh god, you were really doing this weren’t you? How were you going to possibly pull this off you weren’t prepared-

“Fury,” Thor called flatly before an odd purple gas sprayed out into the cell circling the four inner glass panels. The gas swirled around Loki’s head in an opaque cloud. You saw the Asgardian reach out to the two of you behind the glass before his eyes rolled to the back of his head. His knees gave out beneath him before he clattered to the floor with a loud thump.

Thor sighed. “He will undoubtedly ask why I did not show my power.” He warned.

“And what do we do when he does?” You asked, holding your hands close to your chest again.

“We do what Loki does best,” Thor said with a frown. “We lie.”

Minutes after, S.H.I.E.L.D agents swarmed into the case along with Thor and yourself. Thor knelt to his sleeping brother and pursed his lips tight together as he brought a new pair of handcuffs to Loki’s hands. There was a soft click and nothing else. You still stared at Thor ensuring that no shift of power had been missed, and when he sighed with relief, you did too.

“Well, at least one pair worked.” You joked quietly to him.

“Yes,” Thor replied. “The easy part is over.” He said slapping a small band of metal across Loki’s mouth. The band quickly extended and transformed into some type of muzzle. You only quirked an eyebrow at Thor who shrugged.

“I’d rather not have to hear his sharp tongue on the way back to the palace.” he hoisted his brother up and over his shoulder.

“Heimdall!” Thor suddenly shouted before suddenly pulling you into him with his free arm. “I have Loki in my possession. I wish to return to bring him to trial.” He suddenly looked at you cradled against his chest. You were staring at him like a deer in headlights.

“The woman too,” he added after a moment.

“Wait- We’re going now?” You whispered to the god. “What about the plan, what about the handcuffs- Thor how are we going to pull this off??”

He didn’t get to answer immediately as both of your bodies were suddenly consumed by a bright burning light built of a kaleidoscope of color. You instinctively held onto the avenger closing your eyes in fear. In truth, you probably could have protected him better than he could protect you, but your mortal fear was still very present in your body.

When your eyes opened again you were surrounded by gold, a man in shimmering armor wielding a glimmering sword staring you down with amber eyes. Before you was an opal road that glittered rainbow colors every which way.

Thor leaned close to your ear.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- WIRIP Tag List: @avonwrites​ Permanent Tag List: @memyselfandmaddox  @fangirlftshipper @two-eleven-thirty-four @the-fifth-marauder-paws @shieldgirl95 @lostnliterature @lupe-55​ @drinkingteandfangirling​ @sighspidey​ @laurfangirl424​ @iwouldtakeascootertotheankle​ @sharingfanfictionandart @shutupyoumewlingquim @until2am @ellaisbutteredtoast @flaminghottaquito @american-cactus @spideypoolltrash @embrace-themagic @wantyoubackpeter @thumper-darling @multi-parker  @spideys-jj @thedaughterofdawn @iickerr @starktower-is-my-home@lilcook2258 @mxrvel-imxgines-blog @spodermanpete @goldenkillmonger @youtubehelpsmesurvive @strangenerdsstuff @twerkinglucifer @mylovefortomholland @thefallenbibliophilequote @ms-marveleous @lemonusa @elsasshole @theprinceoftheundead @oddlymurderousplant @futzingclint @imarockstar45 @ivyohmy @yafriendlyfangirl @thisismysecrethappyplace @bitchstolemynutellaus

[laconservancy]

The People and Places Behind L.A.’s Jazz Story

(“Hollywood Jazz — 1945-1972" by Richard Wyatt Jr.)

By Carley Michelle Hildebrand

Charles Mingus, Nat “King” Cole, Frank Sinatra, and Ornette Coleman lived here. Billie Holiday, Miles Davis, Ella Fitzgerald, and Dave Brubeck recorded here. Duke Ellington, Thelonious Monk, and Charlie Parker jammed here. But most importantly, a crucial chapter in jazz history played out here.  

While cities like New Orleans and New York City are where jazz music was born and bred, Los Angeles was the beating heart of the West Coast Jazz scene. From the late 1920s to the 1950s not only was L.A.’s jazz scene influential to the art of jazz itself, it brought pride and power to L.A.’s Black community.

The epicenter of it all was the historic Central Avenue corridor, from Little Tokyo to Watts, with some jazz joints springing up as far away as Hollywood. Central Avenue was the economic and social center of a segregated Black community. A cultural mecca, the scene was constant and electric. As the only integrated section of L.A., people of all races and classes—from blue-collar workers to Hollywood stars—mingled together to watch, to dance, to drink, and...to listen.

For #InternationalJazzDay, get ready to cut a rug while we take you on a tour of some key killer diller locations that played an important role in jazz history, from swinging Central Avenue to swanky Old Hollywood. You dig?

The Dunbar Hotel

4225 S Central Avenue Los Angeles

Any trip through L.A.’s jazz history must start at the Dunbar Hotel. Originally built as the Hotel Somerville, the Dunbar played a key role in L.A.’s Black community for decades. Doctor John Somerville built the hotel for the first West Coast convention of the NAACP in 1928 and it provided first-class accommodations for African Americans in a segregated Los Angeles. At the heart of the Central Avenue jazz scene, many prominent jazz musicians stayed or performed there, including Louis Armstrong, Duke Ellington, Count Basie, and Bessie Smith. Other notable guests included Bill “Bojangles” Robinson, Hern Jefferies, Langston Hughes, Joe Louis, Arthur B. Spingarn, and W. E. B. Du Bois. As the epicenter of Black L.A.’s social and cultural life, a number of jazz clubs and theaters sprang up along Central Avenue and the district began to flourish as a popular nightlife destination.  

After a herculean restoration, today the Dunbar Hotel provides affordable housing for seniors and offers a beautiful gathering space for the community. (More recently, the Dunbar also made a cameo appearance in 2019’s My Name is Dolemite.)

Club Alabam

4215 Central Avenue

Perhaps the most famous club along Central Avenue was Club Alabam, known as the “Finest Harlem Cafe in America.” Hints of the Ambassador Hotel’s Cocoanut Grove (which was segregated at the time) could be seen with its rich furnishings and interior palm trees. Saxophonist Art Pepper recalled that “the bandstand was plush and gorgeous with curtains that glistened.” Club Alabam, which had an integrated audience like all of the clubs along the corridor, became the center of L.A.’s jazz scene boasting some of the finest jazz artists in the country. At its most glorious, wrote jazz historian Steven Isoardi, it was kind of a shining star, the premier spot on the Avenue.

Club Alabam may have been the star, but its neighbors were also just as popular: the Downbeat at 4201 S Central Avenue was a major hot spot and, at one point, was home to an all-star jazz band that included L.A. native, the legendary Charles Mingus. Further along, the Elks Hall at 4016 S Central Avenue was said to have been the biggest Black-owned building in Los Angeles. Able to fit from five to six hundred people, it had three floors, which offered flexibility for a wide variety of acts and events.  

The Lincoln Theatre

2300 Central Avenue

Opened in 1927, the Lincoln Theater was the largest of five theaters along the Central Avenue corridor that provided entertainment to the Black community. While the 1920s boasted the era of the grand movie palaces on Broadway, African Americans were segregated if allowed at all. The Lincoln, built between 1926 and 1927, was the first theatre built by African Americans for African Americans and was easily the most important. A beautiful example of Moorish Revival Architecture, the California Eagle called it, “the finest and most beautiful theater in the country built exclusively for race patronage.” 

The Lincoln was a key venue in jazz history, and its stage welcomed icons like Lionel Hampton and Duke Ellington, Sammy Davis Jr. and so many more. It’s listed in the National and California Registers.

Ivie Anderson Residence

724 E. 52nd Place, South Los Angeles

“It Don’t Mean a Thing (if it ain’t got that swing)” was the battle cry of the swing era, and Ivie Anderson’s vocals on the 1932 Duke Ellington recording is nothing less than iconic. Anderson hailed from Gilroy, but called Los Angeles home for much of her life and lived at 724 E. 52nd Place from 1930 to 1945. During this time Anderson toured heavily with Ellington’s band, whom she sang with for a decade. 

(You can even watch her with Duke’s band in the classic Marx Brothers film A Day at the Races, where she performs “All God's Chillun Got Rhythm.”) Anderson’s former home is listed in both the national and state historic registers as a contributor to the 52nd Place Historic District, which is also an HPOZ.

The Tiffany Club

3260 West 8th Street, Los Angeles

You’d never guess as you speed past the low-rise market at West 8th Street and Normandie Avenue that a litany of jazz greats once played there in the 1950s. Dave Brubeck, Charlie Parker, Billie Holiday, Helen Forrest, Nat King Cole—the list goes on and on. (Chet Baker and Stan Getz’s set was recorded and definitely worth a listen.)  

In 1952, the great Louis Armstrong headlined the club with an all-star band that included Earl “Fatha” Hines and Jack Teagarden. It was an integrated audience, as you can see in this famous photo taken in 1954 of Ella Fitzgerald and Marilyn Monroe at the Tiffany. Monroe was a huge fan of Fitzgerald and the two women became friends. Monroe actively promoted Ella by attending her performances, which guaranteed press coverage.

Thomas Jefferson High School

1319 E 41st Street, Los Angeles

Not all jazz greats hailed from the East Coast. Many were born right here in Los Angeles. Most notable, Charles Mingus and Buddy Collette, who both attended Jordan High School in Watts. (Mingus, in fact, grew up steps from the Watts Towers and often saw Simon Rodia as he worked on building his menagerie of glass and scraps.) But it is Thomas Jefferson High School in South Los Angeles that nurtured the talent for the largest number of future jazz artists.

Dexter Gordon and Don Cherry are perhaps its most famous graduates, but for many the real star was teacher Samuel R. Browne: the first Black music teacher in the Los Angeles public school system. After receiving advanced degrees from USC in music and education, he eventually took a job at Jefferson High School where, in 1936, he became the first Black teacher to integrate the school. He often accompanied his students to Central Avenue jazz clubs and, as part of their music education, took them to rehearsals where at any given time they’d see Lionel Hampton, Stan Kenton, or Duke Ellington at work. He’d also bring talent to the classroom—stars like Nat “King” Cole and Jimmie Lunceford—for recitals and master class seminars.

The Hollywood Bowl

2301 N Highland Ave, Los Angeles

The enduring, much beloved L.A. icon has long been a friend to jazz musicians...even when the critics weren’t. (When Frank Sinatra made his Bowl debut in 1943 to sellout crowd of Bobby Soxers, the Times sneered about swing: “is it possible that there is no alternative in this country?”) In 1954, Louis Armstrong performed "The Whippenproof Song" on The Colgate Comedy Hour which became the first ever live telecast from the Bowl. Two years later, the Bowl hosted the jazz event of the decade: an all-star concert Jazz at the Hollywood Bowl. With Louis Armstrong and Ella Fitzgerald headlining, the concert was an extraordinary who’s-who of jazz greats, among them Oscar Peterson, Roy Eldridge, Buddy Rich, and Art Tatum.

It’s hardly surprising that the Playboy Jazz Festival has called the Bowl home since 1979, making it one of the longest-running jazz festivals around.

The It Club

4731 W. Washington Boulevard

The It Club (which was across the street from today’s Nate Holden Performing Arts Center) was owned by John T. McClain, a man who would go on to become an executive and huge force in the L.A. as one of the most powerful figures in the world of Black music. McClain’s father rubbed shoulders with ganger “Bugsy” Siegel and his mother, an accomplished pianist, appeared with Lena Horne in Hollywood during the ‘40s.

During the 1950s and ‘60s, it was common to see huge jazz stars play the It Club. Miles Davis and John Coltrane were returning guests, and jazz legend Thelonious Monk recorded here in 1964, resulting in the album “Live at the It Club.”  

The Parker Room and Billy Berg’s

1358 Vine Street, Hollywood

The Parker Room, which recently closed, opened in 2017 to pay homage to its famous history. During its heyday in the 1940s, Billy Berg’s was one of the hottest jazz joints in L.A. and the country. Its claim to fame was being the site of Charlie Parker’s first West Coast engagement. (Hence the name “The Parker Room.”) In 1949, Billie Holiday threw an extravagant New Year's Party in the club.

But Billy Berg’s is also emblematic of a change in the L.A. jazz scene. In postwar L.A., Black musicians were making inroads at previously all-white clubs and theaters in places like Hollywood and downtown L.A. Jewish impresario Billy Berg became a prominent player in running integrated jazz joints. As KCET reports, in “less than twenty-five years, Berg came to own at least six different clubs in the Los Angeles area: Trouville, The Swing Club, Waldorf's Cellar, Club Capri, The 5-4 Ballroom and the most famous, Billy Berg's.”

Integrated Hollywood clubs also signaled a change in the tide. The scene on Central Avenue began to fade as white audiences no longer needed to head south to Central Avenue. Likewise, the desegregation of some jazz clubs in L.A. opened up more opportunities for Black musicians outside of Central Avenue.

Nat “King” Cole Residence

423 S. Muirfield Road, Hancock Park

Nat “King” Cole was among the many jazz musicians who “jumped ship” in L.A. while on tour, choosing the city as home. Despite being one of the most successful and popular entertainers of the 20th century, Cole and his family still faced racism. Discriminatory housing covenants enforced by homeowners’ associations across L.A. made his celebrity status irrelevant. In 1948, when Cole and his family purchased this $85,000 property, they were the first Black family to move into exclusively white Hancock Park.

The Cole’s were met with an affidavit by an angry group of white homeowners claiming that 50-year-old covenants restricted homeownership to non-Caucasians. After they refused to move, an ambitious plan to oust them was launched, including threats to his family and their real estate agent. But the law was against the homeowners’ association: that very year, the Supreme Court Decision of Shelley v. Kraemer had deemed restrictive covenants unconstitutional.

The Cole family would continue to endure intimidating acts of overt racism from the neighborhood over the years, but they loved their home and weathered the storms. Cole would live here until his untimely passing in 1965 and in 2003, Hancock Park —an HPOZ—dedicated the post office at 265 South Western Avenue in his honor.

Capitol Records

1750 Vine Street, Hollywood

And any tour of L.A. jazz history wouldn’t be complete without a stop at the iconic Capitol Records building in Hollywood. The Capitol Records label was home to such legends like Frank Sinatra and Nat King Cole, which is why the label's headquarters in Hollywood—a cherished Historic-Cultural Monument—proudly celebrates its connections to jazz history with its gorgeous mural “Hollywood Jazz — 1945-1972" on the south wall of the tower.

Created by legendary L.A.-based muralist Richard Wyatt, Jr. in 1990, the mural was commissioned at the request of the Los Angeles Jazz Society, and in 2013, it received a loving restoration from Capitol Records. An ode to titans of jazz music, the mural is also as beautiful as it is personal. “Nat King Cole’s widow [Maria] asked me if I would show him wearing his favorite tie,” Wyatt recalled in 2013.

** BONUS **

The Lighthouse Café 

30 Pier Avenue, Hermosa Beach

Because we probably wouldn’t hear the end of it otherwise ...

The last stop on our trek through Jazz Land is Hermosa Beach’s Lighthouse Cafe which figures prominently in Damien Chazelle’s La La Land (2016). Like it or loathe it, the film La La Land certainly did much to trigger interest not simply in L.A. locations, but the L.A. jazz scene. To its credit, the jazz club at the center of the film is an actual historic jazz club. The Lighthouse Café in Hermosa Beach has been in business since 1949, when an experimental Sunday jam session turned into a success. Over the decades, it welcomed greats like Miles Davis and Dizzy Gillespie, but dozens of West Coast jazz artists from Art Pepper to the Jazz Crusaders recorded here.

Thanks to the popularity of the film La La Land, The Light House Café remains a popular destination and is one of a handful of historic, legacy businesses still operating in L.A. that serve up jazz. Others include the Catalina Club, the Baked Potato, Herb Alpert’s Vibrato, and LACMA’s popular Friday night jazz series.