#this is why we use screen protectors folks!

[matrixbearer2024]

Ahhhh I hope you take in smutt requests cause I got an idea 🙏

Vox eating out the reader while they are sitting on his face <3 but suddenly his screen cracks

Smutt turned funny or smth hihi

Also would be very fun if reader was afab but like with gn pronouns

Glass Breaks

Vox x gn!afab!Reader

NSFW WARNING HERE! MINORS DNI!

A/N: I've seen some posts going around talking about Vox and an S/O that had some... mishaps- during a face sitting session and I am LIVING for it. Granted I wrote this really late so I don't know if it'll be any good or if Vox is a little OOC but I hope you enjoy it anon!

Vox had a pretty rough day.

Dealing with his company, reporters, the other Vees-

He wanted nothing more than to just collapse in your arms and forget the day's stresses.

Instead, he came back to an extremely sexy surprise.

He'd taken his coat off, hanging it by the door as he strolled in and looked for you.

The dead silence was quite rare when it came to you.

Hell, he expected you to just be waiting by the door with your arms outstretched for a hug as always.

But the second he'd opened the bedroom door, Vox quickly wished he'd done so sooner.

You were laying on his bed in some lingerie, a sheer robe leaving nothing to the imagination.

Not that he was at all complaining!

Vox couldn't tear his eyes away the second he stepped in.

You knew he was entranced, the tech overlord often was when you gave him surprises.

Wholesome ones or not.

It also went without saying that you loved tempting him.

So definitely his libido shot through the roof when you teased him further, making a "come hither" motion that had your beloved's screen overheating.

Va Va VOOM BABY-

The fans in his head quickly kicked on to high gear as a blush quickly settled on his face.

Despite that, an eager smile wormed onto his face as he made his way over to you.

Not willing to let just anyone stroll in however, accident or not, Vox of course locked the door.

"Tough day~?"

"If I get to come home to this? Makes it all worth it."

You cooed as your neck was peppered with gentle kisses and nips.

It wasn't rare for Vox to be this soft with you in bed, but you garnered it was probably because he was tired.

Oftentimes if he needed to release stress he'd just fuck you silly into the mattress no matter what you were wearing.

You were kind of expecting the same today really, hearing his ranting over the phone just a few hours prior-

Even so, this wasn't too far fetched of a scenario either.

On the other hand, if he was tired?

He would just service you until you were sated.

Then you both could have a passionate round two in the morning.

You exchanged gentle kisses with Vox while he did away with your clothes.

His claws carefully grazing your skin as he groped so he wouldn't hurt you.

A shiver ran up your spine as one of his claws rubbed against your slit.

Your panties even gained a damp spot from all his ministrations.

Vox only chuckled at the revelation, pulling away from the kiss to gaze at your flustered expression.

He loved making a mess of you, it was extremely fun and exhilarating knowing that only he could do this to you and nobody else.

Leaning over to whisper in your ear, his claws gently caressed your sides.

"I wanna try something, follow my lead?"

"Of course."

And that's how you found yourself in this current situation.

Sitting on your boyfriend's screen while he voraciously ate you out.

Vox honestly couldn't even get enough of your moans.

You cried his name out so much he wouldn't dare forget it now.

His hands held down your hips while his tongue worked wonders.

He was just totally drowning in you when you sat on his face.

Why didn't he think of doing this before?

Usually he'd be above you if he was giving oral but honestly this works too.

Of course- there was a really good reason why you shouldn't be sitting on his face.

Which was further proven when you heard a small cracking sound before losing yourself in the throes of passion.

Both of you froze in shock from the sound before you slowly got off Vox and your suspicions had been proven right.

His poor screen had a crack running along the edge where you were leaning most of your weight.

Your beloved only raised a hand to feel his screen to confirm what he'd been guessing before groaning in frustration.

Vox just promptly wrapped himself up in a blanket cocoon annoyed and embarrassed.

So much for that, not to mention the mood was gone.

You couldn't help but giggle at just how random it all was.

Oh well, it just wasn't meant to be.

That didn't help Vox's grumpiness at all.

"It's not funny doll."

He tiredly muttered, you didn't think he'd be so defeated by such a small thing.

Then again, maybe it wasn't exactly a small thing for him.

You shifted closer to your TV lover and lightly tugged at the blankets until he looked at you.

His eyebrows were pressed together in what you could only describe as annoyance.

Though it quickly dissipated when you started just lightly leaving kisses all over his screen.

Being mindful of the cracks that you inadvertently caused of course.

"Wh- Wait- (Y/N) what are you- mmPHF-"

You quickly shut him up with another sweet kiss, pulling away to gently stroke the side of his head.

"It's okay hun, really. We tried, and well- now we know why you're not supposed to sit on a flatscreen TV-"

Vox half-heartedly groaned at your attempt at hilarity, flipping you both over and tickling you in retribution for such a poorly landed joke.

Your joyful laugher was more than enough to sweep away his annoyance and irritation at his hardware durability failing.

Afterwards, he held you close for cuddles until the next morning where he'd inevitably have to go and get his screen repaired.

Though that was trouble for tomorrow's him to deal with.

Bonus:

Valentino wasn't the only one who noticed the condition of his colleagues' glass screen during a meeting.

Well it's not as bad as it could possibly be, but a cracked screen was a cracked screen.

"Geez, what happened to you? Did you get into a fight with the missus yesterday?"

"Uh... something like that."

[aggravatetheaxe]

FINDERS KEEPERS - Chapter 5: Roads

Murderer. Monster. Serial killer. Abuser. Freak. These are words you would be well within your rights to use when describing Bo Sinclair. But when a trip to dispose of a body doesn’t end up quite as planned and a nameless waif enters the picture, he might have to add one more label to the list: protector. How long can Bo justify the presence of a child who so critically throws off the tenuous balance of life in Ambrose? How long can he stand it?

CW for this chapter: canon typical darkness re: the wax sculptures, allusions to child abuse or neglect, allusions to child kidnapping, the r-slur used in a flashback by Trudy Sinclair, upsetting descriptions of relationships with their mother

This title is SAFE FOR WORK.

Taglist: @blackrose8425, @shirtlessfelix, @popsnapopera, @slasherblog, @toastysalt, @sweetbird-sinclair, @imbleedin-out, @pharmacykeys, @venusanatomica, @katerinabythesea95

Soundtrack: Roads, Ambience

Words: 2,992

Chapter 1

Chapter 4

Masterlist

***

Bo woke to someone jostling his elbow, a light but annoyingly insistent touch that had him grouchy before he even opened his eyes.

Shit. Fell asleep again.

He groaned, shifting the warm weight on his chest and waving a dismissive hand. "Vincent"—he didn't know how he knew it was Vince, but he knew—"leamme alone, I'm nappin'."

Vincent was persistent, though, grunting and nudging Bo's elbow hard enough that he swayed in the recliner. A streak of rage coursed up Bo's spine, and he opened his eyes to glare at his twin.

"Wh— Can I fuckin' help you? If you don't getcha hands off me..."

Vincent ignored his threats, pointing at the child in his lap. Bo's voice seemed to have woken her up; she was rubbing her eye with one little hand, Sprite can clutched in the other.

Bo glanced at her, then returned to glaring into his own perfectly placid, wax face. "What?"

"Shut up," Vincent signed sharply. "What do you mean 'what?' You said you would bring her to the police."

"Hey, watch ya mouth. You don't tell me ta shut up; you shut up."

But still, the artist persisted: "I don't need to tell you why keeping her around is a bad idea. I don't need to tell you why keeping her around is a bad idea. Bo—"

"I get it, Vin!" Again, Bo glanced at Bird before standing. Her eyes were glued to Vincent, watching his hands intently but not with the glint of curiosity. "Keep it down, will ya? She don't know sign and your flailin's scarin' her."

Vincent vented his frustration with a groan and turned away from the two momentarily, but he wasn't two steps into the kitchen before turning back to continue his lecture. "So what happened with the police? If you don't take her, I will."

Like hell you will. Bo might have mustered a cruel laugh if he wasn't so tired. Vincent avoided the outside world at all costs. He could hardly imagine him climbing into his little yellow tow truck and puttering up to Hammond PD.

He must have rolled his eyes or smirked or something, because Vincent snapped, "It's not funny, Bo."

Vin was so much like Momma sometimes.

Bo clenched his jaw until his teeth hurt, then released the tension. "Look, Lester said he'd ask around, see if he could find 'er folks. I figure if we c'n settle this without the cops, all the better—she don't like 'em and I don't wanna run the risk of 'em findin' us. It should be our last resort, right? So I brought 'er back." When Vincent responded only with a weary stare, he added, "Won't be more'n a week. We can keep a baby fed for a few days."

After a few moments, Vincent walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge. Bo took it as acquiescence, allowing his body to relax. He couldn't help but notice that when he relaxed, Bird did, too.

He sunk back into the recliner again, staring into the dead screen of the TV and listening to Vincent move around the kitchen. Bird didn't move an inch, resting her head on his shoulder. Eventually, Vincent emerged to shove a plate with a sandwich into Bo's hand. Bo's mind wandered as he disassembled it and fed Bird the bologna—his head was filled mainly with questions. Everything about her was such an enigma.

Vincent sat in the armchair next to them, hesitating before taking off his mask to eat. The girl watched him sidelong, only shifting a little uncomfortably at the sight of his profound disfigurement. Either way, Bo knew Vincent wouldn't care. At thirty-five years of age, the artist had grown used to making people uncomfortable.

They ate in silence, the three of them. Jonesy jingled through the back door and sat, sighing, at Vincent's feet. Bird's discomfort eased.

Vincent didn't clear his plate. He rarely did, a fact that had personally wounded Momma at every mealtime. Chewing hurt his face, and often, the medication he took made him nauseous. He and Bo had never talked about it, really, but there were some things they just knew about one another.

Bo always cleared his plate.

Vincent tossed Jonesy his crust, then, for the first time the entire meal, looked over. "Do we have any clues as to who her parents are yet?" he signed.

"Some drunk—see 'er face? Someone from this parish, I hope, 'less she walked a helluva long way. Guess that's possible." Bo considered her. "An' there's this thing she—"

"Pchhewww," Bird exhaled.

"Yeah. That."

Vincent, too, considered her. He put on his mask. "Anything else?"

"Uhh ... naw. No one in Edward knew 'er or who she might belong to."

Vincent said nothing—didn't even look at her. He only stared at Bo. That fucking stare again. Bo clenched his grip on the arm of his chair. How could a guy wearing an unreadable expression at all times be so ... judgmental?

"She's leavin', Vin. As soon as possible." Bo had to believe he sounded convincing. "Lester'll figure it out."

***

It was Vincent's idea to go look at the new wax figures. Bo knew it had to be done—he had to approve the spot Vince had chosen for them—but he was wary. After all, there was a reason he didn't want Bird up and runnin' around the town. There was a chance she might see something that scared her.

Wait, he thought at once, why did he care?

Well, she could tell someone. She could ruin somethin'. The thought of her breaking one of the sculptures opened a pit in his stomach.

—BEAUREGARD Sinclair you goddamn RETARD, what did you DO—

She couldn't go around breaking things, ruining Momma's happy little town. She really couldn't. Momma did not like it when things weren't kept nice. She'd always said that, You just can never keep things nice, Bo.

He opted to keep her in his arms, on his hip, and instructed her sternly, "Don't touch nothin'. It's all fragile."

Vincent led the way to the chapel. Interesting choice. A biker and two tatted up chicks in a church? Bo wasn't one hundred percent on board yet, but he wanted to see where Vin was going with this.

As they ascended the stoop and entered the double doors, he watched Bird for her reaction. There was none. She looked at the church the same way she looked at any other building, equal parts wariness and passive interest.

What kind of people were her momma and daddy?

Vincent stalked silently to the front of the church and pointed to his newest creations. The man and two women were sitting expectantly and attentively in the choir pews, all gussied up in old fashioned blue robes. The kind of robes the choir in this kind of town should have, with a big white cross on each of their chests.

Bo studied them as he approached, not looking down at Momma. Not yet. He almost felt he had to save up the anticipation, let it build. Business first. "Huh. Where'd ya get the robes?"

"Made them. Remember the old choir?"

"Chyeah. How could I forget Mrs. Laeddis squawkin' every Sunday mornin'?" From the shadow he could see of Vincent's left eye, he knew his twin was smiling. "I mean, it's a choir, girl, not a competition. For th' love a' Chri— Well, you know."

"What do you think?" Vincent asked.

"Hm ... they ain't exactly the churchgoin' type. I expected you ta put 'em ... I dunno, near the gun shop or somethin'?" When Vincent said nothing, Bo looked the sculptures up and down again. "But, ah ... we did need a choir. Liturgical choir. Like a proper Catholic church."

Then, an idea occurred to him, and he laughed.

"I guess this is our way of savin' their souls, huh, Vin? Eternity stuck in a chapel. Sheep c'n always come back to the flock."

Vincent straightened a bit, nodding decisively. He liked it when Bo understood what he was going for with his art.

He'd never said that, but Bo just ... knew.

***

Watching Bo with the child was a surreal experience. As they chatted back and forth about the town's newest additions, it was as though the handsome twin forgot he was holding her altogether. He was focused on the choir, only the choir, mulling over their placement and styling. He hadn't even looked at Momma.

"When I die," Momma had said—years and years ago, before she had even known she was dying—"I want people to mourn. None a' this celebration of her life crap. I want y'all to wail in the streets 'n' tear at your clothes!" She'd give one of those white smiles, crinkle her nose, make her crystal blue eyes sparkle. Momma's face was beautiful. "Hire mourners if ya have to!"

And then they'd all laugh, although Vincent had never found it funny. Talking about Momma dying wasn't funny. It was terrifying. She'd told that joke well into their adulthood. Each time, he would glance at Bo and see worry nested deep in his laughing eyes.

Terrifying.

Maybe, on some level, she'd known that, because she talked about it an awful lot, especially while angry: "I won't be dead five minutes before you ungrateful little shits forget all about me! Throw all my belongings away and forget all about me!"

As though she was Jesus Christ about to die on the cross.

And from that had come the idea of the choir. More mourners. He thought that'd make Bo happy. Sure enough, here Bo was, warming up to the idea.

As his twin got a closer look at the sculptures, Vincent watched the child. Bo had lowered her from his arms, but he still kept a tight grip on one of her hands, and she kept a tight grip on her empty Sprite. Despite a very obvious interest in the wax figures, she stood still, quiet, looking around with her big eyes. Drinking it all in.

She was unobtrusive in this way.

This way and this way only.

To Vincent, she was like ... a wild animal, almost. Unpredictable and strange. But even that wasn't an appropriate comparison. After all, when Lester had brought home Jonesy, Vincent had warmed up to her almost immediately.

A child wasn't a pet. A child was a human. A human knew to fear and abandon this place. A human told everyone the grisly truth. He didn't trust humans, so he didn't trust this child.

At length, Bo seemed satisfied with the quality of the work on the bikers. He looked down at the girl, hoisted her into his arms again, and finally, finally, turned to the casket.

"This is my Momma. Ain't she beautiful?"

Vincent's gaze slid to the wax-encased body cradled within the coffin. Momma wasn't beautiful. Not anymore. She was ugly, like him.

Every time he saw her, there was this voice in the back of his head saying, She would want you to make her a prettier face. She'd tell him jokingly to "tart her up." She'd be furious if he refused. She'd accuse him and ask, "What did I do to make you hate me so much?"

Guilt sunk venomous claws into his chest.

"One a' these days," Bo said at length, quietly, to the girl, "this whole town'll be filled, streets 'n' everything. We'll figure out some way ta keep the wax from meltin' in the sun, and the smell—" A heavy pause. "Trudy's Town of Wax ... that's what she wanted ta call it. She never could finish it."

Bo separated himself from the child, then, the hallmarks of an oncoming meltdown written in his features and movements. She looked up at him from where she stood, watching. Watching so closely. She was trying to learn, but she didn't know yet when to leave Bo alone—what to look out for.

Vincent knew. He snapped to get her attention and motioned her over to him. She came and slid her hand into his and, awkwardly, he let her. They left together.

He wasn't entirely certain what Bo would do in there. Scream, sob, hurt himself, break something? Sometimes he wondered if Bo knew what he did half the time, when he got like this. As a child, his eyes had glazed over, and you could tell—just tell—that little Bo Sinclair wasn't there anymore. Like a fugue. Momma had referred to that side of her handsome boy as a demon often, with varying degrees of seriousness.

As they'd gotten older, the fury had become far more pointed, focused, calculating. Except when it came to Momma. Then, he was a child again.

Acting like everything was fine when it was not came very naturally to Vincent. While the little girl glanced over her shoulder at the chapel, wincing at the sounds coming from it, he walked them calmly to the gritty concrete road. He reached into his apron pocket, produced a piece of chalk, and handed it to her.

Despite it now being dusk, she crouched and set to work, drawing what amounted to nonsensical scribbles. An abstract artist, then, he quipped to himself.

He wasn't sure how long he watched her draw. She completed what he thought must be a house, and maybe a car, and maybe some people? But it soon devolved into whatever uneven shapes struck her fancy.

Eventually, the chapel doors opened and slammed.

Vincent gave Bo a once-over as he approached them. His face was still a little pink. His wrists. His knuckles. The knees of his jeans were scuffed up. Nothing too bad. Nothing bleeding. Vincent averted his eyes.

The girl dropped her chalk and studied Bo, glancing at his twin before deciding it was safe. She walked into Bo's arms, and he yielded to her, though he didn't seem particularly enthusiastic.

Vincent swallowed. He wished he'd just stop picking her up at all. He wished she was scared of Bo like everyone else. Maybe he should have left her in the church, let her witness the real Bo. The "demon."

"You draw that?" Bo asked gruffly, squinting at the chalk scribbles.

"Mmmm. Agh."

"Hmph. Ya gonna give Vince a run for his money."

With that, he passed Vincent, trudging up the winding road toward the house of wax and their home. The masked twin bent, picked up the chalk, and put it back in his apron.

"Hey, Vin."

He straightened, turning expectantly.

Bo pointed with his chin. "The choir. Make the robes black."

***

"I'm sorry, sir, but are ya absolutely sure?"

"One hundred percent, miss. We haven't seen anybody by that description come in, with or without a li'l girl."

Olympia clutched the phone receiver tighter. Suddenly, the stale air of her mother's trailer seemed a lot staler in her lungs. A big, slimy rock had been dropped into her stomach. She suppressed a gag and swallowed.

"Are you sure?"

"Miss, I don't mean to be rude, but you're tyin' up the line. Now, if there's something you wanna report, you can come down to the station anytime an' we can—"

"No, thank you. Sorry for wastin' your time."

Ca-chunk.

"Olympia!" Ma crowed from her bedroom. "Don't slam the damn phone down like that! It was your grandmother's!"

"Yes, ma'am," Olympia called back, happy that she couldn't quite hear what her mother mumbled afterwards. "I'm goin' out for a walk. I'll be back in half an hour."

"Go to Walmart and get some milk!"

She pulled on a hoodie and headed out the screen door without responding. Once she was a safe distance away and had a few gulps of good, fresh air in her, she murmured, "Fuck Walmart." God forbid she do something as simple as take a walk, have some time to herself. Naw, better do a chore at the same time.

Still, there was no excuse. She wished Walmart closed earlier than it did.

Olympia walked along the stretch of road, as close to the darkening swamp as she dared get. She gazed into the dusky gloom, like the answer to her troubles might appear before her.

He'd said he was going to take her to the cops. He'd said. He'd lied. She'd known he was lying.

I mean, it had all been so weird. The girl's shaven head, the bandages, the vintage clothes, her quietness compared to the man's too-friendly chatter. Something had been wrong, so wrong.

Was that poor little girl going through hell now, all because Olympia had been too weak to stop him?

But then, why had he brought her in in the first place? If a creep found some kid wandering around, surely he wouldn't want anyone to know. Surely he wouldn't want anyone to see them together.

Maybe he'd taken her to another police department? But that seemed so unlikely. Hammond was the closest, and it was a twenty minute drive from Edward. Maybe, by some miraculous turn of events, he had run into her parents?

Maybe...

But there was this sinking feeling in her stomach. Dreadful, gnawing. She didn't know why or how, but she just knew that wasn't the case. That man had taken that little girl, and Olympia was the only one who knew it.

She stopped at the edge of the swamp, trying in vain to see clearly through the darkness. Where did he live? Where had he taken her? Was it somewhere out there? How far?

The police wouldn't do anything; she knew that. There was nothing they could do, she'd been told, because no one had reported a missing child. But I'm reporting a missing child, she'd thought in the moment. She shoulda said it.

No parents. No police. She felt like a thread tethered her to that girl. Her only lifeline, her only hope.

If Olympia did nothing, she'd never sleep right again.

She had to find her.

***

Chapter 6

Masterlist

Tip Jar

[iateyourburrito]

Okay friends folks and fiends.

Can we just for a second, TALK ABOUT WHY THERE ARE SO MANY VERSIONS OF PRINCE OF PERSIA: THE FORGOTTEN SANDS

There is the Xbox 360 version (the 1st one I played)

Pretty standard stuff, good graphics, interesting storyline, obnoxious puzzles and enemies.

This one runs the same as the PS3 and PC versions

PSP (haven't played this one)

What.... What the fuck. WHO IS THAT BOSS??? WHY IS THE PRINCE IN SAND DUNES IS THIS A DIFFERENT STORYLINE OR SOMETHING??? WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON???

Not going to mention the graphics because it's a PSP for christsakes.

WII (Haven't played this one either)

I have so many issues with this, namely

WHY DOES HE LOOK LIKE THAT

Okay let's break it down here.

This is WII This is 360/PS3/PC

TJIS IS NOT THE SAME GUY!!!!

Okay Okay anyways, back on track, WHY IS THE WII VERSION FIGHTING A DUDE. YOU ONLY FIGHT DUDES AT THE BEGINNING OF THE GAME IN THE 360 VERSION AND THAT'S PRE-SANDIFICATION. WHY IS HE THERE.. WHAT COULD HE POSSIBLY WANT.

UGH

DS Version

Now let me tell you, when I say this threw me for a loop, IT THREW ME FOR A FUCKING LOOP.

Thus us actual fucking gameplay. That fairy chick? THAT'S RAZIA. SHE IS YOUR SWORD NOW. SHE IS NOT DJINN AS FAR AS I'M AWARE???

Also, another thing,

[SPOILER WARNING, PLEASE TURN BACK NOW IF YOU PLAN ON PLAYING THE DS VERSION AT ANY POINT IN THE FUTURE. GOD REST YOUR SOUL IF YOU DO]

APPARENTLY THE PRINCE IS NOW AMNESIATIC AND ALSO WAS FORCED TO PARTICIPATE IN A DARK RITUAL TO RELEASE THE SAND WARRIOR ARMY AND WHAT I THINK IS AHRIMAN???

Also the controls suck ASS but maybe I just need to get a new screen protector for my DSI that isn't scratched to shit....

This fucking story is insane. There's also apparently, according to Wikipedia, a BROWSER VERSION THAT TAKES AFTER THE OG POP GAME and A FUCKING MOBILE VERSION???? I'm going to die. This is too many games that are supposedly the same game.

[instantpainteryouth]

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You should be very familiar with this, as tempered glass screen protectors are one of the market’s most common screen protectors. Since it’s popular, it’s also one of the better choices.

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This is the matte version of the glass screen protector. It still has excellent scratch resistance. However, the surface has a “frosted look” to it

Hydrogel Glass Screen Protector:

These glass screen protectors are made of delicate TPU materials, allowing them to be flexible more durable. The coolest thing about these Hydrogel mobile screen protectors is they don’t leave bubbles or fingerprints on your screen and safeguard your smartphone from scratches as much as possible.

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This antibacterial glass screen protector is made from high-quality raw materials and is certified by ISO, SGS, and UKAS. It is rare on the market but can be found in expensive phones.

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In summary, tempered glass is an essential accessory that protects your phone’s screen from scratches, cracks, and other types of damage.However, it’s essential to choose the right brand of tempered glass to ensure it provides the necessary protection, compatibility, and durability for your device

[youareinbarbados]

"How do I build Faith ?"

You call Bob the Builder, OBVIOUSLY. What a DUMB *and* STUPID question. He can build *ANYTHING*. Have you not seen the show ?

***

Ok, so that was a joke. But hear me out.

***

First off, we have to be very careful not to conflate "FAITH" with "HOPE".

The distinguishing element between the two is "Time". How ? "Hope" implies a temporal separation. It implies that the fulfillment IS COMING.

"FAITH", on the other hand, "knows" that it's ALREADY HERE. There is a breathtaking difference between the two that it would behoove one to appreciate. *Hope* has a bunch of implications, like "fear", "uncertainty", and even implies a *lack* of faith. Bringing your ideals to objectivity is built on certainty. It's the dynamo that powers the whole mechanism. So we don't want to *hope*. We want to *know*. Knowing powers *Faith*.

>*And Jesus said unto them, Because of your unbelief: for verily I say unto you, If ye have faith as a grain of mustard seed, ye shall say unto this mountain, Remove hence to yonder place; and it shall remove; and nothing shall be impossible unto you.* (Mathew 17:20) (KJV)

So now we got dat mustard-seed faith.💥💥 💯🔥🔥💯💯 It's good. But we want something a little more grounded. We want that sturdy faith that lets us sleep well at night. So we have to build it. Why ?

Because *Faith without works, is dead.*

So now we have to get on our #sigma #boss-babe #grindset and wake up at 3:58 in the morning and do squats before even brushing teeth, and eat shit for 10 years every day , no friends, no weekends while blasting stoic-youtube.

That was also a joke. No. We don't have to do that.

"Works" and "Acts" are synonymous. We build faith by doing what Neville tells us to do. "Live in the end." Act, FROM. How do we do that ? By doing what we'd do if our wish were objectified this second.

My first post here was riddled with a bunch of examples of questions one would ask to stay in their Fulfilled state. ANYTHING you do that implies fulfillment is a "work". ANYTH💦ING. *Wipes spit* sorry

Want $200,000 ? Google an interest yielding account until you're sure what bank you're going to use. Want a Tesla ? Find electric charging stations or a nice tarp to cover it for when it rains. Want a nice apartment ? Start picking posters. Faith is built by acts that imply possession. There's this idea that if you're down to your last dime, you need to spend it, to show how strong your faith is. NO. RELAX. OK. DONT DO THAT. Neville still had to serve in the military for a while even after his SATS put him back home in NYC. Be smart, folks.

Anything you do from premises of fulfilment is a *work*. The worst thing we do is we do what were called to do, but then sit there and wait for it. This Almost always fails because of the "Amazon effect." The second you click order, you're at your window WAITING for the DHL asshole. (Those ppl work hard..be nice. Tip well. I'm jk ok) You order an ipad ? Don't wait for it. Start looking for a nice case. A screen protector. An apple pencil, because you know you want to mess around doodling with PROCREATE™.

Like my first post, these acts feed faith INDIRECTLY. You don't have to affirm of your ACTING. Some people can affirm and be fine. Someone need movement. Do works that imply fulfillment. This will further vitalize your sense of knowing, passively.

The last thing you want to do is wait and think. These two are the twin-destroyers of Faith. Think and Do from. It's the little things that add up.

This is third rant this week, and I'm gonna take a break and drink some water that I didn't drink today. That's not good when you're 35+. Please Hydrate. 🌊

[txemrn]

For the simping softness prompt...

Sam & Brynn - " hey, everything's gonna be fine. stay where you are, i'm on my way. "

Hey, Nestle! Thank you so much for the request! I hope you enjoy this, and I hope you enjoy a fluffier Sam Dalton (for a change)! 🥰❤

***

Unveiled

Book: TNA

Warning: language; fluffy

A/N: Huge thank you to sweet @kat-tia801 for pre-reading this and helping me in my headspace with that darn moodboard! 🤣

***

Sipping hypnotically on her early morning espresso, a well-dressed Brynn stoically sits at the marble breakfast bar. Her normally careless, wavy almond tresses are neatly styled and pinned into a low, tasteful bun, exposing the pure white brilliance of her vintage Tiffany pearl earrings, courtesy of her future in-laws for accepting their son’s proposal to join the family. Her make-up is fixed modestly, her lips adorning her perfect shade of mauve, complimenting the ripples of blue and gray in her sparkling eyes. Her pressed midi eyelet dress is designed for women of status, easily paired with her nude, red-bottom heels.

And Brynn has never felt more uncomfortable.

Even though Sam asked for Brynn’s hand in marriage shortly after the new year, the couple agreed to announce their engagement intimately last month to their families. They knew the news would not come as a huge shock, but Sam had cautioned his young fiancée that wedding and party planning is a long-standing tradition amongst the Dalton family women, and it would begin the moment they knew a date had been set. Though she heard his warning, Brynn was not prepared for the onslaught of opinions, decisions being made without her approval, and more importantly, the disregard to her budget.

“Babe, we just spent $12,000. On a fucking cake--” nervously cried Brynn on Monday evening. Sam took the early morning off for wedding cake tasting, but left his bride-to-be with Vivian, his mother, and two of his cousins, Brigitte and Katarina, to talk design as he returned to the office

“Sweetie,” Sam kissed her gingerly, “don’t worry about the price.” He lovingly pressed his lips again to her mouth, this time embracing her comfortingly. “I got it--” Brynn forced a smile, nodding her head dutifully, but the price tag burdened her.

This is not me.

Today, Sam’s cousin Daphne, an apprentice for the designers at Alexander McQueen, has scheduled a fitting with a private collection from a recent trunk show of wedding dresses. Brynn already has her heart set on a dress she saw with Jenny and her mom back in Philly, but as to not rock the boat, Brynn agreed to look at dresses with the Daltons this morning.

A smooth, deep voice startles her from her thoughts as Sam wraps his arms around Brynn’s waist. “I almost didn’t recognize you.”

That makes two of us.

Brynn bats her eyelashes. “Do I look like a Dalton?”

“Even better,” he peppers her neck with kisses, “you look similar to the gorgeous woman that agreed to marry me.” A natural smile takes over Brynn as she spins around in her stool to face Sam. She delicately slides her hands around his neck, pulling him into a more intentional, hungrier kiss. Sam pulls away first, tracing the back of his fingers across her soft cheeks. “Ready for another day with the fam?”

“Ready or not,” Brynn sardonically chuckles.

Sam kisses the tip of her nose. “Now, aren’t you missing something?” Brynn furrows her eyebrows, giving Sam a curious look until he pulls his other hand into view. On his pinky finger resting on his first knuckle is the 2.4 carat Graff emerald-cut engagement ring he had given her. “Do I need to superglue this on or what?”

Brynn nervously giggles. “I’m sorry, babe, I just--”she titters, “--you know, I’m just not used to this--”

And the five-digit price tag…

Sam raises an eyebrow, offering his hand with his palm facing up. Brynn’s eyes meet his dreamy, chocolate gaze as her hand easily melts into his. With his eyes not leaving her stormy blues, he glides the diamond on her finger. The perfect fit. He kisses her knuckles before kissing her lips again.

“You better get going, babe.” Resting his hands on Brynn’s hips, Sam helps her off the high-top chair. “Hey,” he leans over, suckling briefly on the crook of her neck and shoulder before brushing his lips against the shell of her ear. “This is all about us. Just you and me.” He offers a crooked smile, squeezing tightly to her hand. “Remember to have fun.”

Brynn nods, her anxiety beginning to melt away.

That’s right. You and me.

“I love you, baby.”

“I love you, too, beautiful.”

***

Flipping through notecards for his marketing presentation for the Cromwell account, Sam shakes his watch down his arm. 9:52 AM. He smirks, knowing that Brynn, his mom, and cousins are well into their wedding dress appointment. He hasn’t heard from his fiancée since this morning, so he remains encouraged that no news is good news.

Sam hurries into the glass-enclosed boardroom, casually nodding to several familiar faces as he unbuttons his sport coat. As his meeting comes to order, his phone begins to ring in his pocket. He chuckles in embarrassment as everyone begins to whisper with the interruption. “My apologies, folks,” he charms with a smile. Looking at his phone, Brynn’s picture pops up, but he sends the call to voicemail. As he begins to send her a text message, she calls back immediately. He silences the chiming of his phone, staring at Brynn’s ID photo. “Uh--” his voice carries over the room as he decides whether or not to take the call.

Brynn has never been one to interrupt Sam at work. If she wants to be cute, she usually sends a message in his lunch or she emails him, ensuring not to interrupt his busy schedule. The fact that she was calling, even after her call being rejected concerns Sam. “Excuse me. I need to take this,” he informs his audience, “please go ahead and help yourself to some coffee.”

Sam exits to the hallway, answering the phone. “Hey, babe--”

“Hey.” Brynn’s voice is soft like a gentle breeze, settling into a stale silence.

“Brynn?” Sam’s voice has a hint of concern as he crosses an arm over his chest to cradle his elbow. “Are you okay, baby?”

“Yeah, I'm fine, I just--” her voice begins to crack, audibly swallowing sobs.

“Brynn baby,” Sam furrows his eyebrows, “What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine. I just really--” she sighs heavily, “just needed to hear your voice. I’m sorry. I-I didn’t mean to bother you--”

“You know full well that you are never a bother,” Sam hushes into a commanding whisper. “Is my mom being nice?”

“Oh God, yes. Everyone is lovely. It’s just--” Brynn stumbles into her own tears, crying over the phone as Sam patiently listens.

“It’s just what, baby--?”

“I can’t do this,” she abruptly answers. “I can’t keep pretending I’m something I’m not--”

“What do you mean--?”

“I have only tried on two dresses--couture dresses--Sam, that start at fifteen grand--” Sam purses his lips together, pinching the area between his eyes, listening to Brynn start to panic. “--and now I’m standing in a Sarah Burton gown rejected by Kate Middleton. Kate Middleton, Sam! And-and-and I’m wearing a diamond that costs more than my first car, and Sam, I just--I just--”

“Whoa, whoa, listen to me, baby,” Sam reassures her lovingly, “slow down. Breathe--just breathe. If you don’t want this, just say the word--”

“But your family--” Brynn tries to stifle her sobs, “God, I just--Sam, I can’t do this. I want you, and-and I love you. So fucking much,” she shakily exhales, “but this life? Are you sure? I mean--look at me--”

Sam lets out an exasperated exhale as Brynn continues to cry. He looks back into the glass conference room, seeing his presentation on the screen. He looks at his watch again before turning his attention back to the attendees to his meeting, already rolling their eyes in boredom.

Suddenly, a smile grows across his face. “Brynn baby?”

“Yeah,” she sniffles, “I’m here.’

“Where are you right now?”

“I’m hiding in the dressing room. I told the attendant I needed a minute.”

“Hey, everything’s gonna be fine. Stay where you are. I’m on my way--”

“But, Sam--”

“No ‘buts’, my beautiful bride,” he smiles cheekily, “I’ll be right there.”

***

Forty minutes later, Brynn changes back into her white, summery dress, slowly donning her heels. As she touches up her make-up for lunch with her future mother-in-law, she suddenly hears a man’s voice interrupt the hushed whispers of the Dalton women. Brynn carefully peaks out the lavish chenille curtain.

Sam.

Brynn quickly pulls open the changing room, a radiant smile illuminating her face. Sam jogs to her side, receiving her in his arms with a searing kiss. “I can’t believe you’re here--” Sam silences her, pressing his lips harder into hers, causing them both to giggle into breathless moans. Brynn opens her eyes and notices Sam has a garment bag in his hands. “What’s that?”

“Change into this.”

Brynn raises an eyebrow. “What? Why--?”

“It’s not new,” Sam informs, “but God,” he sighs, allowing a mischievous grin grow across his face. “--you look amazing in it.” Sam’s eyes lock onto Brynn’s, time and place fading around them. Brynn’s cheeks begin to flush, feeling the desire in his gaze. Sam cups Brynn’s cheek, licking his lip. “Go on,” he whispers, directing her to the dressing room and lightly spanking her on her ass, “we’ve got places to be.”

Brynn suspiciously steps backwards into the changing room, dragging her teeth across her bottom lip. She hangs up the garment bag, unzipping it hastily. Allowing the fabric to slink through her fingers, Brynn’s breath hitches, tears collecting in her eyes. Inside the protector is a short, solid black, one-shoulder dress, the same dress she wore on their official first date, the same dress she wore the night he proposed to her.

She pulls the curtain back open, causing Sam to whistle with his teeth, a golden gleam in his eyes. Giving his mother a kiss on the cheek, he steals Brynn from his family, escorting her to the car. Giving a nod to Carter, the car starts moving.

Brynn relaxes into Sam’s comforting arms. He begins to nuzzle his supple lips into her ear and neck. “Thank you, baby,” she moans. “I’m sorry for interrupting your meeting--”

“I’m not--” he growls as his lips descend to her exposed shoulder, nibbling on it.

“Sam--” Brynn gasps, leaning into the passionate smolder of his pout.

Suddenly, the car stops. Sam looks up at Brynn, offering his hand for hers. “Are you ready?”

Brynn giggles, scrunching up her nose. “I don’t even know where we are.”

Sam helps her out of the car. As she steps away from the car door to adjust her dress, she notices the grand cement gray building in front of her, adorned with large ornate columns and intricately chiseled statues. Stairs that lead to the front doors are busy with people coming and going.

Brynn furrows her eyebrows. Confused and wanting answers, she whirls around--only to find Sam on one knee. A curious smile grows across Brynn’s face as she self-consciously looks around at the crowd of people. “Sam, what are you doing?”

“You asked me earlier on the phone to look at you,” he smiles brightly as his eyes begin to glisten with tears. “I am.” He takes a big breath, gathering courage. “Brynn, I don’t care if we eat gold-infused cake with diamond encrusted icing or that fake shit from the can--” they both begin laughing, welcoming the comic relief as they wipe away their tears. Sam continues, “I don’t care whether you are wearing one of my ratty-old tees or an expensive couture dress--I don’t care,” he kisses her hand. “When I look at you, Brynn Noelle Schuyler, all I see… is that you’re the only one for me.” Brynn genuinely glows, streams of tears pouring down her cheeks as she subtly shakes her head in disbelief. “Marry me--”

“Sam,” she giggles, sniffing away her tears, “I don’t mean to ruin the moment, but haven’t you already asked me--?” Sam stands up, shaking his head. He takes Brynn’s face tenderly into his hands, drying her tears with his thumbs.

“Marry me,” he bites his lip, nervously sucking in air. “Right now.” Brynn’s eyes grow wide as she stares deeply into Sam’s gaze. She anxiously looks around her, her eyes darting to the people staring at them, to the car and then to the courthouse before them.

“Right now?”

“Right now,” Sam smiles, humored by the shocked look on his bride’s face.

Brynn looks down at her hand, staring at the radiant sparkle of her diamond. Chewing on her lip, she subtly nods her head before turning her attention back to her groom.

“Okay.”

***

@ao719 @charlotteg234 @chemist-ana @forallthatitsworth @jerzwriter @kat-tia801 @khoicesbyk @lovelyladyk88 @lucy-268@neotericthemis @nestledonthaveone @phoenixrising308 @sfb123 @shannonsaid @shewillreadyou @somersetmummy @thefrenchiemama

[chernobog13]

DAIMAJIN STRIKES AGAIN

Daimajin is about to mete out final punishment on the evil Lord Arazawa.

Lord Arazawa’s lifeless body sinks into the same boiling sulphur pit that he intended to throw his slave workers into.

Tsuru, Sugi and Daisaku are reunited with the men from their village who were abducted by Lord Arazawa’s samurai.

His mission accomplished, Daimajin prepares to depart.

And thus we come to the end of the Daimajin trilogy, just in time to celebrate its 55th anniversary (just like Ultra Q, Ultraman, Star Trek and the Slurpee).

This was the end of Daimajin’s cinematic adventures, which is a darn shame.  I’ve read several sources that state that Daimajin was originally conceived as an opponent for Gamera (whose adventures Daei Film had only recently begun producing), but it was decided to give him his own series as well.  I think a Gamera/Daimajin face-off would have been hugely entertaining, but what do I know?

Daimajin did battle Godzilla, sort of, in 1992′s Godzilla Color Special from Dark Horse Comics.  

Written (with an assist from Randy Stradley) and drawn by Arthur Adams (perhaps the greatest Godzilla artist ever!), the story involves The Big G battling an oni named Genkido-Jin, a protector deity for a small island off of Japan.  When Godzilla attacks the island, a man sacrifices his life in order for Genkido-Jin to come alive to battle Godzilla.  

The battle is one-sided at first, with Godzilla’s greater size and atomic breath making short work of the oni.  But Genkido-Jin keeps reforming, bigger each time, until he and Godzilla are almost equal as they battle away!

Since Dark Horse was only able to license the use of Godzilla from Toho and couldn't’ feature other cinematic kaiju with him in their comics, actually using Daimajin (especially since he is owned by a different company) was impossible. That is why Genkido-Jin is wearing samurai armor instead of keiko armor, and has a much more monstrous face.   However, this is a fantastic “what if--?” story.

Art Adams is at the height of his artistic powers with this one, folks.  And he also gives us the introduction of the Godzilla hunting/fighting team G-Force, a full year before Toho used the same name in the Heisei films.  The comic has been reprinted in a few different trade editions, and is well worth seeking out!

A 2010 television series, Daimajin Kanon, billed itself as a sequel of sorts to the film trilogy.  However, the Daimajin in this series is actually named Bujin, and has about as much in common with the original Daimajin as the Hanna-Barbera Godzilla has with the original 1954 Godzilla.

The television series was preceded by a manga series which, though it had differences with the television version, explained some of the concepts of the new Daimajin.  By itself the television show is an interesting and entertaining mash-up of yokai, kaiju, and Kamen Rider (!), and I hope to dedicate a post or three to it soon.  I will say this about it, though: it features perhaps the sexiest goldfish known to man!

Finally, Daimajin returned to the big screen this year in Takashi Miike’s The Great Yokai War: Guardians (which itself is a sequel to his  2005 film The Great Yokai War).

The film premiered in Japan earlier this month, and it closes out this year’s Fantasia Film Festival on Wednesday, Aug 25.  The official US premiere is Saturday, August 28, in New York City at the Japan Society.

I have no idea when - or if - the film is going to be shown near me here in the Los Angeles area.  Frankly, as the delta variant rages and hospitalizations are going up even among fully vaccinated people, I am not comfortable returning to movie theaters yet.  I am quite fine with waiting to watch this film at home when the opportunity arises.  

I certainly hope it’s as good as the 2005 film.  This and Shin Ultraman are the only two films coming out this year that I’ve really been excited about! 

[7soulstars]

hey there. I don't know if you are taking requests rn so if you don't just ignore this one. I was hoping if you could do various avengers x reader .. reader has the ability to manupilate emotions , she can take away emotional pain, negativity and sadness from anyone and replace them with relief, positivity and peace, by simply hugging the person! every avenger turns to her after a mission for cuddles and comfort, you can take it from there if you like! thank you💞

 Hey darling ! Thank you so much for requesting! I really really love this request it’s really so adorable oof- I made it into a fic and I hope you like it! Anyways, lets get straight into into it !!

Euphoria

Pairing: Avengers x Avenger! Reader

Warnings: Little like really little angst, Hydra, Overwhelming fluff, Half the Avengers act like literal babies around Y/N . I HAVE ALL THE AVENGERS SAFE AND ALIVE IN THIS AND AVENGER LOKI !! Ooc characters??

Summary: Sometimes even the empath needs empathy but she refuses to say it

............

Euphoria ; the experience of excitement and intense feelings of well-being and happiness.

A silent motion walks down the streets, a silent motion called The Empathic Soul that was involved with them, The Avengers. While the rest protected, she distracted, like a guardian of the common folk who had never seen her. They wouldn’t know, but they praised, thanked and loved. Every time there was pain, there was war, there was casualties, she was there and they just knew it. They looked around but couldn’t guess. The sudden wave of calmness replacing their sorrow and panic distracting their attention from her, their silent protector.

That was what the world had named Y/N, The Empathic Soul as she watched the title flash on the TV screen at Stark towers as she sat beside Vision who was failing to crochet no matter how hard he tried. Y/N wouldn’t consider herself a hero, she didn’t fight bad guys although she was very capable of doing that, she didn’t go and almost get herself killed for the sake of getting rid of ‘pests’.

But she was an Avenger ? Yes. She was, but she didn’t consider herself a hero. 

She was behind the scenes, away from common eyes just there to clean up the mess and to take the worry of the mess out of everyone’s head. The Avengers had a polarising reputation. Although it got better after they won against Thanos there were still those who disliked them. But there was not a single civilian who would speak out the title of the Empathic Soul in despise. Y/N would like to keep it that way she had told Fury. She didn’t really have the best life growing up, the strain had given her the powers and she wouldn’t dare use it for anything other than the good of the people. She knew protecting someone came with a cost. Her powers can be used for things unimaginable, wrong things and that’s why she needed to stay anonymous.

Though not all praises about Y/N may be true, one thing was for sure. She was a gem, one of the most selfless person anyone had ever met. With or without knowing about her powers. She couldn’t stand seeing someone sad and that is what made her the sole person every single Avenger was ready to get along with each other for.

Y/N had been a part of the team for 3 years now and she had made all the trauma dissipate and had even managed to make the most unapproachable team mmates open up. She had made sure Stark Towers was always warm and fuzzy no matter how cold the world seemed.

The meanest of all things Y/N has done is manipulate the emotions of people like Zemo to make them confess and feel the pain of the people they caused pain to reflect and repent whenever Agent Everett called her in for.

The robotic voice of Vision snapped her out of her zone as she looked at him as he pointed at the elevator. As Y/N turned to look she felt an overwhelming level of tension.

Oh. It’s one of those days.....

The door opened to a familiar multitude of spandex and metal clad people filling into the living room all making an aggressive beeline at the empathic. 

“I CALL DIBS ON Y/N !”,yelled some simultaneously as they glared at each other and argued. Some went straight to the bar pouring themselves a drink and another very specific non alcoholic one along with it. Some stood frozen, colour drained off their face, to be more specific, Wanda,Peter,Bucky and Bruce. Peter walking straight into Y/N’s arms as she held them open as soon as she saw them. Wanda and Bruce following as Vision looms and floats behind them.

“That bad huh ?”, Y/N asked as she tried managing to drag the four towards the couch and plopped down with them. Bruce parted away from her and Wanda followed suit a pleasant smile slapping onto their face.

“18 casualties ”, she heard the blonde star spangled man as he wrapped an arm around her waist moving to hug her by the side as Natasha’s arms wraps around Y/N neck from behind the couch, her head plopped on top of Y/N’s for a few before she whispered a thank you and left to go find Bruce. “And 5 completely decapitated buildings you always forget the buildings Steve ! Now move I need a hug from our gal !”, Sam complained as he agressively made motions for Steve to move away from Y/N as he nearly tackles her. “Careful Sammy, it seems like Peter’s fallen asleep”, the empath notifies as she carefully rests the Spiderboy’s head on the couch from herself as Tony lays a blanket on his body. 

“Kid was really hard on himself today, he froze mid battle and was thrown right onto a car, the injury was not that bad but it sure was something. He kept asking if he could call you the whole way back”, Tony said as Y/N stroked Peter’s hair as she got up. “Made you a drink as I poured myself one”, he said offering the glass to her which she took and set back down on the table and then proceeded to take Tony’s glass away from him before he could even sip on it. “This is your third glass and I can sense your annoyance, come here ”, Y/N scolded him as he opened his arms for a hug. “My suit broke down halfway through the fight”,complained Tony into Y/N’s hug as she patted his back, concentrating on pushing the positivity strain in the man.

“I need to be back at the sanctum.... Y/N ?”, came a voice making Tony groan why is it that every time I hug her that you need a hug? The sanctum can wait ! Isn’t Wong there?” “Tony...”, warned Y/N earning a eyeroll from the billionare as he made her promise him hugs later as he sauntered away. Y/N let out a soft laugh before taking Stephens hands into hers and a gentle smile . Stephen placed his hand on her cheek as a smile plastered on his face. “You should have come with us......they-......I and the rest of them needed you.....”,he mumbled making sure no one heard. “I’m sorry, I would have joined but I had to get some Hydra agents to spill some secrets.....”,she reasoned. “If I did not have to return I would have loved to talk to you more about how I feel.....although you will feel it before me and-” “I come visit tomorrow”, she stated simply earning a sigh of relief from the other as he stepped into the portal still hesitating to leave your hand.

There were three left Y/N knew. And she knew where they would be. She walked down the hall that leads up to all their rooms, a door opened and before she could react she was lifted into a bone crushing hug who’s only culprit could be the golden retriever god. “Thor! I was looking for you! How are you feeling!” “Pretty usual Lady Y/N ! I suppose you are visiting my brother ! I couldn’t join today’s mission, I was visiting Asgard ! Anyways I shall let you be !”, and with that he went back into his room. He wanted stay but he knew so needed her more than him he decided he could bother her later.

“They were children ! Can Midgardians stoop this low, they were experimenting on children !”, Y/N could hear as she got closer to the door at the end of the corridor. She opened the door slowly and softly, right after knocking it once.

She saw a flash of black and and overwhelming sense of anger and sorrow before she was tackled by two bodies that made sure her head didn’t hit the floor.

“Hey calm down wow what the hell Loki? Buck? What went THAT wrong?” , Y/N asked the two who had gotten quite close to each other with help of her involvement throughout the years. They realized their similarity and now shared quite of lot of things with each other that they could never tell others. Well, other than Y/N. Y/N slowly replaced their emotions as they let out an appreciative grunt. Before sitting back up. “The people taken hostage by Hydra were children. They were beaten badly, hell some were flinching even when we tried getting them out. I may have done some questionable things in my life but I would never think of doing anything to children. This why this planet needs to be ruled !”,spat Loki in frustration as Y/N rubbed his back soothingly. They were silent for a while before Bucky spoke up. “Those kids were being trained, like Nat. Easier to manipulate, easier to make into soldiers like me.” Y/N sighed, her face dropping as she tried not to hiss in pain. “You saved them though right ? I will probably be called to rehabilitate them. I promise I’ll make them feel better”, she tried to assure them. “ It is not about that darling, I just wonder how many children might be there in Midgard that are being forced into things like this out of their will.” 

Y/N never said anything after that but what happened was bothering her and was clear as water. But every time they would try asking her she would quickly change their mood to a Euphoric state and distract them. It felt as if matters were getting worst and Y/N looked sicker and sicker. The team had no choice but to ask Fury.

“ I suppose she has not informed you about her mutation.”

“ What about it ?”

“Well it is not as easy as she makes it seem. You see, every time she replaces an emotion, she feels them. The malice, the pain and everything stays inside her and will stay that way until it is not given to other people. Y/N grew up in an abusive home. Empathy was never shown to her and it got worse by the time she was 15. She first started experiencing immense pain and one day it became intolerable. The pain, without her will got transferred to everyone in that house. No normal human could handle it the way she could and they eventually died because of it. She blames herself and that is why she is not allowed to go on missions with you because we fear that might happen again.”

Everyone was  bit shocked by the story they were bombarded with. The felt guilt. All this time it was her who was comforting them and never once had they asked her about how she felt. In fact, if Y/N had not interfered with certain things they might have regretted their actions or may have committed unforgivable acts.

She was their hero. And sometimes the hero needs to be saved to.

Y/N was startled to say the least when her bedroom door burst open and several bodies jumped on her making her feel a sudden high and the pain in her head trying to leave She closed her eyes and tried as hard as possible t not let go of it.

“Y/N I swear to god let it all out ! Were a lot of people we can handle it ! Be a little less harsh on yourself !”, nagged Wanda leaving the empath speechless over the fact that they found out her secret. After more perstering she let go. “Jesus Christ !/Oh my god!/How do you live with this!”, yelled different people simultaneously as they felt what Y/N has been holding to herself for all these years. “Lady Y/N I take back what I said about being the strongest it seems like you are the strongest one to be able to do this and take care of all of us with a smile”, Thor declared.

“You know we love you right miss Y/N ?”,Peter questioned.

Y/N couldn’t say anything if she did she would cry. Her heart swelled even more and for the first time in her life she felt like she truly belonged. The soft tune of Euphoria by Jungkook played in the background the lyrics etching the end of this story.

“Take my hand now, you are the cause of my Euphoria”

--The End--

....... I have never written such an intricate fic on this app. I do not know if it is good or not anymore because I am in too much feels. I really really hope you like this *crosses fingers in anticipation*.This was really fun to write! I did delete the draft like 7 times though because I wasn’t confident about it😅.. I really hope you like this🥺🥺.....Please like and reblog my posts if you like them! Feedback is highly appreciated and please do not plagarize my work. I really work my ass of on them! Thank you so much for supporting me darlings !❤🥰

~Love, Hri

[my-sherlock221b]

Supernatural Rewatch Ramblings: Dead in the Water

This episode is the first one to be directed by Kim Manners. It was written by Raelle Tucker and Sera Gamble. It is still the MoTW format and once again the ‘monster’ is something that was created by human action. Ordinary seeming stories—of bullying, lies, cover up—with deadly consequences.

Read below the cut for more and also watch out for the add-ons by my partner in crime @soulmates-for-real​ who does the most amazing gifsets and image galleries 😎

It reminded me of this quote:

“If only it were all so simple! If only there were evil people somewhere insidiously committing evil deeds, and it were necessary only to separate them from the rest of us and destroy them. But the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being. And who is willing to destroy a piece of his own heart?” Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, The Gulag Archipelago 1918–1956

It is a chilling experience—both the actual monster when we do finally see it and the backstory of what really happened. These monsters are all created by the flawed human beings. Here is another quote from the same source which could well be the underlying bedrock of the two very different approaches we see Sam and Dean take in later episodes to the whole saving people hunting things.

“Since then I have come to understand the truth of all the religions of the world: They struggle with the evil inside a human being (inside every human being). It is impossible to expel evil from the world in its entirety, but it is possible to constrict it within each person.” .

Philosophical overtones aside, we are also getting more glimpses into the heads and hearts of the two leads.

It is already obvious that Dean has put the whole ‘Dad- is- missing- and- hasn’t- been-home-in -a -few-days stuff’ on the back burner till …ummm  forever ? cos he has Sammy in front of his eyes who is sitting shotgun and being completely brotherly and sniping and bitching while also being boyfriend- level possessive.

As I said in the earlier review- I was just so swept away by the swashbuckling swagger of Dean that so obviously was an armour for his vulnerability that I almost didn’t notice Sam much. This is the episode where he became something more for me. Someone who was also finding out what Dean was all about at the same time as we were.

Someone who could pull him down to earth with a sharp: ‘People don’t just disappear, Dean. Other people just stop looking for them.’

But also reach out to him and remind him that they ‘can’t save everyone’.

In an early scene in the episode Sam scolds Dean for even starting to flirt with the waitress. 

He smirks when Andrea shoots Dean down. He mocks Dean’s pick- up line about kids are the best. He seems pleased in a very petty way that Dean’s attempt has failed and that he has no choice now but to hang out with Sam and to give him his full attention.

The episode does have plot holes –that house Lucas draws and the history of the friendship of the two men and the missing boy surely must be well known to everyone in that small town, including Lucas’s mother and how come no one joins the dots etc. etc.

But small quibbles aside, we get to see that the past casts long shadows—whether sins of the past or just events of the past. ( again a parallel to the lives of the Winchesters themselves. And in later seasons we find out just how far back into the past those shadows reach!)

We see that Dean connects with the mute boy, Lucas, but then we learn that he can do this because he had also shut down after he saw his mother die and he knows how scary the world can seem and how he needed to make himself brave to carry on.

Sam watches from the sidelines and we can see him have an ‘oh ok’ moment as he stores away this information because it has clearly never been discussed in the family earlier. Kudos to Jared for being amazing with the ‘active listening’ that Sheila O’Malley references so often.

So despite Sam challenging him to name 3 kids he even knows, we see that Dean actually focusses on the kid throughout. The shared sense of loss aside, maybe Dean also sees himself as the protector of all little kids especially after the Shtriga incident. (which we don’t know anything about yet) (and we do see him bond with kids in every episode that involves kids. It is adorable !!)

In this episode Dean is almost drowning in his dad’s leather jacket and the way the silver ring looks on his hand is just ridiculously sexy…sigh….and that amulet right where it belongs…..deeper sigh. Then the cocky grin, the unsubtle flirting, all macho/manly/me- so- hetero/me- see- me- conquer on the outside but the soft squidgy child- whispering caramel centre, the trauma of being a motherless kid—having become motherless in a brutal way, a missing and probably almost cruel dad, a brother he raised as his own who walked out on him to go seek his own dreams….all these layers are being put together slowly for us.

Dean is not what he seemed to be and that brash swashbuckling exterior hides a very complex and interesting person. The script and direction were excellent of course but Jensen brought to it just the perfect balance of bad-boy + I wuv hugs.

Sam is still finding his way into the story and we are still watching things from Dean’s perspective as narrator which is fascinating to realize during the re-watch. As I have mentioned earlier, I was so swept away by Dean that it took me a very long time to focus on Sam as a separate person.

Ok, now, all together shout--- --WHY do people DO the following things??!!!

Put hands elbow deep into a sink, give lifts to obvious deranged malevolent spirits in human form, ‘let’s split up so we can cover more ground’, go into a shower/bath in a scary scene—can’t they HEAR the dun-dun-dun music score in the background?!! Sheesh.

Anyway.     *eyeroll*

In a not- at- all- very- surprising turn of events Sam and Dean’s fake identity is called out and they are asked to leave town, which they do. But ….of course Dean does a very dramatic turn on the highway and takes them back to make sure the kid is ok!

Then Sam rescues the mother from the lethal bath- tub while Dean makes sure the kid is safe. Then they start to connect even more dots and eventually we see an incredible heroic rescue scene in the scary lake with Dean and the boy.

Jensen had described this shot in some interview as the most terrifying scene he had ever done apparently because he was responsible not only for doing the scene right but also for the young boy’s safety underwater.

What a fabulous visual we do get finally, with the boy in his embrace as they shoot out of the water!

That lake with its dark water is one super creepy place. That very first scene where we see the girl swimming from an underwater perspective had me yelling at the screen for her to GET OUT NOW.

So, finally, all is sorted and revenge has been had and bad folks die, good folks live and as they leave the town of course Lucas chats with Dean and they high five and just like the sister in the Wendigo episode, the young mother in this one also gives Dean a kiss on his cheek. Dean of course blushes and goes all gruff and drives off with Sam smirking in the shotgun seat.

The pattern is beginning to be established.

I am loving it!😍

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The gag reel of this episode shows Jensen leaping into Jared’s arms.

This is the third episode only. So they have known each other only for a couple of months at this point?! Hmm…my J2 tinhat is also shining. And also wow. I mean Jensen is NOT a tiny guy.

  Here are some other possibly more erudite and informed reviews if you would like to go down that rabbit hole like I did.

This one is cool https://the-orbit.net/entequilaesverdad/2016/05/10/supernatural-s1-e3-dead-water-summary/ and gives a fun and interesting score at the end which goes like this

Episode 3 counts:

Woman in the Fridge: 1

For Sophie Carlton being the first to get murdered by the vengeful spirit. It’s obviously meant to hook us harder: I mean, nobody would care as much about obnoxious brother Will, right?

Revenge from Beyond the Grave: 4

Sophie Carlton, Will Carlton, Bill Carlton, and Jake Devins.

Brotherly Love: 2

I had to give one to Sam for cock-blocking his brother right at the start. Another point goes to Dean’s sick-of-your-attitude lecture to his little brother, throwing Sam’s decision to go to college while Dean stayed behind with their dad in his face.

Toxic Masculinity: 1

For Dean downplaying his grief when Sam draws him out about the aftermath of their mother’s death.

Swimming in Sexism: 2

For Will Carlton’s comment to his sister that “guys don’t like buff girls.” I added a point for all the times they had Dean hitting on any available woman. They do want us to be extra-very sure he’s hetero, don’t they?

Cumulative Counts: Dean’s Man Tears: 3

One point awarded for all Dean’s choking up about Mom. We’re now three for three, folks.

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This review totally calls out Dean LOL. I love the reviews that were written as first watch because they are without the benefit of hindsight we have on a re-watch.

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http://markwatches.net/reviews/2013/11/mark-watches-supernatural-s01e03-dead-in-the-water/

“It was fascinating to me, then, that through this, Sam was able to learn about Dean’s own emotional reasoning behind his hunting. Of course, Dean, being the most stereotypical dude of all dudes who ever duded, has to immediately act like feelings aren’t cool because BLEH. Okay, that is one aspect of Dean that I’m not terribly interested in, especially since he expresses feelings like every five seconds. The whole “I am a straight man and I’m very straight and look at that butt straight I’m straight” thing is already exhausting because I get it. You don’t need to tell me this every five seconds.” 

The comments to this review are also super entertaining with gems like this:

“So, if you knew that someone had drowned in the lake recently and their body was never found, WHY WOULD YOU STILL GO SWIMMING IN THE LAKE? Especially if two people had. It wouldn't make you think, "Hey, maybe there's something dangerous in that lake?" This show has some of the least genre savvy people EVER. Like, for example, once this mysterious death thing shows up in a sink, why would anyone want to take a bath or really ever fill any basin with water again? Seriously, is this the Bad Decision Olympics?”

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Here is an awesome review from Fangasm also

https://fangasmthebook.com/2021/01/13/looking-back-on-dead-in-the-water-classic-supernatural/

[icannotreadcursive]

Sometimes, people have different--very different--sets of headcanons and sets of ships etc for a given piece of media and cast of characters because they have basically different understandings of who those characters are.

A lot of times, that’s just because every fan as their own unique life experience to apply when engaging with and interpreting a work, so they see different things reflected back.

But when it comes to what I call Legacy Characters--characters that have had their story told and retold, adapted and readapted, reinvested and reset time and again; such as comic book characters--a huge part of who a fan understands a character to be is determined by what versions of that character they’re familiar with, what aspects of different versions have coalesced in their brain to form their sense of that character in general.  Usually, the biggest influence there is which version of a character that fan encountered first.

I see both knock-down drag-out fights and casual disrespectful disparaging comments within some fandoms--especially big comics fandoms like Marvel--that on the surface of them are more of the typical dumb “my interpretation is the only right one and anyone who disagrees is wrong and Doesn’t Understand The Media” stuff, but that I am SO SURE mostly boils down to this issue of having very different but all equally legitimate senses of the characters from having familiarity with different appearances of the character, or in a different order.

For instance--using what I find to be the most glaring case as an example--the Marvel shipping wars amongst Steve/Bucky, Steve/Tony, Sam/Steve, Bucky/Natasha, and (increasingly) Sam/Bucky shippers.  Sometimes the Pepper/Tony, Pepper/Natasha, and Bruce/Tony shippers join the fray.

These conflicts get so nasty.  Even a lot of the more chill shippers, when prompted, have very ugly things to say about ships other than their own and the people who support them.  Allegations of racism, misogyny, fetishization, and general toxicity run rampant and are often talked about as though they are the only possible reasons someone could ever have for shipping or not shipping a given pair.

I want to make it clear that I personally do ship or have shipped several of the above, including ones that mutually exclude each other.  There’s a few I’m neutral on up there, and one that kinda squicks me--we’ll get to that later.

Every single one of them is a perfectly good ship.  None of them are inherently fucked up in any way and I will not hear any argument to the contrary.  

Do some supporters of these ships get overzealous and obnoxious?  Yes, that’s kinda why we’re talking about it, but that’s not a problem with any of the ships themselves.

I’ve noticed some patterns around people being into particular ones of these ships and their personal histories with various Marvel media.

Steve/Tony: mostly comics fans at this point, either were into the comics before the MCU became a thing or the early days of the MCU got them into the comics and they’re now more into the comics than the films.  Because there’s a LOT of material in the comics to support the ship!  There’s so much!  Including the fact that in one comics reality where Tony is a woman, she and Steve get married!  

Now, there was a ton of this’ere Stony fic that got churned out in the early days of the MCU, a lot of it from fans getting into this world for the first time through the phase 1 movies, at which point other potential partners for these guys either hadn’t been introduced as characters yet, or hadn’t been fleshed out.  A lot of film-main (as opposed to comics-main) Stony shippers moved away from the pairing as the MCU continued, Bucky became the counterpoint of Steve’s Character arc, Sam got brought in, Pepper and Bruce each got more screen time, and the dynamic between Steve and Tony in the films got increasingly adversarial in a way that’s less sexy more fucked up.

The battle cry against Stony from other factions, especially from the Steve/Bucky camp is usually “but they’re so toxic!” and, I mean, yeah--if your sense of these characters is primarily based on how they are in the MCU, they are.  But in my experience, even if they’re working MCU events and settings, the Steve and Tony being imagined by Stony shippers aren’t really that Steve and Tony.

Steve/Bucky: look, Stucky is an MCU thing.  Articles have been written and published about the fact that the dynamic between Steve and Bucky in the MCU follows the beats of an epic romance to a T.  The basis for this ship is all there on screen--throw in a little bit of history nerd mojo and you’re in deep.

By my observation and estimation, most new or formerly-very-casual Marvel fans who came in via the films and remained film-mains, and who are inclined to not-strictly-heteronormative shipping at all went the Stucky route.  Folks who initially shipped Stony then switched to Stucky are pretty common.  People starting with Stucky and then switching to any other ship with Steve to the exclusion of Stucky? Very rare.  And while for a lot of people Stucky is their OTP in the strictest sense, I do see a lot of Stucky shippers who are here for other ships as well, either in an alternate realities kinda way or an amicable exes/polyamory kinda way.

The only people I’ve seen who have a problem with Stucky as a ship (other than “my ship is a different ship, therefore this one is bad and wrong”) are comics-mains whose sense of Steve and Bucky is heavily informed by runs of the comics in which Bucky is significantly younger than Steve and kid sidekick type figure.  For them, the dynamic between the general forms of these characters leans mentor/student or protector/charge, so the inclination is to read the MCU relationship as fraternal, because it being romantic is squicky based on their sense of the characters.

Sam/Steve: comics-mains, film-mains with significant comics familiarity, film-mains who just aren’t into Stucky for one reason or another, or film-mains who are just really into Anthony Mackey which is a perfectly valid reason to get behind a ship.  People who know Falcon from the comics seem much more likely to be into this ship and also more invested in this ship.  I’m not qualified to say much about support for this ship from the comics themselves because my personal familiarity with Marvel comics doesn’t include much of Sam Wilson at all, but I am absolutely qualified to say there’s support from the films, especially CA:WS.

The worst vitriol against this ship tends to come from overzealous Stucky OTP shippers who really need to remember that fandom is supposed to be fun, and flat out racists.  That must be acknowledged and needs to be addressed.  Fandom racism in general, and against Sam in particular is a thing and it can absolutely be a factor in shipping.  

However it’s not inherently racist to just not ship Sam/Steve because you see them as bros, or because Stucky is your OTP, or because you ship Sam with someone else, or whatever.  Worthwhile to take a minute to examine why you don’t ship it, if you don’t, and check that for racial bias in how you view and treat Sam as a character, especially if you’re white.

Sam/Steve and Stucky are the two ships I see coexist the most!  A lot of people ship both of them separately and exclusive from one another, but a lot of people also go ether the OT3 or the “Steve and Sam were definitely a thing for while there but now they’re not” route.

Bucky/Natasha: comics-mains or film-mains with significant comics familiarity, particularly for the comics worlds in which Bucky and Natasha are a couple, which seems self explanatory as to why that correlates.  Not a lot for it in the films, Nat and Buck don’t interact much in the films that we see, and they’re kinda trying to kill each other in much of what we do see.  But, like I said, they’re a thing in some of the comics so there we have that.

This is the one that squicks me.  Clearly it’s a super valid ship; depending on the canon it’s a canon ship.  Frankly, they make sense together, canon or not--their individual backgrounds as spysassins and with brainwashing etc means they’d be able to understand one another in ways no one else around them really can.  But my personal amalgamation of these characters from the films and what comics I’m familiar with has Bucky having been Natasha’s teacher when she was a kid in Red Room.  So I cannot ship it, I can’t do it.  

The fact that I personally am squeaked by it has absolutely no impact on the fact that it’s a good ship, and the fact that it’s a good ship cannot and does not negate the fact that it squicks me.

Bucky/Sam: okay, there’s not a lot of this out there yet, but what there is seems to mostly be coming from film-mains who either don’t ship or co-ship Stucky and/or Sam/Steve, and who really liked the dynamic between these two in Civil War, and I guarantee you we’re about to get so much more of this ship with Falcon and Winter Soldier premiering.  I’ve already seen some hate directed at this ship from the same places Sam/Steve gets hate.  I predict, though, that this one will also get co-shipped alongside Stucky by the less strictly OTP of those shippers and I’m curious to see what the dynamic ends up being between Bucky/Sam shippers and Sam/Steve shippers as this camp grows.

In conclusion, I guess, note that not shipping a ship doesn’t have to mean attacking that ship (and it shouldn’tI) and not liking a ship, even being deeply uncomfortable with a ship for your own reasons doesn’t mean that ship is bad.  We’ve all got our own individual sets of experiences both in life and with the characters in our fandoms that can dramatically change how we see those characters and their relationships to one another.  This gets especially complicated and diverse with Legacy Characters like those from sprawling long-running comics multiverses.  Someone’s understanding and interpretation being different from yours does not make either of you wrong!

As long as no one is an asshole about it it, it’s actually really interesting and cool to compare interpretations and see how your understandings overlap and differ, to think about what bits of canon have been formative for you and what personal experience may have made you inclined to interpret certain things certain ways.

Fandom is supposed to be fun.  Shipping is supposed to be fun.  You can and should hype up and express love for your own ships without tearing down others.

[katemarley]

Priority One

Fandom: Mó Dào Zǔ Shī /Chén Qíng Lìng/The Untamed Pairing: XiYao Characters: Niè Huáisāng, Jīn Guāngyáo, Lán Xīchén, Niè Míngjué Rating: T

Summary: Whenever the vice president of the student union has a task for the union’s secretary, it becomes his top priority. The president’s younger brother notices.

Also available on AO3 (see the link in my profile).

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Note: The student rep system in this story turned out vaguely British, I suppose… Anyway, MDZS is set in a fantasy world, so why not keep this Modern AU in sort of a fantasy setting, too?

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“Oh, hello, Huaisang-xiong. Break between lectures?” Meng Yao entered the room with a cardboard box on his hip and his characteristically dimpled smile on his face. The trousers and waistcoat he wore were cheap but elegant, Nie Huaisang noticed with a practised eye as he looked up from his place on the sofa.

Huaisang was painting a fan for the theatre group. There was never enough time to unpack art supplies and get something done in between university work and performances, but his big brother was the president of the student union. That allowed him to use the union’s office rooms, leave his art supplies on the table next to the sofa and work in between lectures.

“Yep. Making a prop for our next performance.” He turned the fan in his hand, showing the ferns and flowers he had drawn. Meng Yao put the box on his desk and stepped closer to admire the decorations in more detail.

“Beautiful!” he exclaimed. His dimples became even deeper. “Seeing this, I’m sure all the props you have made will be extraordinary once again!” Huaisang acknowledged the flattery with a smile. Meng Yao’s words didn’t mean much. They were often casually flattering.

Returning to his desk, Meng Yao started to unpack the contents of the cardboard box.

“Forgive me if I don’t stay here to chat,” he said, “but I’ve only got an hour in between lectures, too. I needed to pick up these posters from the university print shop and will try to put up as many as I can now.” He took one of the posters from the box and unfolded it so Huaisang could see what was on it.

“Oh, it’s the next performance of Lan Xichen’s ensemble!” Huaisang exclaimed. What he didn’t say was Now I know why you’re so eager to sacrifice your off-work hours to some student union-related task again. He was in the union’s offices often enough to be familiar with Meng Yao’s schedule, and squeezing in an hour of extra work in between lectures was not his normal way of handling things. Meng Yao’s usual planning was too meticulous for last-minute troubleshooting to even become necessary.

“The printing process took a little longer than estimated.” Meng Yao rolled his eyes. “I already filed a complaint with the administration, but it’s likely nothing will come of it. Anyway...” The polite smile was back on his face, dimples included. “I’m off now. Will you be here this afternoon, too?” During your regular work hours, Huaisang added in his head.

“I guess so,” he said out loud. “This isn’t the only prop I need to make.” He waved Meng Yao goodbye with the painted fan. “See you later then!”

*

“You put up all the posters already?” Lan Xichen exclaimed incredulously. “How—” He paused and a frown appeared on his handsome face. “Wait. A-Yao! You didn’t skip lunch in the canteen for this, did you?”

“Don’t worry, Vice President,” said Meng Yao with a smile that was just that tiny bit wider when he looked at Lan Xichen. “I had lunch.”

Huaisang looked up from the forest he was painting on canvas. He knew he was the only one in the room, apart from Meng Yao, who had seen the box of cheap noodles in the bin. His brother was sitting behind his desk, too focused on his work to notice such things, and Lan Xichen was too honest to realise that his question about “lunch in the canteen” and Meng Yao’s answer didn’t necessarily match. Meng Yao, Huaisang had noticed, was a master in the art of not exactly telling the truth while simultaneously avoiding an outright lie.

“Still,” Lan Xichen insisted, “you shouldn’t have done this all on your own. Putting up posters is so much easier with a second person and I wouldn’t have minded helping you. After all, these were the posters for my ensemble.”

That, Huaisang thought, is exactly why he did this for you. Don’t you see how he’s looking at you? That soft glow in his eyes?

But Lan Xichen, the ever chivalrous, seemed to be oblivious to acts of chivalry done for him. And that, Huaisang pondered, even though it had been him who had started this by being pointedly kind to Meng Yao where others were not.

It had gone around that Meng Yao was the illegitimate son of the university president, Jin Guangshan, as soon as he had started his first year. Huaisang had only heard it from his brother, but there seemed to have been some nasty attempts at bullying Meng Yao, mostly by those of the rich folks who tended to look down on scholarship boys anyway. These attempts had all failed spectacularly, however, after Lan Xichen had made a point of sitting next to Meng Yao during lunch … and after Nie Mingjue had yelled at the bullies, telling them he’d break every single bone in their bodies if they didn’t stop. (That, Huaisang was sure, was also the reason why no one had ever attempted to bully him. His brother could be quite scary if he towered over you and yelled.)

From that moment on, Meng Yao had been part of the in-group. Some people were still talking badly about him, but never within earshot of his protectors, the two most popular students at the university. And when Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen had run for the student council, the ever well-organized and hard-working Meng Yao had managed their election campaign. When they had won, it had only been natural for him to apply for the position of student union secretary – and get chosen not out of familiarity or favour, but because he was actually the applicant with the most credentials.

Meng Yao treated both Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen with the utmost respect bordering on devotion, but with Lan Xichen, there were certain … differences.

Unlike his younger brother Lan Wangji, who was Huaisang’s age and seemed to hate any sort of physical contact, Lan Xichen would occasionally put his hand on Nie Mingjue or Meng Yao’s arm when he was looking over their shoulder at a computer screen. It was almost imperceptible, but whenever he did that with Meng Yao, Meng Yao would lean into the touch.

The moment when Huaisang had become convinced Meng Yao had a thing for Lan Xichen had come when he had seen them practice the guqin together. Lan Xichen had put his hand over Meng Yao’s to show him some finger movement, and the flush on Meng Yao’s face had been unmistakable… Had Lan Xichen looked up in that moment, he would have seen it, too. But he had only had eyes for the instrument.

While Huaisang had been pondering over his observations, the conversation between Lan Xichen and Meng Yao had moved on.

“…need to consider how to arrange the seating this time,” Meng Yao pointed out. “There are some new staff members – I sent them an invitation already, but since I’m not in the arts department, I don’t know their exact hierarchy and who gets along with whom.”

“Don’t worry, A-Yao!” Lan Xichen gave him a reassuring pat on the back – and again, Meng Yao leaned into the touch. “We can look over the seating arrangement for the invited guests later this afternoon.” Lan Xichen took his phone to check his schedule. “Well, early evening. There’s a meeting I have to attend at five, but after that, I’m free. It shouldn’t be more than an hour.”

“That would be perfect,” Meng Yao said with another dimpled smile. “I’m just going to wait for you in the office then. There’s still plenty of work to do anyway.

“Speaking of meetings,” Nie Mingjue made his presence known for the first time during their conversation. “Xichen-xiong, shouldn’t you be on your way to the master class now?”

“Oh dear…” Lan Xichen glanced at his phone again. “Thank you, Mingjue-xiong. You’re quite right.” He grabbed the bag with his xiao in it and rushed out of the office.

“As for you…” Nie Mingjue stood and strode to Meng Yao. “You shouldn’t say ‘yes’ to each and every task someone gives you,” he scolded. “The number of your overtime hours is already higher than what we can pay you. Take a day off, Meng-xiong.”

“Thank you, President,” Meng Yao said with a polite bow. “I will follow your advice. However, please allow me to help Vice President as promised.”

“You already confirmed the appointment.” Nie Mingjue nodded. “That means you must keep it.” Then he glared at Meng Yao. “Still, stop taking on so many chores. You don’t have to prove to us that you’re capable. We know that.” Saying this, he gave Meng Yao a friendly pat on the shoulder that almost brought him to his knees. Huaisang winced in sympathy. He knew how that pat felt.

*

Huaisang kept Meng Yao company as he waited for Lan Xichen’s meeting to be over. It hadn’t been a conscious decision – it was just that it took very long to thread the beads for a tiara on the metal frame he had made for this purpose.

“Huaisang-xiong, don’t you think it’s enough for today?” Meng Yao asked after Huaisang had yawned for the second time. “I think you should go home and rest. You’ve made a lot of props on one single day.”

Look who’s talking, thought Huaisang, but when he yawned for the third time, he admitted to himself that Meng Yao was right.

“Fine,” he said, almost yawning once again. “I’ll leave everything as it is, alright? Let me just collect the spare beads and put them back in the box, and then I’ll be off.” He gestured at the beads he had taken out of their box because he had expected to use them up within the next couple of minutes.

“Sounds good to me.” Meng Yao nodded. “Meanwhile I’m going to check if Vice President’s meeting is still going on. It’s past six already. Have a nice evening if we don’t see each other anymore today!”

“You, too!” Huaisang waved again, this time without a fan in his hand.

When Meng Yao had left the room, Huaisang picked up the beads he had put on the table, throwing them back in the box. And then it happened. He might have been too inattentive or too tired – in any case, the box tipped and most of its contents spilled across the room.

Oh no, not that!

Huaisang accepted his fate with an acquiescent sigh and kneeled down on the floor, picking up the spilled beads and putting them back in the box.

It took a while for him to clean the linoleum floor as best as he could – Meng Yao didn’t return in the meantime – but just as he thought he had finally found all the beads, he noticed one of them half hidden under the sofa. He pushed the sofa from the wall, collected the beads underneath, and pushed it back.

Then he realised that there might be even more beads under the roll cages beneath all three desks in the room. He checked them quickly – but then he noticed a bead that had found its way behind the partition that sectioned off the large printer and a small desk with a cutting machine, a punch, a stapler and scissors on it.

With a sigh, he took the bead box and checked under the small table. Sure enough, he found two beads and spotted another that had rolled in the gap between the floor and a part of the printer that didn’t carry its weight.

Huaisang was fishing for the stray bead when the door opened. He lifted his head to tell Meng Yao about his mishap – and immediately ducked. Then he had to look up again or, he thought, he would forever doubt what he was seeing with his own eyes.

Meng Yao had pulled Lan Xichen inside and was now pushing him against the door, kissing him with what Huaisang could only describe as hunger. He was standing on tiptoe, fingers digging in Lan Xichen’s shirt both to pull him close and to make him stoop enough for Meng Yao to reach up to him.

Lan Xichen’s eyes were closed and he responded to the fierce kiss with an expression of reverent abandon. One of his hands was wrapped around Meng Yao’s shoulders, keeping him close; the other still held the bag with his xiao.

After a while, Meng Yao broke the kiss. Huaisang ducked again, mind whirring. He had thought Meng Yao’s yearning was unrequited – or unfulfilled, at the least – but this…

“My apologies,” he heard Meng Yao whisper. “I … just couldn’t wait any longer. Being close to you without being able to touch you is torture.”

Lan Xichen gave a quiet laugh. Then there was another lapse in the conversation.

Huaisang peered over the partition – and ducked his head once more. Now Lan Xichen was kissing Meng Yao. He had put his xiao on the nearest desk – Meng Yao’s, as it happened – and was holding Meng Yao’s chin in his fingers. From this angle, Huaisang couldn’t see Lan Xichen’s face, but he had never seen Meng Yao with such an open and vulnerable expression.

Huaisang clenched his fists, staring at the floor with burning cheeks. He had to find a face-saving way to get out of this situation. Nothing of this was meant for him to see. Especially this expression … Meng Yao would kill him if he knew Huaisang had seen it.

“Now, A-Yao,” Lan Xichen said in a teasing tone, “we’ve still got work to do, don’t we?”

“As if I could ever forget!” Meng Yao replied with false indignation. Lan Xichen laughed.

When there was another silence, Huaisang dared to take another look over the partition.

They were sitting on the sofa now, far too close to leave any room for doubt about their relationship. Lan Xichen had wrapped an arm around Meng Yao’s shoulders, who leaned into him, a tablet in his hands.

Meng Yao’s tablet.

Huaisang remembered his surprise when Meng Yao had come to the office with that tablet the day after his birthday. His brother had told him he and Lan Xichen had gifted Meng Yao the economics textbooks he needed for his finals that year, so the appearance of the tablet had been mysterious… Until now, that was. If the tablet was a special present for Lan Xichen’s boyfriend, it all made sense.

The following conversation was incomprehensible to Huaisang because he didn’t see the tablet screen. There were murmured sentences like “How about seating them here?” – “No, I think over there would be better.” – “Then what do we do with… Ah, yes, good idea!” and “No, no, better place another person in between…” Huaisang inferred that Meng Yao had a digital seating chart on his tablet and probably a list of the invited guests as well. He made a mental note to ask Meng Yao about it for the theatre performance … if he made it out of the office without embarrassing himself.

“…and that’s it!” he heard Meng Yao exclaim in pleasant surprise. “That’s really it, isn’t it?”

“It’s the best we can do,” Lan Xichen replied. “We’re finally done, so…” There was a hint of uncertainty in his tone. “Will you come to mine tonight? Stay with me?”

“We shouldn’t do this too often…” Meng Yao said uncomfortably. There was a short pause. “Yes – yes, I will. And believe me, I want to – I’d love to stay with you forever! It’s just that…” He paused again.

“I know,” Lan Xichen said in the gentlest tone. “You want to gain the recognition of your father and everyone around you all by yourself, and I admire you for that attitude. Still…” His tone changed again, turning emphatic and almost pleading. “Please let me help you at least a little bit. Let us help you – Mingjue-xiong and me.”

“You’re already helping so much,” Meng Yao replied. His tone was gentle and fragile as glass. “But you must understand … If people knew about you and me, they would accuse me of sleeping my way up to the top of the social ladder. They say that about my mother, too. I don’t want…” His voice cracked. “I couldn’t bear it if they talked about you as if I was only using you. Them talking badly about me – I can take that. But not about you. Never about you.”

“Oh, A-Yao…” There was a rustle of fabric, and Huaisang didn’t need to be a genius to figure out that Lan Xichen was taking Meng Yao in his arms. “I still think we should tell the Nie brothers about us,” Lan Xichen said. “They won’t spill our secret.”

Huaisang’s heart started to pound in his chest at the mention of his own name.

“I,” said Meng Yao in a muffled voice. “I don’t want to burden them with the knowledge. I’m already selfish as it is, because…” There was another pause. Then Meng Yao whispered: “Because I want you for myself. The sensible thing would have been to keep my distance from you, but I can’t. I can’t…” His voice cracked.

“And that is a good thing,” Lan Xichen said earnestly, “because I couldn’t keep my distance from you either.” He paused. When he spoke again, his voice was raw and vulnerable. “Now let me be selfish, A-Yao: I want you. I’ve wanted you since I first laid eyes upon you, carrying on as if it was nothing even though everyone was saying such bad things about you. I would be an unhappy man if you hadn’t reciprocated my feelings.”

Huaisang inwardly rolled his eyes. He hadn’t known Lan Xichen could be this soppy.

When there was another pause, Huaisang didn’t check what was going on. He was glad about his decision when he heard someone moan – he forbade himself to think about who it was – and was about to put his fingers in his ears when he heard Lan Xichen laugh.

“If we continue like this,” he said, “we’re not going to make it to my flat today.”

“That would be a pity,” Meng Yao said in an equally amused tone. “Your bed is far more comfortable than the sofa.”

“Then take my hand!” Lan Xichen laughed again. “Let’s go home!”

“Let’s go,” Meng Yao repeated. There was a timbre to his voice, a slight waver. “Home,” he continued eventually.

At last, Huaisang heard the door open and close again. He didn’t move.

He was … shocked. Yes, that was the right word for it. Meng Yao’s love for Lan Xichen … it was so obvious because Lan Xichen was the only person he treated differently. Lan Xichen’s love for Meng Yao, however … it was literally hidden in plain sight, Huaisang decided. It didn’t attract anyone’s attention because Lan Xichen was kind to everyone. That was what had fooled him. But now he knew, and he was bursting with that knowledge.

Please rethink your decision, Meng Yao, he pleaded inwardly. I don’t think I can keep that secret from my brother for long.

[phantasieandmirare]

Okay okay okay, actual thoughts on the episode because I am alive today, here we go (also I’m on mobile so I can’t do a read more so I apologize):

First of all: Who the heck was that person in the beginning? The person scrubbing the floor? Who were they and what significance will they have and why were they the first friggin’ shot of the volume?? I mean I think we know and I have my suspicions but I don’t want to put them out there yet because we saw them for like twenty seconds so my suspicions could be dashed on the rocks by a single throwaway line

The whale is a full on airship/aircraft carrier. It’s massive and uh big big big panic. Also Salem’s throne is the control center which makes it/this room extremely important if they decide to hit Salem directly.

Neo is going to backstab Cinder, those little comments and expressions are going to come back to bite Cinder in the butt, go off ice cream girl I’m here for you

Mercury and Emerald! And new outfits! Emerald’s is adorable and I love it. Also Hazel looks like a WWE wrestler. And poor Emerald getting shut down again, poor thing. That Emerald redemption arc is getting closer and closer every day folks.

I love the little mole man, also I’m still surprised Oscar is back with them so quickly but hey we’ve got two days so let’s do this.

It never even occurred to me that Mantle is still without power. But at least Salem hasn’t directly attacked yet. And the Happy Huntresses! And MAY AKA KDIN WHO I ADORE. I like Joanna and hearing her talk some more too and that they all teamed up together on this.

“We’re not done talking” yes please tell me that we’ll have a talk where Oz finally comes clean about the magic and maybe the Maidens we need another talk about it. I was really concerned that the conflict would be Ruby vs. Yang and that came to fruition real friggin’ fast didn’t it. And the team separation but at least they’re separate as teams and not as individuals. And Penny already accepting her role as the Maiden and protector even if it scares her. That’s my baby girl.

Seeing Ironwood’s face on the screen woke up so much dread you have no idea. Him guilting Penny and Ruby protecting her is giving me life though.

I was not expecting to see dead Clover and also for half a second I thought he was breathing and I was prepared to scream. And Ironwood having another prosthetic though I assume that it’s maybe just to stabilize his arm while it heals while also letting him still use it? And then Winter still being in rough shape after her fight with Cinder, I hope that doesn’t create issues for her once the action gets started again. And Harriet’s expression, I wonder if that’s anger or regret, and also her taking the Ace Ops forefront in this scene makes me wonder if she’s starting to doubt Ironwood a little bit. Especially since Ironwood is apparently shooting city officials for speaking out against him now because that’s not dictator-y at all, he’s gone off the deep end and I am very worried that he’s going to get into something he can’t Mettle his way out of but also I hope Qrow gets one good punch on the MOFO

The new Grimm looks doglike. Maybe a jackal or something? It looks smaller than I expected but I can’t wait to see it live.

Okay so now that intro is very much concerning me because there’s so much going on. First of all there’s a huge Nora focus so I’m wondering if we’re going to be analyzing her character and connection to Mantle/Atlas this season. Then the Renora conflict which I didn’t ask for but it was to be expected. And then there’s winged Salem which also really freaks me out because oh boy. Then Cinder’s arm causing her pain and starting to consume her more, I assume that’ll get touched on this season. And Team RWBY dropping into the Grimm pools and Ruby having the immortality shimmer is EXTREMELY CONCERNING to me because that implies so many things, first of all that they find something that could give it to them and also all of them being subjected to it? Um? UM??!! Even if Ruby’s the only one and that could give them an edge I’m also afraid of the implications. And finally of course is all of their weapons hitting the ground and then Crescent Rose being left alone as the final shot of the intro. Oof. There’s a lot going on and I am very, very afraid of what’s coming up this volume but also so, so happy it’s back.

[holographic-chogi]

Protector pt.14/?

Author: holographic-chogi

Pairing: fem!reader x skz

Warnings: minor sexual content, swearing (courtesy of Changbin), mentions of abuse. Please let me know if I’ve missed anything!

A/N: Hehe I’m back folks. I haven’t had a ton of time to write lately it’s been a little difficult getting chapters out. That being said, I always appreciate the support. We’re getting VERY close to the end, so you guys better strap in for the rest of this ride!

Summary: a virus has wiped out most of humanity, and society has collapsed. People survive in groups where they live in constant fear and a struggle to survive. Women were the primary victim of the virus, leaving few behind. You are one of the few, kept in secret since the beginning. However, you’ve just been caught.

Masterlist

As soon as you heard Minho’s call from outside, you burst from Changbin’s arms, practically racing out the front door and onto the front lawn. You distantly heard the screen door swing open behind you, but you paid it no mind as you made your way to the front gate. Seungmin had already began questioning whoever it was on the other side.

Your heart thudded, and you paced behind the wooden wall, wishing that there was some way to look through. Was it Jiho? It had to be, right?

Suddenly, you heard his name spoken from Seungmin’s lips.

“Are you Jiho?”

You didn’t hear the stranger’s response, but you saw Seungmin and Minho nod to one another, before instructing Felix to open the gate from below.

You kneaded your hands together, chest burning with a thousand emotions at once. Was it him? Would he be happy to see you?

But your thoughts stilled as soon as the gate lifted.

It was him.

He stood there, with the early morning sun behind him, lighting him up like an angel. His hair had grown in a little bit, delicately framing his fox-like eyes. The eyes you had been dreaming of night and night again.

“J-Jiho?”

When his eyes landed on you, his smile showed brilliantly. “Y/N.”

You couldn’t stop yourself, you dashed forward, practically launching yourself into his arms. When he pulled you into him tightly, all of your emotions erupted. Sobs shook your body as you mumbled his name.

“Y/N, it’s okay. I’m here.”

You pulled away from him to get a better look at his face. He had a new scar along his left eyebrow and temple, and his face was thinner than before. You pouted, face still wet with tears, tracing the scar with your finger. “What happened?”

He chuckled, “happened back at the cell block.”

You froze in his grasp. The cell block. Where he left you.

He seemed to notice your change in demeanor, setting you down and taking a deep breath. “We have a lot to talk about.”

You grimaced inwardly when you heard Changbin snarl from behind you. “By that, you mean you have a lot to explain.”

Chan sighed. “Ignore him.” He gestured to the rest of the farmhouse group, who had all gathered around you. “Disperse. Give these two some time to catch up.”

Jisung opened his mouth to protest, but Felix swatted him, and pulled him away with the others. Your eyes lingered on Changbin, who simply narrowed his eyes at Jiho before making his way inside.

Leaving just the two of you, in the front yard. You looked back at Jiho, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Let’s go sit by the barn, it has low foot traffic this time of day. Felix probably tended the animals already this morning.”

Jiho nodded, following your lead towards said barn, “You really seem to know this place well.”

He didn’t see, but your gaze turned sour. “I should. After all, I’ve been here for weeks. Months for all I know.”

You heard him falter in his footsteps.

Once the two of you settled in beside the barn, a silence overcame the two of you. You felt your chest contract. You were so happy to see him earlier, but you couldn’t deny the anger beginning to creep in.

He sighed. “Should I start at the beginning?”

You simply nodded, keeping your eyes trained on the ground.

“When I left you in your room-”

“You mean my cell.” You interrupted, failing to hide the bitterness in your voice. Where was this anger coming from?

“Y/N…that was your room. Don’t act like it was just some cellblock to you.”

You nodded, feeling a prick of guilt. “Sorry. You’re right. Keep going.”

He cleared his throat. “When I left your room, during the alarm, I meant to cause a distraction. Once they were diverted, I was going to come back and get you.”

“Did the distraction not work?”

He shook his head. “Actually, it worked too well. I barely made it out alive. The dark-haired one with the shitty attitude got me real good with a machete.” He gestured to the scar on his face.

You looked up at him, failing to remain emotionless at the thought of him getting injured. Despite this, you continued your interrogation. “But why didn’t you come back?”

He looked down this time. “I couldn’t. I was out of ammo and the remaining group members were gone. And…” He began to trail off.

“And what?”

“I knew they wouldn’t hurt you. I knew you’d be fine with them because they have that law against killing women.”

This was a lot to take in. You suppose you couldn’t blame him for that. It was practical, and he was right. But part of you was upset that he had left you at all. “Why didn’t you come get me sooner?”

He frowned, “I didn’t know where they were located. Only the higher-ups in the group knew. I had to work my way up and gain authority to get here.”

You guess…that made sense.

The two of you sat there, in the grass, for hours. Catching each other up on your respective stories as the tension seemed to melt away. Things started to feel normal, and comfortable again.

Jiho’s laughter was interrupted by Felix’s warm voice behind him, “Hey you two, dinner’s ready. It’s the pheasant from last night. Minho’s cooked up a feast.”

You smiled and tugged on Jiho excitedly, “Let’s go! You’re not gonna believe how good the food is.”

The lot of you sat around the table, a new chair pulled in to seat Jiho. You sat between said man and Seungmin. Truth be told, you were glad it was one of the less touchy members. You would have a hard time explaining Felix or Jisung’s dinnertime antics to Jiho.

Minho proudly laid the last dish on the table as everyone finished settling in. It was the pheasants. Minho seemed to notice the lingering gazes, and proudly announced the dish. “I present to you, Pheasants. Roasted with wild honey, in a cream sauce, courtesy of Toes the cow.” He flashed you a mischievous glance, “And pheasants, caught courtesy of Y/N and Hyunjin.”

As everyone began to dig in, Jiho turned to you, tone accusatory. “You went hunting?”

You gulped, “Y-yeah. Just outside the gates.”

Hyunjin spoke from left side of the table, “She’s amazing at it too.” He winked, “almost as good as me.”

You prayed you were the only one to notice Jiho’s eyes narrow at Hyunjin’s wink. You scanned the table, noticing Minho’s hawk-like gaze. Guess not. Hopefully he understood Jiho was just a bit on the protective side.

Jiho shook his head, “You shouldn’t be hunting. Too dangerous.”

Hyunjin caught your gaze, sending you a ‘what the hell is up with this up with this dude’ look. You looked back at your plate trying to hide from the situation. It hadn’t occurred to you how different Jiho was from the others, and how odd it may come across. He was just a tad bit more controlling, that’s all. He just wanted what’s best for you.

Changbin scoffed. “She’s a big girl, Jiho. She can do whatever she wants.”

Jiho cocked an eyebrow, meeting Changbin’s challenge. Competitive as ever, apparently. “She still needs protection”

Changbin smirked, “She can do more than you know, buddy.”

You could practically feel the rage radiate from Jiho, and you began to panic.

Chan cleared his throat, attempting to change the subject. “So, how did you two meet? If you don’t mind my asking.” You sighed in relief.

Jiho took a bite, before leaning back in his seat. “I’ve known her since she was young. Her older brother was my best friend growing up.”

Woojin chuckled, “I bet you have all kinds of embarrassing stories for us. What was baby Y/N like?”

Changbin spoke before Jiho had the chance, “They weren’t friends until after the Virus.”

Jiho chuckled, but you could tell he found nothing about it funny. “Sounds like you could tell this story for me. What’s your name again?”

“Changbin. And by all means, keep telling. Don’t let me stop you”

Jiho crossed his arms in distaste, but nevertheless, continued. “Once the virus hit, my parents passed away, and so did Y/N’s mom. So her brother offered that I join them.”

You started to zone out. You knew the story already, you were more interested in Minho’s dagger-like stare towards Jiho. What was he noticing this time? The man had always had a keen eye.

“….until Y/N’s brother passed away. Leaving the two of us.” Jiho’s voice was distant. You hated this part.

Felix’s voice was thick with concern, “What happened?”

Jiho took a deep, labored breath. “It was a group of thugs we encountered. I barely got out alive myself.”

Hyunjin shook his head sadly, “People were so aggressive when everything began.”

Changbin crossed his arms. “That must have been terrible. Why’d they shoot?”

“They were patrolling their territory, and caught us on their territory while we were hunting. We didn’t know any better.”

Honestly, you weren’t even listening. You were way too distracted with the look of realization in Minho’s eyes. It scared you. It scared you even more when he leaned over to whisper something to Changbin, who in turn whispered back to him.

What the hell were they whispering about?

As dinner grew closer to it’s end, things got quieter. The others (well, most of them), had done a good job putting on a happy face, but as the night continued, the impending doom of what was to come was beginning to set in.

You were going to leave. And you may never see them again.

Wordlessly, Seungmin grabbed your hand under the table. He usually wasn’t the touchy type, but you could tell tonight was an exception. He was gonna miss you. You were gonna miss him too.

Seungmin muttered quietly, unheard by Jiho who was busily wrapped up in conversation with Chan. “I’m gonna miss those nights. The ones with you and Minho up on the lookout perches late at night, all the gossiping and deep talks beneath the stars.” He smiled fondly, “I’m even going to miss cleaning up after your shenanigans with Jisung and Woojin.” He chuckled, “Where did you even find all those wrappers? There’s no way you guys could eat that much.”

You gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “One day, when all of this is over and the world is back to where it used to be, you’re gonna have to send me a picture from space.” You smiled, feeling a lump in your throat, “I want a picture of the cassiopeia constellation from inside the ship. Got it?”

He nodded, “Yes ma’am.”

The table was eventually clear of plates, but no one moved from their spots. The group wasn’t ready for what was to come. However, to everyone’s surprise, Minho spoke up, “Y/N, Changbin, could you two help me with dishes?”

Everyone around the table looked confused, but Changbin sat up quickly, “Sure thing. That’ll give the rest of you guys time to get things packed up.”

Uh oh. He had his determined face on.

While everyone filed out, Jiho lingered in the doorway for a moment, seemingly unwilling to leave you alone. “Hurry up, okay?”

You nodded, before turning back to the remaining two men in the kitchen. “Minho. Changbin. What the hell is going on with you two?”

Both of their faces were deadly serious, and Minho spoke first. “Y/N, you’re not gonna wanna hear this, but something’s off about Jiho.”

You cocked an eyebrow, “what is that supposed to mean?”

Changbin spoke next, “The way he looks at you. The way he looks at us when we look at you.”

Minho nodded, “He talks about you like he owns you, and the way he looks at you scares me. It’s almost like an obsession.”

You scoff. What the hell were these two talking about? “He’s not obsessed with me. We’re just close.”

Changbin continued. “And you’re different around him too. Quieter.” He grimaced, “Smaller.”

Smaller. You didn’t care for that comment.

Minho continued, “You let him talk for you. That hunting nonsense? The Y/N I know wouldn’t let someone talk down to her like that.”

You were pissed. So what? Your relationship with Jiho was just…different. That didn’t mean it’s bad. “Guys, you don’t have to approve of Jiho. You may not like him but he’s my family.”

Changbin gaze grew grim. “We aren’t finished. Were you listening earlier, when he was talking about your brother?”

You shook your head, “Not really. You two were being obnoxious the whole time, it was distracting. Not to mention, I know the story.”

Changbin nodded, “You’re brother was killed by a crazy stranger over some food, right?”

You nodded, “and Jiho came back to the house without him and told me what happened. We didn’t even get to bury him.”

Minho’s eyes went wide with shock. “Changbin…you were right.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, “Right about what?”

Changbin’s gaze was angry, “That isn’t what he told us at dinner. It was a completely different story.”

Minho clenched his jaw. “He took a long breath before telling the story, the kind someone takes to buy time.”

You shook your head, unwilling to hear any more, but Minho continued.

“He made it all up on the spot.”

[inkribbon796]

Live form Downtown Ch. 2

Written for Bim’s birthday, in the Superhero AU this is his first real public appearance.

Summary: As Bim celebrates his birthday, the Heroes decide on a plan of action.

This is chapter two of the story

<= PREVIOUS

Chapter 2: He Says He Doesn’t Tip

    Inside the police station, Abe was with a couple of the heroes. The three heroes were all in uniform. Logan had already watched the entire segment. Roman and Jackie, however had not. One of Abe’s contacts had gotten him an early pilot showing of Bim’s show, and it was remarkably similar to the episode that had aired tonight.

    “And you can confirm that all show contestants are hale and healthy?” Logan asked after the segment concluded, adjusting his glasses.

    “Yeah,” Abe answered. “First thing I checked out. As much as I want to slap the guy as a serial killer, we’ve got no physically proof he was in the city.”

    “I saw him with the other villains,” Roman reminded. “My money’s on him being the Dorm 5 Killer.”

    “I’d love to take that as gospel, but I don’t think the court’s gunna take a magical out-of-body experience as hard evidence,” Abe reminded.

    “We should strive to have multiple pieces of independent evidence,” Logan added.

    “However Dark and Wilford found the kid it can’t be that hard to get information out of him,” Roman scoffed. “I mean you said it yourself that you got one of Dark’s Lieutenants on our side.”

    Logan tapped his knuckles to his chin, his mouth thinning into a tense line. “As Dark and Wilford’s apprentice, it stands to reason that there will be much heavier security around him than the rest of Dark’s enforcers.”

    “Yeah, in case yah haven’t noticed, Dark’s not an idiot. This is the first time Silver an’ I have seen this kid in almost twenty years,” Jackie reminded. “He kept him buried so deeply I thought we hallucinated the whole thing.”

    “That might not be entirely accurate,” Logan rewound the recording to the last clear image of Bim’s face. “Amenities and resources to raise a child do not some out of thin air. If your numerous fights with those who can use the Void have proven anything, the objects have to first enter the Void for Dark, Wilford, and Anti to use them.”

    “What you thinking, Pocket Protector?” Roman asked.

    “How young was the child that Dark and Wilford had?” Logan demanded, looking in Jackie’s direction. While the heroes were talking amongst themselves, Abe was staring at the screen.

    Jackie sputtered for a bit, “That was twenty years ago, remember?”

    “You must remember something,” Logan responded with exasperation. “Anything.”

    “The kid was little,” Jackie answered. “Real little. Couldn’ta been more than a couple of months or something.”

    Logic went quiet for a bit. “Detective, I believe you said there were no missing children’s reports before or during that time.”

    “No,” Abe didn’t take his eyes off the screen. “But now that I can get a half-decent look at the kid, it just crossed my mind that he looks a lot like Wilford.”

    “Seriously?” Roman balked.

    “Look, Warfstache is a serial adulterer,” Abe looked back at them. “It’d surprise me more if he hadn’t somehow made a kid with all the married folks he’s banged over the years.”

    “That doesn’t explain Dark,” Logan muttered under his breath.

    “What was that?” Roman asked.

    “Just a thought,” Logan summarized. “We might be able to get additional information another way.”

    “How?” Jackieboy Man scoffed. “We just gunna swoop inta’ an abandoned warehouse an’ beat ‘em up ‘til they tell us what we wanna know?”

    “I need to run tests and stimulations to see if I am wasting our time or not,” Logan evaded, already turning towards the door.

    After that Logan tuned the others out as he headed back to the base. It was close enough to the base that it wasn’t too bad of a walk, and it gave Logic time to think and plan. His brain running through possibilities and options.

    Logan walked into the base and went to the basement, if anyone tried to stop or talk to him, the logical side didn’t notice. Finally the elevator opened into an impossible big, and impossibly dark basement. Logic stepped out and waited for the elevator to close behind and plunge him into the darkness.

    “Logic,” the Host’s voice seemed to purr from the darkness and a single candle was lit in the distance. “Greetings.”

    Carefully Logic made his way to the candle, thankfully there weren’t any bookshelves in his path and he made it to the Host’s desk with little incident.

    At first Logan wasn’t sure how to start, the Host could see the future, and had probably seen him coming down days ago. “Salutations, Host, I am certain you know why I am here.”

    “The Host is aware of many things,” the Host smiled at Logan, his face eerily lit by the candle. “It is astounding to the Host that the rest of the Egos haven’t enlisted his help in finding their Dorm 5 Killer.”

    “The local governing body of Egoton have made it clear that your visions do not count as “admissable evidence” so we will have to use more standard legal methods,” Logan reminded.

    “The Host would like it to be known that the judge is just afraid that the Host will make his affair with his wife’s assistant public knowledge,” the seer dismissed.

    “Be that as it may, you are capable of masking your presence in the city,” Logan reminded the Host. “Can you do the same for others?”

    “What was Logic thinking of doing with the Host’s abilities?” the Host asked, tilting his head and looking at Logan as if he could still physically see him.

    Logan would be minimizing if he didn’t admit that that type of stare didn’t worry him at least a little.

    “It is in my opinion that I am the only individual capable of the task,” Logan began. “Bim Trimmer is working with Dark and the rest of the League, he might even be the Dorm 5 Killer.”

    “Of that, the Host doesn’t doubt,” the Host dismissed, staring at Logan with a bit less intensity. “Logic wants something from the Host, what does Logic want the Host to do?”

    “I need you to help me go undercover inside Dark’s network,” Logan responded. “I need to be so thoroughly undercover than even Deceit or the Duke won’t recognize me. I believe that someone of my skills could be useful to Dark’s army. He has even stated as much. I could also bring useful information back.”

    The Host leaned forward, steeping his fingers in front of his face, “How fortunate for Logic, the Entity is in need of a new assistant. He recently turned his old one into a Lieutenant.”

    “Good,” Logan nodded, trying not to be nervous.

    “If Logic accepts, the Host will not be able to protect him from so far away,” the Host warned. “Once he starts, there is no going back.”

    “It is a necessary risk,” Logan reminded.

    “But not one Logan need take, they could simply arrest Bim Trimmer,” the Host reminded.

    “I have to do this, we don’t have enough evidence,” Logan reminded.

    “Fair enough,” the Host smiled, and his hands went up as if he was sitting at a typewriter.

    “Name: Logan Thomas Sanders,” the Host began, blood began trickling out of his empty eye sockets, staining his bandages and running down his face.

    The Host continued. “Age 30, birthday: April 24, 1989. Attended Stanford University. Double majored in Computer Science and Bioengineering on a full-ride scholarship. He was picked up by the Entity’s talent scouts. After his schooling moved to Egoton in November of 2019, he was enlisted to work for the Entity.”

    As the Host began to talk, Logic began to feel different, the world around him graying out, but the Host and his voice was always clear.

    Then finally the Host added, “Will periodically return to the Heroes to report to the Host. He continues in his hero work, no one is the wiser, not even Logan.”

    With the last syllable, Logan’s world jolted and he found himself at a desk, about five books in front of them. He blinked, as if disoriented, looking around himself. He was tired, his eyes hurt. Probably from staring at Dark’s books all day.

    Last thing he expected to use his degree for was to work a dead guy’s books, but it was a five figure salary, and he wasn’t going to complain.

    Taking his glasses off, Logan rubbed at his eyes and groaned.

    Darkiplier appeared behind him and Logan jumped a little, he was getting better at expecting Dark’s presence and predicting it. “How bad is it?”

    Logan groaned, picking up the top book. “You have to stop letting Warfstache kill his contestants.”

    “I tried that twenty years ago,” Dark groaned, rubbing at his face. “Once you’re done with that book I need to discuss something with you. Full discretion, as always.”

    “Of course, Sir,” Logan put back on his glasses and looked his boss dead in the eyes. The bookkeeper liked to think he’d been hired for his general fearlessness. “I’ll lock these back up and be right into your office.”

    “Good,” Dark told him and left, disappearing back into the Void.

    Logan sighed and got back to the books in front of him.

NEXT =>

[angryteapot]

The Revenge

Sadistic Glee at 3 (A.M) - Part 1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Summary: Bucky makes an unsavory discovery in the wee hours of the morning, and you’re dragged into it.

Warnings: Language, Mild Violence, Fourth Wall a smidge?

Word Count: 1493 

Being an Avenger, you were used to no sleep, used to the missions that lasted for days on end. But when you got back to the compound? Well, everyone knew not to mess with you and your sleep.

Everyone except one James Buchanan Barnes, that is. Bucky made it his sole mission in life to keep you awake, and not in the fun way. More of an 'If you wake me up one more time, you'll cease to exist' way. But you were always distracted from your murderous thoughts by that adorable, shit-eating grin of his.

You and the team had just come back from a week-long mission, and you were very much looking forward to catching up on sleep. You, Steve, and Bucky shared a floor of the compound, which was usually pretty peaceful. Usually. Tonight was an exception, a loud crashing sound pulling you from a dead sleep. Your body flooded with adrenaline and you jolted up from your bed. You grabbed your knife from its mount and quickly crept out your door, heading down the hall, not even bothering with shoes. You passed Steve's door, incredulous that he slept through the noise. How could his super hearing miss that ruckus? If it came down to a fight, you were going to murder him for not waking up.

Following the sounds of stomping and clattering objects, you were led to Bucky’s door. Your thoughts of an intruder were quelled, F.R.I.D.A.Y. would have surely noticed a breach. Was he having a nightmare, should you just leave him be? No, he was your best friend, and you were going to help him. You knocked on his door, quietly asking, “Buck?”

The clattering stopped, and his door suddenly flew open with a crash. Still buzzing with the lingering adrenaline, you immediately went into a fighting stance at the sudden unexpected movement. Bucky was dressed in his Winter Soldier uniform and was strapping his throwing knives into their compartments while he spoke. “Oh good, you’re already in fight mode. Go get dressed, we’re gonna go have a ‘talk’ with Jordan Roberts. I already pulled his address from the database.”

“Buck, you feelin’ okay? Who the heck is Jordan Roberts? I don’t remember seeing the name on any watch lists.  Did intel come in that he’s dirty? We should wake Ste-”

He grabbed your arm, cutting you off and preventing you from turning around as he explained. “No! We don’t need Steve. Just come with me, yeah? We’ve gotta beat some sense into this guy.  And no, he’s not corrupt - not in the way you’re thinking, anyway. He’s a sick bastard for what he did to Tadashi, and he needs to be set straight. It’s a children’s movie, for Steve’s sake!”

 You’re confused. For many, many reasons. “Tadashi… from Big Hero 6? How do you even -  Oh my GOD, Barnes. Dude. It’s 3 in the morning. Why are you like this. Of all the…” You continue muttering as you punch him in the chest for waking you up with all his racket. “Wait… did you just say ‘for Steve’s sake?’ You know the commonly used term is ‘for Pete’s sake,’ right?”

He scoffed, “Of course, but using Steve’s name makes it sound so much more righteous. And my indignation over this is the very definition of righteous.” You sighed wearily, so very very done with his bullshit.  “Dude. Did you even finish watching the movie? It was actually pretty cute despite the tremendous fuckery that was Tadashi’s death.” You yawned and slumped against the wall now that you know there was no real reason to be worked up.

He shuffled his feet a little, causing his loose knives to make a tinkling noise. “Uh… no. I mean, how could I, after that happened? Honestly, I don’t even know what kind of sick twisted person you’d have to be in order to willfully come up with and execute that plot twist. And that’s coming from the brainwashed assassin with a body count larger than Carl Sagan’s catchphrase.” He goes from slightly bashful to all worked up and frustrated by the end of his mini rant.

You cocked an eyebrow at him and sassily crossed your arms. “Wow. You got anything else to declare? While we’re spilling our guts and deepest feelings, I mean.”

He looked at you for a minute before a wicked smirk crossed his face. He shrugged nonchalantly before saying, “Yeah, it was me who ate the rest of your limited edition Pop-Tarts. Though it was priceless to watch Thor’s expression when you actually lifted Mjolnir and hit him through the wall with it. Bravo, (Y/N), we were all very surprised and amused.”

He laughed hysterically as he dodged your tackle. “I knew it, you bastard! And they weren’t just limited edition, they were literally a one of a kind flavor, specifically developed for my tastes! And dammit, Tony refuses to endorse any more flavor experiments because they’re so damn expensive, and why are you laughing while being suffocated with a pillow?!”

His laughter and response was muffled, as you had grabbed his pillow to smother him while berating him. You reluctantly lifted the pillow off his face, only now noticing that you had managed to tackle and sit on him. He gasped a breath, unable to respond as he choked on his laughter. He managed to get one word out amidst his hysterics – “Mjolnir!”

Your hands covered your red face as you lamented, “Oh my god, poor Thor he was completely innocent. And I punted him through a wall with his own hammer! Whyyy..” You pounded your fists on his chest in embarrassment as he continued to laugh.

“On the bright side, Doll, I guess you’re worthy.”

You rolled off of him and offered your hand to help him up. “Huh, guess I am. Never really let it sink in until now.” He grinned smugly as he fixed his mussed up hair, “Sooo.. I should probably finish the movie before I go off and murder the guy for it, yeah?”

You sigh, “Yes, you idiot. Come on, bring your blankets and popcorn to the common room. We’ll plan the ‘talk’ we’re gonna have with Roberts while we watch the movie.”

As you both pass Steve’s room on the way to the common room, a loud snore breaks the silence. You turn and dead stare at each other before collapsing into silent laughter and clapping like a seal. Stumbling into the common room clutching at one another for support, you finally burst into loud laughter as tears streamed down your faces.  “Oh shit, my poor lungs. How did he not wake up to any of that? Damn, so much for our righteous protector!”

After laughing at Steve for a few minutes, Bucky put the offending movie up on the TV. Needless to say it was spent in a mess of laughing and crying, shouting at the unfairness of it all, and throwing popcorn at the screen. All reactions from the ever-stoic Bucky Barnes, of course. You, meanwhile, were busy adding all his hysterics to your Snapchat story.

Despite being woken up at ass o’clock by the dramatic Winter Soldier, you were glad the night (early morning) ended the way it did. You woke up next to Bucky several hours later, both of you cuddled under the blankets surrounded by fallen popcorn.

Shaking the sleepy soldier awake, you both stumble to the elevator to go up to the main kitchen and common room. After brewing you both a fresh pot of coffee, you settle on the sofa next to him in comfortable silence. The peace is broken by Steve running into the room like a madman mumbling, “No no no no no, please PLEASE tell me it wasn’t you. Oh god, we’re going to catch so much PR shit for this, NO.”

You and Bucky simultaneously shout, “Language!” at Steve while he frantically searched for the remote. He found it and turned the news on, spinning around to glare accusingly while pointing at the two of you. There’s a reporter standing outside of a massive home, where a frazzled looking Roberts is tearing at his short hair, hollering about being attacked by two unnamed Avengers because of his Tadashi Hamada character. You smirk into your coffee as you hear the reporter say with a chuckle, “And there you have it folks. Is this to be the new norm for the Avengers? If so, you better watch out Russo brothers, you may very well be next on the list! Back to you in the studio…”

Steve stood in front of you with sad eyes and a resigned posture. “Why am I friends with you two? I thought you would be a good influence on each other…” He continues to mumble as he shuffles away in disappointment.

You and Bucky share a smirk and a discreet fist bump, leaning back to serenely sip at your coffee.

[bashfulgnome]

Seasonal

Happy New Year! I’ve been working on this WIR fic idea for a while and thought it’d be fitting for this holiday. Enjoy!

Felix sat atop Niceland Apartments and looked out over the arcade from his game's screen. Mr. Litwak had draped some colorful strands of lights over a few game cabinets and around the building's front windows, and they cast a cozy glow over his neighbors' homes. The sights and sounds of their celebrations filled the arcade with mirth, and below him his own game's annual party was well underway. Through the open windows he could hear Ralph belting out "Deck the Halls" with Tamora, her men, and Zangief joining in, the Nicelanders and racers barely audible over the festive bellowing. Their New Year's Eve celebration retained some Christmas cheer for the sake of friends who couldn't make it the previous week.

Originally Felix had come up to the roof for some fresh air, but as he sat there alone with his thoughts, he found it far too easy to venture into bittersweet mental territory. His gaze drifted to the one remaining Sugar Rush cabinet and its new steering wheel; its border lights blended seamlessly with the other blinking bulbs around the room.

Its twin has been unplugged quite a while ago now. Most gamers tended to play Sugar Rush by themselves for the glory of setting a new best time without distractions. Litwak decided to sell the second cabinet to a collector who was well-off enough to give him several times what he'd always thought it was worth. It was the last piece she needed for her TobiKomi collection – ever since the company announced its impending closure, she'd explained, the value of their games had started climbing, and she was willing to pay extra then to avoid ridiculous levels of price-gouging later.

As beneficial as it had been to the arcade, all of this did little to reassure Felix. If it wasn't for Ralph getting the steering wheel on time, the remaining cabinet – the racers’ home – would've gone the way of Centipede. Naturally they all knew how precarious their way of life happened to be, but with so many games in the arcade, it wasn't often that such an event would hit so close to home. And right at this time of the year, as well.

"Hey babe, you okay?"

"Oh my land!" He startled a bit before turning around with a hand on his chest. "Ah...'m sorry for leaving the party like that, darlin'. I shouldn't'a had that cheesecake...but I'll be fine."

"I know damn well something's bothering you. C'mon, tell me. You never take leave of a holiday party this long." Tamora's eyes narrowed but her tone was soft, almost as if she was afraid of scaring him away. She took a seat next to him on the ledge.

"I was just...thinkin'. 'Bout the arcade back in the day, and– and all of us."

She wrapped an arm around her little husband. They both wore the sweaters she knitted for them years ago: classic oversized, ugly Christmas sweaters adorned with trees, snowflakes, and gaudy argyle patterns. She'd deliberately made them as ridiculous-looking as possible, but of course he loved them anyway. So much that he wore them for Christmas and New Year's – Why pass up the chance if you took the time to make ‘em? he’d said. Felix leaned into her side and took her free hand in both of his.

"I wish you could've been here back then, Tamora. Everyone was so close-knit because there weren't that many sprites in each game in those days. It was a real special time." He smiled warmly at the memory.

"The fellas over in Berzerk, they had the best laser tag maze you've ever laid eyes on. Whenever we had a day off they'd get everything set up and let folks come in to play." Felix laughed and shook his head. That game afforded him a welcome break from the Nicelanders as they never ventured inside; its disembodied, mechanistic droning of “DESTROY THE HUMANOID KILL THE INTRUDER” terrified them. "That Otto, he was always so happy to have company..."

Tamora's gaze softened; she could sense that her husband was going to take her for a long stroll down memory lane.

"On Saturday nights, Pauline would come down to Tapper's and take song requests. There'd be jazz playin', people dancin'...around the holidays she'd even put up a stage in Game Central Station. She sang carols and we'd all count down to the new year together."

"Imagine Surge Protector getting in on that, huh?" She grinned. "Surprised when I found out that he's the one who decorates the place."

"Oh he loved it! It was really busy every day back then, so he appreciated havin' a break. Some days we had so many visitors that Mr. Litwak set up a TV over by the change machine. That way, all the little siblings who got dragged along and crowded away from the games had something to do when it was rainin' out and they couldn't go mini-golfing. He always said he'd rather have them safe in here than wanderin' around in the streets, even if they weren't customers. Then when they got bigger, they'd come runnin' in, just so excited to finally be able to play with us."

He sighed happily.

"It was just wonderful, gettin' to watch children grow up and knowing that you brighten their day. Some of 'em even told us stories while they were playing."

His smile faltered as he recalled some of what he'd heard from the less fortunate ones – how they'd startle at the slightest noise, the marks on their faces; things that had been lost in the rosy haze of nostalgia until that moment.

"And a few of them...oh, Tammy, I think this arcade might've been the only real home they had. Ralph always did go a bit easier on them, bless his heart."

Tamora squeezed her husband's hand a little tighter. She'd seen a couple of children like that in her six years at Litwak's.

Excited, but quiet and timid. Always looking over their shoulders with their hands in their pockets, clenched around a fistful of precious quarters. They usually entered alone or with a group of similarly-nervous friends. Some days they left the same way. Other days they would be yanked out by the elbow mid-game, heads down, by a seething, red-faced adult who kept up a strained illusion of courtesy with the arcade owner – their facade betrayed only by their visibly-tightening grip on the child's arm – until stepping out the door.

The size of the Hero's Duty console usually resulted in these children ducking behind it to hide if they spotted a parent's car outside while playing. The best the sergeant could do to help was point the FPS bot towards something uninteresting in the hopes that her game wouldn't attract attention.

She glanced down at the worried handyman and he met her gaze with a concerned one of his own. He shuffled closer to her before continuing.

"A few months after we got plugged in, Berzerk was taken away for a couple weeks and came back as Frenzy.” He shuddered at the memory of seeing what looked like a new cabinet rolling through the doors, until he realized what it really was, underneath the blinding orange paint job.

“I thought we’d pick up right where we left off. Everyone looked the same and they were friendly enough but...it wasn't them. We heard later that the joystick kept getting jammed and the game wasn't bringin’ in enough quarters, so Mr. Litwak decided to have his repair people do a conversion kit while they were at it, since he was able to get a discount anyway. They lasted a few more years, but eventually they got swapped for RoadBlasters..." He pointed towards a spot on the floor currently occupied by nothing more than a few singed stains on the patterned carpet.

She let out a low whistle. "Hell of a way to go."

Felix nodded sadly.

"What about Pauline, isn't she still around?" The sergeant pulled up one leg and crossed it under her knee. She knew that woman was lucky enough to hail from a classic game that no arcade owner unplugged nowadays unless there were dire circumstances. Pac-Man and Donkey Kong were among the proverbial canaries in the coal mine, along with Fix-It Felix Jr. – if it ever came to the point where one of them got sold for parts instead of repaired, the arcade was in dire straits.

"Oh she's still here...but a lot of her old hangouts aren't. Her game's a bit lonely, so she went around with Mario and DK and they got to know most everyone who was plugged in back then. Most of those folks' games didn't stay here past 1999 or so – insides burned out, drinks spilled, quarters stopped comin' in. A few didn't make it out in time.”

Tamora winced at the blank expression that briefly crossed his face.

“The arcade really changed quickly in just a couple months. We got a whole bunch of new games to replace the unplugged ones, and the neighborhood that Pauline loved just wasn't the same. She had a tough time with it and didn't feel like singing as much anymore. Not in public, at least."

His voice hitched and he swallowed a lump in his throat.

"This– This time of year just gets me thinkin' sometimes...there's just so much that goes on out there and we can't do a thing about it. I hope those little ones turned out okay. We invited Pauline to the party tonight but she's over havin' a quiet night at Ms. Pac-Man's...I think she's doing a little better now, tryin' to make some new friends. And I hope Mr. Litwak is doin’ all right, too. He's been at this even longer than we have, and...well..."

"I know." She noticed the worry in his features and pulled him closer, planting a kiss on his forehead. The owner wasn't exactly getting any younger, and no sprite in the arcade knew if he had plans to retire or pass down the establishment. He'd never mentioned having any next-of-kin – blood-related or otherwise – either way, and it seemed he planned to run the business he loved for as long as he was physically able.

After that...they had the Wi-Fi router as a last resort if evacuation was inevitable, but from there, nobody really mapped it out any further. Sure, they had plans for who they'd turn to if their own games got unplugged, but the idea of all the games in the arcade suddenly being scattered to the four winds, futures uncertain...it was too much to think about.

"It just feels...wrong for me to even be gettin' so misty over it anyway. I have a home, and a wonderful wife," – he kissed her hand and ran his thumb over her fingers – "and a real swell brother and little Vanny, and so many healthy, happy children who got their home game back, and the last six years have been the best of my life...I'm doing better than ever but I just can't shake this feeling. All those years in the arcade's heyday weren't fun for Ralph. And half that time Turbo was keepin' Vanellope miserable. Q*bert was homeless..."

Felix's voice strained, and his speaking tempo turned frantic. "I-I know that's all in the past, and we worked everything out with Ralph, and the family's all doing great now, but...but what if this is someone's last year? What if I didn't do enough? Even if the motherboard’s good to run another thirty years their screen could still burn out, or gamers could lose interest in them, or someone could get into a fight near the cabinet and damage something, or...or…"

He shook his head, choking back a sob. "I don't know how you do this every day in the military, honeybadger. Keeping it together even if everyone you love could be gone tomorrow and–"

She leaned down and hushed him with a fierce kiss that nearly pinned him to the concrete ledge. He needed to be needed; to worry and help and fix. Tamora knew this well. She'd come down with the occasional virus or two and observed him doting on her in his every spare minute until she recovered. He'd checked in with Ralph each day for the past month in case he was missing Vanellope even more than usual and needed to vent. He made sure to give a hug and word of praise to every single one of the Sugar Rush racers whenever the two of them departed the game after the Random Roster Race to retire for the night. She loved him for it, how much he cared and wanted everyone to be happy – sprite and gamer alike – but at times like these it wore his physical and emotional faculties to the bone.

"Alright, you'd better listen here, shortstack." Pulling away, she held his cherry-red face in her hands, his expression still dazed and eyes wide. He clung to her arms to keep from swaying off the building. Her tone was gentle but firm as she blotted away a tear from his cheek.

"I get it. You know how I feel about regrets and– and being helpless. Hurts like the ugliest slap in the face, the...biggest shot in the chest. It's a self-inflicted wound like nothing else." She inhaled a sharp breath before continuing.

"But take it from me – you do more than enough. You did enough to help the most stubborn ass in this arcade start healing and living outside her backstory." The corner of her mouth twitched into a lopsided smile.

"Tammy Jean–"

"–You showed me that there's always gonna be something to look forward to, even if you have to make it with your own hands. Every year you run yourself into the ground setting up these shindigs. You built a town for the gameless sprites. You've been trying to keep everyone's spirits up whenever anything bad's happened these past six years. You even convinced that miserable carouser to start treating Wreck-It with some respect. But you can't fix everything. Nobody's gonna pull that off. Said it yourself – at the end of the day, what goes on outside here is beyond our control."

She sighed in frustration, and he placed his hands over hers.

"Look, I know I'm not the best at being the optimist in the room. But all we can do is suit up and keep taking our best shot at a moving target. And you can do a lot better at that if you're down in there at the party. If it is someone's last year, make it a good one."

From downstairs, a familiar, sprightly voice suddenly cut through a wave of static.

"SHOULD OLD ACQUAINTANCE BE FORGOT AND NEVER BROUGHT TO MIND! SHOULD…wait, Ralph, how does it go again?"

"It– huh. Good question, kid. I usually just hum that part. Hey! Does anyone here actually know this song?"

Felix hesitated, then nodded, and that familiar, cheesy look of pure adoration spread across his face. "Thank you, love."

Tamora pulled him into a hug, running her fingers through his hair, and the last traces of abrasion dropped out of her voice.

"And take care of yourself first, Felix. Never thought I’d say this, but take a cue from Wreck-It and the prez. Just enjoy tonight. Still got the singing, the countdown and the fireworks comin’ up. And you know I’m looking forward to what we’re gonna do at midnight." She pulled back to look him in the eyes with that unique tenderness that was reserved only for the little handyman. "Everyone's safe and we're not goin’ anywhere."

Felix beamed as he recognized those soothing words that had passed between them on so many nights. It made him start to tear up again, realizing how much his words of comfort meant to his wife that she'd reciprocate with them at a moment like this.

"Can do," he replied with a gentle peck on her lips, eliciting a light blush from the sergeant. She laughed softly and smiled.

"Good. Let's go teach those two how it's done."

Hand-in-hand, the couple returned to the penthouse to rejoin the merriment. For that night's celebration, as long as they were all together, all was calm and bright. 

–

Tagging my WIR buddies: @ask-icancraft-it @ashleybenlove @sgtcalhouns @allthefixins @coneygoil @kittysfigurines24 @cy-bug

Let me know if you would like your name added to the tags for future fics!