#victor stone imagines

[midnightlee25]

Sweethearts Yandere Cyborg (Victor Stone) x Reader

Before the accident when Valentine’s Day would come around he would spend the whole day with his sweetheart showing them just how much he cared for them and vice versa. No matter how cheesy it would get it was always one of the best days out of the year for him and his sweetheart. And now after the accident it is these days that he clings to the most especially when it comes around that year and he hasn’t been around them since.

Sure he has kept a close eye on them for their protection but he hasn’t been able to go near them. Afraid of what they may think of his new form. 

However that didn’t stop him from showing them how he feels  just like he did all these years ago. Leaving flowers and their favorite sweets on their bed, sending them anonymous love letters reminding them just how much they mean to him.

It would be sweet if it wasn't so maddening to his sweetheart. Not knowing who gets getting into their house or sending them those weird letters by email. They tried moving, changing emails, everything to try and get away from whomever this creep was pretending to be their dead high school boyfriend. 

Now instead of Valentine’s Day being filled with bittersweet memories it's filled with dread waiting to see if anyone leaves anything behind. 

[disco-troy]

Me @dc when they put Vic in JL

[neopuff]

cyborg/raven // teenage dream

[hardcore-lonewolf]

💋Bad Girls💋: A Teen Titans & Young Justice Cross-Over Fan-Fiction One-Shot (TUMBLR)

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PLOT: This group of eight chicks are getting ready for their slumber party and got some lingerie for themselves rather than their boyfriends. A band of eight dudes are curious about their girlfriends and their tea time, so these men dug into some private plans to find their women's juicy kinks and uncover some hidden secrets. In order to do that, these gents must follow and spy on their ladies throughout their overnight weekends at Paradise City, where the saints and sinners come to play mind games for fun. These guys got an undercover mission to get answers and interrogate their lovers on some certain questions that never asked during their relationships (marriages and engagements). These divas find out and are now crossing the next evil deeds that popped into their minds...some dirty things and some crazy habits in that gave them some vintage bad bitch vibes. Let's find out what these heroines got in store for these heroes and how they'll react.

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⚠WARNING⚠: THIS IS SET IN THE FUTURE LIKE "BEN 10K" TIMES, I CHOSE TO PUT EVA NELSON (FUTURE GWEN) AND RACHEL ROTH UP FOR THAT REASON. THE TEAM AND THE TITANS ARE NOW ADULTS, WHICH DOESN'T MEAN THAT THEY STOPPED BEING FRIENDS AND ALLIES...THEY'RE CLOSER THAN THAT. THIS CONTAINS MOSTLY MENTIONS OF ROUGH SMUT THAT'LL BE VERY IMPLIED OR THE REAL DEAL, A BIT DARK ANGST CAUSE THESE STRONG MEN ARE VERY OVERPROTECTIVE WITH THEIR TOUGH WOMEN, SOME HARD CRACK THAT WILL HURT ME TO DEATH BY LAUGHTER, AND A FEW SOFT FLUFF MOMENTS THAT ARE LOVING AND CARING WHEN THESE BOYS GET COMFORTED BY THESE GIRLS. IT MAKES ME NOT REGRETTING ANY WAY POSSIBLE WITH MY WORDS AND STUFF.

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"The men are stuck on a weekend mission overnight at Las Vegas, which leaves us by ourselves and drinking wine coolers on a cruise ship from LA to Tokyo. We can stay in this fucking tower and be bored as hell, or we'll do my list of things that'll make Kaldur swimming back home faster than Wally speeding throughout Mexico for nachos." Wonder Woman II (OFC: Ophelia Trevor) said while setting her bottle down and grabbing her list. "Here's the things women would do to look hot and sexy for their men. We're doing this and I don't give a damn...we need fresh air for gods' sake."

Black Cat (OFC: Eva Nelson), Tigress, Miss Martian, Zatanna, Rocket, Fire Goddess II (Starfire), and White Raven stared at the list and read it to themselves. They froze with reddened cheeks and their face formed into sly looks with mad grins on their faces. Wonder Woman put the list down and gave them an evil smirk in response to theirs.

Karaoke bars, night clubs, pole dances, music studios, fashion shows, spa resorts, hair salons, poker games, vintage cars, hotel rooms, flower gardens, jewelry stores, casino houses, beauty markets, beach parties, island pools, hot tubs, tattoo parlors, piercing outlets, erotic dens, nail shops, and strip joints.

"We're in," the demigoddess let them follow her and got in some clothes she gave them for Saturday night's neon lights party in Jump City.

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When it reached Saturday night, the guys finished their missions and were surprised that their lovers aren't inside the Titan Tower nor on the Central Island. Nightwing found a sticky note with a matte black lipstick kiss mark on it and read it. He nodded and handed the note to Aquaman II (Jackson Hyde), who recognized his beloved wife the new Wonder Woman's handwriting.

"Hello boys, it seems y'all finished the mission early, don't worry about us, we're currently at that neon lights club dressed up and letting ourselves enjoy some time. If you're reading this Kaldur, you better not let yourself and the rest of the guys catch us there. We're that easy to spot, but you men must be tired and exhausted. The ladies and I got some special presents for y'all, yet it won't happen cause a certain blue bird couldn't keep his thoughts to himself. You boys can drag us back all you want, we'll be running and hiding all night. Once y'all gents find all of us, the ladies and I will be good for you...as long as you perverts tell us why y'all always spy on us during our tea time. Have fun trying to catch us...sincerely yours, your beloved wife Ophelia Stephanie Hyde."

"They're partying at the Neon Lights Club in Jump City," Flash III (Wally West) said as he found the location and showed Nightwing.

"Those women will forever be the death of us," Breach (OMC: Nate Davenport) muttered under his breath, earning a nod from Steel Scion (Superboy I).

Hardware II (Cyborg I), Changeling, and Sentinel (OMC: Matt Ferris) followed Breach to the Zeta Tube while the rest stayed to discuss the women's punishments for lying about their whereabouts. Sentinel opens the location and the heroes headed on the streets of Jump City. The men found the club and walked inside without being caught.

"Now then, where's those girls at?" The girls heard their men and grew excited mixed with fear cause they knew that the boys won't hold back on being rough with them under the sheets.

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Wonder Woman shut the curtains and was a bit of afraid of her possessive husband Aquaman. Miss Martian, Fire Goddess (Starfire), Rocket, Tigress, Black Cat, Zatanna, and White Raven were blushing at how their lovers were prepared to take them home for some rough housing underneath the bedsheets all night long. The heroes were very obsessed and overprotective of their girls, they won't let any man or woman take them away.

"Let's do this number and give our men a good show." The heroines got to their places and were prepared for what they did behind their men's backs every time they by themselves.

"Remember girls, never let a person touch or feel, we let our lovers do that only and we'll be fine." They gulped nervously while stretching and taking deep breaths. "We're getting out of here when the curtain closes and we start running for it backstage to random spots in this club. Don't let them hear or see you...they know that this is a manhunt to them, our asses are doomed when they find all of us. Good luck and I pray to the gods that we can still walk straight after tonight."

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"Thanks," the bartender nodded after passing the heroes some cold water.

"The club got some girls to volunteer and perform some dancing for the crowd tonight. They go by Dahlia (Raven), Violet (Zatanna), Jasmine (Megan), Leilani (Artemis), Rosalie (Eva), Willow (Raquel), Heather (Opal), and Cassia (Kory) Motley of the Spectrum. They did some good dances on the tryouts and got in at first place, I saw those platinum rings with those white diamonds on their fingers and have told many people to try not getting on them cause they're taken. Whoever married or engaged to these ladies, those men are blessed and are proud to love women like them." The bartender explained to the heroes, not knowing that he's actually complimenting them and getting appreciative nods with smiles.

"Peforming on stage, the winners of the Neon Lights Club Dance-Off from last night...here's Spectrum!" The heroes froze to see their wives and lovers in disguise as the Spectrum.

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MAGENTA - EVA (OFC); RED - RAVEN; ORANGE - ARTEMIS ; YELLOW - ZATANNA; GREEN - KORY; CYAN - MEGAN; BLUE - RAQUEL; PURPLE - OPAL (OFC).

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When it goes "Where...have...you...been?", the song does it twice...the warm colors: magenta/Rosalie, red/Dahlia, orange/Leilani, and yellow/Violet will be the first one, and the cool colors: green/Cassia, cyan/Jasmine, blue/Willow, and purple/Heather.

It's a mix of these two choreography videos and it amazes me that people make videos like the two between this sentence inside their dance studios anytime...they're very talented.

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Once the music was over, the crowd cheers and went insane. The Spectrum bows and waves at the people before heading backstage. When the girls got there, they immediately head into the dressing rooms and went dead silent except for their hearts beating in their chests.

"Oh girls, come out wherever y'all are." The girls let Black Cat cast an invisibility spell and an enchantment that blocks the boys from finding them.

(Mind link established, where we're going now Bella?) Miss Martian asked the demigoddess.

(Two words, top floor.) Wonder Woman answered while trying to stay calm and quiet.

The girls snuck out of the dressing rooms and ran upstairs to the secret elevator. White Raven quickly presses it and uses her magic to close the door shut. Fire Goddess chose the top floor and the girls waited till the door opens to their destination.

Once it does, the women rushed out and hides in random places. They heard their men walking up the stairs and gulped nervously. The ladies know that Steel Scion, Hardware, and Changeling can easily search for them, but Black Cat made sure that her mana kept the guys from finding all of them.

"Ladies, you can't hide from us all night long, we will find all of you and drag y'all home if we have to." Nightwing said in a low voice that almost made the Lucky Girl squeak out loud.

White Raven suddenly saw a light switch and use that to turn off the lights. Zatanna silently gave her a thumbs-up and crawled next to the cambion. The nephilim could see the men's feet on the hard ground and grew anxiously afraid.

[I can't find them here,] the Amalgam Kid stated as he sat down on the bed next to Hardware and glares at the floor.

He gets off of it and lifts the bed up with the half-robot man to see nobody there. The boys set the bed down and Steel Scion grew frustrated. The Son of Steel suddenly heard a ball rolling and snaps his eyes to where it came from.

(Damn it, we're so dead.) Tigress said.

(Don't make another sound woman, we can't be caught by Dick and Wally.) Black Cat told her as she makes a magic portal and teleports both of them along with the rest of the girls through the dimensional vortex. (This portal will lead them trying to find us in the cave, but we'll be inside the bottom ground floor where we can get out of these damn outfits and back in the tower.)

Steel Scion saw the portal and it seems to be kept open. The boys ran through it and saw their own selves back in the cave. Their lovers were driving them nuts and it was working...for now.

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The girls got out of their outfits and into their lingerie for tonight. Black Cat teleported them back in the tower after putting those clothes away in their undercover mission closet and saw that the lights were now off. The eight women were cautious and a bit intimidated.

"Jack?/Conner?/Vic?/Nate?/Wally?/Richie?/Matt?/Gar?" The girls called their names out.

Wonder Woman felt familiar webbed hands on her waist and was pulled back against their fronts like the seven women younger than her. She gasps when those certain pair of lips latched onto her bare neck and begun marking it with love bites. The lights went back and the girls immediately huddled together in fear with nervous looks on their faces compared to the darkened expressions written on the men.

"Hey?/Hi?/Hello?/Hiya?" The girls stuttered with reddened faces at how their men marked their necks with hickeys and got them aroused in an once pitch black lounge.

"You women are in some trouble now, y'all knew how jealous and possessive we are to you. Just because y'all dressed yourselves up nice for us doesn't mean all of you are off the hook," the girls froze to see handcuffs and backed away from their lovers while shaking uncontrollably.

"But," Flash raised a hand with Aquaman and Sentinel II (Matt Ferris).

"Nope, y'all getting punished our way and we'll make sure you ladies won't be running next time." Hardware replied to their protests, earning wide-eyed looks and reddened faces from the females in front of them.

(Run,) all eight girls ran to the halls with the boys trailing them off their paths and were lifted over their shoulders by their romantic interest/special companion.

[This never gets old,] the watch wielder said as he takes Zatanna to their shared room in the tower.

[Indeed,] the Atlantean responded while taking his Amazonian wife to their room.

By the end of the night through morning time, the girls were flustered messes and still sore from the rough pounding they got from their lovers. They blushed madly whenever the guys come out without a shirt and gave them sly smirks, which made the ladies smile shyly in return. The moral of their weekend is that to never tease your lovers whenever they still got adrenaline pumping in them from missions and are frustrated from having no sex.

COMMENT DOWN BELOW AND FOLLOW.

[the-daily-multi-fandom-post]

May I have a Marvel and Justice league match up Please?  I'm 5'4 and have shoulder length blonde hair ( dyed )  with hazel eyes and wear big red glasses. I'm introverted and can usually be found playing video games or listening to music.

I'd say I'm pretty laid back and have a filthy/dark sense of humor. Not big fan of people yet I try to be polite, though come off as awkward and get easily flustered.

I have seven tattoos possibly more in the future. Short tempered and Sarcastic. Great listener, knows when to give others space when needed. Definitely a foodie and love looking up at the stars on a clear night. Unsure of how to help others yet I'lltry anything. ( Male Please ^^ )

Bruce loves when you come to visit him in the lab. He loves when you help him, usually bringing along a cup of warm tea. He loves when you keep him company there making sure he’s never lonely (more like making sure he gets some social interactment.)

When Bruce has some time off from his experiments in the lab the two of you just like to lay in bed and listen to music together. It just cuddle, your limbs a tangled knot as you just enjoyed each others presence.

He would definitely find a way to get to create a 100% damage free, cruelty free hair dye. You would low key be a guinea pig every once in a while whether you have realized it or not

He definitely got nervous around you when y'all first met. He was kinda standoff ish since you weren't really the social type. He definitely noticed Tonys parties were not something you like to do.

He eventually grew a pair and sat beside you at the bar. You were busy talking to a friend beside you to notice him. He got the bar tenders attention and ordered two whiskey sours. The bartender makes the drinks and sits it in front of him. Bruce hands him the cash and tells him to keep the change. And slides a drink beside your empty one and waited for your attention before saying anything. Your friend noticed the drink immediately noticed and raised her eyebrows at you with a smirk. She gets up as she gives you a wink. Mouthing, “You got this!” as she leaves.

You accepted the whiskey sour and started to talk to Bruce. The two of you seemed to instantly kick. The nerd in the the both you coming out when the other had the same interest. The night continued with drinking, laughing and just enjoying each others company.

Bruce has to eat for two (himself and the green guy) so he can definitely put down some food. You're hungry? PERFECT! He's always down for some food. Restaurants, Fast food places, diners, you name it the two of you have been there for a date.

You and Tony can not be in a room together the sarcasm is too much lol

He understands how to calm you down when you're being short tempered.

He use to be the jock. Head of the glass until the accident. He was always and around people and then isolated.

He understands the feeling of not wanting to be around people/ not having the social battery to be around people.

The two of you are the perfect couple. You love to just relax in your bed room play video games together and just live life together.

You love that he is your walking boom box. If you ever think of a song, but only know it by humming he can figure it out. It's amazing!!!

He loves your sense of humor and the way you smile.

He loves your hazel eyes and your Blonde hair.

[pr0wlerpunk]

Victor Stone🦾

Imagines🦾

Nothing yet.

Headcannons🦾

Victor Stone pleasing you

One-shots🦾

Nothing yet…

Series🦾

Nothing yet….

[the-imaginative-hobbyist]

Victor Stone.

[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

1: PRIYA & JAMIE

MASTERLIST > Next chapter

You love your best friend but you can't find the courage to tell him. It doesn't matter because things are perfect between you... until they aren't. Everything changes the day Bucky introduces you to his new girlfriend.

Word count: 3.1k

Warning: angsty feelings, jealousy, feelings of betrayal, Bucky... Barnes is a warning

Sticks and Stones was your favorite place. Not because of the amazing meals, or the roaring fireplace that made the winter evenings warmer, or even the stone oven that produced the most scrumptious pizzas. No, it was because once a month, you shared a meal with your best friend, James Buchanan Barnes. You jovially referred to it as date night, the one night you were guaranteed a time alone with your best pal.

Normally when you arrived, you'd find Bucky waiting patiently for you, having ordered his and your favorite drinks. But today, you'd been out in town, enjoying some time off from work and you'd arrived early. You were pleased that for once, you'd be able to return the favor.

"Darling!" Victor, your usual waiter greeted you. "You're here early! Beat Mr Bucky to the punch today! Want me to bring the usual?"

"Yes please, Victor! Thanks!"

You glanced around, making yourself comfortable as you waited for Bucky to arrive. Victor brought your drinks and you couldn't resist taking a sip of the fruity house wine that you always enjoyed. You savored the taste and tingly feeling of it slipping down your throat. There was an instant feel of comfort and familiarity in the setting and you smiled dreamily, lost in the moment.

The time you spent with Bucky was very special to you. When you weren't out risking your lives and watching each other's backs for S.H.I.E.L.D., the two of you tried to spend your free time together. Truth be told, you were harboring feelings of more than simple friendship for the super soldier. The bond you shared was tighter than any other relationship you'd had in the past. But you longed for more and during these ‘dates’ you could imagine that your feelings were reciprocated. It was a tap on your shoulder that brought you back to reality.

"Hey!" Bucky's smiling face popped into your visual field.

"Buck!" You smiled from ear to ear. It was always a comfort to see him. Jumping out of your seat, you wrapped your arms around his neck in a hug. Bucky's strong arms wound their way around your waist and your chin snuggled into the nook between his shoulder and neck. As he squeezed you tightly, you noticed someone standing awkwardly behind him.

Gently, you pulled out of your best friend's embrace, smiling at the gorgeous stranger in tight fitting jeans and a perfectly tailored red halter neck blouse. You were slightly star struck by her beauty, she was in appearance, everything you wished you were.

"Hi," you smiled at her. Even though you were impressed by her appearance, something about her presence didn't sit right with you.

"Oh Cricket, this is Priya. Doll, this is Y/N, but we call her Cricket."

Did he just call her Doll? You frowned slightly. That was his nickname for you. The discomfort you had felt intensified.

"Hey, Cricket. It's nice to meet you." Priya offered her hand, which you shook, more as a reflex. "Jamie here has told me so much about you."

"Jamie?" You frowned again, looking at Bucky.

He scratched the back of his head bashfully, chuckling slightly at her pet name for him. "Priya!" Bucky admonished jokingly.

Breathlessly, you watched as he pulled out a chair for this woman to sit down. He was a perfect gentleman. He waved Victor over and grabbed a chair from the table adjacent to you and sat down. "Why’re you still standing?" he asked you.

Wordlessly, you lowered yourself back into your chair, reaching out to your glass of wine and taking a larger than necessary mouthful. This time though there was a searing burning in your chest that was probably nothing to do with the alcohol trickling down your esophagus. 

"So, how do you two know each other?" The words were coming out of your mouth but you had no idea who was controlling it. You also knew that you didn't want to hear the answer.

"Priya’s my girlfriend." Bucky beamed, looking at Priya. He never smiled like this at anyone other than you.

"Jamie and I met four months ago. Right here! I saw him sitting here on his own and I just couldn't let such a handsome man be lonely." Priya ran her fingers through Bucky's hair.

Your mind was reeling at the information that had just been dropped on you and your world felt like it was spinning. You felt a pang of jealousy and sadness as you listened to Priya gush about how she met Bucky. How much alcohol had you drunk? Your mouth felt dry but your eyes burned. Your ears were ringing and everyone suddenly seemed very far away. You tried to smile and act happy for them, but it was hard to hide your true feelings. You wondered how Bucky could have kept this a secret from you for four months. Was he ashamed of you? Did he not trust you? Did he not care about you?

"I… I don't understand. What do you mean you met here?" You stuttered.

"Remember that time you were forced to cancel on me, ‘cause of the last minute mission Steve dragged you on?"

"Yea-" you whispered in answer.

"It was that day." Bucky looked at you.

"So what? You just found an instant replacement?" The words slipped out of your mouth with a lot more spite than you'd intended.

"Of course not, Cricket." Bucky frowned, he wasn't sure what he had expected but this was not the reaction he had imagined from you. "You're my best friend."

"Yeah," you sighed.

Under the table, you found yourself gripping the sides of your chair so tightly that your knuckles were turning white. Maybe if you had been given time to emotionally prepare yourself for this introduction, you would have reacted more gracefully than you were doing at this very moment. But the shock of being face to face with Bucky’s girlfriend was so far down on your list of expectations, that you didn’t seem to have any control over your brain or your mouth.

"Aww, Jamie, I thought I was your best friend now," Priya smiled at Bucky, batting her eyelids at him. She slipped her arms around his beefy bicep and leaned in for a kiss.

To your surprise, Bucky laughed and leaned in, engaging in a slow and gag-worthy kiss. You wanted to run, to scream, to cry, you wanted someone to pinch you, to shake you awake from the nightmare you seemed to be stuck in. A dream, that’s what it was, just a bad dream. If you played along, you’d wake up in your bed having fallen asleep beside your best friend watching bad movies all night because he had a nightmare. You didn’t want to be rude or cause a scene either. You also didn’t want to lose Bucky, even if he had already chosen someone else. You loved him too much to let him go.

You plastered a smile across your face, deciding to stay, enduring the torture of watching them be happy together. "Congratulations, Bucky. It’s good that you’ve found someone special." The words sounded forced, at least they did in your mind. Emotionless. You meant what you said, it was good that Bucky had found someone. You just wished that someone was you. He deserved happiness, you just wanted to be the one to give it to him.

You had known all along that you wouldn’t be that person. Every time he had put his arms around you, every time he came to you for comfort after a nightmare, every time you shared a meal, every time those brilliant blue eyes gazed into yours, he had had the opportunity to take things one step further. And as much as you longed for it, that step never came.

Bucky gave you a scrutinizing stare for what felt like an eternity before accepting your words. "Thank you," he smiled, breaking your heart all over again.

"So, Cricket! I assume that's not really your name. How did it come about?"

Bucky laughed, recalling the memory. "Cricket had only been with the team for two months, but she was immediately everyone's conscience. It was almost kinda annoying."

You scowled.

"Come on, Cricket, don't be like that." Bucky smiled at you and it melted the scowl off your face. "Natasha used to call her Jiminy Cricket and it's just stuck."

"And how long have you and James known each other?" Priya asked you.

"It’s been two years," you smiled, the first genuine one since you had seen them together. "But we've been partners for 18 months."

You felt the need to emphasize your closeness with Bucky.

"Wow, James said the two of you were close." She turned to Bucky, directing her question at him. "How come you never mentioned us to her?

Bucky had the decency to look uncomfortable, his eyes flitting between you and Priya but never maintaining eye contact with either of you. Your immediate instinct was to help him out, to ease his discomfort. But the little person inside your brain that often sat on your shoulder with horns on its head asked you why he deserved it. Why had he lied to you for the past four months? What was he trying to hide from you? He was really putting your little crickets through their paces. 

"I just wasn’t ready to share you with anyone else," Bucky answered in his most charming manner.

Priya giggled and you closed your eyes in an effort to keep them from seeing your exasperated eye roll.

"We should order before they close the kitchen. It’s getting late. What do you want?" Bucky asked Priya.

It almost felt like you didn’t exist.

"Want to share a pizza?" she responded.

"Sounds great, Doll!" He smiled at her. "What do you want, Cricket?" 

"Umm, I-" You had no idea what you wanted. Pizza with Bucky was your go to. It had been a while since you’d sampled anything from the menu. "I need to look." You picked up the faux-leather bound booklet with meal options, grateful to be able to hide your face behind it. The last thing you wanted was for Priya or Bucky to see your quivering lip or tear filled eyes.

You only emerged when Victor approached, placing a hand on your shoulder. "Miss Y/L/N. Would you and Mr Bucky like your usual?"

"No Victor, could I have the cajun pasta please?"

Priya gave hers and Bucky’s orders to Victor who walked away promising only a short wait for your meals. A silence settled over the tablet as you contemplated how Priya took charge of their order. It had taken you a long time to get Bucky to understand that he had autonomy and was allowed to voice his opinions. You always did your best to give Bucky the time to process his decisions and articulate them. You worried that he would lose that. However, Priya used silence as an opportunity to ask you a few more questions.

"So, Cricket. How did you end up joining S.H.I.E.L.D.?"

You shrugged. "Just kinda happened. Sometimes life has a way of pushing you into something unexpected, you just have to make the most of it." You had no desire to share the most painful events in your life with a complete stranger. "And what do you do, Priya?"

"My job isn’t as exciting as yours, I’m afraid. I’m a surgeon."

"She is being modest," Bucky interjected proudly, "She is a kid’s surgeon."

You felt like you were being punched in the gut. You had gone to medical school before you’d joined S.H.I.E.L.D., but life had different plans for you and you’d ended up being recruited to S.H.I.E.L.D. soon after your internship. 

You plastered a smile across your face and delivered the socially acceptable response. "Wow, pediatrics. That’s hard work." 

"Worth it though, when you see the smiles on the kids' faces when they walk out of the hospital."

"I’m impressed that you find the time to date. I can barely find time for myself. Feels like too much hard work!" You forced a laugh from your lips.

"Well, being with James isn’t work at all. In fact, he gives me a reason to leave the hospital."

Bucky blushed. "Thanks, Doll."

Luckily you were spared further awkward conversation by the arrival of your dinner.

"Eat up kids, we’re closing up soon!" Victor boomed.

The rest of the meal was eaten in relative silence, Bucky and Priya exchanging some small talk as you poked and prodded at the food on your plate. Their honeymoon phase was sickening and all you wanted was to leave.

Closing time came around eventually, although not as soon as you would have liked.

"Darling, what's the matter? You didn't like pasta?" Victor came to clear your plates and usher you out of the establishment.

"It was really good, just a bit spicy." You blushed while telling the lie, your inner cricket screaming at you. 

"Next time we'll make sure you can eat it all then." Victor smiled at you kindly. 

You felt terrible, but you didn't want anyone to see how upset you really were, especially Bucky. Not that he would notice, he was too busy draping his jacket over Priya’s shoulders. It didn’t mean very much to you at that moment, but the second you stepped outside, you realized that your evening wasn’t going to get any better. Bucky’s bike was parked right outside and you understood what that meant.

"Cricket, we’ll see you back at the compound!" Bucky smiled, leading his girlfriend to the bike with his hand at her back. "Don’t want to get caught in the rain."

You nodded mutely, watching them speed away. When you had asked Nat to drop you off in town, it had been with the intention that you would catch a ride back with Bucky, as you always did. You were left standing on the curb in a sundress and a light jacket. It had been a warm day for late October, but as the sun had set, thunder clouds had rolled in and Thor’s distant cousins were making a ruckus in the distance and seemed to be heading in your direction. The notion that you could walk home was something you entertained for a total of two seconds, as your heel got stuck in a grate on the sidewalk. You sighed heavily as a couple of raindrops splashed on your shoulder.

Pulling out your phone, you tapped on the local transportation apps, but there were no cabs to be seen. Not that anyone would be willing to drive you out into the country at this time in the evening. There was only one choice left, you needed to call one of your friends to pick you up. Resigned to an awkward conversation, you scrolled through your phone for someone to contact.

Nat… no, she wasn’t around. Sam… no answer. Steve… the phone rang a couple of times, before a sleepy voice answered.

"Hello?"

"Steve, were you sleeping?" you asked, anxiously.

"No," came his dishonest answer.

"I’m sorry, go back to sleep." You hated imposing on people and knowing that you had woken Steve from what was probably much needed slumber, made you felt terrible.

"What’s wrong?"

"Nothing, it’s okay, Steve." What were you thinking? Why were you not asking for a lift?

"Cricket."

"Could you please pick me up from town?" you asked, in a small voice.

Steve sat up in bed, your voice drowned out by a loud crack of thunder. "Wait, aren’t you with Bucky?"

"No, Buck-" you weren’t sure how much Steve knew about Bucky’s girlfriend. "I’m not with Bucky. He’s busy."

"With Priya?"

So Steve knew. Naturally. Steve was Bucky’s family, of course he would tell him before he told you. A tear dropped down from your eye as you nodded. "Yeah," you whispered, realizing that Steve couldn’t actually see you.

"I’m sorry. Give me half an hour, I’m coming."

"Thanks, Steve."

You hung up the phone and looked around. The street was deserted and everything felt so much darker than before. The rain, which had been falling lightly, started coming down more heavily, seeping into your thin clothes and making you shiver. The tears that were now pouring down your face were practically indistinguishable from the raindrops. This felt like the perfect ending for how you felt about your day.

True to his word, Steve arrived in twenty eight minutes. And you sunk into the passenger seat of his car looking like a bedraggled rat. He didn’t ask you any more questions, for which you were grateful. Wordlessly, he slipped off his hoodie and offered it to you. You took it, pulling the soft material over your head, thankful for the warmth it provided. The hood covered your eyes and you did nothing to move the wet strands of hair that were plastered across your face. It took all your self control to not start sobbing in the car with Steve. Luckily for you, Steve turned up the seat warmer on your seat and focused solely on the road as he started the journey back to the compound.

When he eventually pulled into the garage, Steve yanked up the parking brake, turned off the ignition and jumped out before you had the chance to unfasten your seat belt. He opened the door for you and you got out reluctantly. A feeling of dread washed over you. What if Bucky and Priya saw you like this? They were already here, you had immediately spotted Bucky's bike in the corner. You knew he had brought Priya back to the compound because Bucky hadn’t bothered to store his spare helmet, and he would have secured it if he had ridden home alone. A horrifying image of them having sex invaded your mind for a moment, but Steve’s voice distracted you.

"Come on, I'll walk you back to your room." Steve offered you a hand to help you out of the car.

"I'm sorry for making you come out to get me. I should have taken my car. I just thought-"

"It's okay. Let's go." Steve said kindly, wrapping his arm around you, offering his support and warmth. He stopped right outside your bedroom door. "Do you need anything?" he asked, brushing your hair out of your face.

You shook your head, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Thank you," you muttered in his ear.

Steve pressed a kiss to your forehead. "Good night."

Neither of you noticed Bucky returning from the kitchen with two glasses in his hands, watching you and Steve from the shadows.

MASTERLIST > Next chapter

[faetreides]

modern!feyd thoughts? is he crazier than modern! coryo? i feel like modern feyd would be like a underground boxer or something

this ask is crazy because it’s so good. like i haven’t even considered modern!feyd before but the underground boxer element is 😋, went with the typical opposites attract hello kitty s/o trope again SORRY, mdni (AFAB reader)

Yeah something that like or mixed mma, i do imagine him in a more athletic field but it’d have to be one where he’s allowed to make a spectacle of being violent. The rookie that has a borderline demonic reputation because he’s so vicious. And sometimes he doesn’t even go into fights with winning being the first thing on his mind, he wants a good show as much as the audience does and he wants blood in whatever capacity he can get it.

He’s for sure crazier than Coryo, like lock them into a room together and Feyd’s skinning and deboning him like a fish. Still far removed from how he is in canon obviously, but i think that he does do the same extreme facial expressions during a match to psych his opponent out. Feyd wants to make it big, yes, but more so because he wants a bigger “stage” to have more people see him at his most raw and real.

But he stays because he knows no professional organization worth their salt would turn the other cheek when he loses control and kills his opponent. Not that that’s a common occurrence or anything, but the chance of it happening is never zero.

(His uncle definitely has a hand in the betting that goes on at his matches, and even places his own bets from time to time. Feyd’s resentment grows with every rigged match. He’s an unhinged freak with a penchant for blood lust, but he does still want to win at the end of the day when he’s done playing with his food)

You’re in the crowd for one of his matches. Attracted by the mystery and the taboo nature of what he does. You look nervous, rocking from side to side as your eyes follow every punch and dodge. You’re out of place, sticking out like a sore thumb in your tennis skirt and hello kitty necklace. There’s no date hanging on your arm or friend chatting your ear off, which leaves you ripe for the picking.

He keeps an intrigued watch on you out of the corner of his eye, hollering and crowding his opponent against the ring. He hopes you’re watching as he pummels his fists into the sorry bastard’s face. The low lights and the cheers from drunks and gamblers get his blood pumping. Even through all that background noise, he hears you softly gasp as teeth clatter to the floor.

Underground Boxer!Feyd who stares you right in the eyes when he’s declared the victor of the match, clocking how much you’re playing with the hem of your skirt. He smiles, a gross expression stained crimson and spits at his feet. It’s a good thing you’re so strangely accepting, his muscles are too sore to chase you down through back alleys and city streets.

He’ll burn through his winnings to give you the life you deserve, and he’ll wash the blood off you both when you get home after a fight. He can’t wait to see how you react to the motorcycle he’s got parked outside.

Fucks you against the cage when no one else is there and on his motorcycle. Gives you backshots in the shower, killing two birds with one stone. Bends you over his prize money and makes you squirt until you pass out on top of it.

Mean mean mean bf but he loves his favorite cheerleader with everything he has.

[thetrashqueeeen]

the hunger games is having a resurgence and i’m back on my bullshit so i thought i would post what i always imagined the rest of effie’s life looked like

she stays in the capitol to begin with. katniss was shocked when she saw them kiss, but was hastily shut up by haymitch when she teased him and they never really spoke about effie much after that. effie called haymitch once a week, filling him in on the rebuilding efforts, her rapidly blooming social life, new fashion trends, inter-district moving and the latest in geese rearing tips(i’m a goose apologist here he keeps geese ok). he can tell something is off but he doesn’t realise how much of it is outright lies

effie wakes in the mornings screaming, the pain of whatever torture she was reliving rapidly dissolving as her bedroom sharpened into focus. She rarely leaves her apartment. she watches them rebuild from her window, her heart racing when unexpected bangs and crashes come from construction sites. she gets up later and later each day, sometimes not bothering to get out of bed at all. when she can’t face the nightmares, she goes to the roof of her building and screams off the edge until her voice is hoarse. she tells haymitch that she’s been out partying when she calls. her neighbourhood gets a reputation for being haunted, people say you can still hear the rebels screaming at night. her old friends are mostly dead and the ones that aren’t can’t face the memory of her as much as she can’t face the memory of them. they do try for a while, pretending that everything is fine for as long as they can ignore the frenzied fear right under the surface. the cocoon her life has become feels suffocating but ultimately comforting. she tells herself she’s fine, that this is fine. she doesn’t know why she lies to him when she calls.

she lasts a year. one afternoon, she’s on the phone with haymitch and he’s telling her about katniss and peeta. they’ve just gotten engaged for real and he’s chattering on about them in the way he does when he lets his guard down. his voice is so comforting and so nice and so homely that her heart clenches and her hand grips the phone so tightly the plastic nearly buckles in her grip. she closes her eyes so the only thing entering her brain is his voice. when they get off the phone she throws her favourite things into a suitcase, showers and gets dressed in actual clothes for the first time all week and walks to the train station before she can think about it too hard. the days she spends on the train pass quickly and she steps onto the platform at 12 in the middle of a deluge. she trudges over to victors village, her suitcase clattering over muddy paving stones. she steps into the square of victors village in the pouring rain, looking sullen, tired and thinner than when anyone last saw her. she’s filled with sudden unease, and stands still, not sure she has the nerve to go and bash on his door. she feels much too old for this, much to old to run away from her life without telling anyone, for a man who didn’t even invite her. she’s freezing. peeta notices her and goes to invite her in, but katniss stops him, seeing haymitch has set out to meet her in the square. as he gets closer he notices she looks like shit. she’s not dressed for the rain and her clothes cling to her depressingly, her hair is plastered to her face and she looks about as tired as he feels. she’s stood with her arms crossed tightly, looking like she might cry. he wraps his arms around her cold, sodden frame and it takes her a second, but she wriggles her arms out from between them and wraps her arms around his neck, stepping closer. they might be too old for this, but she can’t deny this is better than whatever she was doing before. he doesn’t kiss her there; it still feels too alien to not hide.

the next morning, effie pulls one of haymitch’s porch chairs to the edge of the veranda and basks in the rising sun, allowing it to warm her all the way through. he comes out with coffee an hour or so later, remembering she missed it in 13. peeta comes over to say hello and effie finally feels her heart slow down.

she gets used to the rhythms of 12. she did worry that too much time had passed for them, but they fall back together as they’re meant to. they bicker and debate through barely suppressed smiles and finally offer the overt support the other has always needed. when haymitch gets up to feed the geese at first light, he leaves her in bed alone and she rolls into the warm spot he leaves. he makes her coffee when he’s done and says it’s because he’d never hear the end of it if he didn’t. in reality he just can’t imagine not getting to see her lift her bleary head off the pillow, her blonde hair mused and her eyes flickering open. her hair is one of the things he loves the most. he teases her about her ‘lotions and potions’ but he spends hours running his hands through her hay-coloured waves. she lets it grow down to her shoulders for the first time since her baby hair was chopped off for wigs. she starts growing produce in the back garden. the first time katniss sees her, hair tied back with a patterned scarf, wearing dungarees and chunky boots, she laughs out loud so hard that effie’s in a huff with her for a whole week. she offers an apology only because her wedding simply will not happen without effie planning it.

one day, she gets up as soon as she hears haymitch go out the back door in the morning. she dresses in a baggy t-shirt and bright dungarees (she tries her best not to link the bright dungarees that being her so much joy to grey jumpsuits) and makes coffee for them both. he startles when he finds her at the kitchen table, but she just asks him if he knew she had a degree from capitol university. he didn’t. she tells him she wants to teach children in the school house and expects him to laugh. he does a little bit, but then tells he she’ll be fantastic and admired her as she marched out the door to go and talk to the head teacher. they start her out easy, but the children adore her funny accent, soft hair and bright clothes. she adores them all right back. effie has a gaggle of small children running around her for all of the wedding and katniss looks over her the entire day, smiling at her and haymitch playing with them all. peeta had been slowly beginning to raise the idea of a family, but katniss had been shutting it down forcibly every time. she walks over to peeta at the reception and draws his attention to the large game of tag effie was participating in. as haymitch starts hefting kids over his shoulder shouting ‘the monster’s coming’ katniss tells him she wants their first daughter to be called primrose, not prim- never prim, but primrose. they’ll be great surrogate grandparents, she tells him.

effie adores little Finnick from the moment he’s born. haymitch also adores the baby, but is much less willing to show it. katniss pretends to not notice he still shakes sometimes and he pretends he doesn’t only hold him when he’s sat down. a few years later, finnick is joined by primrose who is just as beautiful as her namesake. as soon as finnick is old enough to go to school, effie insists on teaching his class every year. once primrose is old enough she trades off each year, trying (and failing) to pretend they’re not her favourite. finnick trains as a carpenter and every time effie so much as mentions something that needs fixing in the house finnick is there with a toolbox and his father’s smile. primrose grows up in awe of her big brother, the boy who calls her pipsqueak, shared every glass of orange juice he’s ever drunk with her and copies her maths homework every days she can remember. when he starts his own business, she starts to keep his accounts. it’s the summer she turns 15. she carries on absorbing knowledge like a sponge, retaining every fact, theorem and topic effie gifts her with. effie is the first person she tells when she applies for a scholarship at capitol university. her mother is the first person she tells when she gets it. katniss cries soft, bittersweet tears when primrose tells her she’s going to study medicine at the big university in the capitol. effie hugs her so hard on the platform as she gets the train that she thinks she might snap. katniss is so happy that her children are no longer the children of the last victors. they are the carpenter and the doctor. they have never once chopped their dreams off at the knees just in case they get reaped. katniss and peeta cry at her loss, sure she will only return to visit. finnick and effie do not cry, they know she’s coming back. she comes back with a woman in tow, but she comes back none the less. effie plans her marriage to the woman they come to know as Evie. finnick gets married just a year after they do, and he and his wife have so many children, haymitch jokes they should start a football team.

effie and haymitch don’t get anywhere near as long as they deserve, but they do get 25 good years. haymitch is older than she is, and his body has been through a lot. when she pleads with him to go to the capitol for treatment, he begs her to understand why he can never go back there, and she finds she does. he passes in his own bed, with his wife laying next to him, stroking his hair with quiet reverence. the last thing he hears is her whispering quietly that she loves him more than anything. that she would go through all of it again for just one more day.

when haymitch is gone, effie retires from the school house and spends as much time as she can with katniss, peeta, finnick, primrose and their various broods. she fully expects to die of a broken heart, she considers it only right. she thinks often of the tired, scared woman who stood in the rain waiting for him. she does not die of a broken heart, much to her annoyance. she doesn’t even grow much weaker with age. she keeps the geese until the last one dies and never stops growing food in her garden. one hot day in summer, the whole family go down to the meadow to bask in the heat and watch the children play. ‘this is the life a victor deserves’ she tells katniss as they watch finnick and primrose play with the children. she lays down in the sun to have a nap, resting her head on katniss’s lap. she hears the children screech with laughter, she feels the warm sun on her skin and she passes quickly, her last breathe quiet and unnoticed. haymitch is waiting for her when she gets there.

[kald-dal-art]

There was a plan to break us out of the arena the moment the Quell was announced. The victor tributes from 3,4,6,7,8 and 11 had varying degrees of knowledge about it

Decided to try to draw how I imagined the Victor Alliance to look like and as a bonus how i imagined them to look like when they won their first game

(also headcanons on what year they won/how they look like on some of them is not set in stone for me yet so don't yell at me in the notes k)

Anyways have too many headcanons about these people help

[ijuststareatstuffhereok89]

"Time & the Trickster"   A Loki/Doctor Who crossover

by ijuststareatstuffhereok89

Prologue: The Stone

The Loom is breaking. The Timelines are in chaos at the TVA. Just as Loki realizes he may have to sacrifice himself, O.B. offers one last Hail Mary that may spare his rueful fate...until it shoots him across time and space instead, to the most Norn-forsaken place imaginable: Syracuse, New York.

CHAPTER WARNING: violence toward our poor Loki

MASTERLIST

Time Variance Authority Outside of Time and Space No Time and Every Time, AM and PM

It was as if Loki was gazing at a gallows, just waiting for him on the other side of the door. A gallows just for him. 

An abstract gallows, to be sure, one snarled and twisted by the fraying timelines. The Loom wasn’t going to hold them much longer. Victor Timely’s tens of repeated failures had yielded no progress. Loki had just finished spending centuries’ worth of time jumps learning everything he could about time, physics, and metaphysics. It all came to nothing but false hope. 

Zapping his way back to Point A one last time, he knew what was needed. Only a God could survive in the temporal void long enough to reach the branches and save them. That left one of two people in the room with the ability. 

Loki knew now that Sylvie would never see reason. The parts of ‘a Loki’ that were driven by self-preservation were too strong in her. Perhaps one day, after centuries behind that fast food counter, she’d have a moment of clarity. But reality couldn’t wait for that to happen. Even in the repeated attempts to calm her bloodlust in the Citadel there had been in no change in her resolve. Sylvie was lost, but pity would come later, after Loki took the glorious burden upon himself to save the universe. 

I can keep the timelines stable as long as I keep my hands on them…at all times. For all time. 

It was the single worst case of irony that reality had ever known, or at least that Loki in his thousands of years of travels had never known: that only now he would be getting a throne. The Throne of Time awaited him, only instead of eternal glory, it would bring him eternal imprisonment, forced to watch the eons pass by as if each were a vignette on a stage. He would have to watch Mobius die, as well as Sylvie and OB and everyone. Even Thor, for no creature was truly immortal. He would have to stand by as all of consciousness fell back into the void of death and rebirth at the end of it all. 

And indeed, at the End of Time, where would he be? 

After one final look around the room, everyone looking back at him with expectant apprehension, Loki took in one deep breath and began his march to the Loom. He felt a solid hand on his shoulder, and didn’t need to turn to know it was Mobius. 

“What the SHIT are you doing?” he whispered frantically. 

Looking into his worried eyes, Loki felt a stabbing pain in his chest. If only we’d met somewhere else, you brilliant man, I would’ve shown you the world. 

"I know what kind of God I need to be. For you. For all of us,” he said, his voice faltering in spite of his wish that he sounded more sure. 

“Wait!! I have one more idea! Look!” 

Loki looked back beyond Mobius and Sylvie. OB was running back from somewhere he’d slipped away to. No one had even noticed that he’d left the room. He carried two small pebbles in his hand that to the unknowing witness would look like two small pieces of emerald, or perhaps tinted glass. 

He was closer to Sylvie, so he pulled out her hand first, placing one of the dead Time Stones in it. It began to glow softly, a dull gray-ish green. The light was pulsing weakly, but it was clear that something in her skin was activating the time magic within the stone. 

“Loki! Catch!” OB said quickly, tossing the stone at Loki, whose godlike reflexes caught the dangerous relic with ease. It also glowed green upon touch, only a much brighter, indisputable forest green. 

“How is that possible?” asked Mobius. “How did we never think of that?”

The God of Tricks turned the stone over in his palm, as if doing so would give him some kind of clue. “Well, it’s quite lovely, OB, but I don’t understand--”

“Time Stones thrive off of the energy of the timelines and work by being linked to every single one, enabling the one who uses it to hop from time to time! Maybe if you throw one of those at the timelines while it’s active, it’ll act like a pill and regulate the streams again!” OB suggested enthusiastically. “But only if it’s active, and it looks like the only place they work in the TVA is…well, in the hands of a Loki variant.”

“Are you suggesting we give aspirin to the Temporal Loom?” Sylvie scoffed, the weakened stone in her hand blinking with every other syllable. 

“You sure that’ll work?” asked Mobius with skepticism. 

OB shook his head, “Oh no. It’s a long shot. Odds in the trillions, and that’s just a guess,” he admitted bluntly. He looked at Loki and twisted his lip into a hopeful smile. “But it’s worth a try, right?”

Loki looked down at the brilliant stone he held. Something within the stone felt like it was attuning itself to him. Small threads of green light were radiating from the stone and digging into his skin, illuminating it from underneath, as if his very veins were filling with the power of the Time Stone. 

Looking up one more time, Loki shrugged. “Indeed,” he said under his breath. “Well, here I go.”

“Loki!” Mobius shouted one more time. “Let her do it,” he said, pointing back at Sylvie. “She’s the one who caused all of this.”

“I don't know, her stone doesn’t look as strong as yours,” said OB, now at Sylvie’s side and watching the pathetic pebble in her hand barely flicker in tandem with her breath. “If we have one chance to do this, I think it has to be you, Loki.” 

The more Loki stared down his permanent imprisonment within the twisted vines of time, the more he realized that he’d been fooled the entire time…and by none other than himself! He’d assumed that every variant of himself would have every capacity to grow that he had. Perhaps Sylvie did, and Loki was only looking at a portrait of who he had been as a rash, physically-driven youth.

 It didn’t matter anyhow. If this worked, Sylvie would be going back to the counter at McDonald’s. If it didn’t, Sylvie’s mind would always be at that silly little place, unable to see the world past the end of her own nose no matter how many people suffered for her choices. 

“I’m sorry, Mobius, but I think we both know it must be my action,” Loki said softly, gently taking Mobius’ hand in his own. “Have an extra slice of pie for me.”

“Go throw it,” OB suggested. “Quickly! We’re out of time!”

Victor stood clueless behind everyone else. “This has been a remarkable day” he mumbled. 

Finally going beyond the door and into the temporal space, Loki felt the stone begin to burn in his hand, the sensation not only pressed against his flesh, but in his bloodstream. 

One last breath, and Loki reared back, pitching the Time Stone toward the Loom. 

As if the air were too thick, the stone’s speed was almost too slow to make sense, slowly floating toward the fraying, entangled timelines in an arc. It fell in a spiral toward the Loom, increasing speed as if it were being sucked directly into the messes of fibers. 

The God’s breaths slowed to a standstill, his veins still on fire with green energy from the stone. Loki suddenly felt as if he’d turned into a marionette as hundreds of points on his body were suddenly yanked, throwing him off of his feet and into the air behind the stone, flying at incredible speed toward the epicenter of energy.

As if the Time Stone was pulling him by invisible chains, Loki was dragged along until he reached the Loom, after which a strong updraft knocked him unconscious, the last thing to grace his open eye being Mobius’ frightened stare. 

Around his lifeless, floating form, the green clouds, rogue lightning, and whipping winds began to form a time vortex, shooting the helpless god through each and every reality, one by one…

Syracuse, New York, USA June 9 7:19pm EST

“Get off my shit!” 

Loki awoke with a start, his head roaring, his skin tingling, and his vision blurred. Hungover from the unexpected trip, he felt weakened and confused. The skinny man yelling in his face wasn’t helping him regain his bearings. 

He was splayed rather unflatteringly among a pile of garbage bags filled with clothes and cans. Frommhis view, he could begin to see that he was in some sort of alleyway surrounded on three sides by brick. The sky above was dim and overcast. 

“Oh, Norns, what is…?”

“I said, GET OFF MY--

“--my shit, yes, that much we’ve established…”

The angry skinny man was impatient to the point where he started shoving Loki to his feet, urging him away. “Find your own awning!” he called after him as he finally managed to throw Loki into the street. “And some clothes, too!” 

Loki looked down, realizing for the first time that he was stark naked. His clothes had been torn from his body in transit across the realities. Well, at least it wasn’t my skin. 

The street was full of potholes, the environment claustrophobic as it could be for being outdoors. The air smelled of sewage and tar. A sign hanging on the corner building nearby read S. Salina St.

Looking down into his palm, the stone remained aglow in his grip. 

Now, where in the Norns am I? Loki asked himself, keeping to a nearby shadow in hopes no one was nearby to see his nudity. 

It felt like dusk was at hand, though the thick greasy cloud cover did little to explain the actual position of the sun. The air was warm, humid, and unpleasant. Rain was inbound, as evidenced by a building darkness rolling in from the western horizon. 

“Damn,” Loki whispered. “I…”

He took off down the street and around the corner onto S. Salina, scurrying in such a manner that a mouse could beat him in a footrace. He used his godlike ability to absorb detail in order to learn as much as he could about this place. 

Wait a moment…I can control my time jumping! 

How simple! Loki rolled his eyes and chuckled. He sucked in his breath and clenched, just as he’d taught himself to do in order to control his phasing. 

Seconds went by. Perhaps a minute. Nothing happened when the reaction should have instantly drawn him back to the TVA. 

“Hey Di, look at the naked guy shitting himself across the street!” 

Two women were sitting on a porch across the way, a small white dog at their feet, staring directly at Loki as he squinted and attempted to force himself through space. He was suddenly the most self-conscious he’d ever been in his entire life. 

“Hey Mister, what’re you doing with no clothes?” shrieked the other. “How much’ve you had?”

“Yeah, he’s drunk,” agreed the first lady, trying hard to hold in a laugh.

“It’s gone! My time phasing!” Loki whispered aloud. He snapped his fingers, attempting to bring some cover to his body with seidr, only for the stone in his hand to dim its glow. “Magic…none of it works here.” 

The two gleeful ladies continued to mock Loki from across the street. “I’ll give him this, he’s hot.” 

Di raised an eyebrow. “Kinda looks like that guy from the movies, doesn’t he? Loki! He looks like Loki!”

“Holy shit, you’re right! He’s dead on for Loki!” 

“Of COURSE I look like Loki, blast you!” he swore, beginning to move towards them, not bothering to check and see if any vehicles were bearing down on him. “Because I--” 

“--dude, don't come any closer! Just because I don’t like the cops doesn’t mean I won’t call ‘em if you’re gonna…” the larger of the two women got up to reach for a cell phone perched on the railing. 

“What? No, ladies, I just need to know where I am and how to get to--”

“--dude, get out of here, and stop by the Salvation Army or something on the way because no one wants to see that!”

“Speak for yourself, Di.” 

“Where am I?” Loki asked, slower this time. 

“Yeah, he's drunk,” mumbled Di. “Dude, you’re on the south side! Near the park!”

“Did you say that I need to find an army?” Loki asked, backtrack, unsure about which way was up. 

“Mister,” continued Di, “head that way and you’ll be downtown in ten minutes. Someone’ll either help you or arrest you up there.” She pointed further up the road, which led to a bright district of flashing neon and nightlife about to get underway with the sunset. “Ain’t nothin’ down here for you except fentanyl.” 

The larger of the women quickly ran inside and came back a few seconds later with a small fleece blanket in a nasty shade of hot pink. “My daughter doesn’t use this anymore. Use it to cover your junk. I don’t want it back.” 

She threw it down to Loki, who gratefully wrapped it about his waist, tying it off at the hipbone. It hardly qualified for more than a belt, only covering him from below his navel to a few precious inches below his…other time stones. 

“Thank you, madam,” he mumbled. Without further awkward conversation, he left the two women to their excited giggles and whistles and headed in the direction he’d been given. 

He didn’t even have any shoes, as was quickly made evident by the painful tar gravel that burrowed between his toes and under the balls of his feet as he paced himself, deliberately avoiding eye contact with anyone as he fled from shadow to shadow, hoping to remain unseen despite at least being minimally covered now. 

“Hey buddy, nice skirt!” 

“The gay bar is on the west side!” 

Loki was still exposed to catcalls and insults nearly the entire way up the trashy, unwelcoming city. Even as he approached a larger, brightly-lit square accompanied by live music from several different outdoor patios, he could feel the eyes bearing down on him. 

This place is deplorable, Loki thought. No magic, no help…

“Ew, guy! At least put on a skirt that covers your crack all the way!” a woman called from behind him. 

“Hey, there are kids here, man!” a huge man with a shaved head stepped into Loki’s path, causing him to stop short. The man had about three inches on Loki, and even though his Asgardian density made him about the same weight as the sizable human before him, Loki wasn;t sure he wanted to risk an altercation in his present state. He smelled of beer. “Put your dick away, alright?”

“Let me pass,” Loki mumbled. “Please. I’m on my way to the army.” He tried to throw up a defensive arm, which the man caught with ease. 

The skinhead laughed. “Jesus, what I have to deal with…” 

Without warning, the asshole laid out a direct punch to Loki’s temple, sending him to the sidewalk. He was unconscious before he hit the ground. 

Regents Park, London, England June 10 12:19am GMT

“Oooh, talk to me! What did they do to you?!”

The Doctor, frustrated, removed the magnifying goggles from his face and squinted as he looked up into the undercarriage of the TARDIS console, trying desperately to find out what had stranded him here and how to fix it. 

Having barely made it out of yet another fray with the Cybermen, The Doctor’s beloved TARDIS had been hit, or perhaps bombed from within somehow (who could tell?). Barely landing safety in a place the TARDIS recognized as a ‘favorite’ location (London, England, early 21st century), The Doctor quickly learned that whatever had attacked him had destroyed what held the Time Vortex in place within the TARDIS’ core. 

The Doctor’s ship was nothing more than a wooden box, sitting in a public park on Earth in 2023. Nothing, not the screwdriver, not The Doctor’s own ingenuity, was yielding any hope. 

“Maybe Jack could…oh no, no, no,” he thought out loud, shaking off the idea. While it was true that Captain Jack Harkness could always be assumed to be waltzing around somewhere at any given place in time, what did he really know about TARDIS mechanics? 

The Doctor sighed. Thinking about Jack always eventually brought his thoughts back to Rose. She may have been as human as anyone else around, but sometimes her intuition would shine through, triggering some epiphany in his head and bringing about the best answers.

That was Rose: brilliant in the most unexpected ways.

“If only it were easier to fall through realities,” he bitterly mused. “Or at least find a good fix-it shop that has equipment to jumpstart an Eye of Harmony…very basic stuff, not sure why it’s so hard to find--”

He was interrupted by a sudden, instantaneous flash of emerald, brighter than the sun, sending The Doctor squinting and crouching to the floor. Though he couldn’t see what had happened, for a brief moment, he heard the TARDIS breathe, as if the Vortex had been restored within it for as long as the luminous green assault filled the interior. 

“What?” he asked nobody. The flash of green ceased, as did the TARDIS’ temporary recovery. 

“WHAT?” he asked himself, running up the stairs to the top of the console, looking at every screen and pulling every lever he could. 

Something had triggered the Time Vortex within the TARDIS, as if it were being given a push by an external force somewhere else out there in the world…something with enough time energy imbibed in its core to do so. 

Perhaps if it was something he could find and bring back to the TARDIS…

Running to the doors and flinging them open, The Doctor was just in time to catch a streak of green flash across the night sky, heading southwest and missing London by a long, long shot. As it left the airspace above England, the TARDIS grew dark and cold again.

The Doctor’s mouth couldn’t close as his brain tried to keep up with his eyes.

“What?? WHAT?!”

TAGLIST: @crashingwavesofeuphoria @kkdvkyya @red-shirt-mania @misschris1412 @salvinaa @marygoddessofmischief @spiderstyles04 @fireflymoonwitch @mochie85 @loz-3 @lcolumbia1988 @lokilurker @eleniblue @gruftiela @starkzdaughter @mrsbarnes-avenger @thedistractedagglomeration @km-ffluv @lokisgoodgirl @holdmytesseract @itsthattimedarling @wolfsmom1 @scully2u @shinisenko @mischief2sarawr @ririsutty73 @lulubelle814 meg81589 @gloriuspurposeposts @theonetruepotato87 @linllewellyn @wistfulclueless @etherealkistar @tinydancer40

[hardcore-lonewolf]

Imagine one of these girls accidentally waxing Ophelia's eyebrows off, getting chased around the mountain, being hunted everywhere they go, and having their head shaved bald off of their hair by Ophelia for payback. This was inspired by Jade West and Cat Valentine from Nickelodeon's Victorious. By the way, the younger boys will most likely hiding one of these ladies while Conner, Kaldur, Victor, and Nathan hold Ophelia back from killing them with that exact pair of murderous scissors from "The Scissoring" from Nickelodeon's Victorious.

Ophelia:

M'gann (Cat) when Ophelia (Melanie/Jade) finds out:

Kaldur'ahm & Ophelia:

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Beneath Miles of Stone - Part Twenty - John Wick x Plus Size Fem Reader

Summary: John has been in prison for nine months. He’s content to stay if it means appeasing the high table and keeping peace between the owners of each continental. However, he meets someone who erases that willingness. Peace be dammed.

TW: kind of kidnapping if you squint ; mentions of death ; violence ; angst ; nsfw kudos to @scarlettspectra and @lilspookymeh for being music gurus and basically inspiring my entire writing playlist ❤️

“John, I can’t stay here - I have work, Michael.”

“It’s not up for debate.” 

She scowls at the way he talks to her like a petulant child, looks over at Winston for help and finds none.

“You can’t make me stay here,” she grits.

He fixes her with a dark, mean look, clears the distance between them in one stride, and grabs her before she can think about running. “I can make you stay, but I don’t want to have to do that.”

He’s really just springing this on her. Because the death of Maria puts a target on his back and therefore a smaller one on hers, John thinks the best solution is keeping her locked in the safe house that is Winston’s massive hotel. No consulting her, no talking about options. Just cut and dry. Do as I say. She’s offered alternative solutions, even - “I’ll walk around with Victor’s - sorry, Viggo’s - bodyguards at my side!” - because, of course, her having a private little secret service of her own is now unnegotiable, too. Imagine that.

“You don’t have to do anything,” she retorts, voice quiet despite her lionhearted words. 

“I’m not speaking in metaphors,” John says, “you’re staying here. Either way. I need you safe.”

She tries to tear her arm from his grip, but it’s like attempting to wrestle with a gorilla. “So what? I’m just supposed to stay locked up in your gilded cage and forget I have a life?”

He loosens his hold a little bit, lets her puffy flesh spring back from bruising, and softens, hard rock eyes turning molten. Still, there is fire involved. “You can hate me if you want. You don’t have to look at me or speak to me, but I’m responsible for your safety, now. I need you unharmed.”

Ah, there it is again, that fucking pang in her heart that leaves her whole being bloodless and aching when he reminds her why she’s ultimately here - pity. 

Sure, he’s told her otherwise a thousand times now, and his actions are testament to how much he wants her, but that admittance is all she needs to start thinking she’s a charity case again. 

Tears swell her eyes. 

She can’t believe they’ve gone from bliss to this in such a short amount of time. And now what? She’s trapped here and humiliated? Pitied? 

“No, I didn’t-“ 

“Yeah you did,” she whispers, looking down at the shiny dark floor, watching little tear droplets accumulate on its surface.

He lets her pull away and gathers every ounce of his willpower to avoid following as she walks out of the room and into the bustling hotel. 

“That went well,” Winston comments, flipping through the manila envelope of witness statements.

His knuckles ache to punch something. Marcus isright here, downing scotch like it’s his last day on earth - maybe he thinks it is - one little punch wouldn’t hurt him. 

More willpower used up to not hit Marcus. He decides to leave the room instead. 

Marcus thinks he did it. Winston might as well think so, too. The eight witnesses that put him at the location say he did. 

The only person that knows he didn’t do it - because he was instead with her when he supposedly took a round trip flight to El Paso and fixed a bullet into Maria’s skull - wants nothing to do with him when the only thing he wants is to curl up beside her and lament. 

He needs an outlet. 

———————————

“You need to call the police,” Michael tells her. His voice fades away for a minute while she hears rummaging in the background. 

“I don’t want to get anyone in trouble Michael. It’s not like I’m being tortured or something.” 

“And?” 

“It wouldn’t matter.” 

“I don’t know, they could probably come get you out of there?” 

“I don’t think cops come here, Michael. I don’t think they’re allowed to be here.”

He pauses for dramatic effect, probably. She’s glad she called him. His usual antics calm her. “They’re not allowed to tear gas peaceful protesters either, but….. ”

“No, I think they kill them here.” 

“Sneak out,” Michael concludes. 

“That’s my next bid.” 

“Damn, your pussy must be god tier if this man is kidnapping you, though.” 

She rolls her eyes. 

“What?! I’m just saying!” She hears the no good grin and it puts a smile on her face. 

“I don’t know how I’m gonna pay rent, Michael. I told work, but they’re probably going to fire me - if they even believe me - and then I won’t have income to pay my share-“

“ Are you serious?” Michael sighs. “You’ve just been kidnapped and you’re worried about me ? Babe, stop.”

“We made a deal Michael, and all I’ve done is fuck it up.” 

“Worry about getting out of there, and we’ll sort it out once you’re free of crazy boyfriend.”

“He’s not crazy,” she tries, “he’s just… worried.” 

“Uh-huh.” Michael takes another pause.  “Anyway, what is this place called?”

“You are not coming here, Michael. You’ll get hurt.” 

“Why? I’m not a cop.”

“Michael.”

“Right, right. You’re living the mystery novel life. Is it wrong that I’m a little jealous?” 

“No, I guess not. He just kind of makes it seem like he has to keep me here. I feel like a burden.”

“ You ? Feeling like a burden ?” The sharp sarcasm in his voice cuts. “Have you tried telling him that?”

“Well, no, but I’m scared.” 

Michael sighs. “Jesus, hun, I’m not sure what to tell you here. Sounds like he’s a little bit dysfunctional. Maybe he’s just not ready for a relationship. I mean, he has to know that holding you against your will isn’t okay.” 

She sighs back. It’s like their own little angsty language. “It’s not like I’m normal.” 

“Ah, so maybe the darkness in you calls to the darkness in him?” Michael sounds like he’s reciting breathy Shakespeare.

She laughs. 

——————-

The Continental is massive, shimmering, crystal chandeliers and intricate, antique carpets. 

Spotless, open, airy, a few delicate plants dotted about. Every room or hallway or lobby she enters feels too big - like she’s a kid again, tiny in proportion to everything else. Even the elevators gold and glimmer and loom.

Private clubs with massive polished oak doors to guard against entry, workers in perfectly tailored suits everywhere; one around each corner, in the bars and shops, diligent and watching. 

If she had any hope before of getting out of here, now she definitely doesn’t. Seems like every exit has an individual posted on it who would put Benny’s hulking mass to shame. 

She sees a woman who is taller than John, in a sleeveless tuxedo dress, muscles rippling over her shoulders and neck. She doesn’t think she has ever envied or admired someone so much. Despite the bodybuilder physique, this towering lady moves like flowing water. She just stares at her for a few minutes, entranced by the otherworldly beauty. How can he even think of liking her when women like this live and breathe? 

It’s easy to forget the outside world exists, here. But, she stills feels trapped - heralded off to some magical realm where everyone has a gun tucked under their shirt instead of a magic wand. 

She gets lost in the place, always expecting John to be waiting for her around corners or down a hallway. He’s not, though, instead leaving her alone like he said he would. That pisses her off and disappoints her a little bit; she wants him to follow her, fight for her, extinguish her flame of independence, which must mean there’s seriously something wrong here. He can’t just lock her up and then leave. 

Ignoring the empty John shaped space in her gut, she walks until she finds the library. Wall to wall shelves, rolling ladders carved in intricate, braided designs, a few cozy reading nooks. Librarian fantasy says hello. 

She scowls at the thought, goes to the fairytale section, lying to herself about thinking of John in this instance, too.

As chance would have it, someone she recognizes is here. The older woman from the bookstore in the mall, still sans reading glasses, squinting at the cover of a worn yellow hardback. 

“Do you need some help with that?” 

“Oh, my dear, nice to see you again.” There is an air of poise about this woman even in her shortcomings. She hands the book delicately to her rescuer, smiling softly. “Would you mind?” 

“Oh,” she thumbs the cover, feels the carved gold letters on the front. “This is Alice in Wonderland.” 

“Lewis Carroll?” 

“Yeah, I can tell you about this without even reading it.” She grins, cheeks puffing, pleased to have someone familiar here. 

The woman takes the book from her hands and sticks it back. “As interesting as Alice in Wonderland is, I’d much rather talk to you. You don’t belong here, do you? In a place like this?” 

She looks down at her feet. “Ah, no.” Really, she could pose the same question, but she finds herself unsurprised that nice stranger books in this hotel. Maybe it was the men in suits at her side. Maybe it’s because she’s used to this by now - fitting in nicely, snug as a bug in a rug. Meant for the underground. 

“So why are you here, dear?” 

They end up sitting in one of the lounges. She offers to go grab them both tea, paying for it and tipping despite hospitality, and then settles in to talk. This woman reminds of her of Winston, or like one of the kind, witty grandmothers from sparse foster homes. No matter how mean the rest of the family was, usually the elders were double kind to make up for it. 

She ends up telling her small things. Not too much, but more than she can Michael. This woman is already involved in the ancient crime world, so she feels like she can divulge more info. Plus, she’s confident that anyone here could just type her name into some imaginary database and bring up every detail about her, anyway. 

“Ah, John Wick, Boogeyman.” 

“People keep calling him that. I don’t think he’s that scary.” 

The woman laughs. “I don’t know, I’ve only heard. Never met.”

“Well, he’s actually nice,” she supplies, sipping her hibiscus tea. “Stubborn, but nice.”

“And he’s keeping you here to protect you, so he can’t be all bad.” 

“Yeah… we’ll go with that.” 

The woman laughs. “Oh, there is a fire in you. Misplaced, but a fire all the same.” 

“Misplaced?”

“You desire hardness, outer armor, to be strong, but you don’t realize that your true power comes from your softness.”

“I’m tougher than I look.” 

“I’ve no doubt.” Her contemplative eyes assess the cementing posture. 

“Sorry, I’m just. I’m irritated that I have to stay here.” She drops her shoulders, relaxes her jaw. 

“You’ve got a free spirit. You remind me of someone I once knew.”

“Was it you?” She smiles again. 

“Indeed. Unfortunately, this old bird had her wings clipped long ago.” 

“Your wings are massive and amazing, still.” 

The elder beams at her. “You know, my children think I’m out of my mind.”

“Huh? But you’re not.”

She shrugs. “They want my empire. I suppose I am getting older - should probably relinquish it sooner rather than later.” 

Just like with John, she feels that deep dive questions would be too forthcoming and intrusive here. “So, they’re making up stuff to get it? Sounds like your kids aren’t that great.” 

“Ah, but isn’t that my fault if they are not great, then?” She sighs and leans back into cushions that swallow her small frame. 

This is a hard question. She’s spent a lifetime blaming foster parents for fucking her up so much. 

“See? You can’t argue with that.” Her crinkled smile widens. 

“Mistakes are mistakes. The past doesn’t define the future. You do seem lovely now, regardless of what happened when they were kids.” 

“What do you do for work, my darling?”

“I’m a nurse.” 

——————————-

After talking for a long time with Ella, her mystery bookstore friend, she goes to knock on Winston’s study door, surprised she can even find it again. It takes a while, and she gets completely lost in the process. 

“Won’t find him in there. I think he’s downstairs. Do you need something?” She turns to find a tall, tattooed, beautiful woman folding linens onto a silver cart. 

“Oh, I just wanted to talk to him. Sorry.”

“You’re John’s girl?” She holds out a hand, gives a soft smile. “I’m a good friend of his.”

Why in the hell can’t she repress the jealousy raging inside her as she takes this absolutely gorgeous woman’s hand in her own? “Uh, yeah.” She resists asking how everyone seems to know what she looks like and who she belongs to. Maybe it’s just that distinguishable? John Wick with a fat girlfriend. 

Ouch . Back to hurting her own feelings again. 

“Oh, it’s really nice to meet you. A friend of John’s is a friend of mine. I’m a bell hop, trying to work my way up into bartender. They make more money.” She fixes her pile of cloth and then looks up as if forgetting something. “I’m Addie.” 

She’s at a loss for words, feels incredibly sheepish around this girl for no reason - exposed and open, ready for final judgement. Harrowing.

She introduces herself back despite trepidation and tries to give a warmer smile than she’s capable of right now. “Oh, that’s cool. You like bartending?” 

Addie laughs at some inside joke. “Oh, God no. Not in this city. But in the hotel, it’s great. Not many other bar owners will let you punch their customers for getting too handsy.”

She laughs. “Serves them right.” 

“I don’t mean to pry,” Addie smooths over a crisp sheet. “But how did you meet John?” 

Oh, the million dollar embarrassing question. “The prison. I was his nurse.” 

“Oh, that’s cute as hell.” Addie’s melodic giggle helps lower her raised haunches. “He hasn’t gone steady in a minute. I’m glad he’s happy. I’ve known him since we were kids, I mean, and he hasn’t been this sunshiny in a long time.”

Ah, another one of John Wick’s long time friends. “He’s a pretty good guy.” 

Addie nods. “Ah, we’re not passing the bechdel test.”

She chuckles. “You’re right.” 

“We will next time, promise. I gotta get back to work.” Addie gives her a wink and then she’s off. She calls back over her shoulder, “I’ll tell Winston you’re looking for him.”

“Thanks, but you don’t-“

“It’s fine.” Addie grins back. “He’s not busy.” 

—————————

She gets lost a few more times, maybe just maybe hoping for a tall, dark hero to come swoop her up and apologize. She’s more disappointed than she should be when that doesn’t happen. 

But, she does run into Charon again when she finds the front entrance. 

He gives her a small smile. “I trust you are finding the provisions here adequate, Miss?” 

She leans on his counter, emboldened by the lack of patrons in the lobby. “Could I ask you something?”

“Anything.” 

“I was in the library, and I saw the book with you in it. Behind the big glass display case, you know? You were in an orchestra in the pictures. Do you play… cello, right?”

“That’s correct. Well, was correct. I haven’t played in several years. Do you play?” 

“Ah, no.” She shrugs. “I just saw you in there and you looked amazing. Like really in your element.”

“Do I look.. out of my element now?” His head tilts, smile broadening.

“No, no, not at all.” Her eyebrows furrow. “Sorry, I just meant - you really looked like you loved it.”

“I did. It was exhilarating.” 

“Why don’t you do it anymore?” 

“I suppose I just got busy with other duties. I enjoy working at the hotel. The light of the stage was wonderful for a while, but I realized I was meant for a quieter fate. One with less excitement.”

“This is less excitement?” She gestures around. 

“Continental ground is sacred. We rarely have to take action against our guests for violence.” He pauses. “I know your experience has indicated otherwise.” 

She shakes her head. “Sorry, I didn’t-“

“There is nothing to be sorry for.” His pleasant smile still lingers as testament to that. “It’s alright to be curious. Ask me anything you want.”

She does. She asks who can stay here, who is not allowed to stay here, how long it’s been around, who built it. She asks him about the cello, if his hands got scarred, if he would play again at some point so she could come to his concert. 

Charon is infinitely interesting, sports the same dark humor that John does, and she chats with him until he gets customers. 

—————————

John stays gone. All day, all night. The more time goes by, the more anxious she gets. She should be angry, seething, but instead she just wants him to be okay, to come back to her. She’s grown so miserably attached to this elusive man, and the insanity that goes with that attachment is eating at her like swarms of locusts on fresh fields of grain.

—————————

He’s all bruised knuckles and blood flecked, sinew and tendon and vein. The smell of diesel and sweet liquor and heavy iron. She can’t help but peak at him from under the comforter while he undresses. 

“Good morning.” 

Of course he knows. He’s got sonic radar. She flushes, and doesn’t answer him. 

“I’d ask if you want to join me in the shower, but that would make me a bigger asshole.” 

“I don’t remember even saying you could stay in the same room as me anymore,” she grumbles, shifting under the blanket so a few of her toes peak from the end.

He resists tickling her. 

“You’re right. Let me take this shower, and I’ll book another one.”

“Are you rich?” She asks. 

“I have money.”

“Like, rich money?” 

He raises a dark eyebrow and looks far too good standing nude and bruised on the cold hardwood. 

“Does it matter?”

“I feel like you’re trying to buy me off.” 

He snorts, rubs a flexing hand down his abdomen and yawns. God, he’s fucking delectable. “Would it work?”

“Fuck you, John.” She tries to make her words hurt, but they’re half assed and weak.

He’s got a smile that makes her seethe and clench at once. Infuriating bastard. 

“Want me to fix that attitude with my tongue?” He offers, watches her toes curl up as she turns the other way and becomes a smaller mound under the covers. 

“I want you to go away.” 

He gives her credit for the control in her thickened voice. Saliva, always giving her away. 

“You got it.”

When the bathroom door shuts, she flings the blanket off and goes to get breakfast. For herself. 

Winston catches her in the dining room. “Do the clothes I sent up fit?” He asks. 

“Yeah, they do. Thank you. I appreciate it.” She looks distraught, out of element.

He hums and threads her arm with his, walking with her to the serving bar. “I’m sure he’ll take you to get your clothes and toiletries soon,” Winston promises. “I offered to have Charon escort you, but Johnathan seems to have faith in your ability to weasel away.” 

She huffs a laugh. “I’m not promising I wouldn’t try to escape.” 

“Are you angry with me?”

“No, I get it, he’s a bully.” 

“Ah, can’t say it’s entirely his fault. I’m concerned for your safety, too.” Winston sits with her as she orders cheesy eggs and toast and orange juice. 

“If he would have just explained it better, maybe I would have compromised.”

“Unless you know how to kill someone, I’m afraid there’s little compromise for you here.” Winston pauses, rubbing at the slick surface of the bar top. 

“I’m still mad at him.” She’s not sure why she feels so comfortable talking to Winston about her relationship problems, but the man is more than happy to chat and advise. 

“I can understand that. What can I do to make you feel better?” 

“Oh, no, Mr. Scott, you’ve already done so much. I’m sorry for being like this.” 

He smiles warmly, amusement cresting the crinkles of his face. 

Normally, she’s wary of being touched, but there is nothing except reassurance in Winston’s hand rested over hers. “My dear, you are human. Flesh and bone. Your feelings and emotions are your power, no matter how overwhelming they may become. Never forget that.” 

She feels a little like she has stepped from the mortal realm into fae territory. Everything shines and dazzles, wise figures give her hopeful advice, and there is a beautiful, inhuman man terrorizing her with a small grin from across the room.

She quickly looks away from John, and Winston of course notices the pick up in nerves. 

“Do you want me to kick him out?” He asks her. 

She giggles. “Will he leave?” 

“It’s worth a try.” 

Avoiding John Wick is kind of like being a moth who hates light. 

When he looks at her, she’s looking at him. And vice versa. She tries to eat, but feels too nervous to finish with coal eyes burning the endless fire in her belly, asks for a to go box and gulps the rest of her orange juice down. 

He watches her while she walks out, sipping his black coffee, unabashedly staring directly at her beautiful bottom. 

“I’ve thought about it,” Winston tells him, taking the seat across the table. “And I believe you.” 

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” John asks. 

Winston ignores his sour mood. “Someone is trying to frame you, Johnathan. Someone wants you dead. With eight witnesses, the high table will come for you. Especially concerning the public knowledge that Maria put a bounty on your head. This is a war that ends one way.” 

“I know.” 

“So, do something.”

————————-

“I’m sorry.” 

She turns around to find him leaning into the door jam.

“I told you I wasn’t good at this.” He motions between them. “But that’s no excuse to be an asshole.”

“I’m not good at it either, in case you didn’t notice,” she replies dryly. 

“If you get hurt, I’m not sure what I’ll do,” he admits. 

“But I can’t live like a clipped bird, John. And you’re just so forceful about it. I can’t get a word in when your mind is set. Michael has been nothing but good to me, and now I’m bailing on him. I like my job. It makes me feel like I have a purpose.”

“It’s not forever, just until I can figure this out.”

“Is it really that dangerous? If it is why did we start this in the first place?” That kind of sounds like she regrets the relationship, so she doubles back. “Sorry, that’s a stupid question. I would gladly meet you again and again, even if it meant more hardship, John, but I can’t just leave my old life.” 

He gives a deep, baritone sigh, running hands through his damp hair. 

She gets a little waft of the delicious shampoo he used, and itches to go to him. 

“Just give me a day. One day. I’m going to fix this, and I need you to trust me.”

She eyes him, makes him feel vulnerable - raw - with the power of her stare.

“Tell me what you’re thinking.” It sounds more like a plead than a demand, so she provides.

“Are you just doing this because you feel like you have to? Am I inconveniencing your life even more?” 

He looks at her for a very long time.

Then, pads over and tips her chin up with his fingers. “I live in a dangerous world. I’m scared to lose you in its chaos.” 

“But is it out of obligation or-“

“It’s because I need you.”

“You need me?”

He presses his forehead against her own. “Yes.” There is frustration in his voice.

She cradles the back of his head, inhaling spice and salt, quiet and still. Some kind of storm will rage and destroy her later, but for now she can keep it at bay while he is folding her up and pressing her into the bed. 

“This doesn’t solve anything,” she says, trying not to lose her resolve in the delicious wet of his mouth. 

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, lips trailing the sensitive bridge of her ear. 

She doesn’t. Lets him gather her hair back and lick behind her lobe, turn her into a quivering little mess of a human clinging to his sweatshirt. 

He can’t get enough of her in his mouth at once, uses his hands to make up for the loss, cups her tummy and groans at how soft she is. God, he could just sink right into her and never come out. 

“This is all I wanna do,” he says. “Every time I look at you, you just get more tempting. That cute little smile, pretty skin, soft little body. Who sent you here to destroy me?” 

“Th-the FBI.” She’s smiling that sunshine smile, animosity an afterthought, pulling at her new fixation which happens to be his velvet hair, rubbing her fingers into his scalp. 

His cock gives a little jump against her thigh, and he vibrates for her again. Ah, of course it’s the hair. 

“You like it when I play with your hair?” She asks, voice hitched high and tight as he sucks down her neck. 

“Yeah,” he admits. 

“I uh, yeah, l-like your hair, Johnny.” She sloppily threads a strand around her fingers, tugging just a little. 

And to think he was contemplating getting another buzz cut because of this mess always being in his face. Not now. Now he would never cut it again. Now it was his pride and fucking joy. 

He snakes his hands under her shirt, rubs at her bare tummy, pulls and feels and groans about how fucking pillowy she is - about how a bullet would probably just bounce right off of her. 

“Fuck, I love this,” he says, making her giggle and grab his fingers. 

“Tickles,” she tells him.

Immune to bullets, but not to soft fingers digging into her plump. He can’t help the hells grin while he indulges himself and makes her a giggly, frantic mess. “Where you going? Huh?” Chasing her up the bed, pressing her against the pillows, making her scream and curse his name. 

Only a little bit of fun, and then he’s kissing her ribs, pulling her bra up to let these beautiful tits flop in his face so he can nuzzle between them. Giggles into moans, the chant of her hips matching the rhythm of mewling sounds. 

“You’re so fuckin sweet.” 

Her hands make their way back to his hair.

Big cock pressing and grinding into her giving thigh, fingers running circles around her areolas to tease, mouth nipping at the tips of her breasts. 

He gets her begging, whining, needs her to ask him for it. 

“Pretty girl wants to cum on my tongue again, huh?”

“Yeah.” Little shimmering tears in her lashes, lips all puffy and big just like her nipples. 

“Tell me. Tell me, babydoll.” 

Flooding with hot embarrassment, biting her lip, trying not to crumble and break, she does her best for him, tries her hardest to make him happy. “John, make me cum. Please.”

It’s not good enough. “Ah, ah,” he scolds. “Make you cum on what?” 

“Y-your tongue. Want your tongue. Please, fuck.” 

“There you go.” And how could he ever fucking say no? 

How could he not spend a decade between these comfy thighs eating her sweet puffy cunt nice and slow. 

Fucking her on his fingers, tickling her little clit with his tongue and making her her hips spark up off the bed, giving her rug burn on top of rug burn while she pulls his hair and curses his wicked mouth. Sometimes it hurts, especially like now when she’s too drunk on his mouth to be careful or sweet - and he fucking loves it. 

He may never be able to convince her that he’s sorry with words, but he can still use his mouth to accomplish the same goal.

By the sounds of it, she, at least for now, forgives him.

[mediocrevideopodcast]

First I need you to know I absolutely love the way you write rocky! He feels so in character!

Second I saw requests are open so speaking of rocky: imagine if reader was a wealthy client who helps fund the speakeasy but they're only really there for rocky

like everyone else thinks it's pretty obvious they're into him but I imagine rocky would be clueless lol

(can be neutral or fem pronouns, whichever you prefer :) )

A/N: Thank you so much! I'm always worried that I'm a little too heavy-handed with his speech patterns, so I'm glad that it comes off right! And wow, I loved this idea so much! I got a little bit carried away with this it, actually -- never let it be said that I don't love this silly cat. Buckle in friends, it's gonna be a long one -- 3.4k, to be exact. Thank you all for all of the lovely asks and reblogs thus far -- because as much as I love writing, it's all of you that keep that fire burning when times get rough. Enjoy!

Content Warnings: None! Gender neutral reader, no pronouns or presentation indicators used.

Deafening raindrops turn into quiet pitter patters as you descend the long, spiraling staircase into the speakeasy. Comforting and familiar walls lift your spirits from the dreary outside world, caked in gloomy clouds and ever-growing smog. You wipe your boots on the doormat as you reach the bottom of the stairs, frowning a little when you notice just how far the mud splashed up the leather. 

        What a shame -- you'll have to clean them off when you get home tonight. Lord knows how your coworkers love to gossip, and with how calm things have been lately, they're just itching for something to discuss. Like how the head doctor has mud on their evening boots… after a heavy rain. How scandalous. 

        You're pulled from your thoughts by the gentle voice of the doorman, peering over at you with a hint of concern -- Horatio, you think his name was? Sweet boy. 

        "Is everything alright, Doctor?"

        You tear your eyes away from your shoes, smiling kindly. 

        "Of course," you chirp, "Just a bit of mud. Do be careful when you head out tonight. That suit looks nice on you, I'm sure you wouldn't want it getting dirty." 

        He straightens his posture at the compliment, adjusting his cufflinks with an endearing -- if not a little overenthusiastic -- nod. Content, you smooth out your outfit and move forward once again. You stride through the door, flashing your pin for formality's sake, and slink into the main room with a neatly contained excitement of your own. 

        Red satin curtains line the wall, contrasting beautifully with the natural grey stone -- the Lackadaisy speakeasy has a unique atmosphere, and despite having seen it no less than a hundred times, it never ceases to light a twinge of admiration within you. You weave between the towering stone pillars, letting your eyes rake across the room as you pad towards the bar. But… something is missing. Or, more aptly, someone. 

        The barstool squeaks in protest when you plop down at the bar, brows furrowed. Although before you're allowed to stew in your disappointment, a drink is placed in front of you. You look up, meeting eyes with the tall cat in front of you. Victor Vasko, resident bartender, for lack of a better word. He glowers down at you, although you know him well enough by now -- it's hard to be intimidated when you know his scowl is all but carved into his face. 

        You're also acutely aware that you're one of the last benefactors of St. Louis' finest speakeasy. 

        You slide a ten across the bar -- more than enough to cover drinks for the night, if not everyone else's too -- before swirling the drink in your glass. The amber liquid dances just shy of the rim before settling back down against the ice -- it's liquid gold in these parts, and they call it that for more reasons than one. You don't miss the subtle widening of Victor's eyes as he pockets the money and moves to the other end of the bar, presumably to clean -- or more aptly, shatter -- a handful of glasses. 

        Sweetness cascades over your tongue when you raise the glass to your lips -- it's a far cry from the common coffin varnish. That is to say, it's a luxury reserved only for new patrons… and those with deep pockets. You smile to yourself, savoring the taste. It's not the greatest drink in the world. Even a priest could tell you that. It's bitter, and burns in a way that tells you that its creator would really prefer to put the "fire" in firewater over anything else… and yet you couldn't fathom going anywhere else. It's not like you're aiming to get drunk here, anyways. 

        "So," Zib drawls, lumbering onto the bar stool next to you, "What's a man gotta do to get a drink around here?" 

        You huff a laugh into the glass, rolling your eyes. "Sorry, I only buy drinks for pretty boys."  

        He leans forward onto the bartop, leaning his head on his arms and gazing at you. His eyes are half-lidded, pupils lazily tracking your glass as you raise it to your lips. It's hard to tell if he's just tired, or if he's already gotten a headstart on drinking tonight. You'd put money on the "all of the above" option, if you could. 

        "I can bat my eyelashes if you want," he says.         "Jesus Christ, shut up," you laugh, swatting at him but waving down Victor nonetheless. He stomps over, rolling his one visible eye, but acquiesces and pours him a drink at your soft smile. It's clearly a cheaper alcohol, but Zib doesn't seem to mind. He seems to prefer it, if anything. He takes a strong drink, sighing at the burn. He pulls himself up from his crossed arms, leaning back with a groan.

        "Thank God, I don't know enough violin to pull anything else off. Or Shakespeare."

        "Hey!" You sputter, kicking his leg beneath the countertop, "What's that supposed to mean?" 

        "Nothing, nothing." He hums, pausing. Sips. Tilts the glass. "Just that you seem to have a favorite here, no shame in that. Other than the fact that you've chosen the strangest man in all of St. Louis to set your sights on." 

        "Excuse me, for one, I don't play favorites. And two, he is-- he isn't…" Swirling the liquid around in your own glass, you furrow your brow. When nothing comes to mind you take a sip of your own, thinking. 

        You know well enough that your protests are just for show at this point. It's become a near-daily point of banter between the two of you, considering how obvious you are in your affections. Many moons have come and gone since Wick showed you the Lackadaisy, but unlike the astral body, your interest in Rocky Rickaby has never waned. 

        It's hard to remember what kickstarted your affections for him -- maybe it was his natural lyricism, or perhaps his flair for theatrics. Maybe it was his unwavering spirit, or his penchant for getting into trouble. If you asked Wick, you're sure he'd tell you that you were simply attracted to the danger he brings with him, but he's never seen the way his eyes sparkle when he's excited. He's never seen the way he glows when he's truly happy -- not like you do, anyways. Maybe it was a combination of all of those things and more. What you do know is that…

        "He's got his own charm. He's different, yes, but I like different. But again," you say, looking at him over the rim of your glass, "I don't play favorites."  

        Zib chuckles, shaking his head, but says nothing. You wait one breath, then two. 

        Silence. 

        You scoff, muttering to yourself. "Set my sights on… You make it sound like I'm picking out a dog at the pound." 

        He grins, and you sense that you've fallen directly into his trap. Damn it. 

        "He'd bark if you asked him to."

        "Oh, you reprobate," you exclaim, laugh tinging the edges of your words. You swat at him once again, this time making contact. You'd like to say he choked on his drink, or sputtered at your attack, but this has become such a song and dance that really, you'd be more surprised if he didn't expect it. "You're incorrigible, you know." 

        "Just being honest," he says. 

        You shake your head, sipping lazily at your glass before slipping back into easy conversation. It's nice to simply chat the hours away with him -- despite his dour outward demeanor, he's quite good at keeping a conversation going. His taste in literature doesn't hurt much, either, nor does your own affability towards his own theatrics. For as much shit as he gives Rocky, he isn't all too much better in the drama department. 

        You weren't always treated so casually -- the memory of Mitzi all but batting Zib and Rocky away from you still brings a smile to your face. Hell, you're sure if Mitzi heard the dreary remarks falling from Zib now, she'd pick up the broomstick again… if only for her own sanity. But once it became clear that you'd sunk your claws into their best -- and up until recently, only -- rumrunner, the air changed. 

        You don't have to guess why -- everyone's been plenty clear about it.

        'If Rocky hasn't driven you away yet, there's not much anyone else can do to scare you off.'

        You cast a look over your shoulder every now and again, glancing at the door, aflutter with anticipation. It's impossible to hear the rain this far down into the cave system, although it's unlikely that the rain has let up at all considering the torrential downpour you weathered just a few short hours ago. You nervously bite at your lips, forcing your head back into the conversation. 

        'It's just the storm holding him up,' you tell yourself. 

        You vaguely realize that somewhere along the way your simple affection and interest has bloomed into something more all-consuming, and you can only hope that Zib doesn't catch your sudden fluster. Best to file that thought away for later. 

-----

        It's half past midnight when Rocky waltzes through those towering wooden doors, caked damn-near head to toe in mud. His suit seems to have taken the brunt of it, although the drying flakes embedded in his fur and the single symmetrical pair of clean streaks along his lapel tell a story all on their own. He clasps two bottles in his hands, mysteriously absent of any dirt or grime. 

        Calvin is hot on his heels too, pupils pinpointed with what you assume are the remnants of adrenaline. He too comes through the door with bottles of what you presume is liquor, although he certainly has an… abundance compared to Rocky. Because for Rocky's two, Calvin anxiously clutches no less than eight bottles to his chest. He practically waddles through the door, more out of fear than exertion. He, however, is almost entirely clean of grime… save for his pant legs, which are all but drenched. 

        Once Calvin is past the doorway Ivy comes skipping through too, hands wrapped around her own pair of bottles. Her wardrobe seems to be in slightly worse condition than Calvin's. Mud dapples her sweater, and the twigs tangled in her fur so abundant that you could probably call her a fire risk. But she seems joyful nonetheless as prances past Calvin and falls in line right behind Rocky in his march towards the bar. You realize in the back of your mind that she's chatting happily with Calvin behind her, although the words turn to water in your mind as you gaze at Rocky. If he's noticed you yet, he gives no indication. His tail, slicked thin with muck, flicks happily behind him. Small drops of mud hit the stone floor, causing Calvin to flinch back and clutch the bottles tighter to his chest. There must be a story there, you think to yourself. 

        You huff out a laugh -- partially out of amusement, and partially out of relief. You'll have to ask for the story of tonight's escapade later on. 

        "Praise be to the rain, protector of your ever faithful moonlight servants," Rocky finally reaches the other end of the bar, placing the bottles down with a thunk. He spins, his back towards you as he casts a hand in the air with a flourish. The smile that stretches across your face is painfully lovesick, if the way Zib nudges you gives you any indication, but you pay him no mind as you lean forward to watch the show. 

        "For such modern ventures, we need no stream to wrench forth our gold from the Earth, dearest raindrops. Rather, it is you, oh dearest clouds who bring us such prosperity, such joy. It is--"  he spins back towards you, locking eyes. He stiffens, blinking owlishly. A moment passes before his eyes sparkle in that perfect way you've come to adore, fangs peeking beneath his lips as his expression changes into a grin, and then a beam. 

        "You," he moves across the floor towards you, stretching his arms out for a moment before realizing his state of dress and letting his arms fall back at his sides. His tongue darts between his lips, practically buzzing with excitement as he pads towards you. 

        (You briefly catch the shocked looks of his, quite literal, partners in crime. Eyes wide, the two look at each other inquisitively, then at him, then back at one another. Clearly they're shocked at his willingness to drop his monologue, and the feeling is mutual. It makes the smile stretch further across your face, and you realize that if he hadn't silently retracted the offer, you would have accepted the hug, velvet be damned.)

        You spin your stool to face him, pushing your drink to the side with a wave in his direction. And it should be illegal for anyone to be so damn cute, because the way he lights up -- at your acknowledgement? At your excitement to see him? -- sends a hot flush through your cheeks that has you melting from the inside out. Up close you realize that despite (somewhat) clearing himself of mud, he wasn't able to keep entirely dry from the rain. Water drips down his nose, and you fight back the obnoxiously domestic thought of drying his fur for him. Tender looks and loving touches, of hands carding through fur… It's soon replaced by the vision of him toweling off himself, and Christ, something so mundane shouldn't be so damn attractive. That too, you tuck away for later. 

        He stops at your feet, eyes crinkled with mirth. 

        "I didn't think you'd still be here," he says, leaning against the bar countertop. Although he quickly notices the muddy stain he's left, and while he does pull back to attempt to clean it… it's not like there's much clean real-estate left on his suit to wipe with. You giggle -- honest to god, giggle -- at his antics, and just like that his attention is pulled back to you. He leans back against the countertop, resting his face against his hand. It squishes his cheek with a boyish charm, ears flicking towards your voice. It's cute. He's cute. 

        "Well, I wouldn't want to miss my favorite…"  Heat rises to your face at your own use of the word 'favorite.' Zib will never let you live this one down. 

        "...Musician." 

        Said cat snickers behind you, and oh yeah, you really aren't living this one down. It takes a lot of willpower not to shove him off the barstool then and there. But Rocky simply waves his free hand at him before turning it upwards, fingers splayed. It's clear that he's attempting to be casual in his body language, but the energy in his voice and barely hidden beam ousts his joy at your praise. 

        "Pay him no heed, dearest muse. Now, what form of entertainment would you desire tonight? Pick a key, any key! Through spoken word or melodic strings--"

        Any other night you'd be enraptured with his rambling, but tonight you seem to get lost in his words. Your eyes rake across his face, taking in the little details that make him, him. You're only a little ashamed at the way your eyes keep darting to his lips while he speaks -- truthfully, you're more embarrassed at the longing it sparks within you. Maybe you should have taken the time to unpack this earlier, but alas. You force your eyes upwards, taking in how his own bright blue ones shine with excitement, before letting them fall once again.

        And Rocky is nothing if not unique. The bridge of his nose tells stories beyond your imagination -- no matter how many times he tries to tell you their stories. They all just seem too wild to be true -- littered with little dots and lines that you could connect like constellations, they convey decades worth of life. A knife trick accident here, a wire snap there… allegedly, a horde of bees created many of the smaller dots. An experiment from youth gone wrong, he said, but you can't imagine he'd do anything different if presented with the opportunity again. Your lips upturn at the thought, and let your eyes roam to his cheeks: his fur bounces with every word he speaks, but even still, you can see little uneven patches. A thin line here and there, not quite reaching skin; a patch that's just a fraction shorter than the rest; all from recent incidents that simply came a little too close. But on his left cheek there's something new, something that you've never seen before.

        There's one last streak of mud on his face that, clearly, he had missed. You're so focused on the mark that you hardly even feel yourself move to grab your handkerchief. 

        "--But in an art such as this, moderation is for the weak. If you'll give me just five minutes I'll have--" 

        He stills at your gentle touch, halting his speech for the second time tonight. His fur is softer than you expected, despite its dampness from the rain outside. You tilt his head upwards by just a fraction, your thumb and index gently holding his chin in place. Stricken with a sudden wave of adoration, you drag your thumb experimentally across what you can reach. The movement is so painfully fond and oh, so close -- just millimeters away from his lips. It's a gentle action that lasts no more than a second -- hell, maybe you didn't even realize you were doing it -- but it feels like a lifetime to him. He thought he'd get used to the lightheadedness that you always seem to inflict upon him, but he couldn't be more wrong. And before he has any time to recover, you're dabbing at his cheek with a silken cloth. 

        And for all your observations tonight, you end up missing the way his breath catches in his throat. You miss the way he leans into you by just a fraction, how his eyes widen at your softness; how they take to memorizing every contour of your face in awe; how he melts in your hold, like he's never been held with such kindness before. He doesn't think he has. 

        And that's nothing to say of all the things you can't see -- how his heart leaps into his chest, pounding so hard he's half sure you can see it through his shirt; how he prays for the world to stop just as it is now, so that he could enjoy this for just a few more seconds. How he's so sure that he's dreaming, but far too joyful to even consider pinching himself awake. 

        He's so enraptured with your touch that he hardly even processes your movements. It's only once you lean in -- close, so damn close, so easy to close the gap -- to get a better look at the spot that he finds his voice again. 

        "Oh, you don't have to, it's--" he curses himself for stumbling, for being so breathless in your presence, considering your previous praise for his eloquence. He doesn't know why you keep coming back here, why you keep entertaining him as you do, but he's not going to complain. He swallows, counting to five before starting again with renewed, albeit artificial, confidence. "I'm sure that lovely, lovely silk piece cost you quite the pretty penny." 

        And this time, it's your turn to blink owlishly. You look at the cloth, then back at him, before laughing softly. And just like that you're leaning back in, once again coaxing the mire from his face. It's silent between the two of you for just a moment, so quiet that you damn near forget where you are. And in a moment of courage, you up his face in full. You feel his jaw clench beneath your hand, emboldening you to push just a bit further. You catch his eye, smiling softly. 

        "You know money doesn't mean a thing to me, Rocky," you murmur, just loud enough for the two of you to hear. 

        A million words are left silently humming in the gap between you, a million words you hope he can pick up on in your silence. 'Not when it's you,' you think to yourself. 'I'd give up every penny for just another second with you.' 

        There's a glimmer in your eyes that can only be described as fond, and he basks in it before you turn back to your task. This time, he doesn't stop you. 

[wobster109]

What are Aventurine and Dr. Ratio to each other, anyway?

Spoilers be ahead!

There are a handful of clues in their first on-screen interaction:

Ratio: Without that Aventurine stone, you're nothing more than a doomed Sigonian thrall sentenced to die by the IPC. Or is that serial number on your neck a cherished memento from the Amber Lord? Aventurine: Hah, you're funny. I'll give you that! It appears our erudite friend has done his homework.

A couple things to note. First, Ratio has dug up some info on Aventurine's background, and Aventurine was not the one who told him ("done his homework"). It seems to be their first time working closely together. Ratio has "done his homework" now and not sooner, and he has a fastidious nature: if they'd worked together before, he would've looked into Aventurine's background then. I would guess that they have met, but have not worked closely before.

And yet, they seem to speak rather familiarly with each other. Aventurine tells Ratio to look into Acheron almost casually, not like his interactions with Himeko or Trailblazer where he lays the groundwork for a debt owed, and trades on that for assistance. For his part, Ratio is his usual blunt, insulting self. "Peacock-esque". "Some idiot". I don't know what a "thrall" is but it can't be anything good. (But that's consistent for him. It's not too different from how he talks to Trailblazer.)

If this is one of their first meetings, then where—and when—does this come from?

"You don't believe me?" / "Life is a grand gamble, and I'll always be the final victor."

One thing that's always puzzled me about this image, story, whole situation: if that really is Ratio holding the gun, why does he give in? It's implied in the light cone that whatever Aventurine's asking for here, he gets his way. But isn't that odd for a fellow like Ratio, who tells you not to ask questions if you don't need the answer?

Imagine, devoid of context, that someone has tried to convince Ratio by shooting themselves 3 times. Wouldn't Ratio be unmoved and unimpressed? Wouldn't he simply say "You fool!" and walk out?

And for his part, Aventurine is no fool. One doesn't become P45 in the IPC by sheer luck. He's said to have "won a gamble against fate itself", and that doesn't happen by luck alone. He wouldn't risk his life for nothing. Either what he stood to gain (Ratio's cooperation) was worth that much. . . or he had nothing to lose. And how can losing his life be considered "nothing"?

I believe that the light cone shows when he convinced Ratio to be his technical consultant on Penacony. It goes back to "doomed Sigonian thrall sentenced to die". All along, I've been interpreting that light cone as "Look how fortune favors me". . . but that's not it at all.

It's "Without your help, I'm as good as dead." Both literally and metaphorically— "My life is in your hands."

The light cone story begins with "You don't believe me?" That's why Ratio agrees. I believe you now.