#which is *hysterical* from a guy doing a business degree?

[paalove]

ray calling sand a whore first by implication and then outright...

[criminalamnesia]

Stay

warnings: enemies to friends, hinted enemies to lovers, Tyler’s sister!reader, mean!scott, bickering, very real tornado danger, mentions of a car crash and physical injuries, not proofread, f!reader

summary: the three time you see storm par’s one and only scott, including the one in which he saves your life.

author’s note: look at me, finally writing something again! I’ve been extremely busy and, truthfully, in a writers slump. I started writing this after seeing twisters, and I just got the motivation to come back and finish it. I’ve been obsessed with this man since that movie, and good lord do we need more fics of him. anyways, enjoy! (also, for my traitor fans— I haven’t forgotten about you! I hope to work on the next part soon!)

the first time you’d seen scott, you’d wanted to break his jaw, and you hadn't even gotten his name.

“get lost on the way to the hillbilly convention?”

his tone is snarky, his eyes full of disdain as he watched you slide out of tyler’s truck.

your eyes had widened, your spine straightening as you registered his unprovoked hostility.

“the fuck is your problem?” you ask, eyes narrowing as you come back to your senses. you look him up and down, huffing a laugh at his clothes.

“you look like you’re going to a fuckin’ business meeting.” you say, coming to a stop in front of him. your cowboy boots dig into the dirt, and the sun beats down on your face.

perfect day for storm chasing, as your brother had said. darkening clouds rolled in the distance, and the wind was steadily picking up. according to lilly's drone data and tyler's instincts, your first chase would occur sometime within the next few hours.

you had been away at college when tyler’s tornado-chasing YouTube channel took off. you’d always loved the thrill of being close to the storms, but even when you came home to visit during summers, tyler refused to let you tag along.

until now, that is. now that you’ve graduated with a degree in meteorology, just like him. he had always accused you of wanting to follow in his footsteps.

“don’t mind storm par over there,” comes your brother’s drawl as he appears beside you, a hand coming down to rest on your shoulder. “the stick up his ass seems to have been lodged a little deeper recently. you’ll get used to it,” tyler grins, barking a laugh at the brunette's scowl.

"haven't seen you before," another man moves to stand beside the brunette. he's also wearing storm par gear, and you watch as him and the taller man share an unreadable glance.

"she's new," tyler responds for you, his wide grin still present as he acknowledges the shorter man with the tip of his hat.

"i'd run while you can, sweetheart," the taller one says, a look of pity in his eyes as he looks back to you. "fucking him isn't worth dying over."

you stare at the man for a moment before bursting into laughter. the storm par pair's eyes both widen, their stares moving from your hysterics, to tyler's rolled eyes, and then to each other.

"you two are supposed to be scientists, huh? the guys who are gonna 'tame tornadoes?'" you throw the last two words in air quotes as your laughter subsides.

the shorter of the two men nods, while the taller opens his mouth once more. "that's right. while you morons are out trying to get yourselves killed, we'll be busy doing shit that actually matters."

"right, right," you nod along, glee shining in your eyes as you stare at the taller one. "you must be so smart, then. where'd you get your degree?"

"MIT," he says smugly, popping the gum in his mouth.

"MIT, wow," you whistle, your eyes finding your brother's. tyler just shakes his head, trying and failing to suppress his laughter.

"you got a degree from MIT, and you're too stupid to tell that he-" you jab a finger towards tyler. "is my fucking brother?"

the man's smug grin instantly falls as his eyes scan you, then tyler, and then fall back onto you. tyler steps forward, smacking a hand on the man's shoulder with a laugh.

"meet my little sister, storm par. may not have gotten a degree from MIT," he says, tipping his cowboy hat to you. you mime tipping an invisible hat back at him. "but she seems to be a hell of a lot smarter than you."

the second time you see scott, you still don't learn his name.

"jesus christ, this thing is huge!" you yelp as tyler swerves the truck back onto the dirt road. he scowls as the storm par truck ahead of him jerks back and forth on the path, blocking his approach.

"how's the wind lookin'?" he asks, his words clipped as his hands grip the wheel tighter. wheat fields ripple on both sides of the road, an ocean of tan as the sky continues to darken.

"pickin' back up," you tell him, glancing down at the laptop in your lap. it was displaying real-time data of the atmospheric conditions. the software had cost a pretty penny, but had been worth it. plus, it had been more than covered by tyler's t-shirt sales. cheesy or not, tyler’s face on a shirt was worth his weight in gold to his followers.

tyler groans as the white truck in front of him cuts him off again.

"ty, just go around!" you yell at him, your eyes widening as you stare out of the passenger side window. the clouds overhead were beginning to swirl.

"i'm tryin' to drive nice," he tells you through gritted teeth. "don't wanna make you sick-" he begins, but you roll your eyes and reach over, jerking the wheel. the car swerves off the road and into the ditch beside it, and tyler scrambles to avoid hitting a wire fence as he swats at your hand.

"what the fuck?!" he yells at you, his eyes cutting to you for a second before focusing back on the road.

"stop tryin' to baby me!" you tell him. "show these storm par pricks what we're made of."

tyler falls silent, clearly debating his next move. you're about to grab the wheel again when his foot slams down on the gas and the truck lurches forward. you cheer, throwing a fist in the air as you laugh with glee.

"just don't tell mom!" he says to you, laughing along.

as the truck speeds forwards, tyler lets off the gas just enough to keep speed with the storm par truck. you lean past him to get a look into the cab, and there's the brunette you'd had the displeasure of meeting a few days ago.

you can see his scowl from here, and your grin is wide as you hold your middle finger up, waving it around to make sure he couldn't miss it. his scowl deepens, and before he can even think of responding to the gesture, tyler hits the gas again.

"what was that for?" your brother asks as you lean back into you seat.

you shrug. "just havin' fun."

the third time you see scott, he saves your life.

it's a week after the middle-finger incident. although storm par and your brother's wranglers have been following the same storms, you haven't had the pleasure of bothering the tall brunette, much less seeing him. you’d caught glimpses, but he seemed to be keeping his distance. you supposed he’d finally grown tired of your constant teasing.

you don't know why you find yourself caring. he's an asshole. an asshole who hates you, your brother, and everything the two of you stand for. who constantly underestimates and looks down on you.

and yet you miss his scowl and the unmistakable pop of his bubblegum.

"hey, you okay over there?" boone asks as he leans over the center console, his head peeking out between the two front seats. you know the question is directed at you, as boone is watching you like a hawk.

"yeah, fine," you shrug, your eyebrows furrowed as you lean down, getting closer to the screen of your laptop.

"ty, turn the music down for a sec," you tell him, and he listens without protest. a rare occurrence, but now wasn't the time for bickering.

what had first appeared to be a measly EF1 had begun to grow. it wasn't dying out, and things were starting to get scarily real as moisture kept feeding into the funnel miles ahead of you.

"this thing isn't stopping," you tell the two men. "you need to tell the rv to turn around. hell, we should turn around."

boone shakes his head, leaning further into your space. his eyes scan your computer screen, and although he's learned a lot from tyler, he still doesn't see what you see.

"nah, it's gonna be fine. ty said it's gonna die out anyways, right? we just need to get in it before it does."

"boone," you warn, turning in your seat to face him. "love you, but shut the fuck up right now." you reach out a hand and grip tyler's arm.

"ty, I mean it."

rain starts pelting the windshield. you can hear the wind howling outside of the truck, and you shudder as hail begins to pound against metal.

tyler mumbles something under his breath as he kicks the windshield wipers up to maximum speed. "you sure?" he finally says.

he turns to look at you as you nod, and those precious seconds are all it takes for the world to spin on its axis.

a fence post slams through the windshield as rain and hail continue to obscure the world around you. you scream and tyler jerks the wheel out of instinct. the truck turns sharply, running off the road. your stomach drops as the truck drops and rises again- your own personal rollercoaster from hell.

"tyler!" you yell, gripping the straps of the harness holding you in.

"workin' on it!" he responds, jerking the wheel the other way. the truck rights itself back on the road, and you close your eyes as adrenaline rushes through your veins.

fuck, the others-

"boone, tell the others to turn around now!" you yell at him, and he's nodding frantically from his seat in the back, his hands fumbling for the walkie talkie in the floor.

"so much for an EF1!" tyler says, and although his tone sounds easy, his face betrays him. you can see the glimpse of fear in his eyes. it mirrors your own.

"yeah, ri-" you begin, but the sentence never fully forms.

you black out as another car slams into the passenger side of the truck.

"c'mon, get up!"

everything feels fuzzy. your head is pounding, and your ears are ringing. pain shoots through your body, engulfing every inch of skin. you think something has to be broken, judging from the numbness you feel on the right side of your body.

"get up!"

your eyes begin to crack open, but your vision is blurry. someone is a few feet in front of you, but you can't make out who it is.

"for fuck's sake-" the voice growls, and you can just hear the faint crunching of glass before your hearing comes back in full force.

the wind is an unbearable howl, and the rain and hail pounding down around you make hearing your own thoughts almost impossible-

your thoughts. what had happened? one second, you're driving and then-

fuck. tyler. boone. where were they?

your eyes shoot open, your body jerking against the harness still keeping you strapped to the leather passenger seat.

you look to your left- to the driver's side- but tyler isn't there. you try to turn you head to see into the back, but a sharp pain in your neck quickly stops you.

"tyler?!" you yell, but your voice is carried off by the wind. you can't even hear your own words.

"boone?!"

"they're fine!" a voice calls to you, and your gaze shoots back to the driver's side. you can see a man crouching by the driver's now blown-out window— which is upside down.

you were upside down. the truck had rolled with the impact of whatever had hit you. everything comes back with devastating clarity, and even though adrenaline pumps through your veins, the pain is beginning to become unbearable.

“can you move?” the voice says. you can’t tell who it is through the spots in your vision and the sheets of rain still coming down.

“I-” you start, pushing your chest against the harness. “I think so.”

“good,” you recognize it as a man’s voice. “then hurry the fuck up and get out!”

under different circumstances, you would’ve scoffed at the order, but now wasn’t the time for defiance. your life was literally on the line, and if you didn’t get to shelter before the tornado engulfed you—

well, you didn’t want to think about that.

you force your brain to gather itself, directing your thoughts toward moving your aching limbs. your left arm is the only one that responds, coming to fumble with the metal buckles of the harness.

the first one unclasps and you swear you could cry from relief.

“any day now!” the man calls, and you can’t help but roll your eyes. you reach your left hand across your torso, working at the clasp on your right side.

“im trying!” you call back. once you get it undone, your arms fall downward as gravity claims them. you groan in pain as your right arm shifts. something is definitely broken, but you can’t afford to give into the pain at the moment.

you reach for the lap belt, tugging at it with a shaking hand. the wind continues to howl around you, and you feel tears pricking the corners of your eyes. hopelessness begins to eat away at you as you try and try again to undo the lap belt, to no avail.

“it’s stuck!” you call out, hoping the man can hear you. “I can’t get out!”

your breathing is picking up. your chest feels tight, and the feeling you still have in your left hand ebbs as you begin to panic.

you don’t want to die. you know that. it scares you shitless.

but you don’t want anyone else to die, either.

you’re stuck. whoever is outside of the truck isn’t. he should run while he can—

“hold on!” you’re jarred from your thoughts as a figure begins to crawl through the hole left by the blown-out window, and that’s when you register your savior.

it’s him, the brunette from storm par. the man who belittled you, who rolled his eyes at every sentence you spoke, and who you somehow found yourself missing.

he’s crawling into the cab, his arms no doubt suffering cuts from the shattered glass littering his path. “I’ve got you,” he calls to you, and when your eyes meet his, there’s no look of disdain. there’s thinly veiled terror.

“you need to leave me,” you tell him, and you can’t tell if the wetness on your face is from your tears or the rain that’s now blowing sideways into the destroyed truck.

“shut the fuck up,” he tells you, groaning as he slices his forearm on a jagged piece of metal.

“im serious,” you reply, your left hand still fumbling with the belt restraining you. “I can’t feel my right side—”

“will you shut up? please?” he heaves out, his face inches from yours now as he reaches for the lap belt.

you fall silent, but not because you’re heeding his demands. no, you’re too busy examining his face. he’s never been this close to you, and you’re taking in every little detail before death comes to sweep you up.

can’t blame a girl for wanting to gawk at a handsome man in her final minutes, can you?

“stop staring at me,” he grits out, his forearm flexing as he tugs at the lap belt. something has the fabric trapped, and although he’s freeing it inch by inch, you’re not sure if—

the belt gives, and his arms leave your lap to cushion your fall, protecting your head from slamming into the metal below you.

he doesn’t say anything, but you watch as his gaze flits over your right side. stone cold as ever, his expression gives nothing away regarding your physical state. you can’t bring yourself to look down.

“im gonna pull you out, okay?” he says, and you absently nod your head. the pain is heavier now— harder to push away. your vision swims as he hooks his arms under yours and shuffles back on his knees.

agony spreads through your thoughts as the numbness gives way to excruciating pain. your eyelids flutter, but the man doesn’t stop. he grunts as he pulls you forward again, slowly but surely removing you from the truck.

“you need to leave me,” you tell him again, your teeth biting into your bottom lip to stifle a scream of pain. “im not going to be able to walk. I’ll just slow you down—”

“jesus christ, you don’t listen, do you? im not leaving you here to die.”

he finally makes his way out of the wreckage, pulling you with him. once you’re free of the ruined truck, he stands on shaky legs— fighting to maintain balance as the wind whips across his figure. he reaches down, scooping you up in his bloody arms, and starts to run as best he can. the rain is so thick you can’t even see a foot in front of you, let alone where he’s taking you.

lightning cracks overhead, followed by thunder so loud it shakes your shattered bones. your head tilts up to the sky, and you watch in horror at what was once an EF1 tornado races toward you. it’s got to be an EF4 by now— maybe even a 5 based off its sheer size.

“drop me!” you screech, your working hand clutching the soaked fabric of his storm par shirt.

if he hears you, he pays you no mind as he continues to struggle against the wind.

with your eyes focused on the impending doom behind you, you don’t even realize when he reaches his destination. he jumps down into a deep ditch, and you hear him groan as his feet hit the ground. he must be hurt, too.

“is she alright?” a voice calls, and your eyes widen as boone comes into view, a large cut across his forehead that looks like it definitely needs stitches.

“not the time!” the storm par man shouts, ducking behind your friend. your eyes catch boone’s over his shoulder, and you give your fellow storm chaser a weak wink. boone’s lips crack into a wide smile, even amidst this horrible storm.

the brunette carrying you falls to his knees, laying your back against muddied dirt. he refuses to let you go, his arms cradling you against his chest as he shelters you with his own body. there’s nothing to hold onto except for him, and you know if the tornado gets any closer, you’ll both be goners.

you close your eyes tightly, welcoming your end despite your overwhelming fear— but it never comes.

you pry your eyes open as the sounds of wind and rain finally begin to subside. the body above yours still clutches you tightly.

“are we alive?” your voice comes out a whisper. your left hand flexes against the man’s chest, and sure enough, it meets a solid body. he’s not an imagination— he’s real. you’re still here.

“yes,” his chest rumbles with the words, and his arms slowly snake out from under you as he sits back on his haunches. his eyes are locked on yours, his icy blues unreadable as he watches your face.

you don’t say anything for a moment. and then,

“you’re the stupidest son of a bitch I’ve ever met.”

his eyes widen in surprise, and his stern facade cracks for the first time— at least, that you’ve seen— and he chuckles.

the bubble surrounding you two quickly pops as tyler’s voice meets your ears. you turn your head and there he is— your brother, running towards you with relief written all over his face.

“oh, thank god,” he says, throwing himself to his knees and scooping you up in a hug. you hiss in pain and he pulls back, his hands on your shoulders as he looks you up and down with a grimace.

“you took the worst of it. those storm par pricks—” his eyes cut to your savior, who is still sitting nearby, watching the two of you. “hit us. you and boone were knocked out, and you were stuck, so I got him first and was coming back, but—”

“ty,” you interrupt, your left hand landing atop one of his. “it’s okay. im okay. we’re okay.”

tyler takes a deep breath and nods, his eyes flitting back down your body, focusing on your right leg. you follow his gaze, grimacing at the unnatural twist of the limb. no wonder it had gone numb.

“I’ve had worse,” you tell him, taking notice of your limp, lacerated right arm.

“now’s not the time to play hero,” your brother chastises, standing up before reaching down and picking you up. your eyes meet your savior’s once more. he’s standing now, too, his arms crossed over his chest as he matches your gaze.

“guess we owe you a thanks, clipboard. and you owe us a new truck.” tyler says, to which the brunette rolls his eyes.

“ty,” you roll your eyes, too, as you keep your gaze locked with the brunette’s. “ignore my brother. thank you for saving my life….” you trail off, realizing, truly realizing for the first time that you don’t know his name.

“scott.” he tells you. you nod.

“thank you, scott.”

he nods back, turning his back to you as he starts to limp back to the road your vehicles had been abandoned at. you doubted they would still be there.

just as you’re about to look away from his retreating form, he glances over his shoulder and gives you a true, sweetly small, smile.

maybe storm par isn’t so bad after all.

[eurydicees]

i think iwaizumi is like. ok so he comes off as cool and athletic and smart and popular and, yk, to a degree, he totally is! he’s incredible at volleyball and he gets decent grades and he’s a good friend and overall well-liked by the general seijoh population.

ALSO at the same time he is like. the lamest popular guy in the world.

this is a title that oikawa has given him and the part that iwaizumi protests is not “lame” but “popular.” some points that oikawa makes, when talking to iwaizumi about how much of a normal average deeply Just A Guy iwaizumi is:

iwaizumi’s favorite activity is, first and foremost, volleyball; and second, it’s “spend time watching d-rated martial arts movies with my best friend.”

i appreciate it and love this, oikawa says, obviously, but you do have other things you can do with your time. do you know that. it doesn’t seem like you know that.

he’s popular, he has other friends, he could have his pick of girlfriends, and he chooses to instead monopolize oikawa’s time through varying methods of aggression and/or affection.

why do you not have a girlfriend yet, oikawa asks. i’m too busy keeping you in line, iwaizumi says. to which oikawa replies, you suck at being popular, iwa.

people think he’s cool because he likes the outdoors, likes going on hikes with his free time, excels at every athletic task, etc etc.

what they do not know is that he likes going on hikes to look at the changing leaves and his favorite way to interact with nature is like his fucking rock collection or some shit.

do they have names, oikawa asks, teasing. shut the fuck up, iwaizumi says. then, fucking obviously they have names.

he’s not scared of bugs, girls whisper when he passes in the hallways. he saved me from a spider one time, they say, and oikawa claims they swoon.

and like, oikawa HAS to laugh because this is the same boy who tried to keep a tank of beetles he collected from the park and cried hysterically both first when they all escaped, and second when his mother yelled at him for ten minutes about the five she found in the sugar jar. he was fourteen.

“he’s so smart,” someone says admiringly when iwaizumi helps them a bit with their class work. oikawa is rolling his damn eyes because iwaizumi is smart, sure, he’s doing fine in school, but he’s evidently not smart enough to calculate the risk/reward of a monetary bet on how many pork buns he can fit in his mouth. more than 8 gets him 1000 yen. less than 8 makes him lose 1500.

what the fuck was he thinking, oikawa is forced to ask, first when he nearly has to perform the heimlich maneuver and later when he buys iwaizumi a consolation bottle of water. what the fuck.

people think he’s mysterious and stoic and kind of darkly intriguing because he doesn’t necessarily laugh a lot while he’s in class and focused, and while he’s friendly with everyone, he still sticks pretty close to his little group.

oikawa cannot believe that anyone could ever think this because iwaizumi gets home after school and does not shut the fuck up. and he’s so easy to make laugh. and his every expression is so easy to read.

how could you possibly have anyone convinced that you are cool and mysterious, oikawa asks. how the fuck did you do that.

iwaizumi is forced to shrug. he doesn’t really have an answer. people just kind of make their own assumptions about him no matter what he does. doesn’t matter anyways. oikawa might be the only one who seems to truly get him, but he’s okay with that. if it had be one person, he’s glad it’s someone he loves.

and now what the fuck is oikawa supposed to do with that.

(push him down on the bed and kiss him, oikawa finds, seems to be the right answer.)

[coralinnii]

Is it okay to ask for riddle isekaid villainess part 2? You can ignore if you want^^

"If you are a villain, then let me be your accomplice"

feat: Riddle

genre: romance

note: sequel to “being reincarnated into a new world as the bad guy”, roughly 1.2k word count,

series masterlist

y'all really requested it, I'm here for it tho cuz yes to Riddle <3 There's a request for a fluffier Riddle fic so stay tune for that.

Since your imprisonment, Riddle has been trying to appeal for your release ever since, but his mother was adamant in her decision. So, Riddle instead made it his goal to convince his mother for him to inherit the throne as soon as possible so that he could revoke your sentence and you could return to the kingdom, and to him. 

Thus, he worked to prove himself to his mother. He led conquests of other lands to expand the Rosehearts reign. He busied himself in establishing trading routes with other kingdoms, increasing the flow of valuable materials and talented individuals coming into the kingdom. Through his efforts, the kingdom became bigger and richer.

He was an unbending force that yielded to no one, not even to his own mother as he kept pushing to create a utopia of a kingdom and prove himself a worthy ruler. He needed to be the perfect emperor and to an extent he succeeded as he was an amazing leader with keen senses and foresight but he can come across as somewhat tyrannical to others due to his lack of sympathy for others who delayed his plans.

He couldn’t afford incompetence and laziness. If others cannot perform to his expectations, how can he inherit the throne at this rate and have you waiting longer. 

The final push to his already short patience was when he received your last letter. You were planning to escape from your tower, and he may never see you again. He made you wait too long and you planned to disappear, likely lead a new life, meet new people... find someone to love and marry...

In desperation, Riddle marched to his mother in the throne room with his army and the nobility on his side, demanding that she step down. Without a reason against it, the royal power has switched and Riddle was the official king. His first order was for his men to bring you to the palace.  

“Well, that explained the lack of letters, I supposed” you murmur as you walked down the halls of the palace, your new home. You questioned the legitimacy of Chenya’s words when he mentioned how busy Riddle had been, but you realized he truly wasn’t exaggerating.

You thought about softening Riddle’s rule, but the situation was trickier than you expected as Riddle’s actions teeter between tyranny and necessary as his laws were for the greater good, if not a little strict. 

“No! It is unacceptable!” your train of thought was disrupted as you heard a familiar voice coming from one of the larger rooms, you recognized it as the kitchen. “Common etiquette dictates that tea is served after 2 minutes has passed after being steeped in water heated at 325 degrees, letting it cool. You have ruined this batch of tea with your incompetence!” 

Today, he happens to be in a tyrannical mood.

You cautiously walked in and saw a precarious situation. Riddle was the center of the commotion, angrily reprimanding a young woman you assumed was a new maid who was hysterically apologizing again and again to your husband.

“I’m sorry, your highness!” the maid cried, kneeling before Riddle with her hands on the floor and head down, her tears dripping endlessly.

“Do you intend to harm the royal family, serving my beloved with this disgusting, boiling mess? Leave this palace at once!” Riddle furiously yelled to which the maid further sobbed in apology. Working in the imperial palace is the highest honor but being fired from the royal family is akin to social annihilation as no other family would dare to hire such a worker. Your heart went out to the poor woman.

“Riddle?” your voice catches Riddle’s attention and he turned to see you by the door.

“Rosie” he whispered which made you shy at first, having others know that old nickname is a little embarrassing. Nonetheless, you continued to walk towards him.

“Isn’t this too harsh? It seems to be an honest mistake” you defended the woman, but Riddle was firm in his stance. 

“You cannot be serious” Riddle sighed. “Anyone associated with high society knows this basic practice. How can you be so forgiving?” 

“Because…I don’t know it” 

Silence filled the room as Riddle stared at you while you continued to confess your incompetence, as Riddle would put it. 

“I don’t know the right temperature to steep tea. I can't tell what's good tea or bad tea, hot or cold” you profess your ignorance, a little ashamed. You started your training as a future member of the royal family at a young age but when you were sent into your tower, you were cut off from social interaction and obligations. You restarted your etiquette training but with everyone comparing you to the prodigy that is your husband, you understand how disheartening criticisms can be. 

You reach out to clasp Riddle’s hands which seems to have a calming effect as his reddening face cooled down, although a faded blush was still present.

“People have their own pace to perfect something, Riddle. Us included” you said as you softly rubbed Riddle’s knuckles in a soothing manner. “I think we should give people the chance to learn and redeemed themselves. What do you say?”

Riddle let out a sigh before turning to the maid kneeling down before him. His stare was piercing, like a sharp sword cutting through one's soul.

“You have one more chance” he declares sternly. “If you fail to improve yourself, consider your time here over”

You felt relieved, grateful that your childhood friend is still willing to listen to others, a sign that he could change for the better, away from the original story. Seeing your smile brought out a subtle one on Riddle’s lips as he revels in your soft hold, in bliss to be in your warm presence after so long. He was in such a hurry to gain the throne that he would strike down those that stand between his goal, but with you finally standing beside him, his mad need for perfection seems less insistent.

The new servants, however, were astonished. Seeing their ruthless master known for his temper and unforgiving nature, rescind his order. The servants thought what an odd couple you two were but were grateful for your intervention regardless.

 — Bonus —

“How can you still not remember proper tea etiquette?” Riddle gently reprimands you, though he recalls how nonchalant you were with your lessons even during your younger years “You need to start taking your lessons more seriously and not just skim through the books”

“You know me too well, Riddy” You giggled despite his scolding, before looking at him teasingly “You could always teach me, you know? We can make it a special lesson, just the two of us”

Riddle’s face flushed red at the idea, imagining a whole session with just him and you without the intervention of his advisors or your guards, especially those two new rookie knights that has gotten close to you lately. It would be just him that holds your attention, only he would hold your gaze as you smile and laugh with him, perhaps even sharing treats with him along with your tea.

“Hmph, I suppose if you need someone who can show you proper technique, I could find the time for it”

You let out a laugh as you thanked him, not noticing the flabbergasted looks of your audience. The older servants who knew your relationship with Riddle are not the most surprised by Riddle's leniency with you but for others...

"Your highness...making tea..."

"Pinch me...I must be dreaming"

"That tyrannical maniac...is blushing?!"

You have your work cut out for you but nobody else has sway with Riddle as you do.

[lim-boe]

Shelby's

Tim Gutterson x afab reader

Justified

Warnings: cursing, references to puke and blood, drinking

Chapter 1:

Three kids puked in your class today and one of them was ON YOU. That stain was never gonna get out and oh boy did you need a drink. You decided to go to a bar called Shelby’s, it was a mid class establishment. One of the only nice and affordable places in Lexington. You had just gotten off work when you decided that drinking in your apartment alone sounded a bit too depressing tonight. You pulled up to the bar in your work clothes which consisted of jeans and a sweater (complete with puke stains) since the elementary school you worked at was pretty lenient on your dress code. Walking in you sat at the bar and ordered a jack and coke. A classic. If you got anything from your daddy it was his taste in alcohol. 

It was a Friday night so there were quite a few other patrons. A couple in a booth behind you, a couple in a booth next to that one, and a couple sitting across the bar from you. Damn. When was the last time you had sex let alone a relationship? You inwardly groaned and tilted your head down as you swirled your drink. Being in your late twenties was not very glamorous. You were an elementary school art teacher who just finished getting her masters a year ago. The work was fun and you enjoyed being a role model as well as a friend to the students like you needed when you were their age. With that goal in mind you didn't have much room to date in college. Having one long term relationship a few years back made you steer clear of romance while finishing your degree. Kenny was his name and apparently all he was good for was cheating on you at least twice. You dated for almost two years and when one of his friends finally slipped up and told you about Kenny’s “exploit” the night before you immediately packed his shit and changed the locks. He was never the best boyfriend, but you thought he loved you. Now love seems like bullshit, yet you still somehow wish something would work out.

While you were reminiscing about your past loves, the bar started to fill up. You had gotten there at 5:30 and now it was nearing 6:30. You had nursed two jack and cokes before you decided you had to drive home eventually. You ordered water and a beer. You had been enjoying the nice hum of people talking, but as more people entered the bar it became a bit of a loud and jumbled mess. You enjoyed the ambiance, but you decided that you should probably head out before it got too crazy. You decided to people watch before you did leave. An old guy in a bass pro shop across the room was on his 4th beer, bad fishing trip or good fishing trip and mad wife, you guessed. Another guy sitting a booth alone dressed in a suit on his third glass of whisky, divorce or a bad business deal. A group of barley legal looking kids packed into a booth only meant to fit four, all had beers and were laughing hysterically. Oh that was why it smelled like weed, they are high. You were so absorbed in the lives of others you hadn’t even noticed a guy sitting next to you. 

It was one of the only seats left at the bar, the other two empty seats being next to each other he thought he’d leave those open since he was alone. Tim had just got off of work and he needed a drink. Shooting people he could handle, but crying men who begged not to be shot. That was not up Tim’s alley and it stressed him the fuck out. Now all he wanted to do was drown his life into the practice of borderline alcoholism. He ordered two beers to start with and drank as he looked around. Nothing out of the ordinary. The same stories like every other day. Those who were with coworkers or friends, those who are drowning sorrows, and couples who seemed absorbed into each other. Tim liked to think that he was not a part of any of them, but he knew he probably fell into the “drowning of sorrows” club. The woman next to him though might actually not be a part of any of them. He had noticed her when finding a seat, but he didn't think much of it. Now that he was actually looking at her, she seemed mildly entertained as she watched a couple across from them. The couple was seeming to be in a heated discussion about… huh was that Star Wars. Tim hadn't ever gotten around to watching the movies, but he thought that was a pretty good guess. He looked back to the woman next to him, she was wearing a green sweater with sheep on it, that’s interesting. She also had a pair of jeans. There was a stain on her left hip, it covered both her sweater and her jeans.

“Hey, you got a stain on your shirt and pants.” he looked at you and muttered into his beer.

You jumped, completely absorbed in the conversation across from you. You turned your head to look at him and hummed, “ hmm?”. Oh, he’s pretty.

“ You have a stain,” he nodded to where the puke stain that you had tried to get out during your lunch break was.

“ Oh yeah,” you looked down at it. It wasn’t terribly noticeable, but definitely a weird looking thing. “A kid puked on me today,” you laughed. It was a bit of an airy giggle. You looked up at him. He furrowed his eyebrows as took a sip of his beer and looked at the stain.

“That sounds fuckin awful,” he drawled, “ Well that’s a stain i have never had to clean, good luck.” 

It was your turn to quirk your eyebrow, “ It sounds like you deal with a lot of stains?” 

“ Yeah, blood stains aren’t too hard to clean.” he spoke nonchalantly, but your eyes widened a bit. 

He took another sip of his beer then stuck out his hand, “ U.S Marshal, Tim Gutterson.”

At that you relaxed and smiled while shaking his hand, “ Y/N Givens, Elementary School Teacher.”

…

To be continued

[jj-babebank]

Room 107 // chapter II // JJ Maybank (smut)

The story picks up where season 2 leaves us.

TW: Contains mentions of drugs, alcohol, cigarettes, sex and violence.

CHAPTER ONE can be found here.

Chapter 2 - La Realidad

The lobby was surprisingly big and it matched the interior of the diner to a T. Everything was rustic and cheesy-looking, mimicking what Americans imagined people in Spain’s houses to look like. The black and white tiles from the diner went on into the foyer, covered in plants. The ceiling was very high and you could see the roof from the middle of the lobby. Four sets of sofas and tables were spread around, but all of them were vacant, much like the ones in the diner.

Samara was leaning against one of the many columns supporting the arches on which the upper parts of the walls were resting, waiting for the group. JJ smiled at her but she didn’t smile back, only turned around and motioned for them to follow her up a wide set of stairs. “Seeing as we’re almost fully booked tonight, you’ll be staying on the first floor,” she said, stopping at the first floor’s landing where a hallway of doors revealed itself, “With me.” The sound of that excited JJ a little too much for his liking. “Fully booked?” John B mumbled under his breath, “Yeah right,” he scoffed. “Don’t jump to conclusions too quickly, friend of JJ,” Samara said, obviously having heard him regardless of the fact that she was a good few feet ahead of them, “There is more than meets the eye down here in La Guardiana.” She stopped in front of a door, placing a key inside the keyhole, “Room 103,” she said, opening the door to reveal a scarcely furnished small room with hideous red wallpaper on the walls and a double bed situated between two Spanish windows, “Obviously only two can sleep here, so who’s it gonna be?” Sarah volunteered first, “Me and John B can have it,” she said, quickly adding, “If that’s okay with you, of course…” “Alright,” Samara said, turning the lights on in what JJ guessed was the bathroom, “This is your bathroom, there’s shampoo and soap in there, I’m guessing you’ll need it, enjoy.” She said, leading the others out of the room and down to the next one, 105. She unlocked the door, revealing an almost identical room to the previous one with the only difference being in the wallpaper colour - it was blue. Kiara and Cleo agreed to share this room, which left JJ with Pope. “And room 107,” said Samara, unlocking the second to last door down the hallway, “It’s right next to mine, how lucky,” she said sarcastically, handing Pope the keys. He ran into the room, laying on the bed with a look of pure bliss on his face. JJ turned to Samara, “Hey, uh, thank you so much again, I-“ “Meet me in the lobby at midnight.” She interrupted him, turning on her heel to walk away, “Don’t be late.” JJ’s pants suddenly felt awfully tight with excitement as he nodded, “Okay!” He said enthusiastically, “But… What time is it now?”

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The good thing about 100 degree temperature was that everything dried quickly. Whether it was hair or clothes or underwear - it dried up in no time. This was exactly why after taking what felt like the best showers of their lives, JJ and Pope washed their clothes and let them air dry on the window sills. Both boys were currently laying in bed in their towels, staring at the ceiling with only the sound of the big wall clock ticking away in the background. “She wants to meet up, you know?” JJ suddenly broke the silence. Pope snickered next to him, “You know what, JJ? I’ve gotta give it to you, man. Even smelly and dirty, you still manage to get the girl. How do you even do it?” JJ smiled proudly, “What can I say? I guess I’m just irresistible.” Pope laughed at his friend’s words. “So what time are you going to her room?” He asked. “Oh, she wants to meet me in the lobby. Probably wants to have a couple of drinks to, uh, you know, break the ice. Little does she know that JJ Maybank is more than just a pretty face and a man of few words,” JJ said cockily, “Come here, baby, I can recite you the whole dictionary” he wiggled his eyebrows. Pope was laughing hysterically at his friend’s cockiness, “What would we ever do without you, man?” “I’ll tell you one thing you wouldn’t have done without me,” he said, sitting up at gesturing towards their surroundings, “Sleep in a bed, at a hotel, for free,” Pope nodded, “Dude, I still can’t believe this is happening, this girl’s practically saving our asses,” “Yeah and you just wait ’til I get a hold of hers,” JJ wiggled his eyebrows once again. Pope scoffed, “What time are you meeting?” “Midnight,” JJ responded, looking at the clock. It was currently 8pm. The sun was still out and oddly enough, the street was beginning to sound a bit more lively. JJ and Pope peaked through one of the windows to have a look at what was happening outside. Sure enough, as the sun began to set, the streets of La Guardiana began to fill up.

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One positive about being a castaway - ending up in a cool new spot where a hot girl was practically giving herself to JJ.

One negative thing about being a castaway - having nothing to wear to impress said hot girl.

JJ was known to be an attractive guy and he knew it. Pulling girls never posed an issue for him back in the Outer Banks, yet here he was, standing in front of the long rectangular mirror in the hallway of his and Pope’s shared room, sighing at his reflection. He tried combing his sandy blonde hair back with his fingers, failing miserably as the soft strands just wouldn’t cooperate and stay in one spot. He looked down at his clothes, the same set of clothes he’d been wearing since that day, and rolled his eyes, throwing his head back in annoyance. “At least they’re clean…” he sighed to himself, tugging at his top. Pope was sitting on their bed, smirking at JJ’s reflection through the mirror, “Is it just me or do I sense nervousness?” JJ turned around to face him, his face expression both sad and annoyed, “This is all I’ve got, it’s not like I can do anything about it.” Pope shrugged his shoulders, “I mean, look at it this way - if she offered to help all of us after having a five minute conversation with you, then she must like you a lot.” Pope’s words made JJ’s lips curl into a small smile. Maybe he was right, why else would Samara willingly offer to house not only him, but his friends too, in her family’s hotel, for free? She must have liked him, right? Right?

The blonde boy sighed as he turned to look at the clock. In 10 minutes he would have to make his way downstairs to the pretty lady who asked him to meet her there, and to say he was excited would be an understatement. He took a seat next to Pope on the bed, keeping him company in watching some baseball game currently playing on their little TV, engulfing the room in light. JJ was tapping his foot on the ground nervously, checking the clock every few seconds, not focusing on the TV programme at all. Time seemed to be passing dreadfully slow all of a sudden. The street in front of their window was now full of people chattering and laughing, there was music playing from several different spots, one melody overlapping with the rest and smells of all kinds were filling the boys’ room, the one of marijuana particularly tickling JJ’s fancy as all he could think about was how much just one, not more, drag would help him ease his nerves before his much anticipated date. Was it even a date? He was so nervous at this point that he decided to just head downstairs without wasting any more time.

The short walk down to the lobby was filling JJ’s already nervous brain with even more nerves. What was he even nervous about? He was never like this around girls. Although, he had to admit he hadn’t really flirted with anyone in a while now, even before the day of the incident. He was so engulfed in mourning his best friend and Sarah, whom he believed to be dead, that he had completely neglected his own needs and fantasies, sex being the one he had pushed to the side the most. The past few months were hard for JJ, what with everything going on in his life - from John B to his dad, to the gold, and now the cross; almost being tossed in jail on more than one occasion, getting into numerous fights, hiding on numerous occasion and not to mention all that running that him and his friends somehow always had to partake in, being chased by anyone and everyone wherever they went. JJ had been so busy doing all of this, he had forgotten how to be a teenaged boy, how to fix his hair, how to talk to girls - hell, he was sure that if Samara took him up to her room, he’d have to have at least three of those whiskeys he drank earlier, just to know where to touch her - that’s how much he had neglected his sex life.

Making his way down to the lobby, he saw her. She was sitting on one of the couches, not yet aware of his presence there, a glass of wine resting in her delicate hands and another one sitting on the table in front of her, presumably for JJ. Her silky chocolate hair cascaded down her tanned shoulders, covering her voluptuous breasts, making JJ gulp. She was wearing an off white dress that seemed to hug her in all the right places and the contrast between her dark hair, bronze tan and the light coloured material made her appear even more alluring to the young boy, if that was even possible. Samara was truly a sight to behold and JJ couldn’t believe his luck quite yet. Somehow all of this seemed too good to be true. People never usually just gave stuff away, it wasn’t in their nature. Being from the cut, JJ was used to only receiving things that he was expected to work for. Good things never came cheap, and the girl sitting before him who had put a roof over his and his friends’ heads for the foreseeable few days, definitely didn’t look like the type who just gave things away. JJ was simply hoping that the wine she had prepared for him would be enough to soothe his nerves before what he imagined would be a night of hot, raunchy sex. He wanted to rip her clothes off and make her whimper beneath him and he was so set on that, that he had turned it into the only logical thing that she could ask for in return for the massive favour she was doing for him. It only made sense, right? She knew he had nothing - what else could he possibly offer her?

“Hello, JJ,” Samara spoke when she finally saw the boy approaching her. He sat down on the sofa next to her and picked up the glass of wine that was waiting for him on the table. “I heard about a certain gold you have,” she simply said, her plump lips twisting into a smirk and her black eyes boring into JJ’s blue ones, “How about I help you get it back and in turn,” she reached for his knee, “- you share some of it with me.”

Uh-oh.

[kate837]

I Love You

I completely recommend watching 2x14 Borrow or Rob, and the beginning of 2x15 Draw O Cesar Erase a Coward, before reading this fic. While this fic is AU it does have many similarities and minor details that it couldn't hurt to watch the episode first! Anyways enjoy!!!!!

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Kurt had a day.

Not bad. Definitely not good. Just... A day.

A day he'll never forget actually. It was so full of ups and downs. From Shepherd plunging a knife into Sean's heart, to joking with Jane about whether or not he could handle Rich Dotcom. From shooting Rich to... Jane's date. That hurt. When Shepherd shoved a knife through Sean Clarke, Kurt's adrenaline spiked, he felt so alert for so long, he thought he would throw up. He got the same feeling from Jane. Except it was everytime she moved, spoke, brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, etc. Her admission of her date was too much. Kurt went straight home, got a damp rag, and laid down. Staring at the ceiling.

Though he did have to say, it still wasn't the worst part of his day. He felt bad. Witnessing first degree murder should automatically be the worst part of your day.

But when it comes to Rich.....

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Kurt and Rich were sneaking through the secret underground tunnels of Jamison College, in order to get into the Deadalus gathering.

"This is interesting." Rich says, while coming to a stop.

"What?" Kurt replies shortly.

"Well this is the door, but the handle's different."

"Different how, Rich?!"

"Wel- well it's not there anymore?? Probably on account of all the hookers I snuck in it." Rich gestures to the handless door.

"Ok, so what's behind this door?" Kurt inquires, looking around.

"The closet. What are yo-"

"Stand back."

Kurt, with a running start, kicks the door in to find himself deep within the walls of a massive walk in closet.

"Aaaaa just how I remember it."

"SHHHHH!" Kurt puts his ear to the door, the one still on it's hinges, just in time to hear the gasps of attending guests and a soft female voice hushedly asking someone to notify security of the discrepancy.

"Shit."

"What?" Rich asks, genuinely confused.

"The guests are getting security to come check out 'the noise in the closet'."

"Oh. What are we gonna do Stubbles? I'm a sly guy but how do we explain that?"

"Oh God, why do you hate me?" Kurt says looking towards the ceiling.

"What? You're acting strange Stubbles, like weirder than normal. I mea-"

Rich was cut off by Kurt's large hands cupping both sides of his face, to kiss him. Without separating he backs Rich against a near wall, mimicking the earlier noise. Rich squirmed at first but expectedly went along with the unexpected.

"Come on Stubbles, you can at least use some tongue!"

"Shut. Up." Kurt snarls. "Actually. . . I need you to make some. . . noises." Kurt says while blushing furiously.

"Security is on their way." Tasha notifies through comms.

"Yeah you guys better get out of there." Reade warns.

"And say what? Oh hey haven't seen you in a while, please excuse my entering through a closet?!" Rich whisper-yells.

"Everyone shut up!" Kurt also whisper yells. "Now Rich I need you to moan a lot. Loudly."

"You could always make me Stubbles!"

"Rich!"

"Kurt what the hell are you doing?" Reade asks, growing increasingly concerned about his teammate's mental health.

"Rich just do it!"

"OOOOH! STUBBLES, YES!" Rich practically screams.

The party guests turn a side eye. But the security, like Kurt hoped, were turning away, figuring that the noise came from two enthusiastic partygoers. Or if the other patrons were anything like Rich maybe more.

Of course Weller didn't know that yet.

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"Ohhh. Now i get it, I can't believe this is working." Reade says, half laughing at the ridiculous noises coming out of his earpiece. "Hey Kurt it's work-"

"Will you shut up?!" Tasha butts in.

"What are you tal-"

"He doesn't know that they stood down yet." Tasha says wriggling her eyebrows. "Hey Kurt most of the security guards stood down but you still have a couple incoming. . . You might need to amp it up a bit!"

Her and Reade try and fail to stifle their laughter after Rich let's out a completely overexaggerated 'UNGH'!

"Come on Stubbles, they're not buying it, you're gonna have to join me if you wanna get out of here."

"Why me? God why me?" Kurt says again looking up.

Kurt let's out a loud and breathless 'Oh God' that completely undoes all of Tasha and Reade's composure. They are hysterical by now. They completely lost it when Rich and Kurt started harmonizing!

"Stop! Stop!" Tasha said. "I can't take it anymore." She pulls herself up from the floor of the van, where she fell from laughing so hard.

"Yeah guys, the security's gone. They're long gone." Reade adds, clutching his stomach.

"Yeah Rich so goo- wait what?!"

"Yeah you're clear." Tasha clarifies.

"You could have compromised this entire op!" Kurt says furiously.

"We all know that's not why you're mad Stubbles. And as the bible states-"

"I swear to God Rich, if you say another word I will shoot you."

"Another word."

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Kurt flushed red just thinking about it. What was he going to put in his field report?!

He turned to lay on his side to take in the fresh scenery of the wall instead of the ceiling. After laying there for about two minutes, he finally got up to fix himself dinner.

While gathering ingredients, Kurt's mind inevitably wandered back to Jane's date. Everything about it tore at him. What she'd be wearing, what she'd eat, would she cover her tattoos, would she wear makeup. . . . . . . .

His thoughts were interrupted by a phone call.

It was Jane.

A million questions ran through his head. Why is she calling him? Shouldn't she still be out on her date?

He lunged for the phone but then. . . He stilled. Didn't move a muscle. He picked up his phone, turned it over, and resumed gathering ingredients.

Once the phone eventually stopped buzzing, Kurt's inner turmoil came to play.

'Why didn't you answer?! Jane could be in trouble!'

'Be rational Kurt. She's on a date, probably just calling to let you know that she'll complete her paperwork tomorrow, since she's busy.'

'Look, everyone knows you're in love with her, but you can't act like some overprotective boyfriend whenever she's around.'

Kurt shakes his head. He wasn't in love with Jane Doe. Was he?

'Of course you are! That's why you lunged for the phone as soon as you saw her name, but put it down when you realized she was still on a date.'

'No. If I was in love with her, I would have immediately answered.'

'No. You love her so much that you realized that if she's having fun, even with another man, you wouldn't want to ruin that. That's love.'

'What am I supposed to do? I can't love her from afar.'

'This may be selfish but what if I proposed the idea that Oliver is Sandstorm?'

'It could work. But why not just tell her how you feel?'

"Because I'm just not ready yet." Kurt voiced sadly.

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First thing the next morning, Kurt was walking up and down the hallways, over and over again. In order to 'accidentally' bump into Jane on her way to Patterson's lab.

After three consecutive minutes, Jane appeared. She was wearing this loose, pastel green shirt, that roughly covered all of her upper body tattoos as well as bringing out her eyes. She paired it with tight blue jeans, which she almost never wears, and a few silver rings on her right hand.

"Wow." Kurt whispered. What looked like any other outfit, looked stunning on her. He almost forgot to 'bump' into her.

"Jane!"

"Oh, hey!"

"You get Patterson's text yet?"

"Yeah, heading there now."

They walk in silence for a few heartbeats, until they turn into a secluded hallway.

"Jane wait." Kurt says while gently grabbing Jane's arm.

"Kurt, what is it?"

"After you told me last night, about your date. I started thinking. . ."

Jane subconsciously starts to hold her breath. Her expression wreaks of hope.

"Hey! Glad I found you two, Patterson's got something." Tasha pops in.

"Yeah." Kurt says releasing Jane.

Saved by the bell.

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The debrief, while no longer than usual, felt unbearably long. The charged energy from Kurt and Jane's previous conversation still radiated off of them.

While any hope of continuing it was completely shut down by the tattoo clues pointing to three different entities, causing the team to split up completely. Kurt with Roman, Jane with Tasha, and Patterson with Reade.

This was going to be a longgg day.

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The team finally reconvened at about 5pm. They had just finished the field reports. All three of them. It was exhausting.

Fortunately for Kurt his adrenaline spiked right back up about an hour later when Tasha, so graciously, reminded the group that they never filled out the field report for their Deadalus mission. Which caused Reade and Patterson to burst out into a fit of giggles.

"What's so funny?" Jane asked, looking to Kurt, smiling.

Kurt goes wide-eyed. She doesn't know.

This was going to be a long night.

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The team had just finished catching Jane up while writing the 'going to be extremely redacted' field report.

"Wait I'm still confused. If you just wanted Rich to moan, why did you kiss him?"

All eyes look to Kurt.

"We- well I was under the impression that security was going to be charging through the door at any second." He says glaring at the pair of agents who were strategically avoiding his gaze. "And when they did, if they saw us. . . you know-"

"We don't know, Weller!" Patterson howled.

Kurt glared.

"Yeah I kind of want to know how far you were willing to take it Assistant Director!" Reade joined in.

"We're done here." Kurt said as he walked out.

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Jane had just walked out of the locker room to be met head on with Kurt.

"Kurt, hey!" Jane says, surprised.

"Hey."

"Umm. . . I actually wanted to talk to you."

Kurt raises his eyebrows in obvious confusion, cueing Jane to continue.

"When we were. . . Uh you know- outside of P- Patterson's lab. You didn't finish." Jane stumbles through her words as a new wave of nervousness hits her with full force.

"Oh that." Kurt says, grabbing Jane's arm, mirroring his earlier gesture and leading her away from the locker room door.

"Jane, I was up all night and I couldn't stop thinking about it. We need to be careful. Sandstorm feels like it's everywhere."

"You think Oliver is Sandstorm?"

"Yes. . . No." Kurt shakes his head.

"Kurt you're not making any sense." Jane says studying him.

"I know. I know. I just- no I don't think he's Sandstorm."

"Then why did you-"

"I've been trying to come up with reasons of why you shouldn't date him for the better part of 13 hours."

"Kurt wha-"

"And I got nothing, because the only reason is that I love you."

Jane goes wide-eyed. It was as if all the air was sucked out of her.

"I love you Jane."

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[spidercakes]

Since you like mob AUs, here’s a prompt u thought of: Peter is dating Beck or whoever, who doesn’t treat him right. What Peter doesn’t know is that his bf is a mob boss. Mob boss tony kidnaps peter out of revenge towards beck or for info or whatever. Soon he realizes peter has no idea what’s going on, and decides to keep him. Peter isn’t too upset about that.

I finagled with the prompt a little bit, Tony deliberately kidnaps Peter because he has no patience for domestic violence and is basically offended that Beck sucks. The rest is true to the prompt!

Warming: mentions of violence, mentions of domestic violence, age difference, this is more preslash than anything.

*

Tony feels bad that poor Peter looks so damn terrified but snatching him off the street seemed less... invasive than his other options. Plus its easier to leave less evidence that way and while he doesn’t give a shit what Beck thinks he doesn’t want to deal with him deciding to harass the hell out of him about his kidnapped boyfriend either.

He leans into the table and Peter immediately leans back. Tony sighs, “you know you deserve better than that piece of shit, right?” he asks. The kid has to know, he has to. Tony has looked into him because he had to wonder how the hell Quentin Beck, smart but ultimately an unhinged jackass with a temper, landed someone so... amazing. Peter is smart, his credentials prove it, his social media is all related to various social issues he cares about so he’s compassionate, and he’s stupid attractive. Like Beck deserved someone like that even before considering the whole ‘beats his boyfriend’ thing.

Its not that Tony has morals, he doesn’t really because they aren’t useful to him, but he’s got his limits. They’re few and far in between but domestic violence lands on his rather short list so that had made up his mind. The fact that Beck would be missing Peter is mostly an afterthought to Peter being removed from a shitty environment.

“As opposed to what, you? You literally snatched me off the street!” Peter says, voice shrill but its ballsy nonetheless. More ballsy than half the supposedly tough criminals he roughs up on a regular basis. By now most of them would be begging, but not Peter. But then surviving what he did gives a person a certain kind of strength, Tony knows.

“No, not really. I’m mostly here to mess Beck’s business up, and your lack of presence does that but I might as well kill two birds with one stone by telling you that you should get out. I mean I get it if you can’t, all things considered, but I’m well connected myself so if Beck think he can outdo-”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Peter asks, voice still several octaves higher than normal.

Tony frowns for a moment as something occurs to him. “There’s no way you don't know...”

Peter rolls his eyes looking semi hysterical, “well clearly I fucking don’t because I have no idea what this is and I’d really like to go home, please,” he says, voice cracking as he starts sniffling towards the end.

Across the room Rhodey gives him a look. “Keep it to yourself Rhodes,” Tony tells him.

“Just saying,” Rhodey murmurs.

Peter turns to face him, frowning. “Did he say something?”

“Not with words. Twenty five years of friendship has led to me being really, really good at reading his body language. As for home do you have anywhere else you could go that isn’t back to Beck? Seriously, that guy is a piece of shit. And a mob boss. That’s what this whole thing is about. He keeps messing with my business and I don’t really take kindly to that,” he says, sparing Peter the details. Mostly because he doesn’t want Peter to think he’ll become the details.

“Yeah, I’m sure you’re a real charmer in comparison,” Peter mumbles.

He doesn’t expect Rhodey to be the one to snort but he does, “yeah he’s a murderer but he’d never hit his significant other,” he says and the unshakable confidence in his voice is touching, really. Peter slumps a little in his seat and the poor thing looks desolate. He’d try and comfort him but he’s sure he wouldn’t be any good at it given that Peter is probably, and rightfully, afraid of him too.

The last thing he expects is for Peter to burst into tears though he supposes they’ve come later than normal. Usually he doesn’t do this sort of thing, target family, because he finds it distasteful but on the rare occasion he breaks that general rule they usually cry four seconds into it, not several minutes into it. He sighs, “aside from the kidnapping thing, what’s wrong?” he asks.

Rhodey’s eyebrows would have hit his hairline if he had one but instead he just looks at Tony like he’s a god damn moron. Which, in hindsight, his question does sound really stupid. “You kidnapped me,” Peter says, voice gone back to that shrill tone he’d had before. “You fucking kidnapped me and you’ve been nicer to me for the last twenty minutes than Quent has in the last five years,” he finishes right before crying even harder.

He looks at Rhodey, who squints and lifts his hands into the air in a ‘what the fuck’ motion. Great, so he can’t expect any help from him apparently. Some right hand man he is, Pepper is going to replace him soon if he keeps it up. “Look, you don’t need to go back. Its not as hard to make people disappear as cops think it is provided you know what you’re doing. Peter Parker doesn’t even need to exist and Beck isn’t competent enough to find whatever fake name you choose, trust me on that.”

Peter sniffles harshly but calms a little at least. “I’m no- not running away,” he mumbles.

“Taking necessary precautions isn’t running away, I know you know Beck better than I do and I know he doesn’t back down easy. He will try and hunt you down,” Tony says but not unkindly. He gets it, really, he does. He and his mother lived it.

Peter considers this a moment before he sits up a little straighter, still crying but the tears are silent. “You said you had connections. Do you have any way I can stay in New York and avoid Quent?”

Not exactly given that that’s a tall order. “Stay here as long as you want, we can work out the details later when you’re in a better position to land on your feet. And when I get the time to consider the logistics of that. I highly doubt Beck will bother you here though, I have a reputation and even he’s not stupid enough to test me.”

*

Peter knows Tony has to be dangerous, it comes with the whole mob thing and Tony isn’t shy about referencing violence at all. Peter doesn’t think he’d be shyer if he actually had to follow through on his words either, there’s just something about the easy way he talks about inflicting pain on people that Peter thinks is experienced. He has yet to see any evidence of it though and its been a month, he’s had time but Tony has been nothing but kind to him to an unusual degree if the reactions of everyone else around him is any indication.

Everyone from his business partner, Pepper, to Rhodey seem to find Tony’s fascination with him odd but Peter doesn’t so much mind if he gets to benefit from it. He’s wanted to leave Quent for a long time but he’d always suspected that he hadn’t reached his peak of violence and that’s partially why he stayed. The other part was not knowing where to go and he knew damn well that Quent wouldn’t just let him go. 

So it was kind of convenient that Tony showed up when he did and he’s held up his end of the bargain. Peter hasn’t had to deal with Quent since Tony pulled him off a random street and he doesn’t mind that he has to take Natasha with him everywhere he goes. Its inconvenient but he’ll take that over having to deal with whatever Quent would try if he managed to find him again. Or gain access to him, he’s sure Quent figured out where he went by now when he hasn’t really been shy about it.

And that’s how Peter knows in his heart of hearts that Tony’s reputation isn’t just to be believed, but to be actively feared. Quent is mean and possessive and Peter never thought he could just walk out of their relationship but thanks to whatever it is that Tony does to people he managed.

“What?” Tony asks, probably sensing Peter staring at him.

“Why are people so afraid of you? I’ve never even heard you raise your voice,” he says. He’s seen Tony pissed off and he’s got a habit for mumbling in Italian but he doesn’t seem much for raising his voice even when actively livid. Peter finds it hard to be afraid of him even if he knows he should be.

Tony laughs a little, “you haven’t heard me yell because I’ve purposefully never yelled around you, not because I don’t. And people are afraid of me because I’m single minded in my goals and have a nasty habit of achieving them no matter the cost. They’ve grown wise not to get in my way.”

And there it is again, that slightly threatening nature but its hard to reconcile that with the guy who, after kidnapping him, immediately told him he deserved better than the treatment he was getting at home. Its hard to believe someone can sit on extremes that large, that someone would offer a perfect stranger a home and protection for literally no reason in one second and then do some kind of great violence the next. Rhodey said Tony was a murderer and that statement was confident, fact, but Peter just doesn’t see how Tony could do it. But then apparently he’s gone through the trouble of making sure Peter didn’t have to hear him yell.

“Why would you do that?” he asks because he knows Tony has some surprisingly kind reason for doing that.

He shrugs, “I figured after being yelled at as much as you have you probably didn’t like hearing people yell now. Probably triggers a stress response so we all freak out when you aren’t in the room.”

We all. Peter frowns because it isn’t just Tony, he’d made that order to everyone and he knows they’ll all listen, even Natasha even though she’s the most likely to tell Tony no. Partially because of sibling rivalry and also because she seems the least afraid of him next to Rhodey. “You told everyone not to yell in my presence because you didn’t want to stress me out? I can handle yelling, I’m not glass.” He doesn’t know why he’s prickling to this when its actually incredibly kind of Tony, and so unexpected the way all his kindnesses have been.

Tony doesn’t look ruffled though, instead he looks almost a little proud. “Oh I know you aren’t glass, and this isn’t a question of whether or not you can handle something. Its more making sure you don’t need to, not when you’re clearly still waiting for the shoe to drop. After that you can be fair game if you really want it,” he says, lips twitching up a little.

Peter loses that sharp edge of feeling he’d had and relaxes. “Thank you,” he says softly, “you don’t need to do any of that.”

Tony shakes his head though, “basic care, its not an issue and its always kind of a funny test of self control. You don’t understand Italian though, so I do most of my venting that way.”

So Peter has noticed. “I have a hard time reconciling this with someone who’s supposedly dangerous,” he says, blurting it out accidentally.

Tony doesn’t take offense to it, he just looks Peter up and down. “People aren’t as simple as we like to think and being capable of murder doesn’t make me incapable of not being a dick. I wouldn’t hurt you, I don’t have reason to, but I’m known as the Merchant of Death for a reason.”

Merchant of Death, he’s heard that before but he can’t remember where. Doesn’t matter know because he can figure out what that means at least in part. “Why do you keep doing that, reminding me that you’re like... dangerous or whatever?”

“Because I don’t want you to be surprised,” Tony tells him. “Its a lot easier to make sure that doesn’t happen if you know what to expect.”

“Why does that matter to you though?” It shouldn’t, Peter isn’t his responsibility and he’s surprisingly caring for someone who has no reason to be. Peter has had friends that went less out of their way to accommodate for him than Tony has with zero connection to him.

“People fear me, but that doesn’t always mean that they won’t test me. Apparently Beck didn’t even tell you how he made his money and that’s a bad idea, keeping someone in the dark like that. God knows what would have happened to you if I had more bad intentions than screwing with your ex’s life.”

Peter frowns again because its hard, figuring out what the hell is going on in Tony’s head. “So you’re being honest with me in case what, someone else kidnaps me? Because that seems unlikely.” What are the chances he’d be kidnapped by another mob? He didn’t even know he was affiliated with the first one in any way so it seems a bit much to be kidnapped by a third.

“Or worse, yes. And its not as unlikely as you think, none of us are exactly pleasant to piss off and I’ve got an impressive talent for pissing people off. Everyone who’s around me is a target but you’re the only one who refuses to carry a gun.” Right, Peter had forgot about that. He hadn’t anticipated reacting so strongly but given the circumstances he thinks his meltdown wasn’t as bad as it could have been and Tony dropped the idea of him carrying around a gun for protection real quick.

“My uncle Ben got shot and killed in a robbery gone wrong when I was a teenager,” Peter says. “And I didn’t like guns before that either. Or anything lethal.” Expect Quent, if Tony’s hinting is to be believed but then he’s always had a thing for bad boys. Women? His taste is normal and results in pretty good relationships in his experience. Men? He seemingly can’t pick them any worse than he has previously and Quent is a whole new level of garbage for him.

Tony looks him over for a moment, “you should learn some self defense though, if for no other reason than it being generally useful. Natasha would probably be happy to teach you.”

Peter wrinkles his nose, “can I get someone less terrifying?”

He doesn’t expect it when Tony cracks up laughing but it looks a lot nicer on him than the air of seriousness that usually taints his presence. “She might be the least scary we’ve got,” he tells Peter and starts laughing harder at whatever face he’s making.

“If that’s the least scary you’ve got I feel so bad for anyone who tries to fuck with you.”

*

Peter doesn’t take to self defense well and Natasha clearly doesn’t know what to do with that, but that makes it kind of fun to watch. “None of this is difficult, what is so confusing to you that you?” she asks Peter, who is on the floor breathing hard.

“Nothing, he just doesn’t want to hurt you,” Bucky says from the other side of the room where he’s watching. Tony raises an eyebrow but Bucky only shrugs.

Natasha rolls her eyes at Peter, “trust me, there’s no way you can do any real damage to me. First of all you’re weak, second of all you have almost no skills, and third, I have a high pain tolerance anyway. Get up and stop worrying about doing damage you can’t even do,” Natasha tells him.

Its easy to see Peter isn’t suited to this, at least not the way Natasha is teaching it. “Just give him a basic lesson in self defense moves, none lethal ways for him to buy himself enough time to get out of a given situation,” Tony tells her. “He’ll be resistant to learning much else.” Peter has made it clear he has a distaste for hurting people in any manner but especially the kind of brutal manner Natasha is used to and desensitized from.

“You can get out of a situation faster if you stab them,” Natasha tells Peter specifically and he does that thing that he does sometimes when he’s reminded that he’s in an environment that’s more violent than he agrees with.

He gives Natasha an unimpressed look with a surprising amount of steely strength in his gaze. “I’m not stabbing people because you think that’s the only way to get anything done,” he snaps. His response clearly comes as a surprise to Natasha and Bucky but not so much to Tony. He’d been that immediately brave off the bat with him and he didn’t lose his confidence when he found out who he was. Peter has a quiet kind of strength that Tony admires and Natasha doesn’t know what to do with given that people don’t often test her. She’s unnerving at the very least, its why Tony chose her specifically to be his lead enforcer. That, and people are stupid enough to underestimate her because she’s a woman.

Natasha looks him over for a long moment, “alright, then.”

For the next hour Natasha does a slightly better job teaching Peter how to break holds and other simple self defense moves that he picks up on a little faster than how to properly maim someone. Peter doesn’t like it any, that much is obvious, but he does pay attention to Natasha and does his best to pick up what she’s trying to teach at least until Natasha gets bored enough to dismiss him.

“What, don’t like that this one didn’t immediately think he could take you out?” Tony asks her as she walks over. Across the room Bucky snorts and laughs probably because he’s seen people try and fail about a million times. Hell, at this point he’s failed at it a million times too. He might have trained her but she’s better at killing people than he is, try as he might. Probably because he actually likes people and seems to feel the fallout of having killed someone in a way Natasha doesn’t. Tony isn’t sure if she’s good at compartmentalizing or if she actually doesn’t feel anything about it and he doesn’t care either, her skills suit him.

Her lips quirk up a bit at the corners and she shakes her head. “No, actually. Its refreshing to have someone in here who immediately knows I can kick his ass and have something to teach. I approve,” she tells him.

Tony frowns, “what?”

“Of Peter, I approve. We all do, but Rhodey seems to think you’ll listen to me the best for whatever reason. I think you’d listen to him but what do I know, I’m only your sister,” she mumbles, shaking her head and walking off.

“Not that you admit that out loud often,” Tony calls after her in a teasing manner.

“Like you admit you’re related to Howard often either, you should understand,” Natasha tells him, grinning at him as she leaves the room.

“God, she’s fucking unsettling when she smiles,” Bucky says, coming up beside him.

Tony looks him over and he’s got that stupid lovestruck look on his face like he always does. Tony rolls his eyes, “just ask her out, god. What the fuck are you waiting for, Judgement Day?”

“You don’t even believe in God,” Bucky points out.

“Yeah, exactly. You’re waiting for a moment that’s never going to come so make your own moment. And what’s this about approving of Peter?”

*

Peter doesn’t expect the clothes, or the shoes, or anything else Tony must have done research on to get right. Everything is exactly the kind of thing he would have picked up for himself if he had the chance and its sweet, if a little unnerving at the same time.

“This is cute,” Natasha says, picking up a dress as she walks in without bothering to knock. He’s learned that she’s a bit of a pest when she likes people, but it takes her a lot of time to warm up to them.

“I can’t imagine you wearing a dress,” he tells her. All he’s seen her in is all black outfits that looked a bit like she was ready to rob someone and after mentioning her style choices to her once he discovered they were purposeful, and also a bit of a joke. She’s got a weird sense of humor but Peter can deal with that.

“I wear dresses all the time, you just don’t see me in them,” she tells Peter, grinning. “You should wear this later,” she adds, handing him the dress.

He takes it, frowning. “O...kay? Am I supposed to be going somewhere?”

She nods, “yes, on a date with Tony because he’s never going to ask you and we’re all tired of waiting around.” Peter must look more confused and it makes Natasha roll her eyes. “Look, normally I stay out of anything that isn’t a stabbing but the fact that you guys are a good match is clear and I doubt another good match for Tony is going to just show up. He’s difficult to get along with.”

Peter has never found that to be true. “I don’t see how he’s even still single. I mean yeah, maybe the guy runs a mob and he’s like... a little overdramatic and whatever but he’s really generous.”

Natasha laughs, “no, he’s not. He’s mean, cruel, sometimes even delights in it, and generally speaking an arrogant asshole. Usually you have to know him to get past all that but its like you skipped that and went straight to part where you find out he has personality traits that aren’t threatening to kill someone. And he listens to you.”

She says that like its important but Tony listens to everyone. “I don’t see why you didn’t try and get him and Rhodey together if that was a concern.” Rhodey knows him better than anyone, that much is clear so it seems to Peter that he’d be a better choice.

Judging from the look on Natasha’s face its not as good an idea as he thought it was. “He’s married to Pepper. We need to work on your observation skills if you didn’t notice the ring. Its not exactly like its hard to see,” she says. Now that Peter thinks about it he had noticed a silver ring, but hadn’t clued in to the fact that it was on his ring finger. Maybe Natasha has a point about his observation skills.

“What makes you think Tony even has an interest?” He knows he’s an unusual case but he’s not a total dunce in the observation department so he knows its because he’s got this thing with domestic violence, has no patience for it. He’s not so sure his... appreciation goes beyond that.

“You tell him ‘no.’ Trust me there’s nothing Tony values more than people who aren’t afraid of him. Even if he’s acted like a total Bond villain in an attempt to seem all dangerous or whatever. You should know that I’m actually the dangerous one, Tony’s like a grumpy puppy. He seems mean but he actually just wants a treat,” Natasha says, grinning.

Bucky is right, it is unnerving when she smiles. “What makes you think I’m interested?”

“The fact that you took this long to ask that,” she points out.

Alright, he’ll give her that. So he smiles a little, sitting on the edge of his bed, dress still in hand. “He does kind of act like a Bond villain. You know people are afraid of him because no one points it out,” he says, snickering.

Natasha snorts and starts laughing and just like that its like he’s like he’s broken through some kind of barrier that makes Natasha chatter and a hell of a lot weirder, but not in a bad way. Peter finds her less intimidating when she’s not staring through him like she can see his thoughts, and he also finds he likes her sense of humor when he’s not just getting bits and pieces of it.

“You don’t think this is too soon, do you?” he asks her as she leaves.

She shrugs, “probably, but the good news is that Tony has a bad habit of being one hundred percent in or one hundred percent out, he doesn’t do middle ground well. So if you let him, he’ll be more than devoted to you and you know what that looks like,” she says.

Yeah, he does so he nods. “Okay.”

[phantom-sunset]

Thank yo so much to @screwunsaidemily​ for putting this gift exchange together.

This one is for @penguin-writes-books and is inspired by the above song

Titled: Polaroid

Rated: T

Ship: Willex

Alex has been distant recently, It wasn’t anything they had done. It was his family. His parents, to be more specific. He had finally come out to them and well...it didn’t go well. They’d stopped speaking to him completely and when he was home, pretended he wasn’t even there. His mother looked through him and his father never stayed in the same room if he was there. Alex could feel it was only a matter of time until they kicked him out completely.

Julie hadn’t joined in the anxiety party Luke and Reggie were throwing for Alex but instead patiently waited. She had an idea, she always knew when one of her boys wasn’t okay. She never pushed though, and instead waited for them to be ready to come to her.

Ray was waiting as well. Both he and Julie, and maybe Carlos too, had an idea of what was going on. Ray had already gotten their second guest room ready for Alex, for when he was ready to open up to them. When he was ready to live his life completely out in the open. Ray had hung a rainbow flag off of the porch, just a little outward sign that Alex was safe and welcome in his home, that all of them were.

Reggie had come to move in with them when he had come over with cuts and bruises littering his body. That time Julie did not wait. She went to Ray and together they went to Reggie’s house, packed his things and brought him back to his new home. That was four years ago, when Reg was only thirteen.

Luke was a different story all together. When he began to get quiet and his energy seemed to diminish, they all noticed. Reggie and Alex had bothered him until he spilled everything. Julie had waited instead. She sat next to him quietly, worked on music to distract him. Held his hand when he cried on her shoulder. Played big spoon to his little when all he wanted was to feel loved and safe.

When Luke had finally let her in, she walked right up to his parents house the next day after school and refused to leave until they sat down and watched the entire video history of Julie and the Phantoms YouTube page. She sat there for hours until they admitted that their son was full of talent and that instead of forcing him into an engineering degree that would absolutely destroy his spirit, they should support his music major.

They had agreed when Julie sat quietly on their couch and simply stared at them expectantly without blinking. She might only be seventeen but she was scary when she needed to be, Rose had made sure of it. 

                                       ___________________________

Alex really wants to stay home tonight. He’s not really in the mood to see anyone but none of his friends would allow it. He was pretty sure that the moment he came home today, his parents would kick him out. It was getting pretty blatant. If they didn’t do it, he was going to at least.

Julie hadn’t joined in the anxiety surrounding Alex like the boys had. Instead she convinced him that one night out wouldn’t kill him, adding on that if he got too anxious they’d leave straight away. 

Julie knew that Alex definitely wasn’t ok but she knew it was a matter of time before he spilled his soul to her. It’s just how they’d always been, since they were kids.

Carrie is having her annual Valentines Day party tonight. Flynn’s cousin is in town touring UCLA for the week. He’s planning on starting in September. He is super cute and extremely Alex’s type.

So Julie is planning a secret set up. Alex has no idea but she’d let Flynn, Reggie, and Luke in on the plan. She was still shocked no one had told him about it but counted it as a win. One fourth of her best friends deserved a distraction and boy was Willie the perfect one.

“Are you guys ready?” Julie said as she walked into the studio that had somehow unofficially become the boys home. Even though Ray had made sure they all had their own space in his house.

Reggie was pulling a bright red shirt over his head, his black ripped jeans and combat boots already on, his leather jacket hanging lovingly over the back of a chair.

Luke was pulling on a white tee with “My Bloody Valentine” printed across it, a butcher knife dripping blood cut through the print. “Cute” she says to him as she takes in the shirt. She isn’t just talking about the shirt and he knows it but he smirks at her and winks. She rolls her eyes and turns to Alex.

He’s wearing a baby pink t-shirt and light colored blue jeans. His black and pink air maxes complete the look.

“No. But I doubt you’ll let me sit this one out.” Alex answers her question.

“You’re right. Let’s go, the Uber's here.” Julie puts her arm through his, pulls him towards Reggie where she loops her other arm and waits for Reggie to thread his arm through Luke’s. They skip down the driveway, Luke’s humming ‘We’re off to see the Wizard’ as they go.

When they pull up to Carrie’s it’s jam packed. Parents dropping their kids off, Uber’s dropping off their riders, and a lone skateboarder, weaving between bodies like he’s made of air. Julie smiles because she’d recognize that long brown hair anywhere. The guy hasn’t cut his hair since elementary school.

As they walk in, there’s staff dressed in red and white handing out brand new polaroid cameras to each guest as they come in. “To save the memories being made here.” He says to them. 

“Obnoxious, isn’t it? All that money and we get outdated cameras” Flynn says from Alex’s side. He jumps up, startled at her sudden appearance.

“Fucking hell, Flynn. Stop doing that!” Alex hisses. 

“Why? It’s so much more fun when you react like that.” She answers. Julie, Luke and Reggie snicker from behind him.

“Anyway. This is my cousin Willie. Willie This is Luke, Reggie, and Alex. You already know Julie.” She says, pointing them out individually.

“Nice to meet you.” Luke says as he holds his hand out. Reggie echoes him and Julie smiles and goes in for a hug.

Alex hasn’t moved yet. He’s just standing there, eyes wide and cheeks flushed as he takes in Willie. He’s cute as hell and taller than Alex which was saying something. His cheekbones reach for the sky, and a jawline that should be illegal. He’s smiling at Alex, holding out his hand to shake and oh god, this was embarrassing. How long has he been waiting for Alex to move? How long has Alex been staring at him like a deer in headlights?

“The malfunctioning one is Alex. Give him a minute, he’ll be right with you.” Reggie said as he tears open his Poloroid camera. He turns to Luke who has his arm around Julie and is busy whispering her ear and snaps a picture.

“Shut up, Reg.” Alex clears his throat and offers up his hand, finally. He’s willing the blush on his cheeks to retreat, it doesn’t.

“So, I’m thirsty. Let’s go get some drinks?” Flynn says, grabbing Reggie’s hand and pulling him. He grabs on to Luke’s shirt who grabs onto Julie’s arm and their little chain disappears into the crowd at the speed of light.

“So, they’re not nearly as sneaky as they think they are.” Willie says. A wide smile stretching over his face. 

God, he’s teeth are so nice. White and straight. He probably never even needed braces. Alex shakes his head to clear his thoughts and realises Willie is speaking to him.

“Huh?” God, he probably sounds like an idiot. Way to make an impression.

“Your friends, my cousin. They’re setting us up.” Alex chokes on his own spit. Were they?

He turns towards the bar where his friends are standing. All four of them are watching him and he narrows his eyes. Reggie salutes him. Luke gives him a bouncy thumbs up. Julie and Flynn are batting their eyes and drawing little hearts in the air in front of them, their lips puckered in exaggerated kisses.

Alex rolls his eyes and turns back to Willie who had followed his line of sight and promptly burst out laughing.

“Wanna head outside? It’s super noisy in here and something tells me they won’t come back until we’ve gotten to know each other properly.” Willie suggests and Alex nods his agreement.

They end up spending an hour together. Alex lets Willie go first and everything he learns makes him like Willie more. He’s about to start college, UCLA is his first choice and he’s already been accepted. He’s going to be moving in with his uncle Robert (Flynn’s dad). The tour was an excuse to come to LA in order to see his family.

He’s from San Francisco, and is majoring in art. He’s sold his work in different galleries since he was fifteen. His mom calls him a prodigy but he just thinks he sees the beauty in things others don’t. He paints, sculpts, and does photography mostly but otherwise dabbles in everything.

Alex tells him about himself. He’s in a band. All four of them have also applied to UCLA for music majors. They’re going on tour over the summer, down the pacific coast. He tells Willie about the time Reggie and Luke convinced him to eat engine hotdogs and they all ended up in the hospital with food poisoning. Willie found that story hysterical.

It’s as Willie searches up the Julie and the Phantoms YouTube page to watch clips of their performances that he notices something and interrupts Alex’s story about how annoying Julie and Luke are in their mutual stupidity when it comes to their feelings for each other.

“Hey, do you mind if I take a picture of you?” Willie asks as he pulls the camera up to his eye.

“Only if I can take one of you.” Alex answers. It came out faster than his brain could process. Braver and flirtier than he intended but he let the question hang.

“Sure, hotdog! As many as you want.” He winks and smiles at Alex and snaps the picture. 

The little rectangle comes out of the side of the camera and Willie is shaking it and still smiling at Alex as he snaps his picture. They're both shaking the film to let it develop and laughing at the thought of people only ever having to do this for their pictures.

“God, how did people survive in the 90s?” Willie asks.

“Right? Like they had to carry around separate things for everything. Music, cameras, phones, planners. The bags must have been huge!” Alex answers and they laugh again.

Willie reaches into his pocket and pulls out a sharpie, he grabs the picture of him from Alex’s hand and writes something on the white border. When he hands it back, Alex’s face turns red yet again.

                                        Willie C. - 2.14.2021 🖤

Alex decides to do the same and grabs his own picture from Willie's hand, writing his own down too before handing it back.

                                        Alex M. - 2.14.2021 🖤

They end up staying outside and completely missing Dirty Candi’s performance along with the rest of the party. Neither one is sure exactly how long it's been but Willie’s phone chimes and he looks down at it, startled.

“It’s Flynn. Wow, it’s midnight already? Looks like we gotta go. This was perfect, thanks for hanging out with me all night.” Willie says and Alex smiles at him.

“Yeah, I had a great time.” Alex answers as they both stand up. Willie turns to walk away but only makes it a few steps before he turns back to Alex.

“Can I kiss you?” Willie asks when he’s in front of Alex again. Alex freezes in response. He can’t do anything but nod because Fuck, he’s wanted to kiss him all night.

Willie laughs softly and puts both of his hands on Alex’s face and pulls him forward. It’s soft and sweet. Willie’s lips feel like cashmere and he smells like pine trees and coconut. The scent makes Alex light headed but he refuses to pull away until Willie makes the move to. Unfortunately it’s way too soon when he does.

“Thanks.” Willie turns and starts walking away again, leaving Alex to try and stop his brain leaking out of his ears since it’s now turned to mush.

“Wait! Can I have your number?” Alex shouts to him as he leaves. Willie turns, walking backwards as he shakes his head. The wide smile is still plastered on his face.

“Nah. It’s more fun this way, hotdog.” Willie answers, holding up the picture he’d taken of Alex. 

“I hate that name! It’s how I almost died!” Alex shouts to him. Willie’s loud laugh lingers in the air around Alex long after he’s gone.

“Well well well, if it isn’t Alex C. Mercer. The boy who hasn’t been seen all night.” Reggie says as he throws himself down in the lounger next to him.

“Well, as setups go, I’d call this one a success.” Luke says from his other side.

“I definitely saw some flirting there.” Julie says as she sits down between Luke’s legs.

“How would you know? It’s not like either of you knows what flirting is.” Alex smirks at the two of them. 

Reggie’s snickers come from behind Alex and makes it difficult to keep a straight face. Luke rolls his eyes and leans his head back, pulling Julie back with him so that her back rests against his chest. Julie punches Alex in the shoulder and sticks her tongue out at him.

                                   _________________________________

It’s a week before classes start at UCLA and Julie, Luke Alex, and Reggie are enjoying being back. In their own homes, in their own beds (Alex’s happens to be at Julie’s house now). They decide to go to the beach and invite Flynn along. 

Alex hasn’t mentioned Willie since valentines day and no ones brought it up. After all, he’s six hours away and had never given Alex his phone number. Sure, Alex had gone full FBI and found his Instagram page but it was private and Alex had never worked up the nerve to request him.

He thinks about him a lot though. Looks at the picture in his wallet more than he’d ever admit. He doesn’t have to come out and say it to anyone though because they’ve all caught him with it. Julie just smiled sweetly and left it alone. Unfortunately, Luke and Reggie are assholes so they bring it up all the time.

So here they are, spread out on the beach and Alex is getting thirsty. They’ve been here for a few hours and whatever supplies they’ve brought have been depleted.

“Hey, I’m gonna go grab some drinks. If you freeloaders want anything you’re going to have to come with.” Alex says as he stands up and slips his flip flops on.

“Rude.” Reggie says and stands up to go with him. Julie goes too and the three of them make it to the cement. Luke stays behind with Flynn to discuss album art concepts.

They stop to make sure someone actually had the money and when Reggie pulls out a soggy twenty that he had accidentally went swimming with, Julie laughs at him. Alex pulls out his own thankfully dry wallet.

“Watch out!” The voice comes from behind Alex but he doesn’t have time to move out of the way before something solid and strong slams into his back sending him sprawling face first into the sand.

“What the fuck?!” He yells as he spits sand out of his mouth and brushes it off of his body where it stuck painfully.

“Oh man, You dinged my board.” The voice comes from behind him again and he turns, fury burning in his veins.

“I dinged your board? You almost killed me!” Alex yells back. He doesn’t look up, examining his skinned knee.

“Yeah, I did pancake you, huh?” he’s laughing now and Alex stands up to give this guy a piece of his mind but his thoughts are cut off abruptly.

He can see Julie and Reggie out of the corner of his eye, smiling widely and snickering to each other. God, he hates them so much.

“Hotdog! Wow, long time.” He says. Alex’s brain has shut off though because wow he looks better than he did on valentines day.

His skin is sunkissed, his hair lightened by the sun, and he’s wearing a crop top that shows off his toned stomach. Alex traces the V as it disappears under his waistband. Someone pinches his elbow and he snaps out of it. Thank you, Julie. 

“Willie, hi! How have you been?” When had his voice gotten so squeaky?

“I’ve been good! Starting school next week. Just finished moving in yesterday. How about you?” He answers. Julie and Reggie have walked away to the beach bar.

“Just got back from touring last night. Now we’re here. Relaxing before school starts.” Alex waves his hand out, encompassing the beach and the general area where Flynn and Luke are bent over her phone.

“You know, I haven’t stopped thinking about you since that party. Kind of the best kiss I’ve had.” Willie chuckles and bumps his shoulder against Alex’s.

“Tell me about it.” Alex pulls his wallet out as he speaks. Pulling out the picture from his wallet and showing it to Willie.

“No way!” That smile that Alex hasn’t stopped staring at is back as he pulls out his own wallet and shows Alex the picture. The ink is faded, as if he’d been running his fingers over the signed name. The corners are crinkled and Alex beams because his looks just as well loved.

“Wanna join us?” Alex asks and Willie nods and smiles in response.

“Hell yeah!” He takes off his helmet and picks up his skateboard, following Alex back to their spot. The thirst that had been drying his throat moments before is completely forgotten when Willie laces his fingers with Alex’s.

[baseballbitch116]

Hot Encounters

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x reader

Prompt: Y/N and some of the others try to cool down on a particularly hot summer day - until someone ruins it

Request: Hello again ^O^ Can I request Daryl fluff where the reader says I'm so in love with you now shut up and kiss me? ( 35 and 34 prompt) maybe have Daryl be a bit pissy and jealous and the reader thinking hes adorable and says the prompts?

Word Count: 1777

Warnings: Confrontation, slightly jealous/protective Daryl, tiny bit of suggestiveness - sfw

A/N: Hey babe! Sorry this took so long to get to, I’m the worst! I really liked writing this, I hope you enjoy it!

Masterlist

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It had to be nearing a hundred degrees out today. The sun was beaming down relentlessly, not a cloud in the sky - making it the hottest day of the summer yet. You were busy most of the day, and just your luck it was all outdoor work. Everyone was dripping in sweat as you worked in the crops and on building up weak spots in the fences. Your hair was matted down to your face by the time that you finished. Rick decided to call it a day, seeing as it was unbearably hot and sunny. One of the woman from Alexandria mentioned that she was planning on swimming in the pond at the center of the community, which sounded like an amazing idea to you.

“Do you guys have any bathing suits or anything?” You question as you follow her alongside Tara and Maggie.

“Of course!” She exclaims, acting as though it is absurd of you to assume that they did not. You exchange a look with your friends, catching Tara’s smirk and Maggie’s eye roll, but remaining silent as you continue to follow the woman.

Apparently the community had some sort of “clothing bank,” where they kept any clothes that someone may want. There were dresses, shorts, bathing suits, socks, all kinds of miscellaneous stuff. Eventually you found a bathing suit in your size, a plain black bikini. The four of you changed and headed out to the pond with your clothes and towels. It felt very odd to be walking around in so minimal clothes - you hadn’t worn a bathing suit in so long now. You felt a little self conscious being so exposed, not missing the bewildered look Rick shot you guys when you passed him at the house.

You chuckled bashfully as he shook his head at you guys and headed inside the house.

You wished that Daryl would join you in the pond, but you knew that all the begging in the world would not get that man in there. You carefully dipped your feet down into the water, the mud squishing under your toes as you inch into the pond. The water was not as cold as you were expecting, but it was still very refreshing. The woman, Maria, dove into the water, splashing all of you in the process. “Oh my gosh!” Tara exclaims, jumping up and down in the water as she wiped her wet face off. You and Maggie laugh as she dramatically rubs her arms.

“It’s not that cold!” You taunt your friend with a smile.

“Oh really?” She counters, stalking toward you with an evil grin.

“No!” You shout, attempting to run away from her in the waist-high water. The four of you ended up in a splashing war, laughing hysterically and drawing the attention of the other residents. Eventually, Spencer Glenn and Carl joined in, stripping their shirts away instead of changing into suits. You were oblivious to some of the residents sitting out on their porches or stopping as they walked by to watch you guys.

After a while of splashing and dunking, Spencer suggested playing chicken. You were a little apprehensive at first but ended up agreeing. It was supposed to be Maggie and Glenn versus you and Spencer, with Tara, Maria and Carl sitting it out off to the side. You couldn’t deny that Spencer was a good looking young man, and his body certainly was nice - but you weren’t entirely comfortable climbing onto his shoulders. You worried what Daryl would think if he saw you in the compromising position, making you hesitant to play the game with him. You wouldn’t mind if Tara was your partner but Spencer was insistent - which made you even more uncomfortable.

“Oh come on Y/N,” He insists once again. Maggie exchanges a look with you, sensing your discomfort.

“It’s fine, we don’t have to play.” Maggie starts.

“What? You think I’m gonna bite?” Spencer asks, seemingly offended.

“It’s not that, it’s because I’m with Daryl.” You explain, hoping he will back off and understand. Instead, he rolls his eyes and catches an attitude.

“So? He won’t let you play a game?” He remarks. You raise a brow at him, not pleased with his tone. Glenn moves forward in the water closer to your side to face Spencer until he is interrupted.

“Hey!” You’d recognize that voice anywhere. “She said she don’t wanna.” Daryl growls, approaching you guys at the pond. He is wearing his vest and a black button down with the sleeves cut off, his hair greasy and body sweaty. Despite looking disheveled, he looks incredible sexy as he approaches you. You move to step out of the water and he reaches his hand down to help you out, which you graciously accept. You step up the slight hill, his large hand helping you up easily as his other holds your exposed back. You face him as you stand beside him, the humid air already heating your body back up.

“Chill out. It’s not that serious.” Spencer says. You don’t miss how he is clenching his jaw and tensing his muscles. You wonder whether he is flexing to try to look intimidating or if he’s just tense. Daryl moves to take a step forward but you react quick, grabbing hold of his bicep and shaking your head at him.

“Seriously, man? And you wonder why she didn’t wanna?” Glenn comments, shooting Spencer a look as he leads Maggie and Carl out of the pond.

"Well, it was fun while it lasted.” Maria mumbles as she exits as well. Spencer looks pissed off and you decide to get out of here before Daryl gets too angry. You give his large bicep a tug before leaning down to grab your clothes and the towel.

Daryl shoots Spencer one last glare before placing his hand on your lower back, leading you over toward the house. He takes the towel from your arm and wraps it over your shoulders, covering up your body as you walk. You smirk up at him and he only rolls his eyes, remaining silent. “I don’t trust that prick.” He mutters hoarsely as he steps up the porch, grabbing the door and waiting for you to walk inside. 

You only smile as you walk ahead of him into the kitchen, tossing the towel over a stool before opening the fridge and grabbing a bottle of tap-water. You turn around and lean against the cool counter, eyeing Daryl as he stands there, shifting his weight and chewing on his bottom lip. You take notice of his eyes on you, nearly hidden behind his long hair. A smirk breaks out on your face as you set the water down, motioning him to come over with your finger. He stares at you for a moment before striding over to you, stopping a step away. You take his hand and pull him in so that he is standing directly in front of you.

You wrap your arms around his torso and look up at him with a smile. “I’m in love with you. Not him.” You say, looking up into his blue eyes, your arms holding him close. He stares at you for a long moment, a smile toying at his lips that he tries to fight back before dropping his eyes from the tension building. He does not touch you but does not pull away from your arms either.

Despite your time together, he would still hesitate in intimate moments like these. You remove your arms and grab onto his, wrapping them around your bare waist before placing your arms back around him, leaning your head into his warm chest. He leans his chin against your head and moves his hands to hold your waist more securely, hugging you back.

“He just wants to get into your pants. Ain’t no reason he needa be touchin ya.” He mutters in your hair. You roll your eyes and let out a laugh before leaning back to look up at him again.

“You’re the only one with that privilege, hun.” You respond, grinning when you see his gaze drop again and cheeks turn slightly pink. Daryl raises one hand to brush your wet hair out of your face, relaxing in your arms as you lean into his touch.

“Damn right,” He mutters after a moment, shocking you when he suddenly lifts you up by your bare thighs and places you on the counter-top, bringing you eye to eye with the archer. You grin and let out a giggle, taken aback by his burst of confidence. Daryl smiles lightly, a sigh for sore eyes, and you recognize the content on his face - goosebumps raising over your skin as he holds one large hand over your exposed hip. You lazily toss your arms over his wide shoulders and lean in slightly, a shy grin toying with your lips as you tempt him.

“You’re cute when you’re possessive,” you whisper, your face inches from his own. His blue orbs drop to your lips before looking back into your own eyes. He shrugs his shoulders before taking a small step forward, his body heat radiating off onto you. “Now, please shut up and kiss me.” You mutter with a playful grin, leaning in close enough that your lips are nearly touching, but not quite. You feel Daryl’s hot breath on your own lips, your heart racing in your chest as you look up into his eyes. You spot his lips curve back up into a content sideways smirk before he closes the gap between the two of you, finally pressing his warm lips against your own.

His lips are soft, unlike the rest of him, and move slowly against your own. You lean into his touch, melting into the slow, sweet kiss, his beard lightly scratching at your face - but you enjoy the combination of feelings. Your fingers tangle into his messy mop of hair affectionately, emitting a low groan from his lips that your own mouth captures. His fingers leave a trail of goosebumps as they climb up your bare hips to your waist, holding you close as he stands between your legs.

Daryl pulls away before things can get too heavy, resting his forehead on yours. “Yer gonna be the death of me, woman.” He mutters, making you giggle as he moves away enough for you to look up at his flustered face, brushing his hair out of his eyes. The way he looks into your eyes and leans into your hand is enough for you to know exactly how he is feeling. You know how much Daryl loves you...

---

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[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

It’s The Avengers (03x06)

Loki x Reader Avengers The Office AU (Slowwwwww Burn)

Season 3 Episode 06: Mrs Silvertongue

Series Summary: Living in the Avengers facility post-apocalypse in a better timeline   Tony Stark has decided to capture every moment by pulling The Office on the Avengers. All of housemates are pretty used to the idea except for you, who had just come here to finish her degree, and the newest member- Loki.

Warnings: one of those tropes. one of those hnnghh tropes

Word Count: I was supposed to post this four hours ago but my colleague called me to play and that dumb dork was drunk while I was laughing throughout. So, here it is. Also...I’m hot. No, I am actually hot. The temperatures are going up! I need some cool breeze.

MASTERLIST in bio, darlings. Tags are open (check bio)

"Everybody stay together. Do not make eye contact with strangers. Do not buy stuff you don't know about and definitely do not leave your eatables unattended."

The camera switched from Loki's barely composed face to your stuffed one strapping the backpack securely behind you before looking at Loki and the sandwich sitting on the seat between the two of you.

"Wha," you stated, still not swallowing, "iss wight hea. Sop bein a wowwie wat."

The camera in Javi's hand caught the bustle on the 'station' where you all were supposed to board shuttles to be on your way to another galaxy before travelling to Knowhere. The area was thousands of square feet wide made in a dome shape outside a planet currently under the supervision of the soldiers form Andromeda. After the War, the security had been tightened around galaxy travel to monitor any remains of the Radicals who had supported Thanos and were currently the most wanted criminals in the universe. Screens everywhere showed the flights and timings along with various commercials for products all around the galaxy. Some you were able to read thank to the translation glasses the Hardy boys provided you, others were a jumbled mess of strokes and illegible patterns. Creatures from all around the wonderful black expanse moved about in this station while soldiers who looked like they had been overly tanned scanned them and their belongings before sending them on their designated shuttles. It all worked as an airport. Except for one thing.

"Well, at least there's no random selection here that is not based on some 'racist profiling'," you quoted, getting a nod of agreement from Javi.

"Oh, there is racist profiling here," Loki interrupted your blissful thoughts, "but ever since the war, it has just been bent towards the ones who helped Thanos."

"Huh, even space isn't free from such mindsets then."

An announcement on the screens caught Loki's attention. "That's our shuttle. Come on. Lulu, up."

Lulu jumped and settled on Loki's shoulder and the camera caught a full grin on your lips.

You: *smirk* And he was the one who didn't want me to take Lulu from the desert *tilt your head* you know what... he is exactly like a choco lava cake. Sturdy looking outside but soft, mushy and melting aaaaall on the inside *giggles*

 Loki: she was talking about me, wasn't she? *narrows eyes at the camera* What was she saying? Javi, tell me. Javi, we're good friends. Come on, Javi. You're stuck with me. Javi. Javi. Hey. I'm the only one who can get you out of this hell hole. Javi. *looks at Javi's figure walking away* Javi. Javi! Come on! Javi!!

The creature scanning your line seemed to come out of some American writer's stereotypical description of a green alien except for the part where her huge beady black eyes had slits, just like a cat. She was stoic as a feline too, going about her job without any emotion on her face. And when it came your turn to stand underneath the scanner, her ignorance of your greetings did not help your nerves.

"You are a...terran," she stated more than she asked.

"Yes, ma'am." You blinked like a dumb animal and tried to remember to smile.

"Your business in the galaxy?" Her slow and positively raspy voice interrogated.

"Just travelling with my-" you blinked again while trying to innocently shrug with a hint of shy, looking like a questionable human-"boys. You know, sight seeing."

Those silver slits stared at you for solid five seconds, not even breathing apparently, before stamping a token and handing it to you and diverting her attention to the next passenger- Loki.

You and your bags moved to the other side of the scanner, waiting for Loki and Lulu while Javier made it next to you from the scanner next to yours. The creature looked at the information the scan brought on her screen in a language neither you nor the camera understood. But one thing that was catching the camera's focus was this text blinking in red next to Loki's picture.

"You are Loki," she stated to the God, scrutinising him from head to toe in those black scruffed jeans and t-shirt underneath a deep maroon long jacket.

"Hm," you forced out a light chuckle, "guess Tony and Clint are not the only ones who are weirded out by seeing him in anything other than his New York attire."

"Of Asgard," Loki added with an 'at your pleasure’ smirk.

"A Frost Giant," the lady acknowledged in her raspy voice. "Have you travelled to the Andromeda before?"

"I have, yes. But not in the recent years."

"State your purpose for the visit to the galaxy."

"I am-" he paused to throw a quick look in your direction before going back to his interrogator- "going there on some unfinished business with an old friend."

The lady, stoic like a rock, looked at Loki for the next ten seconds before pressing a button underneath her screen. Somewhere behind you, you and the camera could hear synchronised footsteps. The camera turned to catch seven aliens- five bulky, one bulkier than all the others, and the last one a leaner and less appeasing version of the lady- walk past you towards Loki.

Lulu, who could feel the change in the atmosphere around him, felt himself shifting on Loki's shoulders while his fur stood up like a frightened cat. But never once did that little fluffy boy leave Loki's side.

"Loki, of Asgard," the leaner one announced, "you are to come with us. Please carry your belongings with you. Please refrain from using any means to resist for you will be charged against the law of the peace fleet. Please put your hands forward so we may put diluters on your wri-I see you already have some version of them on your wrist. Very well. Please follow me."

The camera caught you, mouth gaping open and eyes out in refrained horror, looking at Loki while trying to keep your breaths as calm as possible.

"Oh fuck," your breaths forced out, "what the fuck is happening? Oh fuck fuck fuck fuck fu-"

Loki was already moving behind the lean one, the parade of bulky Captain Gantu’s following him with their synchronised boot work. One of them looked down at the camera, sending a glare of yellow through those hollow eyes before turning back, entering what seemed like an elevator. Loki stood right in the middle, his eyes shifting from the lean alien to you for a few seconds before white doors closed and he disappeared from your view.

The camera now came back to your face, which was still staring in that direction, the colour from your skin a little faded, the pupils contracted to their limit, the breaths paused since God knows when. "Oh fuck we're gonna die."

.

There was a rhythmic pulse beating four times a second while the camera kept shifting- and vibrating a little- between two windows. Out of one window one could see those bulky dudes in attention standing at one door each, not shifting even a muscle while other aliens went about their business. The other window showed the lean guy standing with another alien that was bulkier in the middle. The lean one turned to the window at the rigorous tapping coming from the window.

"Calm down, Lulu," a soothing but tired voice came from out of the frame, making the little one turn towards Loki's figure sitting in what looked like a white chair beside an oval-shaped white table floating in the air, "they're not going to let us out. Not yet at least."

Lulu, who had paused to listen to the God suddenly found himself whimpering till its outright wails were catching everyone's attention outside the room.

"No, n-Lulu stop crying, Lu-" Loki got up from the chair and came to stand beside Lulu in two strides, picking the furry lump in both his hands while keeping his head away from those deafening wails. Slowly but surely, Loki brought the hysterical little lump to his chest, mostly to suppress the noise and wave uncomfortably at the judgmental eyes in his direction. At one point the fly camera-that had sneaked in with events yet unknown- caught an expression on Loki's face that reflected nothing but murder in his eyes. But the very next moment he sighed and brought his hands to stroke the frightened ball of fluff. "Hey, hey, hey," he shushed him, his hands being gentle and his expressions turning soft, "it's okay. It's completely fine. You're fine," he hummed, almost singing it while bouncing the little sobbing and hiccuping floof in his arms, "I'm in here too, aren't I? Right? You are not alone. You are not alone. We'll get out of here together as soon as we know who is behind all this mess, okay?"

The little furball sniffed and wiped his snot off on Loki's shirt. "You didn't have to do that," Loki pointed out with no real purpose to the already made mess. But Lulu was quiet now, possibly looking up at Loki and chirping something only the God understood and chuckled. "Yes-" he stroked Lulu's head- "she'll be fine without us. Once she stops panicking. Yes, yes, you're with me."

Lulu, chirped again, protruding his paw to carefully touch Loki's cheek and chirp some more. Whatever the little one had said, brought the God to a standstill, that tiny smile on his face frozen while his eyes seemed to have travelled somewhere far. "I wish that was true a few years in the past. How different some things would have been."

Lulu tilted his head in confusion while Loki seemed to be visiting certain memories that the camera on Lulu and others around them was not aware of. And all emotion in both these loveable creatures seemed to have been broken by a recognisable voice- so low and seemingly far away- somewhere in their vicinity. Lulu was the first to turn towards the window to the view of the lean guy, jumping at the sight.

And then Loki saw you standing right next to the alien who had arrested him, all colour from his face draining as he watched you flail your hands in some untethered rage right into the expressionless alien standing in front of you out of courtesy.

"Oh...oh no." Loki's face was completely opposite to whatever it is you were going through. Lulu was shifting his gaze between him and you, bouncing in Loki's arms with unadulterated joy. Javier was standing between the two of you with his camera- filming even in the midst of all the chaos.

Before he could compose himself, you were already walking towards him, the alien opening the door for you, letting you inside the room and closing it.

"Hey," your delighted and relieved face greeted Loki, "you guys okay?"

Lulu squirmed and chirped with joy, jumping straight into your arms to bonk his head with your face and rub himself all over you. Loki, on the other hand, stood there like he was seeing a ghost. "What are you doing here? You are not supposed to be here. You didn't do anything wrong."

"Oh neither did you, Loki," you were quick to point out.

Loki: *inhales* *put his palms together and brings them close to his face* *bends his hands towards the camera* Woman!

"You don't know what I or have not done so don't act like you know what you're doing, kitten," Loki pointed out rather harshly, forcing an offended gasp out of you, "you were supposed to be out there."

Your delight slowly seemed to be turning to an ember of rage. "Oh, I am sorry that tried to use my working brain to help you out in any way I can, your highness! If you wanted to spend more time in this weird jail you should have let me know when these big butts carried you off!"

"This does not concern you so stop," Loki did not let you finish. "Undo whatever it is you did. This is far more dangerous than you can stomach so off you go."

You scoffed and mocked him. "This is fir mir dingiris- well bad news it can't be undone because they think I'm your ride or die."

Loki was basically slapping himself on his face when trying to rub off the tension- along with his skin. "Wh-ha-hyy would they think that?! WHY?"

A whistle blew from behind the camera and Loki instantly caught it; along with catching your arms going across your chest while you tried to look anywhere but in the God's direction.

"Y/N," that soft but threatening growl was enough to crumble all the restraint you came undone faster than a horny teenage boy. "It's no big deal I just told them I'm your wife."

The camera timed the perfect zoom on that face that lost a couple of hundred years as it heard that sentence.

 On Earth

"It's no big deal I just told them I'm your wife."

A shrill 'Oh my Gaaaahd' left Scott's lungs while the soda bottle in his hand crushed and burst everywhere. A shriller wail left Peter as he threw his hands at his face in the utter disbelief and fell on the ground. A cushion blew up in the tight grasp of Bucky's hands, making feathers fly everywhere, and Sam stood up with one fist on his mouth and the other pointing at the screen, howling like a mad fan. Pepper watched with insane delight in her eyes while slapping the thighs next to hers that belonged to her husband who sat there looking at the screen with narrowed eyes as if he had seen something wrong- like a glitch maybe. Natasha was the only one maintaining her composure while sipping on her margarita and looking at the camera form under her lashes.

Scott & Peter: *do a whole routine with their hands in unison* I sayyyy Y/N and Loki sittin' in a tree!!! Fake M-A-R-R-I-A-G-E!!!!!

 Tony: *confused* Wife?

 Vision: I don't get why Scott and Peter are so excited. *looks to his right* Why are they...

*camera pans out to show Wanda barely containing her excitement in her pressed lips*

Wanda: beeeecause they might have a ship, Vis. *looks at the camera and smile a wide toothy smile*

Vision: *tilts his head* but there's no way they could ride a ship in this facility Wanda

 Tony: *still confused but in a different position* Wife??

 Steve: *blinks* I guess....that's a good...strategy? *frowns* I mean...sure. *hears a sniff from outside the frame*

*camera pans out to show stone-faced Bucky sitting next to him*

Bucky: *barely hides his breaking voice* Goo-*clears his throat*-good infiltration strategy.

Steve: *stares worriedly at him* You okay buddy?

Bucky: *crumbles* no~

 Tony: *lying flat on the sofa, face down* *raises his head* His wife??!!!

 Sam: *hollering* wife wife baby!! *turns to his side and nudges the person sitting next to him* come on get in on the fun!

Clint: *nearly saves his coffee pot from spilling all over him with Sam's nudge*

Sam: *keeps nudging and dancing in his seat* somebody's having some space fun!

Clint: *moves the pot into his other hand to drink it with hollow eyes looking at nothing, in particular,* somebody's gonna die of some fun

Sam: *all smiles for the camera* huh?

Clint: nothin' *looks at the camera zooming in on his stone face*

Tony: *wheeling out from under his car with tools in his hands* HIS WIFE??!!

Rhodey: *guffaws while clapping his hands over his head till he's wheezing* oh-oh my-oh Jesus! Poor Tony. *wipes the tears from his face* I told him karma is a bitch but I never thought it would come to bite him right in his ass!!! *continues to chortle*

Tony: *stops making his green smoothie to topple the jar into the sink and walk out of the screen screaming in groans* HIS WIFE?!! OH MY GOD!!!

 Space PD HQ

You haven't felt Loki breathing since you broke the news to him. He has just been standing there staring at you with faint confusion and curiosity, still as a statue.

"Loki-" you poke him- "Loki, say something! Don't just stand there like that! You're scaring me!"

"Y/N," he finally breathed out, his brows still creased, "do you know how many people I've killed?"

You shrugged. "I don't know? A couple? Do you know how many teenage girls I deceived when I was in high school?"

"How many?" He asks with keen interest before snapping himself back to reality. "Wait, what? No. Why would I need to know that?"

You shook your head casually while leaning on the floating table. "I don't know, I thought we were sharing our darkest numbers; like couples need to know these details. Right?"

"By the Norns," Loki groaned into his palms, rubbing his face hard. "Listen-"

The door hissed open and Mr Lean Alien walked in.

"Well, we haven't been introduced properly. My name is Tsuloche."

"Hi, Tsuloche. I'm Y/N," introduced yourself, closing the distance between you and Loki, your arms rubbing on each other.

"Listen, Tsulcohe, there has been a misunderstanding here. She-"

"Yeah, there's been a misunderstanding," your stressed and scoffed, crossing your arms across your chest, "like taking my husband prisoner for no reason at all?"

Tsuloche brought his nimble green- almost as thin and long as twigs- hands together. "Mrs....uhh...Miss Y/N, Loki has killed a lot of people in the past."

You groaned. "Now you sound just like my husband. I know he's killed a lot. And he's clearly suffering for it right now." You turned your head towards Loki, bringing your fingers to softly pinch his cheeks. "My poor baby."

Loki jerked away from your fingers slightly, whispering, "stop."

You didn't. Your fingers still reaching for those cheeks. "Stop it!"

You smiled as he grabbed your hand with his and held it in a good grip. "Okay, now you're just doing it to embarrass me in front of him."

Tsuloche tilted his head at this scene, blinking those translucent eyelids before his cat-like pupils dilated a little. "Do you know he supported Thanos' cause?"

You tried to yank your hand from his grip but Loki wasn't having it. So you turned back to Tsuloche. "Huh? Yeah, I know. He was undercover there to know his plans and stop him when the time came. What else you got?"

Tsuloche stood there blankly, shifting his gaze between you and the God for a good minute, his scarcely dilated pupils going back. "Why would you marry a criminal?! That too the one who tried to destroy your home?!"

You hummed and tried once again to slip your hands from Loki's death grip but failed- though that did not stir the seriousness away from your face at the alien's question. "Well, for the home invasion part, you'll understand if you ever had spiders, lizards and flies in your home."

Now, this confused the alien further but Loki forced out a laugh at your statement.

"I'm not sure I follow."

"Well, Tsuloche. The first time you see a spider or a lizard in your home, you scream and cry and want that monstrosity to be gone from your place. It's worse if they bring their friends over. At one point you form a plan of attack to get those sons of bitches out of your home because they don't pay the rent, do they? But it is later on that you realise that these spiders or lizards were actually what were keeping the flies away. You know, the flies that were contaminating your food and making you sick. The flies that were bringing disease from all corners. The only thing standing between you and death by flies was this one stubborn spider-" you squished Loki's face with your free hand, making him jerk and grab that other hand too- "who nearly killed all my people but didn't."

"As for the getting married part, Tsuloche, if you're married, you know very well the crimes you forgive when you love someone. I mean, have you seen this guy do anything bad since the War? No. That's 'cause he's been enjoying some downtime with me and my fam, getting to know me, marrying me, and now taking me and our little cuddly alien cat on a honeymoon! Ain't that right Lulu?!"

Lulu chirped.

By now those judgmental pupils were a full-blown dilated dorks looking at the two of you.

"Oh and that guy recording us outside is...is...our...videographer. Yes! That's who he is. There's a whole trend on Earth to put your life on the internet and stuff like that. So, he's here to...record everything we do on our honeymoon. Not everything, of course," you concluded a little loud with pressed lips and a nod as you realised the mistake.

"Nice save, dear," Loki chirped with a smirk.

"Shut up."

Those blown out pupils came back to disclose any emotions that last bit might have given away. Tsuloche cleared his throat. "Well, as...good as it all sounds, I am afraid I cannot let the Silvertongue go."

"Silvertongue?" you mentioned under your breath and looked at Loki's lips in amusement.

Loki caught your eyes darting to his tongue wetting his lips, sighing in a faint sense of defeat. "You know it's not silver. Why are you even looking at me like that?"

The camera caught your brow arch with some suggestions best kept to yourself. "Oh. I know," you sang, still looking at those lips, "I was wondering about what all would be...different if it were."

Wanda: *sits wide-eyed and flushed red* Uhh *clears throat* *presses her lips to suppress her smile* *talks softly with a shakey voice* I don't know what *puts one leg over another* *adjusts herself in the seat* what she meant by cat-that! What she meant by that. *turns red*

Loki just furrowed his brows at you uncomfortably before turning back to Tsuloche.

"Well, I'm not going anywhere without my husband, so..." You sat down on the lone chair in the room.

Tsuloche was already composing his wrinkled raisin face. "Very well then. I hope you find this interrogation room to your liking, Miss Y/N because he is not walking out of here for another seventy-two hours-"

The door hissed open to let in one of his subordinates who handed the alien a tiny cuboid-shaped device. One look at the tiny thing and Tsuloche looked back up with his sharp pupils dilating to the max. "Mrs and Mr Loki, you are free to go. The inconvenience is regretted and the department will provide you safe passage on the next shuttle to your destination."

A little surprised by the sudden turn of events neither of you wanted to let go of this opportunity. "And by our destination you mean anywhere we want?" You are eager to know; something that makes Loki's eyes turn to you and carry an expression barely recognisable on that perfect pale face. Some would even say it was a butt-hurt disappointment. 

"Destination means the place you were previously travelling to. Your bags have been transported. Now all you need to do is get on it and enjoy the rest of your honeymoon."

Heaving a sigh of relief, Loki let go of your hands but still smacked away the one coming for his cheek again, making you chuckle. "I have very limited knowledge on the feline species but it almost looks like you're happy to set us free, Tsuloche." Loki quirked his brow in agreement with your statement.

"What?!" Tsuloche was a little taken aback, continuously blinking his translucent eyelids to make those starry eyes contract to their predator like gaze. But he couldn't. "Highly mistaken you are, madam. I am definitely not happy to let you resume your honeymoon with your beloved. I am enraged that you will be going away with a criminal and your monstrous little pet somewhere to spend time together. I am-I am definitely offended by the idea of this hardened criminal getting a second chance at life with someone so beautiful as you!"

You squeaked. "Aw! He thinks I'm beautiful!" Loki rolled his eyes and looked at the camera.

Tsuloche: *highly conscious* you want me to say something in that camera? Is this for their honeymoon album? *Eyes dilate* oooh! *looks at the lens* uhh ahem, do not do anything unlawful you two. Space is a dangerous place. And...and *eyes dilate to their maximum capacity* take care. *Exhales* *wipes something off his face* oh dear! That was really hard.

 Space Shuttle

The entire shuttle was empty save for your little group. The seats were comfortable and the legroom quite spacious. Securing Lulu in a seat by the window, you sat down next to him, directly facing Loki. Javier sat next to him, recording the view out of the window.

“So, you sent in one of Javi’s camera flies, found a set of rules that said spouses are allowed to meet their other half and just...went with it?”

“I also used the uninet- the universal network- to find out about Tsuloche’s species and intimidated him with a little show of power. So, yeah. I read the rules of Space and this is the second time I saved your ass, Silvertongue," you state matter-of-factly, stretching your legs as much as possible.

"Don't get so cocky, kitten," Loki purred, fastening his seatbelt, "we still have a lot of places to go. You are lucky some people like your cute face."

Your brows went up and head tilted before Loki realised what he had done. "Aw! You think I'm cute!"

Lulu's camera caught Javier signing something to the two of you. "Keep having such petty arguments and aliens will actually believe you're married," you spoke his words out loud.

Both you and Loki looked at each other. "Married? To him?"

"Married? To her?"

The unison was too much on point. But the cackle eroding into the space out of the two of you made it better.

"You're funny," Loki chortled in Javi's direction.

"In your dreams, weirdo," you added. "Can you imagine? Mr and Mrs Silvertongue?" The laughs came out again while it was Javi's turn to look at Lulu's camera.

 Avengers Facility

"No, Nat, I don't think he'll go that way. He doesn't belong there, like, mentally speaking," Scott gesticulated with a lot of hand movements.

"I think Scott's right," Wanda added.

"No, come on. He knows it's his birthright. So that would be the most obvious thing to go for. And we know he wasn't really seen as much once all hell broke loose back home, right?" Nat put forward her point of view while sitting on the sofa in her jammies.

"But if it wasn't that way then?" Pietro asked with keen interest. Nat thought about it for a moment and shrugged.

"Then it definitely would have been the latter. I mean, you were practically raised as one. He was raised as one, right?" Bucky asked Steve. The latter nodded.

"But still," Steve contributed, " there was something wrong there, right? Which is why all of those incidents happened. Are we sure he would still go for it even if he wasn't just another kid?"

Now the lounge went silent, thinking all of it through while the camera showed a very disinterested Clint sitting on the dining table to clean his guns, bows and arrows. The expression in his eyes felt like he wanted to be anywhere but here.

The camera swerved to another person standing by the lounge entrance, looking at the whole scene with utmost disorientation. "What's going on?"

Everyone looked up at Tony standing at the door.

"Oh, we were discussing what surname would Loki choose if he and Y/N got married?" Nat casually answered.

"Like, would he go for Loki Odinson or Loki Laufeyson," Peter explained.

The camera zoomed in on Tony's face, which was trying to do it's best to understand what was going on before giving up and just tilting his head and narrowing his eyes at everybody.

"They have been at it for two hours," a defeated voice comes from Clint's corner, who was looking at some distant void while cleaning his weapons.

"This...is a hypothetical situation, right?" Tony made sure. He had to make sure.

It took a second before everyone shrugged, nodded and hummed in agreement. None- except one camera- caught Scott and Peter crossed his fingers behind their back.

"Oh my God, I just got it!" Scott exclaimed out of nowhere with a new realisation on his face. "He doesn't have to think about the surname. It's Y/N who'll be making the choice."

And just like that, the seriousness in the air changed into a shared epiphany and everyone agreed without any vote against that thought.

"You guys are having a lot of fun with this," Tony sang sarcastically with judgement filled in his tone.

"Yeah, what about it?" Pepper called out from her comfy armchair while eating cheeseburgers and sipping soda, looking at Tony for an answer.

Tony, on the other hand, shifted his weight between his legs. "No. Nothing. You have fun, sweetie. Kisses! Muah! Muah! Muah! Please don't kill me in my sleep tonight."

[elesianne]

A Silmarillion fanfic – modern AU Curufin/future wife

Summary: A poor girl stumbles onto a rich boy at a nightclub, and they hit it off. Too bad that it turns out neither of them is what the other thought.

A modern AU first meeting. A bit funny, a bit sexy, a bit sad.

Wordcount: ~2,200 words; Rating: Mature audiences (mild for M)

Some keywords: alternate universe - modern setting, mild sexual content, class differences, misunderstandings

A/N: This is very different from my other fics in content and style, but the Curufinwë and Netyarë in this are the same as in my fic Sparks fly out and its sequels, personality-wise, though they are of course different in some respects because they exist in modern times this time.

You don't need to have read any of my other fics to read this. Quenya names used.

Warnings: alcohol, having sex when both parties are drunk, swearwords including the f-word, and talk of prostitution (no actual prostitution)

AO3 LINK

*

Pink dress and high heels, suit and tie

It was far from a meet cute, Netyarë thinks later when things between them are very different.

Instead of a meet cute it's both of them on a wild night out. Netyarë's at a friend's bachelorette party, wearing high-heeled pink pumps and a tight pink dress that she hates because it pinches her sides while also making her feel too exposed. She's not drunk enough for how late it is, and she's rather grumpy because the party hasn't been that much fun. The others have been bickering all night.

She needed fun after the week she's had. Asshole customers in both her jobs, and a botched painting she'd had high hopes for. The materials for that one had cost a lot.

It's getting very late and Netyarë's both horny and lonely. It's not a great mood, especially the loneliness, but she's been single longer than she wanted to be after her last break-up. There's nothing quite like the approaching wedding of a friend to remind you of just how single you are.

She tries to shake the loneliness off on the dancefloor with the two other bridesmaids that are still standing, though one of them would probably not be if she didn't have a guy to lean on. Netyarë doesn't know where she got the guy from. The bachelorette party has disintegrated almost completely, everyone pairing off or wandering off or escorting the nearly black-out drunk bride home.

Netyarë decides not to care that most of the others are gone. She dances wild enough to lose her bridesmaid's sash somewhere on the floor, and doesn't bother looking for it. She also dances wild enough to accidentally bump into a guy in a suit who grabs her arms to steady her and says 'whoa', and then again 'whoa' as he looks down at her.

He seems to be the same degree of drunk as she is – rather, but not too much to have fun or be incapable of making half-sensible decisions. And he's tall, dark, and handsome, like the best kind of cliché, if also rather cocky by what little she can hear him shout to her as they try to talk over the music.

And he is a spoiled rich boy, judging by his clothes and general attitude, with a name that reminds Netyarë of something she can't quite grasp right now. She thinks she might not have heard it right in all the noise. It doesn't matter, though.

On principle Netyarë doesn't fuck guys like this but this one is also rather charming. She likes the shine in his beautiful, long-lashed eyes when he mentions his job which, thank all the gods, isn't hedge fund manager or investment banker. He actually creates things too, and Netyarë likes the passion in his voice.

She doesn't mention any of her jobs because a rich boy's reaction to them would just depress her and that would make sure she went home alone today. Sometimes it is better not to confirm one's worst suspicions.

But the longer she talks to him in a shadowy corner of the club they've retreated to, slowly sipping the ridiculously expensive drink he bought her –

and then dances with him again (posh boy has moves, surprisingly, though he needed to buy and drown a shot before getting on the dancefloor with her) –

the more Netyarë feels like she wants him to come home with her.

Surely her rule of not having sex with guys like this can be relaxed to not dating them, she persuades herself. He wouldn't even want to date her, certainly not if he sees her cheap clothes and apartment in daylight.

She texts a friend to tell her she's asking someone to spend the night with her.

When she whispers the invitation in his ear, her hand on his thigh, he shivers in a way that's very satisfying. She takes his hand when he reaches for her, and they half-run the few blocks to her shitty apartment. Netyarë wonders what he was even doing in that club in this part of town but doesn't bother to ask.

(If she had, Curufinwë might have told her, or not, that he had a shit week too, with constant problems at work and too little sleep. He'd wanted to wind down somewhere where he wouldn't run into any of the people who made his week terrible. Tyelkormo knew a place; of course he did, and then found someone within an hour and disappeared with them so fast Curufinwë didn't even see what gender they were.)

Whatever his reason for slumming it tonight, the posh boy does get a snotty look on his face in the grimy stairwell of Netyarë's building. And maybe he would have that look in her shabby apartment too if he wasn't too busy kissing her like his life depends on it, long-fingered hands reaching for the infuriatingly tiny zipper of her dress as soon as they get in the door.

And it turns out that a tall rich boy doesn't mind a small bed when he's fucking her on it like his life also depends on that.

He's less selfish in bed than she expected from someone like him and his long finges are dextrous and talented, which – good for him, and good for her.

Looking down at her, he says between pants and thrusts, 'Fuck, your body – a piece of art –' and she grins at that, and at how desperately his hands hold on to her ampler-than-she-likes hips. How could she not grin, and meet his thrusts with even more enthusiasm, when he is like that?

'Fuck, your smile', he says, and crushes their mouths together. He tastes of good whisky.

Netyarë is very pleased with herself for relaxing her rule, and with how the not-so-great bachelorette party ended up ending for her.

And afterwards he's a cuddler – isn't that the weirdest thing? – so they fit in her bed well even after he mumbles, 'Can I stay the night', and promptly falls asleep. One of those men, then.

Netyarë doesn't mind being held. She might or might not run her fingers through his soft black hair once or twice before falling asleep herself.

In the morning, too early, she wakes up to him standing next to the bed, looming over her, asking, 'How much?'

When she doesn't reply, he repeats, 'How much? Come on, just tell me. I have a meeting I've got to get to.'

'It's Saturday', she replies, not understanding anything else of what he says, but with a sinking feeling in her stomach. He has his wallet in hand, and a wad of cash.

'I've still got a meeting', he says, his lips a tight line that is at odds with his bedhead and rumpled shirt. He adds, 'I'm not going to pay you any more if you drag this out. Just tell me what I owe you for what I did to you last night. Your standard rate.'

He has to repeat once more before she replies, and what she says is, 'You think I'm a prostitute?'

Rather she yells it, and gets up. There's a bad taste in her mouth that is not just her hangover.

And he is way too tall when she's not wearing high heels.

'I'm not a hooker', she says slowly as if to an idiot, because he just stands there gaping at her.

He splutters. 'You were certainly dressed just like one! With the, the cheap skin-tight dress and the fuck-me heels!'

'I was not! – I was dressed like all the other bridesmaids at the bachelorette party', Netyarë defends herself. 'But, shit, the dress was chosen by the maid of honour who has half the tits that I do and doesn't understand that 'low-cut' means 'lewd' for a bustier girl when she has to wear a small size because she's so damn short… or it means she actually looks like a hooker. Oh gods.'

She sits back down on the bed.

(Curufinwë thinks that she was attractive in the tight pink dress that he didn't know was for a bachelorette's, but she's lovelier in nothing in the morning light spilling in from the surprisingly large windows of this otherwise depressing room. He shakes his head and blames his hangover for that thought.)

Netyarë can't help saying, 'I can't believe you thought I was a hooker.' She looks him up and down. 'Why would a guy who looks like you even pay for sex? Is it, I don't know, some kind of sick thrill for you?'

'Fuck you', he says, and she thinks hysterically, you did. He says, stiffly, 'For your information, I've never paid for sex.'

'Nice for you that you don't have to break that streak', Netyarë grinds out. She feels like she wants to sleep for another four hours. 'Now get out.'

He finishes dressing in silence. She picks up his tie from between her pillows and hands it to him. She wonders why he didn't ask for her price last night before they got into bed. It would have stung less than this, being asked afterwards when she cannot un-fuck him. She doesn't ask him, though.

He hesitates at the doorway. She stands nearby, tense, wanting to make sure he leaves.

'Are you sure you don't want –' and his hand hovers over his pocket where he put his wallet, 'I think we might have almost broken your bed. It wobbled a lot more near the end.'

'How many times do I have to tell you, I don't have sex for money. Get out. And', she adds, his words from a couple of minutes ago suddenly surfacing in her mind, 'for your information, it wasn't just you doing things to me last night – we did things to each other, and together.'

Or so she thought at least. Why did he even bother making it good for her if he thought she was a prostitute? She has no idea.

Gods, the next time she feels even a little bit lonely, she'll come home straight away and cuddle with her couch pillows. Better to be pathetic in that way than this.

As he opens the door he looks like he wants to say something more, the set of his shoulders stiff and determined, but the look she sets on her face works to persuade him otherwise, and he leaves without a word.

Netyarë closes the door behind him with a little too much force. She takes a very long, very hot shower, eats ice cream for breakfast, and then gets to work trying to resurrect her botched-up painting before her afternoon shift at the sleazy bar where she still bartends a couple of days a week. She'll be able to quit that job soon if she sells a couple more paintings for as good a price as she got for her last one.

(Curufinwë walks in a random direction for two blocks before he realises that actually he needs to call a cab. He ends up being twenty minutes late for his meeting, hair still wet from the shower.

He is as irritable as a poked bear for the whole day, and when Tyelkormo asks how his night went, he says, 'Badly', and nothing more no matter how much Tyelko tries to pry or shares about his own night.)

*

Two days later, like every Monday, Curufinwë comes to have lunch with his mother at her sculpting studio.

Nerdanel kisses his cheek as she lets him in and says, 'Come meet the artist I've been talking about. We started our collaboration today.'

Curufinwë would rather not. He's been in a constantly foul mood since Saturday morning and just wanted to talk about family things with his mother and kid brothers, and try to forget all about his disastrous personal life.

Following his mother as she chatters, he walks to the side room of the studio where there's a table free of marble dust, reserved for eating.

And there's Netyarë in a paint-splattered artist's smock, her brown hair tied up in a messy bun, setting the table.

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, runs through Curufinwë's head as Nerdanel introduces them.

(And through Netyarë's.)

'You're a painter?' Curufinwë asks her in an angry whisper when Nerdanel is busy with the food and making the twins carry it to the table.

'Do you like that better than what you thought I was?' Netyarë hisses back.

She is remarkably shorter than him when she's not wearing heels, and as she looks at him, eyes sparking, Curufinwë thinks she really looks like she doesn't like having to look so far up at him.

Nerdanel gets back before Curufinwë has a chance to reply to Netyarë with more than a dark look.

Tilting her head curiously, Nerdanel asks them, 'Do you two know each other?'

'We've met before', Netyarë says, stiff. 'Briefly.'

Curufinwë says nothing.

(Actually he says remarkably little to her over the course of the meal, little enough to be rude, especially when he also sits all tense and stiff-necked and with a prideful look on his face that is no doubt a facet of his arrogance, like his cockiness at the nightclub.

But his mother is wonderful – offering Netyarë an opportunity that could very well be her big break, collaborating with such an esteemed, established artist – and Curufinwë's teenaged little brothers are entertaining, so Netyarë just tries to not care about Curufinwë's glowering and silence.)

Curufinwë tries not to care that Netyarë doesn't look at him even once.

(Neither of them has much success.)

*

A/N: Yep, so this ends in basically the same place as the first chapter of Sparks fly out, but got there by a more circuitous and NSFW route.

This definitely belongs in the top three of 'most self-indulgent things I've written' but I had a lot of fun writing this, and I hope you guys enjoyed reading!

Please let me know what you thought of this alternative first meeting :)

[axther]

🗨️ CountryOfWonderland said: Hello! My name is Karen. Yes I know it's ruined by Reddit. I am mindfully straight but also ace. I am known as the mom of the group by many. Supportive, wise in giving advice, yet I can't use those words to help myself. :'). I put others before me. Very empathetic, yet I'm not very easily angered. I am currently in college for the arts. I like correct anatomy, good concepts, ideas, and people in general. Mostly for what makes each person different, what makes them work. Even the simplistic things about them are what makes them best at what they are. Wordfully creative in poetry, compliments, and even pickup lines. Give me a word, and I'll be able to use it as a theme.  

Yikes I took WAY too damn long w this one, BUT I gotta say the whole thing is long af and really kicked my ass lmao. also tw for suicide mention and uhhh death mention that isn’t suicide? And spoilers for the Overhaul Arc

#1 is…Bakugou! 

AIGHT 

So y'all met at a training camp

Let's put aside the fact that we don't even know if Bakugou would ever want to go to a training camp ever again

But this one is for elite kids. 

The one's that could already be heroes, if given the traction and discipline 

And it's orientation day!! 

So

we all know that while Bakugou's all about physical prowess, he also recognises other people's talents 

Well this time he had trouble with it 

Namely, when he came across you, with a quirk he couldn't pin down. 

He's kinda miffed, ngl 

You keep to yourself, but you're not rude. 

You talk to people that approach you, speaking softly and sometimes writing in a small notepad for a second before talking again. 

Some of the younger kids are stuck to you like glue because you're just so soft.

And Bakugou can't figure out for the life of him what you can do, what you are. 

So as the camp progresses, he keeps you in peripheral. 

He's never pitted against you, and you guys don't have many interactions. 

So all he really knows is that you've made yourself camp mom, and everyone likes you. 

Except him 

Everyone's confused as to how he's just...neutral about you. 

So slowly, but inevitably, the rest of the camp decides to get you two to be in as many situations as possible 

At first, they started out small! 

No one wanted to share the canoe with Bakugou (though it was more for their safety than the Grand Plan™), so you agreed to 

And it's peaceful until one of the more prankish campers decides to flip your canoe, and Bakugou loses his mind on the kid. 

As more of these gentle nudges take place, you and Bakugou become little more than acquaintances.  

It's not going fast enough. 

For anyone. 

So one of the younger campers takes authoritative measures 

And locks y'all in a damn closet 

Neither you nor Bakugou wants to be responsible for property damage 

So you two decide to wait it out until someone comes to get something 

(and hope it doesn't get mistaken for anything else) 

There's a deafening silence 

You and Bakugou are glued to the opposite walls, not really talking

But then he notices that you're flipping through your little notebook, almost...in way that comforting. 

He tilts his head. 

"What're you doing?" 

You jump, and no, he doesn't think it's cute, not at all. 

And you glance to the side.

"I'm using my quirk." 

Bakugou's eyes just about burst out of his skull, because he's spent the whole camp trying to figure it out. 

"What is it?" 

"Fatewriter." You hesitate for a minute, before continuing. "I can see other people's fates." 

Again, Bakugou is floored, but he just stares. 

"If I get someone's name, their real name, I can see how they'll live, how they'll die. When. Where. I've gotten most people, here, but I never got the chance to go over them." 

Bakugou watches as you go back to reading the pages, in awe, before realisation settles over him. 

"But isn't it...scary?" 

"No." You glance up. "Just sad." 

There's silence again. 

"Is there anything...different?" Bakugou didn't think 'special' would really apply in the situation, so he tiptoed around his words 

Why, he wasn't sure 

But for just a moment, it was so intimate. 

There they were 

Halfway across the room from each other. 

Not even touching 

Not even making eye contact.

And somehow, it was as though they were meant to meet their entire lives.

 You nodded, and he realised he had been staring. 

"One of the kids... he's gonna be a villain." 

"What?!" Bakugou barked, rising up. "We need to stop him!" 

"We can't." 

"What the fuck? Why not?" 

"We don't know what we'd lose." You murmur, and there's sorrow in your voice, and if it were any other person, he would've absolutely lost his mind 

But you look up, and now your eyes are filled with something beyond sorrow-something so completely unfathomable that he's struck silent. 

"I once tried to save my family. My father, namely. He was a hero, and I saw that he was going to die. The day he was going to die, I begged him not to go. I was, what? Four?"

 You gave a humourless laugh.

"So when he saw his sobbing four-year-old daughter, he didn't go. That day, there was a villain attack. Thirty-eight people died. Everyone pinned the blame on my father, and he killed himself in shame." You looked back down. 

Bakugou lost all sense of feeling in his body, and he fell to the floor. 

He was closer to you than before, but he didn't even think about it. 

It was like all of his gusto from before had leaked out of his body 

And it was just him and you 

Two people 

Two kids 

Defenceless against the wills of the universe 

Locked in a closet. 

With all the time in the world, and at the same time, none at all. 

He noticed you stopped looking through the notepad 

You were slumped over, and you just looked so defeated. 

And slowly, quietly 

He pulls you in for a hug 

You're still

He's still

And suddenly, it's as though the universe wasn't so scary after all. 

#2 is…Iida! 

You and Tenya were peas in a pod, lemme tell you 

Y'all grew up together 

Your parents were heroes, life was nice, all that good stuff

(But as explained above happens, and…) 

You family has a fall from grace 

Your mother's in hysterics, mourning 

Any other family is trying to keep it all together

And then there's you 

And you're quiet. 

There's no crying, not in public at least. 

Tenya, who was just about as old as you, at the time, notices, but his parents told him not to interfere 

He wants to be there for you, as much as a five-year-old can, but…

You just shut down completely 

Your mother ends up breaking down and is taken to a mental institute 

There's talk about you potentially being arrested for indirectly killing thirty-nine people 

Everyone can't blame your father anymore, so they blame you 

And there you are, virtually alone.

When the Iidas pull through

They know what happened

They see the family name's been sullied

But goddammit, you're a child. 

So you're taken in by the Iidas. 

It's not quite adoption, and you're not their sister 

but you stay with them, and they take care of you. 

They don't ask anything in exchange, and you become a permanent guest at their house 

And so, you full-on grow up with the Iidas. 

You're there when Tenya gets admitted into U.A. 

(and notably, you don't, and the entire family knows why, but you don’t say anything) 

You're there when he goes through USJ, talking it out with him

You're there when Tensei gets hurt 

You're there when Bakugou gets taken 

And then entire time, you've become a pillar for him 

It's almost impossible, for him to imagine a world where you aren't there 

And it's the summer after the first semester of school.

Tenya's parents decide to try and get people to...approve of you

So they send you to a summer camp 

It's for kids with promising quirks, but maybe not the best handle on them or the best background 

So you're gone 

For two weeks 

And Tenya is absolutely fine. 

The first day, he writes you a letter, because he felt it would be more personal 

By the second day, he's gotten all his summer homework done 

By the third, he's written himself a brand new training regimen 

By the fourth...yeah, you get the idea 

He's bored and lonely 

Sure Tensei and his parents are there 

But, like…

His parents are busy, and Tensei can only do so much…

So while Tenya writes you a letter a day, he's slowly beginning to meditate on his friendship with you 

He never considered you as a sister, but more as a really, really, really close friend. 

But you're closer than most friends would be 

Sure, his friend circle at U.A. was great, and he had fun 

But he didn't really realise just how much he was missing until you left 

So two days into the second week, he's laying on his bedroom floor 

He's kinda blank, staring at the ceiling and watching the fan in his room spin 

And he's thinking about you 

You're beautiful, and you smile a lot, and you're matronly, which to anyone else, would've been an insult. Still, you're genuinely like a really young mother. 

A regal, young mother. 

You've helped him more times than he could count

And you do your best to not let people get to you 

You're just about the only person that he's cried in front of, besides his family 

And he has no idea just why you've become something so...present since you've been gone

And as he's thinking about you  and why in a way he hopes isn't creepy, Tensei peeks through the door

"... What'cha doing?" 

"Thinking about Kay." 

Tensei nods, clearly amused and a bit concerned. "Is something...wrong?" 

"No." Tenya shakes his head, keeping his eyes on the ceiling. "Just thinking about her." 

"Looks like someone has a crush," Tensei teases, beginning to roll away when Tenya sits up at a ninety-degree angle 

And the look on his face could only be described as pure panic and realisation

Tensei stares back with wide eyes, blinking owlishly. 

"Oh my god," Tenya mutters before they speak in unison. 

"You have a crush." 

"I have a crush." 

There's silence, before Tenya skyrockets back up and begins going through his drawers furiously, pulling out paper and a pen.

Tensei pulls the door open a bit wider and wheels in, noting the picture of Tenya and you on the ground next to where Tenya was having his one-sixteenth life crisis. 

"What're you doing?" 

"I'm going to tell her in a letter! That's the responsible thing to do!" Tenya's got everything pulled out, but then freezes. 

"I can't tell her." 

Tensei pats Tenya's back, a small smirk on his face. 

"Ahh, young love…" 

(Tenya definitely did not spend the next several days lamenting how to tell you, or even if he should tell you.) 

(And he also definitely didn't pop your back with a bear hug when he saw you, and effectively set off the human bomb named Bakugou) 

#3 is...Mirio! 

Humans are fickle, fickle creatures 

Sometimes, they want you to do something 

Other times, they want the complete opposite. 

And in this case, humans were extremely fickle 

Not that you could blame this human in particular 

It was a several weeks after Sir Nighteye's death 

Though most of society knew you as a killer, Sir Nighteye looked past that 

Since your quirks were so similar

and he recognised that you were a child trying to save her father

So he did his best to help you, albeit discreetly. 

You knew when he was going to die

And he knew when you were going to die

But you never told the other, as part of a pact to not change fixed points in the future. 

It was a strange thing, in the end. 

To some extent, you two considered each other distant siblings

So, when he died, you attended his funeral 

Admittedly, you were the quietest of the lot.

There was no sobbing from you, just regretful sorrow. 

A young, blonde man wasn't hiding his grief, choking his sobs with his hand 

You glance at him, before looking away

After the service, you're the first to leave. 

You knew Nighteye wouldn't want you to linger on him, but to be the best person you can in your grief. 

But the young man catches you on the way out 

"You... you're Kay, right?" 

You hesitate. He continues. 

"I’m...I’m Mirio Togata. I...Sir…he talked about you. A lot. And he said…" 

"He mentioned that I knew when he was going to die?" You finished for him. 

Mirio freezes, then nods. 

"Why didn't you try to stop it?" He mutters, and you can feel worry bubble in your gut. 

"You could have saved him. Why didn't you?" 

You raise an eyebrow. 

You can tell he’s trying not to get angry, but his fists are clenched and his breathing is beginning to get heavy

But you can’t even feel angry

He’s right

You could’ve

But you look down, your back to him

“Nighteye and I had a deal. We wouldn’t tell the other when we die, and deal with it when it happens. He always told me that the future shouldn’t be changed.” You look forward, eyeballing the sky. 

“If I could’ve told him, without any worry of repercussions, I would. But time is not kind to us.” 

And with that, you walked away. 

Mirio can only watch, and the grief replaces his anger. 

Midoriya and All Might come over to him a minute later, pulling his thoughts away from you. 

But later that night, he looks you up. 

He doesn’t mean to be creepy

But when he sees the face of a little girl who was on the cusp of shattering, plastered all over the internet, he can’t help but feel justified pity. 

Of course, she wouldn’t interfere a second time. 

The first was traumatising enough. 

So, he become determined to befriend you

You were close to Nighteye, and while he never said much on his actual relationship with you, Mirio knew that he held you in dear regard. 

There were often times where he would mention something about you, and then Mirio and Midoriya were stuck trying to figure out if ‘Kay’ was his daughter, or what. 

So in the coming days, he found a new purpose. 

Between taking care of Eri and visiting his friends, he began trying to visit you. 

He popped by the Iida house, and knocked on the door. 

He expected to be greeted with a maid or something, with how elaborate the mansion was

But to his surprise, you opened the door. 

Tensei Iida (holy SHIT, goes Mirio’s mind) is behind you, but before Tensei can ask who’s at the door, or Mirio can ask why your eyes are red, you slam it shut with more force than you looked capable of. 

This becomes a recurring thing 

Until one day, Mirio manages to catch the Iidas while you’re out 

They invite him in, and they exchange pleasantries, until you come in from the rain

And you make eye contact with him 

And he makes eye contact with you

And you bolt up the stairs 

He goes running after you as politely as he can, apologising to the Iidas

(and noting Tenya’s mildly disgruntled face) 

And he catches you, just before you can shut the door to your room

And while he doesn’t try to burst in, he does manage to get a question out 

“Why are you avoiding me?” 

There’s a second, and two, and he knows the family’s listening from downstairs

And the door opens

And you look so hollow. 

And for a moment, Mirio wonders just how well you’re taking Nighteye’s death, before you step aside so he can come in. 

There’s silence as he takes in your room, and then turns to you. 

You’re wrapping your arms around yourself

And you’re not looking at him

You both are stock still, but then Mirio speaks again. 

“Did I do something?” 

There’s a noise from you, something between a choking sob and a swallow, before you shake your head. 

“No. It wasn’t...you.”

“Then what was it?” Then, he quickly adds, “I can leave, if I’m making you uncomfortable.”  

“You were right,” You’re whispering, so quietly that he could barely hear it. 

“Huh?” 

“I could’ve saved him. I should’ve saved him,” When you’re talking, it actually sounds like it pains you to speak.

It’s enough that he starts reaching out, but then you start again, and it completely unravels you. 

“He was someone so dear to me...I could’ve told him, hinted it, something. I think about it so much. He could still be here today, and it’s all my fault. And you knew, you called me out on it. I couldn’t handle it. I feel…” 

And you’re sobbing, genuinely sobbing, and it’s heartbreaking, as though the little girl from so long ago had come back to haunt the living. 

“I feel like I can’t say anything. I’m drowning in something, and it’s red, and it’s angry, and it’s choking me, but I can’t say a word! I keep all my emotions bottled up, and the bottle is so, so full! What can I do, when it bursts and all the glass kills me from the inside?” 

You’ve kneeled on the carpet

And Mirio’s kneeling, too, and he’s crying

You two have barely had any conversation besides at the funeral and here

And yet he’s knows that you two are on a different frequency 

Maybe it’s the shared grief of losing someone so dear 

Maybe it’s how you held yourself, like you were scared of finally letting go of your restraint 

Or maybe it was just how you cried together, arms on each other’s shoulders, free to just let go 

Mirio isn’t sure 

But when he looks up and sees the tears hanging off your eyelashes, he makes a promise to himself 

And in a way, Sir Nighteye, too

I’ll be there for you. Always. 

[vicunaburger]

Admittedly, I’m Hard to See

Fandom: Beetlejuice the Musical Chapters: 4/? Pairing: Beetlejuice x OC (Holidae) The Players: Beetlejuice, Lydia Deetz, Holidae Bell Word Count: 1,550 Warnings: M for Language

Notes: Beej is a dramatic little bastard. HE WENT TO JULLIARD, GUYS. He is drama baby.

In Which Introductions are Made

The human female and the ghostly male sat in a long, uncomfortable silence; neither one of them willing to make the first delicate move. A few times, Holidae took a deep breath in preparation for speaking, but instead kept her mouth shut. Nervously, she started to chew on her lower lip, aggravating the skin that had already bruised from the last time she gave in to the habit.

Beetlejuice eventually eased himself into sitting cross legged on the hardwood floor, his knees pressing against her legs with the lightest pressure. It was a two-fold maneuver: one, to get himself comfortable, and two, to keep her pinned between the bed and his body. There was a good chance she would try to bolt out of reach once she gathered her wits. He didn’t want playtime to end too early.

He watched as her eyes darted from the door to the card still held in her hand, the paper crinkling in her iron grip. Slowly, he reached out and took the card away, setting it on the floor next to them. Each motion was calculated; like an animal wrangler on those nature shows Lydia liked to watch late at night.

“Now, I’m going to take your lack of a proper greeting- stop that” Beetlejuice darted his hand out and pulled her lip from in between her teeth. “Gonna ruin that mouth- your lack of a greeting that you can in fact see me, but you are speechless with awe of my good looks. I know. I get it. It’s a lot to take in at once, but please take your time. Let your eyes wander… start undressing me…”

Holidae touched her lips briefly, pulling away to find her fingertips dotted with blood, “Habit.”

“It speaks!” Beetlejuice clapped his hands excitedly, “And you can see me. This is the best day ever. Wanna know why?”

“…because that fall actually killed me and hell is surprisingly familiar?” she replied, subtly attempting to move away, but only succeeding in rubbing her legs against his.

“Ha, cute. Precious, but no. You are very much alive,” a hand reached out and grabbed her shoulder, keeping her immobile. “You and I are friends now. Not bestest best friends; that’s Lyds. She’s special. You are not as special as Lydia, but I wanna be pals. Compadres. Friends with benefits?”

She blinked down at the clawed hand, swallowing heavily, “Lydia’s your friend?”

“Bestest best,” he corrected, enjoying the feel of her sweater beneath his fingers. “I get why she could wanna keep me all to herself, though. But I figured; share the wealth since we’re roomies now. There’s plenty of me to go around, Holly’n’Ivy.”

Holidae started to calculate her chances of making a mad dash for the bedroom door. He had the advantage over her in a few ways, but maybe she could gain a few feet before being caught. If nothing else, the attempt would make her feel not-as-helpless as she did currently.

Beetlejuice could almost hear the gears turning in her brain, figuring she would be going to go on the offensive any moment. With a soft puff of smoke, he vanished, reappearing behind her with his hands under her arms to help her stand up.

Unable to do much but comply, she let herself be placed upright like a marionette. Beetlejuice was none too subtle about holding his thick fingers tight against the sides of her chest, getting a good feel of her breasts hidden beneath her sweater.

“Hey,” Holidae spun on her heel, puffing herself up to seem bigger than she was, “Those aren’t for you.”

“Be nice if they were.” He shrugged, adjusting his suspenders under his jacket, “I certainly wouldn’t mind taking care of them for you- oh no you don’t.”

Holidae had bolted for the door, just twisting the knob before a dozen ghostly padlocks barred her escape. She rattled the chains in a childish gesture, looking back over her shoulder at her captor. He was busying himself with getting comfortable in her bed, kicking off his boots, shrugging off his jacket, and leaning back against the headboard.

She turned to face him fully, an incredulous look on her face, “Excuse me, do you mind?”

Beetlejuice patted the spot next to him, “Nope. There’s plenty of room for us, babydoll. What’s the thread count on the sheets? Above five hundred?”

“What do you want?”, Holidae moved to stand at the end of the bed, “My soul? Probably not worth much, but then again I don’t know the current exchange rate. My first born? My organs? I kinda need the organs in general… so not that. Blood too, that’s important to me.”

The ghost chuckled, pulling a cigarette out and offering it to her, “You want one? You seem twitchy.”

“No, thank you.” She shook her head. “Wait. What? Just… why are you on the bed? Aren’t you some… demon? Boogeyman thing? Why aren’t you being more menacing?”

He blew a few smoke rings into the air, gesturing to the whole of her, “I am having way too much fun watching whatever this is, sweetheart.”

Before she continued her ranting, Holidae walked over and moved an empty glass on the bedside table closer to him. He tilted his head slightly, his vivid green hair dulling into a moderate violet. Every move she was making was imprinting itself into his brain; another piece of the puzzle being slotted into place.

“Ashes,” she explained, seeing the puzzled look on his face.

Without a word, he flicked the excess ashes into the cup she provided.

“Thank you, now. I find it most difficult to believe that not only are you friends with Lydia, but that she would neglect to tell me about some guy living in the house with us. Which means you’re lying, because she has no reason to lie to me.” Holidae paced the room, tugging at her hair in frustration.

He held up a hand in protest, “My bestest best friend would totally lie to you. I taught her everything I know.”

“Okay. Fine, let’s say she lied. Now I have to deal with that knowledge.” Holidae stopped pacing, “The point is that… that…”

She trailed off, all her previous bluster deflating quickly. Was there really a point to be made in a situation like this? There was some random… person… making himself at home in her bed - that Lydia may or may not know personally - who seemed to possess some degree of supernatural prowess. Bending down, she picked up the forgotten business card, trying to discern any fine print she may have missed.

Beetlejuice watched her go through at least three stages of grief during that long pause, content to let her puzzle things out for herself. Holidae was so different from the Deetz and Maitland clans. A new breather to mold into something fun to play with for a while. Half the work was already done for him given her little quirks such as the unprompted ashtray, and the fact she hadn’t gone screaming in terror the moment he showed up.

She was hospitable, which meant there was no immediate danger of him being banished for now.

It was going to be fun learning all those buttons to push. Bonus points if he could get hands on those knockers again. Future goal.

“I should talk to Lydia about all this.” Holidae broke the silence, gesturing to the door. “Let me out?”

Beetlejuice shook his head, “It’ll open in the morning. Don’t need you interrupting her sleep.”

“I could yell really loud,” she challenged, taking a deep breath. “LY-”

Holidae found herself screaming face first into her pillow instead of the open air, the ghost having the forethought to translocate her person onto the bed next to him, face down. It was… not a pleasant sensation. Her body felt like it was waking up on pins and needles from being stationary too long.

She turned her head toward him, getting an eyeful of black and white striped waistband connected to suspenders, “If you could never do that again, I would appreciate it.”

Beetlejuice dropped the cigarette into the cup, scooting his body down to get eye level with her, “I’m sure you would, but that means I’d be denying myself the enjoyment.”

Holidae rolled her head back to squish her face into the bed, sighing heavily, “…Six-fifty, I think.”

One of his claws started poking at her in various places, and he snickered when he prodded the squishy flesh of her hips, causing her to roll to the edge of the mattress. “What’s that?”

“The thread count.” She replied, trying to push him off the bed with her feet. “Get… get up! Don’t you have your own bed? If I’m gonna be trapped here for the night, at least let me have my privacy.”

Holidae found herself kicking at the air, her bedmate now standing in the middle of the room, putting his jacket back on. Irritated, she sat up and whipped her pillow in his direction, catching him square in the center of his chest. For a few tense moments, neither of them moved; Holidae thinking she nailed her own coffin shut, and Beetlejuice surprised at the sudden attack.

With a dramatic sigh, Beetlejuice clutched his chest, moaning as though he were in pain, “Oh~! You have wounded my delicate heart. To be rejected by such a creature… forever shamed! I pray you will be cured of these hysterics in the morning. For now, I take my leave.”

He vanished, leaving Holidae thoroughly confused by the entire display.

“What the fuck was that?”

[ducktracy]

155. picador porky (1937)

release date: february 27th, 1937

series: looney tunes

director: tex avery

starring: joe dougherty (porky), mel blanc (drunks), billy bletcher (bull)

while mel blanc provided porky’s shrieks in porky the wrestler, this is often considered his first role in a warner bros cartoon, or at least a role of substantial size. porky has also been considerably slimmer down. other directors such as ub iwerks and bob clampett would follow suit, with frank tashlin being the lone fat porky straggler. this is where i think looney tunes really start to shift in tone and truly become recognizably looney. porky gets refined, mel blanc puts his foot in the door... great things lie ahead! (and an interesting note—i’m using the porky pig 101 rip for quality, but the title card music is actually ripped from porky’s tire trouble. this is the beginning of many, many, MANY reuses... so get ready.) here, porky assumes the role of a toreador, hoping to win the cash prize with ease as his buddies promise to dress up as a bull and provide an even fight. however, when his buddies get into the bottle, porky finds himself fighting a REAL bull instead, and a cash prize seems none too likely.

the cartoon opens with an expositional foreword:

slumbering peacefully ‘neath the warm caresses of the noonday sun, lies the sleepy little village of la rosita. it presents a scene of serene quietude and beauty as its inhabitants enjoy their mid-day siesta preceding the annual bull-fight. the solitude is broken only by the occasional strains of a soft guitar.

tex does a wonderful job of painting the perfect setting that almost anyone can imagine (even if he does spell preceding as preceeding). and so, of course, it’s only right that the scene after the foreword completely defies every word. gunshots, shouting, people running amuck, a flurry of activity. this setup would be borrowed at the beginning of bob clampett’s naughty neighbors (which, funnily enough, also has the porky’s tire trouble music tacked onto it).

however, tex was right on the soft strains of the guitar: a mariachi band gets together to play “la cucaracha”. a variety of visual gags accompany the music, whether it be men head-butting each other, a man drying himself off with a towel, or a kid poking his head out of a pot carried by his mother, interjecting “swing it, mama, swing it!”, a man shaking a cocktail, you name it. there’s animation reused from a friz cartoon of a girl dancing with a cloth—i believe it may be from billboard frolics.

enter porky and his two mysteriously unnamed buddies, both sliding into view from opposite sides as they all approach the gate to the town. porky and co are nonplussed by the fervent celebration—we get a rolling pan of the action. gunshots, dancing, confetti, the works. a poster tacked up to a tree captures the audience’s attention:

TO-DAY

BULL FIGHT

1000 PESOS

TO THE

WINNER!

the camera then trucks out to reveal porky and his entourage staring at the poster. i was listening to mark kausler’s commentary on porky’s romance (which is coming up very soon, hooray! next porky cartoon!) and he mentioned how the camerawork could be a bit jittery and choppy on zoom outs such as these. the same applies here, the zoom out is a little jittery, but it’s a niche complaint. something i never would have thought to notice! porky signals for his buddies to bend down low, and he whispers an inaudible plan in their attentive ears.

fade out and in to a costume shop, where porky and co hurry inside. a few seconds later and out marches porky in a matador costume, a makeshift bull outfit marching behind, tail pompously raised in the air. topping the gag off, as if it wasn’t obvious, mel blanc provides his first coherent line of dialogue in a warner bros cartoon as the two buddies unmask themselves, reassuring the audience “it’s us!”

elsewhere, the stadium packs full to bursting with eager spectators, waiting to see the bullfight in action. some of the animation of the spectators streaming into the stadium would be reused as an overlay in porky & daffy. elsewhere, porky and his “bull” tiptoe into the back entrance, where they encounter the actual bull for the fight, pent up in a cage that reads “1st event”. the real bull mistakes the fake bull for a female, hearts pouring out as billy bletcher provides an “mmmmm-mmmm!” from the bull.

porky wheels the bull cage out of the way, fetching an empty cage for his buddies to hide out in until the fight. porky tends to his business, leaving his buddies alone, when a pesky bee flies into the cage. clever visuals of the guy in the bottom half trying to smack the bee, his hand clearly sticking out of the tail. the bee lands on the bull’s “butt”, to which the hand promptly smacks. though he hit himself in the process, the guy has successfully taken care of the bee, flicking it offscreen.

meanwhile, a bottle of alcohol catches the attention of the front half. carl stalling debuts his favorite drunken motif of “how dry i am” as the bull head opens up, buddy #1 taking a hearty gulp of the liquor. mel blanc works his magic as #1 wheezes and coughs, sputtering “hey, this is fine stuff!” buddy #2 pokes his head out of the butt and helps himself. wonderful animation as the alcohol settles in, #2 spinning and contorting the bull costume from the impact. he gives his seal of approval by slurring incomprehensibly.

the next scene has some wonderful animation paired with mel blanc’s hiccups. drunk #2 begins to hiccup, sinking back into the bull costume. what starts as a string of hiccups morphs into an uncontrollably frenzy, the bull’s back half rocketing up and down and flailing all over the place as the hiccups render drunk #2 (and #1) useless. eventually, the force of the hiccups is so strong that #2 lodges the entire bull outfit out of the cage, the cage now empty.

in the arena, a trumpeter blares out the beginning fanfare, and a number of miscellaneous doors—wooden, steel, even a safe—slide out of view, one by one, revealing the bullfighter’s entrance. this gag, paired with the same music, would be reused in porky in wackyland and later the remake, dough for the do-do. the gag would be reused to a similar degree in another one of tex’s shorts, northwest hounded police over at MGM. while the gag is funny as it is, even more amusing is that the doors open to reveal absolutely nothing. a beat, and then tiny little porky jumps out of a hidden door to the (our) right of the grand entrance, posing triumphantly. porky shakes his hands in the glory, eating up the applause.

back behind the scenes, a guard notices the bull is missing. he wheels away the cage, and spots the ACTUAL bull, wheeling the real bull back in its rightful place. another door gag as an assistant opens a heavyset door, pulling a string that reveals the door to be a curtain. the bull is riled up, snorting wildly. without any further hesitation, it zooms straight into the arena, spinning porky around in a whirlwind in the process.

porky, believing the bull is still his scamming buddies, whistles in awe and speaks out of the side of his mouth, “take it easy, boys! that was a little close!” with that, virgil ross animates a scene of porky doing magic tricks (i had thought this was bob clampett animation, seeing as he had such an affinity with magic, but the movements, shiny eyelids, and dimensional snout give it away as virgil), the bull running straight into porky‘s telltale cape. the animation is as wondrous as the magic trick to the spectators. porky turns the cloth inside and out—no bull. eventually, he shakes the cloth, and his bull plops out onto the ground. porky strikes a jubilant pose, with an angry bull glaring him down.

suddenly, porky whistles. “hey, caddy!” a man appears with a golf club bag full of toilet plungers. you know, the essentials. porky begins to attach the toilet plungers on the bull, one by one. the bull, enraged, shakes all of the plungers off except for one, that sticks to his butt. determined to get it off, the bull fights with himself, and in the midst of the struggle, the plunger gets stuck on his nose. he struggles to pull it off, but manages to do so, drastically elongating his snout in the process and giving a hilarious, squeaky whimper. the payoff is amusing with the visual, but this is definitely an instance where tex’s gags seemed to be randomly placed in with no merit. why was porky sticking the plungers on the bull in the first place? nevertheless, the bull, now more furious than ever, prepares to attack.

chuck jones is responsible for animating this GLORIOUS next scene. it’s one of my favorite scenes he’s ever animated. of the three specialties, two of them are included—closeups and drunks. dogs is his third, but i guess you could count these guys as dogs. regardless, porky’s hammered buddies suddenly burst into the arena, the bull costume ripped in half (and the owners of each half are switched). drunk #2 accompanies the vocal talents of drunk #1 singing la cucaracha. mel blanc’s vocals are absolutely HYSTERICAL. the hiccups, the slurring, the random YIPPEE! even better is watching drunk #1 get up in drunk #2’s face, completely expressionless (except for a drunken smile), the cow head occasionally concealing his head as it falls down and he props it back up. chuck’s movements are smooth, rubbery, and utterly hilarious. this is a great scene and the first time mel blanc truly shines for all to see.

elsewhere, porky’s still waving his little flag around, but pauses to admire the drunken music. suddenly, a revelation. he recognizes his drunks. he stares at the drunks, and then at the bull, prying open the furious bull’s mouth. sure enough, no pals of his are lodged down the bull’s throat. they’re over yonder singing a hammered rendition of la cucaracha.

mel provides porky’s “WOO!” of terror as he scrambles away. nice bit of a 4th wall break that unfortunately doesn’t realize maximum speed potential as porky runs across the borders of the screen, running up the sides and upside down, the bull hot on his tail. meanwhile, the time keeper (as his plaque labels in his stand) blows on a party streamer, a hammer popping out of the end and slamming on a bell.

porky and the bull freeze in their tracks, porky petrified with terror, so much so that two assistants have to physically pick him up from the ground and carry him off. the bull snaps in frustration and gives porky a promising glare of vengeance.

transition to a non-petrified porky gargling with some liquid and spitting it into a funnel with the guidance of his assistants. the bull goes through the same routine, and when the assistant points to the funnel, the bull grabs it and talks into it instead. “hello, mama! hello, papa! it’s great, fine. wish you were here!” even better is the bull’s contented smile at the end of the “call”. a genius gag that is enhanced by the deep vocals of billy bletcher.

the time keeper blows on his party streamer/hammer, and the hammer stops to whack the keeper in the head instead of the bell, a loud bell chime reverberating regardless. the chase resumes. bob clampett animates the next scene of porky sliding into the safe zone—i love porky’s giant satisfied, ecstatic grins as the bull waits patiently outside, humming (a scene clampett would incorporate in his own porky’s last stand, a mega-favorite of mine). in tex avery fashion, the bull defies all logic by lifting the painted lines off of the ground and towering over a terrified porky, who zooms out of sight.

porky’s drunken buddies notice the plight, and are at least sober enough to take action. #1 whispers in #2’s ear, and we see the fully formed bull (really a cow) costume hide behind a wooden barrier. an arm reaches out and grabs a baseball bat and a plank, calling “moooohoooooo!” (instead of “yoohoo!”) in a seductive catcall. the bull takes the bait, lumbering over to the barrier, where the drunks await with their weapons. even better than the typography zooming out of the scene as the fight ensues is mel blanc YELLING the onomatopoeia out loud, batman style. “bang! bam! bop! wham!” the action freezes. then more violence. finally, a victorious rendition of “the lady in red” as the costumed bull marches proudly out of the barrier, unscathed.

the disguise approaches porky, the head giving a befuddled porky a wink. then, the “bull” flops over on its back, tail straight up, a white flag of surrender waving triumphantly in the wind as porky is showered with applause, beaming and raising his sword.

just as porky’s about to collect his earnings, the REAL bull shakes himself to his senses. porky grabs the money bag from the judges, bowing as he twirls his hat victoriously in the air. the fake bull suddenly panics, zooming off screen. porky turns around to see a very angry, real, slightly bruised bull snorting heavily at him. porky shrugs it off, celebrating some more, until he realizes that That’s The Real Deal. mel blanc provides porky’s panicked HOOHOO!s as porky zooms out of the arena. a clever pause, and porky zips back to the bull, offering his money bag, and rocketing out of sight once more. iris out as the bull grumbles “well, imagine that!”—another catchphrase used from a previous tex cartoon, porky the rain-maker.

as i said before, this is the cartoon that really starts that looney feel to me. half of it is mel blanc’s prominence, the other half being porky’s slight redesign—he’d be even skinnier in tex’s next porky, porky’s duck hunt. this is a great cartoon for its time. tex’s gags are amusing—that setup with the whole “sleepy village which is actually a village in chaos” is just sublime. some gags made more sense than others. while the joke was supposed to be the visual of the bull’s elongated snout, porky covering the bull in toilet plungers felt too incongruous and didn’t really fit in. funny, but kinda just floating there. porky’s duck hunt suffers the same fate with the gag of daffy swallowing an electric eel—very funny, but has nothing to do with any of the adjacent scenes. regardless, you need to see this one. mel’s drunken rendition of la cucaracha is certainly the highlight, but there are a lot of fun gags elsewhere. very high energy, very fun, very feel good. give it a go!

link!

[blk-chauvinist]

Why Women Aren’t Funny

BY CHRISTOPHER HITCHENS

JANUARY 1, 2007

Be your gender what it may, you will certainly have heard the following from a female friend who is enumerating the charms of a new (male) squeeze: “He’s really quite cute, and he’s kind to my friends, and he knows all kinds of stuff, and he’s so funny . . . “ (If you yourself are a guy, and you know the man in question, you will often have said to yourself, “Funny? He wouldn’t know a joke if it came served on a bed of lettuce with sauce béarnaise.”) However, there is something that you absolutely never hear from a male friend who is hymning his latest (female) love interest: “She’s a real honey, has a life of her own . . . [interlude for attributes that are none of your business] . . . and, man, does she ever make ‘em laugh.”

Now, why is this? Why is it the case?, I mean. Why are women, who have the whole male world at their mercy, not funny? Please do not pretend not to know what I am talking about.

All right—try it the other way (as the bishop said to the barmaid). Why are men, taken on average and as a whole, funnier than women? Well, for one thing, they had damn well better be. The chief task in life that a man has to perform is that of impressing the opposite sex, and Mother Nature (as we laughingly call her) is not so kind to men. In fact, she equips many fellows with very little armament for the struggle. An average man has just one, outside chance: he had better be able to make the lady laugh. Making them laugh has been one of the crucial preoccupations of my life. If you can stimulate her to laughter—I am talking about that real, out-loud, head-back, mouth-open-to-expose-the-full-horseshoe-of-lovely-teeth, involuntary, full, and deep-throated mirth; the kind that is accompanied by a shocked surprise and a slight (no, make that a loud) peal of delight—well, then, you have at least caused her to loosen up and to change her expression. I shall not elaborate further.

Women have no corresponding need to appeal to men in this way. They already appeal to men, if you catch my drift. Indeed, we now have all the joy of a scientific study, which illuminates the difference. At the Stanford University School of Medicine (a place, as it happens, where I once underwent an absolutely hilarious procedure with a sigmoidoscope), the grim-faced researchers showed 10 men and 10 women a sample of 70 black-and-white cartoons and got them to rate the gags on a “funniness scale.” To annex for a moment the fall-about language of the report as it was summarized in Biotech Week:

The researchers found that men and women share much of the same humor-response system; both use to a similar degree the part of the brain responsible for semantic knowledge and juxtaposition and the part involved in language processing. But they also found that some brain regions were activated more in women. These included the left prefrontal cortex, suggesting a greater emphasis on language and executive processing in women, and the nucleus accumbens . . . which is part of the mesolimbic reward center.

This has all the charm and address of the learned Professor Scully’s attempt to define a smile, as cited by Richard Usborne in his treatise on P. G. Wodehouse: “the drawing back and slight lifting of the corners of the mouth, which partially uncover the teeth; the curving of the naso-labial furrows . . . “ But have no fear—it gets worse:

“Women appeared to have less expectation of a reward, which in this case was the punch line of the cartoon,” said the report’s author, Dr. Allan Reiss. “So when they got to the joke’s punch line, they were more pleased about it.” The report also found that “women were quicker at identifying material they considered unfunny.”

Slower to get it, more pleased when they do, and swift to locate the unfunny—for this we need the Stanford University School of Medicine? And remember, this is women when confronted with humor. Is it any wonder that they are backward in generating it?

This is not to say that women are humorless, or cannot make great wits and comedians. And if they did not operate on the humor wavelength, there would be scant point in half killing oneself in the attempt to make them writhe and scream (uproariously). Wit, after all, is the unfailing symptom of intelligence. Men will laugh at almost anything, often precisely because it is—or they are—extremely stupid. Women aren’t like that. And the wits and comics among them are formidable beyond compare: Dorothy Parker, Nora Ephron, Fran Lebowitz, Ellen DeGeneres. (Though ask yourself, was Dorothy Parker ever really funny?) Greatly daring—or so I thought—I resolved to call up Ms. Lebowitz and Ms. Ephron to try out my theories. Fran responded: “The cultural values are male; for a woman to say a man is funny is the equivalent of a man saying that a woman is pretty. Also, humor is largely aggressive and pre-emptive, and what’s more male than that?” Ms. Ephron did not disagree. She did, however, in what I thought was a slightly feline way, accuse me of plagiarizing a rant by Jerry Lewis that said much the same thing. (I have only once seen Lewis in action, in The King of Comedy, where it was really Sandra Bernhard who was funny.)

In any case, my argument doesn’t say that there are no decent women comedians. There are more terrible female comedians than there are terrible male comedians, but there are some impressive ladies out there. Most of them, though, when you come to review the situation, are hefty or dykey or Jewish, or some combo of the three. When Roseanne stands up and tells biker jokes and invites people who don’t dig her shtick to suck her dick—know what I am saying? And the Sapphic faction may have its own reasons for wanting what I want—the sweet surrender of female laughter. While Jewish humor, boiling as it is with angst and self-deprecation, is almost masculine by definition.

Substitute the term “self-defecation” (which I actually heard being used inadvertently once) and almost all men will laugh right away, if only to pass the time. Probe a little deeper, though, and you will see what Nietzsche meant when he described a witticism as an epitaph on the death of a feeling. Male humor prefers the laugh to be at someone’s expense, and understands that life is quite possibly a joke to begin with—and often a joke in extremely poor taste. Humor is part of the armor-plate with which to resist what is already farcical enough. (Perhaps not by coincidence, battered as they are by motherfucking nature, men tend to refer to life itself as a bitch.) Whereas women, bless their tender hearts, would prefer that life be fair, and even sweet, rather than the sordid mess it actually is. Jokes about calamitous visits to the doctor or the shrink or the bathroom, or the venting of sexual frustration on furry domestic animals, are a male province. It must have been a man who originated the phrase “funny like a heart attack.” In all the millions of cartoons that feature a patient listening glum-faced to a physician (“There’s no cure. There isn’t even a race for a cure”), do you remember even one where the patient is a woman? I thought as much.

Precisely because humor is a sign of intelligence (and many women believe, or were taught by their mothers, that they become threatening to men if they appear too bright), it could be that in some way men do not want women to be funny. They want them as an audience, not as rivals. And there is a huge, brimming reservoir of male unease, which it would be too easy for women to exploit. (Men can tell jokes about what happened to John Wayne Bobbitt, but they don’t want women doing so.) Men have prostate glands, hysterically enough, and these have a tendency to give out, along with their hearts and, it has to be said, their dicks. This is funny only in male company. For some reason, women do not find their own physical decay and absurdity to be so riotously amusing, which is why we admire Lucille Ball and Helen Fielding, who do see the funny side of it. But this is so rare as to be like Dr. Johnson’s comparison of a woman preaching to a dog walking on its hind legs: the surprise is that it is done at all.

The plain fact is that the physical structure of the human being is a joke in itself: a flat, crude, unanswerable disproof of any nonsense about “intelligent design.” The reproductive and eliminating functions (the closeness of which is the origin of all obscenity) were obviously wired together in hell by some subcommittee that was giggling cruelly as it went about its work. (“Think they’d wear this? Well, they’re gonna have to.”) The resulting confusion is the source of perhaps 50 percent of all humor. Filth. That’s what the customers want, as we occasional stand-up performers all know. Filth, and plenty of it. Filth in lavish, heaping quantities. And there’s another principle that helps exclude the fair sex. “Men obviously like gross stuff,” says Fran Lebowitz. “Why? Because it’s childish.” Keep your eye on that last word. Women’s appetite for talk about that fine product known as Depend is limited. So is their relish for gags about premature ejaculation. (“Premature for whom?” as a friend of mine indignantly demands to know.) But “child” is the key word. For women, reproduction is, if not the only thing, certainly the main thing. Apart from giving them a very different attitude to filth and embarrassment, it also imbues them with the kind of seriousness and solemnity at which men can only goggle. This womanly seriousness was well caught by Rudyard Kipling in his poem “The Female of the Species.” After cleverly noticing that with the male “mirth obscene diverts his anger”—which is true of most work on that great masculine equivalent to childbirth, which is warfare—Kipling insists:

But the Woman that God gave him, every fibre of her frame Proves her launched for one sole issue, armed and engined for the same, And to serve that single issue, lest the generations fail, The female of the species must be deadlier than the male.

The word “issue” there, which we so pathetically misuse, is restored to its proper meaning of childbirth. As Kipling continues:

She who faces Death by torture for each life beneath her breast May not deal in doubt or pity—must not swerve for fact or jest.

Men are overawed, not to say terrified, by the ability of women to produce babies. (Asked by a lady intellectual to summarize the differences between the sexes, another bishop responded, “Madam, I cannot conceive.”) It gives women an unchallengeable authority. And one of the earliest origins of humor that we know about is its role in the mockery of authority. Irony itself has been called “the glory of slaves.” So you could argue that when men get together to be funny and do not expect women to be there, or in on the joke, they are really playing truant and implicitly conceding who is really the boss.

The ancient annual festivities of Saturnalia, where the slaves would play master, were a temporary release from bossdom. A whole tranche of subversive male humor likewise depends on the notion that women are not really the boss, but are mere objects and victims. Kipling saw through this:

So it comes that Man, the coward, when he gathers to confer With his fellow-braves in council, dare not leave a place for her.

In other words, for women the question of funniness is essentially a secondary one. They are innately aware of a higher calling that is no laughing matter. Whereas with a man you may freely say of him that he is lousy in the sack, or a bad driver, or an inefficient worker, and still wound him less deeply than you would if you accused him of being deficient in the humor department.

If I am correct about this, which I am, then the explanation for the superior funniness of men is much the same as for the inferior funniness of women. Men have to pretend, to themselves as well as to women, that they are not the servants and supplicants. Women, cunning minxes that they are, have to affect not to be the potentates. This is the unspoken compromise. H. L. Mencken described as “the greatest single discovery ever made by man” the realization “that babies have human fathers, and are not put into their mother’s bodies by the gods.” You may well wonder what people were thinking before that realization hit, but we do know of a society in Melanesia where the connection was not made until quite recently. I suppose that the reasoning went: everybody does that thing the entire time, there being little else to do, but not every woman becomes pregnant. Anyway, after a certain stage women came to the conclusion that men were actually necessary, and the old form of matriarchy came to a close. (Mencken speculates that this is why the first kings ascended the throne clutching their batons or scepters as if holding on for grim death.) People in this precarious position do not enjoy being laughed at, and it would not have taken women long to work out that female humor would be the most upsetting of all.

Childbearing and rearing are the double root of all this, as Kipling guessed. As every father knows, the placenta is made up of brain cells, which migrate southward during pregnancy and take the sense of humor along with them. And when the bundle is finally delivered, the funny side is not always immediately back in view. Is there anything so utterly lacking in humor as a mother discussing her new child? She is unboreable on the subject. Even the mothers of other fledglings have to drive their fingernails into their palms and wiggle their toes, just to prevent themselves from fainting dead away at the sheer tedium of it. And as the little ones burgeon and thrive, do you find that their mothers enjoy jests at their expense? I thought not.

Humor, if we are to be serious about it, arises from the ineluctable fact that we are all born into a losing struggle. Those who risk agony and death to bring children into this fiasco simply can’t afford to be too frivolous. (And there just aren’t that many episiotomy jokes, even in the male repertoire.) I am certain that this is also partly why, in all cultures, it is females who are the rank-and-file mainstay of religion, which in turn is the official enemy of all humor. One tiny snuffle that turns into a wheeze, one little cut that goes septic, one pathetically small coffin, and the woman’s universe is left in ashes and ruin. Try being funny about that, if you like. Oscar Wilde was the only person ever to make a decent joke about the death of an infant, and that infant was fictional, and Wilde was (although twice a father) a queer. And because fear is the mother of superstition, and because they are partly ruled in any case by the moon and the tides, women also fall more heavily for dreams, for supposedly significant dates like birthdays and anniversaries, for romantic love, crystals and stones, lockets and relics, and other things that men know are fit mainly for mockery and limericks. Good grief! Is there anything less funny than hearing a woman relate a dream she’s just had? (“And then Quentin was there somehow. And so were you, in a strange sort of way. And it was all so peaceful.” Peaceful?)

For men, it is a tragedy that the two things they prize the most—women and humor—should be so antithetical. But without tragedy there could be no comedy. My beloved said to me, when I told her I was going to have to address this melancholy topic, that I should cheer up because “women get funnier as they get older.” Observation suggests to me that this might indeed be true, but, excuse me, isn’t that rather a long time to have to wait?

From Vanity Fair