#I like to think hussie planned that from the start and got a nice giggle out before realizing we would never let it go

[rabidpomeranians]

An unorthodox approach to troll reproduction

It’s blood.

Its always been blood, and we’ve all been fooled by our own preconceived notions of how reproduction works. We were given a fill in the blank riddle and got it so wrong that the thousands of fanfics that reference it stand now as a monument to our presumptuousness.

It’s the easiest bodily fluid to get a literal bucket full of quickly. It contains DNA that can be recombined with a partners and utilized by the mother grub. It keeps pairs of any sex/gender viable. And it weirdly explains why rainbowdrinkers are a thing...

First debunking the other possibilities:

From a human perspective the answers to troll reproduction that immediately come would be A) Two sexes with matched-set gemetes, B) All genetically male, or C) Hermaphrodites. Which all come with contradictions.

A) If individuals only produce sperm or eggs, than a statistically significant number of all pairs would be non productive. Given trolls have no concern over the viability of same sex quadrants, there must be a different mechanic in use.

B) If all trolls produce only sperm cells than there would be no mechanism for genetic mixing between individuals. In fact there would be no point in pairing/quadrants at all. Their social system would match ants or bees which forgo reproductive activity outside of one to one interactions with their queen.

Since its been stated that the viability of offspring is effected by the strength of a pair, we know that pairing is a crucial element. Also if trolls are all genetically male, than binary gender has little to no reason to exist (unless sex and gender are also conceptually divorced, which is another theory).

C) The hardest one to knock and the most popular for it. I guess I would pose the question why, in a strongly individualist society, would people form pairs to do what they could technically do all on their own? Or at least why would ‘self-pairing’ not be more common. Sure, pairing allows for more variety but if the gametes paired randomly, half of the resulting mix would still be self fertilized anyways. 

Ok but what does blood have to do with anything like this?

The fundamental flaw that lies over all three answers and probably several more is that we’ve applied human physiology to an alien species. Yes they look similar but their quadrants and mother grubs are vastly different from our monogamy and individually assigned reproductive organs.

Blood mixing negates sex pairing issues, allowing any two individuals to produce offspring. It allows for genetic recombination, given it contains plenty of dna and possibly beneficial hormones produced from the emotional virility of a pair. Lastly, it necessitates pairing. Mixed and unmixed blood have some kind of fundamental difference, which disallows an individual from self-pairing.

I’d chalk it up to something with the immune system. It’s like how in humans certain blood types mixing causes an immune response. Which inside of a body is horrible because it bursts the blood cells, but in an external mix, bursting cells leave exposed dna, allowing for easier recombination. The ‘dominant’ blood type (immunologically, not caste related) dismantles and assimilates the ‘recessive’ producing a viable ‘genetic slurry’ to be hauled off to the mother grub.

And there is plenty of room for the social taboo behavior exhibited by trolls throughout the comic. Trolls live on a hell planet where everything, and everyone, everywhere is looking for an opportunity to kill them, all the time. Thus advertising that you’ve recently lost a half gallon of blood and are vulnerable because of it, would be really stupid. It makes sense then, to keep talk down and hide away any evidence. This evolves pretty seamlessly into a close enough match to the typical cagey/secretive behavior humans tend to show around their own reproductive activities. Hence why we perceive a parallel even though the reasoning is different.

tldr: We all assume that trolls connect sex with reproduction because that’s what we do, but they’re aliens, they do weird alien things. If their biology worked exactly like ours, they wouldn’t have a big weird moth laying eggs for them. Also you’re welcome.

#homestuck #troll biology #theory #I like to think hussie planned that from the start and got a nice giggle out before realizing we would never let it go #i know the reality is that it was just a shock thing that gained more momentum than expected #but the image of them suffering our presumptive stupidity as much as we've suffered all the weird shit that's come of this feels cathartic

[potatosoldier]

Are you still there?

/ Part 3 /

Later in the chapter, the medic names are made up from the fact that what names were common!

The following morning was interesting indeed. Lewis had been very productive and gotten me PT gear and my WAC dress greens, which included a hobby jacket, “garrison” cap and a pretty skirt. I was extremely grateful, until he gave me my OD’s, which of course were made for men. The issue of being unhappy didn’t come to place until he saw me in them. And he laughed so loud it startled the men who wear near our barrack. 

“Oh my, my, you look like you’re gonna spread your wings and take off like a flying squirrel”, he snorts coming over to me and playfully flaps the sides of my jacket. I look at him very unimpressed, and then quickly slap his hands away. But then sigh. “I should’ve kept the skirt”, I giggle. But all in all it isn’t so bad, I have my medics patch and good pants. They are a little tight on the hips, but nothing unbearable. 

And off we went, him escorting me to my first field exercise with Herbert Sobel. Oh boy. 

------------------

“Nurse Winters, what is the meaning of this, you look more unpresentable then any of these men!” 

The screaming of Sobel starts straight away as I stand with the men from the second platoon. “No excuse, sir”I say knowing he was commenting on my jacket. He looks ready to snarl, once again. “I’ll let you off, since you are only a woman after all, find a belt for tomorrow, or I will have to find an adequate punishment.” I just look ahead my eyes cold, so that’s how it is. “yes, sir.”

I feel like he assigned me with the second platoon just to torture my husband. And me. He was in for a surprise, if there was one thing me and Dick would not waver from, that was our duty. 

-------------------

I quickly started learning that I already had some knowledge to the matters we were going through. Enough for me at least. My main job for now was keep up with the men and when needed, have a plan on how to transport the “wounded” and if that was not possible, how to make a good long term plan for their health and the stamina and safety of the other men. 

I was thinking and whispering with Eugene Roe as two of our men: Joe Toye and “Popeye” Wynn were “wounded”. Joe had a shoulder wound and Popeye had an upper thigh wound. Both we’re now patched up with Popeye having a syrette tied to his jacket. 

“We have to take one man off the line, to help Popeye near the Jeep, and once we drag Joe far enough he can start walking. One of us has to stay here, in case there comes an urgent need for a medic”, I whisper. 

Roe looks at me little uncertain, but nods. “We’re gonna need to call the jeep towards the edge of the woods, but still near enough, we can’t wait too much, since Popeye’s wound is a heavy bleeder”, he backs up with his Louisiana drawl. 

We report our plan, and luckily, we get the knowledge that we just saved more than two men, we the good decision of one of staying near the line. 

“But Winters, Roe, next time call for back up, we need all the good men in the line, when someone needs to be carried, try and get help along with the jeep. Even if it feels obvious, remember clear orders”, Dick says nodding as he looks over our work. 

I feel pride swell up in my chest, not because we did surprisingly well, but because I got good objective critique. Learn, Sonja, learn everything you can. 

--------------------

When the maneuver is over,  everyone looks more or less annoyed. Sobel turned out to be the epitome of good in theory, terrible in practice. My thighs were also on fire, even if I had good physical training, the crouched running in high speed for surprisingly long distances is rough. 

“So, how does it feel now?”, Skip asks as we sit together to eat. I was once again chatting with Skip. It felt good to have people who actually reacted well to my arrival. 

Joe was apprehensive still, but yesterday when we talked, he realized that I was just a proper farm girl from Minnesota. Nothing fancy even I used pretty words, I was just a curious soul. 

I shrug: “I was scared it was going to be worse, with all you told me yesterday. Apart from the reprimands I got for my height and lack of muscle tone, I feel like I got very just treatment”, I smile and take a mouthful of the food on my plate. 

Skip snorts and looks at me like I had gone crazy. “The man screamed at you, because you aren’t able to carry a man thrice your size, but instead you dragged him, come on “, he shakes his head. I shrug once again. 

“I’m here to do a duty, I’m assigned with you because I was deemed fit, and if I want to be fit enough I have to work for it. He cannot let me off”, I explain my side. Sobel had yes screamed at me for dragging Denver Randleman when he was wounded, but Christ I was happy I was even able to move him. I knew I should do better, but for now I just need to work harder. 

Bill shakes his head : “You’re a fucking skirt, ain’t no man carrying Bull from this company either” And continues to shovel down his food. 

Skip grins at me. “you see Nurse Winters, we fight your corner, even if you are green and weak”. I glare at him playfully. I know that’s what most of the men thought, but Skip was not one of them. He really had been there for me today on the field. Him and Penkala. If I did something wrong, they quickly did something to make me correct it. 

But when it comes to others, it had been a tough day. Joe Liebgott was constantly on my neck, I heard the way he spoke about me, I heard the way him and some of his friends said I did not deserve my place here. In all honesty, I couldn’t blame him. I was a woman, it was easy for them to think that I was just some hussy who crawled up the right thigh. I needed to deserve my place here, i needed them to see that I was more then just big doe eyes and pinned up hair. 

“What will you do when we are jump training?”, he asks suddenly. I was not jumping into Normandy, so I was not taken in for the parachute training. I swallow quickly and answer: “I’ll be doing PT or then preparing at the hospital. I cannot believe how big that hospital is, it truly is wonder”

Skip smiles at my happiness. It was easy for me to talk to him like this. One-on-one. I was still too nervous to open my mouth when I was in the middle of all the men. “You really like helping people, huh”,he chuckles. 

I nod and continue eating quietly.

------------------

Couple weeks later, I was a new woman. I knew my routine and I was dedicated to make it perfect. I still had very few friends, but they all seemed to have accepted my presence at least. Skip was still my safety blanket among the men. Me and Richard had made the decision of being very chaste and professional, even in private. Lewis decided it was a good reason to tease us for being the epitome of purity, but we saw it as a fair and responsible thing to do. 

The men did not know about him being my husband either, for the record the army had so many people with the same name, that it was not surprising that they didn’t even suspect it. Although it was harder and harder for me every day to hear one nameless sergeant keep pestering people about my husbands calm and correct ways. 

Today was my day, well it was a field exercise designed for medics. Many simulated casualties so that we could practice our bandaging, improvising and so forth. 

“Come on, I’m wounded plant me just a little one”, George tried pursing his lips as I bandaged his leg, making a improvised splint. I shake my head and bring two of my fingers first onto my lips then plant them on his. 

“There you go”, I say as I finish the bandage. He looks at me in mock horror, “You just put your dirty fingers into my mouth!”, he gasps. I roll my eyes smiling. 

“I put them on your mouth, you’re wounded, you have bigger worries”, I reason and look at him like a mother would look at a misbehaved child. He just mouths words mockingly and pats my head like I was his best dog to torture. 

Then what I see next makes me freeze, some of the medics truly sedating Sobel. Oh Christ no. I stand up and job over to them. “What do you think you are doing?”, I ask sharply at the two medics, Webb and Jackson, who are now trying to pull down Herbert’s pants. 

“Fuck of broad”, they snort and try to keep going. I purse my lips and kneel next to them. “I may be a nurse, but I am a part of this company. You are risking this mans health, which goes against every vow you’ve made. You may think I am just an ignorant woman, who wants to play a soldier, but I’m here to do my job. You might not care about him, but this is not the way to go”, I quietly advice them. 

They look at me raising their eyebrows as if they had to care what I’m saying. Webb then shakes his head and snorts grasping the front of my collar to bring me closer. 

“Oi, hands off the lady Webb!”, comes a raspy voice. Behind us comes Joe Toye with a makeshift sling. Webb doesn’t move at first not thinking Joe could be series. 

But once Joe stands behind us and growls “What did I just say?”, the hand comes off right away. “Nurse Winters had the balls to tell you off. I don’t care the fuck you are doing to that on the floor, but you ain’t disrespecting her”, he says seriously while looking at Webb and Jackson both. 

“Sorry Winters”, they both mumble. I sigh and stand shaking my head. “Just don’t hurt him”, I whisper and go to help with the evacuating. 

Joe stops me before I can go. I smile at him tenderly “Thanks for that Joe, it means a lot.” He shakes his head and one corner of his mouth raises up: “Just fighting for your corner, Bambi” 

I walk to the litters with a smile on my face. The nickname is ridiculous, but hey, I was finally fitting in. 

--------------------

“So no one reported?”, Nixon asks as we sit on our bunks. I shake my head: “Nope, I tried to tell them off Lew I really did”, I sigh and look at my hands. 

He chuckles: “Don’t say that anywhere else, they’ll ask you to identify”. The door opens and Dick steps in. Straight from the latrines. I smile at him in my PT gear. It felt nice, the shorts. I was not really a fan of anything restricting me from the waist down. Oh no Sonja, do not phrase things like that ever again. 

He smiles at me too and then does something surprising, he walks over to me and lays a kiss on my forehead. “You really impressed the men yesterday, I heard what you did”, he whispers. I shrug, it was nothing he wouldn’t have done. 

“Wanna plant one on me just as congrats?”, I ask in a tender whisper. He chuckles and gives me a sound kiss. I grin widely and take a look at my book Seitsemän veljestä. The Seven brothers, a Finnish novel. My brother send it to me one Christmas. Now the spine looked torn, Sobel had had his fun looking at it while throwing our things all over the place. When I saw the state of my books I almost cried. Luckily one of the soldiers from F-company, David was his name, was able to tell me where to get some cheap books. 

“You sicken me you know, ever since she came in you’ve become a freaking dog”, Lewis throws from his bed. Dick once again rolls his eyes and starts to neatly fold his clothing. “She is my wife, Nix. And we have been perfectly professional, you of all people know that”, he grunts taking his boots off. 

Nix chuckles, the sound a strange thing on it’s own. “I hit a nerve”, he sings and happily plops down once again.

And once again thank you @iilovemusic12us ❤️

#lewis nixon #joe toye x reader #joe toye #richard winters x reader #dick winters x reader #dick winters #richard winters #herbert sobel #george luz #skip muck #warren muck #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers #band of brothers oc #band of brothers imagines

[jj-lynn21]

How A Girl Must Live Ch 3

Ch. 3: Opening Up

Ch1: A place for singles , Ch 2: Popular, Ch 4: Dating Ch 5:Family Ch 6 Violence begets Violence Ch 7 Love Birds

Notes: angst, jealousy, bullying, and mean girls. Cheesy fluff. Trauma, southern accent.

taging: @super-pink-a-palouza @luciferreads @glasglowgrin @loomiz @princessloveme123 @hornyhetero @taintedglass @bohemian-brian​ @maryan028 , @scxrsgxrd, lizziejorgie, @waywardtigersandwich​

“I can walk straight without holding on to you, Mr. Goodland.” Samantha stood. “But I suppose a girl needs an escort around here so you may walk with me.”  

He smirked as they walked along the grounds. “You’re a little rule breaker.”  

“Not particularly.” She bit on her lower lip looking around for others as they entered the quiet of the library.  

“Yeah, you are.” He grinned. “I am not sure how you got Mr. Russel, Mr. Jonas, and Mr. Stokes to say you weren’t there the other night, but I know you can open up for me. I will keep my mouth shut about all you do sweetheart. Your one of those promiscuous girls, aren’t you?”

“I have to go.” She turned to head in the direction of whispering voices. She just wanted to be away from this uncomfortable situation quickly.

He stepped in front of her grinning. “You just need some discipline.”  

He raised his open palmed hand. She cringed. As he his hand started its journey to the side of her face. His wrist was grabbed before it got there. 

“Do you remember what I said about raising your hand to any of the lady’s here, Mr. Goodland?” Mr. Russel said calmly. “Miss Samantha, I will get you safely to your class on the other side of the library. I will escort you to lunch after.”

“Thank you, Mr. Russel.” Samantha looped her arm around his. She felt safe with him. He was the only person in the resort she was starting to trust.

“You can’t do shit to me Mr. Russel.” Mr. Goodland yelled as they strolled away. “You can’t always be with that little hussy to protect her either.”

“Mr. Goodland!” A husky voice rang in the silence. “That is no way to talk in the halls of a library. My office now. I will be calling your Father to deal with you.”

“Don’t bother I’ll take the money my Father gave you and my Thunderbird.” He knew disappointing his abrasive Father would get him beat within an inch of his life.  

“Your Father signed a contract.” Mr. Jones escorted the boy out of the library. “This time when you leave you get nothing of the money he put into this place. Now be a good boy, pack your bags and leave this place.”

As Samantha read the latest Nancy Drew Mystery called The Hidden Window, the other girls read less bold independent literature like The Years of Grace, Jean and Johnny, The Luckiest Girl, and The Boy Next Door. She could not help but notice some of them whispering and pointing her way.  

When they giggled loudly the librarian rang a small bell whispering, “Ladies that’s enough.”  

Samantha ignores them choosing to dive into the descriptions of Charlottesville, Virginia mansions and the mystery unraveling inside such places. She was just finishing her book when the library once again rang her little bell.  

“Lunch time, girls.” She reminded them. “Your escorts should be here shortly.”

Mr. Russel was standing right outside of the room. He came in when he heard the librarian. “I’m here to escort Miss. Samantha to lunch, Miss Penny.”

“That’s good of you Mr. Russel.” She smiled. “Good luck.”  

Missy laughed loudly. “I do not think you need luck with here.” The other girls giggled.

Samantha ran out embarrassed not knowing where they could get such an idea. Tears were streaming down her face when a hand on her shoulder startled her. She turned quickly. Her heart beating fast. His green eyes peered down at her with concern. His hand caressed her cheek as his thumb brushed away a tear drop.  

“Do not worry about them, Samantha.” She threw herself around him as more tears flowed. He strokes her hair. “There are a lot of no good son of bitches out there. And I will try to protect you from them. They will all get what’s coming to them.”

Her arms wrapped around his waist she looks at him sniffling. “Promise, Mr. Russel?”

“I promise, sweet Miss Samantha.” They both straightened up as they walked out of the library trying to ignore the stares of the others around them. “I think it is best you have lunch with me if that is agreeable?”

“I would like that.” A smile tugged its way across her lips. “Mr. Goodland had a reservation for us. I do not have to eat with him instead, do I?”

“You do not ever have to worry about him again.” He patted her hand that was grasping a little tightly at his arm.  

Other couples rushed around them to get to lunch. Many whispered and snickered as if Samantha and Mr. Russel were doing something wrong. They did not pay any of them attention.  

When they got into the common dining area Mr. Russel stopped a few steps away from Mrs. Sally and Mr. Jones. “Wait right here while I talk to Mr. Jones a moment before we have lunch.”

Samantha nodded her head in agreement.  

Mr. Russel stepped up to Mr. Jones. “Excuse me Mr. Jones. I escorted Miss Samantha here from the library. She is still a little shaken from the incident with Mr. Goodland. I would like to have her join me for lunch if that is acceptable?”

Mr. Jones looked to Samantha standing straight with her arms relaxed at her side like a nice young lady. As he looked back towards the others, Miss Pamala, Miss Missy, Miss Flora, and some other girls pushed past Miss Samantha roughly as they whispered, “little hussy.”

“That would be fine Mr. Russel.” Mr. Jones smiled. “You can tell Miss Samantha that Mr. Goodland has been kicked out so not to worry her pretty little head about a thing. You may take the table at the bay window with the yellow carnations that was set up for them. A menu was already chosen.”

“Thank you, Mr. Jones.” He nodded politely. “Have a nice lunch, Miss Sally.”

“Thank you, Mr. Russel.” she beamed. When he took a few steps away she turned to her husband. “I don’t think in the five years he has been here he ever took a liking to one of the girls.”

“There is someone for everyone, Miss Sally.” He takes her hand. “It just takes some men a little longer than others to open their heart.”

When Mr. Russel gets back to Miss Samantha her bottom lip is quivering as tears fill the corners of her eyes. “What is wrong sweet girl?” He lifts her chin with his thumb and forefinger. “What could have made those beautiful eyes look so sad?”

“They all think...” She sobbed into his shoulder.

“Let us go sit down.” He cooed as he coaxed her to walk with him. “Tell me what happened when we are away from everyone. It has been a trying day for you. Perhaps you should rest in your room for a while.”  

She shook her head no.  

“What if I stand right outside the door while you rest, Miss Samantha.” He pulled the seat out for her to sit down. Then he pushed it in gently.  

“Maybe that would be a good idea, Mr. Russell.” She sighed deeply.

“What did they say to you sweet girl?” He sat down across from her.

“They all think I am a bad girl.” She murmured.  

The server came to the table with a smile. “For you young Miss. I have a Tab and a wedge salad. For you Mr. Russel we have a club sandwich with fries and a Pepsi.”

In Unison they both said, “Thank you.”

Samantha looked down cheeks turning rosy. Mr. Russel took her hand in his.

“There is no need to look down when you are with me, Miss Samantha.” He was smiling brightly as she looked up.

“You can call me Sam.” She whispered it so only he heard her.  

“You are a good girl, Miss Sam.” His thumb rubbed over her hand. “You have done nothing wrong. It is always wrong for any male to raise his hand in anger to a female. Now that wedge of lettuce does not look very filling. Would you like a wedge of my club and some fries. They gave me way too much.”

Her heart fluttered with his touch. “Thanks, I have been a little hungry with them just feeding the girls rabbit food.” He put some of his lunch on her plate, she picked up a french-fry and took a dainty bite. “Tell me about your adventures with the other soldier boys.”

Willard tensed a little. “I would not call anything we did there an adventure, Miss Sam. No stories from there are really fit to tell a young innocent girl as yourself. Tell me about the book you were readin’. I mean reading. My bad pronunciation still comes out when I’m just chattin’, chatting sometimes.”

“I don’t mind your accent, Mr....”  

Just then one of the servers dropped empty dishes, bowls and glasses. As they shattered on the ground, Willard’s eyes widened. He sat up straight. He started to shake. Mr. Russel heard gun fire instead of dishes. Bombs going off instead of glass shattering.

Miss Samantha tried to get his attention from across the table. She tried to grab his hands.

Willard pulled away. His breathing picked up as he held his head down. Then he looked straight ahead with utter terror on his face.  

“Willard? Mr. Russel?” Samantha bent squatted in front of him taking his trembling hands in hers. “Mr. Russel focus on my voice if you can. You are going to be alright. Its Samantha right in front of you.”

“No, it can’t be her like that.” He sucked in his breath.  

“I’m not sure what you are seeing but I’m right in front of you Mr. Russel and I’m fine.” She assured him. “Take a breath and look at me.”

He blinked a few times as Mr. Jones and Miss Sally came to check on the couple.

“Is everything all right here Mr. Russel?” Mr. Jones asked with concern.  

Mr. Russel looks at him still a little dazed and confused but coming around to his current reality. “Yeah, fine. I just need some air is all. Are you all good, Miss. Samantha?”

“I’m fine Mr. Russel.” She stood and held out her hand. “Let us go to the garden as you planned.”

“Yeah, then you should rest.” He got up slowly. “You have had a trying day. Thanks for your concern Mr. Jones and Miss Sally.”

The owners of the resort went back to their lunches. Everyone had stopped what they were doing and saying as they stared at Mr. Russel and Miss Samantha. Mr. Jones clapped loudly. “Finish your meals everyone. Classes resume shortly.”

Samantha held Willard up as best she could as they walked out into the garden. They sat on a bench along the path. Roses trailed up a trellis behind them.  

“Would you like to tell me what happened in there Willard?” Samantha said softly stroking his arm.

“Don’t worry about it, Sam.” He forced a smile. “Just loud sounds sometimes make me think of less happy times.” He took her hands in his staring into her eyes like he was trying to read her soul. “Do you know what I would really like?”

“What is that, Mr. Russel.” She looked in his gaze spellbound in the moment.  

“I’d like to kiss you.” He whispered into her hear.

She blushed turning away from him.  

“I am not going to until we have a proper date wear I pick you up at your door to meet your parents and bring you flowers and chocolates of every sort. But I just wanted to tell you I want to.”  

“I am not sure what to say about all that, Mr. Russel.” She turned to look back at him. “If I was not already sitting down, I would need to. I think someday I might want you to kiss me.”

“Will you have dinner with me tonight?” He held her hands inside his looking at her eagerly for a yes.  

“I want to say yes, Willard, Mr. Russel, but Mr. Jonas already asked me.” She talked faster as she went on.”I’m not sure we can be exclusive anyway. If you feel we should and I feel we should maybe, maybe we should talk to Mr. Jones and Miss Sally. I don’t think I am anywhere near ready for marriage, but I think, I don’t know; you’re swell.”  

He chuckles. “I think you are swell to, Miss Sam. I’ll talk to Mr. Jones and Miss Sally. Maybe iffen you wanna, we can go on a car ride off the resort property this weekend? Just let Mr. Jonas down easy that he isn’t the one, sweet girl.”  

“I will do my best.” She giggled.  

#willard russel #au #bill skarsgard #fan fiction #romance #1950s #willard and samantha #fantasy #love story #ptsd

[ancientbooshartifacts]

Cool Party the Other Night

Author: Thieving-Gypsy

Year: 2010

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Howard/OFC

It's a few days after Howard's birthday party, and Vince is still courting that girl he met. Well. "Courting" doesn't cover it, really. Howard winces at a particularly loud moan from upstairs, the creak of bedsprings and the rhythmic thud-thud-thud of the headboard against the wall. If that's chipped the paint and they have to redecorate, Vince better not think that's coming out of petty cash. No sir, that's coming directly out of Vince's hairspray budget. Let's see how smug he is then, Howard thinks, feeling quite smug himself at the thought of getting one over on him. It doesn't last. There's a giggle from upstairs, it could be coming from either one of them. Howard slumps against the counter, propping his chin on his hand and wondering which deity he could have offended to make his life like this. If this is karma, karma is wrong. He's fiercely intelligent, devilishly handsome, his talents are many and varied, his sense of humour is witty and whimsical, he helps old ladies across the road and then helps them back again when they hit him with their handbags and snap that they never wanted to cross the road anyway. Howard Moon is a good person (Howard thinks to himself) but where's the payoff? Vince is the one who ends up risking friction burns on his johnson, even after all his crimes against good taste and that shocking ridiculous scene on the roof the night of the party where he took advantage of Howard's good nature to save his own neck. The only thing Howard got was a night spent terrified and crying in the bottom of the airing cupboard hoping Old Gregg would get bored of waiting and go away, but every time he opened the door to check Gregg was there tapping his foot and smiling and staring like a serial killer. I can wait all night, Howard, I'm Old Gregg! he said, as if that explained it all. Naboo kicked him out eventually with the rest of the party stragglers, then gave Howard a disgusted look and called him a batty crease when Howard awkwardly bought him a bunch of flowers the next morning to say thank you. It's a good thing the shop's been so quiet lately. Customers don't need to hear this kind of nonsense when they're innocently looking for a rare Bleedin' Gums Murphy LP, it's just not professional. Or maybe they would like it, but that sort of clientele doesn't belong here anyway. You've got to keep a sense of pride when you're a shopkeeper. Even in a dodgy part of town, even if the last customer you saw buying something was a wide-eyed teenage boy paying for Vince's autograph three days ago, you still need your pride or you might as well be dead. He sort of wishes he was, listening to those dirty noises get louder and faster for what feels like the billionth cycle. And then the bell above the door rings, sounding like a hallelujah. A girl comes into the shop. An angel with black and red hair and skin like smooth pale cream. Howard stands up quickly and adjusts his hat to a rakish charming sort of angle, smoothing down the front of his shirt and giving her his very best smile. She looks sort of frightened then. Well, that's not unusual, she probably saw something unpleasant outside. It's that sort of street. "Good afternoon madam," he starts – then all of a sudden he recognises her from that ghastly spin the bottle game at the party and feels himself turn pale. She had a number eight stuck on her back, and she heard Naboo trick Howard's confession out of him. Could his life get any more tragic and painful? Yes, he discovers, because she recognises him too. "Hey, Howard," she says. He can't tell whether she's smirking or smiling. "Cool party the other night." "Ha ha, yes, it was rather, wasn't it? Ha ha. I hope you tried the quiche, I made it myself."

"Oookay." Surely it's a smile. She's coming closer, anyway, right over to where Howard is, putting the silver jacket she's carrying on the counter between them. What does it mean? Is it some sort of offering? Is this how women offer themselves? He feels the blood rise back in his cheeks, but then she speaks again and ruins it. "Vince gave me that to borrow cos it was cold walking home, can you give it back to him? When he's finished," she adds, glancing at the ceiling. She really is smirking this time, and that strikes him as very odd. Isn't she jealous? Most girls would be jealous and go running out of the shop weeping and talking about nunneries because there's no point any more if Vince has found someone else. Maybe he's in with a shot after all! Howard smooths his moustache with his fingertips, very glad he put on his best taupe rollneck this morning even without a special occasion planned. Surely that's fate. Serendipity. Something. He can see them already, blissfully content in a country cottage, all crawling honeysuckle and chirruping birds, making sweet fulfilling love together every night while the children sleep soundly and dream of happy things and a team of editors go back to college to train for different careers because the world-famous novelist-poet-playwright Howard Moon's words are so perfect, so incredibly gripping, informative and rich with life-changing meaning, that he needs no changes made at all. He realises he's nodding his head like a dog ornament on the back shelf of a car, and makes himself stop. "Of course, madam, of course, I'll see that he gets it post-haste." "Cheers." Eight gives him that smile again and turns round to go. Howard panics and bangs into a shelf in his rush to get out from behind the counter and block her way. "While you're here, might I interest you in the soothing jazz tones of-" "No. I don't think you might." "Well then, what about..." Everything in the shop is shit it's all shit and he hates it here and his life should have been so different and why does nothing ever ever ever go right? "This lovely flying jacket? Vintage World War Two, genuine bullet hole in the collar to add that bit of authenticity and you can barely even see the bloodstains, ha ha ha..." She actually laughs at that, it bubbles up and spills out and she looks like it surprises her but it's a definite laugh. "You're a crack up, Howard, you're hilarious. I didn't bring any money. I might come back another time though and you can show me someone's torn parachute or a charred ejector seat that didn't open properly." Is that a date? That sounds very much like a date. Howard's palms feel sweaty on the sleeve of the jacket and he carefully hangs it back on the hat stand where he found it so he doesn't leave handprints. "I would like that very much indeed, shall we say next Tuesday?" "Seriously, Howard, I've got to go." But why would she be lingering and saying she had to go instead of just going if she didn't find him intriguingly attractive? Today is turning out to be a roaring success after all. "Then please allow me to escort you home," he says, formally on purpose so he doesn't scare her away with his aggressive manliness or sound like the sort of sexual predator who would pester a young woman when she's just trying to run a simple errand. "This is no place for an innocent young lady to be walking on her own when it's getting dark, especially one as, I hope you don't mind me saying, charmingly beautiful as you." Eight looks out the cluttered shop window into the bright afternoon sunlight. After what feels like forever she turns back and almost gives Howard a heart attack. "Yeah. Alright, then."

"...Yes?" he repeats stupidly, and Eight grins like a wicked little pixie. "Yeah. Why not." "Oh. Well. Alright then. Let's go, shall we?" That hussy upstairs is shrieking Vince's name. So is Vince, the vain little tart. Howard doesn't even leave a note. If they ever satisfy themselves and come downstairs for a cup of tea, they're just going to have to worry themselves sick about where Howard's disappeared to in the middle of a working day. He flips the door sign to closed and follows Eight out into the grimy street. He's trying to work out whether he should put a safe guiding gentlemanly hand on the small of her back when she glances up at him sideways and says, "So... you're a virgin, then?" * "Not any more," Howard's gasping half an hour later. Eight looks at him with raised eyebrows. "What?" "Not a virgin any more." "Howard, mate. You're fingering me, you're not having sex." It happened all at once, it seemed, time-lapse flashes like a nature documentary about the sprouting of a seed: one moment they were walking through Dalston, the next he was accepting the offer of a cup of tea, the next she was lying back on the couch with her legs over his and her dress hitched up around her waist, pushing her black cotton knickers aside and holding his hand at the wrist to direct him where to touch. His head is a blur, he feels slightly sick – not because it's not nice, because it is, but because he always thought men were supposed to be the ones desperate for sex on a first date and the women were bashful modest flowers. Eight's got her hand over his, pressing on top of his fingernail and moving in little circles over the wet, warm flesh between her legs. He can't see what he's doing, her pants and their hands are on the way, but that's probably a good thing because he's tenting up the front of his trousers already and he is so not ready for this to be over yet. "Do it like that," she says, a little bit flushed, a little bit breathless. "Right there. Good. A bit faster... good. Oh." Is this what's supposed to happen? Don't things go inside when you're having sex? Is she – oh god – another freakish anomaly like Old Gregg? Actually, it's hard to care any more. So what if she is? She's still pretty, and she's willing to let him touch her when the whole world seems to be against the idea of him having any sort of nice time at all. She's perfect. "Take my pants off," she says. Howard scrabbles to obey as quickly as possible, pulling them down her legs and stretching the leg holes over her boots. It's like a new world underneath, dark curling little hairs and wet pink flesh. It's horrific. She's got to be a freak, there's no way Vince would get so excited about something that's so vile to look at. But it's too late to stop now, the hand around his wrist is directing him lower down and pressing until his first finger slips inside her. He makes a ridiculous unmanly sort of noise in his throat, shame and desire all tangled together,and Eight bends one leg up to rest on top of the cushion behind Howard's head, spreading her monstrosity wider. He takes the initiative and slides another finger in beside the first, so she blinks and looks at him in surprise then flashes a filthy curling little smile and sighs quietly, like a happy moan. "Nice. How big's your dick?" "Excuse me?" Howard splutters, blushing furiously. "Just asking. Because I can take another finger if you want, but if your dick's smaller than three fingers I'll be upset so maybe you shouldn't." "Let me assure you, madam, my-" He can't make himself say it. "-my equipment is perfectly adequate for the job at hand, so to speak."

"Alright then, let's have it." She pushes his hand away suddenly and stands up, leaving the room without looking back like she just expects him to follow her. He gets hit in the face with something as he's going through the bedroom door; it's her dress, she just pulled it off over her head and now she's reaching behind herself to unhook her bra and sitting down to unzip her boots. She gives him that look again when she's on the bed, naked on her back with one knee up and her foot flat on the mattress. She's doing to herself what he was just doing, gently stroking between her legs with her fingertips, biting her painted lower lip and catching her breath in her throat. Howard feels horrendously out of place. Future wife or not, something about this feels very strange and wrong indeed. Her displaying herself like a common tramp and caressing her abnormality like it's a beloved pet while Howard stands there mutely, fully-clothed including a straw hat and holding her crumpled dress. "Let me help you out," she says, still circling gently with her first two fingertips and smirking. "The next step is, you take off your clothes. Time-lapse again. It seems to take a nanosecond, then he's standing there with his hands protecting his modesty. It's a good thing he's got big hands, he thinks proudly, then that terror stabs back in his guts and he freezes like he's on stage. "Come here," Eight says, gradually breaking through with her calm voice and cool instructions. "Move your hands away, let me see you. Come and get on the bed. It's okay to touch me. Shall I show you what you do?" He just nods, moving as directed but still completely unable to think up the right words to say to somebody who's got her hand wrapped around his bits and pieces – his bits and pieces, he thinks crazily, she's touching his balls, why would anybody do that? But it feels good, he can't deny that, it's sending white-hot floods of goosebumps rushing over his skin and even if he's got no words he can still make noises, strange pathetic little whimpers and trembling pleas for things he doesn't know the details of. Eight pushes him back so he's lying against the pillow, pointing up like Excalibur, but she stops stroking him so she can straddle his legs and roll a condom on, and knee-walks a few steps up the mattress, holding him steady there so she can sink down around him. It's hot and tight and completely overwhelming. Howard's vision blurs and he feels like he's going to faint but then Eight grabs his nipple and pinches hard, dragging him back. He stares at her, feeling vaguely abused, but she just smiles sweetly and holds his hands to bring them to her hips. "Now you're having sex." "And... this is normal, is it?" he mumbles, hypnotised by the sight of his thingy disappearing up her when she raises and lowers her body above his. It makes her laugh, shaking her dyed red fringe out of her eyes and tipping her head back like she's reading something interesting on the ceiling. "The man's normally a bit more involved, but yeah, close enough." "I can get involved," Howard says desperately, "I can, let me show you-" His words turn into a choking sort of moan when she moves again. It's so obvious now how it's meant to be, he can do this, it's simple, it's the most natural thing in the world... Eight lets him turn them over so she's the one on her back, and Howard slips almost all the way out of her and drives back in hard. She moans just like Vince's floozy moaned, and like it's some kind of trigger: Howard shivers all over and comes, thrusting frantically into her and whimpering.

It's quiet after. He can't move, he stays there on top of her, stroking his fingers through her hair and feeling a slow lazy smile spread across his face. Nothing matters any more, not the teasing pitying looks at the party, not Vince's complete lack of shame and self-control and regard for other people's feelings, nothing – Howard's got a girlfriend, and life is wonderful. "Um," she says after a while. "Yes, my darling?" Howard murmurs, loving how much he sounds like Clark Gable or one of those other smooth manly charmers from old romance films. "Get off me, yeah?" "Oh. Sorry." He rolls onto his back hastily. It's no wonder she can't bear to be touched after such a mindblowing experience, she's probably feeling vulnerable, she's probably struggling to come to terms with the reality of it. "Is there anything you need, darling, can I do anything for you?" "Yeah, just pull the front door shut behind you on the way out, it should lock on its own." What? "...what?" "And tell your darling mate Vince if he's really sick and sad enough to keep my knickers even when he's shagging other girls then I'll stop hassling him to get them back, and let him know in as much detail as you want that I'm not waiting round for him either." "Oh." It's not so much a flash of realisation as a falling anvil. "This was... revenge?" The imaginary honeysuckle house burns down to rubble before his eyes and Eight just laughs, carefree and oblivious like Vince, like everyone else. Howard slowly starts to get dressed and decides to set up a permanent home in the airing cupboard, where it's safe and dark.

#the mighty boosh #mighty boosh #boosh #howard moon #vince noir #howard moon/OFC

[mateasers]

— Welcome to Wade, Illinois!

Voted “Best Place to Live” in some magazine circa 1974. It hasn’t changed much since, which might explain why it never made the list again. 

There are rows, and rows of homes that all look the same on each street. They all have vinyl siding, and they all have black mailboxes. The lawns are well taken care of, and the blinds are tightly shut. If you keep riding your bike from street, to street, you might begin to think you’re lost. Have I been here before? Did I make a wrong turn? You can’t tell. Everything looks the same. You can’t even pick out which house is yours anymore. It all looks the same. By some miracle you manage to get home just before it begins getting dark. Perfect timing. Your mother is happy about that, and she let’s you know, doting on you as soon as you walk through the door. People haven’t been staying out past dark since Josie went missing. Better safe than sorry.

Whenever you go into the grocery store you are assaulted by the bright, fluorescent lights that line the aisles, and by the girls you went to high school who never made anything of themselves. You two pretend that you don’t know each other’s names, but you shared a homeroom three years in a row. Your father used to work with her father, and so on, and so-forth. She checks you out wordlessly, with minimal if any eye contact, but you know she’s judging you for buying condoms when you’re not in a serious relationship. Either she’ll tell her mother, and the ladies who play bridge on Tuesday at Tanya Redding’s house will deem you some kind of hussy, or she’ll tell her girlfriends, and they’ll whisper other things about you when you pass by them at the mall. “Why buy something you don’t need?” Giggle, giggle. Those types of girls are always giggling. It’s a shallow, and an empty sound. There’s nothing behind it. You don’t stop them because that giggle is the only thing they’ve got. They’re rotting.

You run into your neighbor on your way home. You’re always running into your neighbor. She is simply unavoidable. You wonder if she waits by her window just to know when you step outside your door. She always has some type of plan to tell you, some kind of message to give your parents, some kind of condolence to give… Some kind of comment about the way you look. You wish she wouldn’t concern herself with any of it, especially with you. “That new haircut sure looks nice.” You know she doesn’t mean it. She’s always lying about stupid things like that. You wish she’d save her breath. Sometimes you wish she’d disappear. But don’t speak too soon, now, because you can’t take that back. And you’d hate to see her go the same way as Josie.

Speaking of Josie, the old men at the diner are talking about her again. They think she must have been in some kind of a cult, and they wonder if Red is a part of it, too. You wonder if they should be talking about the man in his own establishment. They certainly shouldn’t be doing it when he’s in earshot. They look down at their plates (meatloaf, it’s the special) with mild concern as to exactly WHAT type of meat they’re ingesting. For some reason, they don’t push their plates away in disgust, as you would expect, they simply keep on eating. You feel your stomach doing somersaults. You just came in for a coffee. You probably won’t eat anything at Red’s Diner ever again. On second thought, the pancakes, and sausage that the waitress is bringing to the next booth over look awfully good. And those rumors PROBABLY aren’t true, anyway.

 There’s a thirty year old man who works at the roller rink on the edge of town, and sells weed to kids behind the dumpster on the side. People talk about him like he’s some kind of legend because he procures the only thing that makes this town at least somewhat bearable for the restless youth. You think that pot is laced with something because they’re all so wild eyed. Their pupils turn to pin pricks, and they can barely form sentences when you try to speak to them. You can’t believe the police department hasn’t cracked down on this guy yet. What are they doing all day, twiddling their thumbs? 

Maybe if they worked a little harder, Josie wouldn’t have gone missing at all, and everyone in town wouldn’t be acting like they’ve got something to hide. Yes, this town is chock-full of people who you pretend you know like the back of your hand, but you’ve never really known them at all. You wonder if you even know your parents– as you sit across from them at the dinner table, and they’re wearing those tight-lipped grins again. You’re having meatloaf tonight, too. They tell you they love you, but it falls flat to the ear. You can’t tell if they were always like this: beautiful, but so two-dimensional, like cardboard cutouts. They don’t feel like real people. But then again, you’ve never left this town, you probably wouldn’t know a “real” person if you met one.

 A familiar feeling comes over you again, and you feel like you have to escape. You jump up from the dinner table, but your parents don’t budge. Your mother is staring straight ahead at your father, though she speaks directly to you without eve looking towards you, “… Won’t you say excuse me?” You practically want to scream, a real horror movie scream, but instead you say excuse me in a calm voice that you’re sure isn’t yours. The people in Wade have good old-fashioned American manners. You run towards the door, and you grab the keys to the used car you got for your sixteenth birthday. It’s raining out, and the station wagon stalls when you try to turn they key. It feels like a horror movie again, but there’s no one chasing you. At least from what you can see. You turn the key once more, and again, until finally the motor starts to hum. You breathe a sigh of relief, and begin backing out of the driveway, and onto the street. You’re certain you know the way to the highway, and you begin driving in that direction.

It’s nearly been two hours since you burst out of the house, and you still haven’t moved an inch. You swear you’re driving, but all you see are the same houses. You pass them, one by one, and than you pass your own. You make a left turn, you make a right turn, but you always end up back on your street. Why can’t you just leave? Chicago is only a couple of hours away, you could make it there by morning if you could just find the highway. After what feels like an eternity of driving, you turn back into your driveway. The light in the neighbors’ living room is on, and you can see something poking through the drapes. You know it’s her. When your eyes meet, she steps back quickly, out of embarrassment, you assume. She’s such a gossip. You know she’ll be talking about why you were out so late.

Your parents are still sitting at the dinner table when you enter the house. It’s nearly two in the morning, and they haven’t touched their plates. Tomorrow you’ll try leave again, but you never do.

                                                              ~

MIDDLE AMERICA is a literate, skeleton roleplay, which chronicles the lives of the all too normal residents of Wade, Illinois, a seemingly sleepy suburban town, practically set back in time, where nothing ever happens… except for when it does. The group will play heavily on the gothic, and science fiction genres—aiming to spook, confuse and thrill all those involved throughout the course of the gameplay. It is for this reason that the roleplay does not have a typical “plot line” as one might expect to see, where all the facts are laid out for writers – rather there will be a series of plot drops, and events as time goes on that will help everyone develop their own theories, and ideas as to what the hell is going on in Wade. The truth will slowly be revealed (or maybe it’s been there all along). 

WHEN WE BEGIN: As Middle America opens up, Wade can be thought of as your typical American small town. There aren’t many chain restaurants, or stores, and you have to drive about a half an hour to get to the nearest mall, or Walmart. Everyone knows their neighbors, and secrets aren’t exactly well kept. The town itself is a troupe, and its filled with characters that are heavily influenced by small-town-y troupes as well, so if you have any basic ideas about what the suburbs are like, you’ve basically got Wade nailed down. The houses are too close together, the people are highly critical of each other, and everyone is deeply invested in the “safety, and sanctity” of their neighborhood. Everyone’s itching to get out of town, and make something of themselves… But they never do. The most exciting news on any given day is typically what’s on the menu at the local diner, or some he-said/she-said story that one of the soccer mom’s has been telling anyone who’ll listen to her. 

Though in recent years, there have been some unsettling developments that have caused something of an outcry from longtime citizens of Wade, such as permits for building large, commercialized plazas, and exclusive housing communities. The average house in Wade is a moderately sized raised ranch, but with the influx of young, wealthy professionals, some “McMansions” of sorts have begun to spring up towards the outskirts of town. This has resulted in general discomfort on the part of older residents who are more set in their ways, and distrustful, and jealous of the upper crust. These newcomers are often blamed for the wide array of weird, creepy, and inexplicable things that have been taking place in Wade for the last year– all of which seem to have culminated in the death of Josie Johnson, a local town treasure, gone too soon.

She used to bake the best cherry pies, and give the warmest welcomes; she would even speak to complete strangers as if they were some of her oldest friends. The gruesome, almost unfathomable details of her death have left the people of Wade wondering whom they can trust, and how well they really know each other after all. It’s still very much the talk of the town, though it’s been a couple months now since her passing.

Before Josie’s death, there had been a few unusual occurrences as well, but those seem mild in comparison; however, in a dull town like this one, things like this are considered incredibly unnerving, and downright shocking. Days before Josie’s death someone drove their luxury car into the pharmacy because they fell asleep at the wheel, but had no memory of the incident when they were questioned, glowing eyes have been seen frequently spotted in the dead of night, and one of the three little Williams girls wandered off into the lake behind the recreation center, and nearly drown though she’d been taking swimming lessons for three months. Weirdest of all, only days before Josie’s death, one of Wade’s police officers was found dead in his car, in his garage in an apparent suicide with a singular hole to the head… a perfectly circular hole. Though ultimately the cause of death was determined to be carbon monoxide poisoning rather than a gunshot wound; his police issued weapon hadn’t been shot within twenty-four hours of his death, and wasn’t even in the car with him.

All undoubtedly STRANGE considering the craziest thing to happen in town prior to this year was a massage parlor on Main Street closed down for offering “happy endings” to its customers under the table in the late nineties. This is not to mention that some of the locals have been acting different, and calls about short disappearances of the same nature as Josie’s are coming in quicker than the police department can manage to investigate them. Everyone is constantly looking over his or her shoulder; everyone is suspicious of one, and other. Any irregular behavior, no matter how small, or how easily explainable could be misinterpreted as dangerous, and anyone may be written off as part of Wade’s “ great, big problem” so to speak. The town is truly on edge, and something has to give before it descends into utter chaos… unless it already has.

What is happening, and why it’s happening in Wade (or if ANYTHING is happening at all) remains to be seen. More answers will be coming throughout the course of game play. Patience, and curiosity is appreciated. 

#mystery rp #skeleton rp #new rp #town rp #oc rp #lsrpg #literate rp #middletalk

[tisfan]

WinterIron Mistletoe

Part One

co-written with @27dragons for @ajanamyth

This section contains jealousy, flirting, some magically induced non-con kissing and accidental nudity.

Part Two

Bucky was counting the minutes until it would be acceptable -- meaning Steve wouldn’t ask stupid questions -- to leave the party.

There were all the basic reasons to not want to be at a Christmas party, even an exclusive event for the Avengers and some of their friends and family (and those persons with whom they needed to remain on good terms, even if no one actually liked them). First off, there was still the dark part of the Winter Soldier that lurked -- most of the programming had been removed, but there were certain… mind-sets that sometimes jumped out at bad moments, that had to be left in, or risk Bucky being downright useless for combat, and he’d always known that there would never be a time when someone wouldn’t want to shove a gun in his hand.

But he mostly had a handle on that.

What he didn’t expect, and therefore did not have a handle on, was Tony coming in on the arm of a stunning, leggy blonde with a dress split up to her hip and showing cleavage all the way down to her fucking navel and staring at Tony as if he’d hung the moon. Not that Bucky could blame the little hussy for that -- Tony was pretty damned amazing -- but he’d never personally wear his heart on his sleeve like that.

Bucky found a nice corner. Keeping his back to the wall settled some of the itch in his brain, and he could watch the entire room from his position. And then he put his don’t bother me face on. It wouldn’t keep away Steve. Or Nat. Or even Clint. But none of the guests would pester him with small talk.

Wine and eggnog and Christmas cake made for a loud, somewhat tipsy group -- for those of them who could get tipsy. Thor’d promised some Asgardian mead for the more alcohol tolerant people on the team, but Thor hadn’t made his appearance yet. Bucky wondered what fashionably late for as Asgardian Prince meant, exactly, because he could damn sure use a drink.

He’d thought -- obviously, he was wrong -- that he and Tony had been having some nice, mutual flirting. Getting to know each other. And that maybe, maybe, the man might be inclined to step out with Bucky, once in a while. See if there was something that could be made from the spark that Bucky, at least, had thought was between them.

But Tony barely glanced in his direction, spending most of his attention on the blonde. Bending close to whisper in her ear and then they were both laughing at some private joke. One of the guests greeted him, and while he turned a smile on them, he barely listened for a moment before taking the blonde’s hand and tugging her along, deeper into the throng.

Bucky made one foray into the crowd, mostly to secure a plate full of food. There was no other pleasure to be had at the evening’s entertainment, since his plans of asking if Tony wanted to dance went out the window with the way the blonde was clinging to him. He made a little, barely there effort to socialize with Steve, and then was determinedly ambushed by Sharon Carter, who insisted he dance with her once, and then made his way back to his corner, bristling like a feral hedgehog.

A mostly-empty champagne flute dangled from Tony’s fingers as he and his date made their way through the room. They stopped by one wall where Bruce was wallflowering nearly as determinedly as Bucky, and Tony introduced them with lot of of waving hands, nearly sloshing his drink out of the glass.

The woman giggled and produced a sprig of mistletoe -- where had she gotten it? She wasn’t carrying a purse -- and held it over Tony’s head. She seemed to be laughingly tipsy, and Bruce smiled indulgently and leaned over to kiss Tony’s cheek. Tony turned his head at the last second to catch the kiss on the corner of his mouth, and all three of them laughed.

Bruce swayed gently on his feet for a moment, then took Tony’s arm on the other side, and accompanied the couple around the room, talking animatedly with Tony -- and sometimes with the blonde, but even when she seemed to be listening, Bruce was staring at Tony with something close to interest -- the whole time.

Oh, come on. How was that even fair? It wasn’t even a real kiss, Bruce should not be acting like Tony just offered him a Nobel prize for science or something. It was even weirder, when Tony dragged both of them out onto the dance floor and bopped along merrily to a pop version of Deck the Halls. Bruce did not dance. And he didn’t drink, either.

Bucky scowled.

“You know, if you keep making that face, it’s going to stick that way,” Nat mentioned. Bucky didn’t bother to ask where she’d come from.

“Good,” he muttered. What the hell did he have to smile about anyway? Tony was whispering in Bruce’s ear, and the woman was all but gloating. And then Tony sent Bruce off somewhere with a goddamn pat on his ass?

“Are you growling?”

(read more under the break or at A03)

“Shut up, solnyshko,” Bucky said.

“It’s probably a science thing,” Nat said, reasonably. “You know how those two are.”

“Bruce was dancing with him,” Bucky pointed out. “He doesn’t even dance with you. That doesn’t bother you?”

Nat made a noncommittal sort of noise. “If you want, I can go fishing. Find out about the--”

“Tart.”

“You are jealous, aren’t you?”

“And you went to spy school t’ figure that out,” Bucky retorted. “Just… figure out who she is.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. Tony sometimes thinks he needs to maintain his reputation.”

“He can maintain it with someone who cares about him, and not his money, his connections, or his--”

“Brains? Heroism? Charisma? Charm? Style? Sense of humor?”

“You want me to throw you out the window?”

Nat swanned away, the tinkling bell of her laughter trailing after her.

Tony smiled broadly when Nat approached and put his arm around her shoulders to introduce her to his... companion. Nat took the woman’s hand in what seemed like genuine pleasure, and soon they were all three talking like old friends. Bucky tried to relax -- Nat was going to ferret out who the woman was, and they’d figure out together what to do from there -- but he couldn’t stop watching.

And there was that damn mistletoe again. Seriously, was she keeping it down her cleavage?

Nat cast a look back across the room at Bucky, and her mouth curved wickedly. Oh, no, hell no-- but yes, because there was nothing Bucky could do to stop it. Nat curled her arms seductively around Tony’s neck and planted one on him that left Bucky breathing hard.

Jesus, he knew Nat could seduce a stone, but did she really have to? And could she stop? Any time now would be good. Great. Bucky would throw a damn party of his own if Nat would get her tongue out of Tony’s mouth sometime before New Year’s.

At least Tony’s date didn’t seem to mind, which meant she wasn’t actually interested in Tony for his person. She was actually bouncing from foot to foot like an excited thirteen-year-old. Nat finally backed off, and Tony’s lip was swollen from kissing her, his lip red from Nat’s lipstick. He looked… well-used and pleased. Bucky was going to be sick if this kept up. The blonde handed the spring of mistletoe over to Tony, linked her arm with Nat, and drew her away, chatting eagerly.

Nat… kept looking back at Tony.

Tony waggled his fingers at her, then turned away, oblivious to the look she was giving him, strolling off into the party. He pulled up where Steve was refilling a plate in between trying to one-up Sam’s seemingly endless supply of Stupid Shit I Have Done stories. Tony said something that made Steve laugh, and then Tony’s hand was on Steve’s elbow. What even the fuck?

Bucky was starting to hope, maybe, it was some sick practical joke that Clint had set up and gotten everyone in on, because--

Jesus Christ, when the hell had Steve learned to kiss someone like that? Because honestly, Tony lolled backward over Steve’s arm like a dame in an old talkie, practically swooning. Sam was staring, his eyes practically popping out of his head.

That was it. Bucky was done. Tony might not be interested in him -- or if he was, it was only as a heart to add to his collection -- but Bucky didn’t need to stay to watch, either. He shoved up from his chair, just as Thor thundered into the room.

Thor held up the horn of some impossible beast, capped at one end with gold, with a tiny wooden stopper at the other end. “Ho, there, friends,” Thor said. “I have brought mead, and choice victuals from my father’s palace. As well as yon creature that I discovered roaming the halls, if any have misplaced their pet.”

The cat tucked under Thor’s arm was dwarfed by Thor’s muscles, but it seemed happy enough to be there, rubbing its head against Thor’s bicep and pawing at him, pay attention to me me meeeeee.

Tony glanced up at Thor’s boisterous entrance and looked rather sour -- unusual, because Tony and Thor generally got along well. Maybe Tony didn’t care for cats? Bucky would have pegged him for a cat person, if anything, but he’d been wrong before.

About a great many things, apparently.

Mead. Bucky really, really needed a drink. He snagged a cup on his way by the food table, not even looking at Tony, because Steve’s hand was still lingering on Tony’s hip, and Bucky was trying damn hard not to notice, because if he noticed, then he might feel obligated to do something about it, and-- yeah, not looking, not looking. “Happy Holidays, Thor,” Bucky said. He couldn’t remember what mid-winter holiday Thor actually celebrated, but it seemed every culture, everywhere, had some sort of solstice festival, and Asgards were no exception. “Hit me up?”

“Of course, friend Barnes! I shall be delighted!” Thor was always delighted. And loud. And sometimes annoying. But Bucky was going to let it pass, just this once, because he was afraid if he rained on Thor’s parade, Thor might try to one-up him. Besides, Thor had mead. The honey-sweet liquor glimmered gold in Bucky’s cup and promised sweet oblivion. At least for tonight. Tomorrow, it promised Hel’s own hangover.

“Thor! And Barnes, of course,” Tony said, smiling that smile that was not like Tony’s real smile at all. “Glad you could make it!”

“I did give my word that I would so attend,” Thor said, puzzled. His brilliant grin dimmed a little and he tipped his head to look at Tony curiously. “You seem not quite yourself this evening, my friend. Did you… cut your hair?” He offered Bucky a grin. “That is what I must always ask my fair Jane when she looks different. What do you think? Is it the suit? Or the manner in which he is carrying himself this even’?”

Bucky scowled. The only thing different he’d noticed about Tony was his propensity to fucking swap tonsils with everyone in the room, and that he had his press-smile on. If something bad had happened, Tony would have told someone, wouldn’t he have? “No, I’d say it’s just like Tony… not one-hundred percent a dick.” But getting really damn close tonight.

Tony chuckled. “Maybe it’s just that I’m on my best form tonight,” he said. “Has your lovely Jane told you about our quaint Midgardian custom surrounding mistletoe?” He showed the spring, spinning it idly between his fingers.

Thor looked grave. “She has indeed, and I am told that the tree itself gave great apologies for the harm it did one of my people, thousands of years before. It has become frivolous, as many Midgardian customs are; not the solemn and serious tradition, held in reverence for the mourned dead, that it should.”

Bucky raised his cup. Apparently, Thor was going to decline to add himself to Tony’s roster of necking partners for the evening. “To your people’s loss,” Bucky said, then downed the contents of the cup in a single swallow.

Which might have been a mistake. He barely licked his lips, the honey-sweet taste flooding his mouth and brain and making everything seem… deliciously soft.

“I thank you,” Thor said, clapping Bucky on the back soundly. “I shall carry your respects to my father, whose kin was slain by an evil spell and an arrow of mistletoe.”

Bucky blew his hair out of his face, feeling comfortably numb suddenly.

Tony pouted. “It’s a night for partying, for making merry,” he complained. “What about you, Barnes?” He dandled the mistletoe over his head. “Care to take a dare?”

Thor’s cat was snarling at Tony, fur standing up on its spine, making the little thing look twice its normal size.

“I think I’d rather kiss a cat,” Bucky said, and matching actions to words, he leaned forward, fully expecting the animal to become a ball of pointybits and claw his face off for his audacity.

But it lunged forward, out of Thor’s arms, nearly knocking Bucky into Tony in its sudden enthusiasm. It rubbed its face all over Bucky’s -- mine mine mine -- and draped itself over Bucky’s shoulders with a smug purr.

Tony stumbled back with a glare. “Stupid beast,” he growled. “It doesn’t belong here.”

Bucky scratched the cat between its pointy black ears, rubbing the soft fur. “It does now,” he declared. “Come on, baby,” he said to the cat. “Let’s get out of here. We know when we’re not wanted, don’t we?” Bucky shoved his empty cup at Tony, knowing that Tony hated being handed things and doing it anyway, because he was damned angry. Tony took the cup without apparent concern. “Goodnight, Thor.”

Behind him, Tony’s little chippie had finished her conversation with Nat, and was draped all over Thor like a wet dishrag with breasts.

“Asshole,” Bucky muttered to the cat, poking the elevator button with unnecessary force.

The cat purred in what seemed to be agreement. It -- he? -- reached for the bank of elevator buttons, pawing at them impatiently.

“Yeah, we’re going, we’re going,” Bucky told the cat. “I’m on the 88th floor--” He was joking, but the cat actually banged that particular button, which Bucky blinked a few times. “I must be drunker than I thought. Am I slurring? I think I’m slurring.” Maybe Bucky had pushed the button and the cat had just pawed at the light. That made sense. He didn’t remember pushing the button, but Asgardian mead had some strange effects on Midgardians. “Come on, we can sleep it off in my room.”

The cat seemed perfectly content to follow Bucky into his room. He jumped up onto the bed and curled his tail around his toes, watching Bucky with unnerving intensity. He meowed once, and made a strange chirping sound, like he was spying a bird, but those eyes were focused on Bucky.

“Yeah, you said it, cat. Hmmm. You need a better name than cat,” Bucky said. He threw himself onto the bed, knocking the cat over. “Sorry. I dunno. What’s your name, boy? Are you a boy? I don’t even--” He sat up to pick the cat up. Flipping it onto its back, cradled it like a baby, seemed to bother the animal a lot, it squirmed and yowled and pushed at him, although there were no claws in evidence. But Bucky managed to get a good look at its works; male. And not neutered, either. “Huh. Big boy, aren’t ya? Don’t you spray anythin’ in here, okay? Deal? Deal.”

The cat managed to look disgusted, somehow. He squirmed free of Bucky’s arms and resumed his spot on the bed, furiously licking his fur back into place.

Bucky scrubbed at his face with both hands. “Tell ya what, you’re very intelligent-looking, for a cat. I think I’ll call you Sherlock. If that’s okay with you?” He offered the cat his fingers, a little unsteady. Damn that mead was some strong stuff. Bucky felt like he’d been kicked in the head by a small, aggressive donkey.  

The cat bumped its face into his fingers and purred forgiveness and agreement. Sherlock it was, then. Sherlock stood up and stropped its body against Bucky’s side, purring even louder.

“Well, at least someone likes me,” Bucky said. Ug. He was starring in his own personal disaster movie; a rom-com without any rom, and where the com part was only funny to the viewing audience. “What a terrible night. I mean, what the fuck even, was that shit? Seriously, if it turns out that someone was pranking me, I am going to commit murder. I mean that. You don’t know me, but murder’s kinda my thing. I’m really good at it. ‘Bout the only damn thing I am good at. I mean, you didn’t see it, Sherlock, but Tony was… ug. He was kissing everyone.” Well, everyone but Bucky, and by the time he got around to offering, Bucky didn’t want to kiss him anymore, because he knew where that mouth had been. Yuck.

Sherlock growled, as if he, too, was mad at Tony.

“Yeah, you said it,” Bucky said. It was nice to have someone listening to him. “And Nat, too. What the hell was she doing, trying to wind me up? I thought she and Bruce were a thing, and she goes kissing Tony like she’s mining for gold? Was she tryin’ to get me to make a move, or what? What do you think, Sherlock? But… why would she do that? We’re friends. Sort of.”

Sherlock batted at him with a paw, gently. If a cat could look confused, Sherlock managed it.

“Don’t you start,” Bucky said. “Tony… Tony don’t need to know how I feel. He obviously ain’t… interested. Or, maybe he’s too interested. Just… not in me.” He made a scoffing noise. “Ain’t even fair, Sherlock. Probably should have kissed him, when he offered. Like t’ be my only chance at it. Least I coulda had that.”

Sherlock growled and crawled into Bucky’s lap, standing up to rub his face against Bucky’s cheek.

“Yeah, you’re a sweet baby,” Bucky said, rubbing the cat’s head and down his back, tugging lightly on the long curved tail. The cat’s affection was uncomplicated. Bucky swallowed down a lump in his throat. “Good boy. Yeah, you are.” Bucky made kissy noises at the cat, nuzzling against the cat’s nose and dropping kisses along the cat’s head and ears. “I dunno what I’m gonna do with you. Get you a few things? Might have some tinned tuna in my pantry. I’ll give you some if you promise t’ wait til tomorrow to need a litter box. You hungry?”  

Sherlock paused as if considering it, then meowed shortly and jumped down, leading the way to the kitchen and its pantry.

Bucky crawled off the bed, staggered into the kitchen. He found a shallow bowl and poured out some milk, putting that on the floor before searching through his truly epic collection of tinned food. That had been one of those… things. When he’d started coming back to himself, hoarding food was a thing he’d done. “Yeah, don’t tell anyone,” he said to Sherlock, very seriously. “I have some anxiety, an’ everyone worries about it, but… it’s just food, right?” His shelves were well stocked; jarred tomato sauce, pasta of every variety, canned vegetables. Cake mix and bread mix and fifteen kinds of jelly. There was enough food in his pantry to feed even a super soldier for at least a month. “Spam?” He offered the blue can to Sherlock, who turned up a pink nose at it. “Don’t blame you for that… okay, let’s see… ah! Salmon. It’s not quite tuna, but close enough? Fishie fishie?”

Sherlock head-butted the can and purred, his eyes squinting shut as if he were laughing.

“Okay. Salmon it is. But cat food, tomorrow, okay? So don’t get used to it.” He scraped the fish onto a plate and sat it next to the dish of milk. Bucky unbalanced himself a little and ended up sitting on the floor. “Guess I’ll keep you company.” He tipped his head back against the cabinet and sighed. “God, I’m pathetic. Pathetic, do you even know that word, Sherlock? Nursin’ a stupid crush on a guy who doesn’t even look at me? Who spent half the night makin’ out with everyone in the damn room, right in front of me? If that don’t say ‘not interested,’ plain as day, I don’t know what does.”

Sherlock looked up from his meal, another confused tip to his head, then padded over and climbed into Bucky’s lap, purring again. He curled up as if he meant to stay; maybe he wasn’t all that hungry, after all.

Bucky waited a while; there was something just wrong about bothering a sleeping cat. He remembered that from his mom’s cat, who would curl up in the middle of Bucky’s back at night, like his own personal heater, and Bucky would delay getting up to get a drink because he didn’t want to bother the cat.

“A’ight, Sherlock,” Bucky said. “I know you can sleep jus’ about anywhere, but if I doze off on th’ kitchen floor, I’m gonna have an even bigger pile of regret tomorrow. Hop up, would you?” He didn’t actually expect the cat to do so, and was bracing himself to bother the cat and climb to his feet when Sherlock stretched lazily and climbed down.

“Well, that’s nice of you, thanks,” Bucky said. He peeled his shirt off as he walked back into the bedroom, hitting the laundry basket from across the room. “Two points.”

He stepped out of his jeans and hung them over the back of his chair. Absently considered brushing his teeth, but it’s not like there was anyone who was going to be offended by his breath. He’d do it tomorrow. Stripped out of his boxers and turned down the blankets. “You comin’ to bed, Sherlock?”

Sherlock stared at him for a long moment, then seemed to shake all over, almost like a dog, before he hopped up onto the bed. He chose a spot on top of the blankets but curled against Bucky’s side, purring softly with each breath.

Bucky pulled the blankets up over his shoulder, got comfortable on his pillow, and turned off the light. No sense feeling bereft. He hadn’t really lost anything. It’s not like he had Tony. There wasn’t anything to be upset about. He was no worse off today than yesterday.

At least now he had a cat.

#winteriron #holiday fic #stocking stuffers #tony x bucky #loki is a little shit #jealous bucky

[nightmareofcat]

Act of God

Loki stood quietly in the silent room, glancing between Sophie and Todd; wondering what they should do now that their short adventure was over. "Well my dear, if you are quite done giving us both heart attacks and dragging us across busy streets, I think I will take a shower. I can almost feel the slime those HYDRA agents were covered in." With a sneer and curl of his lip, Loki sauntered into the bathroom for a much needed shower.

"So dramatic," Sophie grinned and rolled her eyes.  "If you didn't enjoy that at least a little, then my hair is naturally blonde and I'm running away to marry your father. Go. More towels under the sink."

She laughed as Loki left the room and started a pot of tea on the stove. Then she plopped down, as quickly as her jeans would allow her to, on a seat next to Todd. "Sooooo, " she asked, "You really volunteered to have me be your pain in the ass? You must be incredibly curious because I stopped crying to you at the coffee shop to do something like that."

Todd looked at Sophie with a grin of his own. "Getting second hand updates from a third party was getting old, wanted to see for myself if my advice helped any. I'm happy it did, besides..." He nudged Sophie with an elbow, "I like talking to you. I don't have many real friends, but I consider you one of the special few."

"Friends..." Sophie said softly and smiled. "Thanks. I'm just figuring that kind of relationship out. I think I've figured out a whole lot of kinds of relationships since I lived here last. So what kind of updates have you been getting?"

The kind Natasha thinks are relevant. Todd chuckled and winked. Mostly that you two are quite the pair. His lips turned into a frown. "She told me about the memory incident, I've never seen her that shaken. Almost blew the OP I was on to come make sure you were alright."

"You're so nice to worry. I was taken care of well. You don't ever have to blow something like that just for me. OK? Sometimes it's best not to make waves, especially when that nasty alien is involved. It's common knowledge by now that he can mess with your mind without you even knowing." Sophie sighed and held onto her warm cup.

The walls of the apartment were thin and the bathroom, despite being small, echoed. So the fact Loki could hear the conversation in the living room didn't surprise him; what did surprise him was the topic of conversation. He stilled with his hands still in his sudsy hair and listened. Sophie.... calling him a nasty alien? Yes he could control someone's mind but only with the scepter, doesn't she remember that? His jaw clenched while he continued to listen.

"Well yeah, I hear he can be a major douche but I didn't know he could get in your head like that. Todd wrapped his hands around hers around the cup. If I could, I would totally put a few rounds through his eye socket, see how much he likes his mind scrambled."

"That would be pointless. He's already completely insane. I just can't wait for this whole thing to be over with. Whether we win or lose, it will all be done and I won't have him trying to make himself the center of my life anymore. I'm getting so tired of it, you know? Having to worry about being safe in your head twenty four hours a day...it's exhausting. I thought hiding from you and Hydra was bad. It's nothing compared to someone who can just show up next to you any time he wants." She shook her head to clear her mind a bit and said, Let's talk about something more fun. "He's depressing. Soooo.... what did you think of those lace thigh high boots Loki gave me?"

"Oh those were spectacular!" Todd chirped happily with an almost giddy grin. "I need to get a pair of those... for a friend." He blushed.

Kicking Loki in the genitals then stabbing him in the neck would have been less painful than what he heard come out Sophie's mouth. She... Didn't really love him? Wanted rid of him? Loki  nearly fell to his knees, catching himself on the wall with a loud hang. I knew it, everything Thanos brought forth in her head, it was just her deepest desires. Loki whispered to himself in anguish, tears escaped the corners of his eyes. Now he was crying in the shower, how much more pathetic can he get. First, he believes all the lies she spouted about loving him, wanting to be with him, and now this. Thor couldn't return soon enough, as soon as his brother came back... He wasn't sure what he would do, no matter how much his heart hurt; he would at least keep his promise, one of them should keep telling the truth. He knew he couldn't just shut his feelings off; slowly he would back away, maybe then it wouldn't hurt so much.

"Your friend has a pair. I gave them to her." Sophie laughed. "Maybe I should be as nosey as you are. What's better the romance or the sex?"

Todd coughed to hide his discomfort. "A gentleman never tells, all I will say is there is not much romance. If there is it's one sided. Why are we talking about this? Thought we were talking about shoes?"

By this point, Loki had shut off the water and stepped out of the shower, slowly drying himself so he could listen longer. He was an emotional masochist now it seemed.

"I'm done with shoes." She giggled and play pouted at the man next to her. "Sometimes there just isn't time for romance. You know what I mean? Maybe soon there will be more time for you."

"Heh, doubt it." Todd half smiled. "My friend isnt interested in having a paramour, just the benefits aspect... And the coffee." He shrugged. "If that's all she wants then I'll respect that, until the next conquest comes along then I'll be relegated back to barista boy.... How are you doing this? I never talk about myself, stop it you hussy." Todd playfully swatted her shoulder.

Loki stepped out of the bathroom, spared a glance at the cozy comrades then crossed quickly to the bedroom.

"I'm not a hussy!" Sophie gasped and swatted back with a grin. "And all I did was ask. You're the one that went right along with it."

The man next to her laughed loudly. "Yeah but I NEVER talk about myself; I'm an Agent, I get info not give it."

Bouncing up and down a bit with happiness Sophie giggles again. "So I got Hydra and S.H.I.E.L.D. both over the barrel on the same night? Wheeeeee!"

"Yeah yeah yeah, laugh it up." Todd just grinned.

In the bedroom, Loki lay on the bed, still in his towel. Thoughts ran rampant through is head, none of them pleasant.

Sophie did laugh it up and started to do impressions of customers from her coffee shop for Todd. She pulled a piece of her hair just under her nose and trapped it there, like a mustache, by curling her lip. Now I'm Kenny. "'Gimme a little kiss, baby. While the coffee cools. Just a little kiss. No one's looking. Kiss me."

Loki sprung out of the bed and was standing in the doorway in a flash, his own feelings confusing him greatly. She didn't care about him so why was this making him so mad? "Care to share what that was all about?" He nearly growled, at the situation as well as himself

Sophie turned to the doorway with wide eyes at Loki's tone of voice, her hair drooping limply across her face. "Ummmm.... I'm Kenny and I want decaf coffee and a kiss?"

"Funny, you don't look like a Kenny." He crossed his arms and cocked a hip to the side, the towel barely hanging on to his hips. "You remind me more of a Clint, he wants his coffee black and insane Gods to stay out of his head."

"Nothing is wrong with black coffee and not wanting crazy people in your head." Sophie looked to Loki like he was nuts and her hair slipped back into it's normal place. "We were just having fun."

Toukka came darting out from behind the sofa and started sniffing around Loki's damp feet.

"Fun... is that what it is now? Making fun of insanity is fun, I'll keep that in mind." He leaned down to scoop up his weasel companion. "Come now friend, let's leave them to their 'fun'." With that he turned back around and went back to the bedroom.

Todd looked between Sophie and the spot Loki just occupied. "Is he like that often?"

"He used to be, why do you think I was so confused? But he's been much better lately. I'm going to go see what's up. Umm.. the left door over here is a bedroom. Clean bedding is in the chest at the foot of the bed. Sorry if it's dusty.. I havent been in there." Sophie spoke distractedly as she made her way to her bedroom.

Once she was inside she stared at the fuming god. "Just what are you doing? Can't you manage to be civil to people?"

Loki was laying on his back, ankles crossed and one arm behind his head, the other playing with the bouncing weasel on his chest. "Don't see a reason to, all they do is betray me in some way in the end, no point in making nice when all they will do is leave."

With her hands fisted on her hips, Sophie stared at Loki incrediously. "What is that guy out there going to do to you? Stand you up for prom?"

He shrugged. "You never know; the betrayal of those closest to you are the most painful and hardest to see coming. Just best not to get any closer to people, with the future so uncertain."

Sophie was in complete confusion about what Loki was talking about and she rolled her eyes and sat on the edge of the bed next to his leg. "Did Thor do something?"

The green eyed God snorted. "When hasn't Thor done something?"

"Well, why does he have you all upset now? Can't we count on him or something? He should be back soon, right?"

"He may be a cause of my madness but he is not the reason for my upset." Loki summoned a small ball and rolled it down his torso, Toukka chasing after it happily. "His hastened return would be most welcome; there is much to plan and go over, then I will for once be needed at the front."

Sophie sighed and ran her hand through her hair. "Then what IS the reason for your upset? Am I not allowed to laugh?"

"Just my insanity catching up with me I suppose, don't worry about it." He waved his hand dismissively. "You can laugh as much as you want, don't let my madness creep into your joy."

"You think we were laughing at YOU? We were laughing about customers we have had, not you, you completely beautiful narcissist. You were scaring me." She laughed and slapped playfull at his leg.

His leg flinched away as he frowned. "If you insist. Go have fun with your friend, you know where I'll be." Loki crossed both hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling.

"Are you jealous? Is that what this is? That I was talking to another human being while you were busy? You need to take a deep breath here and calm down about it." Sophie looked at him, insulted by the way he brushed her off.

"I'm not jealous, don't get your knickers in a twist. Any calmer and I would be dead, may almost be preferable." Toukka came scampering back up the bed, ball clenched between his tiny teeth. Loki extracted the sphere then rolled it down his body again.

Sophie picked up the ball and shook it at Loki. "Quit it with the righteous indignation. Lets try this another way. I'm assuimg you heard something you didn't like? What do you think you heard."

"It's nothing, I told you not to worry about it." He plucked the ball from her hand and rolled it, Toukka taking off after it. "Just me getting in my own head again."

"It was something or you wouldn't be brooding." She climbed on the bed to straddle his legs, as much as her jeans would allow and loomed over him with her hair falling all around. "Now, what bothered you? When we were talking about Thanos or when you thought I was asking Todd to kiss me?"

"I said it was nothing, why do you never believe me?" Loki sighed heavily and closed his eyes.

"If you know I never believe you, why do you keep saying it?" she poked at his stomach to get him to look back at her and her fingers were chased by Toukka. "Talk to me, dear. I don't have fancy superpowers like ESP."

His stomach twitched at the sudden poke and subsequent chasing. Finally he opened his eyes and virtually glared. "I said it was nothing."

"And you are lying and seriously pissing me off." She glared back.

"Once again not believing me. Not taking the word of the God of Lies, not surprising at all." His eyes closed again.

"The only times I don't believe you is when you actually are lying, so knock it off! Is this all because you thought I couldn't go for ten minutes without you in the room before I started flirting with someone else? Or are you just flat out jealous of everyone? Either one is ridiculious. You are Loki. And yes, I can use just your name to describe you because that name implies an entire dictonary worth of superlative words, that no one has time to sit and list! SO tell me what is wrong!" She leaned over and shot her words at his face. Her worry about his attitude was making her upset and angry.

Loki unfolded his arms to prop himself up on his elbows. "I am not jealous, especially not of Todd. I actually like the man, he was the one that got you to make up your mind about me, correct? Why would I have a problem with him?" Loki's nostrils flared while his jaw clenched briefly. "I'm well aware my name is a noun as well as a verb and an adjective. Why are you pushing the issue so much? Am I not allowed to have mood swings, or is that reserved for women and mentally unstable madmen? Oh wait, I am a mentally unstable madman. All I do is fuck with the minds of the masses, I'm sure you will be happy to be rid of that once the fighting is over."

Sophie put her hand to her forhead and sat back up with her eyes closed as she realized what he must have overheard. "Your ego is what's insane. THANOS is the madman that I will be glad will be out of our heads once the fighting is over. Thanos, not Loki. You aren't the only non-human in play here."

"Last I recall there are several nonhumans running around." His arched brow and flat look showed how unconvinced he was of the whole matter. "Alright you got me, my ego is so massive that it is making me hear voices. Happy now? I've confessed my father; now will the subject be dropped?"

"As soon as the attitude is dropped the subject will be." She countered and continued much more softly, "Listen, either you believe me right now or you can't have any faith in what happened with us a few hours ago. I can't fathom you not thinking that was beautiful and important. Because I know I'll always feel like it was."

"The attitude cannot be dropped, you should know that by now. It is part of who I am." His sigh came out in a huff when fell back on the bed. "I do not mean this to sound the way it will, but I have to ask." Green eyes locked with hers. "Why must I always believe you right away, but you never give the same courtesy? It is almost like you have no faith in my ability to handle things. Yes, my past reactions may have been a bit over dramatic but forcing me to explain myself does nothing but make me feel as if I'm a child being scolded by his mother."

#notpedeka #act of god #tentative were back #double update? WTF