#This universe and the story is gold and they ruined everything... NOTHING IS GOOD EXCEPT OF HENRY CAVILL AS GERALT AND EVEN HE REALIZED

[spill-the-t]

To everyone who loves the The Witcher series... why?

#My heart is hurt everyday I think about this show #This universe and the story is gold and they ruined everything... NOTHING IS GOOD EXCEPT OF HENRY CAVILL AS GERALT AND EVEN HE REALIZED #The first season was ok and not even that was super duper great #I'm already into raging again #The witcher #the witcher netflix

[cjsinkythoughts]

A History Lesson

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 4741

Warnings: Vulgar language, I think that’s it (it’s mainly fluff like Bucky’s)

Summary: You never were fond of history...but if history gives you a man like that? Maybe you could deal with it.

A/N: Here it is! A little later than I had hoped, but my brother is visiting, it was his birthday this week, work’s been a bit hectic, and I ended up writing a little something for Bucky’s birthday on Wednesday, which I didn’t mean to. I got it done, though! First Date with our dear Cap’n Spangles! I have all the First Date ideas for the other Avengers lined up, but I think I’m gonna put this on hiatus for now. I’m gonna try focusing on my College!AU at the moment. If you guys want, I’ll share my First Date plans, though. If I find time, I’ll write the next one. If you haven’t noticed, I have a fondness for collages, so I might do what I’m doing for my College!AU Project and make collages for the other First Dates before writing them. Anyways, enough with my ramblings. Enjoy the date!

You keep checking the clock, waiting for this lecture to be done. You typically enjoy school, but history isn’t a strong suit for you. You try in history, you really do, but all the information - the dates, people, places - it’s too much. You constantly mix things up, no matter how hard you study. And you don’t really get the hype. Who cares what these dead guys did? It happened, it’s done, and it’s time to move on.

“That’s all for today! Don’t forget your papers are due on Monday! You’re dismissed!”

You let out a groan at the mention of the cursed research paper. You had stayed up for hours the previous nights working on it, but so far you have squat. The essay is on the Second World War (more specifically the differences of life between Americans and Europeans at the time), and you know you should’ve done it when it was given a week ago, but your shitty memory makes it difficult to write a paper without five million textbooks in front of you and you don’t have time to go to the library every night between work, friends, and other projects. So, you haven’t done it yet.

Exhausted, mentally and physically, you collect your things and head out of the lecture hall. You pull out your phone to text your friends, telling them you have to work on a paper tonight and you can’t meet up for dinner like you all usually do on Fridays. Deciding to take a breather before working, you start out to the bench overlooking the Potomac River, which you always sat at to relax and just…be. The scenic walk through DC and the sight of the steady river flowing besides the busy city always calms you. 

You sit there for a few moments, letting the slight breeze chill the skin that’s warmed by the sun, listening to it ruffle the trees. The blush pink blossoms that appear when Spring sings her song and chases away Winter flutter to the newly grown, bright green grass below. You enjoy all the seasons, unable to help but love the unique beauty each brings, and Spring is no exception, despite the allergies and tests she brings.

And speaking of tests…

A soft sigh passes your lips as you get out your laptop. You might as well start writing, or at least researching, that paper. You never were good at relaxing when there’s work to be done.

You’re so engrossed in getting the stupid essay done and over with that you don’t notice the jogger who pauses in his run by the very bench you are slaving away on. “Savin’ this seat for anyone?”

“Huh? Oh, uh, no. Go ahead.” You answer distractedly, not even looking up from your screen as the owner of the deep voice sits besides you.

A few more minutes pass in comfortable silence, before you ruin it with a grumble and delete half the paragraph you just wrote. “That doesn’t make sense.” You change tabs to look over the information on the page you have pulled up again, only to furrow your eyebrows. You’re pretty sure the information is wrong. You may have a shitty memory, but you’re sure that the information given on this page is in contrast to the information given in the book you were reading a couple days ago.

“What’re you workin’ so hard on there, honey?”

You let out a huff, throwing your hands up in the air in defeat. “Some dumb research paper for school! It’s on World War Two, and I can’t remember what’s right and what’s wrong and it’s a stupid topic anyways that my stupid teacher assigned! Who fucking cares about a hundred years ago? And how the hell am I supposed to know this? I wasn’t alive! You know what I…”

The words die on your tongue as you finally glance over at the stranger keeping you company.

Blonde hair that seems gold with the way the sun is hitting the strands, which are damp and in slight disarray due to his exercise. Bright blue eyes reflecting the sky above, hidden beneath long lashes that you’re immediately envious of. Pretty pink lips, matching the cherry blossoms on the trees surrounding you, pulling up into an amused sort of smile. The makings of a beard lining his jaw and littering his cheeks.

Steve Rogers. Captain America. You just ranted about how stupid history is to Captain fucking America. You just ranted about how you have to write a dumb essay on World War Two to Captain fucking America.

Ignoring the way your body heats up, starting in your toes and climbing up your legs, chest, and neck to reach the tips of your ears, a nervous little chuckle is all you can give. You clear your throat, trying to think of how to apologize. “I guess you wouldn’t know what I mean, huh?”

What in the ever loving fuck was that? That was not an apology!

You clear your throat and try again. “I-I mean…sorry. It’s not - I didn’t mean-”

“No, no. It’s fine, sweetheart.” The grin he shoots you makes you glad you aren’t standing up, knowing full well your knees would’ve buckled if you were. You open your mouth to apologize again, but he shakes his head before you can speak. “Really. It’s okay. I get it. I used to be a student too. And you’re right; it was a long time ago and there’s a lot of things that happened. Even I have a hard time keeping track of everything that went down.”

You merely blink at him, nodding slowly. Say something. For the love of God, please just say something. Anything! “Yeah. I can barely remember what I had for breakfast this morning.” Really? You’re sitting besides the one and only Captain America and that’s what you decide to say?

You feel yourself slump your shoulders slightly, trying to shrink down into absolute nothingness. But even that wouldn’t work because he’s got that friend of his that could shrink and he’d find you. It seems that you were destined to be embarrassed in front of one of the most beautiful human beings on the planet. Screw the universe.

Instead of teasing you or embarrassing you further, he chuckles and nods in agreement, his eyes lighting up. “You’re not the only one. My pal Clint has got the absolute worst memory. We tease him all the time for it. How he became an agent with the memory of a goldfish, I’ll never know.” You laugh at that, your muscles relaxing and your anxiety easing up.

“Yeah, well, I’ve gotta get through college before I’m in the clear.”

“Don’t worry about it, honey. I’m sure you’ll be fine. Uh…so, a World War Two paper, huh? Need some help? I’m kind of an expert on the topic.”

Breath hitching as he scoots closer, you swallow thickly and shrug. “I don’t want to bother you. You look like you’re in the middle of a run.” You gesture to the tight ass t-shirt hugging his torso that you’re sure is sizes too small for him and the joggers hanging off his hips.

Following your gesture, he looks down, before shaking his head. “Nah. I’ve already ran a few more miles than I was going to today.”

“Are-are you sure?”

There’s that grin again. You’re not sure you’ll be able to survive him tutoring you if he keeps  giving you that adorable toothy smile. “Honest. I’ve got the rest of the day. We can go to the library if you want. Or we can stay here. Whatever works best for you. I don’t mind either way.”

You blink again, like an idiot, as you process his words. Whatever works best for you. What a gentleman. “Uhh…I was about to head to the library anyways, but I really don’t want to bother you-”

“Trust me, honey. It’d be my pleasure.”

“If you insist.”

“I do.”

You let out a soft laugh and nod at his insistence, starting to pack up your things. “Okay. I’m Y/N, by the way.” You stand up as he does and offer your hand.

“Steve. But I guess you figured that out.” Taking your hand, you expect him to shake it, but he squeezes it softly and brings it to his lips instead.

Clearing your throat, you tease him a bit to hide your bashfulness at his actions. “You’re a real gentleman, aren’t you?”

He shrugs with a slight smirk, gently dropping your hand and letting it go after another squeeze. “My momma raised nothing less.”

“I’m sure she’d be proud.”

His playful eyes go slightly more somber at that, his smirk morphing into a grateful smile. “Thank you.”

Giving no reply, you smile softly and nod your head to the path. He nods back before quickly falling into step besides you, asking you more about your paper as you walk to the library.

* * * * * * * *

Giggling behind your hand to stay quiet, or at least attempt to since you both had already been berated by the librarians for being too loud, your attention is once again diverted to Steve and his stories.

It started out fine; he helped you find reliable books and told you which things were true. But not even half an hour passed before Steve told you a story about the Howling Commandos after something in a book reminded him of it. Your concentration since then has been split between your paper and Steve’s retelling of his past.

“Sorry. I keep distracting you. What’s next?”

You snicker again and shake your head. “No, no. It’s okay. I’m almost done anyways. I’ve actually written down a few things you said, if you don’t mind me using them. My professor can’t exactly argue with Captain America, now can he?”

His lips pull up and his shoulders shake in silent laughter. “I guess not. Of course I don’t mind. You can quote me anytime. See?” He nudges you with his shoulder playfully. “History isn’t so bad.”

“Not when you’re telling it.” You respond earnestly, grinning up at him.

“Eh, Bucky’s always been a better storyteller than me.” He gives a little shrug and rubs the back of his neck.

You shake your head at his modesty. “Well I think you do just fine. You’re the first person to get me interested in history. Hey, can you read this over for me? I just need to finalize this paragraph and do the conclusion.”

When you receive silence as an answer, you look over at the blonde with an eyebrow raised. The ocean eyes scanning over you make you a bit self conscious, so you shift slightly in your seat, making him come back from whatever thoughts overtook his mind. “Sorry. Of course I can, honey. That’s what I’m here for. Let me see.”

He gives you a few pointers on what to add and what to get rid of, before you finally finish, saving your work and closing your laptop with a huff. 

“What a mind workout. I’m sure my brain’s got abs now.”

Heads swivel towards you two as Steve guffaws, a lady a few tables down shushing him. He apologizes, still snickering. “Abs, huh?”

“I mean, not as good as yours but…” You freeze, inwardly facepalming. And you were doing so well.

He gives you a cheeky grin. “I’ve got good abs?”

“Oh don’t give me that!” You hiss out quietly. “You know you have good abs. I’m just stating facts is all.”

Another soft chuckle leaves those pretty lips and he twists in his seat to crack his back before standing to collect the books you both got out. “When’s the paper due again?”

You stand to help him, but you get a case of the butterfingers just as you go to pick the books up, making the pile tumble to the floor. “Ah shit.” Steve smiles gently at you as you huff and give him an exasperated look. “My bad.”

He snickers, bending down to help you despite having his own books to carry, like the gentleman he is. “So? Due date?”

“Monday.” You answer with a sigh, straightening up. You carefully set the books on the table to pile them better. “We should get the grade back by Friday.”

He hums, taking a few more books in those strong arms of his. “Ah, well, you’ll get a good grade. I believe in you.”

You smirk at him as you shift your bag so you could carry books under your arms. “I’m sure I will with your help, Captain.” He scoffs and rolls his eyes at your teasing manner. “Thank you, by the way.”

“Of course. I had a good time.” He sends that stunning smile your way and this time you are standing. Luckily you have a table to lean on casually instead of falling on your face. “Plus, now you’ve got a free weekend.”

“Ugh. I wish.” You shake your head. “This is my final semester before I graduate. There’s loads to do. But this makes it easier.” Heading through the aisles of the library, you catch sight of the time on a clock on the wall and your eyes widen. You’d been there for a little over three hours! “Damn! I’m sorry I took up your Friday, though. I’m sure there’s things you want to do before you have to go back to New York, huh?”

Shrugging his broad shoulders, he runs a hand through his golden locks and drops the books he had in his arms on the desk for returns. “Not really. I’m here for the next couple weeks, actually. Meetings and stuff. Plus, it doesn’t even take me an hour to get here, so I can really come whenever I want.”

“That’s nice.” You follow his lead and set your books down, readjusting your bag on your shoulder. “I wish I could go to New York whenever I want. I’m way too poor for that.”

He chuckles again. You’ll never get tired of the sound of his laughter. “I’m sure you’ll get there one day.”

You shrug half heartedly, not really believing him. You’re barely making it in DC. There’s no way you could make it in the Big Apple. “Sure. Someday. I’m serious, though. I’m sorry you wasted  your time with some stressed out college student instead of enjoying time with your friends.”

“I’m serious too, honey. It’s no problem; I enjoyed it. And it’s not a waste of my time. Not as long as you get a good grade.”

You laugh as the two of you head out of the building, stopping on the steps and facing each other. “How will you know if I get a good grade?”

He purses his lips in thought. “Meet me at the bench next Friday.” He finally said, his eyes sparkling. “Then we’ll see. Until then, Y/N.”

You grin, taking the large hand he offers you, firmly shaking it before he can kiss your knuckles, making him snicker. “Until then, Steve.”

* * * * * * * *

Feet pounding against the concrete, you practically jump when you spot the man already sitting at the bench. “Steve!” You shout happily, waving your paper in the air. The blonde shoots up, a brow raised in curiosity. “I got a 97!”

You come to a halt in front of him, but it’s too quick, so your clumsy feet trip over each other. Before you can fall, he catches you with ease, smiling down at you in amusement. Small pants leave your lips as sweat trickles down your spine. Where’s that breeze when you need it?

“Uhm…oops?” What the hell was that?! That was embarrassing, that’s what it was!

He chuckles, straightening you up. “You were saying?” 

With pride lifting up the corners of your mouth, you shove the paper at his chest, once again grateful that he ignored your blunderings. “97%!”

“I told you you’d be fine. And I knew it wasn’t a waste of my time.” Steve looks up from the paper to give you a toothy grin.

“Thank you again.” You take the paper he hands back to you and shove it in your bag. “I probably would’ve failed the class without this grade. Is there really nothing I can do to pay you back for your time?”

He taps his chin in faux-thought, before tilting his head innocently. “You can loan me some of your time on Sunday.”

You purse your lips, confusion written over your features. “My time? On Sunday? Oh!” You light up, figuring he just needs help with something. “Yeah, duh. Okay. What do you need help with? I can promise I’ll try my hardest, but I might not-”

“No, no. Honey, that’s not-” he laughs, shaking his head and grabbing your hand to make you stop rambling. “I’m askin’ you out.”

“Out?” You pause, registering what that meant. “Like…on a date?” Is he serious? There’s no way he wants to go on a date with you. You pretty much called his life story boring, to his face, and then made him spend three hours on a Friday evening at the library working on a college paper with you.

He snickers with a nod. “Yes, on a date. So whaddya say, sweetheart?”

“Yes!” You blurt out without thinking, before you shy back, feeling yourself heat up as you tend to do around this God of a man. “Y-yeah. Yeah, I’d love to. Sunday. I can do that.”

He beams adorably, like a child being allowed to buy his favorite candy bar. Or a puppy with his favorite toy. Yeah…he reminds you of a puppy. Which only makes him that much cuter.

“Awesome! Meet me here at noon. Does that work?”

You nod vigorously. “That works perfectly.”

“Perfect.” He repeats, before taking your hand and bringing your knuckles to his lips once more.

* * * * * * * *

You’re sitting on the bench, tapping your toes nervously and checking your phone every minute. He said noon and it’s only eleven thirty. It’s a bit inconvenient, to say the least, when the place you go to relax is the place you’re meeting the person making you anxious. You could barely sleep the previous night, too many doubts lingering in your head. You seem to always be making a fool of yourself in front of him, but he was the one who asked you out, so that had to count for something.

You try not to think too hard about it, instead thinking back to last Friday in the library and how his features lifted when he told stories of his childhood and the Howling Commandos and the grin he got when he told you about the things they used to do that would get them in trouble.

“But I’m Captain America, and who’s gonna say no to this face?”

A little giggle leaves your lips as you remember his words, before you’re startled back to reality as a familiar smooth voice sounds besides you.

“Whatcha giggling at, honey?”

You whip over to see Steve grinning in amusement, leaning on the back of the bench. Your eyes drag down his figure. Another too tight t-shirt showing every ridge and curve on his torso, a jacket over his broad shoulders along with a casual pair of jeans. You had seen a meme about Steve having the proportions of a Dorito and, looking at him now, you can see how true it was. It almost makes you laugh again, but you remember what exactly is happening, and you suddenly can’t find anything funny.

“Sweetheart? You alright?”

“Huh? Oh. Yes. Yeah. I’m fine. I was just…thinking.”

He raised an eyebrow, smirking and leaning his forearms against the back of the bench next to where you’re sat. “And those adorable little giggles?”

There’s that familiar flush that you’ve learned to ignore, praying to God he didn’t notice your heart skipping a beat. “Uh, I just remembered something. That’s all.”

He gives a little hum, before hopping over the back and landing besides you. “Seems like we both had the same idea. Gettin’ here early.”

“If you must know, I was just…” You shrug. “To be honest, I’m a little anxious.”

“I’m not that scary, am I?” He teases, nudging you gently.

You roll your eyes and give him a look. “I don’t think there’s a bone in your body capable of being scary. I’m just…I’m nervous I’m gonna embarrass myself…again.”

Steve shakes his head, looking at you earnestly. “You’re not gonna embarrass yourself.”

Picking at the hem of your shirt, you scoff, shaking your head. “I already have. The amount of times I’ve tripped or said something stupid or rambled, which I’m doing right now, or-”

“Honey, honey. Slow down.” The blonde chuckles. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I find all of those things endearing. Now, the amount of times I’ve seen my teammates slip and fall on their faces while chasing an enemy? That’s embarrassing. Just the other day, Buck tripped on the roof of a car. Sam has it recorded.”

You let out a laugh at that and nod. “Okay, okay. Sorry. I didn’t mean to get all insecure on you-”

“It’s fine, Y/N.” Steve insists. “Now,” he stands and offers his hand. “Let’s go get some lunch, yeah?”

You look at his hand before looking up at him and taking it without hesitation. “Okay.”

* * * * * * * *

After rounds of questions during lunch, Steve took you around the Smithsonian to all the different museums. Just like history, you had never been overly fond of museums. You typically walked around for a little bit, never really reading the information, only enjoying the pictures.

It’s different with Steve. Just like how it was different writing the research paper with him. He makes everything interesting, telling you his own facts and stories. Especially once you get to his exhibit in the Air and Space Museum.

Once you arrive, he puts on a hat and ducks his head, trying not to bring attention to you both while on a date. You tease him a bit, swinging your linked hands as you walk in with a cheeky grin. He nudges you with his elbow, his own smile painted on his lips.

You can’t help but listen and hold onto his every word, as if you’d die if you forget a single sentence. The light in his eyes as he talks about his past, showing you the pictures and plaques excitedly. Like a child during show and tell, he’s practically skipping from exhibit to exhibit, dragging you along behind him.

Giggling at his elation, you eagerly, and with no resistance, let him take you through his story. “They keep updating it.” He explains as you leave the area with World War Two and the Howling Commandos, entering through a corridor with modern pictures of him and the Avengers. “Every couple years or so they call me and tell me they’re adding another thing.”

“Doesn’t that get annoying?” You wonder, reading a wall about the Battle of Manhattan with interest. “Your whole life being put on display for everyone to see?”

Steve shrugs. “I dunno. I’ve never really minded. They don’t put in personal things, so it’s not too bad. You could learn more from the internet about me.”

You nod, knowing how true that really was. “You’ve got a point. Still. It must be a bit weird being a national icon.”

“I’ll admit, people stopping me on the street is getting a little old. I used to wish to be someone who changed the world. Now I have and sometimes I wish I could be normal. But I wouldn’t change what I’ve done. Who I am. Not if people can learn from it. Not if I can keep people safe.”

Turning away from the wall to glance at Steve, who has his hands in his pockets studying the wall, you smile and tilt your head. “You’re a good man, Steve Rogers.”

He turns to you, his lips pulling up. “That’s all I hope for.” His voice is quiet, earnest, before it becomes lighter as he gestures back to the wall. “You know the first thing we did after winning was go out for shawarma? It was Tony’s idea.”

“No way.” You laugh. “All six of you?”

“Yeah! We go there for every Battle of Manhattan Anniversary, now. I’ll take you some time. It’s a nice place.”

“Is that a promise?”

He smirks at your teasing tone. “Absolutely.”

* * * * * * * *

After your museum hopping, he takes you to Arlington Cemetery to show you a few friends and fellow soldiers he met all those years ago. It’s such a personal intimate thing that he shares, and you think you shouldn’t be there to witness it, but he’s quick to reassure you that’s not the case. That he wouldn’t have anyone else by his side, listening to his stories.

By the time you get back to the city, it’s getting dark, so you two head out for dinner before Steve takes you up the Washington Monument to look at the city lights. He makes sure you have the top all to yourselves; there’s perks of being an Avenger - especially one of the leaders.

“Alright, alright.” Leaning on the rail, you turn to him with a smile. “So maybe history isn’t as bad as I originally thought.”

“Yeah? I convinced you, did I?”

You roll your eyes at his smirk, shoving his shoulder lightly. “Maybe a bit. But only when you’re telling it. You think there’s any way you could come to history with me?” You joke with a laugh, feeling yourself flush at the chuckle and grin he gives you.

“I wish I could, honey.” He spoke softly, running a thumb over your knuckles. “Unfortunately, I’ve got work to do. I’m heading back to New York tomorrow. I’ll be back on Friday, though. If you would want to-”

You beam and nod energetically. “I’d love to go out again, Stevie.”

Giving your hand a squeeze, he beams back. “Fantastic.” He looks back out to the window and gives a little sigh. “It’s gettin’ late and you’ve got class tomorrow.”

“Yeah. I should probably get going. Do you, I mean, would you mind walking me home?” You blink up at him through your lashes hopefully.

“Of course!” His eyes - which you found throughout the day weren’t entirely blue, but had some green hues to them - lit up as you two start towards the elevator. He tucks you under his strong arm, pulling you close. “You wanna get ice cream or something on the way?”

“You read my mind, Captain.”

* * * * * * * *

By the time you reach your door, you’ve both finished your ice cream and he’s telling yet another story while you laugh, once again swinging your linked hands. 

When it comes time to say goodbye, you can’t help but wish your hand could stay in his for a while longer. Knowing that you’d be saying farewell, you hold on a bit tighter. “Pick me up on Friday?”

He nods, squeezing your hand before letting it go and brushing his fingertips along your cheek. “I’ll call you later too, alright, sweetheart?”

“Okay.” You agree eagerly. “You gonna kiss me goodnight now, soldier?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He chuckles softly, before gently grabbing your chin. Using his other hand, he pulls you closer by the waist, pressing his lips to yours. It’s soft and sweet and perfect, just like him, but it ends too quickly for your liking. He pulls back, nudging his nose against yours, and murmuring against your lips. “Sleep well.”

You smile, leaning your forehead against his. “Good night, Stevie.”

Stepping away, he lifts your knuckles to his lips. “G’night.”

You stop him before he could turn all the way. “Steve?” He pauses to look over his shoulder at you with an eyebrow raised. You have a question, and you can’t help but ask it, it having been on your mind for days. “Why’d you stop your run just to sit by me?”

“And leave a beautiful dame like yourself before I could get your name? I may be a super soldier, honey, but I’m still a man. Abyssinia Friday, Y/N.”

#cjsinkythoughts #cjswriting #marvel #steve rogers #captain america #steve x reader #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #first dates w/ avengers #💛🧭

[script-nef]

#bokutoisblessed | Bokuto Koutarou

Category: crack, fluff

2.2k words; MSBY fans dying over Bokuto and his family

Bokuto uploaded another photo

It seems like just yesterday little Hana was swaddled in his arms and now look at her. Like. Holy [censored] look at the [censored] post. 

Dudes like. She can walk now. Her steps are so wobbly but also so cute and my heart like????? Just exploded when we were gifted with the sight of her??? AND THE WAY SHE GIGGLED WHEN SHE ARRIVED AT HER MUM’S LAP A SAFJAKFDL I CAN’T BREATHE

Comments [Anon]: Honestly we the fans of Black Jackals are so blessed because we get to experience this joy and bundle of life thanks to our lord and saviour Bokuto Koutarou and his amazing wife, who will hereby be named Kami-sama. Because God is a woman I called it.

[Anon]: I agree with 97% of this, except for the Kami-sama part. She said it’s uncomfortable and embarrassing so we have to call her something else. How about Wife-sama. That should be fine, right?

[Anon]: Oh I saw that post Bokuto put up! Saying how much he’s thankful for the support but not to call her that! The upload was a short video of her turning red after he called her Kami-sama and it’s a treasure I will keep for the rest of my life. And into the afterlife. Death can try to pull it out of my cold, dead hand but I won’t let it. YOU HEAR ME DEATH???? YOU CAN’T TAKE THIS FROM MEEEEEE

[Anon]: Bokuto said Wife-sama is fine! Apparently she was still red and it was the cutest thing ever. Bokuto is so biased (*cough cough* whipped *cough cough*) but hey I’m not complaining. I don’t think my imagination will ever come close to the actual reaction but I hope it does.

[Anon]: Do you guys remember, when he just started dating her, how he flooded us with posts of her and her only? Like, practically 95% of my feed was her since he was putting so much of them up. She could literally be doing nothing and he’ll be like “HOLY [censored] LOOK AT MY GIRLFRIEND!!!” Without swearing because he doesn’t do that, but still.

[Anon]: OH AND THEN HE GOT INTO TROUBLE WITH HIS SOCIAL MEDIA MANAGER ASKJDSKDJF THAT WAS GOLD

[Anon]: THEY LITERALLY PUT A VIDEO UP OF THEM TRYING TO TELL BOKUTO WHY HE SHOULDN’T DO THAT AND HE CONSTANTLY SAID “BUT I’M DATING HER AND THIS IS MY WAY OF SAYING I LOVE HER!!” LIKE BOI WE GET IT EVEN ALIENS WILL GET IT

[Anon]: And it started up again when she was pregnant with Hana. Like I could make a time-lapse video or whatever of her pregnancy just from the photos he put up

[Anon]: I honestly wonder how many photos he has of her and Hana

[Anon]: Probably a couple thousand. I mean like, I have a couple thousand of MBSY members but my love for them pales in front of Bokuto for Wife-sama, so.

→ Continue thread

Holy [censored] I just met Bokuto

Okay so there was news about a new resident coming into our apartment, more specifically my neighbouring unit. It was previously occupied by this really old couple and we had this small farewell party. They dropped hints that the new residents might be kind of loud but that they were great.

A few days later, my doorbell rings and who do I see? It’s [censored] Bokuto. Like, straight up. In his casual clothes. Exactly the same as the photo on his Insta page where he said he was moving. Which I liked practically a few hours ago.

He was standing there with the biggest smile and saying that he’s the new resident and that they’re giving out homemade cookies because of the baby and Bokuto’s volume. And invited me to a small dinner. And I’m. Like my brain. Literally. Like my brain is even blank now. Bokuto. Invited me. To his house. So I could have dinner. And see his wife. And little Hana. 

So I am here now, raiding my wardrobe to see if I have anything wearable because HOLY [censored] [censored] [censored] I’M GOING TO HAVE DINNER WITH BOKUTO AND HIS FAMILY I’LL REPORT BACK LATER IF HE’S FINE WITH ME SHARING THIS EXPERIENCE OKAY I REALLY GOTTA GO BECAUSE MY HEART IS BEATING WAY TOO FAST AND I NEED TO HAVE SOME MEDICINE

[Edit]: This was riddled with spelling mistakes because my hands were shaking from the aftershock.

Comments [Anon]: ???? What did you do in your past life to be awarded the opportunity of being neighbours with Bokuto???? Did you like, save the country or something? Is that what it takes to be blessed with him?

[Anon]: No you gotta at least save the entire Earth for this damn dude thanks for your service I guess

[Anon]: But if you gotta save the world to be neighbours with Bokuto, then what the hell did Wife-sama do to be married to him?

[Anon]: She saved the universe

[Anon]: But I think Bokuto will be the one to say he saved the universe to be with her that cheesy dork ugh I love you

[Anon]: LMAO I CAN HEAR HIM SCREAMING THAT

[Anon]: Are you back yet? Are you alive? Are you blinded by the magnificence that is Bokuto Koutarou and his family? I know I would be. So in order to kill me as well, TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED YOU CAN’T KEEP US OUT LIKE THIS I AM KNEELING ON THE FLOOR AND BEGGING FOR THE INTERACTION PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE I BEG OF THEE I WANT SOME MORE SIR

[OP]: That’s really weird so stop that. I’m just about to go out now! I’ll spend the dinner over there, experience heaven, hope I don’t die of heart failure and possibly come back with a war story. If they allow me. Wish me luck guys.

[Anon]: GO BRAVELY SOLDIER AND MAKE US PROUD I AM PRAYING THAT THEY’LL BE KIND ENOUGH TO LET YOU SHARE THIS WONDERFUL EXPERIENCE

I’M BACK

Okay so that could only be described as one of the best moments in my entire life. Don’t worry, they said it’s fine if I share this. #actualsaints

So I finally found an outfit and took the chocolate that I was saving for myself, but since I can give my arm and leg for Bokuto what the [censored] is a chocolate, right?

I’m greeted by Wife-sama herself. Like. Less than a metre from me, saying “good afternoon” and smiling like the saint of tranquillity. (A side note but how do you have that when you live with Bokuto? And a child? My brother wants to know your secrets.) And she’s wearing what I think is Bokuto’s shirt since it’s way too big for her, I mean the end comes to her thighs. Sharing shirts is the most romantic thing a couple can do I don’t make the rules I’m just the messenger.

Anyway she invites me into their house, their amazingly aesthetical and cozy house. There’s a display case for all of Bokuto’s trophies, awards, certificates and everything. There are photographs of them together all over the walls, hung from strings spanning the entire house. There was a wall section dedicated entirely to Hana-chan. I felt like an uncivilised cave gremlin there.

Wife-sama was still making dinner and I was going to help her but little Hana-chan came to me. Like, she tottered over to me in the blue frilly dresses and tugged on my pants, babbling and smiling. Y’all I nearly died. I literally saw the gates of heaven and had a foot in but Wife-sama saved me by pulling me back into reality. By asking me if I wanted to play with Hana-chan. Which killed me again. And she was apologetic about it too? Like she doesn’t think I would give my kidney to spend time with her?

So I was playing with Hana but sneakily looking at the two of them being cute as hell in the kitchen. Bokuto was attached to her at the hip for the whole time except for when she asked him to get some ingredients. He was a puppy incarnate. They were sneaking kisses, whispering to each other and it was honestly so cute like I was getting diabetes just from one night. 

The food was amazing, the dinner talk was so fun and delightful, Hana-chan was the cutest little angel ever, this was probably the best day of my life. AND WHEN I LEFT FOR THE NIGHT, THEY BOTH HUGGED ME AND IT WAS LIKE BEING HUGGED BY CLOUDS BUT THEY SMELLED SO NICE!!

I shall never forget this day. Mark my words y’all.

Comments [Anon]: How beautiful was their place? I feel like she would go with a pastel tone or black and white. And have cute things littered around everywhere.

[OP]: The house was really unique in the sense that it felt like two houses smashed together. Like they took turns decorating each section of the house. Looked like polar opposites. It was kind of weird at first but the aesthetics flowed well the longer I stayed there, if you can understand what I’m saying.

[Anon]: The fact that Bokuto and Wife-sama are practically opposites in many things but still formed a romantic relationship with each other and the fact that their taste or preferences complement each other perfectly is proof that they are soulmates. In this essay I will

[Anon]: Where’s the essay. Dude where’s the [censored] essay

[Anon]: HEY MAN COME BACK WHERE’S MY ESSAY

[Anon]: NOOOOOOOOOOO THE SACRED TEXTS

[Anon]: Bruh just a kidney? Take my [censored] liver. Take my heart. Oh no wait, she already has it in her squishy widdle hands.

[Anon]: I bid my left arm

[Anon]: Right arm

[Anon]: Lungs

[Anon]: I really love my brain but I barely use it so off it goes I guess

[OP]: ???? Guys? What are you doing? Stop this illegal organ trade in my post.

[Anon]: Shhhhh we’re showing our love

I saw Bokuto shopping and it was so cute

I do not do clickbait, it was genuinely adorable and my cheeks are about to fall off. As was everyone else’s in the entire mall.

I was just doing some shopping, getting some snacks and popcorn for the movie marathon I was going to have and who do I hear? Yeah, it’s Bokuto. And little Hana-chan whining to Wife-sama about how she’s not getting the snacks they want. It’s from memory since I didn’t take a video, I’m not a creep and I understand boundaries unlike some of you assholes, but it went something like this.

Bokuto: But think of all the caramel popcorn we could eat! Hana: Mama, sweeties. Sweeties. (What an angel, am I right?) Wife-sama: I already said no, it’s going to ruin your dinner. Hana: But it’s tasty! Bokuto: Pleaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaase? I’ll do all of the dishes and cleaning today! Wife-sama: You already do that every day, Kou. It’s not much of a bribe. (Husband goals) And Hana, we have other snacks at home. Caramel is bad for your teeth. Bokuto: But babe! Wife-sama: I said no, and that’s it. Hana: Mama!

It was just this repeated for like 10 minutes with Bokuto and Hana-chan alternating their whines. I would have snapped after 5 times but wow, this lady has the mental fortitude of Fort Knox.

They both sulked and followed her around as she finished her shopping. I can tell Hana is Bokuto’s daughter because her hair droops down like his and a cloud forms over her head. It was practically magic.

In the end, they bought one (1) salted caramel popcorn because Wife-sama is too soft-hearted and they literally clung onto her for 5 minutes peppering her with kisses. And Bokuto actually lifted her in his embrace. In the middle of the sweets section. Where everyone was looking.

Needless to say, she was very very red.

Comments [Anon]: Conspiracy theory: factoring in Bokuto’s godlike physical ability, inhumane and endless sunny disposition, his hair’s ability to reflect his moods, it can be concluded that Bokuto is, in fact, a God.

[Anon]: Well someone has a big brain

[Anon]: Wait then Wife-sama would be a Goddess. Gasp SHE DIDN’T WANT PEOPLE CALLING HER KAMI-SAMA BECAUSE IT WOULD BLOW HER COVER

[Anon]: Oh yeah, it’s all coming together

[Anon]: I can kind of see Bokuto and Hana sneaking in sweets and snacks into the trolley while Wife-sama isn’t looking lmao

[OP]: THEY ACTUALLY DID THAT I nearly ran into them again and heard her berating Bokuto for sneaking in chocolate and shoving it beneath all the meat so she wouldn’t notice. My man, please. You can never outsmart your wife.

[Anon]: Next time I go to the MSBY fan meeting, I’m bringing all the sweets I can for Bokuto and Hana. It’s the least I can do.

[Anon]: They’re so cute and I can’t wait for the MSBY match in three days where Bokuto’s family is going to attend. I promise I’ll post about it afterwards.

#bokuto x reader #bokuto imagine #bokuto koutarou x reader #bokuto koutarou imagine #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu!! imagine #haikyuu one shot #haikyuu!! one shot #haikyuu #haikyuu!! #bokuto #bokuto koutarou #SNS format #crack #fluff #female reader

[five-rivers]

Secret saturdays prompt

The secret scientists and/or argost finding out Zaks s1 finale secret. The show did a 6 month time skip and never showed us /how/ they came to find out.

Zak got sick when they came back from Antarctica.  It wasn’t something particularly foreign to him.  Traveling all over the world meant that he picked up a lot of bugs.  It was an occupational hazard.  Or, well, not occupational, exactly, because Zak didn’t get paid for what he did, but...  

Yeah.

(Maybe he should get paid for this.  He did a lot of work, if he was being honest.)

Usually, though, nothing he got was this bad.  Mom theorized it was because he overused his powers.  Dad thought it was just the stress and the shock- Both things that could impact an immune system.  Doyle kept making jokes about bottled water, because, yeah, that was the problem.  

Not.  

A cold was something he could deal with, though.  A nice distraction, even, from having to figure out the implications of the Kur artifact lighting up when pointed at him.  

(Maybe, he hoped, Kur was an inherited title, and when he defeated Kur-controlled-by-Argost, it jumped to him.)

(Maybe it was just broken.  It wasn’t like Doyle was all that spiritual.)

(Maybe it lit up whenever it was near someone with Kur-like powers.)

(Maybe Kur was living in the back of Zak’s mind and any minute now-)

(Maybe...  Maybe Zak was Kur.)

Except, the universe had abruptly decided to hate Zak, because the illness was also screwing with his powers.  Every so often, they’d just turn on out of nowhere, not even doing anything, and it would hurt.  Like in the ice caves with Doyle, when he was flooded with more spiritual energy than his body could safely handle.  Like when he overused his powers in Antarctica.

It really wasn’t conducive to the whole ‘ignoring it’ thing he was going for.  

Mom opened the door to his room, and he groaned as the light hit his eyes.  “Hey,” she said, maneuvering around the door with a tray in her hands, “how are you feeling?”

“Bad,” said Zak.  

Mom put the tray on the table next to his bed and took his temperature.  “Still high,” she said.  “Do you feel up to eating?  I have soup.”

“Okay,” said Zak.  He sighed and rubbed his eyes and frowned at the gold reflecting off of them.  He squeezed his eyes shut, willing his powers off.  With another groan, he forced himself into a sitting position.  “I’ve been having weird dreams,” he said, taking the spoon.  It felt heavy.  

“Oh?  Like what?”

“Like...  There’s something moving around outside, in the woods, and I think it’s Fisk, but Fisk and Zon are with me.”  He poked the soup, breaking the thin skin that had formed on top of it.  “You’d think I’d be having dreams about that but...  I don’t know.  It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” said Mom, ruffling his hair.  “You should probably take a shower next time you get up.  You’re all sweaty.”

“Okay,” said Zak.  

.

“I’m worried,” said Drew.  “I think there’s something supernatural about this illness.”

Doc looked up from the culture they’d taken of Zak’s throat swab.  “Really?” he said.  “You don’t think it was a pathogen he encountered when he went into the Antarctica cryptid to fight Argost?”  

Both parents shuddered.  They could still hardly believe they’d let Zak do that, even if the fate of the world was in the balance. 

“He’s dreaming about the prowler,” said Drew, before reciting what Zak told her.  

“That could be a coincidence,” protested Doc.  

“You know,” said Doyle, entering the room with a bag of chips and his hair plastered to his forehead with mud, “after all this, I’m not sure I believe in coincidences anymore.”

“No food in the lab!” shouted Doc, pointing an accusing finger at Doyle.  

“Jeez, dude, lighten up.  What’s the worse that could happen?”

“You could ingest a deadly chemical,” said Drew.  

“Oh,” said Doyle.  “Yeah, I guess that would be bad.”

“Did you find the prowler?” asked Drew.  

“Nope,” said Doyle.  “Not hide nor hair, even with Jurassic overhead.  But what I did find...”  He made a face.  “You know the river?”

“Yes, Doyle,” said Doc, “we are in fact aware of the river we live next to.”

“Yeah, cool.  All the fish are dead.”

“What?” asked Drew, raising her eyebrows.  

“Dead,” said Doyle.  “Belly-up.  A lot of the plants near the water aren’t doing so great, either.  I’d stock up on bottled water if I were you guys.”  He took a sip from his own bottle of water, as if to prove a point.  “Now, what were talking about when I came in?  Do you think this prowler has something to do with the little guy being sick?”

“Yes,” said Drew.  

“Maybe,” said Doc.  

They looked at each other.  

“I think we need more help,” said Drew.  “He’s not getting better.”

“Grimes and Lawhorn?”

“They do specialize in paramedicine.  They’re even working on a cure for everything.  Unless you think this is neurological, in which case we should call Dr. Bara again.”

Doc made a face.  “Not after what happened last time.”  More than half of the house was still in ruins.  

“Hm, I don’t think Grimes and Lawhorn will be that happy to see us, either,” said Drew.  

“They weren’t hurt that badly,” protested Doc.  “Arthur just likes to exaggerate.  They aren’t even O-positive!”

“Even so,” said Drew.  “But, yes, I think we should contact them.”

.

Zak stirred as Fisk picked him up.  “What’s goin’ on?” he asked, sleepily. 

“Hrry nn thhn yueeep.”

“It’s fine.”  Zak sat up a little so he could rest his head on Fisk’s collarbone.  “Where are we going?”

Fisk answered, and Zak nodded sagely.  

“I’m really sick, huh?”  He closed his eyes and let himself go to sleep again.  

.

“Miranda, Arthur, we didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Well,” said Arthur, “after that whole think with skunk-stripe’s mirror-world double, they’re kind of on edge when it comes to tall stuff, here.”  He nodded at Fisk.  “They asked us to monitor.”

“We also wanted to discuss what happened in Antarctica,” said Miranda.  “Your report felt... incomplete.”

“Right,” said Doc.  At least they’d ironed out a cover story before coming.  “We’d like to take care of our son, first, though.”

“Of course,” said Miranda.  “We’re in no hurry.”

.

“Hey, there, buddy, how are you feeling?”

“Dr. Grimes?”

“Yep, that’s me.”

Zak blinked slowly.  “Better.”

“Good!” said Grimes.  “We weren’t sure if that would do anything, but there we have it.  Seems like you picked something up from Kur after all.”  They spun in their chair and didn’t notice how Zak cringed at the name.  “Had to give you an Ancient Sumerian protective amulet.  Not easy to get those right!”

“Oh,” said Zak, who had been wondering about the thing tied around his wrist.  “Cool.  Where are Mom and Dad?”

“Talking to Miranda and Arthur.”

“Oh,” repeated Zak.  “Why’re they here?”

“They wanted to talk about Kur,” said Grimes.  “I heard you beat it and Argost both!  That’s impressive.”

“Thanks,” said Zak, fiddling with the amulet.  A spike of pain went through his head, and with it came a sense of movement, images of a forest, the outside of Lawhorn and Grimes’s home.  

... What?

“Hey, Zak, are you okay?” asked Grimes.  They said something else, but Zak didn’t hear him.  

“Something’s coming,” said Zak.  

Grimes rolled their chair to the door and pulled it open.  “Saturdays!  You kid is being ominous!”

.

Arthur frowned as he watched Doc and Drew leave the room.  He wasn’t good at reading people, but-

“They’re hiding something,” said Miranda.  

“I think you’re right, buns,” said Arthur.  

Miranda rolled her eyes.  “I can understand you not remembering my name, Arthur,” she said.  “But if you call me that again, I’m going to hit you.  With something heavy.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get your circuit boards in a twist.  What do you think they’re hiding, though?  Why hide anything?  Like, they told us the parts they screwed up on, letting Argost getting away and all.  What could possibly be worse than that?”

Miranda frowned and rubbed her lower lip.  “They aren’t the type to lie to make themselves look good, Arthur.  There’s something else.  The timing of Zak’s illness...  They would lie to protect each other, to protect their children.”

“What, do you think short stuff was poisoned by Argost or something?  Not that it’d be out of character.”  

The idea that Argost got away with Kur, or at least that he had the Saturday’s under his control...  That was scary.  But it had to be the second one.  Argost was patient, but not that patient.  There would be wide-scale destruction.  

If he was threatening the Saturdays into working for him by holding the kid hostage, that was bad enough.  Even if it probably felt like a consolation prize from Argost’s perspective.  

“No, it wouldn’t,” said Miranda.  “We’ll have to look into it and hope Lawhorn and Grimes can find a solution.”

“We can do more than that!  We can go back to their house and see what they’re giving Argost!”

“Arthur, no.  We don’t even know if that’s what’s happening.  We can’t just break into their house.”

“We can,” Arthur argued, crossing his arms.  “You just don’t want to.”

“These are our friends,” said Miranda.  “I was only giving a possibility.  They might not be hiding anything at all.  They could just be worried about Zak.  I know I am.  Besides, Drew has her mercenary little brother guarding the place.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Arthur, waving his hand, “whatever.  I don’t want the kid hurt, either.  We’ll talk to them again when he’s better, maybe they’ll change their story.”

Arthur was about to elaborate on this when a rotund, three-legged, three-armed creature with far too many eyes tore through the walls.

.

Zak gasped and reached for the Claw.  Which he didn’t have because he was still in his pajamas.  His head pounded.  The talisman wrapped around his wrist burned.  Dad and Mom stepped between him and the monster, and Fisk pulled him away, to the side of the room, out of the line of fire.  

“Who dares to take my prey from me?” growled the creature.  “Who dares to come between me and Kur?”

“Azag,” breathed Zak.  He didn’t know how he knew this cryptid’s name.  He just did.  

“The Sumerian sickness demon?” asked his mother, brandishing her sword.  

“Kur,” said Azag, all of its eyes fixed on Zak, “the flesh you wear now is weak, and I will take great pleasure in watching it fail you, in watching it trap you, oh Kur, great king of the cryptids.”

“Stay away from him,” said Mom.

“Or else,” said Dad.

The monster started laughing.  Then it was hit from behind by one of Arthur’s energy discharge weapons.  It hissed and righted itself.  

“Do you think I fear his mortal servants?  Fools!”  It lunged for Dad.  

“No!” shouted Zak.  His powers flared and the talisman burst into a hundred tiny pieces as he forced himself into Azag’s mind.  

(Too familiar- Had he done this before?)

“Can’t,” he panted, “hold for long.  Hurry!” 

Grimes snatched a bottle from a cabinet, and a syringe from a drawer.  “Just hold it a minute longer, Zak.  If this is what I think it is-”  They didn’t finish the thought as they filled the syringe with the liquid from the bottle.  

Then he plunged the needle into the creature’s stony hide.  It screamed, the sound and pain echoing through the connection Zak had made with it.  His vision went white.  He felt his eyes roll back in his head and his knees go out.  

Nothing more.  

.

“What was that?” asked Miranda, staring at the melted remains of Azag.  

“Disease demon,” said Grimes, giddily.  “Lawhorn and I always theorized- I’m so glad I was able to test it!  The panacea!  I wonder what diseases it represented and how they’ll be affected...”

“Whatever,” said Arthur.  “I’m more interested in what that was.”  He pointed at Zak, who had collapsed and was currently being fussed over by his parents.  “You two have a lot of explaining to do.  And you’re going to start with why that thing was calling him Kur.”

#secret saturdays #once again I find myself trawling sumerian myth for characters #fic #my fic #prompt #prompt fill #it's been a bit hasn't it?

[remywrites5]

can you do some jegulus?

           James was sitting on his bed playing FIFA when his roommate, Regulus, came in and slammed the door shut. Reg was clearly upset so James quickly paused the game and watched as Reg went over to his bed and flopped down onto it. He put his face into his pillow and let out a scream.

           James walked over and poked Reg in the back. “Problem?”

           Reg turned his face to the side and looked up at him. “I just saw Barty at the campus coffeeshop flirting with one of the baristas.”

           “Ah,” James said, nodding in understanding. Reg and Barty had been talking for the last few months after hooking up at a campus party. James didn’t really see the appeal but he had kept his mouth shut because he wanted Regulus to be happy. Barty always seemed to come off as a prick and James was pretty sure Reg wasn’t the only person he was talking to.

           In truth, James had a complicated relationship with Reg himself. Reg’s twin brother, Sirius, was James’ best friend and they had roomed together for the first year of University. But then Sirius met Remus and fell in love, blah blah blah, and now they were rooming together. Having been out a roommate, James had agreed to room with Reg. The only problem was James had been crushing on Reg for over a year now, so rooming wasn’t exactly the best idea, but James Potter liked to be accommodating. Also he didn’t have a good enough reason to tell Reg no.

           Since then it had been a bit torturous watching Regulus talk to a bunch of guys who were, in James’ honest opinion, a bunch of wankers. They might have been perfectly nice guys, but James had no choice except to loathe them entirely.

           That’s why James said the thing – the completely idiotic thing  - that he would immediately regret. “You want to make him jealous?”

           Regulus sat up and looked at James in confusion. “How?”

           “He follows you on Snapchat, right?” James said with a grin. “We could take a couple of pictures and post them to your story. When he sees them I bet he’ll be hella jealous and come crawling back.”

           “You’d do that for me?” Regulus asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow at James.

           “I mean nothing too risqué,” James clarified quickly. He didn’t think his heart would be able to handle that. “Just, you know, pictures that could be interpreted as us getting pretty cozy with each other.”

           “That would be amazing!” Regulus exclaimed excitedly. He hopped out of bed and went over to James’ closet.

           “What are you doing?” James asked, sitting down on his bed and watching as Regulus rifled through his stuff. Reg held a few pieces of clothing up to himself in the mirror and decided on James’ team hoodie from his football days. It was in his old high school colours, red and gold, and had Potter written on the back. Reg stripped off his own shirt and tugged the hoodie on.

           James had a good ten centimeters on Reg and was a lot more muscular and broad shouldered than his roommate. What this meant that Reg was swimming in his hoodie a little bit with it falling to his mid-thigh. James swallowed thickly as his heart relocated to his throat. Suddenly James realized just how incredibly dumb he was for thinking that he could pull this off without Reg finding out how gone James was on him.

           Reg bit his lip and played with his hair for a moment in the mirror before turning to face James. “How do I look?”

           James cleared his throat. “Really good,” he said as evenly as he could manage.

           Regulus smiled and walked over to the bed. He grabbed James and moved his limbs into the position he wanted. James let out a yelp of surprise as Reg crawled into his lap and buried his face in James’ neck. “Do you mind taking it?”

           James took Reg’s phone and opened it easily. They both knew each other’s codes for their phone for emergency purposes. James held the phone out to get a good angle, making sure his name was visible on Reg’s back, for entirely selfish reasons. “Glasses or no glasses?” he asked before he took the picture.

           “Glasses,” Reg said softly. “I think you look sexy in them.”

           “Yeah they help me see,” James responded dumbly because his mind had apparently decided to go offline without his permission.

           Regulus laughed and slid his arms around James’ waist. “Just take a couple and we’ll adjust as needed.”

           “Okay,” James said, resting his chin on the top of Reg’s head. He’d never really though he’d had a thing for a height difference but he found himself really enjoying it. Reg felt so small and soft in his arms and James felt this overwhelming want to protect him. Although he knew if Reg could hear what he was thinking then he would hit him for it.

           James snapped a couple of pictures and then handed the phone off to Reg to see. Reg sat up straight and looked through them, taking his time to examine each one. “I think I like this one best, what do you think?” Reg held up his phone and displayed the picture to James.

           “Looks great,” James said encouragingly. He let his fingers play with the hem of his hoodie that Reg was wearing, his fingers just barely brushing over Reg’s warm skin.

           “Can I kiss you?”

           James felt his entire body tense up at the question. ‘What?”

           “It would really sell it, don’t you think?” Reg asked, chewing his bottom lip as he posted the picture to his story. “Or would it sell it too much? I kind of want him to come crawling back like you said.”

           “Oh, um, I think that might be taking it too far,” James said, sliding Reg off his lap and standing up. The last thing he needed was to be snogging Reg just so he could get that prick back. Why did he want his attention in the first place?

           “It would just be one kiss,” Reg promised, looking up at James pleadingly. “Just one little kiss and nothing more.”

           “I said no, Reg!” James yelled, tugging his fingers through his hair. “I don’t want to, okay? I don’t want to do that.”

           “Then that’s all you had to say,” Regulus said icily, narrowing his eyes at James. “This was all your stupid idea to begin with.”

           “Well you got your picture,” James shot back, grabbing his wallet and keys and shoving his feet into his trainers. Suddenly their dorm room felt so small and if he stayed he was going to say something he would regret. He couldn’t handle any of this, especially not with Reg still wearing his hoodie. Why did he have to go around trying to help people all the time? “So leave it, Reg.”

           “Fine, I’m leaving it.” Reg lowered his eyes to the floor. He stood and went over to his own bed, pulling the covers up to his chin with his back to James.

           James slipped out of their dorm, locking it behind him, and starting to walk with no real destination in mind. Why the fuck did he have to be so bloody awkward around Regulus? Why couldn’t he have just kissed him like it was no big deal? It would have been easy to pretend it was just a game like spin the bottle. Now Regulus had to know that it meant something to James and it would make everything uncomfortable.

           James sat down on the front steps of their student housing and buried his face in his hands, pushing his glasses up to his forehead. After giving himself a few moments to wallow, he opened his phone and pulled up Snapchat. He immediately went to Reg’s story and saw the picture of the two of them. He kept reopening it so that he could look at it over and over. It looked so real that it made James’ heart ache in a way it hadn’t since high school when Lily Evans had rejected him over and over. Since then, he liked to think he’d been a bit smarter with his heart, but apparently not that smart.

           “You fucking dumbass,” James groaned to himself.

                                                           ***

           James figured their picture had worked based on that fact that Reg started hanging out with that prat, Barty, again. James would come home to find Reg and Barty cuddled up together watching Netflix on Reg’s bed. James had no problem ruining their evening, turning on his game or doing his homework at his desk, so they couldn’t fool around.

           Things hadn’t really improved between Reg and James since the night they’d taken that picture. James had found his hoodie hanging back in his closet and it had clearly been washed. James had no idea why the idea of that made him so extremely angry. Maybe it was the fact that Reg had been too much of a coward to give it back to James directly. Instead he had just hidden it back in James’ closet and erased any trace that he had worn it in the first place.

           James tried to move on so that things could get back to normal. He got Tinder again and went on a few dates with a very nice girl named Mary McDonald. It felt disingenuous to continue to see her though so he ended things as gently as he could. As terrible as it was to admit, being with Mary wasn’t making James feel any better about being in love with his roommate. It was unfair to her to pursue anything while he still had feelings for Reg.

           He couldn’t help thinking about that night and would have happened if he had taken Reg up on his offer to kiss. Would things have been even more awkward once Reg realized just how into it James was? Or maybe it would have been the start of something – something so precious that it made James hurt just to think about it.

                                                           ***

           “Will you please – for the love of God – stop being such a pathetic mess?” Sirius begged, tousling James’ hair playfully. “We’re on our way to a party not a funeral!”

           James did his best to smile and nudged his best friend. “I guess I’m just still distraught that you’re not in love with me.”

           Sirius snorted. “Tough luck, Prongs. I don’t go for speccy gits with no fashion sense.”

           “Remus wears reading glasses.”

           “It just hits different,” Sirius assured him, throwing his arm around James’ shoulders. “Besides, I have a feeling your type is me only worse and with less personality.”

           “Shut up,” James grumbled, feeing his face grow hot.

           “So you do have a thing for Reg!” Sirius crowed with laughter, hitting James on the chest. “I had a feeling. That picture the two of you took was a little too convincing. You looked so fucking smitten in it, I swear to God.”

           “Doesn’t matter,” James muttered, kicking a pebble by his feet. “It was just a means to an end. He’s with Barty now. What a dumb name. Barty. It sounds like a stupid children’s show character.”

           “You’re thinking of Barney,” Sirius corrected him with an amused huff. “Besides, the bloke got stuck with a name like Bartemius. I don’t think there’s many ways to salvage that.”

           “I kind of hate him,” James confessed, feeling himself relax a little bit. It was nice to be able to talk with Sirius about this finally.

           “He does seem like a dickhead,” Sirius agreed with a heavy sigh. “Reg always did know how to pick them.”

           “So you’re saying I have no shot with him?”

           Sirius shot James a look. “I don’t know, you have your arsehole qualities.”

           “Oi!”

           “It all comes from a place of love, Jamie!” Sirius insisted, giving James a big wet kiss on the cheek. They got to the street corner where they were meeting up with Remus, who was coming off a shift at work. Remus was already there waiting for them, wrapped up in a scarf against the cold, his cheeks tinged pink. “Now why would I want you when I can have that?”

           Sirius bounded over to his boyfriend and put his arms around his shoulders. Remus gave him an exasperated but fond look and indulged him in a kiss. James shook his head and walked over to join them, third wheeling it as usual. “Alright, Moony?”

           “Hey James,” Remus said, smiling kindly at him. “Excited for the party?”

           “Well alcohol couldn’t hurt, right?” James joked, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

           Remus’ brow furrowed in concern. “He’s in love with Reg,” Sirius explained, sliding his hand down Remus’ arm and then grasping his hand. He tugged on it and began walking towards the party.

           Remus glanced over his shoulder and shot James a sympathetic look. “If you ever need to come over to ours just let us know, okay?”

           “Thanks Remus,” James said, falling in step behind them. “I’ll be fine.”

           Remus nodded encouragingly even if his face said he didn’t fully believe James. “Of course you will.”

           They were only a few blocks away from the party and James could already hear the music blasting some early 2000’s hip hop. It was the Prewett twins birthday party bash. The twins were a year older than James, Remus and Sirius, and their birthday party was always legendary. They lived in a shared house off campus with about six other guys and were always doing crazy shite. Last year they had rigged up a slide from their second story window. The party usually got broken up because of noise complaints but until then it was a blast.

           They got to the front door and were each handed a beer. It was policy for a Prewett party that you had to shotgun a beer in order to ender. James and Sirius grinned at each other and both pierced their beers before starting to chug them. They were both fairly competitive with each other and tried to beat the other. Of course Remus smoked them both easily and Sirius could only wink suggestively. “My man knows what he’s doing.”

��          Remus rolled his eyes and led the way into the party, already unwrapping his scarf from the heat from all the bodies piled inside. “Oh my god they have a trampoline,” Sirius said, smacking James in the arm. Out the back porch door they could see a huge trampoline set up on the lawn and people were jumping off the balcony onto it and then back up. “We have to!”

           “Absolutely not!” Remus said, shaking his head emphatically. “I don’t fancy going to hospital tonight.”

           Sirius pouted for a moment and then turned to James. “You in, Prongs?”

           “Yeah!” James said, needing something to get his mind off of things. A huge adrenaline rush seemed like it would do the trick.

           James and Sirius raced up the stairs to the second story balcony. “Alright there, lads?” Gideon greeted them as they went through the window. “Feeling brave tonight?”

           “Definitely!” James said, bouncing on the balls of his feet excitedly.

           “Just have to go one at a time,” Gideon informed them. “Don’t want anyone getting hurt.”

           Sirius turned towards James and they did a quick rock-paper-scissors to see who would go first. James won and stepped up to the edge of the balcony. He took a deep breath and jumped, his stomach dropping as he fell through the air. Then it was like he was falling in slow motion as his eyes locked on none other than Barty Crouch Jr. snogging someone that was definitely not Reg. He hit the trampoline and went back up, his body flopping around like a ragdoll for a moment before dropping back down again.

           “What the fuck was that?” Sirius shouted from the balcony. But James was already rolling off the trampoline and heading for Barty.

           “What are you doing?” James shouted, his hands curling into fists. Barty and the bloke he was snogging pulled away from each other. Barty barely had a moment to realize what was about to happen before James’ fist connected with his smug face.

           “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Barty yelled, holding his nose.

           “How could you do this to him?” James said, ready to hit Barty again. He could hear people rushing over and then Sirius was there behind him, looking like he was unsure if he should hit Barty as well or restrain James.

           “Who?”

           “Reg!” James growled, his fist tightening. He swore he was going to hit him again. “Regulus Black, remember him?”

           Barty looked at James as if he were crazy. “Regulus and I broke up a week ago. He said he had feeling for someone else.”

           “Oh,” James said, blinking a few times. “Shit, I’m sorry mate. I didn’t know – “

           “Yeah, whatever,” Barty said, walking towards the house with his face tilted up to stop the blood dripping down his face. “Fucking mental case.”

           “What the fuck is going on?” Sirius asked but James was already pulling his phone out and dialing Reg’s number. All the air left his lungs the moment the call connected and he heard Reg’s voice on the other end.

           “James?”

           “Where are you?”

           “I’m at our dorm,” Regulus answered in confusion. “No need for me to guess where you are.”

           “Stay right there.”

           “James – what – “

           James rang off the phone before Regulus could ask him any more questions. He smacked a big kiss onto Sirius’ cheek and then took off running. He hopped the fence instead of trying to go back through the party, as it would only slow him down. He sprinted through the streets, his breath stinging from the cold, his mind singularly focused on getting to Reg as soon as possible.

           When he burst through the door of their dorm room, Reg was in bed scrolling through his phone. He sat up when James entered, his eyes wide in surprise. “James, did you run the whole way here?”

           “That’s not important,” James said, waving him off.

           “What happened to your hand?”

           “I punched Barty,” James said impatiently. “It’s not important!”

           “It’s not,” Regulus said slowly, looking extremely concerned. James knew he must look slightly manic, his hair a mess from the wind, breathing heavily and his hand bruised. “Then what is important, James?”

           “Do you have feelings for me?” James asked, his chest still heaving as he tried to get his breath back.

           “I – I don’t think that’s a very fair question,” Regulus said, ducking his head down.

           “Why not?”

           “Because you didn’t want to kiss me,” Regulus said, pulling his knees up to his chest, looking small and vulnerable. James wanted nothing more than to gather Reg into his arms. “And that would have been fine but then you ignored me for weeks. Now you rush in here demanding to know if I have feelings for you and it doesn’t feel very fair.”

           James soaked in Reg’s words for a moment. “Fuck, I’ve made a right old meal of this, haven’t I?” he said, scratching the back of his neck nervously. “Let me ask that again. Reg, I’m in love with you and I’d be very interested to know how you feel about me because I really want to kiss you.”

           Regulus’ gaze snapped up to meet James’, looking for any sign that this was a joke. When he found none his mouth dropped. “Oh,” he said softly, a small smile playing on his lips. “Yes. I love you and please kiss me.”

           James walked over with every bit of self-control he had left and sat down next to Reg. He cupped Reg’s face in his hands and watched Reg’s steel grey eyes flutter closed. James felt his own eyelids drift shut at the first press of his lips against Reg’s. It was soft and sweet and already addicting. He forced himself to pull back after a moment and something caught his eye. “You’re wearing my hoodie.”

           Regulus blushed a deep red. It was utterly adorable. “Yeah, um I wear it when you’re not here. I’m sorry, I’ll wash it and put it back. “

           “Keep it,” James said, grinning. He pressed a few more soft kisses to Reg’s lips just because he could. “It’s yours now.”

           Regulus laughed. “Are we talking about the hoodie or you?”

           “Both,” James said, tugging at Regulus until he was sitting across James’ lap, tucked in against him. Suddenly his only plans for the weekend were to kiss and cuddle Regulus as much as possible. And maybe ice his hand because it bloody hurt. “Both is good.”

#jegulus #I write things #fluff #anon prompt #long post #james potter x regulus black #background wolfstar #jealousy #fake dating #kind of #university au #oh my god they were roommates

[wild-aloof-rebel]

Back in December, I took a pause on doing these round-ups all the way through the end of S6, so I want to go back today and highlight some of the fics I particularly enjoyed during that time period. This isn’t going to be everything I would recommend from that time period because the list would be obnoxiously long, so this is just some of it. (My masterlist is fully up to date and includes everything else that isn’t going to fit in this post.) 

Since I’m doing this list today instead of recs from the first half of June, all those fics will be included in one big June round-up at the end of the month.

1 - 3k words

All-Natural Care, Locally Sourced by Siria (rated T) In which care packages are given and received. Set after 5.11. 

Breakfast Can Wait by schittposting (rated E) Patrick's making pancakes for breakfast. David has other ideas.

A Face Mask by WellSchitt (rated G) “I want to look good for the wedding,” Patrick blurted out, then cringed. “I mean. Uh. I want David to think I look good.” “Ew, Patrick.” He rolled his eyes and plowed ahead. “But I'm not good at stuff like this. I mean, I have a moisturizer now, and conditioner. But I still don't do much, uh, grooming." "No, I know," Alexis said, matter of fact.

i fell in love (next to you) by patrickbrewer *Alexis/Stevie* (rated G) She’s a constant juxtaposition, a clash of bold personality and silky touch. Stevie is so terrifyingly in love with her. 

A Little Twitchy by modern_leper (Not rated) Patrick asks for Stevie's blessing to marry David, and it's only slight less nerve wracking than actually proposing to David 

Salve by agreatwave (rated T) “This is ruining our romantic eye cream ritual,” David mopes. “What, this isn’t romantic?” Patrick teases, moving on to David’s forehead. “It’s kind of romantic, I guess,” David grumbles. “Like as romantic as a rash can get.”

3- 5k words

It’s Coming on Christmas by MadAlien (rated T) David and Patrick choose and decorate their Christmas Tree

Kit Kat Girl Number One by unfolded73 *Twyla/OFC* (rated T) The story of the Schitt's Creek production of Cabaret told from the point-of-view of Kit Kat Girl Number One.

A Little Bit by returntosaturn (rated G) While packing, Alexis finds the DVD copy of her limited reality series, A Little Bit Alexis. A watch party ensues.

Mixtape by sunlightsymphony (rated T) For their second monthiversary, Patrick gives David a mix CD.

Taking Inventory by GCLane (rated T) “Shana tovah,” David remarks, turning off his phone’s screen and looking at Patrick. “I’m sorry? ”“It basically means ‘happy new year,’ except Jews don’t believe in happiness, so it’s really more about goodness? A good year.” “Say it again.”

5 - 10k words

A Case of You by DoubleL27 (rated T) Five times Patrick gives David an utterly ridiculous gift for Valentine's Day and one time David does something really romantic

Given Unsought by odofidi (rated G) When David gets sick, it occurs to Patrick that he's never seen David ill before.

In the Temple of Artemis by MoreHuman *Stevie-centric* (rated T) Of course she’s still in love with him. That part’s not a mystery. She got over it, she’d had to get over it, but no one falls in love with David Rose and falls back out again. Stevie’s pretty sure there’s only one other person who’s ever done it, and she knows he would agree.

Looking for Light on the Floor by nameless_bliss (rated T) After the barbecue, Alexis visits Rose Apothecary.

Odd Man Rush by samwahmbam (rated M) After the game, David intercepted Patrick on Patrick’s way back to the locker room. Stevie snapped photos as Patrick pulled David into a kiss. He held onto his stick in one hand, the wood precariously close to knocking David in the head, and the other pulled David into him by the ass, the glove lost in the blue and white of the jersey David was wearing, the name “BREWER” stamped loud and proud on his back. Or, David is a hockey BF.

one hundred micrograms by thingswithwings (rated E) It’s great; it’s wonderful. It’s great that David’s feeling so much better, just from that tiny pill once a day. But there’s a side effect that makes―that Patrick―there’s a side effect.

Tea-Kettle Love by ArabellaStrange (rated G) Patrick thinks about New York. How do you plan to be unhappy? How can you avoid it?

Time After Time by Sholio (rated T) Stevie and David get married on a whim during a time loop. It would really be a shame if the loop ended at that point, wouldn't it?

10k+ words

All The Roads We Have To Walk by MeadowHarvest (rated T) "I wonder what would've happened if we'd met in high school?" Patrick Brewer is ready to conquer the summer of 1999 at Camp Cedar Glade. He's in for a surprise, though, in the form of one David Rose.

All the Songs I Sing Are About You by missgeevious (rated E) “Does that mean you’re open to entertaining my offer?” And David can’t help himself, he leers at Patrick just a little bit when he says it. Patrick blushes and laughs, “Okay, David. Let’s write a song together.” Inspired by the movie Music & Lyrics.

The Best Man by barelypink (rated T) David is the best man at Patrick and Rachel's wedding.

A Fabrication of Appeal by saekokato (rated T) David was gifted a vacation from Wendy as part of his separation package. Patrick was going on the honeymoon-that-wasn't on Rachel's insistence. Neither of them knew what a little harmless flirting at the airport would lead to, but vacations were for adventures, right? It had nothing to do with the free upgrades or how attractive their 'husband' happened to be. Right? Right.

He Sees You by Distractivate (rated E) Patrick gets glasses and thinks about identity. David helps.

if not for you by goingmywaydoll (rated T) On a Wednesday he breaks up with Rachel. The next Tuesday, he leaves on a road trip with David.

maybe if by magic by earlylight (rated T) Some people bring in consultants to help get their new business off the ground. David Rose, entirely by accident (or so he claims) gets a fairy.

Pot o’ Gold by ahurston (rated E) The love story of a leprechaun and the guy who bought his magic rings. 

Romantically In Business by sullymygoodname (rated E) Starting something new, something you've never done before, can be daunting. It helps to find the right partner.

sustineo by rockinhamburger (rated E) An alternate universe where David is a famous, reclusive modern contemporary artist and Patrick is the art critic who is interviewing him about his new exhibition.

they paved paradise by blueink3 (rated T) Patrick wakes up five years in the past. He reacts accordingly.

Une très bonne table dans sa catégorie by cromarty (rated T) Patrick is a Michelin Guide reviewer and David is a Toronto chef hoping for the first Michelin star awarded in Canada.

wait for a slow song by wardo_wedidit (rated E) David and Patrick break up, learn to be business partners, date other people, learn to be friends, grow up, and get back together.

We Could Turn the World to Gold by middyblue (rated T) Nine weeks of following Patrick's c25k running app, picking up from where the Season 5 finale left off.

#schitt's creek #schitts creek #fic recs #rebel fic round up #long post

[happybeeps-nat]

Prompt idea: Post-war, Finn and Poe attend some sort of art therapy session together.

A/N: oooh thank you so much for this random, weirdly specific prompt, I was so delighted when I got it and writing something for it was fun! BUT I have not a single idea as to how art therapy works? And so I focused more on the art than on the therapy, I hope this is to your liking! Thank you so much for the prompt! 💕

Light angst, obviously, but the hopeful kind

Words: 1478

------

Scars On Our Future Hearts

“Where exactly are we going again?” Poe asked as he was being dragged along by Finn who seemed to know where he was going at least. 

“Art therapy,” Finn replied, way too chipper considering the circumstances. Therapy. Art therapy! Poe had as much to do with art as he had with wielding a lightsaber or lifting rocks. But sure. Let’s go do some art therapy, what a wonderful idea, Finn. He sighed and said nothing. That was how it went most days. He talked a lot but didn’t feel like he said anything. 

Okay, so maybe this art therapy was actually a good idea… 

“Doctor Kalonia recommended it,” Finn explained. “It’s unconventional but says it’s actually a good approach after a war. And it can’t really hurt.” 

“Yeah, except in all the ways therapy usually hurts,” Poe muttered. 

“Exactly!” Finn smiled, coming to a stop in front of a nondescript building. It looked like all the others, but Finn with his photographic memory would know exactly how to differentiate it from their surroundings even though he’s never been here. Finn was awesome like that. 

“I promised her we’d try and if it’s not for us, we can just, you know. Not come back again.” 

The casual we that Finn threw around casually still made Poe feel warm all over. 

“Okay, okay, let’s try this thing. It it in there?” Poe inclined his head toward the building. 

Beside him, Finn nodded and squeezed the hand he was still holding. “You ready?” 

“Nope,” Poe sighed and let the p pop, but shrugged. “Let’s do this. Can’t be worse than crashing a TIE-fighter, right?”

*

Well, turned out it was actually pretty much like crashing a TIE-fighter. Or, like the moment right after the crash. The second of numbness where you didn’t know anything, not even if you were still alive. You didn’t know if anything hurt but you also didn’t know if everything was okay. You had a minute where your judgment was clouded and the only thought was “I need to get up and leave” until you realise that’s not possible because slowly, everything comes back to you. Why you’re there, what happened to get you there in the first place.

And now Poe was staring at a blank canvas and he had no idea what to do, what to feel, what to think, what to say. He had no idea what to draw. 

Future, they had said. Future was the prompt for this session, and it was a stupid shitty prompt, like, who even asked veterans about their life plans? They had none! For years, Poe’s future had consistent of the present need to not fucking die, and now here he was, in a non-threatening room full of blank canvases and he was asked about his life and he had nothing to fucking draw. He had nothing to think, he had nothing to say. He barely even had a life.

So the canvas stayed blank while Poe stared at it, feeling as just as empty. Directionless. Not a single splash of colour on his mind, not a single line to give him the vaguest idea od a direction. He was just Poe Dameron, former pilot to the New Republic Navy, former commander of the Resistance who got promoted to the rank of General because he had just enough hope and idiocy left in him to actually go through with winning. That hope was now gone, because why hope to win when you’ve already won? Why create colours when that would just be a waste of resources an actual artist could need? 

He had nothing but Finn. Finn who was painting his canvas in the brightest of colours, splashes and lines and everything all over the place, and the board looked ecstatic. It was colourful, it looked random but Poe could see an order there. A system. And of course it was there, Finn would never get rid of that part of him that needed order in everything. But now he had the chance to create the order by himself. 

Poe smiled a little as he watched Finn paint, and picked up his pencil again. Yellow, blue, green, red, in all their shades. And in the middle, right in the centre, there was a splash of orange, looking out of place but also just right. It completed the painting, gave it a meaning, an order, a direction. A centre. And it was the same shade of orange as Poe’s old flight suits from the Resistance. 

It warmed him to see that, to see the colours, to see that maybe this meant Finn saw a bright future, a colourful life, and Poe right there with him. Poe in his centre. Poe in his heart. 

What a wonderful thought. He smiled to himself and stared at his own blank canvas. Then back at Finn’s concentrated form, and without really thinking about it, he mixed a few colours himself. It was the same deep, dark shade of brown as Finn’s skin, yet bright in a way it looked when the sun was dancing on it. Brown with a touch of gold. 

Poe grabbed the biggest brush he could find and spread that colour on the whole canvas until there was no untouched space left. The whole thing was covered in golden brown, some places darker than others, and all of them reminding him of Finn. 

On a whim, he used more of that golden colour and painted a few traditional Yavinic ornaments. Small, fragile little things, drawn with more care than he’d thought he could use, but the result was absolutely worth it. 

It wasn’t perfect and real artists would probably roll their eyes at him for feeling pride as he looked at it, but to him it was perfect. It was his future. It was Finn. Because maybe it was okay that he had no direction, that he felt lost without a cause, even if that cause he used to have was tainted with death and killing and losing and pain. It had been a cause. And now he had none. But he had Finn, so maybe that could be his future. 

Everything else, he thought, was a bonus. Direction, meaning, structure, he could find all of that, build all of that with Finn by his side. But without Finn, there was no future. Not for him. 

He sighed. This absolute dependence was dangerous and he knew that, he’d have to do something about it, there was nothing romantic about it and it spoke more of his trauma than his lack of words ever could say, but he also knew that wasn’t the whole story. He was in love with Finn, absolutely enamored every day anew. Finn completed him in every aspect, he loved him back with his whole heart, Finn had a huge orange splash in his painting that maybe stood for Poe’s love in the centre of his world. This wasn’t just co-dependence. This was love, a love as deep and as old as time, and one he couldn’t deny. 

Finn was his future. And not just because of his past. He would be in every kind of universe. No matter the story. 

*

They got to keep the paintings, brought them home, talked about them. Not with the therapists but with each other. Finn explained every line, every splash, every dot and every brush, the order in it that still felt like chaos. Told him how he was feeling. About himself, about them, about the present and about the future. 

And so did Poe. “I, uh, I think I did it wrong? But it doesn’t feel wrong, so… Yeah, anyway, I don’t know what to do. What the future holds or even what I will do tomorrow. I may not even know who I am when I’m not a hotshot pilot or Resistance General. I never had to be just Poe Dameron, and I don’t really know who that is. But I would like to find out? With you by my side? And build a life and all that stuff, but not without you. And I have no plans. I only have you, and that’s pathetic, I guess, but-” 

Finn silenced him with a kiss. Then apologised, because Poe was finally talking and he had to ruin that, but Poe just laughed, relieved. He’d finally said it. He was Poe Dameron and he didn’t know what that meant but with Finn by his side, he was ready to find out. 

Later, Finn grabbed his hand and took him to bed, giving him a detailed insight to who he thought Poe Dameron was. There were still traces of paint on their skin, but for some reason that made everything feel more real. Like they were okay, and like they had a future. Together. 

#finnpoe #stormpilot #star wars fanfic #poe dameron #finn #prompt fill #light angst #canon verse #post-ROS #i loved writing this but idk if thats what you wanted #i hope you like it thank you so much for the prompt I love you! 💕 #nat writes #also had two separate language breakdowns while writing so i hope its not too bad

[carelessgraces]

GENERAL STATISTICS

FULL NAME Astoria Ileana Grim. NICKNAMES Stori. ALIASES Elena Hawke, Elizabeth Vane.

DATE OF BIRTH 22 August 1993. PLACE OF BIRTH Venice, Italy. ASTROLOGICAL SIGNS Leo sun, Libra moon, Leo rising. GENDER Cisgender woman. PRONOUNS She/her/hers. SEXUALITY Bisexual. HEIGHT 5'3". HAIR COLOR Red. EYE COLOR Brown. TATTOOS Several (found here). SCARS Several (found here).

ETHNICITY Italian, Swedish, Irish. RELIGION Stregoneria / stregheria. (notes here)

POSITIVE TRAITS Adaptable, ambitious, clever, perceptive. NEGATIVE TRAITS Capricious, hedonistic, manipulative, selfish.

PHOBIAS None. MENTAL HEALTH Healthy (situational, trauma-related symptoms).

SKILLS & ABILITIES

EDUCATION Hargrove Academy (1997-2008), St. Colman Catholic Academy (2008-2011), Harvard University (2011-2015), University of California at Berkeley (2015-2016). CAREER Collector, co-owner of Belladonna Apothecary. SPOKEN LANGUAGES Fluent in Italian, Veneto, and English, reading fluency in Latin and Irish, conversational skill in Irish, Spanish, Swedish.

MAGICAL SKILL Thaumaturgy, elemental magic ( esp. water ), household magic, divination. PHYSICAL SKILL Self-defense ( krav maga ). Lock-picking, pick-pocketing.

TIMELINE

22 AUGUST 1993 Astoria is born in Venice, Italy, to Seraphina Greengrass and Kasper Grim.

30 JUNE 2008 Astoria is formally removed from Hargrove Academy and moves in with Evander and Elyssa Vetri, who begin to teach her death magic, specifically expression.

1 MAY 2009 Evander and Elyssa bring Astoria with them to Paris, where they attempt to steal a heavily guarded grimoire. In the process, both Evander and Elyssa are killed, and Astoria is found, frightened and injured but otherwise safe, two days later.

1 SEPTEMBER 2009 Astoria moves in with her mother’s sister in Boston, MA, where she enrolls in St. Colman’s Catholic Academy to complete her education.

17 JUNE 2011 Graduation from St. Colman’s. She is valedictorian, cheer captain, and a member of the school’s girl’s soccer team. She is, also, a very active member of a community of local witches who meet in Salem.

6 SEPTEMBER 2011 The start of Astoria’s education at Harvard University, where she completes a double major in history ( focused in early modern Europe ) and folklore and mythology ( focused in witchcraft, magic, and demonology ).

20 MAY 2015 Graduation from Harvard University.

19 AUGUST 2015 Astoria begins an intensive course of study at Berkley for a master’s degree in folklore.

18 DECEMBER 2016 Graduation from University of California, Berkeley.

22 DECEMBER 2016 Astoria relocates to Dublin, Ireland, where she buys a building and opens a shop, Belladonna Apothecary, with her brother Damon. She splits her time moving forward between Dublin and Boston, when she isn’t traveling for work.

HISTORY (tw: abuse, torture, death, murder via poison, suicide attempt)

** Please note – this history is developed through extensive plotting with potterstillstinks, who writes Seraphina, Daphne, and Damon Greengrass.

This verse will be adapted as necessary to fit various other timelines and fandoms. You can see a breakdown of how I approach magic here. This is how I’ll write Astoria’s magic in this verse; any different approaches to be magic will be for verses based in specific fandoms.

The Greengrasses became titans: a family line of barons, the title bought in the sixteenth century and often more expense than it was worth, struck gold in the early days of Victoria’s reign. Generations of work as merchants and a bone-deep ambition left them well suited to fulfill the growing spiritualist interest in seances, divination, and summonings. They sold books written by folklorists and anthropoligists alongside tarot decks, candles alongside herbs, bezoars and adder stones alongside broomsticks and wands. For the more discerning clientele, they sold hands of glory, notes and diaries belonging to court sorcerers and alchemists, grimoires from medieval witches, cloaks and caps of invisibility.

    It didn’t matter much whether or not the Greengrasses believed; elevated from a barony to a dukedom, they cared more for the development of their earthly power than anything of other worlds. Their wealth and influence grew, and while the majority of the Greengrasses were skeptics, some were more open to the evidence presented to them. Among them was Seraphina Greengrass, heir to the Greengrass fortune, and when she went looking for a highly-desired grimoire she found witches, real witches, practicing their craft in Venice. With them she found Kasper Grim.

    When she suggested marriage he said yes; when she asked him to take her name he said yes; he adored her ambition and her power and wanted nothing more than to support her in it. Together they had four children: Camilla, five years after their marriage; Daphne and Damon, twins, three years later; and finally, two years after the twins, Astoria. All four of the children inherited Kasper’s gift and Seraphina’s drive. The family split their time between Venice, visiting Kasper’s parents, and Dublin, where they lived normal lives, cut off from their magic except in theory.

    As Astoria grew, she began to recognize apparently ever-increasing depths of power. She had an instinct for creating spells, often producing magic far beyond her years, and a particular knack for manipulating water. Kasper’s cousins, the Vetri siblings — also Astoria’s godparents — offered to help teach her better control, so as to keep her from causing unnecessary damage, and, trusting their family to look after their youngest, Kasper and Seraphina agreed to allow Evander and Elyssa to educate her.

    At first, it was everything Astoria had dreamed — at fourteen she left the mundane academy in Dublin to travel and study throughout Europe instead, crawling through ruins, poring over old books, copying out spells and practicing creating her own. The farther she got into her education, the stranger things became: her guardians were vehemently opposed to allowing her to study anything besides what they found useful, and often emphasized the kinds of magic that made her skin crawl. It wasn’t enough to manipulate water; they taught her instead to locate water in the body to heal, to harm. It wasn’t enough to invent spells; they taught her to push her boundaries, to create spells that had no business existing.

    The magic made her more powerful, but more volatile as well, producing frequent and excruciating headaches, often uncontrollable shaking, dehydration, and nosebleeds. As her physical health deteriorated, her attention to detail grew sharper: she realized that Evander and Elyssa would push her far beyond her limits so that they could direct her magic without her interference when she was in pain, and that without her, they were significantly less powerful than she’d imagined. They needed her, but she wasn’t sure why; when she began to ask questions, or refused to follow their orders, they began to punish her, often violently.

    Knowing that she couldn’t destroy them using only magic, she turned to logic, using Evander’s wrath and Elyssa’s pride against them. The weaker-willed they imagined her, the more they let their guard down. She first realized that they intended to use her as a human shield when she was fifteen: the Vetris brought her with them to hunt down a grimoire said to possess the means of prolonging human life, with far greater success than anything else they had encountered. The book was heavily guarded, and Astoria took the worst of the protective spells’ effects; she woke days later with no memory of the venture’s end, and only her godparents’ word that it had been a success. It became clear then that if Astoria was going to survive, her godparents could not.

    She picked a fight, knowing how it would end. The following night, her injuries treated only enough to keep her from something worse, she begged forgiveness, and she watched in silence as her tormentors choked on their own bile, the cups of coffee she’d brought them as a peace offering crashing to the floor. It had been easy enough. Just a little bit of poison. Something mundane, something they never saw coming. She used her magic to dispose of the bodies, to speed up the decomposition until they were nothing but dust. And she waited alone in that house for days until she called the police, sobbing, saying that she didn’t know where her godparents were, begging for help.

    The police who contacted her parents that night explained that the Vetris were missing. Their daughter was in shock. The x-rays taken at the local hospital showed several healed fractures indicative of abuse. What she needed most was to go home.

    Astoria wouldn’t speak until they were back in Dublin; her first day back she tried, and failed, to kill herself, and the day after she called her aunt overseas and told her that she couldn’t, wouldn’t stay in Europe. It took some convincing before her parents agreed that she would move to Boston, where she lived with her aunt as she completed her secondary education. She pursued a bachelor’s degree in history and folklore, spending her graduate education focused on history — specifically, the Italian Renaissance. After completing a doctoral degree, she and her siblings gathered together to take up the family business. Astoria, Camilla, and Damon came together, opening small occult shops in various cities; expanding, they said in magazine interviews and on the shop’s website, building off the foundation of our aunt’s store in Boston.

    They served upscale clientele, providing them with high quality magical goods and everything from spells to exorcisms to potions, and while Camilla and Damon took on major roles in sales, Astoria followed in her mother’s footsteps, and began to collect ( sometimes illegally ) artifacts for more discerning collectors. ( Occasionally, she was asked to take more than just a few artifacts — and, more and more, Astoria found herself in the business of selling secrets. )

IN A WORLD WITHOUT MAGIC

NAME Grim, Astoria Ileana ( born Greengrass ). DATE OF BIRTH 22 August 1993. CURRENT LOCATION Boston, MA. OCCUPATION Sale and authentication of antiques ( 10th - 16th century ).

CHILDHOOD Born 22 AUG 1993 to Kasper Grim and Seraphina Greengrass in Venice, Italy. Educated in Dublin, Ireland until 2007. Withdrawn from Hargrove Academy before beginning of Fall 2008 semester. Missing, unreported, from 30 JUNE 2008 until 11 MAY 2009; presumed living with godparents, Elyssa and Evander Vetri, in London, UK. Filed missing persons report, stating that ten days prior, her godparents left her home to run errands and did not return. Medical examination showed evidence of several healed fractures ( ribs, clavicle, nose ) and active injuries ( fracture in left wrist, poorly treated compound fracture in arm recent dislocation of left shoulder ), as well as severe trauma likely due to abuse and neglect. After several interviews, and only with parents and paternal grandfather ( Aleksi Grim, also acting as her legal representation ) present, admitted that she had been abused during the eleven months she was missing. No bodies were discovered, and no evidence of foul play was found. Relocated to Boston, MA to live with maternal aunt ( Astoria M. Townsend ); changed name to Grim to avoid confusion with her aunt.

EDUCATION Completed high school education at St. Coleman’s Catholic Academy, graduated with honors ( Spring 2011 ). Attended Harvard University to double major in history and folklore & mythology ( Fall 2011 - Spring 2015 ), before attending University of California at Berkley for an intensive master’s degree in folklore ( Fall 2015 - Summer 2016 ) and Columbia University to earn a PhD in history with a focus in the Italian Renaissance ( Fall 2016 - Spring 2021 ).

CRIMINAL HISTORY Any criminal activity is suspected, not confirmed. While Grim’s godparents were heavily involved with several criminal syndicates across Europe, Grim herself seems to have escaped relative unscathed, and without much attachment in Europe. In the United States, however, Grim is linked primarily to corporate and political espionage of questionable legality, usually in the employ of Senator Adam Vega ( D-NY ). Suspected in the theft and illegal sale of several medieval artifacts, but could not be definitively tied to any.

KNOWN ALIASES None. KNOWN ASSOCIATES Elyssa Vetri ( paternal first cousin once removed, godmother. Deceased. ); Evander Vetri ( paternal first cousin once removed, godfather. Deceased. ); Senator Adam Vega, D-NY ( business associate ).

SUSPECTED ALIASES Elena Hawke, Elizabeth Vane. SUSPECTED ASSOCIATES Raymond Reddington, unconfirmed.

NOTES Criminal record consists solely of two parking tickets and two speeding tickets. Despite her godparents’ connections, Grim does not appear to pose any physical threat. Noted as charming and persuasive, but believed to be acting within the bounds of legality.

Several deaths, seemingly unconnected, all without any evidence of foul play. All victims seen with a woman, blonde hair, late twenties to early thirties, in the 48 hours prior to their deaths. No evidence found that this is the same woman.

SOCIAL CONNECTIONS Involved with Iain Blackwood from Spring 2010 - Fall 2016; engaged from Fall 2014 - Fall 2016. A handful of alleged romantic connections, none of which have been publicly acknowledged, though she was linked to Vega from Summer 2017 to Winter 2018. Have remained close friends since apparent breakup. Tends to frequent theaters; especially fond of opera, little interest in most art. Not taken particularly seriously outside of her work due to reports of a hedonistic lifestyle, though this does work to her advantage when it comes to making new social connections.

PROFESSIONAL CONNECTIONS Travels often for work. Works closely with several universities, despite preferring to sell to individual collectors ( themselves often academics associated with these universities ). Well known for her skill in negotiations and her patience, as well as her willingness to lose customers if she finds them personally unpleasant.

Her staff is varied but she travels regularly with a handful of personal guards, led by Lorenzo Vescovi, also considered a close friend. Has been trained in self-defense, but prefers not to engage physically. Some have joked that even if she did need to get violent with anyone, it’s unlikely she’d ever have to do it herself. Will only pick up a gun herself if she feels the need to make a point.

Loyal to her allies, though she has yet to be linked to any criminal activity, even when those allies are arrested. Could suggest a willingness to step back and extricate herself from any danger? If she has done so, she’s done it effectively. No one seems to have a grudge against her.

Relationship with Vega seeming to cool, though there have been no indications of a falling-out.

#( mobile info ) #tw: death #tw: poisoning #tw: abuse #tw: suicide #tw: murder

[one-and-a-half-yikes]

AU IDEAS BECAUSE WHY NOT

HEY WHAT IS SHAKING MY DUDES I DON'T HAVE ANYTHING ELSE BETTER TO DO EXCEPT TALK SO--

I just feel like having a discussion today about stuff; mainly AU ideas and things like that. I'm bringing this up because I feel like talking about it here makes the most sense to me. Anyways, here are some things I've thought of. Most of these are BATIM and Cuphead related although I actually have a really cute one-shot collection in mind for Invader Zim if I ever get around to making it. If I get more ideas I might just be tempted to throw them on here for shits and giggles. Idk lol.

Gold Diggers AU: This is a Cuphead AU idea I've had in the works now for about two years? I think. Anyway, Cuphead and Mugman are mages who do mage stuff. The magic system for mages is still very iffy along with the plot itself, but I have a basic idea of what Cuphead and Mugman's powers are like in the story. 

So Mugman is a black mage. A black mage is basically just a black smith but with magic, the main difference being that a black mage can make weapons, armor, shields, and more out of solid objects. So if a black mage found a sturdy stick in the woods, it could turn the stick into a weapon or tool of their choice; how powerful the weapon is depends on how much magic power was used to make it. The more magic power used the stronger the weapon is. If a black mage found a leaf, then they would have to use a lot of magic power to make it a deadly weapon because of what it is. Black mages use magic to manipulate the object into being whatever they need it to be, however they are not elementals, and so they aren’t able to do things like break rocks with magic, or form ice spears from thin air. They can only take from their surroundings that is already broken like the stick that I mentioned earlier. Another thing is being able to command these objects at will, also known as a “curse”. It’s not an actual curse, though, just a set of commands or one command that the object follows till completed. Another black mage couldn’t stop the curse even if they can command objects; they would have to wait for the other mage to run out of magic power.

Cuphead is an elemental mage which is pretty self explanatory exCEPT IT’S NOT! Okay, so elemental mages in this wacky universe I created basically can control the elements, yes, but! They can also create elementals from ones that exist. One example is eternal ice or fire which can be created using magic *jazz hands*. Most elementals don’t have control over all the elements simply because it uses up so much power, and also could kill them! That’s right! Nobody is safe in my AU! But seriously though, the elements could cause a magic overhaul which will kill the mage, unless they’re just really good at controlling heavy amounts of magic, they’re fucked.

Anyways, that’s all I have for that at the moment, the plot is pretty...simple? I guess...? So like, they’re bounty hunters and shit and they’re looking for a dude, but so is everybody else and he’s got a spooky name. Cups and Mugs are after him because the reward money is REALLY HIGH, but others are after them because legend says he has a stash of treasure hidden and whoever finds that guy finds his treasure.

And then here comes this bitch. A BATIM AU that has been sitting on the shelf collecting dust for fucking YEARS. FUCKING. YEARS.

ABYSS AU: A BATIM AU idea that is fucking convoluted to hell and back with way more world building than my procrastinating ass can’t handle. Going into details about this would spoil certain elements of the plot, so I have to keep them hush-hush, BUT! You already saw the AU! Or at least the concept art for it. If you saw my full design for Knight Alison that I posted some weeks ago then it should give you a slight idea about what’s to be expected. Like stated, I can’t go into details about certain things because it would ruin everything and I still need to get certain shit figured out, but on the subject of the armor that Alison is wearing.

The armor is made from souls. These souls come from the ink machine of course and are used to make very indestructible armor and weaponry capable of lots of damage. I was inspired by her design from Erza Scarlet from Fairy Tail although her weaponry and armor is nothing like that but it is similar in how it operates. I CAN reveal this about Alison though: she is not a nice guy. She’s actually an enemy in the story, and I can reveal this early on because I make it pretty clear in early chapters. At the moment, I’m conflicted on making this into a comic, but I’m not good at making those so really it’s a toss up. Maybe I could get some opinions on it (if anybody reads this far down)?

Anywho, Imma leave this as is for now and come back to it later and add some more AU ideas of mine. Or just do a second part, I think that’d be better. But for now I just wanted to share some stuff. I might put some writing prompts from these AUs on my account to see if you guys like them? I don’t know, let me know what you think? I’m not good with interacting with followers so that would be nice...

#yikes speaking #one-and-a-half-yikes #alternate universe #Cuphead #cupheaddon'tdealwiththedevil #invader zim #batim au #batim #Bendy and the Ink Machine #what even #what is this #let me know #concept idea #au idea

[ask-de-writer]

Dr. Mordenheim’s Travels, Book 1: De Writer’s Equestria, Ch. 8

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Dr. Mordenheim’s Travels, Book 1: De Writer’s Equestria, Ch. 8

by

@mordenheim

2319 words

© 2020 by @mordenheim

used by permission of the author

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NEW TO THIS STORY? READ FROM PART 1 which is HERE

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Dr. Mordenheim’s Travels, Book 1:   De Writer’s Equestria, Ch. 8

Dr. Victor Mordenheim has traveled to many different realities in his many centuries of existence.  This series, which I shall add to from time to time, will explore some of them, beginning with the world of  @ask-de-writer. Note: This tale takes place before the Hearthswarming story.  It is actually the night after the Nightmare Night Celebration. =============================================================

The huge zebra sat at the table, waiting for the entrance of the two sisters.   Luna had essentially twisted his foreleg until he finally agreed to meet with her sister, Celestia.   Given that in his own world, Celestia was responsible for his curse and much of the suffering he experienced in his long, long life it had taken a LOT of twisting.

He clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and wished silently that he had brought his pipe.   He imagined that it was likely bad manners to smoke inside of the royal palace, but his nerves were shot.   He gazed around the room, which was smoothly tiled and decorated mostly in white and gold with deep midnight blue and black highlights.   The black of a few of the tiles was so deep that he felt he might fall into one if he stared at it for too long.

He glanced back over his shoulders to the four guards posted by the huge double doors.   Three of them stood at attention, their heads scanned the room as proper, well trained guards would.   The fourth had his eyes locked on the “good” doctor, sneering with disdain at what he obviously considered a “lesser” creature.   Victor turned away and rolled his eyes, sighing softly.   There really was no escaping ignorance.

After a few moments there came a knock at the door.   A new guard leaned in and whispered something to one of the others before the two nodded to one another and she backed out and closed the door.

“Night court is running late, I am afraid.   Princess Luna will be unable to attend tea with her sister this evening.   However, Princess Celestia shall be appearing in a few moments.

The zebra swallowed hard and felt his heart sink into his gut.   This was not at all what he had agreed to. Meeting the two of them together was bad enough, at least he would have Princess Luna to lean on a bit and guide him through the ordeal, but this?   This was almost too much to bear.

Victor stared wordlessly into the cup of milky tea swirling before him.   His hooves tapped nervously on the tabletop as he waited.   He turned his head to the left, casting furtive glances towards the door.   The door where a mare who was the spitting image of the one who ruined his life would soon enter.   He cast his eyes over to the side of the room and briefly considered hurling himself through the glass to escape.   It might be poor form, but he wouldn’t have to face his fear alone.

He knew in his head that she was not the same mare who had been responsible for his centuries of torment, but he was not so sure of how his heart would react to seeing her face to face.   He took a deep, cleansing breath through his nose and slowly exhaled through his mouth as he tried to get his nerves under control.

The door opened and he felt his heart freeze like ice.   He turned to see the Princess of the Sun enter the room, alone.   She was slightly taller than he, her rainbow mane seeming to blow in an eternal solar wind even in the still air of the room.   He felt a sudden urge to flee settle into him until he met her gaze.

Her eyes met his and studied him with curiosity.  Where the Celestia he knew would only look upon him with coldness and disdain, there was none of that here.   Her eyes held genuine concern. Her violet gaze seemed warm and inviting, like being bathed in the gentle light of the sun after a cold storm.   He started to speak, then stopped.   Unused to the process he bowed low as he did for her sister, if a bit stiffly.

The princess smiled brightly, “My sister told me that you were quite nervous about our meeting, yet it seems something has changed that already.   What was it?”

He cast his gaze downwards, ashamed of how frightened he had been.  “One look into your eyes and I could see that you were not the tyrant ruler of my old home, despite many physical similarities.   Your eyes speak of inviting kindness, while hers spoke of solitude and hatred.”

Celestia, let out a musical laugh.  She moved about a few of the massive array of cakes set before her to make eye contact easier.   No doubt many of these were part of her sister’s bribe.  “I am glad to see you are so observant.   The ability to see more than one’s appearance is a very important trait to have.”

The zebra finally took a small sip of his tea. He enjoyed the milky richness and the slight sweetness on his tongue.   He thought about her words and tilted his head a bit. “And what do you see beneath my appearance?”

The tall mare looked thoughtful for a moment.   Her first few words were muffled, spoken as they were around a mouthful of cake.  “Power…   Great power and intelligence, and a kindness and wish to help others.”   Her wistful look turned to one of sorrow, “Beneath that, however, is pain..   More pain than anyone should have to endure.   There’s a darkness down there, and that makes you a dangerous stallion.”

Victor sat his cup down with a shaking hoof.   The porcelain made a soft clattering noise against the saucer.   How much did she know, he wondered.   Steeling himself, he forced his eyes to meet hers and was stunned to see not judgment, but compassion in her gaze.  “I have done many things I am not proud of over the centuries.   Things I wish I could go back and change, but I can’t.  All of this power and all of the time in the universe…” “Yet you can’t change the past…” Celestia finished for him.

He nodded mutely and stared down into his tea for a moment.

The princess reached across the table and lightly touched his shoulder with a hoof.   The zebra was so tense it was like touching a moss-covered stone.  “I don’t know what you’ve done in the past, but that was another place, another world entirely.   Here, I want you to know that you can start over.   A clean slate, as it were.”

She stared into the depths of her own tea for a moment.  “I know what happened at the celebration last night.”

Victor had gripped the edge of the table with his hooves so tightly that the wood sounded like it was beginning to splinter.   He glanced at the guards, his voice a hoarse whisper.  “They were inciting violence around children, I couldn’t just…”

She smiled softly, “I know…   I know everything that happened, Victor.   Luna knew what had happened and we do not keep secrets from one another.”

The zebra was confused by the smile, but relaxed a little.   She hadn’t shouted for the guards so all may still be well.

“My apologies.   A transgression like that where I come from could result in several years in the dungeon, if not becoming a permanent addition to the royal statue garden.” He rubbed a bit at his eye patch and chuckled nervously, but could see genuine concern in Celestia’s eyes.

“I’m sorry to hear that.   To think that a punishment for a crime would be levied without looking into all circumstances involved, or worse that the circumstances did not matter is horrible.   To think that it comes from a version of myself, even more so.”   The tall alicorn helped herself to another piece of cake from the rapidly dwindling pile.   As she took a bite, she mulled over a few thoughts.

“It doesn’t sound like you are in any particular hurry to go back there,” she said softly, taking a sip of tea.

“Not at all.   There is nothing left for me there anymore.   Everything was taken from me.”   He picked up the mug of tea in his hooves and sipped at it sparingly.   It had gone cold while they were waiting, but that was fine as far as he was concerned.

Victor was once more bathed in that comforting warmth as Celestia smiled at him.  “You may, of course, stay here for as long as you wish.   You are after all a citizen of Equestria, if not this particular version of it.”   She giggled a bit, “Luna has also told me that you were so anxious to open your clinic that you forgot to get the proper licenses even after she told you directly.”

Victor blushed, a deep crimson showing through his pale fur.  “Y..yes, well…”   He stammered for a moment before nodding, “Very true.   If Princess Luna had not been visiting that day I could have ended up in a rather large spot of trouble.”

“Ah!   Before I forget!   Luna was extremely impressed with the demonstration of your prostheses.   She even said that it has pushed her to try improving on her own design. Perhaps the two of you should compare notes with one another and come up with a single design using your combined knowledge?”

Victor hummed and rubbed his chin, “I think that is an ingenious idea!   If you think she would be willing, of course…”

Celestia chuckled to herself, “I think she would be delighted.   After all, who knows what breakthroughs the two of you may devise?”

Victor slowly took another long, cleansing breath and allowed himself to relax at last.  “Lord and Lady, I had been so nervous about this day.   Thankfully, I see that it was for no good reason.”

The tall alicorn tilted her head at that statement, “Lord and Lady?   I must admit that’s an expletive I have not heard before.”

“Ah..”   Victor blushed a bit and thought he had gotten a bit too comfortable.  “It is in reference to the parents of Princess Luna and Celestia from my own dimension. Lord Kraken and Lady Faust.”

The princess nodded.   She took a very large bite of cake and chewed thoughtfully as she mulled it over, “Yes, I suppose that would make sense.   Though it is interesting to hear that a version of myself and my sister came from an entirely different set of circumstances.”

The zebra lifted a fork in his hoof and took a small piece of the sugary sweet cake onto it, “Well, the circumstances, unfortunately, created a very different version of you both.”

Celestia took one look and could easily read the hurt in the doctor’s voice.   She cleared her throat a bit and smiled once more at him, “Perhaps that is something we can discuss another time.   This being our first meeting perhaps we should stick to more pleasant conversation.”

He placed the sugary treat into his mouth and let it melt upon his tongue.   There was so much sweetness to it it made his teeth tingle, but it was still very flavorful.   It wasn’t sweet just for sweetness sake, but crafted with love and care by someone who knew precisely what they were doing.  “Mmm.. sorry..”   He took a sip of his tea to clear some of the stickiness from his maw, “Did you have something particular in mind?”

“Well, the running of the leaves is in a few weeks.   We’ve changed the route a bit so it runs past your clinic and will clear some of the mess out in that area.   I was wondering if you were going to participate in the running itself?”

His ears perked up at the sound of that.   How long had it been since he’d gone for a run and just really let himself loose?   He could actually feel his true cutie mark trying to push its way pas the wolf-head curse mark on his flank for a moment.  “I..   would like that very much, but I don’t know if I should…”

The princess blinked in surprise, sitting upright, “I don’t understand.   The running is open to any creature who wishes to join in.   What could be the problem?”

Victor chuckled a little, “Simply put, my skill as a scientist is purely due to study, hard work, and dedication.   It has nothing to do with my talent.”   He smiles, actually puffing up with pride a little, “While I may be a bit rusty, my true talent is running.   I just don’t know if it would be fair to the others if I were to participate.”

She laughed a little, a high, cheerful piccolo like sound.  “Oh, now I wish to see you run even more.   If it is something you are skilled at and enjoy enough to brag about it in front of me, you must be impressive indeed!”

He blinked as he realized that he had just stepped in a mess with this turn of conversation.   He sighed softly and shook his head, “Alright then, I will participate, but I just hope the other ponies won’t be upset if I show them up too badly.”   He finished his small slice of cake and drained the last of his tea before smiling at her.   However, the hour is late, and I still have a bit of paperwork to do before bed.” “Of course, of course.   I should be getting to bed myself.   It is a shame that Luna could not join us, but I did exercise enough restraint to save her a slice of cake.” Victor turned and bowed to the Princess, his head low to the carpet, “By your leave, your highness.”

She smiled and nodded, “Of course.   I look forward to seeing you again soon, Doctor Mordenheim.  I also look forward to what breakthroughs you and my sister may come up with.”

The zebra stood and turned to trot out of the room. He took great delight in the look of impotent rage on the face of one particular guard as he passed by.

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#Dr. Mordenheim’s Travels Book 1: De Writer’s Equestria #Chapter 8 #Hosted Tales #Written by @mordenheim

[dwollsadventures]

On a hill overlooking Armageddon (both the place and the end of the world), an angel holds in its hands a trumpet. It knows what it must do.

There's that cover art I was talking about! In truth very little was changed from the first version to the second one, except the end bit. This is the true kicking off point of the TDG's universe, which I have unfortunately ended up nicknaming the "Antiocalypse" for reasons above. Hopefully the third one will come quicker, as well as the first actual installment. All these prologues are weighing me down from writing the actual story. C'est la vie. 

Read the story beneath the cut or on Wattpad:

"In a flash, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed." I Corinthians 15:52

"And the trumpet shall be blown, so all those that are in the heavens and all those that are in the earth shall swoon, except him whom Allah will ; then it shall be blown again, then they shall stand up awaiting." Quran, 39.68.

"The first angel sounded, and there followed hail and fire mingled with blood, and they were cast upon the earth: and the third part of trees was burnt up, and all green grass was burnt up." Revelation 8:7

On this day, October 30th 1961, an angel stood on a hill overlooking Megiddo. It did not notice the dew on the grass, the ants and worms beneath the earth, nor the sheep grazing around it. Its only thought was of the trumpet in its hands, a beautiful work somewhere between bronze and gold yet surpassing either metal with its glow.

The angel was given this trumpet only a short while ago, but it knew what it was for, it was created knowing what it would do with this trumpet. Up until a certain period of time before now, it had never left Heaven. It had never seen a trumpet before, never felt the grass cutting into its perfect skin, or seen (and certainly not smelled) a sheep. Its entire life had been spent in the choirs in Heaven, standing in the divine garden singing, since it was made. It does not know how long its life has been, because angels did not care for such things. If they were created with the same purpose in mind, a newborn angel was just the same as a one-thousand-year-old angel.

Of course, no angel was created with the same purpose as this one. This angel, and only this angel, was created for the sole purpose of blowing the trumpet in its hands. It knew that, upon doing this, it would signal the end times and Judgement Day would begin. All angels knew this, and they knew it would be a sad day, but also a happy one, because all the worthy souls would join together with them in Heaven.

Angels, unlike humans, are created, not born. When this happens, they come into the world knowing all they must, and are equipped to deal with all that they will encounter in their tasks. They are, in effect, spirits, and do not require water, sleep, food, or entertainment, like the souls they share their home with. Those angels whose tasks are not yet relevant, or do not yet exist, stand together in the enormous choirs of Heaven, blissfully and perpetually singing.

This angel had stood in choir for quite some time. Not that it minded. Occasionally it would see other angels go past on their business; little angels carrying prayers, fearsome archangels with their swords all fiery, even some angels like itself, who had physical bodies to greet the denizens of Earth with. It also saw the souls of the worthy, usually following after the benign prophets, or wandering in groups together, talking. Never talking with the angels in choir of course. They were left alone most of the time, unless one of the Principalities came and gave them their orders.

Angels do not have a sense of time like humans do, so this angel did not know how long it stood in choir for. But then, the day had come. It had been handed its trumpet, such a marvelous instrument, and the garden's gates were open, and it had been allowed to fly across the world. It knew at once that it was time; sin and heresy and all the other signs of ruin were on the Earth as clear as day. Even the earthly demons and pagan spirits were preparing. After the brief flight, it had alighted upon the hill it was on now, and stood, waiting for the precise time.

It stood, it now knew, by the movement of the clouds and the sheep, for only an hour, but something was bothering it. Though the thing that bothered it was minor, this had never happened to them. The angel looked around themselves, at the sheep grazing around the hill and the clouds gathering in the sky, but nothing was touching them. It did not feel like a touch either, it was almost intangible. As if a patch of bad air was hanging around their head. The angel was slightly troubled, this had never happened in Heaven.

Another reason this troubled the angel, although it did not know this, was because it had never had to articulate its feelings before. In the ministry of Heaven, the angel and its feelings were never scrutinized, nor examined, nor noticed. It was like a book, fit perfectly on a shelf with all the others, not an inch of space between each other.

'I want to go back,' it thought. Of course, they knew fully well they could not, until they blew the trumpet. 'Perhaps I could blow it now, and return.'

Thinking of their home made the angel forget its uneasiness for a moment. It was comforting to think about it, when they had no worries or issues, all they had to do was sing, which came as easy as breathing. The angel's body hadn't breathed, in Heaven, but on Earth it did it on its own. They'd ignored it up until now, but its body was doing it rather sporadically all of a sudden. Not even the easy lull of memories in Heaven could soothe it now, because something even stranger than the feeling from before knocked at its head.

The memories of home conjured up by their sudden desire for nostalgia did not seem so real, compared to the hill they stood now. The angel realized it could not picture Heaven so clearly as it could the world around it. It had been only an hour since it had first arrived on this patch of land, yet it seemed so much more... present. The angel had not concerned itself with everything around it until now. The grass at its feet only showed up in their mind as an irritation that the skin of their body did not like. Upon closer examination though, it seemed like its own life, waving around in the wind and absorbing the tiny spots of water on its leaves. Beneath the ground the roots slowly crawled through the dirt, like little hands grasping for food. It was also, much to the angel's surprise, a different color than the dirt, and the sky, and the angel themselves. The angel knew color only as an imperfection of the light, one it had encountered as they flew above the twinkling cities after being released from heaven. Its spirit, in Heaven, had never seen light in this manner, but now that their mortal eyes adjusted, they could see a whole spectrum in front of them, standing so boldly on the landscape, everywhere. Color filled the Angel's universe in an instant.

'Why cannot Heaven have this? If all of this is to be destroyed along with the world, why can I not bring this with me?'

And suddenly, the source of their nagging feeling revealed itself. The Angel had, subconsciously, referred to itself as "I". Where had it heard "I" before? The souls in Heaven said "I" quite a lot, but Angel had never heard any angels say it. Angel had never spoken with another angel, but surely they would have brought it up.

Angel, now engrossed with this query, started to pace on the hill, carrying the trumpet as they did so.

But, had Angel ever thought about this? They couldn't remember. All the time they had been in Heaven, they could recall no thoughts, only observations. It was absurd, yet exciting. It must be this place, this hill, or whatever paradise they had landed on. No, Heaven was paradise. Earth, where they now stood, was not paradise, that Angel knew for sure. It was one of the things angels inherently knew. The other angels, did they not know? Had they never thought, as Angel now did?

Without helping it, an immensely satisfying feeling entered Angel's mind, and spread through the body from the brain. It felt so... good, to ask these questions. Being able to not only make observations of the environment, but to interact with it and deconstruct it through the act of examination made Angel feel so alive, they gave a whoop of elation.

This frightened the sheep, not because it was scary though. What they had thought was a human-shaped rock turned out to be a real one. This, combined with the sudden wind that had picked up, sent them into a wooly huddle against the chill.

Angel, now drunk on their own liberating freedom of thought, began to explore the confines of their memory and search for something, anything to confirm their new feelings. But still, nothing that they could remember had ever suggested this new feeling was ever a possibility. It couldn't be right, though. It mustn't be! Surely there was one angel, at least one, who dared to posit a thought and act on this deliverance?

Storm clouds gathered above.

Every angel, every single one that they could remember only ever did their orders and did them perfectly. And it was such a shame too. Angel could not stop imagining all of the insightful talks and conversations they would have together. Each angel that went to Earth would have something new to say, but only if they said anything at all. The souls of the worthy would speak with them, they did little else there. Together in little groups and apart of huge wandering masses they spoke to one another, of their memories, their prayers, the grace of the divine, the wiles of Satan on Earth, the goings on of their family back in Massachusetts... The...

For a single moment, that hilltop was absolutely silent. No sound, not even the heartbeat of an earthworm could be heard. Then, as a look of terror so palpable even the sheep huddling beside Angel could feel it, the sky was rent. A sound tore across the churning sky, so terribly loud that even the deaf could feel it ringing in the recesses of their minds, reaching every ear that could hear it and every spirit that could feel it. It sounded, to those able to hear it without losing their senses and doubling over in pain, as if the very world was being torn in half. Ironically, the opposite was happening.

Angels don't have names. Humans often give them names as ways of personalizing themselves with them. Since angels did not talk to one another, they had no names among each other. Officially speaking, and that's all most angels knew how to speak, there was only ever one angel who was given a name. One angel, one who all others knew, back when he was in their ranks.

The effect was immediate. Angel's first thoughts were mostly jumbled nonsense, but after stringing them together, they were something like: 'But-but that's completely different. I'm not like that. Surely they would understand the difference? Right?'

Their body now started to shiver as the winds hurled themselves against the hill. 'Taking a moment to see the world, that-that cannot be comparable to what he did? He, he went against the law of Heaven, I didn't do that! I can't be punished for that!'

But, though their mind was desperately pleading with an audience only Angel could see, their perfect recollection, unprompted, started to bring forth memories. Memories of angels being sent out to destroy cities, memories of angels turning people into pillars of salt, memories of screaming angels individually tearing the wings, to the last feather, off of a horrified figure more beautiful than any mortal prince.

The human body, as a result of living in a world of constant horror and potential death, has found adaptations around fear and paranoia. Collapsing into a cold sweat as you confront the toothed, clawed existential dread of death is not a good survival mechanic. So, naturally people's brains will sort out those feelings away for another time, while heating up the muscles and pumping the adrenaline to prepare for sprinting away from the saber-toothed tiger.

Angel, having only discovered individuality five minutes ago, did not have any of these adaptations. The sucker-punch of the mental strangulation happening in their mind sent their body falling to the ground, locked in paralysis. The sheep, who had sought shelter next to the closest thing to a shepherd, ran away from the tumbling angel.

Inside the prison of the mind, Angel's delusions continued unabated. All the angels who had ever been now stood, forming an infinitely tall amphitheater around Angel, who was on their knees begging. Foremost amongst the crowd was an enormous figure, obscured by the light of the crown it wore.

'Please, I did nothing! Not one word was uttered against you! I didn't do anything wrong!'

The voices of the angels, all in the same harmony as the choirs songs had been, now intoned, 'You stand before us and the one who gave you life, defective?'

The voices boomed in Angel's thoughts, drowning out their own words. 'Angels do not plead, they do not beg. They do what they are told and be glad.'

'But I am glad! I will do as you say, I only thought for a moment of not blowing the trumpet. A mere daydream cannot be that bad!"

The rising crowd turned their piteous faces on Angel, while the greatest form among them covered their face, disappointed at the thing in front of them. 'It seems there was a mistake in giving you the trumpet. You must not be an angel after all.'

'But I am! I will do anything, I will blow the trumpet, please! Anything but-but this!'

Still, the crowd did not hear the struggling little voice. Angels descended upon them, each of them sporting a grabbing hand, reaching for one of the feathers. They tried to flee, to escape the serene faces from grabbing them, but all that was behind Angel was the ground. Gleaming red-gold beneath them was the trumpet, exactly where Angel had left it.

'All I need to do is blow it, everything will be fixed then!'

Diving down with ephemeral feathers clinging to their back, Angel reached out to grab the trumpet, only to find the ground opening up, becoming a great black maw. Jewel-red fires gushed out, as jagged, scaly claws shot up from the black soil, right towards their face. Angel dived into that pit, along with all the other angels trailing behind them. Every single thing around them extended, seizing a wing, a limb, an eyeball, and Angel was thrust everywhere, torn apart by the demanding arms.

Their eyes shot open, staring at the trumpet in the ground. Within their minds, a voice which sounded like their own whispered, 'I must.'

Still paralyzed and unable to perceive the outside stimuli, Angel crawled on their hands alone, and reached for the trumpet. In the angel's warped vision, their hand extended across the entire planet, and it was still not far enough.

Then, with the index finger a mere hair's width from the trumpet, one of the sheep licked Angel's face. Instinctively, they flinched away from it, retracting their hands towards their face. But, to their surprise, nothing happened. No flesh melting off, no petrification, nothing. The only thing different was a strong smell and a cowlick. Angel looked up, into the face of the sheep which had licked them. The sheep looked back, right into the angel's eyes. The winds stopped and the storm faded away.

An eternity later, when Angel finally comprehended what they saw, they stood up. They brushed themselves off and stood tall against the receding light of the sky. Finally, their mind was clear.

Angel, with the herd of sheep following after them, shakily walked off the hill. They kept walking until they found the shepherd's home, and the shepherd curled up with his family underneath the shutters of the window.

The trumpet continued to sit on top of the hill. It sat there until the grass grew over it, and the sheep licked it red with rust. Not a sound came out of it, and eventually it was lost beneath the dirt and worms.

And across the world, the nuclear bomb affectionately named Ivan and literally named the "Tsar Bomba" blew up over the Severny Island, and no one died (except a few lemmings). The pilots on the release plane considered it a pretty good test and were awfully confused why people were freaking out when they landed back in Olenya.

If the trumpet had sounded, those pilots wouldn't have been so proud of their test. Rather, they would have found themselves inexplicably dropping that same bomb over London. Then, whether anyone would have wanted it or not, the Cold War would end and the Very Hot War would begin. A war over treaties, allegiances, capitalism, communism, borders, and eventually, food and water. Nuclear war followed by a nuclear winter. A long winter which would stretch into the night, so long that it would look like that sun had been plucked out of the sky.

Which in fact it was, although plucked might be too neat a word to describe the awful things Apep and Skoll might do to it. As the humans fought so too would the gods above them. Neither would notice the other until it was too late.

After all the gods and monsters and humans die nothing will be left. A barren, lifeless world of scorched seas and burnt forests.

Luckily, none of that happened. Chaos did ensure and people did claim that it was the "end of the world", but they were wrong. The world continued slowly meandering its way through time as it had before. It may well have ended, all but for the kiss of a lamb.

#short story #literature #but not really #prologue #tdg #angel #apocalypse #armageddon

[webcricket]

Winter’s Eye

Pairing: AU!CastielXReader Word Count: 1560 (Ch. VII) Story Summary: Season 13 canon tells you how AU!Castiel’s story ends, this is how it begins. The deranged and damaged iteration of Castiel we met in the apocalypse universe - an obedient soldier to Michael’s cause barely in control of his vessel’s frayed and erratically firing nerves whose inherent kindness toward humankind appeared entirely obliterated - wasn’t always an unfeeling angelic weapon of interrogation. Once, he sympathized with the plight of humans; one, he loved. Outlined for 10 chapters (although, my muse is bad at maths and these things have a way of multiplying). Chapter Summary: As the connection between Cas and the reader finds firmer footing, a link from his past arises to threaten them both.

Previous Chapter: VI

VII.

“Are you kidding me?” The question explodes in a puff of breath on the frozen air; before you unfolds a pristine island of black tarvia, the filtered sun beating down on it with enough heated force to melt the snow anywhere pavement touches. Parking spaces outlined in regular intervals of yellow striping, and a handful of abandoned vehicles, radiate from the mountainous façade of a Mega-Mart.

Surveying the scene through the squinted blue optics of his vessel, Cas casts you a curious knotted-brow glance from where stands at the edge of where forest rings this convenient miracle of civilization seemingly constructed in the middle of nowhere. “Is something funny to you?” he asks, looking between you and a building too empty and too quiet for his instincts to trust; out here you’re exposed - a living breathing target unprotected by a buffer zone of wooded isolation – and he doesn’t like it one iota.

“No-” you laugh, further confusing his brow with the conflict inherent between your answer and attitude- “I guess I was expecting a rinky-dink general store fronting a small town main street. Not this-” You gesture at the looming building, a wonderland promising to contain anything and everything your heart could possibly desire and more. More, that is, beyond the surprise solace of sharing a cabin with your very own personal overly protective angel, of course.

“There is a highway not far from here, and a town like you describe – one whose populace was decimated by werewolves and worse. It’s not safe there or here,” he says gravely. And yet here you are, allowed to tag along against his better judgement because, in a moment of weakness of reason, he let an inexorably extant and angelically errant emotion of fondness for you overrule his head.

“We should hurry-” haste propels his feet forward; he curls a beckoning arm backward- “Stay close.”

You obey, legs scissoring at a trot to try to keep step with his purposeful stride. On level ground, it’s even more punishing a pace than the hike that hurried you here. Feeling the bite of blisters forming on the boney points of your heels and on the tops of your toes, you make note on your mental shopping list to search for a pair of better fitting boots and Band-Aids.

As you thoughts wander, he begins to outpace you. “Hey, where’s the fire?” you pant across the growing gap of distance.

Gradually getting the gist that not all questions you pose want answering given he observes no indications of a blaze in the immediate vicinity, he ignores the query, but not the subtext of comment on his speed, and slows until you catch up.

Approaching the sliding glass doors of the entrance, he notes they are intact and locked just as he last left them. A scattering of stone spilling outward from the threshold, not so accidental as it appears, lies undisturbed.

Strategically speaking, this would be the easiest egress for an intruder to gain entrance inside. The rear and side admittances are steel, chained, and padlocked. Still, with you to watch over, he does not permit these subtle reassurances to soothe his caution.

A flick of two fingers to focus his grace frees the dead bolt. He pries the doors apart with brute strength just far enough to permit you both to squeeze through. On last look out at the parking lot as he secures the doors shut, his regard is drawn heavenward to the horizon to a solitary silvery vapor streaking the otherwise uniformly tarnished gold glow of the sky – a wisp of airy nothingness so slim as to barely be noticed and the sort of smoky linear disturbance a plane would create in its wake as it passed - a contrail disturbing the pressure of the low atmosphere.

Except there are no planes, and there hasn’t been anything save the bodily bound bombs of angels skimming the firmament in flight - or, like him, falling in a smoldering ruin of fate - since the day Michael donned a crown formed by the flayed flesh and bone and souls of billions of humans and the emptied glory of the thousand and more angels who opposed him and whose snuffed existence stains, in a bloodied shadow of once brilliant light, Castiel’s hands.

In the seconds he spends considering the cloud, it dispels in a freshet of cool wind. It wouldn’t make sense, angels scouting here where there is nothing. They’ve done with him, banished him to dwell in and on his defeat, and ever since he etched a warding sigil upon the curved carriage of your ribs, they cannot so much as sense you exist.

Besides, with what you’ve told him of the holdouts of human resistance groups, why waste heavenly resources hunting one human in a haystack of the wild when bigger targets persist.

The tear of a candy bar wrapper loudly resonates in the benumbed and stagnant space; the crumpling of plastic and crunch of chocolate crust is swallowed up as eagerly by the silence as your gullet.

“I missed these,” you mumble and moan in immodest taste bud titillating pleasure around a mouthful of melted sugary goodness as his gaze rounds to seek out the source of the sound.

“Shh-” he scolds; the grit of worry in the warning hushes you instantly.

Terror tightens your throat so that you cannot swallow the amalgam of sugar and saliva held amid your teeth and tongue. Heart seizing, then pounding with such ferocity each ferried beat of fear shudders your frame, bits of brown moisture ooze at the trembling corners of your clinched jaw.

In the depths of the store, somewhere down a darkened aisle, winding to reach his celestially superior discernment, a soft scraping of fabric and rubber soles, slightly sticky on the tiled floor despite the feather-lightness of the footsteps, faintly perforates the calm.

Lashes widened in alarm quickly narrow again in a lethality of resolve; an inner luminance of blue burns in his searching gaze as he shifts a few steps into the eerie fringes of where the window light bleeds into the dimness. When he shakes his sleeve, you see a glint of metal flash into his grip.

Adrenaline opens up your veins and, also oiling your muscles to fight or flee from this place, it permits you to thickly and audibly gulp the wad of partially chewed chocolate nougat.

He extends the hand unburdened by a blade out at you, a movement meaning to say that you should do neither and duck out of sight behind the register.

You misread the purely practical physicality of his request and instead cede to the instinctive tug at your emotions to meet his fluttering fingers halfway, meshing yours into the warm sanctuary of their apertures and securing your other arm through the crook of his elbow to flatten his entire weaponless limb to your chest.

To say the action – a clingy suggestion of deeply rooted trust, concern, and consequently of a firm belief in his ability to shield you in the face of danger - catches him off guard would be an understatement.

However, with a hiss of his name in a tone familiar to him as that of his unwaveringly loyal lieutenant and sister – Rachel – slicing through the dark loud enough, even, for you to hear the anger and resentment whetting the knife of feminine voice, he has no time to analyze the exhilarating effect your embrace and corporal nearness exerts upon his being, nor does he permit more than a speck of added anxiety to alter the determination of his affect.

Pivoting, his typically stony rigidity a balletic display of swiftness, grace, and fluid urgency, he covers your mouth, pins you flush against the waist-high wall of the register, and very briefly steals your breath in the press of his hips against yours. The dynamism of his blues, desperately sparking hue dancing less than an inch from your flared lids, implores you to stay there no matter what happens.

He’s certain she heard you - can hear the wild banging of pulse within your body just as clearly as he can – she is, after all, an angel, and a sometime ally sympathetic to humanity who is not as dead as he presumed and evidently has an axe to grind with him.

If you stay out of her way, you may yet survive. Castiel maintains less hope for himself, and before he found you, he would’ve welcomed whatever retribution she required up to and including his life – a life sunken into meaninglessness and seeped in suffering; but now, staring into your eyes, their pleading concern begging him to be careful, to not leave you alone, he feels reason to fight.

Numbed by panic, limbs turning into immovable lead weights of worry for him, you feebly nod against the electrically charged scent of his skin a promise to stay put for his sake and collapse as he pushes you down to your knees and into the alcove underneath.

You watch the lower portion of his legs retreat from your sight and disappear into the gloom. Straining to hear what is happening, the pain pinching your heart in his absence drums dully in your ears and pulls with each strung and stinging beat at the fluid filling the blisters on your feet.

Castiel tag list:  (Closed, if you’d like to be removed please let me know!)    @jeepangel  @sammiesamness  @willowing-love  @blueicevalkyrie   @im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11  @thesugargalaxy​    @bluetina-blog​  @dont-trust-humanity​  @afanofmanystuffs  @honeybeetrash​  @bucky-thorin-winchester​  @superwholockz​   @tistai​  @wordstothewisereaders​  @gill-ons​  @mrswhozeewhatsis​  @marisayouass​  @stone-met​   @castiel-savvy18​  @samualmortgrim​  @trexrambling​  @magnificent-mantle​  @kdfrqqg  @xdifsx​   @mandilion76​  @rockfairy​  @peaceloveancolor​  @unicorntrooper​  @anisolatedship​  @itsilvermorny​  @aditimukul​  @kudosia​  @goofynerd-67babylove​  @uninspirationalsonglyrics​  @gray-avidan​  @mishascupcake​   @mishapanicmeow​   @praisecastielamen​  @roseyhxnt​  @jessikared97​  @let-the-imaginationflow​  @warriorqueen1991​   @sebastianstanslefteyebrow   @hisnameisboobear  @kristendanwayne  @fuschiarulerinthebluebox​  @coolpencilpie​  @jenabean75​  @luciathewinchestergirl​  @morganas-pendragons​  @heyitscam99​  @fangirl-and-stuff​  @selahbela  @realgreglestrade​  @splendidcas​  @pointlesscasey​  @i-larb-spooderman​  @thewhiterabbit42​  @thelostverse​  @castieliswatchingoverme​  @beccollie18  @dragonett8  @dixie-chick​  @jtownraindancer​   @carowinsthings​  @passionghost​  @ladyofletters67​ @futureparent​  @gabbie7-11​  @myfandomlife-blog​  @dreamerkim​ @shamelesslydean​  @earthtokace​  @neaeri​  @justanormalangel​  @lone-loba​  @supernaturalymarvel​  @lilrubixx​  @wings-and-halo​  @x-cassiopeia​ @thehoneybeecastielfollows​  @musiclovinchic93​  @81mysteriouslyme​  @the-bottom-of-the-abyss​  @jaylarkson​ @pixiedusts  @spookysculderfiles  @laqueus-ludovicus  @missjenniferb @lexininja  @jessiekay2010   @skrratata  @rhiannonj79  @calicat79

#au!castiel x reader #castiel x you #castiel x reader #spn x reader #castiel #castielxreader #castielxyou #cas x reader #cas x you #reader x castiel #you x castiel #castiel readerfic #apocalypseversecastiel #au!castiel #castiel reader insert #castiel fanfic #spn fanfic #cricket writes cas

[swissmissficrecs]

Johnlock Advent Calendar, Part 2

Back in 2014, I posted a Johnlock Advent Calendar of 24 fic recs related to Christmas. There have been a lot of good ones posted since then, so it’s time for part 2! 1. a good old-fashioned happy ending (32731 words) by darcylindbergh Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: And Sherlock stands there, in the middle of a Christmas market as John hums along to Silent Night, John’s hand warm in his with fingertips a little gritty from the cinnamon-sugar doused churros they’d shared, and thinks, oh, that’s–that’s an idea, isn’t it? For Christmas this year, Sherlock wants to get John something special: something every fairytale deserves.

2. A Party on Christmas Eve (15729 words) by PoppyAlexander Rating: General Audiences Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: A collection of ficlets for December, prompted by MissDavis in her 2018 Advent Ficlet Challenge. John and Sherlock first meet when John moves into 221C Baker Street. Will romance bloom before a party on Christmas eve? (spoiler alert: Yes, it will. Of course it will.) I'm going to try to cram in all our favourite holiday fic tropes here, too. Enjoy!

3. a vein of frost (58023 words) by Zingiber Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, John Watson/Original Female Character(s) Summary: As winter falls over London, Sherlock finds himself struggling to cope with a five-year-old goddaughter, a bizarre series of holiday-themed murders, and a new woman in John's life. Written for the Sherlock December Ficlet Challenge.

4. Another Auld Lang Syne (30234 words) by DiscordantWords Rating: Mature Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Rosamund Mary "Rosie" Watson, Mrs. Hudson (Sherlock Holmes), Molly Hooper, Mycroft Holmes, Greg Lestrade Additional Tags: Christmas, Angst with a Happy Ending, Pining Sherlock, Pining John, Post-Season/Series 04, First Kiss, Holidays, Winter, Advent Calendar, Past Drug Use, Angst, Eventual Happy Ending, Ficlet Collection, Drinking, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss Summary: There had been years of missed chances.

5. Breaking Christmas (18606 words) by MissDavis Rating: Mature Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: Join me in some established relationship Johnlock as I attempt to make Sherlock and John participate in some Seasonal Fucking Cheer. Chapter 18: John's New Year's Eve Appointment: In which John finally comes around to Sherlock's point of view that the pleasure derived from a bit of body piercing far outweighs any risks involved.

6. Christmas Time After Time (41543 words) by PlaidAdder Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Mary Morstan/John Watson, Clara/Harry Watson Summary: John's not really big on Christmas; and this year, the first after Mary's death, he's not feeling it. Everyone's away, Sherlock's on a case--alone--and Rosie's asleep. But that's all right. He's fine. He'll just have a quiet Christmas Eve by himself, drinking in front of the telly.  Only out there in time and space, there's another Doctor who thinks that sounds like the saddest thing ever. And she's going to do something about it. Thirteen takes John on a whirlwind tour of Christmases past and future. The more he learns about this time travel thing, the more John starts to wonder how his current timeline became...what it is. Might these alternatives hold the key to a less miserable present, and maybe a brighter future?

7. Christmas With You (23081 words) by MissDavis Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: Watch Sherlock, John and Rosie over the years as they celebrate the season as only they can.

8. Elementary, Actually (26526 words) by blueink3 Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: Just back from the war, 26-year-old John Watson is looking for a job. Luckily, his old buddy Mike Stamford has one in mind: “Mike, you did not tell me this was a porno.” “What? It’s not!” “No? Then why the hell am I being asked to eventually take my kit off and mount some kid who barely looks like he’s out of secondary!” He expects Mike to be angry or indignant on his behalf, but what he does not expect is for the man to burst out laughing on the other end of the phone. “Mike!” “Sorry, sorry. Are you serious? Frankie told me it was an art house/independent type but I thought he meant Little Miss Sunshine, not Eyes Wide Shut!”  “Oh my God, Mike, I’m going to kill you.” Or, what happens when the author watches Love Actually with Johnlock in mind.

9. Five Christmases that went wrong and one that didn't (11685 words) by love_in_mind_palace Rating: Mature Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: John isn’t sure about most of the things in his life. Except for the fact that he loves Sherlock, Sherlock loves him back and that after years of bad luck, he is getting the Christmas he always deserved.

10. Ghost Stories (22256 words) by SwissMiss Rating: Mature Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: Sherlock's parents think he and John are a couple. They might be onto something.

11. Ghosts (14752 words) by orphan_account Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: A dead man is haunted by ghosts at Christmastime and, together, they help bring him back to life

12. Home for Christmas (19499 words) by SilentAuror Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: It's been eleven months since Eurus Holmes happened, and just one since John and Rosie moved back into Baker Street at last. With Christmas just around the corner, both Sherlock and John are slightly baffled when Mrs Hudson decides to give them a slow cooker as a "house-warming present"...

13. I Just Want You for My Own (166706 words) by cwb Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: Sherlock and John head home from their respective schools for the winter break.

14. In Bed (46922 words) by Ellipsical Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: The sequel to Guilty Secrets. How do the sons of silent, bitter houses love? Like this.

15.  Johnlock Advent 2018 (47773 words) by sussexbound Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: Some of you may remember the 2017 Johnlock Advent. It was a collaboration between @honeybeelullaby, @chained-to-the-mirror, and myself. @honeybeelullaby provided the wonderful prompts, @chained-to-the-mirror drew pictures based on those, and I wrote a ficlet for each one. It was a real blessing for all three of us then, so… IT’S BACK!!

16. Let Nothing You Dismay (13326 words) by OpalJade Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: For lack of a better Christmas gift idea, John makes a booklet of redeemable coupons for Sherlock. 17. Merlot (14844 words) by Itsallfine Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: “Because you’ve been through enough. The both of you have been through so much, and it’s time to just be happy, okay?” she continued, rather more gently. “It’s time. You asked for my help, and I’m giving it. Let yourself be happy, Sherlock Holmes.” Sherlock and John work toward becoming something more as they prepare to host the Holmes parents at 221B for the holidays. Written for the 25 Days of Fic-Mas 2015 challenge on tumblr. Chapter 16 is the only explicit one and can be easily skipped. The rest of the fic is rated T.

18. Oh, my friends, it's been a long hard year (11914 words) by splix Rating: Mature Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Mr. Chatterjee/Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock Holmes' Father/Mummy (Sherlock) Summary: Christmas is rubbish this year.

19. Points (53791 words) by lifeonmars Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: The little things are infinitely the most important. -- "A Case of Identity," Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. What if His Last Vow never happened? This fic picks up a few months after John and Mary's wedding, in an alternate universe where Magnussen doesn't exist, but Mary is still pregnant. Life continues -- just in a different direction. And slowly, Sherlock and John find their way to each other.

20. Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the Missing Christmas Spirit (15002 words) by SilentAuror Rating: Mature Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: John hates Christmas. So does Sherlock, but he suggests that they do Christmas "properly" this year to see if they can't track down its elusive magic and discover for themselves what Christmas is supposed to be about.

21. The Adventure of the Crossed Streams (23239 words) by mydwynter Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: I scowled, annoyed as usual by Holmes's intrusion on my privacy. I was afraid that some day he might read something more telling, something more dangerous, and that in uncovering the truth he would ruin our intimate friendship for good. "I’m not exactly feeling up to scratch this morning, Holmes." "And yet your eyebrows continue their semaphore." Christmas Eve day. Come mid-morning, Holmes and Watson find themselves with three gifts, two cases, and one mild hangover. If they're lucky, they won't be additionally burdened with a partridge in a pear tree—though with the direction everything is heading, Watson wouldn't bet against it.

22. To the Gold of Frankincense through Myrrh (10031 words) by sideris Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: After Sherlock's imprisonment for the murder of Charles Augustus Magnussen, he's released on licence into Mycroft's care. It's December and when Mycroft asks him what he'd like for Christmas, there's only one answer. "John."

23. The Holiday Cycle (115450 words) by flawedamythyst Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Sherrinford Holmes/Molly Hooper Summary: “If we vote to allow you to be an exception to the law, you will celebrate every holiday,” said Father Christmas. “With as much enthusiasm as you can." John and Sherlock made a deal so that Sherlock could come home. Now it's time for them to uphold it.

24. The Key (11689 words) by 221b_careful_what_you_wish_for Rating: Mature Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, James Sholto/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/Victor Trevor Summary: Six months after the tarmac scene, John gives his key to 221B Baker Street back to Sherlock, deciding he needs a clean start -- but there's too much left unresolved for that to easily happen. (I wrote this purely for the feels, wondering what would happen if John walked away after all the trauma of S3... You know they can't stay apart, but what might happen in between?)

#rec list #christmas

[nextbigaiello]

Count Floyd...Why Was He Just EVERYWHERE!?

Okay so like I should preface that I have no problem with Count Floyd. On the contrary. I actually love Count Floyd and the fact that SCTV news anchor Floyd Robertson was his alter ego. The two could’ve just been two separate Joe Flaherty characters that had the same name, but they actually went out of their way to make the connection, and I absolutely love that. I already loved Floyd and his clear superiority over Earl Camembert, and adding onto his character with another opposing side really upgraded him to one of my favorite characters in SCTV. Both are hilarious characters. Floyd’s straight and narrow need to mock Earl and just tell the news for the adults while trying to be a recovering alcoholic, and his switch to a goofy and child friendly who knows he’s shelling out shit on Saturday nights make the character more than just one note. It really makes me happy when they acknowledge that both Floyds are the same Floyd in universe. The first time was in the very first edition of Monster Chiller Horror Theatre (from series 1, episode 18), where it was clearly mentioned in the opening credits: "With Floyd Robertson as Count Floyd." During one newscast, Earl gave a heartfelt testimonial to Floyd who had been at Rolling Hills Rehabilitation Center for the past year, mentioning that in addition to his news career, he had delighted children for years as Count Floyd. Another was in the very last edition of SCTV News (from series 6, episode 17), where an obviously inebriated Robertson showed up late to the newscast after a Monster Chiller Horror Theatre taping, still wearing his Count Floyd makeup. During that broadcast, he announced that Monster Chiller Horror Theatre's sound engineer was retiring, thus completely upstaging Camembert's announcement that he was retiring from the newscast; which is my favorite moment of this. Floyd Robertson being Count Floyd was a favorite fun fact of mine. But, the two characters started to separate and one got more attention than the other.

Sure! As is to come with great characters! Count Floyd had a powerful personality that was much stronger than regular Floyd Robertson, who was typically just the straight man to Earl’s antics. It is to be expected that more extravagant and formulaic characters would be more popular and thus be used more often. There’s nothing wrong with this. It just personally saddens me in this particular case because I really liked that Floyd Robertson was Count Floyd and had another side to him that could be let loose, and they just kind of threw that away making me wonder why they would go out of their way to combine the two if one side was going to have more of a separate impact. I don’t know. But don’t think that I hated Count Floyd because of his popularity boost. No no. He was still great; with his werewolf howl that he had and I never noticed as to why a vampire would howl nor seemed to care until Joe Flaherty on a podcast decided to call everyone out for not realizing it and now I feel dumb.....thanks Joe. But Count Floyd and Monster Chiller Horror Theatre was great! But Count Floyd was used A LOT with other projects and I don’t know necessarily why.

In SCTV, it didn’t bother me that Count Floyd became his own entity and focused on Monster Chiller Horror Theatre and being scary more often. But it was when he spun off into other media that I started to wonder....why the hell is Count Floyd in this?

Count Floyd (1982):

So this is a mini album....a VERY MINI ALBUM. There’s only four songs and they’re all strange. It's basically a comedy album and it sells that really well. I just don’t know exactly why they made it, especially in the height of SCTV. But prominent writers Dick Blasucci, Mike Short, and Paul Flaherty helped write and produce this with Joe, so there was some strength with this. It's just a strange little thing (literally) that kind of just escapes under the radar. If you want to check it out, go ahead. But don’t use it to nod off and get a lot of work done.

“The Weapon”, Rush (1984): https://youtu.be/iTBx0P0zOqA

Now I just stumbled on this today, but I feel like it should have a small mention. It’s not crazy like the other stuff I’ll talk about. In fact, its really cool and dope. It's interesting because this is just after SCTV, and we know Bob and Doug McKenzie were able to have Geddy Lee on their album in ‘81 due to Moranis knowing Lee from school, and we all know just how popular the McKenzies were and still kind of are. But Count Floyd had an opening video for the song “The Weapon” on Rush’s Signals and Grace Under Pressure tours, and it's a nice little fit. They use him well and it looks like everyone had fun.

The Completely Mental Misadventures Of Ed Grimley (1988)/ Cartoon Planet (90s): https://youtu.be/DcNi9qoaKqM

This is an interesting choice. Not a bad choice. Just an interesting one. The Completely Mental Misadventures Of Ed Grimley is really fun and weird and I highly recommend seeing it if you haven’t already. Even for an SCTV fan, it's very weird. Each episode actually pauses and takes time out to dedicate time to Count Floyd, which are live action segments against the cartoon world. It was no longer about scary movies and 3-D glasses, but a show about Count Floyd telling scary stories to an audience of kids who would mock him and tell him he wasn’t scary. But Count Floyd knew that the child friendly content wasn’t scary, and he always tried to make it sound scary so he could get paid.....that’s what his character was. But now he’s almost insulted now, when really the real Floyd could tell those kids to take a flying leap if he could. The reason for Count Floyd being on the show is because its Ed Grimley’s favorite show. Fair enough. I just think this starts a “Count Floyd is really just for kids” idea. Not that we wasn’t supposed to be something kids couldn’t watch, but Count Floyd and especially SCTV was something for all ages, and Count Floyd was meant as kind of a parody of those kinds of child friendly/spooky hosts from the 50s and 70s, so it wasn’t to be too sincere. But this started the trend of child friendly Count Floyd, and it would only go downhill from here.

Cartoon Planet just recycled the segments years later so they could have content. It features the characters from Space Ghost: Coast to Coast in a way that they’re trying to connect the two, but its clunky.

Making Real Funny Home Videos (1990): https://youtu.be/wLCDwrLCOVA

God this fucking thing-SO...I hate this. ‘Why’ is the biggest question I have for this. I don’t know the reasoning for this. All I know is that its dumb Count Floyd camp.

Basically what it is, is a “how to” style video in which Count Floyd....fully as Count Floyd, mugs to the camera for 30min and fails at teaching people how to make America’s Funniest Home Video videos. I’m annoyed by this VHS tape because this completely ruins the Floyd lore and makes Count Floyd this somewhat unstable and sad man. He has a full ass family; in SCTV he was “living with a girl and he wasn’t even married”, but also alluded to having a nephew. He never gets out of the character, and it kind of seems like he just kidnapped this family. Its less charming because this isn’t the same character from SCTV. This is a mad man who thinks he’s a vampire.

Look it isn’t the worst thing ever like I’m making it out to be. Its just character assassination in an extreme sense and its not even that funny. But I would at least check it out once if you want to see a strange little VHS score.

Smoke Detectives with Count Floyd (1990): https://youtu.be/2xb_My1HN6c

-_-

Must Be Santa (1999): https://youtu.be/1uXB9IR9vOw

A Canadian lifetime movie from 1999 has Count Floyd in it for a rough estimate of ten minutes. I also found this today. I skipped through it just so I could see how big a part he plays in the movie, and again....he doesn’t. The reason he’s there is because the main character’s name is Floyd Count, and the North Pole or whatever tries to do research on him because he’s like the new Santa, but Count Floyd shows up on the monitor instead and won’t shut the fuck up. It is a dumb cameo because its probably to be expected that they called the main character Floyd Count just so they could make this joke. But Count Floyd doesn’t do anything except howl and do intros to Monster Chiller Horror Theatre. A small cameo, but a dumb one nonetheless.

“Nightlife”, The Wet Secrets (2014): https://youtu.be/zYV1K3wyCnQ

It took a while, but this is a really good Count Floyd cameo. Well, I shouldn’t say its a Count Floyd cameo, more that its actually a Joe Flaherty cameo in which he plays a vampire. The music video is really cool and I appreciate it on a greater level because it kind of shows the difference between the past and the present and getting older, and how everything sucks, and especially that Joe Flaherty doesn’t need all this youthful shit that we have now. It's a really great video and song, and the end of the video gets me every time!

A Conclusion

Count Floyd is a really great character. I love his howl, his painted on widows peak, and his desire to sell kids cheap 3-D glasses for a stupidly large price. I love the fact that he was this alter ego to his staunch opposite, and the two could coexist together. I’m just annoyed that there were too many changes to cash in on popularity. If Count Floyd and Floyd Robertson were still the same person, Count Floyd wouldn't have been in those kid oriented projects. Because I like to think that Floyd Robertson has dignity (I mean as much as he can being an alcoholic). I like to think that Joe Flaherty is above this, and I think my grievances mostly stem from that.

No one talks about Joe Flaherty in the same sense of every other cast member from SCTV or the Second City stage. Sure hardcore comedy people will regale him as comedy gold, but that’s because he is. But there’s only so much I can take when I can only describe him to people as the dad from Freaks and Geeks and the “Jackass” guy from Happy Gilmore. And I’m not discrediting those roles at all. I love Freaks and Geeks and the part he plays in the show, I just wanted him to do more with that show! And Happy Gilmore is a really good movie and I actually really like that he’s given a somewhat big role in it. Joe Flaherty just flies under the radar for most people and it makes me sad. Especially when a lot of movies he does get to be a part of, they’re usually shit (Dogmatic, A Pig’s Tale, Home On The Range), or no one has ever heard of them or acknowledges him in the small role he plays (Going Berserk, Stripes, Snowboard Academy, Used Cars, Back To The Future Part II, etc..). Sesame Street Presents: Follow That Bird is my favorite movie of all time (sharing the #1 spot with My Blue Heaven) and Joe Flaherty is a big reason as to why that movie is continuously great. I just wish he got more recognition, and had film and tv roles that weren’t so cheap. He’s a comedy icon, and I want him to be treated as such. Count Floyd was a great character for him, but so was Floyd Robertson...and Guy Caballero...and Sammy Maudlin...and Norman Gorman, and Big Jim McBob, and so many others!

In the end, I just want Joe Flaherty and his creations to be cherished fondly. I want the character of Count Floyd to be the same Floyd from the very beginning with no hang ups and children to kick him while he’s down. Because then I know that comedy can still be just as funny throughout the years without aggressive changes that shoots for too low or too general an audience. Everyone can laugh at Count Floyd trying to describe the plot to the lost footage of “Blood Sucking Monkeys From West Mifflin Pennsylvania”, but I can’t say the same for adult child Count Floyd. To take from Guy Caballero and his wheelchair, all Count Floyd needs is some respect.

#count floyd #sctv #joe flaherty #floyd robertson #rush #the completely mental misadventures of ed grimley #monster chiller horror theatre #the wet secrets #stripes #going berserk #sesame street presents follow that bird #happy gilmore #freaks and geeks #second city television #comedy #an essay #guy caballero #norman gorman #big jim mcbob #sammy maudlin #legacy #what a great guy #respect #wasn't that scary kids

[helplesslyfictional]

Loki Fanfiction - Remember the Old Ways, Chapter 6 - “All Untold”

Author’s Note: Everything’s starting to coalesce, a little faster than I anticipated! Writing this chapter was intense, exciting, and took a lot more careful thought than I expected.

Chapter Summary: Loki tries to use his new method of communication before his day gets increasingly out of control. Pairings: None! These stories are focused on family relationships.

What characters, then?   Loki, Thor, Odin, Frigga, OCs [Osk] [Sophia]

When? Pre-Thor 2011: From Asgard to Earth, will go through Thor 2011 Warnings: SPOILERS for Avengers Infinity War (under cut), mature themes, emotional trauma/abuse, swearing, anxiety Taglist: @loki-the-fox; @i-am-loki-and-now-i-speak-up; @trickster-grrrl; @deviantredhead; @mylokabrennauniverse; @leanmeanand-green; @juliabohemian; @latent-thoughts; @lucianalight; @nox-th-lk-sf; @be-a-snake-stab-your-brother; @starscreamloki Please let me know if you would like to be added/removed from tags and I’m more than happy to do so! If I added you it’s because I’ve been tracking your blog/work and have noticed you might be interested. :) 

AO3 story link; Wattpad

It wasn’t until he was eating breakfast adjacent to his chambers, as he usually did, that Loki realized nothing strange had happened for over twelve hours. No strange feelings, no dreams, visions, or visitations. Given the course of the past couple days, this seemed a little unusual, but was honestly a relief.

Loki had a few things he wanted to explore himself, primarily the nature of the enchantment Osk had laid upon him. With her death, it was possible the enchantment was broken. Despite the warnings he’d always been told about the unknown costs of magic, he almost hoped it wasn’t. He had been concerned about the vulnerability it created by exposing him to emotion, but now he almost...missed it. Why did he feel that way?

The connection of the ruins he had visited to this magic - Loki elected to call it seidr - seemed strong, but he wondered if he’d be able to call upon it elsewhere. If the enchantment was still there, perhaps he could connect once more to Sophia. If she was in fact their sibling, he needed to find out more information.

Getting up, he put on a jacket and moved to a nearby cushioned bench in his sitting area. When he was sleeping, he hadn’t felt the magic preceding his visitation, so he was unsure of where to start. If he used the same method as in the ruins, he worried he would not visit but instead inhabit her body. Which would likely ruin whatever communication they had.

He closed his eyes, trying to remember the place Sophia occupied. Orange carpet. Wood walls. A strangely embroidered couch, tattered and worn. Sophia, with eyes of green and brown, her brown hair and petite body as she pressed against the wall with fear and curiosity.

That didn’t help, so he turned to what he’d felt from her, the despair, loneliness, sadness, and pain. He tried not to get wrapped up in the emotion, but as he brought them up, it was hard not to let it curl around him and bring forth memories.

Before he could stop himself, he recalled crying in this same room as a young boy, leaning up against his bed, the mattress rail pushing against his back. He couldn’t remember the slight - there had been so many - but as he had tried to push down that sadness, he had stared at the scratches on his floor tiles, inscribing his pain into each of them. He couldn’t tell anyone how he felt, so he mentally wrote those feelings into those scratches.

Before he realized it, however, the memory shifted, and instead of his gold-inlaid bed, the rail was mahogany, and instead of tile, there was beige carpet. Inscribed with pain, in each and every flaw, was a scalloped wallpaper. Reaching out with a child’s fingers, he pressed them against the wall, feeling a thousand whispers and emotions there. All untold.

Then he began to feel it, a broadening of the self, reaching across the distance of the universe. If he were doing it himself, he might have felt afraid there would be no reply. But he knew otherwise. As though answered, he felt a glowing warmth towards which he reached with an eagerness he hadn’t expected from himself.

A brief spell of happiness passed from his head to his toes, and then he was there.

“It’s you!” It was her voice. Both joy and fear - Sophia’s, he realized - coursed through him before he could even adjust. This was a different room. Same walls and carpet, but the space was dominated by a bed. She had just stood up from a faded blue chair, which was still rocking. “I can’t believe it!” She was smiling, but seemed confused.

Loki blinked, looking carefully at Sophia. “Why can’t you believe it?” he asked reflexively, then chided himself. Asking questions back at people was a defensive mechanism of his to stall for time. He quickly glanced around the room, almost taking for granted its tidiness.

Her smile faded. “I just...I thought if you were a hallucination I’d only see you when I’m in the greatest amount of distress. But I suppose if I’m hallucinating now…”

Loki shook his head and snapped his fingers to bring her attention back to him. “I can assure you, once again, that I’m not a figment of your mind. Please, let’s not go through the entire argument.”

She hesitated, then skirted around him to close her door softly. “My parents are home,” she said softly. “They shouldn’t hear us, but if I’m too loud they’ll wonder what I’m doing.”

“I understand,” he said, then shuddered as he wondered what his body was doing in Asgard. Was he speaking aloud? Moving? What if his mother came in?

He should have set up a ward. Why was he making juvenile mistakes?

“Whoa, I might be okay right now, but you clearly aren’t,” said Sophia, who was eying him curiously. “I can feel that - what are you so worried about?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly, “Have you recovered from yesterday?”

“Of course not, I haven’t recovered,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “You don’t recover from something like that, you just hope you don’t feel like that again. But,” she said, squinting, “don’t change the subject. You want to prove you’re real? Then what are you worried about?”

Loki squirmed. He didn’t like this, he didn’t think he’d be able to hide a lie if she could feel his emotions. “I’m worried I’ll be discovered on my end. I made a mistake and didn’t protect myself properly.”

“On your end?” Sophia looked dubious.

Loki felt even more anxious as he pictured his mother coming in. “Hold on,” he said, “I don’t know what will happen, but I’m going to see if I can fix that. If I’m gone, I have an idea how to re-establish...this.”

Closing his eyes, Loki focused on his body, trying to find where he felt the bench pressing against his thighs and the faint smell of pine. Feeling slightly dizzy, he increasingly felt the bench, as though waking up, and opened his eyes.

The connection - Loki didn’t think of it as a spell - was still active, it seemed. He didn’t feel differently. Looking down at his arms, Loki didn’t see Osk’s magic, which surprised him. Getting up quickly, he quickly laid down a ward to alarm him and trip someone coming in through the door. In an effort to deter a visitor, he wove an illusion of himself still sleeping in bed.

As he finished laying it down, he heard a gasp. Whipping around while simultaneously preparing a sleep spell, he stopped short when he saw Sophia standing a few feet away.

Her eyes widened as she saw the glimmering magic he was holding. She didn’t say anything, but began trembling. It wasn’t in fear, however. He sensed she was overwhelmed.

Understandably.

Allowing the spell to dissipate from his fingers, Loki slowly walked towards the woman. It was likely she was present in the same way he had visited her - her body remaining in her home. Though how, he didn’t yet comprehend.

“How - how…” She opened her mouth, but couldn’t articulate anything.

“The same way I visited you,” Loki said gently. “Sophia, it’s alright. This is good, in fact. We’re figuring this out.” Perhaps if he kept talking, it might help her ground herself.

“My mind wouldn’t be able...to imagine this much detail…” she said, slowly turning to look at the architecture.

Loki never really thought about what his chambers looked like, since he had seen them every day. The ceilings were painted in Asgardian style with clouds and stars, stirring with gentle movement. Tall pillars on the sides held up the ceiling, with gilded partitions dividing the area where he slept, spent time, and ate. The cushioned benches around him, with end tables, were kept in a dark blue with small embroidered stars. A balcony with ornate railings stood outside, the city and mountains providing a breathtaking view.

He considered teasing her once again about things being in her head, but he realized she was in a tenuous state. She might reject the connection or grow despondent.

Reaching out slowly, he touched her on the shoulder. Sophia jumped and looked at him wide-eyed.

“Welcome to Asgard,” he said softly.

“It’s a real place, isn’t it.” Finally, it was sinking in. “This must be real, or if it’s a delusion, it’s incredible. I don’t care.” A smile crept across her face. “I mean, it’s everything. Smells, sight - is that snow? Touch…” at this, she reached up and touched his arm, shaking her head, “Sounds...except taste, that’s all that’s left.”

Loki smiled, letting go of her shoulder. “It was the same when I visited you as well.” This was the first time he’d gotten close to her. He had noticed she was short previously, but wasn’t quite aware of how short - probably a foot below him.

She frowned, her mind clearly working. “If this is a method of communication - then how is it even possible I can use all these senses?” She walked toward a partition, touching the edge almost reverently.

He’d forgotten about her curiosity. “I’m not certain myself,” he said, “it’s odd that it’s as though you are...present. It’s possible that my mind could be sending you the signals it’s receiving on this end.” He shook his head, thinking aloud. “What is strange to me is that we can touch something that the other isn’t touching and still receive the stimuli…”

Loki’s musings were interrupted by three sharp bangs on his door. Fuck. It was definitely Thor.

Sophia’s eyes met his and he felt her rising worry. He put his finger on his lips to indicate she should keep quiet, and didn’t move himself. Hopefully Thor would get bored or think he wasn’t there.

Three more bangs. “Lokiiiiiiii.” There was a *thok* against the door that was probably Thor’s forehead. “Come on.” A pause. “I need to talk with you.” Another pause. “Goddamnit.” Then he heard Thor walking away and relaxed.

He dropped his finger. “I apologize,” he said. “That was just my brother, Thor.”

“Oh,” she said sarcastically. “Just the famous god of thunder. Got it.”

“Hey,” Loki said, acting hurt. “I’m not famous on….” he paused. “Where are you from, Sophia?”

“You don’t know?” she asked wryly, then winced. “Obviously you don’t, sorry. Earth.” She paused briefly. “Do you feel anything from him? The same way we’re communicating?”

“No, this is exclusively between us, I believe.” He cocked his head, then considered what she said about her home world. “There’s a lot of places that are just called ‘home,’ or ‘planet’ in their mother tongue, and that name is translating to the same.”

She blinked. “Translating…? Well, I suppose if you were to put it in terms of the Nine Realms, this was called Middle-Earth. Midgard. Back then.” She gave a small smile. “And no, unfortunately, you’re not as famous as your brother.”

“Ah well,” said Loki playfully, shrugging, “I guess you get to spend time with the lesser of the gods.”

“But far more interesting!” Sophia said with a laugh.

Loki gestured to a nearby bench. “Are you able to sit down?” he asked curiously. It was likely, but still important to check how the apparition interacted with matter. She did so dutifully, crossing her legs.

“Yep.”

“Interesting,” said Loki, going to an side table and grabbing a plum. Taste was the only sense untested. If Sophia wasn’t present physically, would something like that, which required matter, even be possible?

It was worth a try.

“Catch,” he said, and tossed the plum to her. With a smooth motion, she caught it and examined it. Then her eyes widened. “Oh,” she said quietly.

“Yes,” he said in response, “you’re interacting with matter. Can you take a bite?”

Sophia hesitated, then took a petite bite, having to suck at it so that juice didn’t dribble down her chin. Holding her hand in front of her mouth as she chewed, she smiled and swallowed. “It’s good and ripe.”

Loki rubbed his mouth contemplatively; he didn’t taste anything. “Interesting,” he repeated, crouching down to look at her closely. When she swallowed, was it transferring between Realms? Looking at him wide-eyed, she asked politely, “May I take another bite?”

A smile spread across his face. “Of course.” Then a test came to him. “Can you focus on being in Midgard once more?”

She looked at him, trying to understand. “What do you mean?”

“When I brought...myself...back here, I tried to focus on what my body was feeling here, while I was sitting.”

“Oh, yes, it simply looked like you closed your eyes on my end.”

“My - apparition didn’t vanish? Did you touch me at all?”

“No to both. So you want me to focus on my...body?”

“If you can.”

Sophia looked around for a spot to put down the plum. “Oh!” Loki said quickly, “no, try and hang onto that. I’m curious about something.”

“You want to see if I have it on Earth - Midgard - don’t you.”

Loki grinned, surprised at how enjoyable it was to speak with her. He’d never expected a discussion with someone from a lesser Realm would be at all interesting. “It’s just a test. Smart of you to catch it, though.”

Sophia smiled smugly and placed the hand holding the plum in her lap. Closing her eyes, she drew in a measured breath. Her forehead wrinkled as she seemed to try and focus, then she grew still.

The plum vanished.

Loki’s heart beat faster in surprise and anticipation, relishing the chance to examine something extraordinary. While this phenomenon was not impossible, given the laws of science and magic, it was nigh improbable.

Could he go back? He closed his eyes and tried to focus on Sophia’s room once more. A brief spell of dizziness, and opening his eyes, he was there.

Sophia sat on her bed, eating the plum. “I can’t believe it - does this mean that…”

“Matter is transferring between Asgard and Midgard!” he burst out, laughing at his childish enthusiasm. “This is - amazing - it’s like…” he hated to say it, because it was so inaccurate, but it seemed so correct to describe the circumstance. “Like...a miracle.”

Sophia took another bite, smiling. “Your happiness is infectious,” she said, trying to hold back laughter herself. “Oh, am I - I’m probably feeling yours, aren’t I.” Her eyes crinkled with joy. “That’s not a bad thing.”

Loki was still in thought, amused. Sophia looked around at her room and shook her head. “I’m here all the time - let’s go back to Asgard, it’s much more interesting than this hellhole.” With that, she grew still once more.

Excited, Loki focused and switched back to Asgard; it was becoming easier.

She was still there on the bench, this time with the plum. Overcome with sheer joy, he didn’t think - he ran over and grabbed her in a hug, lifting her up off her feet. She shrieked in surprise, then laughed, relaxing in his embrace and squeezing back.

Loki’s anxieties rushed back, however, and he blushed, putting her down. “I apologize,” he said, stepping back. “I hope you weren’t offended.” He couldn’t believe he’d broken decorum in such a manner. It was just so exhilarating to share such an experience with someone else.

He hadn’t done so in a long time. Not since his days learning magic with his mother.

Sophia’s smile faded. “You’d know if I was uncomfortable, I think. And I truly don’t mind. I’m not used to being touched, but - it felt good to finally hug someone,” she said in a reassuring tone.

Before he could respond, there was a thud, and, horrified, Loki looked up to see his brother on the balcony.

“I knew you were in here!” Thor said accusingly, fastening Mjolnir to his belt. “Why didn’t you answer your door?”

Sophia bolted up from the bench and stared in surprise. Loki glanced at her, then back at Thor. “Maybe because I need a thing called ‘privacy’?” he growled.

Thor rolled his eyes. “What could you possibly be doing that needs privacy?”

Loki frowned, blinking rapidly as he tried to think of a coherent response to such a stupid question.

Thor reached over and selected a plum, tossing it in the air before catching it and taking a bite. Loki winced once more at the crunch. Another plum taken before it was ripe.

By this point, Loki had expected that Thor would have noticed Sophia, who drew closer to Loki. She still hadn’t said a word, presumably in case she could be heard, even if she couldn’t be seen.

“I recall you not wanting to know about some of my activities,” he said defensively.

“Oh please, brother,” Thor said nonchalantly, “that all went out the window last night.” He hopped over the back of a bench and sat down.

“Did it?” Loki’s anger rose. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t tell when the rules changed. Your threat was effective, so I don’t necessarily know when it’s appropriate to talk with you or not.”

“Alright, calm down,” Thor said with a frown. “No more threats. I need to speak with you.”

Loki put his face in his hands, trying to contain how upset he was.

“Don’t keep it in.” It was Sophia.

Shit, she could feel his emotions. Loki looked up at Thor, who hadn’t moved and was taking another bite of his plum.

Sophia crossed her arms and he felt a pang of her nervousness as she addressed him. “If you’re this upset by what he’s doing, you need to tell him.”

That seemed like a bad idea. He didn’t know what to say, how to articulate how he was feeling in a way that made sense. If he just lashed out, Thor would likely discount it or, he feared, get angry.

Loki flexed his hands nervously as he wished he could get rid of either visitor. He felt exposed, nowhere safe to go, not even inside himself. “What is it, Thor?”

Thor looked up at him and seemed to hesitate, playing with the half-eaten plum in his hand. “Um…” He squinted, giving a confused frown as he tried to hide it behind a false smile. “You know what, nevermind.” With that, he got up.

What? Why all the fuss? “Thor! You invaded my room for this. The least you owe me is a little explanation.”

Thor stopped. He was looking down at his feet, shifting uncomfortably, but didn’t move. Such a sudden change in his demeanor from his arrogant self moments ago certainly meant that Thor was trying to tell him something important.

Moving away from Loki, Sophia slowly began to cross the sitting area, moving toward Thor, peering at him intently. Given the way most women acted around his brother, Loki expected her to be smitten. As he concentrated, he found himself better able to feel her less prominent emotions.

She was filled with curiosity, but more interestingly, there were undercurrents of bittersweet sadness, confusion, and a strange sense of fulfilment. She squinted her eyes as though trying to figure something out.

Finally turning his attention to Thor, Loki spoke. “Is this about what upset you yesterday?”

Thor looked up, as though interrupted with thought, with a pained smile, reaching up to rub his beard with his hand. “You know, I’d never thought anything like this would happen.” He set the plum down almost gently. “I was upset because…” he squeezed his eyes closed, “I saw the future.” With that, he opened them, likely to gauge Loki’s reaction.

Loki’s jaw dropped as he stared at his brother. Thor had been so resistant to everything, so angry, and Osk’s prediction had come true. If so, why was Thor seemingly filled with trepidation?

“I know it seems strange. The night after we met Osk, I had a vision. For a while afterward I thought it was a dream, but...it was no dream.” Thor sat down, rubbing his hands together. “It was too real, too vivid. I could have sworn I was there had I not known otherwise.”

“Thor,” said Loki, coming closer and sitting down, “I had a vision as well. The next morning.”

Thor met his gaze, his eyes widening. “What was it about?”

“You first,” said Loki, a smile passing over his face.

Thor leaned back, rubbing his face vigorously. “But I don’t want to.”

Loki’s smile faded. “Was it bad?”

His brother slouched down and started hitting his head slowly, repeatedly, against the back of the bench. “Yep.”

Loki saw movement out of the corner of his eye and nearly jumped when he saw Sophia. He’d briefly forgotten she was still there. She had her arms crossed and was watching the exchange with great interest. He shook his head to focus. “Brother, you’ll have to tell me at some point.”

Thor let out a sigh of resignation, but remained slouched, staring at the ceiling. “I was in a large vessel that had been attacked. Loki, it was like I was truly there; I could smell ozone and smoke. Blood was in my mouth and I was exhausted, wounded.”

“So you were not an apparition or an observer?” asked Loki, leaning forward and clasping his hands.

“No, I was - I was there. I can’t explain it - I - I had a thousand emotions running through me that I didn’t understand, but they weren’t coming from me. Grief, anger, fear, sadness.” He sat back up, looking at Loki, then down at his hands. “Around me were…” his voice trailed off. It took him a couple seconds before he was able to say the words. “Asgardians. Slaughtered. Not warriors or Einherjar, but men, women, and children.”

Loki was stunned, but managed to force out his first thought, as much as he hated it: “By you?”

Thor shook his head, too wrapped up in the memory to notice the implication. “By enemies. Their faces and forms I could not make out, but like in a dream, I knew who they were. Loki - Loki - you were...there.”

He looked up into Loki’s eyes, then back down, gritting his teeth until at last he spoke. “Pointing your dagger at the throat of a Titan. He had stopped you by some magic and - took you by the throat…” Running his fingers up into his hair, Thor pulled on it, a nervous habit he had from when he was a child. “...and...killed you.”

A chill ran down Loki’s spine, settling into his stomach as he tried to understand what Thor was telling him. “You saw me die.”

Thor rocked a little, then wiped his eyes quickly, still avoiding eye contact with Loki. “I didn’t just - see it, brother. I felt it. Howling grief ripping me apart, a pain like I’ve never known. I wish - I wish I could diminish its memory, but…” He clapped his hands together, giving a fake laugh. “I can’t, I just can’t.”

Loki was stunned. In comparison, his vision was minimal. Nothing. Thor, unable to help? Stopped by magic? What magic was stronger than his? He shook his head, trying to stop the multitude of questions flooding his mind.

Thor was clearly distraught, and Loki realized he was as well, but - no. Well, yes. But it wasn’t just his emotion. He’d been so focused on his brother he’d blocked out the sounds of crying next to him.

Sophia had her face in her hands and was trying to stifle the sounds of her weeping. Loki was acutely aware that if he gave her attention, he would alert his brother to something amiss. As much as he wanted to speak with her and help, he couldn’t.

He didn’t know how Thor would react.

Loki finally spoke, giving voice to his biggest question. “Thor, are you certain this vision was of the future?”

Thor looked up, that pain etched behind his eyes. “In many ways, that’s the worst part of it all.” He looked away from Loki into the distance. “Along with it, I felt - I know the approximate time.”

Loki frowned, looking at his brother in disbelief. “That’s not possible.”

“And seeing the future is?” Thor wrinkled his nose. “Seems like this all is...defying nature.”

“How long, then, do you think?”

Thor closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before he spoke. “Eight years.”

Loki gasped and bolted upright. “You’re joking! Tell me you’re joking.”

“I wish I was, brother. I wish I didn’t need to tell you, but keeping it secret - it was too hard. I’m sorry. I’m - I’m so, so sorry.”

His mind reeled at the thought. It was a death sentence. Eight years was nothing, a blink. It might as well be tomorrow.

Thor crossed over to him, enveloping him in a hug. As hard as he tried not to, Loki began to shake at the specter of his own demise.

Over his heartbeat in his ears, he heard Sophia’s voice, and it took a few moments to register what she was saying.

“He’s holding something back,” she was saying shakily, “I don’t know how I know, but it’s important.”

What could be more important than this? Wrestling himself out of Thor’s embrace, he snapped. “SHUT UP! Would you fuck off, please?!”

Thor stepped back, his eyes wide. “I - “

“Not you!” Loki said vehemently.

The woman flinched, more tears running down her face. “I don’t know how - “

“Figure it out!”

She shrunk back. “I’ll try…”

“Brother.” Thor sounded concerned. “Are you alright? I know this is hard news…”

Loki laughed ironically. “No - no. I am very much not alright. Eight years...” He paced back and forth anxiously, then turned to Thor. “Tell me you know more than this. Some way out, something.”

Several expressions crossed Thor’s face. “I’m sorry, Loki. I didn’t see more that night.” He scowled, curling his hands into fists. “This isn’t right. I don’t understand how those goddamned Seers could have dealt with something like this. It’s a curse.” He shook his head. “No one should have this power, no one! Not even such knowledge.”

Loki continued to walk, trying to collect himself, his mind going all over the place but shrinking back at the thought of him...ending. Not existing.

He stopped suddenly. “Please tell me it was at least an honorable death,” he said softly, not daring look at his brother.

“It was,” said Thor tersely.

Loki looked at him. “Would you tell me if it wasn’t?” His heart grew heavier in his chest, and he felt once more like that young child, ready to weep.

Thor’s eyes widened. “You can’t ask me that, brother. I can’t tell you.”

Loki felt a rising agitation, turning to see Sophia still standing there. Her eyes widened. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I’m trying - I just can’t focus, there’s so much going on...”

He didn’t know how to deal with this, all of this. It was far too overwhelming. Sophia, the past, the future, Thor...all of it. He put his head in his hands. Thor came close once more, putting his hand on Loki’s arm.

“Is the future set in stone?” Sophia’s voice cut through his mind once more. “It just seems that…”

Loki leaned his head back in frustration, then looked directly at her. “Go. Home,” he said through gritted teeth.

She took a step forward this time, and he felt her rising anger. “No. This is important,” she said. “I don’t know how this is happening, but I do know there’s something more going on.”

“Loki, with whom are you speaking? Is this another trick?” Thor asked. “If it’s a trick, it’s not a very good one.”

“No! It’s not a trick!” Loki couldn’t focus, couldn’t find the part of himself where he could collect, draw himself together and put on the mask other people saw. Thor had opened a vulnerability and he had no way to hide. It felt like his mind was beginning to scream.

It was in that moment that something changed. He no longer was breathing fast, heart pounding, adrenaline racing. The difference was dizzying, and he tried to focus when he heard his own voice.

“I’m sorry if I’m causing you concern, Thor, it’s just that I’m scared myself.”

Blinking, he saw himself - or his body - from a different perspective. As he stared at himself, he saw Sophia, somehow, as though the two bodies were transposed upon one another. He was, no doubt, in her position. A rage began building up within him as he realized his body had been stolen from him.

Thor eyed Sophia carefully. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

She crossed his - her - arms and said, defensively, “What else aren’t you telling me?”

Shifting suddenly, Thor pulled back, searching his brother’s eyes. “You’re perceptive, Loki. I always underestimate that.” He paused. “It’s too soon, brother. This vision was hard enough.”

Sophia looked at him sharply. “There’s another vision, then?”

Thor blinked. “Yes. But Loki - why not take some time to deal with…”

“Let’s get it all out there; you said you couldn’t keep this a secret. I’ll tell you what I saw afterwards.”

Shifting, Thor took a deep breath and let it out, seemingly trying to concentrate. “My second vision came last night,” he said. “I was not asleep, so I was more aware of the...feelings beforehand. I will say, for something that is so cursed a power, the feeling of...connection to Time itself is exhilarating. I don’t practice magic as you do, but I imagine that it’s what it feels like.”

Loki was seething, trying to figure out how the woman had taken his body. He’d tried focusing to no avail. This strange magic was disconcerting. Trying to deepen his breaths, he closed his eyes, trying to remember what it felt like to be in his own body.

“This vision was different, and had I not been prepared, knowing now what it was, I would have thought it more akin to a dream. As you asked before, this time I was an observer of events, not a participant. I stood upon a battlefield of verdant green, scarred with war, on a planet I did not know. Around me were warriors locked in combat. A sound like the sharpest crack of thunder crossed the battlefield, and around me every other warrior fell to ashen dust.”

Loki couldn’t focus as his brother went on. He felt as though he needed to listen; it was too important. His brother’s tone was just as grave as it was when describing the first vision.

“The vision changed, and I saw people living their lives on different worlds in different Realms, some familiar, some not. Around me families cried out as loved ones disintegrated. Over. And over. And over. And over.” Thor’s eyes were distant and his face grew almost cold. “I thought it would never end.”

This was Loki’s chance while Sophia was likely distracted. He focused quickly on his body, mentally trying to oust Sophia.

It worked. Relief flooded his veins as he regained his senses, eyes already trained on his brother’s face.

Glaring over at Sophia, who crossed her arms with a huff, he turned to Thor. “It must have been difficult.”

“Not as difficult as my first vision, but yes. I think it’s the event that...Osk mentioned.”

Loki searched his memory. “The great wrong.”

“Yes. It certainly...feels like it’s the event that is the source of that dread I’ve been feeling since the first vision we shared.��

Loki’s feelings were pushed to the background as his curiosity was peaked. “Interesting. Did you get the same sense of timing as with the first vision?”

Thor nodded and paused. Licking his lips, he finally said, “Eight years.”

Loki shook his head, beginning to slowly pace once more.

“Believe me,” Thor said, “I’ve tried to discern what further meaning I could, but. After last night’s vision, I knew I couldn’t hold this from you.”

Loki held up a hand. “I understand.” He sighed. “It seems like both these events are…” his voice drifted off as he failed to find the right word.

Both of them stood lost in thought.

Loki slowly turned, watching as Sophia walked closer to Thor, scrutinizing him. Then she looked back at Loki. “I don’t understand it. I don’t - I - “ she laughed in disbelief.

Loki closed his eyes at her reaction. This day could not get worse.

“I can feel his emotions the same way I’m feeling yours.”

Loki opened his eyes and stared at her, his heart beginning to beat faster. He bit his tongue, trying not to say anything.

She shook her head, “I mean, I don’t get a lot of what’s going on, but this I feel - so sure about. I’ve never seen him before, but…” Uncertain, she started picking at her hand. “Loki, I saw what he saw in his vision as he ran it through his head. Not when he described it, but beforehand. That’s why I was so upset.” He felt a pang of desperation and hope as she asked, “Have you had anything like that happen so far?”

Loki shook his head only a little bit.

Sophia moved closer and, before Loki could say anything, touched Thor gently on the arm.

“BLAGH!” he shouted, jumping back suddenly, before pointing a finger at Sophia. “Where the FUCK did she come from?!”

Loki was wrong. The day could get worse.

#loki #loki (marvel) #loki fanfic #fanfiction #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #thor #thor odinson #norse mythology #seidr #infinity war spoilers #volva #family matters #sibling rivalry #tw: emotional abuse

[taeulips]

Love Me Right

Byun Baekhyun, the college football team’s greatest runner back and also your ex-boyfriend. The two of you were the complete opposites and were never expected to last. He was the hottest guy at Exo University, while you were the school's laid-back dance captain. 

❝ If I could go back in time, I’d make sure to love you right. ❞ 

pairing: baekhyun x reader

genre: ex-boyfriend/exo playing college football

warnings:  Strong Language, Alcohol Abuse, Drug Abuse, Emotional Abuse, PTSD, Graphic Violence, Graphic Sexuality.

CHAPTERS: 01, 02, 03, 04 (final)

Byun Baekhyun. He was the definition of stereotypical school jock.

It was one of the many reasons people were so shocked you dated.

You weren't the popular girl that boys like him usually end up with, but you weren't exactly some kind of good girl either.

Your grades and behavior were average, and you chose to have a small circle of friends.

Everyone expected him to either end up with Taeyeon, the schools most popular girl or Joy the school's sweetheart.

But in time -four months prior to getting together to be exact- things went to play as should.

Baekhyun had shot you a text saying 'he didn't like the idea of being tied down anymore'.

And that was that.

Today was the school's biggest games against your rival school that would decide if you'd go to state this year.

For your school this was especially a big deal considering before these twelve boys came along, the college has never won a single game.

"Oh come on Y/N!" Your best friend, Oh Sehun, whined.

"I kinda have to go for my drill team, I am the captain Sehun. But I'm only going to perform for the halftime show, I know it's a big game today but I've got... plans."

Sehun rolled his eyes and ignored the looked you both got as people moved about in the hallway.

"The EXO boys are playing today come on!"

"I never understood why you call yourselves that," you laughed. It wasn't like they were in some kind of boy band, they were just a group of twelve boys that played football together.

"Because it sounds cool!" Sehun yelled like a child who had been told his toys were lame.

"Whatever floats your boat, loser," you teased which further irritated him even more.

"Gosh! This woman... whatever! And please stay and watch us at the game Y/N! I get you and Baekhyun didn't end on good terms..." he scratched the back of his neck already feeling uncomfortable with the topic, "but the rest of the team misses you. There are twelve people that this game is about, not just one you know..."

A big part of you felt guilty.

Those boys really had grown on you during the last couple of months. After the break up you didn't really want to see Baekhyun and, there wasn't really a way to see the other boys without running into him.

The only reason you still even talked to Sehun was that he had made the most effort to talk to you without Baekhyun being around.

He was also the first boy out the twelve that you even knew.

And there wasn't some kind of dramatic story behind it either. You just wanted to get some extra credit by tutoring some students and he happened to be there that day.

Though, he had made you promise not to tell anyone out of embarrassment.

Yet, there was no way that twelve boys that share a frat house could keep anything from each other.

Which is how you ended up meeting Baekhyun.

"Alright, I'll go. Wish the rest of the boys luck for me," you said is a sad whisper before walking away leaving Sehun confused and worried.

But nothing was really his fault. He wasn't the one that broke up with you and he also wasn't the one to stop talking to the rest of the boys because of a silly break-up.

That's when you decided college was no different than high school.

It was just a new setting with a new set of characters.

Luckily for you, the morning classes were done, so it gave you more time to relax and try to forget Baekhyun for a little while.

...

It was only 12:00 p.m. when you got back to your shared college apartment and the game didn't start until 7:00 p.m.

The first couple of hours you had spent it on finally watching some Korean drama Sehun had been telling you about.

You were only six episodes in and already you were an emotional wreck thanks to the Kdrama, Goblin, Sehun recommended.

6:58.

You sighed, it was obvious you were gonna be late to the game.

...

"Y/N what took you so long!" Sehun whined as he met you just outside the stadium since it was already halftime, "plus if you were gonna take so long you could've at least got ready!" He scanned your makeup-free face, sweats, plain t-shirt, and vans.

"I am ready?" You scrunched your face in confusion.

He gave you a confused look back, "Aren't you supposed to be dancing today for the game today with the rest of the dance team?"

Your eyes widened in realization.

You were in fact supposed to be dancing with your Drill team, The Vixens, for the halftime show.

"Wow nice one dance captain," Sehun snorted as you panicked and hastily grabbed your phone to see 200+ messages from your co-captain, Lisa.

It was halftime, but luckily for you, your dance team was last to perform.

"Bye, gotta go! And hey I'm your Noona! Start using honorifics you brat!"

"Bye Noona," Sehun mockingly waved you off as he started headed back to the college stadium to see the other performances.

You rushed towards the college's stadium's dressing room for your dance team, The Vixens.

Once you had opened the door, Lisa already stood with a hand on her hip and a scowl on her face.

"You're late, team captain!" Lisa didn't even try to hide her stress.

Lisa was usually chill and cool but you did not want to be around her once she got stressed.

The Vixens were all dressed and ready in their costumes you and Lisa had carefully planned out for weeks.

The outfit consisted of jerseys similar to the football players except without the names, black glittery shorts (which were a bit short in your opinion), long white socks with three red stripes to match the jerseys, and metallic gold shoes. And all of them had already done their makeup, and even put some black chalk lines.

"Your clothes are in your locker, hurry and get dressed! I'll get my makeup bag, and do your makeup, we have less than twenty minutes!" Lisa rushes you.

It took you about five minutes to put on your outfit, and it took fifteen for Lisa to put on your makeup.

"Alright Vixens, after the cheer team comes out we're gonna get out there and do what we know best!" You encouraged your drill team.

All of the Vixens walked down the stadium and waited in the tunnel as Taeyeon and her cheer team, the lady foxes, finished their routine.

"Thank you Lady Foxes! Everyone, please give them a round of applause!" The announced spoke and the crowd cheered.

"Now everyone help me to welcome, The Vixens, as they finish off our halftime show!"

You were high on adrenaline by the time you made it down the middle of the college stadium's field. The crowds cheered, and there was a lot of whistling from them as well as the rival team's football players.

In the corner of your eye, you could see Baekhyun telling Chanyeol something before exiting the field. This wasn't surprising to you though, this was after all a typical Baekhyun move. Anytime you were performing he always seemed to make up an "excuse" before leaving.

But at the moment you really didn't care, your nerves were killing you as they always did when you performed.

The Vixens and you did your routine and by the time you knew it, you were done. "Everyone please give a round of applause for our Vixens!" The crowd cheered once more as you and your team exited the field.

"Good job ladies!" Lisa congratulated the team.

You even smiled, everything seemed to be going well. The football team was winning 7-10 and the dance was actually well put together.

"I saw that jerk leaving once we came out to perform," Lisa told you privately as you were both ahead of the girls for them to hear. "Baekhyun?" You asked to confirm who she'd been talking about. "Yeah, I mean who else would I be calling a jerk. The rest of those boys may be playboy's but at least they didn't pull a Baekhyun," Lisa huffed.

You pulled Lisa and hugged her. That girl had grown to be more of a sister to you over the years and it showed a lot when she acted like this. "So are we gonna skip the rest of the game like we always do?" Lisa asked as she hugged you back. "Besides I'm sure they're gonna win anyway, they always do," Lisa added.

Before you could say yes, you remembered your promise to Sehun. "I think I'm gonna stay this time actually, I promised Sehun," You told her. "Ah, boo you!" Lisa stuck her tongue at you and opened the dressing room doors for everyone.

"Well, some other girls and I are gonna get pizza at Tony's. You're welcome to join if you get bored." You nodded, "Thanks, Lisa."

...

Lisa had forced you to keep the makeup on since she "didn't want you to ruin her artwork".

She even made you keep on your dance uniform by locking your other clothes in her locker, claiming that you needed to find a guy. And football games were the best spot to do so according to her.

Your hair was getting annoying as the wind kept pushing your beach wavy hair Lisa has done for you, in your face.

The dance team has a section to themselves, next to the cheer team and marching band. So you say at the very front next to your Vixens, happy that you didn't have to hunt for a seat or sit by people you didn't know.

The whistle had blown and the game started back up. The quarterback who liked to call himself Suho was doing really well from what you were seeing.

As you cheered for them and jumped out of your seat when Baekhyun caught the ball and began to run to the end zone a player from the other team called you.

Your school was throwing glares at a football player from the opposing team as he came closer to your side of the stadium.

"Hey Dance team girl!" A guy with dark silver hair called out. Furrowing your brows you looked down at him from your seat. Once he saw you were looking at him he waved at you to come down to the field.

The crowd 'ooohed' as Baekhyun was tackled before he could reach base. Little did you know, it was because he looked back at the guy calling you. Curious you went around and got to the field.

"Um, hi ?" You said once you reached them. "Hey Y/N, I'm Kim Namjoon, I wanted to come over because I really liked your performance," he gave a charming smile. "Thanks? But how do you know my name?"

"I always see you when you perform for our games and the announcer usually says your names."

You watched as Baekhyun wasn't paying attention and thus the other team getting the game and scoring. Your face twisted slightly as you saw your schools were now tied.

"Oh right, sorry I'm just not used to people knowing me I guess," you laughed at yourself slightly. He smiled at you and tilted his head, "I don't see why not, you're gorgeous and you're an amazing dancer."

You blushed slightly and began to not even pay attention to the game. "Which is why I came over here... I wanted to get your number and maybe hang out sometime?"

Now that you thought about it, you've seen Namjoon around before. You just hadn't paid much attention since you always left games right after performing. He was the quarterback of the college Y'all were currently playing, called BTS, which was a small community college. 

"Um, sure why not?" You smiled.

"But aren't the quarterback? Shouldn’t you be in the game?"

He smiled at you as you exchanged numbers, "Yeah I'm BTS' quarterback but I got a recent knee injury; I’m a very clumsy person,” He laughed scratching the back of his neck, “So I had to sit this game out."

"That sucks," you sympathized with him. But a part of your mind couldn't stop thinking about Baekhyun no matter how hard you tired. Namjoon laughed showing his dimples and nodded,"Well, actually I glad I got to sit this one out because I finally got to talk my crush."

You blushed wildly but, immediately felt guilty for it. Namjoon chuckled at himself. "Damn I think I just exposed myself," he laughed even more and you joined him by smiling.

Even as you smiled you felt guilty and you couldn't stop the feeling.

"Well I know this might be a bit to ask now but can I get a picture with you?" He asked.

You laughed but nodded, "Sure Namjoon."

He called over one of his friends, Jackson Wang, to take a picture of you two, and right after the flash went off you saw that buzzard rang and EXO was not the winning team after all. ...

"Yeah he's going crazy in the locker room," Sehun looked a mixture of exhausted and depressed.

The game left everyone at EXO university in complete devastation.

Right after that picture, you politely excused yourself and walked towards your school while Taeyong went to congratulate his team. About ten minutes later you got a call from Sehun who told you to come by the boy's locker room in a panicked voice.

"I'm sorry for calling you like that and scaring you Y/N, Baekhyun started punching his locker and throwing his helmet and-and I just -I didn't know who to call or what to do or-"

You put a hand on his shoulder.

"Sehun breathe," you told him calmly.

He slumped down and sat against the wall and you soon did the same.

"Baekhyun wasn't really himself out there after halftime today, he was kind of out of it," Sehun put his hands on his head.

"He wasn't even paying attention like he always does..."

"Maybe something happened-"

"It was because of you," Chanyeol stated as he stood in the doorway with his arms crossed.

Both you and Sehun stood up. "Hyung, how's Baekhyun?" Sehun tried avoided the subject. "The rest of the team are trying to calm him down since he keeps beating himself up for our loss," Chanyeol answered.

"Wait what do you mean "because of me" ?" You asked Chanyeol switching back to the topic.

Chanyeol scoffed, but before he could say anything yelling came from the locker room which made both boys run in there. ...

After the game, you washed up at your college apartment which you shared with Lisa.

"I heard about the game..." Lisa trailed off as you walked out the bathroom from your shower already dressed.

You took off the towel on your head and rubbed the ends as dry as you could.

"Yeah, I'm gonna call and check on them," you put the towel down and sat on the end of the bed.

"Okay well, I'll be downstairs if you need me," Lisa walked out closing the door.

You clicked through the contacts and pressed the call button. After a couple of rings, he finally picked up.

"Hey, I heard about what happened in the locker room..." you trailed off. "I wanted to call to make sure you were okay."

"You didn't have to call..." his tone was genuine and his voice was raspy- probably from the yelling in the locker room.

"I know, but if you need anything call me," you paused before decided to go on, "listen even if you don't need anything just...call, please."

Baekhyun was silent for a moment.

"You don't have to do this, but alright, I'll call you," He assured you.

"Okay, I love-" You paused and widened your eyes at what you were about to say and panicked, "I-I would love to hear from you." You cringed at yourself. The line was quiet.

"I hope you're alright," You found yourself admitting to him. "Bye," You whispered while immediately hanging up not waiting for his response.

Baekhyun took the phone from his ear and slouched on the boy's frat house couch.

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