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#but i appreciate the thin lip representation
thevampywolf · 2 years
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this whole “we shouldn’t need to ask for representation” discourse is getting out of hand.
she never said you should need to ask. she said if you want a specific reader for your optimal reading, she’d be more than willing. like for example desi!reader. that way she can incorporate your culture into the fic to really make it feel special FOR YOU.
and of fucking course you’re not gonna get that unless you ask for it.
and where her general fics are concerned… y/n is never described to be any race so i don’t understand?? chan’s kids can look like chan. like tf just because you have straight hair and thin lips doesn’t mean your kids won’t have curly hair and big lips if their dad has those EXACT features. and as for sky being light skinned… bro it’s possible for a kid to take on the genetics of one parent more than the other. THATS HOW GENETICS WORK. THERES A 25% chance of most things. and even then… there are dominant and recessive genes. it’s all fucking random. my brother’s got darker skin than i do but that doesn’t mean we’re not related
stop making a big deal out of nothing.
Thank you darling, I really appreciate you ♡
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jaywhoreman · 3 years
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dragynkeep · 2 years
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In the hands of better writers, I’d love to see RWBY show Faunus having 1 human parent and 1 Faunus go through trouble being told they aren’t “Faunus enough”. As a first generation Latina, I’m constantly told I’m not “Latina enough” from one side, and then not “American enough” from the other. I’d also like to see Faunus who have gone through surgery to be human passing. How’s life different for them, and show those who had successful surgery and those who didn’t and those who regret it and those who didn’t. I’d like to see Faunus ashamed of their features. I remember when I was very young, I tried to tape my eyes to make them look big, put clothes pins on my nose to make it look small, smack baby powder on my face to try to make me look white and hide my lips to make them look thin. Of course, those last long because those methods weren’t practical and quite painful. I used to hate my Dominican/Guatemalan features, but now i appreciate them. I known Blake wore a bow to be human passing, but we only get snippets of her inner turmoil. Same with Ilia. We are just told that she hid her Faunus trait to fit in, but we don’t see it.
i'm so glad that you love your features more now, i'm sure they're beautiful 🙏❤ but yes, this is absolutely something i & luke think is missing from the racial element of the faunus storyline & that's ... the representation of mixed race people.
in rwby, you're either one or the other & the overall applicability of the intricacies of racism irl just aren't there. it's a very sanitized, child friendly version of racism that is simple to understand but doesn't accurately reflect like 90% of actual lived experience with racism. there's nothing for those who don't look like what "their race should look like", nothing for those of mixed race heritage & nothing to explore those little intricacies.
& sadly i don't think we're going to get to it because it feels like ever since adam was murdered, they've really put the faunus storyline to bed & only ever bring it out now for the humans around blake like weiss & yang to prove they're no longer racist; instead of the faunus being centred in their own storyline, it's about uplifting the humans around them. essentially just the white saviour syndrome but for furries is what rwby's created here lmao.
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chokemeanakin · 3 years
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anything for anakin x curvy reader? there’s barely any representation for me 🙁
yes of course!!! we love curvy queens and kings and everything in betweens.
Anakin Skywalker x Curvy fem Reader Headcanons:
*cracks knuckles* lets talk about how his past made him The Way He Is (because i overanalyze everything and can never get straight to the point).
So, as a kid growing up on a harsh desert planet world, a slave no less, he was no stranger to hunger/starvation. Quite frankly, most of the people he knew was like that, it’s just the way it was. He grew up around people who were stick-thin and emaciated, because only wealthy people could afford enough food to be healthy.
So he’s not used to seeing feminine curves.
But.. lemme tell you... when he comes to Coruscant and is exposed to everything... well... he just finds that he really appreciates every attribute of a woman’s body.
So naturally he’d love it if you’re curvy. 
He definitely loves to look at you, just to map out everything with his eyes and store it for later. Maybe you’re trying some dresses on, and you come out and ask him out it looks. He’d look at you like:
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Can’t say anything at first. His eyes are just going every, up and down and back up again. Taking it all in. Wanders if it would be wrong to shove you into the dressing room and take you right there. Decides it would be. Visibly has to hold himself back from doing it anyway. His hands are shaking.
“Anakin?”
“Uh.. yeah. Yeah that one’s nice.”
You sigh and go back into the dressing room-- that’s exactly what he said about the last five dresses.
When you’re alone, he loves to run his hands up and down your body, feeling every dip and curve of your figure under his hands. He can never get enough, how soft and pliant you are under his fingers. He never knew someone could be so beautiful, so breathe-taking...
He loves to squish, wherever he can really. Thighs? Butt? Waist? Boobs? He’s a slut for it all.
He especially loves cuddling because you’re just exceptionally soft and warm. And when you’re lying down, he can touch you all over and marvel at your shape. Gather you in his hands and kiss you all over. 
Lives for the way his fingers sink into your flesh when he grips you especially tight. How your skin pillows out around his fingers, and gives under the sharp lines of his teeth when he nips at you, how soft you are as he sucks your skin into his mouth and how you jiggle when you move.
The jiggle. Oh Lord. If you wear leggings, or any tight clothing really, and he sees you walk by and he can see that jiggle-- *insert cry emoji*. Or when you’re on a speeder or a ship or something and you hit turbulence and your boobs go all blebeabpegjietiubhetuibheiub OH LORD plz dont crash anakin
He’s just so enraptured by your body, he loves it so much. He can never stop touching you, or looking at you, or tasting you--
And if there’s ever a day where you don’t feel the best about yourself (everyone has those days), he is so fast to shut that shit down. He’ll see you frowning at yourself in the mirror, and he’ll walk by and lift your head in his hands, face all pouty and angry, and he’ll say, “stop doing this to yourself. you’re perfect.” And then he’ll kiss you and move on.
There’s no room to be insecure around him. He loves every single inch of you endlessly.
And he doesn’t care if you’re hesitant to do anything with him, like if you maybe don’t wanna sit on his lip or have him pick you up, he’ll just look at you like you’re crazy and have you do it anyway. It does not bother him one bit. He loves it. Will sit you on his lap and pick you up like a princess whenever you want because he wants to and he can. 
And anytime you guys are together really, his hands are just glued to your waist.
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plush-rabbit · 3 years
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Mexican Immigrant S/O : T.A. & T.S.
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A/N: I tried to incorporate a bit of both since representation is important (and i feel like this is something that i can do p well with)!! I hope you like it!! Also since you said himbo, i’m assuming it’s male?)
Amajiki Tamaki:
Due to his quirk and how the food from Mexico can often contain different parts of animals, you and Tamaki make an ideal catch up. Given how his quirk relies on food, he’s interested to try food that you make or want to attempt. He can tell how cooking means a lot to you and will sit patiently and hear you talk about memories with your family that involve cooking- whether it be cooking on the grill, what some foods contain, cow stomach being one that makes him raise a brow, but he really enjoys just hearing about you and how food is such an important part of the family- especially those seasonal dishes. 
As a pro-hero, there are high chances that he comes home hurt. You hold him large hands, a soothing rub on his back as he wraps his arms around you, head buried into the crook of your neck as he just relaxes into you. You worry and fret but you keep your mouth closed as you clean him, tears stinging your eyes and throat much too tight for your liking. In the morning you’ll make him a big breakfast, the smell of food thick in the air, and when he comes to breakfast, you force him to eat, rubbing his back and telling him to get his strength back up.
Despite his career choice, he is introverted at heart. He will always prefer a small group of people, would prefer a night in rather than going out but you do have an affinity to go out whether it be with people within a gathering or just window shopping. He doesn’t understand it and he isn’t particularly fond of it but he tries for you. He’ll hold your hand tightly, never really leaving your side and he gets rather overwhelmed easily. While he isn’t forward with his affection, you don’t complain since you can see how he tries to make himself smaller during outings.
You don’t really understand his rather conservative nature, the way he doesn’t really take the step forward in most things so you’re usually the one to. You encourage him to attend events that he’s been invited to, stand by his side and if you happen to be meeting somewhere or see him out in public, you will eagerly call his name and go to him, and peck his forehead. Because of this and the private knowledge that is available to the public, most people are aware of your relationship with the hero. There are a few moments where you’ll be threatened, but you don’t realize it, simply tilting your head and smiling in confusion. It comes from a sense of always feeling in your home that when an attack comes, you don’t really believe it. You don’t believe for villains to be those who steal money but rather those who are actively shown to be villains. When you do tell your partner, you have a sidekick watching over you for the next week.
Relationships are important to you. You stick close to Tamaki, always having a hand on him or just sticking close so when he remains stuck to you during an event, you don’t mind. You’re always happy to know that he does that, the small, family oriented part of you craving that comfort that comes with someone that you love. You always tend to forget the bigger personality that he has, that despite him being awkward and introverted, he’s a hero and he’s much bigger than life or you than he realizes, and sometimes it can get a bit too much especially when he comes home battered and bruised. But it’s a happy relationship with him, sharing food, seeing his expressions makes you feel happy, a warmth inside of you that you’ve felt when you've spent time with loved ones.
Shigaraki Tomura:
Family is an important part of your culture. Whether it’s playing lotería on Sunday, spending the holidays with family- not just the immediate but your aunts and uncles- family comes first. The care that was given to you from your family, you now pass it on to Tomura and the rest. You click your tongue and curse under your breath as you wrap a bandage around a thin arm, tell him how he has to be more careful. A small part of you wants to sing the frog rhyme but you feel as if that wouldn’t be appreciated. 
Because family is involved heavily, you tend to act parental to the rest of the League and a bit towards Tomura. You chastise them for being so reckless, waving a finger and making an “ah, ah” sound when they start to get up. You make plenty of food- while you wince at the amount that you spend- the enjoyment of feeding him and his friends outweighs any negative feeling or hesitation that you might have. You enjoy the domestic vibe of it. You like to wrap your arms around his neck loosely and kiss the top of his head.
You rarely visit their base on account of who he is and the level of danger that it could provide to both parties, but when you do, Toga is usually the one to pick you up in a disguise that she has… borrowed for lack of a better word. When you do visit, you mainly just relax with your partner, wrapping your arm around him and letting him ramble about an upcoming video game or watching game lore videos. Though when you do become restless about sitting still for so long, you tend to walk around his room, discreetly picking up various articles and clothing and other things trying to tidy up the place. He usually calls you back to his side, a frown on his lips and telling you to just sit with him- you came over to spend time with him, not to clean. He even offers to do something else if you’re feeling restless. While he would rather spend time alone with you, he’ll swallow his feelings and go to the common room of the base to talk to the others.
He is attached. He clings to you and craves your affection. He’s wrapping his arms around yours, practically napping on top of you when he’s grown bored of a conversation that he has no interest in. There are times where he pitches in and the conversation will shift into the future ideals that he and the rest have. You never know what to say during these times and you tend to sit there listening intently but never understanding the words they say. You can understand what they have against society but you’re also technically part of that society as long as you still live there. You have worries and when he notices them, he talks to you in private, telling you not to worry, that you’ll always be protected. 
Surprisingly, a relationship with Tomura is easy. While you may not be able to go on dates nor introduce him to your family, it’s still a loving relationship. He promises you whatever you want, and the League has become a family to you. You enjoy what your family has grown into, allowing you to have a family overseas and while the traditions cannot exactly continue with certain holidays or certain foods, you appreciate the love that has grown between all of you.
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hargrove-mayfields · 3 years
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Just A Dream Away
Chapter 10/13 read here on ao3!
for @harringrovebigbang
~~~~
Kali gives an awkward little wave, and the room once again falls into chaos.
Everyone had so many questions, all of them shouted out at the same time to be answered by Kali or El, who was clearly overwhelmed by all of this noise. Steve understands, all the commotion makes him feel jumpy too, his nerves stretched thin.
It’s Joyce who calms them all down, appreciating the sense of urgency that came with their arrival, guiding El to elaborate, “Kali is number 8. She was in the lab with me.”
“Jane came and found me two years ago, but we were.. separated again.” Her face looks reserved and sad as she explains, and they all get the sense that that isn’t the full story.
El grasps Kali's hand a little tighter, “I don’t have my powers, but Kali does.”
“With them, I should be able to find your friend and assist them.” The determination in Kali’s voice makes them all feel somewhat better, the situation one they never thought they’d have to be in again, so having someone who knew what to do was comforting.
To everyone except for Steve.
He doesn’t like leaving this mission, the efforts that would save his Billy, up to the charge of Kali, who was to him a complete stranger. He had been able to get this far, finding and communicating with Billy, it feels like giving up to let someone else he didn’t know or trust yet be in control.
“What can you do then?” His question comes out snappy, his tone surprising to the kids, who were optimistic that Kali could help.
In response to his bitterness, she doesn’t say anything at all, only smirking at the challenge he had given her.
From Steve’s perspective, all of the lights go out, and he’s suddenly in the room by himself. Only because he'd just asked about her powers did he consider that this was an illusion, but all the same, he feels like his feet are going to go out from under him, and his heart is beating unusually fast.
He turns to Kali, watching the slow drip of blood from her nose that she quickly wipes away with her sleeve that confirms his suspicion, “What the hell was that?”
Smugly, Kali responds, “I can make anyone see anything I want them to. I just sent you to the dream circle.”
“How does that help us?” Robin asks on Steve’s behalf, though her intentions are nowhere near as harsh as his.
“It doesn't, but I also have access to the dream circle. From there, my powers can reach your friend and help him.” Kali explains, El nodding and adding onto the end, “Billy was strong in the dream circle. It will work.”
Quick glances around the room confirm they’re all in agreement that this is the best shot they have, so next step is coming up with a sound plan.
Kali starts by asking, “So who is it I am looking for?”
Max immediately begins to describe her brother in detail, “His name is William Hargrove, but he goes by Billy. He’s blonde and his eyes are dark blue. He’s about the same height as Steve, and he has a tattoo.“
Steve cuts her explanation short when he pulls out a little Polaroid he always keeps in his pocket of Billy.
It’s a shot he’d taken of him after a basketball game, the both of them bored in the back of the bus for a five hour drive. It’s a little blurry and washed out from the flash, but it was the realest smile he’d ever captured from him, crooked and wide, his eyes wrinkled at the corners as he threw his head back to laugh at something stupid Steve said. He keeps all of the pictures they’d taken in a box shoved under his bed, but this one is special, so he keeps it close.
Only hesitantly does he hand it to Kali without a word, Max stopping mid-sentence and looking at Steve, a cross between sympathy and jealousy that he had a memento of her brother in her features, the kids who still didn’t know giving him strange looks. They all recognize that now isn’t the time to interrogate Steve about keeping photos of Billy though, so it goes unmentioned.
Kali carefully takes it, sensing his hesitation, “You’re sure this is him?”
Steve nods, “He contacted us earlier and told me.”
“How did he do that?” Kali frowns, approaching the coffee table.
“We asked him questions, and he used this to answer.” He explains, gently touching the planchette. Kali looks at the board, surprised and impressed that something so cheap could be used for interdimensional communication that took years of practice for her and her sister.
“Did he tell you anything that could be of importance to us?”
“He just said there were still monsters over there, but that they come and go.” Steve says, leaving out the parts where Billy talked about their relationship.
“And how long has he been in there?”
“Since last year.” Steve answers, and suddenly Kali's face looks solemn, warning gravely, “Then you understand then that even if we do get him out of there, he might not survive.”
“What?” Steve and Max exclaim at the same time.
“The air is extremely toxic over there, and now that Billy has been there for so long, there is a chance he will not be able to adjust to our environment.” She explains, carefully holding Billy’s picture in both hands, looking down at it as she promises, “That isn’t to say I won’t try. I just want you to be realistic.”
El offers, doesn’t like the sad look on Max’s face, “We don’t know how it is like now. Billy is okay.”
They clear away some of the lights they’d set out and turn the TV back to static. The coffee table's surface is cleaned off except for Billy’s picture and Kali sits on the floor in front of it where Steve and Max had been, a piece of an old dish cloth Robin’s mother had given her when she’d moved out as a blindfold.
El and Max sit on either side of Kali, while the boys pile onto the couch. Nancy leans against one of the arms, chewing on the corner of her nail. Robin had brought out extra dining chairs for Steve, herself and Joyce, and the latter two had sat down, but Steve paces back and forth across from Kali, nervous and scared after all she’d said.
Kali takes a deep breath, holding the makeshift blindfold in her hands. She looks to Steve and says, her voice confident, “Remember, no promises.”
El holds her sister’s hand tightly, leaning into her side with her eyes closed. Kali narrates what she sees, which is nothing but death. Dead demodogs, rotten plants, but no Billy, the lack of news setting Steve’s teeth on edge.
He doesn’t care that it seems empty, or that it was darker than before and the air thicker, he just wants to, no, needs to know where Billy is and that he is safe.
“Here. Billy is here.” Kali announces after more silence and searching the empty representation of Hawkins, following it up with a quiet, “He’s hurt. ”
Steve freezes, “Hurt? What happened? Is he okay?”
“Shh.” El puts a finger to her lips, so Kali continues, “There is a monster at his feet. It’s fully grown, but he has slain it. It attacked him and he tended his injuries, but he lost a lot of blood.”
Ignoring El’s warning, Steve prods, “Where is he now?”
“Patience, please. He’s in the woods, traveling between the home where my sister’s family once lived, and the woods behind his lover's home.”
“What the hell is he doing out there?”
“He’s looking for something. A gate. The monster he killed, the demogorgon as you call it, was looking for it too.” Kali takes off her blindfold, can’t do anything more from here, “With my powers I can show him the way to the gate, but only if we are close enough to him.”
“That’s it? We can’t talk to him, or do anything to help him?”
“We can, but not from the dream circle. We have to go where he is and try to guide him out.”
On the edge of manic, Steve insists, “Then let’s go. We have the people and we know where Billy is. What are we waiting for?”
“On that, we can agree.” Kali stands determinedly, wiping the blood from her nose, “We’ll have to hurry if we wish to save your friend.”
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thevioletjones · 3 years
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I’d love to see you tackle 5 or 44! Congrats on the Kudos!
Thank you! 5 was included previously, so just 44. 🙂 This one is explicit, FYI.
Prompt 5: “I still remember the way you taste.”
Cell Date
Getting smart about how he acted behind bars was really starting to pay off for Mickey. Not only was he staying out of trouble so that he’d have a chance of making early parole, he was also forging advantageous relationships, mostly with the guards and the old-timers that liked to do good deeds like helping other inmates get an education or decent legal representation.
Little things like that, plus abstaining from shanking for pay or cold-cocking bitches who got mouthy, were making this Mickey’s most pleasant and drama-free stint in prison since his unceremonious induction into juvie ten years previous.
Along with his cooperation and best behavior came some quality perks: first pick of audiobooks from the dude he helped in the library; extra jello, pudding, and french fries from that dude’s kitchen husband; extended yard and gym time when the guard he had people doing favors for on the outside was on duty; and the holy grail, his very own recently acquired smartphone, which he could keep with him in his cell whenever the right people were working, and otherwise stow with a friend when sweep checks were imminent. All he had to do to get safekeeping was provide phone privilege favors. Gave him an extra source of income too, when he sold video call time to inmates on the side.
Tonight, though, he was finally gonna have the damn cell to himself all night long. His bunkmate had just been released, no one else had been assigned to his bed yet, and the overnight guard was a friendly. That meant that at long last, he’d be able to have some kind of sexual escapade with his boyfriend for the first time since he’d gotten locked up nine months ago. As a bonus, they could maybe stay up shooting the shit too. But really, Mickey was horny as hell, and he imagined that Ian was too.
They had a kind of ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policy when it came to banging other people while they were apart, but as a rule, they weren’t allowed to do it more than once a month, or with the same guy twice, blowjobs included. That meant a lot of lonely masturbation sessions on both sides of the prison walls.
It was cruel that the only relief they could get from each other was by proxy of their own hands anyway, but at least now they’d be able to watch each other and egg each other on. It wasn’t the most ideal situation ever, but it was way better than having to stick to innocuous topics on the prison landlines that ran out at the ten minute mark.
This was going to be a treat.
He waited ’til 30 minutes past lights out just to be sure the coast was clear, counting down the minutes like a fucking schoolgirl waiting to make an illicit phone call after her parents fell asleep. As soon as the digital display hit 9:30, he was eagerly punching in the memorized number, smirking as he selected the video option.
He actually felt nervous as it rang, irrationally worried that Ian would be indisposed despite their agreed upon time and date. It took almost four whole rings before the display lit up, and a buffering vision of Ian appeared.
Mickey’s smile couldn’t help but mirror the cheerful redhead’s, and it only widened when he heard his deep, familiar voice.
“Hey, Mick.”
“Gallagher,” he replied softly and full of affection.
“I can barely see you,” Ian said with a chuckle. “That's not really fair.”
“Oh, shit, yeah. Forgot. Hang on.”
He’d managed to get his hands on a clip-on reading light through the library contraband network, so it would have to do. He dug it out from the hole in his thin-ass mattress pad and clipped it to the bar of the lower bunk, angling it toward his face and flipping it on. It wasn’t exactly super-bright, but it was good enough.
“Happy now? This is the best I could do on the after-hours lighting.”
“Yeah, I am. You look good.”
“Shut the fuck up. You look way better. Like a free man.”
Ian ran a hand through his hair, and Mickey wished it were his hand. “It is a nifty advantage, but it’d be a lot better if you were next to me.”
“Yeah, no shit. I’m getting the rawer deal here.”
“Who’s fault is that?” Ian challenged with a raised brow.
Mickey licked his lips, humming. “Didn’t realize the purpose of this call was to get on my ass about gettin’ locked up. Thought we already did that fun routine.”
Ian sighed. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I just miss you.”
“I’m doin’ what I can, gingerbread. Might get lucky in the next few months. Been playin’ the game all nice like. No demerits on my scorecard.”
“I appreciate that. You know I’ll be waiting.”
“Mm.”
“So… what’s new?”
Mickey laughed. “You want me to recount the thrilling tales of the jailbird jerk-offs? How would that be interesting or entertaining?”
“I’m pretty sure you witness more random acts of weirdness than I do everyday. You want me to talk about my job and coworkers, or my niece and nephew? I’m sure you’re dying to know on all counts.”
“Yeah, you got me figured out, Gallagher. That’s exactly why I wanted this dimly lit video call with your pale ass.”
Ian snickered. “Is this the part where we jump straight to the sex?”
Mickey shrugged and scratched his balls. “I mean, if we were in person without that fuckin’ glass between us, we woulda already been bangin’ by now.”
“Can’t argue with that.”
“So?”
“What?”
“Show me your dick.”
Ian snorted, and it was nice to see him laugh unrestrainedly. They usually didn’t do too much laughing during his visits.
“It’s not hard yet.”
“Well, what the fuck you waitin’ for? Shoulda started before I called.”
“God, Mick, you really know how to romance a guy on his first date in nearly a year.”
“If this is a date, you got a really low bar, man.”
“Haven’t I always?”
“‘Ey! Fuck you.”
Ian laughed again and it made Mickey smile wide. He was gonna get addicted to these phone interludes, he could tell.
“Which reminds me… I expect you to take me out a few times when you get sprung, Milkovich. Restaurants, clubs, movies, the works.”
Mickey rolled his eyes. “Exactly how many acts of penance are on your little atonement list?”
“As many as I want. You got a problem with that?”
“You know I didn’t get locked up on purpose, right? Cuz I think you maybe don’t know that.”
“I think that I want you to stop putting yourself in situations where one of the possible outcomes is getting locked up. Cuz then we’re forced to resort to one sad long-distance video wank every nine months, which kinda fuckin’ blows, and not in the good way.”
“First of all, as long as I don’t get this shit confiscated by one of the asshole guards, we can keep doin’ this pretty regularly. Secondly, we haven’t even gotten to the wank part yet, so don’t call it sad. Also, is sex all that matters to you?”
“Says the guy who just told me to shut up and get my dick out.”
“Like you said, it’s been a long time.”
“And I’ve already told you that I miss you and want you beside me. I thought you wanted your dick stroked, not your ego.”
“Good one,” said Mickey, reaching down to fondle himself. “So how we gonna do this?”
“The only way we can, I guess.”
“Fine. Do I get to ask you to start touching yourself now?”
Ian giggled. “Yeah, yeah, let’s get it over with.”
“What kind of attitude is that? Get the hell on board or this ain’t gonna work.”
“Calm down and get your cock hard, convict boy.”
Mickey didn’t need to be told twice. He slipped his hand under the waistband of his boxers, rubbing and squeezing gently.
“You gonna give me somethin’ to look at or what?”
“Gimme a minute, fool. It’s not gonna be very pretty in its current state.”
They both went non-verbal for a while as their arms started working, the only sounds being stray gasps, rustling noises, and slick skin against skin.
“‘Kay,” urged Mickey, “lemme see it.”
“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
“Fine, just flip the camera.”
Mickey pressed around and activated the rear camera with flash, licking his lips when the screen filled with Ian’s lower half, hand jerking his big dick in that perfect rhythm he remembered so well. It forced out a moan before he could catch himself.
“Mick,” Ian whispered, and he suddenly missed the feel of his boyfriend’s breath blowing hot against his skin as they fucked. And that just reminded him of the way he’d nip and lick at Mickey’s neck, or pinch his nipples at just the right time.
“Ian,” he groaned, his strokes getting faster and more deliberate now that he was fully hard. “Miss you.”
And that was definitely the lamest shit to say when you were supposed to be talking dirty for the purposes of video sex, but it’s what came out of his mouth on account of all the memories surfacing, coupled with the regret of not being able to put his hands on Ian or have Ian’s hands put on him.
Mickey had never wanted to suck a dick so badly in his entire life, simply because he was being denied the opportunity. He’d almost forgotten how delicious Ian’s cock really was. It could wreck him all night long, or Mickey could worship it a little on his hands and knees when the urge overcame him. He wanted it in him one way or the other. Keeping him away from it was cruel and unusual punishment.
“Wanna fuck you, Mick.” Ian was still using this soft, breathy voice that was making him crazy. “Wanna see your ass.”
Mickey’s hand faltered for a moment as he snickered. “How the fuck am I supposed to get you that camera angle right now, genius?”
“You really didn’t think this through enough first,” chided Ian.
“Suck my dick, Gallagher.”
“Mmm, I’d love to get my mouth on you right now. I still remember the way you taste.”
“Oh, shit.”
Mickey’s jerks got tighter with that fantasy egging him on, and silkier with the ease of the pre-cum oozing from his slit.
“You got something to stick up your ass?”
Mickey whined. “Fuckin’ wish. Don’t exactly got a dildo permit, and that’s the kinda contraband no one tries to smuggle or sell.”
“A finger or two will do, right?” asked Ian, pausing for a moment to squirt some lube into his hand.
“‘Ey! What the fuck? No fair! You want me to try and prop this thing somewhere so you can watch me finger myself without lube, and you’re gonna casually use some to jack off with right in front of me? Read the room, fuckhead.”
Ian chuckled. “Sorry, Mick. What happened to the mayo packets?”
Mickey grimaced, regretting ever having told Ian about sometimes using that condiment as lube when he wanted to spice up a solo sesh. “Shut the fuck up and just help me get a damn orgasm.”
“What else am I supposed to do?”
“I don’t fuckin’ know! What am I, the video sex expert?”
“You’re not a sexpert?”
“Now is not the time for your lame jokes, okay?”
“Yeah, okay, but I’ve never done this before either, jackass. I already made my request and you’re ignoring it. You do that for me, I’ll do something for you.”
“Fine, but if I do this for you, I won’t be able to see shit while it’s happenin’, so you have to fuckin’ wait to blow your load, or I’ll never do this with you again.”
“So is that your request? To see me blow my load?”
“Bitch, do I need to explain how porn works to you? You know how at the end of the video, you get to see everybody come? Jizz flyin’ everywhere?”
“Oh, believe me, next time we’re actually together in bed, I will cover you in jizz from head to toe.”
“That’s a lofty goal. Could take a while.”
“I’m willing to put in the hours. Now… get to it.”
Mickey sighed and let his cock fall out of his grip, glancing around to try and figure out how he could set the camera up in a decent place to where it would actually get what Ian wanted in frame.
“You’re gonna have to tell me if I need to adjust it, but I don’t have a lot of options, so just tell me when it’s good enough. Don’t need to get all Scorcese with the precision.”
It took a couple of minutes to figure out something that worked, his erection flagging to half-mast as he concentrated on the task Ian had given him. He was pretty sure that Ian should be the one going out of his way to give Mickey a nice show, but he figured if he let Ian have one first, he could make requests for their next long-distance fuck date.
Once Ian said it was good, Mickey kneeled and sat on his haunches, body remaining upright. He could only imagine what his asshole looked like through that badly lit phone camera, but whatever. At least he didn’t have to look at it. Ian could go crazy for it if he wanted to, and apparently he was if the renewed moaning was any indication.
“Get it wet,” Ian directed.
Mickey licked his palm and gave his cock a few tugs to get it back into the game, then spit in his hand and did what he could to work it around his hole. He was crouched with the damn top bunk rubbing against his bent head, with no view other than stiff white sheets and his own thighs and dick.
Yes, Ian was going to owe him a nice fucking show for this crap.
“Well?” the cocky little prick demanded. “Play with it.”
“Hold your damn horses, I ain’t a cam boy,” retorted Mickey.
With a deep sigh, he emptied his mind of the discomfort of his position and the embarrassment of his actions, and just went for it, wetting his finger with his mouth, then shoving it in as far as he could get it on initial entry. It wasn’t very far, but he wiggled and shimmied it as he slid it in and out, until eventually it was in as far as it could go from the angle he was in. He could faintly hear Ian going to town on himself, and he once again longed to be the one doing it to him. Pressing his ass back onto Ian’s cock instead of his own measly finger. Getting Ian’s big hand around his own dick while he did it.
As it were, he had to use his left hand to get some action on his dick, and as soon as he got back into the swing of things on that score, he set about trying to hit his prostate with his right hand.
“Add another one,” rasped Ian.
“You’re gettin’ real mouthy, ain’t you,” Mickey complained, wetting his hand again before sliding in two fingers to the knuckles.
“Oh, sorry, am I supposed to just remain quiet during this phone sex?”
“Stop sassin' me while I try to hit the spot. Some of us don’t got long-ass E.T. fingers.”
Ian chortled. “Jesus, Mick. Can you not bring my favorite childhood movie into this? Plus, you don’t need to go that deep. Just flip your hand over and crook your fingers. You’ll find it.”
“You think you know my ass better than I do?”
“Probably.”
Mickey did as suggested, even though it was the weirdest combination of body angles. It didn’t do anything at first, then all of a sudden, “Oh.”
Both hands got fast and furious as he felt that familiar tingly throb building up inside. He let himself get lost in it for a few minutes, then came to just enough to realize that he wanted a visual of Ian to orgasm to. It’s what he'd been looking forward to all week.
All at once, he stopped, flipping onto his back and grabbing the phone. All he could see on screen now was the damn ceiling, which was annoying, but also hilarious, since it meant that Ian was probably holding the stupid phone a few inches from his stupid face.
“Why’d you stop?” asked Ian breathily.
“Cuz I wanna see you, numbnuts. As fascinating as your ceiling is, it'd be great if you got the main attraction back onscreen. Please and thank you.”
Ian tittered and angled the camera back down, pushing it past his sternum. “‘Kay, where’s yours?”
Mickey pointed his phone back toward his crotch, eyes extremely focused on Ian’s impossibly hard red dick and large pale hand, sighing when he touched himself again. He needed a finger or two back in his ass, though. He always came harder with something up his ass, and it reminded him more of Ian too.
But there was no way to film himself and still get a view of Ian, plus use both hands to get himself off. He had to choose one type of orgasm to have, and since he wasn’t entirely sure he could pop from anal only, he stuck with the jerking off.
Maybe Ian was right. He hadn’t thought this through enough. But he knew exactly what his daydreams would be scheming up until their next interlude.
“You gonna come all over yourself like I asked?” said Mickey.
“Just a sec,” Ian replied with a grunt.
Mickey’s hand synced up with Ian’s, flying up and down his length on the phone screen. “Wanna see it on your stomach and in your pubes.”
Ian’s moans and groans got louder and closer together, building Mickey’s excitement up to the edge.
And then of course his gay-ass boyfriend had to go and say some gay-ass shit like, “I love you!”
And then he was shooting jizz out the tip of his dick, letting it get everywhere.
And the effect was the same as a quality porno scene in that it made Mickey come too, eyes squinting shut as the sensations overwhelmed him. He wanted to throw the phone across the room, but he somehow managed to keep it resting against his chest and filming everything.
As soon as the last of it gushed out, he did let the phone drop next to him for a short time, and Ian must’ve been recovering too, because he didn’t hear any complaints. He reached for the toilet paper roll and wiped himself down as best he could, not bothering to put his shorts back on when he was done.
He flipped onto his stomach, picked up the phone and went back to the front camera, leaning it up against the wall as he burrowed a pillow under his chin.
“That was halfway decent, Gallagher.” He grinned in relaxed satisfaction.
Ian flipped his camera back too, lying on his side, and propping the phone up against what was probably the empty pillow next to him that Mickey should be on.
“You’ll get the real thing soon enough,” Ian replied with a sleepy smile.
“Fuckin’ hope so…” he trailed off in thought. “Sorry I can’t be there. It is my fault.”
“Nah, just forget about all that, okay? All we can do now is get through the time that’s left. But if you think I’m not gonna ride your ass the non-sexy way when you get out, you’re dead wrong. Not gonna let this shit happen again.”
“You want me workin’ some minimum wage bullshit legit job?”
“Yep. We know how to be poor, Mick. Tired of getting the shitty end of all the risk.”
“Your pillow talk could use some work, Red.”
“I know. Thanks for showing me your asshole earlier.”
Mickey laughed. “No sweat. Well, probly some sweat.”
Ian snorted and shook his head. “Shut up. I’m glad we get to do this. It’s nice being with you at bedtime.”
“Be nicer if it included your dick in my ass, but I guess it’s alright.”
“Want me to tell you about the boring shit now?”
“Might as well.”
“As long as you don’t fall asleep before you tell me you love me, bitch.”
Mickey frowned. “Normal people don’t shout that shit as they’re coming, you freak.”
“I don’t care when you say it, just fit it in.”
It wasn’t really something they could comfortably say to one another on their regular taped prison calls and visits. It was better for Mickey's orientation not to be common knowledge to the wrong people around the joint.
“I love you, you silly bastard, now tell me about your dumbass day.”
Ian smiled brightly. “Franny did the cutest shit…”
Mickey half-listened, content to be in the distant presence of Ian’s face, voice, and manner; imagining a day soon to come when they would be reunited for good in the great wide open.
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dumdeeedum · 3 years
Text
Eek, I didn’t really think it would be good considering a LOT but the Selena series on Netflix is just bad. Selena is not the subject of this series, she’s an object in a show about her father and brother. We’re not getting anything that we weren’t given in the movie despite the lack of time constraints and everything we’re getting is about Abraham and AB (even if I did really appreciate Suzette getting her tiny drummer’s nod after being so miserable the entire time). I’m shocked that 25 years later we still don’t have any nuance on Selena and how she felt about her childhood, even if they’d asked a young adult Selena not so far removed from childhood (she was only 23 when she was murdered), it’d have been something! She’s depicted as a child excited about fame, no nuance, nothing; it’s a real shame.
Abraham made this entire family miserable and while I love Selena, it’s a real shame that these kids couldn’t find their talents organically and basically had to work their entire lives to maintain this family because Abraham sucks in every conceivable way. I keep going “Marcella, divorce this man!” and I know she doesn’t and hasn’t to this day, sigh...
Also, the actress playing Selena has no presence, she can’t lip sync (sashay the fuck away) and she’s too thin and light-skinned, even the actress playing young Selena was allowed to be darker but as soon as she gets older she gets lighter. I was hoping that in 2020 we would actually get to see a thick, unambiguously indigenous Texana (Mexican) actress because Selena was these things and absolutely stunning. This is why we need more top-down diversity in media, if something already this exploitative exists you might as well get some good representation out of it... but no.
I’m not even done with the series but I’m so booored and I’m hearing season 2 whispers. No.
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lilhemmo · 4 years
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honestly i love how much you love vegeta! and i really like the way you write him! would you be able to write something around the majin saga?? not necessarily in the saga but centered around the same type of things?? maybe vegeta admitting that he misses the way he used to be when he didn't care about anything and didn't have any attachments?? and then something happens to make him realize that love isn't a crutch but a weapon? thank you in advanced!!!
a/n: thank you so much, you sweet little thing!! i hope i do your request justice :)
a/n x2: wow i am pretty much just rambling in this fic. hopefully it makes some sort of sense. 
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“I will not be bested by that sad excuse for a Saiyan again!”
You hear the roar from across the courtyard and it piques your interest. You look outside to see Vegeta panting, chest heaving as he blasts through a training session. You want to laugh, but this time is different. Vegeta has always been tense, but the past few weeks have been excruciating. 
“Vegeta!” you call, leaning out the open window of the kitchen. He turns just enough that you know he’s recognized your voice and you smirk, “Lunch is ready.”
“How dare you interrupt my training?” he scoffs, snatching a bottle of water from the countertop. Vegeta drinks the entire bottle, crunching the plastic between his hands before tossing it perfectly into the trash can. 
You take a breath, “Are you okay?”
Vegeta pulls a plate of food from the counter and broods over the top of it for a moment before eating a few bites. He’s surprisingly reserved today, which only makes you even more scared and confused. 
“I refuse to fall behind him any longer,” Vegeta scowls. His jaw trembles under the stress of his teeth as he grinds them together roughly. “Even in death, he surpasses me. I can sense it.”
You shake your head and lean against the counter, your arms tucked around your abdomen. “I think that’s part of the reason you’re having issues.”
He raises a brow and you swear you see his eyes start to glow. Vegeta grunts before shoveling another mouthful of food between his lips. he doesn’t answer you immediately, but when he does, the sheer anger that is simmering just beneath the surface of his words sends a chill down your spine.
“I would rather die than be bested by that terrible representation of our race.”
You swallow and respond despite everything in your body telling you to tread carefully, “I don’t know what crawled in your armor this morning, but you need to calm down. Your whole life doesn’t have to revolve around Goku, you know. Maybe try just getting better for yourself?”
“You foul woman,” Vegeta growls, grasping you by the collar to pull you close. “How dare you speak out against me, Prince Vegeta?”
“Talking about yourself in third person won’t make you any more intimidating,” you narrow your eyes at him and wedge your pointer finger into the hollow of his throat. “I’m sick and tired of this back and forth, Vegeta. It’s redundant for you to believe that all there is in life is for you to be better than Goku.”
“Kakarot,” he huffs under his breath. 
You roll your eyes again, “Regardless! Haven’t you seen that there is so much more to life than just the next fight? You’re absolutely ridiculous!”
Somehow you manage to slap his hand away so he releases his grip on you. You turn on your heels and don’t look back over your shoulder as you make your way back to the engineering building, ready to fill your mind with busy work so you don’t have to worry over the frustrating prince. 
--
Something shifts the next time he’s in the med bay. 
You’ve engineered a new type of spray on bandage that minimizes healing time by half, which is much better than your last invention. You’re rubbing in the adhesive when you notice the Saiyan’s eyes are on you.
You tilt your head up in silent questioning. He does not say anything.
Vegeta’s dark eyes are difficult to look away from - he commands you with just a glance and you know he would have made a strong king, if his planet were still around. He would have been a proud Saiyan, one who led his people with honor. 
“What are you thinking about?” he asks you, breaking your mind from your imaginative state.
You can’t help the small grin that perks your lips, “You.”
It’s bold, and daring, but you do it anyway. 
His voice catches in his throat as his Adam’s apple rakes across the thin skin of his neck. Vegeta tenses under your hands, but you continue your ministrations despite it all. You are wrapping gauze around his bicep when he asks why you’d be thinking about him. If you weren’t so distracted by the sinew of his muscle, you’d be sure that he’s nervous. 
“I’m imagining you on Planet Sadalla, or Planet Vegeta. You, as a king, with your tail.” You lick your lips and refuse to meet his eyes, you can’t handle the intensity now. A blush brings heat to your cheeks, “I think you’d have made a wonderful king, a great leader. You have honor and pride and you know your way around an enemy. I’m angry at Frieza for taking that from you; I wish I could punch him in his smug, alien face.”
A chuckle catches you off guard. You turn your head to look at him, a smile gracing his face. It’s strange, new. You want to cup his cheek with your palm and take in every curvature of his face, but you know better. 
“Frieza would demolish you, little earth woman,” Vegeta cackles. His palm presses to your thigh where it’s straddling the bed next to his own body, and you feel a wave of heat and electricity spark in your veins. His eyes are hooded when he looks up at you, “I appreciate your desires, nonetheless.”
You grit your teeth for a moment as you contemplate speaking up again. Whatever emboldened you before is back at it, and when you say your next words, you confuse the Saiyan prince even more: “I hate what the world has put you through, Vegeta. You’ve been enslaved, murdered, stolen from your home, lied to, and manipulated. I wish I were strong enough to become everyone of your oppressors nightmares, but I know I’m not.”
“I don’t need your-” 
Something stops Vegeta mid-sentence.
He clears his throat and starts again: “Would you like to train with me?”
“Wh-” You drop the bandage in your hand and it rolls around on the floor until it’s nothing but a cardboard tube. You tilt your head and he chuckles at the sight, “You look like a confused animal, earthling. Do you want to train or not?”
You swallow thickly and stumble over your words for a moment before agreeing. You pick at your cuticles when you speak again, “W-What would be the point? You’re so much stronger, I wouldn’t be a challenge for you at all.”
“Tch, nonsense,” Vegeta stands to his feet and flexes his hands into fists, feeling his way around the bandages there. “I trained with Kakarot, and he’s hardly more than a child in an overgrown Saiyan body.”
You shake your head. You can’t believe this. 
“Vegeta, I-”
“Do you want to, or do you not? I won’t offer again.”
-
It’s another hour before he has you pinned to the ground, knee between your legs and a palm pressed firmly to your throat. You claw at his arms but he pins your wrists above your head with a quick side swipe.
You kick him in the back with your free leg and cry out for mercy. He chuckles as he releases his hand from your neck, but does not remove himself from you. 
“You did well,” he tells you, brushing a stray lock of hair from where it was stuck with sweat against your cheek. Vegeta smirks, “You’ll be the strongest earthling in no time.”
You can’t help it when you laugh, “Vegeta, Krillin would take me out in one blow. You don’t have to lie to me, I know I’m a weakling.”
His thumb stops against your law and his eyes are like crystals when he glares down at you, “Don’t ever call yourself weak. You’re the strongest woman I know.”
The fact that he so gently left out “little earth” from before the “woman” bit does not go unnoticed by you. You take a chance and reach up to run your thumb over the pulsing muscle of his bicep. 
“Gah,” he squints and steps away from you, rolling his shoulders as he stands to his full height. He shakes his head and looks down at you, “That’s all for today.”
You squeeze your palms a few times to regain feeling, noticing the small splits and cuts there. You weren’t able to get hits on Vegeta, but you did manage to slam into the walls and floors and fighter-bots a few times. He must notice you looking at them because he asks, “Does the doctor need a doctor?”
You don’t want to admit that the gashes in your hands hurt as bad as they do because he just called you strong, so instead you nod your head in the slightest. The motion makes him chuckle and you like the sight of a smile on his face. 
He walks just ahead of you back to the med bay, his own bandages still fresh from the past few training sessions he’s held on his own. You find your way to one of the beds and sit a still as possible while he plucks different supplies from the cabinet. You think he’s going overboard - he’s got all kinds of things sitting on the counter now - but you dare not criticize him for fear of him possibly lashing out and you having to dress your wounds yourself. 
“Thank you,” you force yourself to say before the pain of stitching you up begins. You look up at him as he loiters over you, all bulk and muscle. It’s still a strange sight to see when the smallest of grins upturns the corners of his lips. 
“I couldn’t let you give yourself second-rate stitches,” he shrugs off your compliment, doling out a few anti-bacterial wipes to clean the blood and dirt off first. “If you get an infection, you won’t be able to train again.”
You nod and let him get to work. He slots himself between your knees and holds your palms more gingerly than you thought ever possible. You try your hardest not to wince when the antiseptic soaks into your open wounds, you know that Vegeta would take back what he said about you being the strongest woman he knows if he saw you squirming because of a little stinging pain.
“You can stop being so tense,” his voice is just as gentle as his touch and it startles you. You swear you hear a short bark of a laugh part his lips.
“I’m sorry.” You swallow the lump in your throat and try to relax your muscles. You swing your feet back and forth just enough to brush your thigh against his and the friction makes you both startle. 
Vegeta looks you in the eye, “Why are women always apologizing?”
You’re confused by his question until you realize that you did in fact apologize. Your cheeks burn and you feel your stomach flip, “I-uh, I don’t know.”
“Well, little woman,” he grabs for the cotton bandages to wrap your clean hands so they can heal. “You should stop apologizing. You have nothing to be sorry for, not with me.”
Vegeta turns his head and glances at your split lip before silently starting to clean it as well. His thumb brushes the pad of antiseptic over the cut and you hiss at the feeling. Surprisingly, he cradles your jaw in his palm and kneels down to look at your wound closer, never releasing the cotton pad from your lip.
You go to apologize, but he pushes the pad of his thumb against your parted lips, “Don’t.”
Your brow is raised and he answers your quiet question, “You were about to apologize. I already told you there’s no need.”
The lump in your throat grows with emotion and you let him continue his ministrations. He’s close to you and his Saiyan blood pumps hot in his veins, the skin of his that’s touching you making your body boil. You lean into his hand and he doesn’t rebuff you, so you stay there while he cleans your lip. 
“There,” he removes the cleansing pad from your lip and takes a half step back from you. Vegeta looks up at you and you’re suddenly aware of how close your faces are. If you were to lean forward and he weren’t to run away, you could kiss him soundly, despite the split on your lip.
It takes all of the courage in your body, but you grip him by the hem of his shirt and tug him down to kiss him square on the mouth. Vegeta lets a surprised gasp echo from the back of his throat and it turns something over in your belly. You let your fingers wander, the pads of your bandaged hands brush over the taut muscle of his abdomen. 
Vegeta’s hand is still on your jaw, his thumb just under the soft part of your chin. He holds you still, his other palm cupping your thigh as it inches up his side. You whimper as his teeth graze over your lip, splitting the wound again. His tongue touches the sensitive flesh and then he pulls away, his thumb finding the wound once again.
“I guess you’ll have to take a break from training, little woman,” Vegeta smirks, eyes tracking the movement of your pulse against your neck. He snickers, “You’re bleeding.”
“As if,” you curl closer to him, your ankles wrapped around his calves. “You just don’t want to have to face me again. Like I’d give you the satisfaction.”
The look on his face is one you can only describe as prideful.
-
“I’m only joining this stupid competition so I can kick Kakarot’s ass!” Vegeta growls, curling his hands to fists. “If we’re here for some silly reason other than the competition, I’m going to rip you all apart!”
Goku is standing in front of him, halo hovering over his head, and it’s like a billboard that displays all of the Saiyan prince’s inequities. The kai’s share their ideas and it only makes Vegeta’s blood boil.
A heat begins to pulse at the back of Vegeta’s head and he hears a voice, small and slithering like a tendril of smoke. It threatens to take over his mind if the plume grows too large. 
I will give you the tools to overpower Goku and take back your Saiyan pride once more. 
Vegeta shakes his head, the voice pounding against the sensitive spots just behind his eyes. He swallows the lump growing in his throat and tries to ignore the temptation.
You will finally be able to surpass the lower-class Saiyan and prove that you are the almighty Prince Vegeta!
A searing starts on Vegeta’s forehead and he doubles over in pain. He screams, attracting the eyes of those around him. 
I will help rid you of all your possessions that are holding you back! You will be the mightiest warrior! 
“Vegeta!”
He turns his eyes to see you in the bleachers, your hands cupped around your mouth as you shout out to him. 
The way tears sit in your eyes makes his heart clench in his chest, but the burning keeps coming. The cloud of smoke is burning just behind his eyes, clouding his mind until it hurts to keep his eyelids open.
Your steps are quick as you rush down the bleachers, pushing past security. He can sense your energy as you come closer, and the closeness of it pulls him from his fog. He winces as he looks up at you, falling down to his knees as the writhing pain continues. 
“What is going on?” you ask him, mirroring his position. You shake your head, “Hey, talk to me.”
“Get away from me, you foul woman!” Vegeta snaps.
You can see the tears in his eyes, and you know that there is something sly afoot. You run your hands over his shoulders and up his neck to cradle his jaw, “Stop this. What’s happening?”
Vegeta winces, “I-I said to get away.”
You notice there is a symbol pulsing red on his forehead - it looks similar to the letter “m”. You brush your thumb over the spot and Vegeta whimpers in pain. 
“I need to beat Kakarot,” he murmurs, blood trickling from his nose at the struggle. “I am sick and tired of these earthly tendencies I’ve picked up. I’ve forgotten what it means to be a proud Saiyan!”
You tilt his chin upward and he looks you in the eyes and you can see that there is some horrible internal battle that he’s going through. You’re not sure if you can do anything to help him.
“Vegeta,” you whisper, your knees digging into the dirt. “I’m not sure who is trying to overpower you, but you’re so much stronger than this. You don’t need anyone else’s help to pass Goku’s power level. You can do it on your own!”
You palm his cheeks, forcing him to look at you. His eyes are dull and you feel his spirit fading as the mark on his forehead grows more opaque.
“I don’t need you,” he grits the words between his teeth like they hurt. Blood trickles down his nose as he continues fighting. His palms dig into the dirt, his Super Saiyan form threatening to break through. “I don’t need you!”
You try not to take it personally - he’s going through something and you must be a part of it. You swallow your pride and force your tears to stay locked away, “Vegeta. I can feel some negative energy. Please, tell me what’s going on.”
She does not know what it means to be a proud warrior. She is but a mortal! Get rid of her, she is the problem. She has made you weak, she has softened you. She is what is holding you back from becoming a true Saiyan warrior!
“You’re the issue,” he grumbles, looking you in the eye. His eyes glow blue and the aura around him starts to shine golden and you know that Super Saiyan is on the way. “You’ve made me weak, you frail, pathetic earthling! I’ve grown too comfortable here, too complacent. I’m a pathetic Saiyan - I should be proud! I should be formidable! Instead, I’ve become satiated. I’ve lost my drive!”
A resounding SLAP can be heard across the entire courtyard. 
Vegeta’s cheek is bright red and your hand is ready to come back around for another smack. Your lip is trembling but you force yourself to speak, “Your doubt in this moment is what’s making you pathetic, Vegeta.”
His jaw goes slack and he tries to formulate a response but you notice the dark symbol on his forehead is beginning to fade just slightly. 
“You having something to fight for makes you that much more powerful. When you have nothing to lose but yourself, it’s easy to fall, it’s easy to take a loss because it doesn’t matter.” You coddle his cheek, feeling horrible for the action but knowing it was necessary nonetheless. You lick your lips and feel your voice growing heavy, “Whatever this is that’s tempting you to break away from the path you’re going down, it’s lying to you. It’s manipulating you.”
“How dare you!” Vegeta’s brows are raised, eyes wild, “How dare you insinuate that I, the mighty Prince Vegeta, can be manipulated!?”
Your lip quivers, “Go on, then,” you shrug, falling back on your heels, “make it easy. Say I never mattered to you.”
Flashes of memories burn behind your eyelids. Moments of lips and hands and skin. Moments of secrets and truths and laughs. Moments where you thought the feelings blossoming between the two of you could mount to something much more permanent.
“I-” Vegeta’s voice is caught in his throat, his fingers shaking at his sides. 
He’s looking down at you and trying to beat out the cloud in his mind, the voice that’s telling him how you really shouldn’t be important. He can’t help but feel that it’s all lies - but if it’s lies, then why does it feel so right? 
That’s right, Vegeta. Let go of her. Let go of your attachment. I can make you powerful, but you have to let go.
“Listen to me, Vegeta,” you pull at his cheeks again, forcing his gaze to fall on you. You run your hands against his face and push his hair back out of his eyes, “I don’t know who is on the other side of this, but don’t let them win. You’re the strongest, smartest, and most capable fighter I know. You can beat this!”
Vegeta grips his hands in his hair and squeezes his eyes shut, letting out a feral scream. Tears surge down his cheeks and he starts talking in an ancient language that you don’t understand, and to someone that you cannot see. 
The symbol on his forehead glows bright red before fading away. 
He releases a puff of breath through his mouth before falling to the ground, the exertion from the internal struggle wearing out his body and mind. 
You catch him against your own body, resting his head in your lap, “C’mon,” you look up at the others, “I’m going to take him back to Capsule. It looks like you guys have a fight to win.”
-
When Vegeta awakens, he’s surprised to find you curled up in a chair with a small scrap of a blanket covering only half of your body. There are gentle snores rumbling in your chest and the Saiyan finds himself grinning at the sound. 
“Hmm,” you murmur as you readjust, your eyes opening just enough to check on him. Once you’ve realized that he’s awake, you leave your eyelids cracked so you can keep a closer watch on him. 
“You stayed,” Vegeta manages. He doesn’t reach out to grasp for you - he doesn’t feel like he has the right. Not after what he said at the arena earlier. He never has really deserved you, but now he knows that you should run far away from him. 
You nod and tuck the blanket up under your chin, “Yes, of course. Someone had to make sure you didn’t try for world domination in your sleep. You were under some heavy medicine.”
“I’m so sorry,” he blurts.
You’ve never heard Vegeta apologize for anything, ever. 
Your body is moving before your mind can comprehend. You’re climbing into his hospital bed, holding onto your scarce blanket as to not totally invade his space. You tuck yourself into his side and take a deep breath.
“You were being controlled by a wizard, I know that now.” You brush your thumb against the bulging muscle of his bicep. “I’m so sorry, Vegeta. I just want you to have some peace.”
He turns, much to your surprise, and envelopes you in his arms. Your ankles cross and you hold back tears at the thought of what he was going through silently. You feel the warmth of his kiss against the top of your head, “I shouldn’t have said those things to you. I didn’t mean them. I-I was...frightened.”
You tilt your head upward, the corner of your mouth grazing his jaw, “I know. I can’t even imagine.”
Vegeta swallows and brushes his thumb over the shell of your ear, lingering against the corner of your jaw. He smiles, “You got me through it. He was trying to use you against me, to tell me that you were the reason I was weakening. And yet, knowing that it was you trying to talk me out of it was the very thing that convinced me to break out of the wizard’s control and come back to my senses.”
“I-I,” you take a short breath, unsure if you want to make your admission out loud. Instead, you back pedal, “You’re important to me, Vegeta. I’m so glad you’re safe.”
He tilts your head upward and you feel his lips before you can blurt out anything else emotional. Vegeta’s palm stays against your neck, so he can feel your pulse. For some reason he needs to be sure that you’re real and that you’re safe. 
“You foul woman,” he murmurs against your lips, and you can feel the smirk in his voice. “How dare you make me fall in love with you?”
You smile in return, your body melting as he holds you close. You shrug, running your thumb over his collarbones. “I hope that won’t be a problem, Prince Vegeta?”
His eyes turn to dark, crystalline orbs that take in your every minuscule movement. Vegeta’s breath hitches, “No, little woman.” He presses a warm kiss to your lips, biting down on your lower lip with his sharp canine teeth. 
“I don’t think it will.”
a/n: I HOPE THAT YOU LOVED IT. FEEL FREE TO REQUEST MORE! SORRY TO THOSE WHO HATE ME WRITING THIS WAY BUT IDC I LOVE IT AND I’M WATCHING SUPER RIGHT NOW AND IT’S GOT ME IN MY FEELS FOR GEETS.
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auredosa · 3 years
Note
r is for rescue from perilous situations and being carried home bridal style
R -  Rescue From Perilous Situations and Being Carried Home Bridal Style
complete list
Wysteria didn't have itself a city guard. There was never a need for one. The forest surrounding the academy was too thick to let anyone out, but by that same token, nobody was able to get in. It gave the citizens peace of mind, knowing that none of the fabled creatures and monsters would breach their pristine establishment. Perhaps that was also why their students were never taught defensive nor offensive magic. It was a peaceful world. The citizens could spend their days admiring the flora and making pretty paintings and pottery without a care in the world.
Now, Chester truly wished they had one, as his chest burned with the exertion of running for his life from creeping vines gone wild.
"Get back to the academy!" he shouted, vaulting over a fallen column. Ahead of him, Cyrus was paving a way forward, ensuring that the students were far away from the wall of vines in hot pursuit. Leaves and foliage grazed his face from Cyrus hacking down whatever he could with his war scythe, swinging through the overgrowth like a metronome.
He'd sent the students running ahead of them, and tasked his own pupils with leading the Ravenwood competitors back to the dormitory. What was meant to be a tour of the local town had turned into a daring escape; and he didn't much appreciate it, having guests in his company.
He always thought he was fast on his feet, having been raised in the very woods their unwelcome invader had crawled in from. The streets were familiar, but the ground had started to crumble and deform beneath them, thanks to the plants sprouting up from beneath the cobblestone.
While sneaking a glance behind him, a sharp cornerstone caught his foot, knocking him off balance. Something wrapped itself around his ankle and pulled.
The wall of Tanglewood vines were upon them.
He heard his name being shouted, over the sound of building walls crumbling and falling onto the street.
"Go! Make sure the others are safe!" He called back. Thorns sunk into his skin, pulling a wince from his throat. What little he could see of the road ahead was covered by green tendrils, pressig down on his back and neck. He was going to be brried alive.
The plants wouldn't listen to him. He couldn't even hear his own thoughts. Somehow, it was becoming difficult to breathe. There was dirt on his tongue and vines were piling over him. It was ironic, really: an earth bender becoming swallowed by nature's embrace.
Perhaps the Great Tree listened to prayers.
Just when his lungs tightened up and he was sure he'd be taken away, the silver tip of a blade swung inches away from his nose.
The vines fell away, revealing a hand reached out to grasp his. He got to his feet, seeing a blur of red roofs, stone walls, and chartreuse plants. In front of him, Cyrus’s chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, and blood welled from thin lines on his jaw and neck.
"Thank you," Chester panted, steadying himself with his shoulders. He knew his reddened face betrayed whatever calm he was trying to sell. Cyrus looked him over and hummed, finding nothing terribly critical about his condition.  
“We’ve got to hurry,” he stated, replacing his scythe in its sheath. Sweat glistened on his browbone, still furrowed in worry. “The mother plant will soon be here."
Chester nodded, and was about get back on his feet when the ground disappeared beneath his feet again. Suddenly, he was hoisted off the ground and pulled close to Cyrus's chest. His forearms dug into his back, just short of bruising. Before he could process that he was actually being toted, they were moving again, granted the ability to travel slower with the rest of the vines lagging behind.
"I can walk, you know!" he gasped. In actuality, he decided this wasn’t so bad. There was dirt in his mouth and blood welling on his lips, but regardless, he was secure. Embarrassingly so.  "There's no need to carry me like a child."
"I also can't have you falling on your rear like a child," Cyrus replied. "Don't frighten me like that," he added sternly.
“Spare me the concerned speech. Do you-do you even know where you're going?"
"You've shown me this area of town many times before," he mused, side-stepping over a fractured crosswalk. "On our little outings."
"We're being chased by sprawling vines, and you're reminiscing about our past rendez-vous?"
"Absolutely not," Cyrus frowned, tightening his hold. He had quite the death grip, Chester noted.
"I kid, I kid. You're very resourceful," he smiled, forgetting their dire circumstances. "Now, let me down before-"
"Hey, look, it's Professor Drake!" A young, chirpy voice called.
"Oh, God's teeth," Cyrus swore, unceremoniously setting him on the pavement. "I told Dominique to go ahead . . ."
The students they’d brought along were all gathered by a stone arch, accompanied by a rabbit in a shiny silver helmet holding a spear. He recognized him-one of the gatekeepers, meant to see who came through and left, but not to defend from malicious flora. The spines of the iron barricade hung over their heads, ready to drop at any moment.
"Good to see you're both safe," the hare said. "Good timing, too; we're about to put down the shutters, too, to keep this thing from gettin' in. That ought’a be everyone, I think." He studied Chester and Cyrus curiously. "You, uh, you two know each other?"
"Merely colleagues." Cyrus stated firmly. "We're teachers." Chester nodded in agreement.  
"Ah, that's right. I reckon I've see you two around these parts," the hare said casually. Cyrus shot a glare at Ophisa, who was poorly hiding a well-knowing smirk.
"Sergeant, you've told the others to close the gates?" Chester asked quickly.
"Yes, sir! Groundskeeper Verne got here to tell me before you all did. Everybody should be accounted for."
“Fantastic!" Ophisa said, twirling her wand between her fingers. "Does this mean we can get back to the tournament now? I've been itching to get back in the arena."
Chester chuckled, reaching out to pick a thorn from her hat. "You'd best make yourself look decent before your next duel, Ophisa. Ravenwood needs proper representation, doesn’t it?" She whipped off her hat and gasped dramatically, earning a half-amused headshake from her instructor.
"In the meantime," Cyrus interrupted, "we'll see what we can do about this unruly invader. I believe a curfew is in order, if the Headmistress would be amendable to that."
“Aw, that's no fun,” Ophisa groaned. “What's the point of staying abroad in another world if you can't sneak out for adventures?"
"You'll have plenty of fun when I assign you volunteer work trimming down these vines.” Cyrus sternly retorted. “Now, go and prepare for the next round. I expect a top-notch performance from you, Dominique.”
Her face scrunched up in irritation. “Hpmh! You’ll sure get one, Professor, just you watch!” She collected her peers and started strutting towards the dormitories, giving her professors and the amused Sergeant Harvey a wave goodbye. The hare cleared his throat and straightened his posture.
"Well, I best re-group with the rest of the gatekeepers and figure out a course of action. The tournament must go on, rain or shine, big ol' vines or not." He tipped his helmet to both of them. "Good day, gentlemen."
Chester and Cyrus were left alone, standing outside the door to Tanglewood Way. It was oddly peaceful. Whatever was locked behind the gates had ceased putting up a fight. Thank Merlin. Chester dusted off his shoulders and sighed.
"We'll likely be needed for a meeting with the other instructors. Belladonna's probably calling for a staff meeting this very minute." Chester said. "You should join us."
"Gladly. Although, I can't say we look our best," Cyrus observed, looking himself over. "Do you expect Mrs. Crisp will buy our story?"
"Belladonna? Not a chance," he admitted, smiling. "No matter, I can borrow one of your garments. We'll pass by your inn on the way there."
Cyrus huffed in mock irritation. He took the curbside and they began their way down the street, not quite walking, not quite running. "You do realize this will soil both our reputations, correct?"
"Oh, don't act as if everyone doesn't already know," Chester said. "You heard the hare; you aren't the only one who remembers our little outings here."
"Chester!"
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heli0s-writes · 5 years
Text
V. Exhibit
Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes Summary:  After all your hard work, the day is finally here. A/N: Part 5 of Mystery of Love.
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The following month passed by in a hurry, as your thoughts were dominated by the constant thrall of work. One month was truly not enough to prepare, but you knew the implications of waiting until June passed- those positions in the fall would likely not be available; June was late enough.
Tony eagerly sprang into action and helped you transform your guest room into a photography studio, begrudgingly folding to your “outrageous peasant demands” of simple lighting, and two solid backdrops. When it was fully set up, you held a meeting with the team and prepped them over procedure and your proposal. You spoke plainly.
The show to view your work post-travels was primarily a guise to get a glimpse into their lives more intimately; you were under no illusion that it was anything else but 1) a shrewd plan for elites to rub elbows with other elites and 2) an opportunity for you.
Honesty was the best policy, and you knew they would appreciate it.
“If you consent to have your posed portrait taken by me in a studio setting- something we haven’t done before, thank you. If you don’t, I don’t blame you or hold it against you. It can be unnatural, uncomfortable, and I understand. Be aware- these images will be auctioned off. They will not, however, be duplicated. They are single prints.”
“Please make me rich.” Tony grinned as he spun freely in the swivel chair, “I mean, richer. Please make me richer.” After a round of glares from the team, he fessed, “Oh fine. Yes, you’ll receive a portion of the payment. You greedy little assholes.”
It didn’t take much more convincing for everyone to be on board. You were eager to begin and spent the first few days of June taking note of the kinds of images you wanted from each member. You thought about the representation of duality of Avenger and “being” whether it was human, super soldier, or an enhanced- or in Thor’s case, a god. But in the end, you decided on listening to Bucky’s advice and give ‘em hell. They were going to play by your rules.
Halfway through the month, you were so engrossed in the work, you’d barely had time to spend with either Steve or Bucky. They were sweet enough to make sure you had plenty of coffee on your days at the compound and would try to call before bed if you were in the city. Other than the occasional dinners together and their own photo sessions (which you were adamant on keeping strictly professional-save for a very stubborn session with Bucky), you hardly saw them.
Steve was called away on a diplomatic assignment with Natasha in Paris on the 13th. You were happy to hear that he wouldn’t be in any foreseeable danger and a tiny bit glad that he’d be busy doing something other than worried about your sleeping and eating habits. By the 24th, everything was nearly complete, and the only thing left for you to do was buy a dress and set up for the night of. You felt like a pile of wet rags and had even lost a few pounds from the stress and exertion.
-
The morning of the 26th, Steve and Natasha landed at the compound, disembarking from the quinjet. You were taking the day off to find a dress in the city; Tony had given you his credit card. It was a tremendous gesture you wanted to refuse until he reminded you that truthfully, you were doing him just as big of a favor as he was doing you. He had even encouraged you to get a custom gown early in the month and even passed the message along to various designers, but you adamantly refused, reiterating once again that it was not about you. Tony would have to face the disappointment of being the only one in a custom-made ensemble.
At 11, while rifling through a rack of silk and lace beauties, you received a call from Bucky.
“Hey, you,” you smiled. He’d been texting you all morning, updating you on Steve’s jet lag. “Can I come to you for lunch?” You sucked in a deep breath. “Buck, you sure? I’m in Manhattan.” “Yeah. Send me your location.”
There was no arguing with him when he made up his mind.
When Bucky arrived on 5th Avenue, he wore a black long-sleeve and jeans with his usual combat boots. You couldn’t help but smile at the classic cap and sunglasses combo as he plodded through the throng of tourists- looking very much like one himself. His hair was tied back to avoid sticking to his neck in the heat. He kissed your shoulder at the entrance of the store and you grazed his stubbled chin with a finger in response.
The walk to your favorite sandwich shop was relatively short, and Bucky let you lead the way, keeping a hand on the small of your back to keep you close. The two of you sat at the bar near the window after your food arrived and you let him know your surprise at his offer to meet you in the city. He shrugged it off as he took the sunglasses off his face.
“When I was on the run, I placed myself in different locations, but it was often smartest to hide in plain sight. Bucharest has a population of over a million people ‘n they’re so busy they don’t pay attention to much else; I don’t go into the city mostly because I don’t like it, hon’.” He took a bite of his sub and you did the same, snorting in delight when a bit of lettuce hung from his chin. Bucky rolled his eyes and sent you a lopsided grin before closing his mouth again over the sub, muttering. “You’re a punk.”
You felt laughter bubbling up in your chest as he swiped off the lettuce and flung it at you.
This was the Bucky you liked the most- playful, mischievous, still sweet in the center. Not to say there were parts of him you disliked, but you were careful with his more jagged pieces. The Bucky who scanned every room he entered, who always strapped at least three knives to his body, who scowled on impulse, who automatically put himself in front of you in response to loud noises needed more tenderness. The Bucky who texted you at three in the morning “just to see if you were awake” needed more tenderness, too.
The first time you woke up to one of those messages, you joked that he reminded you of a college boy making a booty call. Only after seeing him bleary eyed and on-edge did you ponder more deeply about it and ventured to ask if he had trouble sleeping because of nightmares.
He admitted he truly saw little in his dreams, but felt chasms that threatened to swallow him up, and the terror of that blackness kept him awake. You knew what awaited him in that blackness. Since then, you’ve always kept your phone on loud.
“Stevie got you a dress from Paris,” Bucky mumbled, wiping the corners of his mouth with a brown napkin, hiding the slightest hint of a smirk. “I don’t think it’s your style, though.”
You raised an eyebrow, sweeping bits of crust into the empty wrapper of your lunch. “Oh yeah? Steve picked it out? What’s it like?”
“It’s red. ‘S real nice, but it’s also red.”
You scrunched up your nose in concern. “Oh… I hope it won’t hurt his feelings if I don’t wear it.”
Bucky went to throw both of your crumpled trash piles away and returned with an understanding smile, “Nah. He’s a big boy. Party’s in two days, though. If you don’t find anything you’re gonna get stuck with it, hon.”
Sighing, you stood up and brushed off your shirt, “Yeah. I’ll look some more. I put a dress on hold earlier so if I don’t find anything else, I’ll go back to that one. Thanks for having lunch with me, Bucky.” You pulled absentmindedly on his shirt sleeve and tugged the wrinkles out of the elbow. Bucky took the opportunity to bend down and plant a kiss on your jawline, whispering that he missed you into your cheek.  
“I’m not leavin’,” he said, removing the sunglasses that were hanging from the collar of his shirt, “Haven’t seen you in days, doll. I’m not leavin’ yet.”
The definitive statement was punctuated by another one of his keen stares. You swallowed as his clear blue eyes flitted back and forth between your own, finally settling on your mouth as you nervously breathed out a soft “Okay”. Your heart swelled in your chest as he smiled. You couldn’t help but lovingly follow the sly arc of his lips across and up to those joyful creases you so adored running from his eyes. Happy Bucky was your favorite Bucky. You wanted to make him look like this all the time. You felt so terrible that you’d been so busy and avoiding him.
Impulsively, you reached up and kissed him on the lips.
It was quick, and you stood back flat on your feet, hand shooting up to cover your mouth. Fearfully, you took a chance to peek at him. The two of you stood there next to the window staring at each other for a few seconds before Bucky broke out into a wide toothy grin.
You flushed from head to toe. Your first kiss. In a sandwich shop. The banality of it all dawned on you and before you had the chance to say anything, Bucky broke the silence with a hearty laugh. Soon enough, you joined in, burying your face in both your hands. People were starting to glance over to the window and stare, so Bucky grabbed you by the hand and briskly stepped out into the street. He caught your waist to turn you to face him, pressing your back against the brick wall of the shop. The chatter of Manhattan whipped around both of you in the background, full of footsteps and yelling, honking, dogs barking, construction. Bucky Barnes held tight to your sides as if you might get torn into in the sea of people behind him.
Under the shade of his cap’s bill, you could hardly see his eyes, but the light illuminated his mouth, which was pressed into a thin line.
You squinted as sunlight fell over your face, “Buck?”
The intensity of Bucky crashing his lips to yours ripped the breath from your lungs. He stepped forward into your body, pressing his broad chest against you, flesh hand pushing your torso against his. In the middle of the sidewalk, he erased all the noise of Manhattan. You could only hear his breath on your mouth as he parted and returned again and again. Three deep kisses later, he let you go.
You gulped, heart stammering, lost completely in ragged breaths and desperately trying to ignore the eyes of passing strangers who’d witness your moment of public affection. You had seen this coming for a while now, but it was still a shock.
Ever since the day on the couch, you had been trying to avoid physical intimacy, but it had been difficult to experience growing closer with Bucky and simultaneously disregard his longing for your touch. He was always holding back, like a predator in the tall grass.
“I wanna do so much more than that…” He whispered in your ear. His voice was deep, and you could hear his throat clenching as he swallowed. The sound burrowed its way into your brain, sending currents scampering through your body.
Bucky ran his hand along your jaw, one final kiss landing on the shell of your ear as he muttered, “When you’re ready, I will. Come on, you lead the way.”
All you could do was nod in response as he guided you in front of him, one hand resting again on your back as you tried to stay calm in the crowd. In a few mere minutes, the street changed as you turned a corner. Your heart was beginning to slow down again.
“I’m curious, doll,” Bucky called from behind you, running a finger up and down the small of your back, “What color was that dress you put on hold?”
From the way his words sounded, you knew he was smirking. “It was black.” You swerved to the side to avoid a man pushing a stroller and Bucky followed suit. Craning your head back to see his expression, your heart sped up again either by his tightening grip or his subsequent praise:
“Atta girl.”
-
The last Saturday in June was the 28th. Pepper had demanded that you stayed at your apartment until the evening of, setting you up with a full-day spa appointment on Friday. According to her (and your very exhausted body) you needed rest and pampering before the big night. She also insinuated that Tony was being incredibly high-strung with setting up; he wanted it to be a surprise, and if you’d step foot on the campus before he was ready, he might completely “lose it Bridezilla-style”.
You’d been video-chatting Steve at night on the phone before bed since spending the day with Bucky. He was at first disappointed that you decided not to wear the dress he’d gotten you but ultimately understood why: red was a high-profile color. He sheepishly admitted that he was a bit old-fashioned, and was a sucker for women in red. It was cute. You suggested that he ask Natasha instead.
Your heart swelled any time his face came on the screen and you couldn’t help but stupidly grin every night into the phone. He told you about the trip and his desire to one day take you to the city, glossing over the details of the errand itself. You didn’t mind- it wasn’t your job, and you likely wouldn’t have understood its significance. He brought up how he was concerned at first that the distance would cause discomfort- but perhaps it was the consent to distance that changed the rules. You knew where he was going and accepted it, and so neither of you were pained by the separation.
“Maybe on the more peaceful missions, you might like to come with me? It’d be like travelling again, huh?” You agreed, eager to see another endearing smile break across his face. You loved the way Steve closed his eyes as he smiled, long lashes folding to graze against his raised cheeks- it was a habit of his, and it made you curious to wonder what he thought of during those blissful expressions.
After your long spa day you ended your night with another video call, feeling the excitement growing closer and closer, emboldened by Steve’s encouragements. More changes were coming on the horizon and you felt ready to face them. You were glad to have both men by your side.
 Promptly at 5, Pepper sent a car outside to wait outside your apartment door. The invitation you’d proofread for Tony stated that doors opened at 6:30 with a cocktail hour and viewing period before any announcements were made. You would be giving a talk at 8, unveiling the main auction piece at the end and then there would be a bidding period before the night unwinds with dancing. The event supposedly ended at midnight, but you were sure that was Tony’s way of ushering out the guests. You weren’t going to assume he’d turn into a pumpkin at the stroke of 12.
Blotting on the final layer of your lip stain, you swept over it with a coat of high-shine gloss. Your make up was done simply: filled in, full, arching brows; barely-there contouring to emphasize your bone structure; peach blush; and a single smooth black line over both your eyelids. Your hair was brushed back and tucked behind your ears, flowing over your shoulder in neat waves.
You wanted to be sleek and able to blend in, with just a touch of red-lipped-conspicuous.
Stepping into the lobby, you felt as if transported into a different world. Tony had transformed the chamber into a flawless gallery setting with your photographs, framed and displayed along the perimeter of the open-spaced room. He’d put in wall panels here and there along with several benches where viewers could sit, arranging it perfectly to where there was plenty of walking space and room to mingle. Along the right wall was an elegant backlit bar manned by three sharply dressed bartenders with dazzling smiles. Close by was a stage with a band plucking a lazy acoustic tune in their warm-up routine, accompanied by a harpist. Gorgeous floral arrangements stood tall on pedestals, their sweet scent hanging in the air. Servers wandered casually, silver trays in hand topped with hor d'oeuvres and champagne.
The first few guests were arriving, picking up pamphlets from the stand near the door and meandering through the maze of photos. The team was scattered around the room, dressed beautifully, all smiles. Natasha hypnotized in the stunning red gown Steve picked out. It was striking with an elegant sweetheart neckline and brocade skirt. Pepper wore violet tulle. Wanda was smoldering in a lacy brown long-sleeved dress.
The men were simply dashing, in various dark suits offset by their own choices of silk bowties and shirts. Sam’s collar brooches glimmered- two mirroring silver wings clipped neatly to the points of his muted garnet shirt collar.
Halfway to the bar, you came face-to-face with Steve, who wore a fitted deep navy suit and dress shirt, complimented by a silk burgundy tie. His hair- which had grown longer since you’d last seen him in person was swept back and to one side. He was clean shaven for the event. You realized you were staring, but it helped that he was staring right back.
“You look...”
“Oh m...my” You attempted to finish the sentence for him. Steve laughed, shrugging one shoulder, the drink in his hand sloshing around.
“Not quite what I was going to say- but very close.” He paused, looking you up and down before sweeping you up in a one-armed hug and whispering in your ear “I’ve missed you so much. You look incredible.”
Once back on your feet, you smoothed the front of your black dress and shyly smiled in response, feeling your heart flutter. The snug gown was made of a satin blend, moving and shifting ethereally and just barely swept the floor. Two hair-thin spaghetti straps held it in place, crisscrossing over your back. The neckline was a darting V-shape, stopping just half an inch above Steve’s mark.
You’d convinced yourself to be calm and cool, playing the part of a professional artist giving a talk, but it was hard to not be giddy when Steve looked so damn good. His arms were practically bulging out from the sleeves of his jacket. And the lightly spiced cologne he wore was filling your head up with smoke.
“Where’s um, Bucky?” You ventured to ask, steeling your voice.
“Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.”
Bucky rolled the last ‘r’ into your ear as he placed his cool metal hand on your bare shoulder, middle finger drumming against the thin strap. You stirred at the temperature, burning against your back as he moved to your right side, smirking at Steve. They must have planned this, you thought, or perhaps brevity between old friends was enough to place them on the same dangerous wavelength. You felt like a fresh carcass, exposed under sunlight while two ravenous vultures circled overheard.
He was dressed completely in black, save for a blood-red pocket square neatly tucked into the breast of his suit. His hair was left loose, one side tucked behind his ear, and he donned his signature 5 o’clock shadow. He didn’t bother to cover his metal hand tonight, which made him all the more fearsome-looking. Bucky must have made it his mission to personify the word feral.
Half-lidded eyes drank in your figure, appreciatively scanning up and down before catching on your left bicep. “You’ve covered up your arm,” He noticed. “Why?” The was an edge of hurt he tried to hide.
The offending black cuff glimmered in the light. “Same reason why I didn’t wear the red.” You replied. You lifted your chin to regard Bucky and he raised his eyebrows in surprise at your declaration.
Steve bobbed his head, just enough to share the message that he understood before plucking a champagne flute from a passing server and placing it in your grasp. You sipped and signaled to the entrance of the exhibit with your stiletto-encased foot, where Kristopher Byrne had just entered with a pamphlet and Tony Stark. “I’ve got to go say hi. Thank you for supporting me.”
It was a conclusive statement, and the thanks, although sincere, was a comment of courtesy to lighten the mood. You quickly squeezed both of their arms before stepping away, straightening your back and squaring your shoulders. The show had just begun, and you were expected to be engaged and conversing all night; you couldn’t kick it off with a lovers’ quarrel in the middle of the floor as much as you wanted to resolve the matter. Bucky would have struggled and there were, unfortunately, other pressing concerns.
The band began to belt out a tune, mellow and full of slow, savory notes. The lobby was half-full at this point, and more were waiting by the door. The boys watched you go, exchanging glances. Bucky was scowling.
“Don’t be like that,” Steve warned, “You got to spend all day with her, pal.”
“Don’t wanna talk about it.” He was being petulant, he knew. It was easier to be angry than to admit that his feelings were hurt. “Don’t lecture me, Stevie. Just wanna fuckin’ be with her. I’m tired of all this… shit.”
Steve chuckled into his glass as he took a sip, savoring the taste and looking at his friend through the curved angle of the rim. He’d experienced his fair share of Bucky’s seething tantrums; he knew it’d pass.
“Gotta admit, Buck. I liked seein’ ya miffed. You need a firm hand.”
Bucky scowled deeper at his friend’s cheeky comment as he watched your back make nice with a stranger. The itch inside of him was growing darker with every step you took away. He’d been good, played it safe and slow by your- and Steve’s rules, but every time it felt like you might scratch the surface of his desire, you’d backed off. Seeing his mark covered up on your arm only made it worse.
Sending Steve a pained look, Bucky quietly retreated to the bar.
 Kristopher Byrne was a tall and lanky man with silver hair, fingers studded with multiple rings and designer glasses sitting low on his nose-bridge. The suit he wore matched Tony in embellishments, and it was obvious by that alone that they got along swimmingly. Immediately after introducing yourself to him, his solemn expression softened into an ecstatic one. He kissed your hand, raving about how he’d been a fan for years but that you’d always eluded his grasp. You immediately thanked him and asked if he was ready for a stroll through the displays.
Byrne was very interested in the photos you’d taken in Russia, pausing to talk about the social unrest there regarding sexuality. He applauded your shots in Thailand, complimenting the rich colors of Chiang Mai and the quiet moments you captured.
You spent the next half hour walking through the photos with Tony and Byrne, chatting here and there with other guests who had questions. The information cards next to each picture was brief and explained a little bit about the image but hearing it from your point of view was much more valuable to them.
Tony set up the exhibit to first show your Peculiar Pairs series from the travels before introducing the Avengers photos. The range of colors started at full spectrum and highly saturated with your travels before slowly changing into the black and white portraits you shot of each member.
Upon entering the space of black-and-white portraits, he was greeted with a three-by-four-foot framed photo of Steve in stark lighting. He stood in front of a black background in a white t-shirt, looking into the distance as a bright halo illuminated him from behind, catching the fine contour of his lashes and the tip of his sharp nose. The features of his face were lit by another light in front. His expression was almost angelic with parted lips and the barest hint of a smile.
Byrne’s eyes widened as he regarded it, eager to uncover more information about the man captured in the image. The info card in the corner simply read Steven Grant Rogers.
You watched on as Byrne rotated himself around the frame, pondering deeply at Steve’s aspects. Tony smirked and made a snarky comment about how he hoped Byrne was this excited about his own picture.
“Captain America,” Byrne finally exhaled, “Looks like … someone you could sit next to on the subway. Wow. Fantastic.”
You thanked him. Perhaps it was your bias speaking, but you casually mentioned that it was one of your personal favorites. Tony stifled a barking cough.
Byrne led the way down the path, soliciting your process with each session. You were tight-lipped but let loose of what was necessary to keep him interested. It didn’t take much; there was nowhere else neither he nor any other guest could find a close-up portrait of Natasha wrapped tight in a bathrobe, hair wrung-dry and damp, chin resting on her fist, making such fierce eye-contact as if challenging the gaze of the person who’d caught her in a private moment.
Or Tony, a face well-known to smirk, sneer, and blow kisses, suddenly severe and deep in thought, tinted glasses hanging from his teeth.
Thor grinned behind a half-empty glass of beer in his portrait. Sam was reading a book. Bruce was cutting up a breakfast of an omelet and potatoes.
Bucky’s photo elicited gasps from Byrne as well as the crowd he’d started to draw around him. The session you had with him was rather difficult, since he challenged you at every turn. So many images from your roll you’d deemed too stern, an aspect that you didn’t want captured of Bucky. The Winter Soldier was grim and ominous. Bucky, your Bucky (as hesitant as that statement was), was not. You refused to let him resign himself to the Soldier’s shadowy persona, especially not after knowing just how bright he could be.
It had taken almost two hours of careful conversation for him to let you turn off the lights and put on music. You chose to play one of your favorites- a collection of Bill Withers’ essential hits, letting the suave compositions fill the room. He was ready to argue when the first few notes came on, but you strictly shook your head and brushed out his hair with your fingers before moving on to massage his tense neck. Jagged edges, you chanted in your head, take care of those jagged edges.
It was an intimate moment from anyone else’s point of view- but you were so occupied with ensuring a good photo, you had willfully ignored all signs of pleasure from your subject. He leaned into your touch the harder you pressed, and when you reached down the round collar of his black shirt to feel the muscles of his back, he had started panting hard and fast.
You asked him to freeze and quickly ran back to snap a few shots. Then, certain you’d gotten what you needed, you ushered Bucky out of the room with a short apology before anything escalated.
The resulting photograph was Bucky’s side-profile leaning back on the palms of his hand on a stool, grey background blurred and out of focus. The collar of his shirt was stretched and warped around his neck under dense wavy hair. His eyes were half open, distracted by something in the distance, lips closed, corners turned down in a wanton pout. The muscles in his arms were thick and contracted as he gripped forcefully on the seat. There was a fuzzy shadow cast over him, just enough to obscure a corner of his shoulder and clenched jaw.
The card read, James Buchanan Barnes.
Kristopher Byrne clapped and ran the back of his hand over his forehead.
“This one… just takes my breath away. This is really Sergeant Barnes? The Winter Soldier? He looks so helpless… So unlike the image I have of him.”
You searched across the expanse of the room to find the sergeant in question. Next to him, Steve firmly patted his shoulder as they watched you stand beneath Bucky’s picture. With a slight swing of your hips, you unflinchingly moved on.
-
At 8, the band winded down their percussions and a spotlight found Tony at the center of the lobby, microphone in hand. Guests gathered around as he began to speak. Two workers wheeled out a display that was covered up by a black cloth.
“Everyone, may I please have your attention.” When the crowd settled down enough for his liking, he continued effortlessly. “I’d like to formally welcome you to the exhibition. The photographer of the night is a friend of mine; you might know her as the visionary behind the popular Soulmate Series and the subsequent Peculiar Pairs- wow, what a mouthful, huh?” A round of soft chuckles was raised.
You stood next to Natasha and Pepper, taking a final sip of your third champagne flute before handing it off to a server and thanking him. Your heart was picking up a rhythm in apprehension of your approaching time to speak. Tony was leaps and bounds more charming than you, and you could only hope you wouldn’t trip over your feet on your way up.
“She’s taken the world by storm with her humor, wit, and sensitivity on a subject we’ve all heard before, and continues to shed a novel light on Soulmates. To us here at the Avengers Facility, she’s our lovable Public Relations twerp, near and dear to our hearts.” He paused. You were positive you were tearing up as pinpricks burn your nasal passages.
“Please give a warm round of applause to the one, the only…”
Tony flourished his pointer finger over the crowd before finally settling on you, the spotlight zooming over to shine on the water pooling in your eyes. He finally called out a boisterous thundering of your name as the room erupted in applause.
The room blurred as you stepped towards Tony. Mechanical movements and muscle memory guided your actions when he gave you a loving hug and kiss on the cheek. The microphone was suddenly in your hands and you began to speak, praying for whatever god above (or here- Thor, if this might be your territory) to bless you with grace.
“Thank you everyone for coming out tonight. And thank you Tony and Pepper, who’ve made all of this possible for me.”
It felt like there were half a million eyes staring. You only needed to find your footing in four blue ones. Pressing onward, you continued, hoping the quiver of your throat would flatten itself out as you began to chronicle your body of work. It was a speech you’d given before in multiple interviews, you just needed a lead into the meat of the lecture.
“The photos you see tonight of the Avengers were taken with a simple message in mind: humanity. So often we regard them as these supernatural saviors- which they can be and frequently are; Thor, for one, is an Asgardian god.” The crowd lightly chuckled, and Thor, in the back, raised a sizable glass of wine in the air.
“I didn’t want to create more cults of personality around them, I wanted you to see the parts of them you could identify with, juxtaposing the abnormal with the normal. Your heroes eat breakfast, read books, take baths... just like you.” There was contemplation gazing back at you in the massive sea of unblinking eyes. Some people chewed on their lips pensively. Others were nodding along in agreeance.
“They hurt, like you.” You looked at Bucky, who met your gaze with a silent apology, “They love, like you.” You looked at Steve, who bit his lips in a smile. “They have soulmates, like you. And with that, we come full circle.”
You turned your body to face the shrouded display and pinch the cloth between two fingers.
“I’d like to start the auction period off with piece de resistance. As with all our photos tonight, when you bid on them, know that if won, they will be singularly yours. Forever. No duplicates will be made; the files have been destroyed.” Tugging on the sheet with a flourish, you swiftly pulled it off the polished stand to reveal a framed photo of the Maximoff twins. The discarded fabric tumbled to the floor with a flutter.
Pietro stood shirtless and defiant in the photo, black jeans hanging from his hips, the barest hint of his boxers peeking out. His body was smooth and hard, naturally flawless thanks to his inhuman healing abilities. Next to him, Wanda faced away from the camera in a black racerback, her head turned to regard her twin. Her hand drew a line across his chest, wrist relaxed on his far shoulder, polished black fingernails lovingly twirled a bleached curl. Their Marks were in full view, and the audience collectively sucked in a sharp breath of surprise.
“Wanda and Pietro Maximoff: Avengers, twins, soulmates.”
The room erupted once more in applause. You handed the microphone back to Tony and disappeared into the crowd.
-
You felt ill.
Clutching on the smooth marble countertop, you stared at your reflection in the bathroom mirror. The dim yellow lighting from the shell-shaped wall scone flooded the room and made you look even more jaundiced. You had held it together for a whole three hours but now it was time to dump your entire stomach’s contents into the closest toilet. You barely made it before the champagne and bits of cheese ejected violently from your mouth.
You waited briefly for the nausea to pass and when it didn’t you returned to discharge the rest of your vomit into the bowl. In the stall a few spaces down, someone flushed before cautiously exiting. Three clicks of footsteps closer and there was a very light knock on the door that separated you from them.
Wanda stood over you, eyebrows tightly knitted in concern. She hoisted you up and the toilet flushed automatically upon registering movement. You wobbled to the counter again, opening the various cabinet doors before finding some mouthwash to gargle.
“Can I help you?” She asked, taking a cloth napkin from the wicker basket in the middle and dabbing around your red mouth after you’d spit into the sink. You sighed deeply, holding your hand over your torso. “It’s been a long month… that was actually more cathartic than traumatic.” She nodded in support.
You took the napkin from her and viciously wiped off the lipstick with it, peppermint smell lingering from your mouth. Your eyes began to focus and un-focus competitively and ghostly trails of color floated all around your head. Wanda followed your gaze with her eyes before pressing a warm palm to your temple.
“I can take it away, if you’d like,” she held up a splayed hand, fingers crackling with that ghostly energy of hers. Exhaling, you only nodded as she returned the heel of her palm to your forehead. A rush of tingles travelled up your body and into her hand, and you feel every inch of your skin crawling towards her. You’d forgotten how exhausted you’ve been for the past month as your head throbbed and ached against Wanda’s touch, mumbling what you hoped was a sincere-sounding thanks.  
When she finishes, Wanda lifts up your head with her finger and smiles. “All better, no?” When she walks you into the lobby, you feel yourself renewed with each step.
-
Steve thinks he can find you in any universe out there. Any timeline. Any dream. He’s got the shape of your body branded inside his brain. Every eyelash, every fine line, every damn pore.
When you cross the room with Wanda on your arm, smiling, he notices the lipstick has been rubbed off and your mouth is pink and raw. When you catch sight of him watching, Wanda departs gracefully and whispers into your ear a sweet note, wishing you a fruitful night onward. Your mind stills at her words, and your heart picks up a slow, steady beat when your feet end up in front of Steve at the edge of the room.
Steve knows he can.
He bends over to pull a lock of wavy hair into his hand and kiss it. The room is silent, conversations have long muted because of auction taking place. You’re no longer present, long gone from the party and adrift only in the blue-green sea of his gaze.
Steve allows the strands back onto your shoulder and they cascade over your back. He lets the scent of clean shampoo and something that is purely you wash over him. The crisp smell of seafoam and orange peels, summer rain, warm laundry in the sun. There’s a sheen layer of sweat in the dip of your neck that he’d love to get a mouthful of. The flame in his chest triggers.
He’ll have to thank Wanda later. Your posture is the most relaxed he’s seen you all night. The stiff square shoulders and domineering gait was a side of you he hadn’t seen before, a sight he couldn’t help but feel proud of as you commanded the room. However, he loved the natural you in front of him now most.
He doesn’t have to hear your words to know how you feel, but listens anyway.
“Thank you,” You smile, looking only at him, vaguely gesturing to the room full of people. Your voice has dropped low and earnest and you squeeze his hand just a little bit before anyone else sees. “I... I couldn’t have done this without you. I would have never done it.”
He nods and bows his head ever so slightly, peering at you through lashes. “I’m happy to have helped. You know that, sweetheart. I know you’re capable of so many great things… I’m glad you’re feeling better.” He rubs the edge of your mouth with a finger.
“Yeah.. I guess you’re used to seeing me like this, huh?” You giggle, embarrassed and remembering all the times you’ve thrown up because of his presence.
“I think even then, I had a feeling. Just… too afraid to come forward. After I learned how to use a computer…” He’s smiling at the memory, “..I used to spend all night looking at your photos… trying to find a picture of you somewhere.”
The thought of Steve, back then, already captivated by anything to do with you causes your breathing to pick up. You suck in air through your nostrils quickly as if you might be suffocating. A long moment passes as you pinch your bottom lip between your teeth.
“Honey?” He asks with a smile. He knows what’s coming.
You’re spellbound in his gaze, trapped like a moth, wings already soldered off by the flame. “I’d like to stay the night, I think. With you... and … B-Bucky.”
Steve plucks your hand from your side and kisses each knuckle. “Of course. Tony already said he’ll handle the rest of the show and paperwork. Let me know when you’re ready to go. We’ll take it slow.”
It’s a promise, and he doesn’t have to wait for your next words to know what you want. But he does so anyway. He needs to hear it.
“I’m... ready now.”
When Steve slips his hand over yours and feels the familiar pulse of your thumbprint, he knows. In this universe, this lifetime, or the next, or the next after that, he’d be able to find you. He is yours; you are his. With every step, he lets the fantasies he’s been occupied with disperse, focusing his attention solely on your figure at his side. The hallway muffles the sounds of the party and each step grows louder as you depart hand-in-hand.
 -
In the darkness of his room, your Soulmate kneels and unbuckles the strap of your stiletto, letting his fingers graze over your feet. He’s meticulous as he slips them off one at a time before trailing those calloused palms up your calves underneath the dress. The silky cool fabric brushes his knuckles, a stark contrast to the heat of your skin. You’re trembling against his hold as he continues upward, resting them on the back of your thighs, squeezing gently.
“Sweetheart, you’re shaking.” He presses two kisses to the top of each thigh underneath the dress. His hot breath sends tingles slinking upwards into the pit of your core. “We can stop any time. We can stay in bed together and just sleep. I’d love that.”
You shake your head and place your hands over his, pulling them up even higher, over the apex of your bottom, brushing over your underwear, and catching in the tightness of the fabric. The motion is all he needs, and Steve deftly reaches up to untie the knotted bow at the small of your back.
The satin falls off your shoulders and pools at your feet.
Next Chapter
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sleepychai-fics · 4 years
Text
Road to Salvation ~ Chapter 2 - The Mall
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(click for better quality)
Warnings: description of scars, guns (let me know if I’m missing anything)
Word Count: 4,542
Pronouns - Female
Disclaimer: I do not own any characters in BNHA. However, there are many OC’s in this fic that I’ve created. These OC’s belong to me and are specifically created for this fic. 
However, Mihoko Shinsou and Hajime Shinsou are NOT my oc’s. They are oc’s created by Keiid, who used to have tumblr but now uses twitter. Please keep that in mind.
Feedback is appreciated!
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Some people call it home. Others call it a sanctuary away from home. It’s a shelter for all those in need. A place of security and protection. But everyone generally refers to it as The Mall, purely for what it once stood to be.
The structure itself is fairly large and takes up the shape of a simple square, standing five stories tall. It’s capacity is enough to cover 7 blocks of land, 10 if you count the surrounding car park. Despite its years of abandonment, it stands strong and intact. The few indicators of its abandonment are the weeds and mould that grow in between the cracks of the walls, the shattered windows that have been replaced with wood and the entryway that extends further than what it originally had been.
Kai walks a few steps ahead of you as the two of you approach the entrance. He opens the door for you, gesturing for you to go forward. With a playful scoff and a shake of your head, you walk past him.
As you enter the small area, someone with cherry blonde hair approaches you. “(Y/n)! Kai! You’re back!” They greet you happily, before their eyes set on top of Michi. “Oh. You’ve brought someone with you.”
You nod. “Don’t worry Kaede. He’s a class C.”
Kaede smiles. “Ok. I’ll let you take care of him then. Call for me if you need anything!”
“Will do!” Kai answers back as he once again opens the door for you, allowing you to step inside the larger complex.
On the outside, it looks run down and almost inhabitable. The inside has a whole different outlook.
It’s much cleaner than expected, courtesy of most of the habitants that reside within the mall. The first floor stands as a common space. Barrels of fire scatter throughout the area, a few people hovering over each one. Store spaces on the first floor have been transformed into either kitchen areas or have been cleared out for the purpose of social meeting places.
The above floors were built as balconies around the structure, with a couple of bridges spanning across each one. So even from the first floor, you could look up and see the worn down roof of the building. It was an open and respected design, a representation of the generalised tone of the area.
Each floor had a purpose. The first floor was a common space, as well as a cooking area. The second floor stood as an area for training, both combat and quirk control. Although, the more destructive quirks were trained outside in the parking lot. The third floor, a highly secured floor, was dedicated to storage of supplies. The fourth floor, another highly secured floor, is allocated as the sleeping quarters.
Finally, there’s the fifth floor. It’s hardly used, hence why it’s dubbed as the ‘silent floor’. You go there to have time to yourself when things become overwhelming. It’s also used as a meeting place to discuss things such as finances and security measures. If no one can find you on the other floors, bets are you’ll be found on the fifth floor.
You stride across the floor along with Kai, and every person you pass by shines you a smile and a warm greeting. Children cheer and dance around you briefly, giggling as they greet you. Comments such as “you’re back!” and “we missed you!” along with various others flutter into the atmosphere. Although one comment catches everyone's attention.
“(Y/n) has someone with her!”
There’s a momentary period of silence from everyone around you as they peer up at you and notice Michi attached to your hip. You feel Michi flinch as a result. His grip tightens around you as he nuzzles his face further into your neck. As a reassurement, you thread your fingers through his hair.
It takes a second longer before everyone returns to their previous activity. The children that had once surrounded you had rushed off to play tag.
You continue your journey, trekking up the few flights of stairs and broken escalators that lead up to the fourth floor. Every floor you ascend to gets quieter and quieter.
By the time you reach the third floor, another person sidles up to you.
“Welcome back.”
With a glance to your side, you smile.
“It’s good to be back.”
Dabi smiles and pats your shoulder, matching his pace with yours as you climb the final flight of stairs.
At a first glance, Dabi isn’t the best to look at, especially in the eyes of a young child. Scars as a result of third-degree burns litter across his skin, a bright red and pink in colour. One particular scar spreads all across his neck and even links up to a small patch on his right cheek. He dons a loose fitting shirt, accompanied by a thin dark jacket. The jeans he wears are ripped at the knees and torn at the cuffs. They’re thin, and look to provide barely any warmth
“I can see why you’re a bit late.” He looks at Michi with a soft smile. Michi peeks out once again at the new voice. Upon taking his features in, he flinches back to hide his face. Dabi sighs softly.
“I’m going to go to put this into storage.” Kai gestures to the bag.
“Oh! I nabbed a few people as well so you’ll need to put that with the safe.”
Kai nods in return. “Will do. Night.”
You and Dabi both bid him goodnight as you split off at the top of the stairs. Kai heads up another flight of stairs whilst the three of you turn towards what used to be stores.
The stores had been cleared out as bedrooms. Just under 200 stores varying in sizes and the capacity of people that sleep in them. Each ‘bedroom’ had at least 12 sets of bedding laid out - bedding being defined as a low-quality blanket and a slim pillow. The security of the floor included at least 30 individuals who walked around certain areas, occasionally peeking into each room.
“Yusu contacted me.” Dabi informs you as the two of you turn left. “They have strong belief that there will be violent gang activity happening in a nearby district.”
A scowl sets on your face. “Do you have the coordinates?”
He nods in response, holding up a small phone. “They sent it a few minutes ago. Will you take the job?”
Without hesitation, you answer. “Of course I will.”
You walk into the fourth store you come across. It’s fairly big compared to the others, 20 kids able to sleep somewhat comfortably with a few other adults among them. The sky had just grown past dusk, so not too many have retired to bed, leaving the space fairly empty except for a few kids.
With quiet steps, you walk towards the back of the bedroom, Dabi closely following suit. You kneel down next to one of the beds and gently caress Michi away from your body.
Michi jolts and whines in response, hands clinging to your shirt. “D-Don’t leave me!”
A string of hushed words come from you in an attempt to soothe Michi. “It’s okay Michi. I won’t ever leave you.”
“Bu-but you said you were going somewhere!” His words are muffled by the way he buries his face into your chest. You can feel patches of wet warmth where he lays as a result of his shedding tears.
Your hands rest on Michi’s elbows, gently prying him away from you enough to look at him. Tears pool in the boy's eyes but you’re quick to wipe them away. With a sad smile, you speak. “Remember what I said to you? About being a vigilante?” Michi nods, lips quivering. “Do you know what a vigilante is?”
His eyes glance towards the ground. “Someone who breaks the rules.”
“Yes. But I’m a good vigilante. I break the rules to help people.” A hand comes to cup Michi’s cheeks, coercing him to look at you.
“So you’re a hero?”
It shouldn’t make your heart beat painfully, but it does. It hurts having to tell a child this. The thought of having to tell such a young innocent child the truth of the world hurts. But it’s the malls’ duty to be honest about the world. Even if they’re small children.
You sigh. “Yes. But not to other heroes. I don’t have a license like they do, so that means I can’t use my quirk to help people.”
“So why do you do it if you’re not allowed to?”
Another painful heart beat.
“Because those heroes don’t like to save people like us.”
It’s painful to hear him sniffle. “Th-they don’t? Why don’t they like to save us?”
Your fingers gently card through his hair and you smile at the way he leans into your touch. “They don’t think we deserve it, or they don’t want to be seen around people like us.”
“Why not?”
You sigh. “The answer might make you upset now. If you want, I can tell you. But if you’re really upset now, I can tell you another day when you ask me again.”
One of the few rules of the mall include brutal honesty. No matter the age. If someone asks a question, the answer will be honest. It works a bit differently for those who are traumatised. If mental health is at risk with the honest answer, then they’ll be told as such. They make the decision themselves if they still want an honest answer.
Michi is hesitant to nod his head. “O-Ok. B-But you have to promise to come back!”
You smile in relief, holding out a pinky towards him. “I will. I promise.” Michi takes the pinky with his own. Running on instinct, you bring your lips to press gently on Michi’s forehead. “I won’t be long. I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Dabi will be here with you.”
Michi takes another glance at Dabi, who kneels down beside you. He simply smiles softly at Michi, his expression nothing but calm and sincere.
You gently part away from Michi, speaking to him in a soft voice. “I trust him a lot. He’s like a brother to me. He’ll make sure you’re safe while I’m gone.”
Michi steps back a bit, staring over Dabi. A few long seconds slip away before he hesitantly approaches Dabi. He doesn’t move, letting the kid choose his own approach. Michi steps into Dabi’s frame, head lightly resting on his chest and hands clutched to his own. Dabi remains still, not wanting to scare him off with any movement he isn’t prepared for. It’s not a hug, but it’s the start of trust.
After running your fingers through Michi’s hair again, you stand up. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.” Dabi makes slow movements to remove the phone from his back pocket and hand it to you. “Try to get some sleep. You too Dabi.”
It’s fruitless, but worth the effort of speaking.
~*~
The streetlamps and shop lights illuminate the street under the freshly darkened sky. A few stars twinkle above, the rest hidden from sight due to the amount of light pollution. The crescent moon shines brightly amongst the dark canvas.
The streets are crowded with families and business people making their commute back home. They walk down the streets, chatting amongst one another happily and going about their usual evening. Some enter restaurants to meet up with other friends and talk more whilst they order food.
Hitoshi stumbles out the door of the roller skating rink. Once he regains his balance, he turns back to his father. “What was that for?”
His father, Hajime Shinsou, chuckles. “For cheating in that race.”
“I did not cheat!” Hitoshi scoffs.
Hajime ruffles his son's hair, briefly tangling his purple locks together. “Sure kid. I just happened to accidentally fall.”
“No, you fell because you have no talent.” Hitoshi quips back as he tries to fix up his messed up hair.
Hajime gasps, eyes widening in surprise, accentuating the dark circles below them. “Oh really now?”
Hitoshi hops back away from him as he lunges towards his son, hands stretched to ruffle his hair again.
“Ok boys, enough fighting. You both have no talent.” Hitoshi’s mother, Mihoko, walks out the door and makes her way to her family. Her lilac locks are tied behind her head in a bun, but a few short strands hang to the side of her face, framing her plump cheeks.
Hitoshi takes the brief distraction from his father and reaches up to mess with his own dark purple locks.
“You two will never grow up will you?” Mihoko says with a smile.
The two boys reciprocate the smile before fixing themselves up once more and heading off down the street.
“What are our dinner options tonight?” Hitoshi asks.
Mihoko hums. “We can decide while we walk. There’s a few restaurants down this street we could try.”
Hitoshi shrugs. “Sure.”
The small family walk closely together as they make their way down the street. The wind is light and a little cold, but it’s not enough to bother them.
Mihoko smiles as she turns to Hitoshi. “How was school?”
A frown settles on his face. “It was good I guess.”
The parents glance at each other, noticing the quick change in mood.
“Is everything ok?” Hajime asks, concern etched in his voice.
A sigh leaves Hitoshi and he visibly slumps forward. “It’s nothing. Just a few kids trying to get at me. They didn’t.”
“Clearly they did.”
Hitoshi grumbles, slightly annoyed at the conversation and wanting to avoid it going further. “Can we not talk about it now? Please? It’s family night.”
Hajime considers his son’s words and tone for a moment with a small hum. “Fine. But I want to know what happened tomorrow. I’m just worried for you son. That’s all.”
“I know dad. But it’s family night. I don’t want to be the one to bring down the mood.”
Hajime is quick to bring his son in to his other side for a hug. “That’s really considerate of you, and I understand what you’re saying. But you also need to understand our concern.”
“We’ll always be here for you Hitoshi, we always said that.” Mihoko adds.
Hitoshi can’t help but smile at his parents. “I know. Can we drop this topic now?”
Hajime nods. “For now.”
Mihoko looks up at one of the approaching stores. “Oh, what about that one?” She points to a restaurant store just ahead. It’s decorated with bright lights advertising the karaoke they offer as entertainment, as well as the meal specials they have.
“The one with karaoke?” Hitoshi asks. Mihoko confirms with a hum.
“Sure, why not? It’ll be fun.” Hajime says.
Hitoshi smirks. “Yeah, until you hear how bad they can get.” This earns a light slap from his mother.
The three walk towards the restaurant. Just as they nod to the doorman, screams erupt from inside, along with the sound of glass shattering and wood splintering. Everyone within the near vicinity stands frozen for one second, not really comprehending where the sounds came from.
The window explodes into millions of pieces as several men storm through it. They’re all dressed in loose clothing. Hair stringy and unwashed, much like the hair of the beards that a few have. They’re clothes are slightly unkempt but aside from that, they appear to be fairly clean and from middle-class income.
People from the streets scream and duck, faces struck with horror. They sprint the opposite direction and shove others out of the way, desperate to escape the scene.
Amidst the chaos, the Shinsou family flinch and instinctively turn to each other, seeking reassurance from each other to ensure they’re together.
Hitoshi feels secure for all of 4 seconds before he feels a hand grip at the back of his collar. Without any warning, he’s yanked harshly away from his parents. In a brief moment of panic, he shouts and jerks his elbow back at his snatcher. But the person wraps their other arm around his front, the muscled arm preventing him from attacking. Another second passes before Hitoshi feels cold steel press against his temple.
A gunshot silences the area.
Hitoshi flinches at the proximity of the sound, hands flying up to grip at the arm wrapped around his front. The gunshot having come from a fellow gang member, effectively placing a blanket of silence over the area.
“Everyone shut up!”
Hitoshi takes this moment to look over to his parents. Both of their faces are overridden with panic. Hajime has his arms wrapped around his wife, stopping her screaming form from lunging towards her son.
Hitoshi can see the desperation in their expressions, the desire to rush over to him, but he can also see the recognition of danger in his father's eyes. He can see his muscles tense with restraint. Hajime wants to run to him and try to save his son, but he knows the risk of doing so. All he can do now is stay put and pray to all gods.
“Please stop this!” A man with ginger hair runs out from the broken window. His casual black shirt and blue jeans are dusted with what looks to be flour and crumbs of food. His eyes are wide with shock as he spots Hitoshi pulled against them. “Let the boy go. He has no business with this. We can talk this out.”
The snatcher tightens his grip around  Hitoshi, eliciting a choked sound from the boy. “You had your chance to talk. Now I want to demonstrate to you the consequences of not following our deals.”
“Please don’t do this! Hitoshi!” Hitoshi has to close his eyes at his mother's screams. He can’t stand to see her look so traumatised. Despite his attempts to keep it in, a tear slips down his face.
“I’ll give you what you want. Please just let the boy go!”
The snatcher lets out a loud groan of frustration and annoyance. “You just love to take the fun out of everything don’t ya! He’s my hostage now! Just remember that this is all your fault! The consequence you suffer because you neglected to comply with our demands.”
Hitoshi whines as the steel of the gun presses further into his temple. Amongst the cries from his parents, Hitoshi hears a voice behind him.
“Let him go.” The voice is casual yet holds, firm and serious.
The pressure of the gun eases as the snatcher whips around to face the interruption.
A figure dressed in black, ragged clothing stands there. The hood of their jumper falls over half their face, the other half being covered by a fabric mask. The only visible part of the figure’s body is their hands.
“Who the fuck are you asshole?!!”
“The girl who’s about to break your hand if you don’t release that boy.”
The man growls at you. “I don’t need to take orders from a child like you!”
“A child?” The figure huffs out a light chuckle. “I may be a child, but I have bigger brains and balls than you.”
It happens so fast Hitoshi barely has time to comprehend it. One second Hitoshi has a gun pressed against his temple. The next, he’s being yanked by the shirt collar, away from the man as he crumples to the ground, hands gripping onto his crotch.
The girl dismantles the gun, throwing the parts away, keeping them separated.
The man groans in pure agony. “Don’t just stand around dumbasses! Get her!”
At the demand, the remaining men come to circle around the two.
“When I say so, you run through the opening. Understand?” The girl whispers to Hitoshi.
His mind is racing, adrenaline and fear coursing through his veins, hyperfocused on his surroundings. He nods vigorously, fists clenched with uncertainty.
The girl smirks beneath the mask. “Look boys. Why not save yourselves the embarrassment and just scurry along. No one has to get hurt tonight.”
“Yeah right lady. You just kicked our boss in his jewels.” A man with twisted horns on his head growls.
The girl takes a quick glance at the man on the floor. “You mean his dick? Let me tell you now, from kicking it, it’s small and worthless.”
The horned man lets out a yell before charging at the girl. He goes to take a swing at her, but just as he’s about to make contact, the girl ducks under his arm and steps behind him. The man has 2 seconds to think before a sharp jab hits him at the side of his neck. The jab effectively hits the vagus nerve, rendering him unconscious.
Hitoshi’s eyes are as wide as saucers. The girl just took out a guy nearly twice her size in one hit!
“Kid, NOW!” Hitoshi snaps his head back towards the girl. She whips her head back, striking the nose of another behind her whilst another man opposite her doubles over, clutching his gasping and clutching his throat.
Hitoshi doesn’t waste another second and bolts through the opening.
The girl screams as she’s thrown to the ground, the guy having regained enough grounding to push her and reach for him.
Hitoshi registers the sound of his mother's screams as he sees the hand reaching for him. But the man seems to stop himself, though not on his own accord. He shouts in pain as his body is shoved down to the ground, seemingly by an invisible force.
Hitoshi takes a brief glance at the girl. Her hood is no longer drawn over her face, allowing her (h/c) hair and glowing (e/c) eyes to be seen. Her arm is pointed to the ground, fingers tense. Hitoshi concludes that her quirk must be at work.
A hand yanks him away from the streets, pulling him towards his parents. The store owner lets Mihoko grasp at her son, her arms coming to wrap tightly around his body. Hajime does the same, overlapping his wife's arms.
The three watch in suspense as the girl stands up.
Two guys on opposite sides rush in to her, but it’s a stupid move she immediately recognises. With a single step and a flick of her wrist, the two men collide head first to each other, noses breaking in the process.
The click of a gun alerts everyone in the area as another man takes aim towards the girl.
The girl dashes to the male, uppercutting his arm and yanking the gun out of his grasp. A straight kick to the chest sends him barrelling on the ground. The gun is dismantled and tossed away before the cycle repeats.
Everyone watches in silence as the girl picks off every man one by one. Each hit she makes has every man groaning in pain. It’s fascinating to watch a young girl take down men twice her size with simple moves. A jab to the throat or to the side of the neck. An uppercut to the chin or gut. A knee to the crotch or under the kneecap. There’s a clear purpose to each strike she makes: take them down as quickly as possible. And it works.
However, as everyone admires over your skill, one of the once fallen men has risen up, snatched up the dismantled parts of a gun and reassembled it.
Hitoshi takes his eyes off the girl to stare at the man as he cocks his gun. Instinct has adrenaline rushing through his veins.
“Look out!” Hitoshi wrenches himself out of his parents' grasp despite their heart wrenching screams and dives into the fight. He tackles the man down as he takes the shot.
The bullet flies high into the air as the man falls to the ground. Hitoshi sits up, one knee on the ground, the other pressed into the man's chest and he begins to punch.
It hurts like no tomorrow, but Hitoshi pushes through the pain. He wills himself to punch again and again. He knows he’s wasting so much energy on one guy, but all his frustrations and fears pent up from the night slips out and drives his fist back and forth.
It's not long before a hand grips his arm. He grunts as he’s pulled up and away from the man. Hitoshi turns to face the offender, ready to punch him in the face, but his eyes meet that of the girl.
She stares at him, eyebrows tucked toward the nose. The expression shows anger and annoyance, but the (e/c) eyes show something similar to understanding and gratitude. She doesn’t give him a chance to stare closely at her for another second as she shoves him back into the crowd.
Hitoshi barely registers his parents' arms encasing him once again as his eyes follow the girl's movements. She takes out the final triplet of men, ending it with a powerful punch to the nose, the bones cracking audibly on impact.
No one moves. No one makes a sound. All eyes are on the girl as she fixes up her hoodie over her face. Her chest heaves with each intake of air, her fingers flexing as she rolls her wrists.
Her head shifts over towards Hitoshi. Despite the hood falling over her face, Hitoshi feels her gaze set on him. He feels it as if it's a dagger piercing his chest. He feels the intensity of it, the aggravation, and the appreciation.
She doesn’t stay there long. As soon as the sirens reach their ears, she darts away.
He can’t look away from her, even as she disappears into an alleyway. Even as his parents call out to him. Even as a team of pro heroes and police officers arrive at the scene.
~*~
Dabi is sat up against the wall with Michi laying across his lap, hand tucked up to his chest. It’d taken a couple hours, but Dabi had managed to sooth Michi to sleep, his calloused fingers threading through the child’s black matted hair. Dabi himself was not asleep, despite his eyes being closed.
You enter the room as quietly as possible, tip toeing across the room, avoiding the many kids that are spread out. A few kids look up at you as you do so, but after identifying you, they lay back down and return to their attempt at sleep.
As you get closer to Dabi, he opens his eyes, sparkling blue eyes scanning you for any signs of injury. Once satisfied you are okay, he stretches his unoccupied arm towards you. You slide next to him, accepting the embrace and wrapping your own arm around him.
“How was he?” You whisper.
“He asked a lot about you. Told him a bit more about what you do.” He answers, his own voice a whisper.
You nod. “That’s good.” A yawn slips past your lips.
“You should get some sleep.”
You poke Dabi in his side. “So should you.”
Dabi simply smiles at that and leans his head atop yours.
No more words are spoken, silence once again fills the room, allowing the two of you to slip into a light sleep.
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thiswasinevitableid · 4 years
Note
any chance you could write some sternclay hannukah fic? as wholesome or naughty as you like
I certainly can! I went with fluffy, and I hope it turned out okay.
Joseph Stern does his best not to take personal offense at the existence of inanimate objects. 
But the “Merry Christmas” signs hanging down the entire main street of Kepler are on thin fucking ice.
He knows small towns tend to lean towards homogeneity. He knows that many municipal agencies treat Christmas as a non-denominational day celebrated by everyone.
The sign simply reminds him of being scolded by a grade school teacher for telling the other students that his family wasn’t visited by Santa, which suggested an inherent flaw in the idea of Santa’s existence. 
Or not being able to get the holidays he needed off of work during college, because those weren’t “real” holidays according to his boss.
Or not being allowed to have his mini T-rex menorah on his desk at the UP because it was a religious symbol and he worked in a government agency. 
He can’t shake the bad mood as he finishes his errands and heads back towards the lodge. Snow falls in clumps on his windshield as he pulls up in front, just in time to see Bigfoot and Mothman carrying a large pine tree into the lobby. 
Home sweet home. 
“Kay just, uh, hold it steady for a sec there ‘Drid.” Duck’s legs stick out from beneath the tree as he twists it into a stand, Indrid holding it upright while he does. Barclay sees Stern just as he slips on his bracelet, and by the time he’s kissing him he’s human again.
“Hey, babe.”
“Hi. Getting prepared for the season, I see.”
“Yep” Barclay grins excitedly, “finally found the perfect C-”
“Christmas tree, yes, I know, I’m Jewish, not oblivious.” Stern hears the bitterness, takes a breath and shuts his eyes, prepared to apologize for once again harshing others holiday cheer by reminding them that Jewish people exist. 
“No…” Barclay is making his worried-about-Stern face, “It’s the Candlenights tree.”
“Come again?”
“Did that plenty this morning.” Barclay bounces his eyebrows, and Stern rolls his eyes. 
“Candlenights is a winter holiday on Sylvain. It’s supposed to be a time of rest and warmth, of remembering that it’s alright to take time to focus on love and peace and comfort.”
“But that’s obviously a Christmas tree.”
Barclay shrugs, “You’re supposed to have a big piece of greenery as one of the decorations, a representation of the beauty of the land around you. Some families decorate a tree in their yard, or grow a flower bush specifically to use, stuff like that.”
“Mine had a blue mallow tree. It smelled like sugar. And the blossoms were delicious.” Indrid chimes in as he puts on his glasses.
“Is that why you put marshmallows on the tree in the apartment?” Duck brushes pine needles off himself.”
“Maybe.”
Barclay continues, “You decorate it with lights and flowers. And, well, the Christmas tree is a great way of having that tradition in the lodge without people wondering what the fuck we’re doing and asking too many questions.”
“So...Candlenights is tonight?” 
“It starts tomorrow. It’s kinda like Hanukah, but it lasts five days rather than eight nights. Each day centers around a concept: light, warmth, comfort, growth, love. Er, that’s the translation from Sylph, at least.”
“That sounds pleasant.” Stern smiles a bit, watches Hollis and Jake untangling strings of lights with varying degrees of success, “I’m, I’m glad you all are able to celebrate the way you did back home.”
“Me too. Uh, you know you can celebrate with us right? The lodge is your home too.”
“Thank you.” He kisses Barclays cheek and heads towards his room while the cook heads off towards the kitchen. 
It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate the offer. And he’s actually curious about what’s essentially an alien cultural ceremony. 
But he wishes he had what he needed to observe Hanukkah. So that he could feel connected to his past, and his home, the way the Sylphs will tomorrow.
-------------------------------------------------
He’s up early the next morning, wanders out into the lobby with his coffee mug. It’s quiet save for the crackling fire and distant sounds of Mama in her office and Barclay in the kitchen.
The tree is lit with orange and white lights, and does look rather festive. 
But it’s something on the window near the tree catches his attention. 
It’s clearly supposed to be a serpent version of the Loch Ness Monster (Stern’s preferred version, given that the more popular pleisiosaur is the least likely of all explanations for the creature). 
And it has nine candle holders on it. 
“Happy Hanukah, handsome.” Barclay’s voice is a soft rumble in his ear as the taller man hugs him from behind, “Know it doesn’t officially start until tonight, but seemed like I oughta give you this ahead of time. Plus, it matches nicely with the first day of Candlenights.”
“True.” Stern murmurs, “Barclay this, this is wonderful.”
“Glad you like it. Had it made special.”
Stern turns in his arms, kissing him long and slow, not caring that the flour on his apron is now on Sterns shirt. He’s grown used to floury hugs and sugared kisses, Barclay stealing them from him in between moments at work. He wouldn’t trade them for the world.
-------------------------------------------
The next day, Stern nearly has a heart attack when he opens his bedroom door.
“BUNNY SWEATER TIME!”
“GAH!oh, hello Aubrey. Doctor.”
Aubrey grins at him, while Dr. Harris Bonkers, PhD, attempts to chew his way out of his small, black sweater, emblazoned with flames. It matches Aubrey’s own. 
“I didn’t realize you two, or, ah, three” he waves to Dani, “were vising from Sylvain.”
“Just for today and tomorrow. Dani needs to give Barclay his gift.”
Dani proudly hoists a thick, knitted sweater that reads “Kiss the cook.”
Stern pads into the lobby, finds it more active than the previous morning. Sitting by his menorah is a flat box, wrapped in silver paper. When he opens it, he finds a thick sweater, and braces himself. More than once has he been given a holiday sweater that was blatantly Christmas themed. 
This one, however, is a tasteful, dark blue with silver snowflakes and UFOs patterned across it. Stern pulls it on, finds it fits perfectly. 
“Looking good dude!” Jake calls from his position teaching Dr. Harris Bonkers how to play on a Nintendo DS. Stern settles on the couch, picks up his paperback from where he set it yesterday.
“Ah good, Barclay took my suggestion.”
“JEsus.” Stern’s unprepared for the red glasses poking out of a nearby pile of fabric.
Indrid answers the question before he asks it, “Electric blanket, a gift from Duck. Barclay was torn between that sweater and a Bigfoot themed one. I foresaw you liking that option slightly better. It suits you well.”
“Thank you.” Stern rubs the soft fabric, feeling deeply cozy, and settles in to read. 
That evening, he’s getting ready to light the menorah when he spots Barclays reflection beside his own in the window. 
“Can, uh, is it okay if I join you?”
“Of course.”
Barclay watches intently, listens as Stern recites the blessing. When Stern is done he joins his boyfriend in a large easy chair.
“There anything else you miss from, like, celebrating Hanukkah as a kid?”
“How do you mean?” Stern rests his head on his shoulder with a sleepy sigh,
“Well, back on Sylvain, there are these almost scone-like things, made out of honeyberries. They don’t taste like anything you get on earth.  I smuggled preserved honeyberries through the gate every year around this time just so I could make some. Vincent never could turn down a Twinkie bribe to look the other way.”
“Sufganiyot. My mom always got them from a place called Greenbush back home.”
“Jelly doughnuts, right?”
“Yes. How did you-”
“Babe, do you have any idea how many cookbooks I’ve read? At this point I’m not sure there’s a pastry I haven’t heard of.”
“That...never occurred to me.” He yawns, unsure how a day of lazing by the fire can make him so exhausted (maybe it was having to prevent a talking rabbit and a seal disguised as a skater from lighting the tree on fire. Twice).
“Bedtime. C’mon, my little Sufganiyot”
“In what sense am I little-ah, hey!” Stern laughs as Barclay scoops him up in his arms.
“You’re ridiculous” He grumbles against Barclays chest.
“You love me for it.”
Stern nestles closer, “Very true”
----------------------------------------
The next morning, he steps out his door, only for the scent of sugar to draw him towards the restaurant. He can hear Barclay speaking from within the kitchen. 
“No, you can’t have any yet.”
“But, Uncle Barclay, look at how cute I am.” Dr. Harris Bonkers’ voice, if he had to guess. 
“Joseph gets the first batch.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s even cuter.”
Barclay steps out the kitchen door, plate in hand, and turns bright red.
“Oops, didn’t know you were up.”
“Dear, my alarm goes off at five every morning.”
Then he sees what Barclay is holding.
“Happy Hanukkah, babe.”
Stern grabs a doughnut from the plate and devours it in three bites.
“Please tell me you made more than two.”
“Aww, babe, glad you like ‘em.”
“I do. But, uh, that’s not why I said it.” 
He points to the restaurant door, where many more faces are peeking in, several licking their lips.
Barclay chuckles, “Whelp, better get frying.”
Stern grabs his usual apron from the near the kitchen door.
“I’ll help.”
Day four starts equally pleasantly, with him discovering a small, pleasingly round moss ball floating in a small aquarium sitting on his desk. The aquarium is decorated with a mini bigfoot figure and a mini FBI figure. 
“Dani suggested that for you. I know you like having plants on your desk, but don’t always have the best luck keeping them alive.” Barclay rubs his shoulders, kissing the top of his head as he sits at the desk. 
“I love it. Oh! Today is growth, right?”
“Yep.” Another kiss.
“Stay right here.” Stern rummages through the closet, pulling out the large, wrapped package he’s had for the last two weeks. 
“Merry? Candlenights, Barclay. I wasn’t quite sure when to give it to you, but today seems like the best choice.” 
Barclay unwraps the package on the bed, laughs delightedly when he sees what’s inside.
“Counter-top herb garden. Nice thinking, handsome.”
“You’re always saying how you miss not having fresh herbs to work with in the winter, so it seemed riiiight, oh lord, I, I have a phone call with Hayes in ten minutes, big guy, don’t start anything you can’t finish in that time.”
“Don’t worry,” Barclay rumbles from his new position kneeling on the floor, undoing Sterns pants as he kisses his stomach, “I’ll make real fucking sure you finish.”
------------------------------------------------------------
It’s day five, and for the first time there’s nothing greeting Stern when he wakes up. He’s not terribly worried, and anyway he has to finish the briefing instructions for the new agents being sent to guard the inactive gate (his notes make no mention of the new, active gate a mile away).
Barclay joins him, as he has the last three nights, to light the menorah before heading back into the restaurant to feed residents and winter tourists. He busies himself with chores and crossword puzzles until Barclay is done with the night shift. 
When his boyfriend finally joins him for the night, he has his hands behind his back and a smile on his face that puts Indrid Cold’s to shame. Wordlessly, he hands Stern a box covered in gold paper. 
“That’s certainly a hefty package” Stern smirks as he opens it, then gapes at the contents.
“It’s, how, where did, did you make this?”
“I had it cast so, uh, yeah? It’s for times when you get lonely, or like, have to go on business trips.”
 “Lord, Barclay, they even got the color right. Do they even know that they were making a toy from the real Bigfoot’s co-”
“No, and I intend to keep that way. Now…” Barclay crawls on top of him, fingers working his pajamas off, “how about we break in your new toy?”
----------------------------------------------
Stern rolls over in bed the next morning to see Barclay stepping out of the shower, towel around his waist. The Sylph notices him, comes to the bed to give him a kiss.
“Oh, here, wanted to give this to you before I go to work.” He holds out a small package, unmistakably the shape of a DVD box. Stern smiles excitedly to discover the entire X-Files series contained within it. Then he frowns.
“Wait, Candlenights ended yesterday.”
“Yeah. But it’s still hanukkah, right?” 
“Yes…”
“Babe, what did you think I was getting you those presents for.”
“I, well, I assumed you were trying to mesh my holiday with yours, so you’d only get me things during Candlenights-”
“You only give someone a gift on one day of that.”
“Really?”
“Yep. I just thought it would be fun to kinda tie my first five for you to Candlenights. Give you a taste of it without, like, pressuring you to be a part of it or making you give up something important to you. But I’ve had Hanukah stuff picked out for you since, like, September. And, uh, if there’s other stuff around it you wanna do or share with me, just say the word.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do that for me, it would have been easier just to do Candlenights. Lord knows it wouldn't be the first time my practices were overlooked, I could have handled it.”
“Because I love you, Joseph. I want you to be happy. When I told you the lodge was your home, and I meant it. And being home means having the space to celebrate things that are important to you.”
“You, I-” Stern shifts under the covers, feeling suddenly very vulnerable.
“Is my special agent speechless? Because that’d be a first.” 
“Yes, though the exact reason for it escapes me. Thank you, Barclay. For doing all this for me.”
Barclay nuzzles his cheek with a smile, “Any time, babe. And hey,” he tilts Sterns chin up so their eyes meet, “I love you.”
Stern’s smile is like a warm flame spreading across his face, “I love you too.”
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thesoftdumbass · 5 years
Text
sweet as can be (2)
detective Bucky Barnes x baker Reader
Word count: 1.7K
Warnings: none! fluff. un-beta’d
Summary: Bucky Barnes has no idea what to do for his daughter’s 12th birthday party. That is, until he meets you. (It’s party time!)
masterlist  
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part one 
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Saturday, Bucky makes sure to be up bright and early to get everything ready for the party. He deep-cleaned the house the night before, preparing to host family and a group of Becca’s friends that will stay afterward for a slumber party. While putting up the decorations for later, Bucky can’t help but be thankful for 2-day shipping. Glittery crescent moons, silver balloons, and a variety of pink and silver stars hang in a sweet representation of space that he hopes his little girl will love.
Bucky is hanging one of the last groupings of balloons after breakfast when he hears his phone ping with a text, checking it to see a message from an unfamiliar sender.
Unknown: Hi Bucky, this is Y/N from Brooklyn Bake Shop! I’m just letting you know that your cake can be picked up whenever you’re ready.
He smiles at the message, though he’s not really sure why.
Bucky: Sounds good! I’ll be there soon.
He puts his phone away, and can’t keep the excitement out of his voice when he calls for the kids to meet him downstairs. Three sets of footsteps make their way down the stairs of the brownstone, with varying degrees of interest. 
When Becca makes it downstairs, her eyes light up, taking in the festive decorations in wonderment. “Daddy, did you do all this?”
“All for you, Peanut. Do you like it,” is his answer and suddenly she is flinging herself into her father’s arms for a hug while Jude and Wesley give their approval with oohs and ahhs. 
Bex releases herself from her father’s grip, a bright smile showing on her face. “I love it!”
He smiles to himself, feeling a small bit of pride at being able to pull this off. “I’m so glad you do. Now, it’s time to go pick up your cake, and I thought you monsters would wanna come with?” Excited yells meet Bucky’s ears and that’s all it takes before all four of them are heading to the car and making the short trip to Brooklyn Bake Shop.
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Sam’s voice calling your name pauses your actions and brings you out from your shared office where you’ve been doing paperwork. As you reach the front of the nearly empty shop you catch sight of /-the handsome detective-/ your new client from earlier in the week. You’d been expecting him, you had texted him once his order was ready, after all, but it still brought a smile to your face to see him again. Your eyes brighten when you catch sight of the blue-eyed, brown-haired children all gathered around him, his hand holding onto that of the smallest girl. 
“Good afternoon, detective.”
“Good afternoon, Y/N,” he answers easily. 
“These must be those little monsters you told me all about?” Your voice is teasing with an exaggerated playful expression on your face, the same you use with all the kids that come into the shop. You’re answered with a few small waves and a deep chuckle from their father. You turn your attention to the oldest of the group, addressing the birthday girl. “You must be Becca! I have something special for you in the back.”
She looks up to you, a hint of excitement showing in blue eyes that match her father’s. “Really?”
“Really,” you nod, eager to share your creation with its receiver, “I’ll get it for you real quick.”
You come out of the walk-in fridge in the kitchen carrying the package, bringing it around the counter and presenting it in front of Becca. She’s nearly bouncing in place, Bucky’s hands hovering in front of her eyes, wanting everyone to witness her full reaction. 
“Ready,” you drawl out, teasingly.
“Ready!” Becca nearly shouts in excitement and you can sense her patience slowly thinning. You nod at Bucky who uncovers her eyes, and Becca can now see the delicious creation in front of her. 
The three-tiered creation has alternating layers of chocolate and vanilla cake and raspberry filling, with a vanilla buttercream covering. The whole thing is a dark midnight blue, with constellations formed with a piping bag in white, the names accompanying alongside them. On top of the cake is your favorite part. Piped with a star tip, the golden and yellow hues of frosting form a large crescent moon that take up the majority of the flat surface. 
Becca’s birthday cake is one of your favorites you’ve made recently, and you feel a touch of pride at the look on her face. She’s staring at the cake in your hands, her jaw dropped open and eyes wide in awe, and you can’t help the smile that forms on your lips. Making customers happy is one of your favorite things. 
Looking at her father, you see a similar look of appreciation on his face as he watches the two of you. He looks down at his eldest daughter, hands now resting on her shoulders, as he asks “what do you think?”
You’re surprised to feel a pair of arms wrap around your waist from the side, careful not to jostle you as to not drop the cake you are still holding. Warmth fills you as you realize that Becca has wrapped you in a hug, her voice coming out a little muffled from her face pressed into your shoulder. “Thank you so much!”
“You’re welcome, sweetie!”
She leaves your side to give her father a thankful embrace, giving you the opportunity to sit the cake down on a nearby table. That thing is starting to get heavy. 
You walk into the back and return with a small pastry box, four cupcakes nestled inside. When you hand the package to Bucky, he looks inside before raising an eyebrow at you questioningly.
“There was a little extra cake batter,” you say in explanation and he nods.
Jude, Wesley, and Becca sit at a table munching happily on cupcakes while you stand at the counter, boxing up the cake as Bucky settles the payment. It’s silent for a few seconds and when you look up again, he’s watching you with a strange look in his eyes, a crooked smile gracing his lips. 
Self-consciousness makes an appearance and you shrink a little, your arms folding in on you. “What?” you ask timidly, hoping there isn’t something on your face.
“Nothing, nothing.” Bucky glances down to where he was filling out the check, before looking back up at you. “It’s just, you’ve really saved the day for me, and for Becca. I can’t thank you enough.”
Your shoulders relax hearing his words, and you are quick to assure him. “You don’t have to! This is my favorite part of what I do, I love getting to help people. That, and blasting music in the kitchen while I bake at night. Just ask Sam, it drives him crazy.” 
Both of you giggle at that. 
“Hey, save me a cupcake,” Bucky scolds lightly when he sees Wesley reaching for the last one, surprise taking over the little boy’s face as his hand stills mid-air. He smiles guiltily and sits back, leaving the last chocolate cupcake to sit in the box. 
A few minutes later you take the cake out to the family’s vehicle, making sure to congratulate the birthday girl. Another order completed and payment received, another satisfied customer. This is normally the part where you take a moment to breathe and relax, to start fresh on other orders, so then why can’t you stop thinking about -him- them? 
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Chaos. Pandemonium. Lawlessness. All words that flit through Bucky Barnes’ mind as he observes the festivity happening around him. 
Alright, he’s being just /a little bit/ dramatic, but the exhausted single-father part of his brain tends to hyperbolize everything. Maybe he’s been spending too much time around Steve...
The party is winding down, the only guests left are the kid’s friends that are staying the night, and Bucky’s ex and her new husband, Michael. Everything went off without a hitch, Bucky can say confidently. Or, at least, as well as an amateurely planned pre-teen’s birthday party can go. 
Dot and Michael stand and make their way to where Bucky is standing in the kitchen, cleaning up and putting the food away. He pauses his actions when he sees them coming, a friendly smile taking over his face. 
“We’re heading out, James. I thought I would say goodbye,” Dot speaks and puts an arm around Bucky in a familiar side-hug.
“I’m glad you guys could make it,” he replies. “It means a lot to the kids that we can all do these things together.”
“I’m glad, man. Thanks for inviting us.” Michael speaks up, giving a typical “man” handshake to their host.
“Everything was wonderful. The theme is perfect for Becca, you really raised the bar for the twins’ birthday in November. I might just have to negotiate for the name of the bakery that made that cake…” 
A blissful expression takes over the redhead’s face as she closes her eyes. “Actually, I think I’ll take a slice of that home for later.”
Bucky just chuckles, reaching into the cupboard for a tupperware container. “Help yourself.”
Plastic container with an extra-large piece of vanilla and raspberry cake in hand, Michael and Dot are on their way after giving warm goodbyes to the kids. “I’ll be back on Monday to pick you guys up, okay?”
After hugging her mom and step-dad, Becca comes up to her father. Beckoning him closer with a curled index finger, Bucky is surprised to feel a chaste kiss on his cheek, his daughter wrinkling her nose at the feel of the scruff there. 
“Thank you again for the party, Daddy. You’re the best!”
And then she’s off, in a sugar-induced rush, to join her friends and younger sibling in an energetic game of twister, all being captured with her brand-new Polaroid camera.
Watching the merriment happening all around him, Bucky can’t help but think of Y/N from Brooklyn Bake Shop. The baker had helped make his little girl’s party a hit. 
Now he’ll have to think of some way to thank her. 
It looks like I’ll be making another visit soon, Bucky thinks, and he can’t help the smile that lights up his face at the thought.
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A/N: So here is part 2! I know it’s not as long as the first, but I didn’t want to add too much to this one and make it not fit. I think I’ll still write more for this, depending how inspiration hits me, so keep on the lookout for more! As always, thank you for reading, and I love you all 💙
If you’d like to be notified when I post something new, message me or send an ask and I’ll add you to my tag list!
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story tags: @mylife-love-and-other-things
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clarabosswald · 4 years
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i binged all of she ra s5 last night spoilers ahead
low points:
the animation. i’ve always had a bit of an issue with the animation in this show... in terms of design, it’s gorgeous. in terms of flow... i often find it lacking. stocky movements, or lip sync that’s off - those are pretty common. and i mean, i get it, they’ve had to get new episodes out in almost no time and i admire the team for creating the product they did at the end. but i really wish they were given more time to polish and refine it. 
the writing, i mean it’s a kids’ show obviously, but when they’ve got pretty much two modes - beautifully nuanced and emotional writing and then... painfully childish writing, then the childish writing REALLY stands out and it’s a bit embarrassing sometimes (micah and frosta’s little arc, for instance). but i get that too. people who’re good with drama very often can’t get comedy quite right. (and comedians are often really good at drama. it’s an odd thing)
the character arcs were done VERY well with the short time given for them to evolve, but i still do wish they were spread over 2 seasons instead of one. especially catra - seeing her change was super satisfying, but toxic life-long habits are SUPER hard to get rid of. and while they did show her struggle with it, i still really wish it was given the time to develop in a more natural way. still, with the time they had, i do think they showed a satisfactory amount of hardship before catra settled as a good guy.
this season was an absolute celebration of lgbt+ ships and identities and at the end i was really disappointed they didn’t make entrapta canonically aspec. it’s very reminiscent of peridot in su..............left JUST ambiguous enough so fans can keep on putting the characters in romantic/sexual ships. and it’s incredibly frustrating to see us getting SO close to actual canon rep for aspec people and then......not hitting the point. when will aspec representation seem important enough for creators to give it to us apsecs?
speaking of entrapta, her early season arc of her difficulties in interpersonal relationships made her......just a bit too unlikable. or rather.....they let it go a bit too far before letting entrapta show how much she DOES care for her friends? it might honestly be realistic, i know, i do, but realistic writing isn’t always the right choice when trying to present a character like this in a positive light, especially in a kids’ show. i’m just glad they only stuck with it for one episode.
i know it’s super silly but............the team’s spacesuits having holes in them for iconic look’s sake, and adora and entrapta’s hair sticking out................ my dudes that’s not how space works. it’s just a quirky thing but seeing how much emphasis was given on the dangers of space. just. yeah i’m a bit nitpicky
the music in the show is good but also.... kind of overused? that might also be a time constraint thing, though - they might have not had the time to write some new pieces. but it was slightly distracting when the emotional high points all used the same emotional track.
high points:
prime ABSOLUTELY felt like a big threat and i LOVED it. he seemed to be a few steps forward up until the end. this show always was REALLY good with its villains and i really admire that, it’s not a common thing in children’s media. speaking of villains, shadow weaver’s arc too was very satisfactory - her internal struggle between her massive thirst for power and her love of magic as a natural phenomenon and wishing to see it free. and chipped!spinnerella was chilling! chipped!scorpia was genuinely scary! chipped!micah was BATSHIT TERRIFYING! just, really good villain writing all around and i LOVE that shit.
speaking of prime’s chips - the mind control threat was REALLY well done, absolutely not too obvious, absolutely not too easy to win over with “the power of friendship and love”, REALLY fucking chilling and terrifying at points. i really loved how the trauma it left on catra was NOT downplayed, how often you could see her hand reaching the back of her neck when the chips were discussed. that was brilliant.
hordak and wrong!hordak were great. i kinda feared wrong!hordak was gonna turn out to be embarrassing but they kinda managed to tread the thin line there and success at making him really funny most times. hordak struggle with his memories was very good, and by GOD was i fucking grateful they didn’t make his fanship with entrapta canon with all the shipping fest that this season was.
catra with short hair was too fucking much for my poor heart and i WILL FIGHT with adora over her hair length preferences.
she ra’s new design was FIRE and it’s absolutely my favorite one. 
i know melog was kinda giving the team easy instances of deux-ex-machina with his invisibility gift but i love an adorable big alien panther thingy. plus, he really did come across as a powerful and threatening being in his debut episode.
the characters, backgrounds, general worldbuilding designs in this show continued to be utterly beautiful. really appreciate that. the mix between fantasy and sci-fi was SO good.
i really liked how bow, the heart of the best friends squad, was the one who struggled the most with glimmer’s return and with forgiving her. it added plenty of really good depth to his character. 
adora’s struggle with her identity and destiny was an ongoing theme but still, a+ on the execution, especially coming off last season’s closing cliffhanger.
god it’s already becomes so ingrained and obvious in my mind but obviously it needs to be discussed - CATRADORA CANON. like, BEAUTIFULLY canon. i started off the season with “are they gonna do it?” and pretty early on (like, when catra and glimmer were still prisoners kind of early) i became convinced like “they’re ABSOLUTELY heading towards it or the fandom is gonna burn this show” and then it was becoming SUPER obvious and i was like “okay are they gonna finally kiss now? finally kiss NOW? finally kiss now?” but obviously they had to save the big kiss to the climax and i was very okay with that because at that point their romantic love for each other was SO obvious. and just....... wow kudos to the show for going the length and making this ship canon, it was so SO so so so so satisfying and refreshing to see and i love love love loved it. because it really WASN’T done in an obvious way? they couldn’t really allow each other to openly love each other until catra started to REALLY heal and give up her old ways? and THAT was the ONLY well written and natural way for their ship to finally happen because adora is TOO heroic and lawful good-aligned to let herself openly love catra while catra was still in the dark side. so catra didn’t get it easy and had to go the way and change for adora and it WASN’T badly written because catra’s struggle with her love for adora and her hardships while being on the dark side and with her huge ass pride and will to do the easy thing over the right thing vs. her struggle with wish for meaningful relationships and being drawn to good-aligned characters and with having adora in her life again - all of those were SERIES-LONG issues that were explored with catra and while, as a i said, i wish we could’ve seen catra struggle with her lifelong habits a bit longer once she made the choice to join the rebellion, it STILL was made SO WELL with the time they were given and wow, GOOD SHIT. so joined appreciation BOTH for catra’s writing AND for how catradora grew to become canon this season.
bow/glimmer becoming canon was short and sweet and i was satisfied with that.
REALLY happy double trouble made a return. i still kinda wish they were given a BIT more to do, but they’re still probably the best written shapeshifter character i’ve encountered so far.
okay that’s all i can think of off the top of my head so far
overall: 4/5 the show’s like.........a REALLY good fish dish that unfortunately still has got a few bones in it that kinda stick in your mouth when you eat it. but it’s still so good overall that you can’t help but adore it. still wish the season, this show could spend more time in the oven. more work on the animation, more work on the comedic writing, more work for... general tweaks here and there. more TIME, another season, would’ve been brilliant, but sometimes it’s just not part of the plan or the upper ups (netflix/dreamworks in this case i presume) are just assholes and refuse to give the show the episode count it deserves. but still happy and glad for what it was. kudos to the dramatic writing, kudos to the character development, kudos to the designs and color and background work, kudos to the lgbt+ rep. 
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erinptah · 4 years
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Super Drags review (tl;dr Show Good)
The post where I do my best to spread the Good News, that there exists a saucy gay drag-queen magical-girl animated comedy and everyone should watch it.
Okay, not everyone -- I'll give some caveats at the end -- but definitely a heck of a lot more people than Netflix has bothered to advertise it to.
Look at this! Why did nobody tell me about this??
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What is Super Drags?
Fast facts:
It's a 1-season, 5-episode adult animated comedy series, released in November 2018
Here's the official page, with a free-to-view trailer
It packs more explicit, unashamed queerness into those 5 episodes than any other cartoon I can think of
The only possible competitor would be if you took the whole 5000-episode run of Steven Universe and pared it down to a supercut of Just The Gay Parts
This in spite of being produced in Brazil, which (in my broad understanding, as a total non-authority on the subject) is more oppressively, dangerously homophobic than the US
The original is in Portuguese
There is an English dub, fabulously voiced by contestants from RuPaul's Drag Race
It's wrapped in "for adults only!" warnings, not because the content is any less child-friendly than (say) your Bojacks Horsemen or your Ricks and Mortys, but because Brazilian authorities tried to get it shut down on the grounds of this much gay being Harmful For Children
It was (heartbreakingly) not renewed for a second season
Here's a promo video, in which the main characters (Portuguese, with subtitles) play Drag Race judges for Shangela, who ends up voicing Scarlet in English.
And here's a beautiful flashy music video of the big musical number! (Also Portuguese, no subtitles, but the melody and the visuals stand on their own.)
Plot and worldbuilding stuff!
The elevator pitch is "What if Charlie's Angels, but also drag queens, with superpowers, because magical-girl transformations?"
In this universe, all LGBTQ people have magical energy. The Big Bad is an evil magical-drag-queen nemesis who tries to drain our energy for her own purposes. It's like if Ursula from The Little Mermaid was a first-season Sailor Moon villain.
...sidenote, in case you were worried, the representation isn't "cis gay men and nobody else." There's a butch lesbian in the recurring cast, a genderfluid person (in that specific word!) as a one-off love interest, and all the ensemble scenes are wonderful collages of different races, body types, and gender presentations.
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Our heroes also fight non-magical everyday homophobes, who get written with scathing realism.
The moment I knew the show wasn't pulling any punches was in the first episode, where a newscaster complains about being Silenced by the Law of Political Correctness, then chirps "however, we have a special guest who is thankfully above the law!"
According to the reviews I've found from Brazilian viewers, it's also pitch-perfect when it comes to local queer culture, community dynamics, slang and speech patterns, even memes. All of which flies right over my head, so here's a post (with no-context spoilers) about one viewer's favorite details.
The handful of reaction posts on Tumblr have a dramatic split between "Brazilian viewers fiercely defending the show as culturally-accurate, uplifting, and brave in a terrifying political moment" and "American viewers complaining that the show is problematic because it's a comedy about drag queens with no perfect role models and lots of sex jokes."
As the Super Drags tell their nemesis (and this is also in the first episode): "How dare you try to turn the LGBTQXYZ community against each other? We do enough of that on our own!"
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In between missions, our girls work sitcom retail jobs and deal with other everyday problems. All of which are written in amazingly nuanced and thoughtful ways for a show that also features "defeating an orgy monster with a lip-sync battle."
Detailed character stuff!
Our heroes are Color Coded For Your Convenience!
The Super Drags themselves go by "she" in-uniform, and a lot of the time when out of it. Like the Sailor Starlights, only more so. I'll roll with that.
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In blue: Safira Cyan, or Ralph by day, an excitable college-age kid who's built like a football player and squees like a fangirl. (She's an anime fan in the original, and for some reason all the otaku references were replaced in the dub, but you can see them in the subtitles.)
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Ralph lives with her younger sister (they play video games together!) and their dad, comes out to them mid-series, and is very shippable with another young guy who starts out reciting the homophobic beliefs he was raised with but whose heart clearly isn't in it.
Safira's weapon is a classic magical-girl wand that casts protective force-fields. Which are shaped like condoms. Because of course.
In yellow: Lemon Chiffon, aka Patrick, the oldest of the group and generally the smartest/most strategic. In most cases, the other two treat her as the de facto team leader -- unless she pushes it too far.
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By day she's a single guy with thick thighs and thinning hair, who has some body-image insecurities on the dating scene. And this show has Things To Say about unrealistic beauty standards within the community...not to mention, about masc guys who look down on anyone too flaming or femme because straight people disapprove.
Lemon's weapon is a fluffy boa that can be used as a whip or a lasso, especially when there's a bondage joke to be made.
In red: Scarlet Carmesim, also Donizete, the loudest and most aggressive teammate with the most cutting insults, who refuses to suppress that attitude in an attempt to appease racists. (But will give it a shot when trying not to get fired.)
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Donny still lives in her religious/homophobic mom's apartment, and I'm pretty sure it's because neither of them can afford to move out. Her rock-solid sense of fierce self-confidence is the reason it doesn't bring her down.
Scarlet's weapon is a fan that she uses to throw shade. Yeah, you knew that was coming.
The Charlie to these angels is Champagne, who runs operations from a cool magitech compound and breaks the fourth wall at the end to petition for viewers' support in getting a second season.
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...we let her down, folks :(
So here's a thing. The show never draws a sharp line between "people who become drag queens because it's a way they're driven to express themselves as gay men" and "people who become drag queens because they were trans women all along." That's consistent with how South American LGBT+ culture works. (Again: best of my knowledge, not personally an authority on this, etc etc.)
Many of the characters, including Champagne, never describe themselves in ways that translate to one of our sharply-defined Anglo-USian identity categories. And I'm not going to try to impose any English labels on them here.
But I can say (in contrast to Safira, Lemon, and Scarlet), Champagne never switches out of her "drag" name/voice/presentation, not even in the most candid off-duty scenes, and still has the same bustline when naked in the tub. Make of that what you will.
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You Should Watch This Show
If you have a Netflix subscription, watch Super Drags!
If you ever do a Netflix free trial month in the future, make a note to yourself to watch Super Drags!
It's one of their original productions, so there's no risk of missing your chance because the license expired. But it's absolutely not getting the promotion it deserves. Which means potentially interested viewers won't find it, which means Netflix will think there's no interest, which means they'll keep not promoting it...etc etc etc.
No idea if there's any chance of getting it un-canceled, but maybe we can at least convince them to release it on DVD.
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And the sheer gutsiness it took for a group of Brazilian creators to produce this show in the first place -- that deserves to be rewarded with your attention.
In spite of various anti-discrimination laws that sound good on paper, the country has serious problems with homophobia, transphobia, and anti-LGBT violence (warning, article has a violent image which is only partly blurred).
Maybe the creators could've gotten a second season if they made this one softer, less sexually-explicit, more restrained...but honestly? I bet that wouldn't have helped.
Consider Danger & Eggs, an Amazon original cartoon. It was made in the US, thoroughly child-friendly, and restricts its LGBT+ representation to things like "characters go to a Pride celebration...where nobody ever names or describes the quality they're proud of."
And it didn't get renewed past the first season either.
(Note: it had a trans woman showrunner and a queer-heavy creative staff, so I blame all that restraint on executive meddling, not the creators themselves. The showrunner even liked the tweet of my review that complains about it.)
So there's something very satisfying about how Super Drags went all-out, balls-to-the-wall (sometimes literally), all the rep explicit and unapologetic, packing every 25-minute episode with all kinds of queer content that would be censored or muted elsewhere -- but here it's exaggerated and celebrated and just keeps coming.
(...as do jokes like that, and I'm not sorry.)
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Okay, there are a few legitimate reasons to not watch this show
Some caveats.
None of these things are Objectively Bad Problems that the show itself should be shamed for...but maybe they're genuinely not your cup of tea.
It does have actual Adult Content beyond "the existence of gay people." This show loves to swing barely-clothed cartoon genitalia in your face. There is, as mentioned, an orgy monster. If that kind of humor is going to bother you too much to appreciate the rest of the show, give it a pass.
I wasn't kidding about how realistic the homophobes are. Opening of the first episode has a guy trying to murder a busload of people while shouting slurs at them. If that level of hatred on-screen is gonna crush your soul, even in a show about sparkly queens flying to the rescue with dick-shaped magical weapons, don't push yourself.
Any fiction with this much crossdressing and gender-transgressing is going to hit some trans viewers in a bad way. Because trans people are such a broad group, with so many different experiences, that Every Possible Trope Involved pushes somebody's buttons. (See also: "some trans readers complain about a storyline that turns out to be drawn from a trans writer's actual life experience".) If this show goes does gender things that turn out to be personally distressing for you...or even just distressing for this specific time in your life...don't feel obligated to keep watching.
It has aggressively-sassy queer characters making jokes and calling each other things that are affectionate in-context, but would not be okay coming from straight/cis people. If you can't wrap your head around that, go watch something else.
Other Than That, Go Watch This Show
For all its big heart, big ambitions, and big gay energy, Super Drags is tiny enough that I've binged the whole show 2 times in the past 2 weeks. Thankfully, it's highly re-watchable -- lots of fun background gags and subtle foreshadowing that you don't catch on the first round.
(Pausing one last time to appreciate that a show with elements like "the high-tech robot assistant is called D.I.L.D.O." can be subtle at all, let alone be this good at it.)
I've also paged through all the fanart on Tumblr and Deviantart, looked up the single fanfic on the AO3, and started brainstorming plans to request it in Yuletide next year. Someone, please, come join me in (the English-language side of) the itty-bitty fandom for this ridiculous, glittery, over-the-top, fabulous series.
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