#i woke up out of nowhere at seven in the morning with his speech playing in my head over and over again

[bittersweetresilience]

so do you think he succeeded?

#i woke up out of nowhere at seven in the morning with his speech playing in my head over and over again #a better world. a free world. turn me into shredded paper #and i was thinking about how i would be really annoyed if the wish never had any consequences because if that was the case félix deserved #to make his own. in this new world there's still obfuscation. people are still pulling the strings. there's still fucking nepotism LMAO #i also almost put the ring scene as who gets powers and who doesn't because i think a lot about whether ladybug would have granted all #sentimonsters autonomy or only the ones she perceives to be human #i didn't because i couldn't find anything else that fit what's right or wrong but know i have many thoughts on this subject #miraculous ladybug #🌃 #ml gifs #ml emotion #ml recreation #ough... félix #sunny from the future here i kept this in my drafts for a bit but it shall now be dispensed to you because i am a magnanimous ruler

[shotomyheart]

dreams stay dreams

mattsun x female reader

synopsis: working as a funeral director and priest isn’t exactly what mattsun had dreamed for himself

warnings: sad fic, not too much about romance but you end up with him, death (not of mc or you), not totally canon, my tenses are all over the place, mentions of drinking, mattsun can sing and play guitar bc i said so

note: this was an original piece i made when i was 15 and decided to share by replacing my oc with mattsun. bc of this, my writing isn’t the best but i wanted to share anyway

wc: 1.7k

POV: Mattsun

I always count how many flowers are in the room before anything else. I like to see how much the corpse was worth to people, how much they cared, or if they feel more guilt for not treating them better. It’s like a game, so far the high score is two hundred forty two flowers in one day. Today there are ninety-six flowers, most are violets, but some roses are spread around the room in bunches. The room has about a hundred people standing or sitting near the guest of honor. Most are crying, some laugh about good times. I, on the other hand, view others while leaning against the wall. In respect, I wear an all black suit, no wrinkles. My brown dry eyes stand out against the black atmosphere, but somehow I stay hidden amongst the crowd.

When people start to sit down, a choir softly sings songs about how great Heaven is and God will protect all that want to survive the world, not live, but survive. I believe the song was “Redeemer of Israel”.

I hum along.

I fiddle with my fingers as my father preaches to the crying children of God and tells them to rejoice in the aspect of life after death and rejoice in the temporary life the victim had.

Rejoice, rejoice, rejoice. It is a common word in my household of just my father and I.

When the ceremony was over, I wait until all of the guests have left, the immediate family being the final six to leave. The wife’s tears are silent while the youngest child was coaxed by an older sibling— I couldn’t tell if it was a boy or a girl at my angle—telling the young boy to be quiet. I wonder if the child believes if he cries loudly enough his father will wake up.

The rest of the three, presumed, siblings hold onto another, as if grasping onto the last bit of reality. When they let go of each other, their eyes seem to gloss over in a new world, one of old memories that rained in front of their views. My father watched in pity.

That was the difference between him and I, well there were many differences, he looked at people with pity and I viewed them with knowledge. Knowledge of knowing what it’s like to watch themselves fall and their dreams to crack beneath their feet. It was a remarkable sight.

. . .

“The flowers go to-”

“Ms. Jackson, I know. They always go to Ms. Jackson.” I mumble. Another family lost a member last Tuesday and preparations were always the same. I set the six tables that rounded the room. Usually there were seven, but one of them was missing or broken, I don’t recall what my father had said.

At seven o’clock exactly I grabbed my coat and threw off my black tie that my father makes me wear to work. I unbutton my collar and shake off my coat once I shimmer into my rusting, dark blue truck. When I ignite my car, it rolls into the street with rumbles and creeks echoing into the silent neighborhood.

As the street lights become brighter and the people are louder, I slide into a parking spot. The Late Pool has bright blue lights illuminating onto the pavement as I walk in. With guitar in hand, I shift my way into the back of the bar. Crowds observed my every move as I confidently stride up the small stairs onto the dirty stage. The eyes of broken hearts and mistreated wives hanging onto the sex-crazed men that haunt the streets of Manhattan chug another fizzy drink that drowns their sober thoughts.

There was nowhere else I would rather be.

In the corner of my eye there is a large window and hidden behind the sleepless city was a church peeking over roofs and the dark sky.

I called to close the shades.

Positioning myself, silence echoed and my breath could be heard a mile away, but reality was people chatted amongst themselves, kissing and dancing to toxic music and to toxic thoughts. My fears wash away as soon as my guitar sings to the crowd and the dying club music shuts off. Ed Sheeran’s “I’m a Mess” flows off my tongue, bringing a more gentle feel throughout the bar. People continue to grind and shake off their regrets of that afternoon as my voice leaves my tongue and I cry to the Heavens and my Father and my dreams of tomorrow.

When I finish, the crowd rumbles out my name with a drunken slur and a tiny bit of admiration, but that could just be my tipsy state imagining and hoping.

It is ten o’clock when I have my seventh drink and my feet start to stumble. I ask for another. The burning sensation touches my throat as it swam to my thoughts. I threw my ideas up with my vomit as I rushed to the toilet.

Inside, a young woman approached me with a solemn face. Her cheeks were puffy, but I hardly took notice. Her black dress hung loosely on her and tear stains rushed to the floor. I would have recognized her if my eyes didn’t shift every two seconds. She took ahold of my hand with a firm grip and placed my hands on her hips. A buzzing moved in my pant’s pocket, but I was focused on the girl kissing my neck. I knew my breath smelled horrible, but she continued to kiss me with a fierce determination. The bathroom was messy and the tiles were old fashioned, I was pretty sure it was dirtier than my mouth when I ranted on to my friends. The night never seems to end, we drove into a sloppy night full of hope and wishful thinking, neither of us knowing the other’s name.

. . .

That morning I woke up with a groan. My phone vibrated in my pant’s pocket a few feet away. My dark hair stuck in uncomfortable places and my eyes droop with restlessness. The girl had rushed off to the bathroom to throw up while I kept the bile from coming up my throat, instead I take a deep gulp of air. By the fifth ring, I propped my body up and grudgingly moved toward my jeans. Sliding my pants on, I pressed the answer symbol on my phone and placed it on my shoulder and my head tilted to keep it in place.

“Hello,” I grumble. The smell of throw up and beer combined made my head spin even more. There was a sigh at the other end of the call.

“Finally, Mattsun. I've been calling you all night!” The deep loud voice on the other end made me wobble on my feet. I pulled the terror from my ear before I ran into something.

“What do you want, Makki?” I kicked a glass bottle away from my path to the bar counter. A young man wiped the counters down and I raise two fingers and mouthed the word “water”. The man nods his head and grabs two glasses and fills it with ice cold water. I sit down and grabbed the glass with one hand and the other held onto the phone towards my ear again. “Cheers.” I said to the bartender. He nodded and went back to cleaning.

“Are you even listening?!” I debate on asking for a shot of whiskey instead if Makki was going to keep on screaming.

“Calm down, what is it? I'm listening now.” I took a sip of my water and let the cool liquid flow down my throat.

“You idiot! It’s your dad…” Suddenly he hushed his violent shouts and I could practically see his big brown eyes looking up at me in sadness. The woman returned and I nodded at the glass of water to her. She smiles and takes the glass, chugging it down. Her face reminded me of someone, but I couldn't place it.

“What about my father?” I returned, impatiently.

“He’s dead.”

I don't remember if I started crying there or if I cried on my way to our house.

. . .

I count the heads of the people who entered the room. Today there should be about forty five relatives and friends arriving today. When I counted up to forty two, I began my speech of life after death. After a few minutes, Hallelujah rang into my ears as the women of choir sang to the distressed. In the corner of my eye, a bright blue light shines throughout the city, it seems. I go over to shut the blinds.

It’s been a month since my father died and it’s been exactly a year since we moved from Japan to have better business. It’s been three weeks and four days since I put my guitar away and it’s been one hour since I last saw my girlfriend Y/N, the one I met at the bar and later recognized as the figure who talked to the boy at the funeral. Our relationship has been speeding into a serious relationship, and like life, I can't slow it down. She told me I need a steady job instead of the bar, and reluctantly I agreed.

The church welcomed me with open arms and black cloth. I started working a week after my father’s death, rent was calling and apparently so was God. Things change quickly here, as suppose to Japan where there was always enough time to chat a bit and talk about dreams over a bit of beer. Now I realize beer isn't solving my problems and dreams are too high in the clouds for me to reach them, and so was rent in New York City.

So when I cried to the Heavens to bless the family who lost their member (a young girl of the age eighteen, some old drunk ended her sweet life of being a child of the richest family in the area, the Parkers) I cried to God to give me a window of opportunity to leave, or even a crack in the wall. The thunder outside gave me my answer. The dead stay dead. Just as dreams do.

#daydreaming.nightmares #daydreaming.longer #mattsun #mattsun x you #mattsun x reader #mattsun haikyuu #haikyuu #matsuwaka issei #matsuwaka x reader #matsuwaka x you #female reader #mattsun x y/n #mattsun x female reader #haikyuu angst #hq x you #hq x y/n #hq angst #hq mattsun

[damnthoseyes]

Felices Los Cuatro

A/N: This is long af so..buckle up kids. This is a very on time submission to @cieloxcnco ‘s 1000 followers writing contest. Hope it was worth the wait. Spoiler: it isn’t. As always, please do let me know what you think.

Warnings: drinking (lots of), swearing, smut. You’ll live.

Words: 5k+

Si conmigo te quedas o con otro tu te vas, no me importa un carajo porque se que volveras

Four months, two weeks and two days.

Not that I’m counting.

Four months, two weeks and two days since I stood in the airport and watched the man of my dreams get on a plane. Without me. I begged and pleaded for more time but he had to go. He’d been in this country for years but visa regulations required him to go back home to reapply so he could stay.

I loved him. At least I think I did. But if I had, I would’ve gone with him, right? I should’ve dropped everything to be with him. But I couldn’t.

When he sat me down and told me what was going on, my heart broke. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. But when he asked me to go with him, for however long it would take, everything in me said no. So that’s what I told him. My family is here, my friends are here, my job is here; I couldn’t just leave.

By the time the day came around, I was ready to get on that plane with nothing. As much as I loved him and wanted him around, we came to the conclusion that we had to break up. Long distance just doesn’t work. If he decided to come back to me and our feelings were still there, we’d see what happens. Until then we were better off apart.

After a month, he had decided to stay back home and wasn’t coming back.

I felt like a shell of a human. I was upset, angry, regretful; one of everything in the negative column. So I did what everyone does. A couple of weeks of partying, sleeping with random guys and drinking myself to sleep got me nowhere (as expected), so I threw myself into work. Early mornings, late nights and migraines are just the distraction I need.

After one particularly ruthless day consisting of four pointless meeting, a never-ending inbox and the to-do list that just kept on giving, I got a message from a friend of mine telling me he was extremely bored at work and that if I wanted a drink I should come by. Said he could use the company. At that point I deserved one. Or twelve.

I walked into the restaurant, took off my jacket, threw it over a stool and slumped over the bar.

“How was work?”

I groaned loudly into my arms, keeping my head down.

“How bad was it?”

“Bad.”

“You poor thing.” The sarcasm in his voice was palpable. “The usual, babe?”

“Yes.”

He rubbed my head and shuffled some bottle around.

“Rough day at the office?”

My eyes widened when I heard this new, accented voice. I lifted my head and moved the hair out of my face, locking eyes with the man beside me waiting for an answer.

“You have no idea.” I glanced over at my friend pouring vodka into a shot glass and tipping it into a larger tumbler.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” His eyebrows were raised and his accent was making me weak. They always did.

I put my elbows on the bar and leaned forward. “If I start, I’ll end up complaining for three years. I think I’ll spare you.”

He smiled and looked down at his hands. “I feel that.”

“Didn’t have a great day either?”

“Not exactly.” He patted the stool in between us and I lifted myself into it, turning to face him.

“Wanna drink it away?”

He smiled and looked down as a tall glass on a coaster was placed in front of me. I mouthed a thank you and turned my attention back him, lifting the glass and taking a sip. He smirked, turned away and asked for a Jack and coke. “I’m Chris by the way.”

I extended my hand and introduced myself. He shook it and raised the glass that had just been put in front of him. We clinked and just started talking. I told him about my day, trying not to unload too much on a complete stranger. He told me he had just moved here and was meant to be having dinner with some friends but preferred the conversation he was having here. Less pretentious.

One drink turned into three, which turned into five and Chris wasn’t holding up so well. A friend of his came to the bar, telling him they were leaving and asked if he wanted a ride. He told them he’d be alright and wished them a good night. I have to admit, it felt kind of nice.

By drink number seven, it was obvious to both me and my friend that Chris had had enough. His speech was slurring, he was giggling at every little thing and what was coming out of his mouth could only be defined as complete nonsense.

“Time to take our little friend home I think.” The bar was closing and there were only a couple of people left in the restaurant so we would have to leave soon anyway.

I put my jacket on and helped Chris into his, said goodnight to my friend and stumbled out into the cold street. I asked him where he lived but he refused to give me an answer, saying he didn’t want to go back, that the night was young and so was he.

“You’re drunk, dumbass. I think the night is over.”

He waved a hand in the air and started clicking his fingers. “What’s that phrase? It’s not over until… the fat lady sings?” He smiled triumphantly, thrusting a fist into the air.

I raised an eyebrow and sang a note. “There, night’s over. Gotta go home now.”

He held my shoulders and looked me in the eye. “You’re not fat, it doesn’t count! Let’s find another bar!” He bit his bottom lip and stumbled as he tried to turn away. I barely caught him, stopping him from landing on the hard concrete.

I swore under my breath and got him upright, told him I knew a place and that he should follow me. We walked for 15 minutes to my apartment on the other side of the city. The cold air had sobered him up a fraction and his sentences were slightly more coherent.

“This is not a bar.” He whined when we stopped in front of my building.

“No, but I have booze. Come on.”

I unlocked my door and turned some lights on, ushering him in and locking it again behind him.

“Nice place,” he looked around, his mouth slightly agape. Small trinkets from my travels littered every flat surface that wasn’t a dining table or a bench. His eyes skated over photos of landscapes on the walls, snow globes by the TV, and the mini eiffel tower by the window, but the elephants on the coffee table caught his attention. “Who are these bad boys?”

I shot him a quizzical look and giggled. “Dante and Aristotle.”

He stopped playing with the figures and met my eyes. “Are you serious?” I nodded and he smiled, turning his attention back to the metal figures. “Where’d you get these?” His ringed fingers glided over the detailed indents, down the trunk and over one of the ears.

“India.” I hung my jacket by the door and went behind the bench, looking for some glasses.

He perked up. “What’s India like?”

“Amazing. Dirty. Colourful. Slightly dangerous. Beautiful.”

He stood up and tilted his head. “A mixed review?”

I shrugged. “I loved it there but it wasn’t exactly how it’s depicted in Bollywood movies.” I handed him a glass of water while he nodded knowingly. He smelt the top and pursed his lips, meeting my eyes. “Come on, you have to have something better than this.”

I shook my head slowly. “Chris, it’s super late and I have to work in a few hours. You won’t tell me where you’re staying and I’m not gonna leave you out in the street in the state you’re in. I’d like to get a tiny bit of sleep instead of babysit the drunk.”

He checked the time on his phone and his eyes widened. “Shit, how is it 1.30 already!”

“Magic. Come on, you can have my room.” He raised his eyebrows and smirked at me. I raised my finger and shook my head. “Not a chance.” I turned away and walked down the hall, turned on the light in my room and went over to the desk to get my pyjamas.

He walked past me, placed his glass on the bedside table and sat on the bed, bouncing a couple of times.

“Make yourself comfortable, love.”

He fell backwards and stretched his arms out. “It’s nice here.”

“Yeah, I like it.” I walked to the bathroom, removed my makeup and changed before walking back into the room to drop off my clothes.

Chris quickly got up and took my arm while I was tossing my outfit into the laundry hamper. “This isn’t right. You should stay here, I’ll sleep on the couch.” His accent got heavier as he spoke, the drowsiness evident. His hair fell into his face and he shook his head to the side forcefully.

“It’s fine. My couch is not the most comfortable place in the world, not appropriate for a guest. Trust me. Goodnight, Chris. Sleep well.”

He raised a hand and held my cheek, running his thumb along my cheekbone. “Goodnight, preciosa.” He kissed my cheek and I smiled slightly before closing the door behind me.

By the time I woke up again and got ready for work, he was still asleep. I left a post it note on the mirror in the bathroom saying “Coffee is in the pantry. Pain killers are in the first drawer on the left. Let me know if you can’t find anything” and left my number.

When I came home later that evening, my immediate instinct was to eat. Nothing like dealing with idiots to work up an appetite. My phone rang while I was making dinner, interrupting my musically induced daze. Throwing a tea towel over my shoulder, I went to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Chris!”

“Chris?”

“...from the bar last night?” His voice trailed off.

I paused enough to tease, trying to conceal my laugh at the desperation in his voice. “Oh right! Super tall, blonde, Swedish cutie, right?”

“Ha ha.”

I let out a giggle and ran my fingers through my hair. “Hi Chris.”

“Having fun there? I thought I called the wrong number.”

“Mehh, a little bit.” I couldn’t help but smile when I heard him laugh into the phone.

“What are you doing?”

I moved back over to the stove and stirred. “Making dinner. What are you doing?”

“Looking for somewhere to eat. And I think I just found a KFC.” He sounded so amazed.

“KFC? No! There are hundreds of amazing restaurants in the city and you’re gonna go to KFC?”

“It’s good though!”

I groaned as loudly as I could into the microphone. “No, Jersey! Find something else!”

He laughed so loudly I had to pull the phone away from my ear. “Ok, ok, listen, I found this bar, not too far from your place. Wanna meet me there in about an hour? I’ll buy you a drink, thank you for last night?”

I sighed and shrugged. “Why not?”

He texted me an address, I ate, got ready and headed out.

The bar was well lit with dark wooden tables and just crowded enough not to be annoying. Most patrons were focused on the football game on every screen spread throughout the room. The smell of beer was prominent. I was able to grab a table as a couple of people were leaving while Chris tried to get some drinks.

Just as he was getting closer to me, the room burst into angry screaming. Grown men shouting “that was a dirty tackle” and “that's gotta be a penalty” filled my ears and scared Chris half to death.

“You guys take football pretty seriously around here huh?” He placed my glass in front of me and sat down.

“Wait til finals season. This is nothing!”

He shook his head and smiled. We watched for a little while but the game was nearly over and it wasn't be long before most of the bar filed out and we could actually hear each other. He told me about his travels and I told him about the places I had been and where I wanted to go.

After about an hour, Chris suggested we go somewhere else.

“Where do you wanna go?” I asked when we got out onto the street.

He turned on his heel to face me. “I don't know. Know any places around here that play decent music?”

I looked around and got my bearings. “Depends. Do you define rock as decent?”

His grin was enough of an answer so I told him to follow me.

We could hear the sound of guitars flood the street as we rounded the corner. This place was dark, most of the light in the room illuminating the bar towards the back. The dance floor was packed with people headbanging and dancing to noughties rock. I looked at Chris who was smiling like he just found paradise.

“You cool with this?” I shouted into his ear.

“Fuck yeah!”

We pushed through the crowd to the bar and I leaned forward to shake hands with the bartender and kiss his cheek before asking for our drinks.

Chris stood behind me and leaned close to my ear. “Come here often?”

I nodded and tilted my head to reach his ear. “Here and there. It's a great place.”

He agreed and we made our way back through the crowd with our glasses. We drank, we danced, we tried to talk and before I knew it, it was 1am. I showed an inebriated Chris my phone and pointed to the door. He gave me a puppy dog face but shrugged and took my hand as we made our way out.

“Ok I love that place!” he near shouted apparently oblivious to the fact that the sound barrier was now gone.

I laughed and readjusted my purse. “It's a great place.”

He grabbed my shoulders and made me focus my attention back on him. “But the night's not over yet, nena.”

I raised my eyebrows at him. “What are you talking about?”

“I'm hungry. Wanna get something to eat?”

I dropped my shoulders. Tomorrow was gonna suck.

He smiled and took my hand, near dragging me down the street. We found a sushi bar that was still open, got a few rolls and walked to the city square. Sitting in the light of the street lamps surrounding us, we laughed as we tried to feed each other, soy sauce dripping down our hands. I took a sip of my coke in an attempt to calm myself down. My cheeks were starting to hurt and my breathing was out of control.

Our eyes met briefly while I screwed the lid back on. He sighed, dropped his head and focused his attention on the street in front of us. “You’ve gotta stop looking at me like that, nena.”

My eyebrows knit together while I examined his profile. “Like what?”

His long eyelashes fluttered. His perfect lips slightly apart while he tried to find the words. “With those amazing eyes in this light; and those beautiful lips…” He trailed off and sighed again, resting his hand on the side of my neck and running his thumb over my jaw. He leaned in closer, eyes focused on mine, darting to my lips and closing them before our lips met.

He kissed me slowly and lightly, pecking at my lips before pulling away and meeting my eyes. I looked for any signs of regret and found none. He smiled and leaned in again, covering my mouth with his. I took his bottom lip between mine and tilted my head slightly. His tongue found mine, working in complete synchronisation while his hand slid into my hair, holding me in place. My hands came up around his neck as I tried to push my body closer to his.

We pulled away from each other, completely breathless but still desperately pecking each other’s lips. He pressed his forehead to mine. “We should get out of here.”

I nodded hastily and he helped me up, disposing of what was left of our food and stumbling down the street, stopping every few steps and reattaching our lips.

We crashed through the door, slamming it into the wall. I tried to reach for it while I kissed Chris, finally finding it and throwing it closed before he pushed me backwards, my back colliding with the hardwood. He pulled off his jacket and threw it to the ground. His hands gripped into my hair, sliding down my neck to my sides as his lips moved down my jaw and collarbone, feverishly covering my skin in hot, open-mouthed kisses.

My hands gripped the hem of his shirt and pushed it up his torso. He pulled himself away from my chest and lifted his arms, letting me lift the material over his head and tossing it to the side. My fingers dug into his hair and pulled his head to the side as I desperately kissed his neck.

His fingers slipped under my jacket, over my shoulders and let it fall to the floor. His hands slid up my upper arms, forcing them into the air. He crumpled my shirt at my hips, untucking it from my jeans and pulled it off. His fingers clamped into the tops of my breasts, grazing over my skin and down my back until he reached the clasp of my bra, undoing it expertly. His eyes widened as he watched the black fabric slowly drag down my skin and land on the floor. He smiled and met my eyes before kissing me again.

His strong hands curved around my ass and lifted one of my legs around his waist, pushing his crotch in between my legs. His breathy moans spurred me on. He still tasted like whisky. His other hand gripped into my other leg and lifted me onto him, crossing my ankles around his back. He pushed against the door and turned us around. My nails crawled down his shoulders and back while I started another assault on his neck as he walked down the hall to my room.

The moonlight shone through the large window as he threw me onto the bed, watching my chest bounce on impact. He bit into his lip and placed a knee in between my legs, a hand coming up near my head as he lowered himself onto me, gently moving my hair away from his face before covering my mouth with is perfect lips.

My fingers worked to undo his belt and jeans, pushing them and his boxers down to wrap my hand around his cock. It felt thicker than I had imagined. As my hand slid down his length, my eyes widened. I broke the kiss and looked down, threw my head back into the mattress and knew I was in trouble.

He smirked down at me and held my cheek. “See something you like?” His accent was so thick, I could feel myself get wetter with every word. I nodded weakly and pulled on the back of his neck to bring his face back down to mine, my hand continuing to slide up and down his amazing shaft.

His hand gently worked its way down my torso to the top of my jeans and unbuttoned them, pulled down the zipper. He lifted himself back up and I kicked my shoes off before he pulled the denim down my legs. Leaning down, he kissed the fabric of my underwear and gripped the sides, sliding them off and kissing my inner thighs.

He kissed his way back up my chest and around my clavicle while his fingers slipped in between my folds. “Carajo, so wet mami.” I sighed loudly and let my fingers dig into his hair again. My grip tightened when he pushed two fingers into my aching core until I felt the cool metal of his ring on my entrance. He pumped and curled them slowly a few times before adding another finger.

I heard him swear under his breath against my skin before his tongue started to swirl around my nipple. My breathing was getting heavier by the second and I needed more. He pulled his fingers out of my entrance and sat up, licking my essence and maintaining eye contact. The sight alone was intoxicating.

I pulled my eyes away to turn onto my stomach, crawling on the bed until I got to the bedside table and found a condom. I threw it at him and he tore it open, sliding it on before positioning himself in front of me, pulling my legs apart. He aligned his now hard cock at my entrance and hovered over me, pecking at my cheek and jaw while he pushed himself into me.

My vision blurred slightly until he was fully inside and I held onto his shoulders for support. He pulled out almost completely and plunged into me again, a moan escaping my lips. He started a steady pace and thrusted into me, creating a good rhythm of the headboard banging into my bathroom wall.

I could feel my nails marking his skin. My walls suffocated his length as his grip on my leg tightened. My heels dug into his back as he continued to pound into me, groaning and murmuring my name right into my ear. The curve of his cock reached new places and as his pace picked up, I heard myself moan louder.

He pushed himself up and pulled out of me, his dick damn near glistening in what little light there was in the room. He lifted my legs onto his shoulders and aligned himself again. “Let me hear you, baby.” He growled.

I screamed his name repeatedly as he resumed his pace. His hands came around and squeezed my breasts, playing with them and focusing on my nipples every now and then.

“Cariño, I’m so close.” he grunted. “Are you?”

“Not yet, I need more.”

He spread my legs and started circling my clit with his thumb. I gasped loudly and gripped into the sheets. “Yes! Yes! Like that!” My hips started moving on their own volition, meeting his thrusts as I started to shudder. His other hand held my hip in place as he continued to plunge into me.

I held onto his forearm and told him I was gonna come, panting and shaking underneath him. He shook and moaned as he came seconds before I did. My walls clenched around him amazingly tightly. The room filled with profanities and each other’s names. Hot breath on each other’s skin. Evidence of my climax dripping down my leg as he pulled out, rolled onto his side and removed the condom.

“Well, that was-”

“Yeah,” he panted, cutting me off as he looked at the ceiling, trying to catch his breath. He turned his head towards me and lifted his arm over my head as I rested my head on his chest. His arm came down and rubbed my arm while I traced the diamond tattoo on his chest.

*****

The next couple of weeks were the most enjoyable I had had in awhile. I showed him around the city, taking in skyscraper views, walks by the river and hidden places only the locals know about. Chris was sweet and caring. He was willing to try new things and kept me in giggles. After work, he was there to take the edge off. Satisfying me in ways I hadn’t know since I’d lost the love of my life.

He had two speeds, he was either out and about or in bed. Spending the night in was a foreign concept.

I almost felt like a fog had cleared and everything seemed lighter but going days without seeing him didn't eat me alive. We both led busy lives. He was just fun to be around from time to time.

I yawned as I got into the lift and pressed the button for my floor. I undid my bun and shook my hair out, ready to re-tie it when the doors opened again. I rummaged around in my bag for my keys and looped them around my finger while I walked to my door.

The lights were on and a very tall man stood in the kitchen area, taking in a painting on the wall.

He turned as I closed the door. “I like what you've done with the place.”

I put my bag on the dining table and threw my keys aside. My mouth slightly opened while my brain tried to process what was going on.

His hands stayed in his pockets as he moved away from the bench, standing a maximum of five paces away.

“What are you doing here?” was all I could mutter.

“I still have the key. I'm surprised you didn't change the locks to be honest.” He smiled and I tried to keep myself from melting.

I crossed my arms over my chest. “No, what are you doing here?”

He raised his shoulders. “I'm moving back.”

I shook my head, still not able to get my head around it all. “What changed your mind?”

He took a step forward and sighed. “I don't belong at home anymore. It took me a while to get it but I belong wherever you are.”

My pulse was racing. I fought the urge to run into his arms. To touch him again. To kiss him. To go back to that familiar feeling.

He tilted his head to the side and looked me up and down before meeting my eyes. “Didn’t you miss me?”

I nodded slowly. “Like crazy.”

His lips curved into a smile and he took his hands out of his pockets. “Come here, baby girl.”

I dropped my arms and walked into his, my hands wrapping around his neck as he held me tightly. He smelt like sweet cologne and coffee. I exhaled slowly and reveled in the feeling. He pulled away, tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear and kissed me slowly. His lips grazed against mine before pulling away. I couldn’t help but smile as I leaned in and kissed him again.

He pulled me flush against him while his tongue delved into my mouth, exploring every nook and cranny, our eagerness growing by the second. My hands dug into his hair and I started turning us around, walking backwards down the hall. He broke the kiss and bent down, lifting me into his arms, bridal style.

I giggled and threw my head back before reattaching my lips to his. He lay me down gently on the sheets and stood up straight.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” he murmured.

I sat up and clutched the front of his shirt, bringing his lips down to mine. We slowly fell backwards, hungrily running our hands all over each other.

*****

A few days later, I got a message from Christopher, asking me to come over after work.

I bit my lip in anticipation, forgetting for a second the situation I was in.

My heart thundered in my chest as I walked to his apartment. I knocked on his door and thought about turning around for the hundredth time. I was about to turn around when the door opened, revealing a very shirtless Chris.

He smiled and leaned against the doorframe. “Hola, preciosa.”

I shook my head slowly. “Fuckin thirst trap.”

He laughed and extended a hand, pulling me in and closing the door behind us.

“Can I get you anything?” He kissed the back of my hand and let it go, making his way to the kitchen. “Coke? Water? Vodka?”

I picked at my cuticles, keeping my head down. “Nah, it’s ok, I can’t stay long.”

“Quicky, huh?” I glared at him while he smirked. He shook his hair out and gave me a face I could only describe as one of the sexiest things I had ever seen. He stalked towards me and held my face, tilting it towards his. “Something wrong?”

I licked my lips. “We need to talk.”

“Uh oh.”

I took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. “Listen, my ex came back the other day.”

His face fell and he swallowed. “Ok..”

“We-we can’t do this anymore.”

He held my cheek, his eyes focused on mine.

“I don’t wanna hurt you but...I love him.”

He exhaled and dropped his hand. “No me importa carajo.”

My brow creased as I squinted at him.

“You want me, baby, I know you do. You’ll be back.”

I raised my eyebrows and tilted my head. “Does it hurt, carrying that ego around all day?”

He laughed and put his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “What? It’s true though.”

I shook my head, trying to conceal the smile forming.

“Well, in the spirit of being honest, there’s something I should tell you.”

I crossed my arms over my chest and nodded. “Ok, tell me.”

“Umm,” he rubbed the back of his neck and looked at me. “I have a girlfriend.”

The shock hit me right in the face.

“Wow, ok.” I looked around the room, anywhere but at him.

“Yeah…” he trailed off. “But she’s not you.”

I finally met his eyes. The big brown orbs looked as ernest as I had ever seen them.

“Look, whatever this is,” he waved his hand in between us, “I don’t want it to end; and I don’t think you do either.”

I pursed my lips. He was right. As much as I loved the man, Chris was...irresistible. And amazing. And insatiable. And massive.

He stepped around me and circled me. “Listen, he doesn’t have to know about me, she doesn’t have to know about you. It doesn’t have to end.” He stopped behind me and slowly rubbed my arms, kissing the back of my head.

“But-”

“Don’t worry, nena. It’ll be fine.” His hands slid down my sides achingly slowly until they came to the hem of my shirt. “Everyone will be happy.” His fingers started lifting the hem. “All four of us.” He lips grazed the shell of my ear. “Felices los cuatro, baby.”

I sighed and turned in his arms, crashing my lips onto his passionately.

#bella's 1000 follower contest #cnco #cnco imagine #cnco smut #cnco one shot #christopher velez #christopher velez imagine #writings #my bby

[faveficarchive]

Hints

By L.N. James

Pairing: Xena/Gabrielle

Rating: Mature

Synopsis: Trying to get Xena to leave boring negotiations and join her proves frustrating for Gabrielle as the bard exchanges a series of notes with her friend.

The room was full of hot, stale air and there were no windows to speak of. It may as well have been a prison cell because there was no escaping. On and on, they droned, the speeches becoming long and boring, the declarations more grandiose, and the political double talk more circular. It seemed as if everyone had some point they had to make or some contribution to the bureaucracy that was The Elder Council of The Regions of Argos. By the Gods, how had they been coaxed into participating in such insidiously boring and excruciatingly tedious negotiations?

This is what I wondered from the seat that had been my place above the proceedings for the past three candlemarks. I was hungry, hot, tired, and bored. I never thought it would be possible for a bard to be bored by anything (being that we generally like to learn from every experience) but sure as Hera’s curse, I was bored out of my mind. To make matters worse and insulting, I had been relegated to the box seats while Xena was down where all the action was on the floor below me (if you could call it ‘action’). They had some arcane ordinance about ‘interested parties, significant others, and sidekicks’ sitting upstairs apparently.

After hearing the same thing said in slightly different ways by different people, I was growing restless. I knew Xena couldn’t just up and leave the proceedings, they needed her to offer her insight into negotiating border treaties and alliances between friends and foes alike. I don’t know when, but my lover had somehow become the Warrior Politician in everyone’s eyes. So as much as Xena hated having to deal with these political battles, she knew that her word carried great weight and felt responsible for helping any way she could. On numerous occasions that day, I was convinced that she had briefly considered using her sword to cut short the proceedings, but she was bound by duty and honor. Sigh.

I, however, was bound by nothing more than waiting for my warrior’s work to be done and right now, that waiting was starting to feel like an eternity on Cecrops’ ship. I could have left, I suppose, but being in the presence of my love was much more interesting than sitting in the woods waiting alone. Besides, recent skirmishes between factions and less than hospitable taverns made the choice a bit easier. And since I was in for a dinar now, I might as well stay for the whole kingdom.

I had already listened to enough of the meeting to realize I couldn’t care less about the goings-on if I tried, I had written three stories out on parchment, and I had scanned the crowd for anyone interesting enough to make up stories about. Of course, that pretty much came down to one person as far as I was concerned. So, at the moment, I occupied myself by counting the number of times Xena raised her eyebrow. She’s really beautiful, you know. Strikingly so, actually. In fact, I know I’ve never seen anyone as magnificent as she is. She can look good anytime, whether she’s talking, walking, riding, fighting, eating, drinking, smirking, smiling, sleeping, kissing...mmm. Which reminds me, we were rudely interrupted this morning by a messenger from The Council requesting Xena’s presence. Hades hath no fury like an interrupted Amazon Bard when a certain Warrior Princess is about to become intimately acquainted with said bard’s body. I was livid.

Great. I just reminded myself that along with being hungry, hot, tired, and bored, I now had to add ‘frustrated’ to the list.

"As so, my fellow delegates, let us not forget that the beneficiaries of such defense policies would be..."

Gods, the end of this session was nowhere in sight. It was hard enough simply watching Xena sit and talk or occasionally stand. Ever since we became lovers (and before, really), the mere sight of her pretty much started any number of fantasies playing in my head and luckily, most of those we had thoroughly explored. I still had one or two (well, ok, more than that) that I hadn’t yet shared with her but in time, I was sure I would. Right now, the only thing on my mind was getting out of this hot meeting and having the Warrior Politician negotiate a new treaty with me.

Luckily, at that moment, Xena looked up at me as the last speaker finished and the next one was preparing to speak. Catching her eye, I raised my eyebrows in a question and silently asked if we could leave. We had worked out a couple of nonverbal signs over the years that we could covertly use when we were in situations neither one of us wanted to be in. You should see her sign for ‘If we don’t get away from this annoying person right now, I will accept no responsibility for the path my chakram will take. We devised this sign shortly after Joxer started showing up.

Sadly, Xena shook her head at me and held up a parchment and indicated with her hands that they were only half-way through the proceedings. Hades. So I sighed and nodded down at her. Stretching my legs, I sank down in my chair and waited.

I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I knew I was naked with Xena, laying on top of the table, parchments under us while the speakers kept droning on all around us. The reason I say I must have been dreaming is not that we wouldn’t have sex in public (we have), but that my hair was in that awful bun-do I was forced to wear when I almost got charbroiled. Startled, I sat up in my chair and blinked at the people sitting next to me. They gave me rather funny looks and I looked down at myself. Naked again. Shaking my head and rolling my eyes, I pinched myself in my dream and I woke up for real this time, my neighbors in the seats next to me seemingly enraptured by the politics going on below.

"And so, in accordance with Corollary Seven outlined in Policy Statement Three, there would be enough funding for defense if we..."

Sighing, I sat back up and realized that I had slept through at least one speaker (Thank the Gods) and a new one had begun. I could see that if something wasn’t done, we could be here all night. And as much as I wanted these policies to be hammered out, I knew that surely Xena didn’t have to be here for every darn speaker. Opening up my satchel, I dug through and pulled out a scrap of parchment and my quill. Seeing a biscuit left over from breakfast, I grabbed that too. While I ate, I scribbled out a note to send down to Xena. The various pages and runners would deliver such things to the Council members and negotiators down below.

Xena,

Hi. It’s me. Do you think we could slip out of here for a bite to eat? I’m really hungry if you know what I mean.

Love you,

Gabrielle

Signaling for a page, I folded the note carefully and tied it with a bit of string. After I instructed the page on who to deliver it to, I leaned over the railing and watched Xena leaning back in her chair with her arms folded and a scowl on her face. They were discussing defense appropriations and I could see that she didn’t agree that they should commission more archers than swordsmen.

The page made his way over to Xena and quietly handed her the note before moving off. I watched as Xena looked up at me and then untied and read my note. I smiled as she turned it over and took her quill and scratched out a note, nodding for the page to come back and retrieve it. Once he made his way back upstairs and over to me, I sat back in my chair and opened up the note, my smile fading as I read the words.

There’s a biscuit from breakfast in your satchel. I’ll be fine. A few more candlemarks. Can you believe they think archers are more important than swordsmen?

X

Obviously Xena hadn’t known what I meant and obviously she was taking these proceedings far too seriously. Taking out another piece of parchment, I had the page remain while I wrote out another note.

Xena,

Dear, you missed my point. I’d like to continue our ‘conversation’ from this morning and I don’t think I can wait a few candlemarks.

Love,

Gabrielle

***

Folding it up, I tied it and gave it to him and sent him back downstairs. Leaning over the rail again, I watched as Xena untied it, read it, and looked up at me with a curious look on her face. I smiled down at her and she smiled back and shrugged her shoulders. Turning back to the note, Xena scribbled and sent it back up to me. A new speaker was starting to talk as the page made his way up to me.

"While Delegate Cristos makes an interesting point concerning defense appropriations, should not our time be spent more on debating how we might feed our people? You see, if we simply...."

I glanced at the speaker and smiled. She was an impassioned young woman who clearly had her priorities straight in my book. Feeling the page’s tap on my shoulder, I turned and took the note. Closing my eyes, I simply shook my head and sighed after I read it.

Gabrielle, yes I think Argo still likes you after what happened the other night; no, I don’t think your story about Cecrops was overdone and melodramatic; and I really don’t have the slightest idea whether the Fates can know their own future.

X

P.S. Swordsmen have always been more versatile than archers.

Drastic times called for drastic measures. Nodding at the page, I wrote again and sent it down with him.

Xena,

My love, as much as I’d like to discuss defense with you, what I have in mind is much more exciting, if you catch my drift. Maybe we could see how versatile a certain swordswoman really is.

Love,

Gabrielle

Surely, she would get the point of this note but sadly when the page returned with her note, I became convinced that despite Xena’s many skills, catching on to innuendo was simply not one of them.

We can spar with your staff after this meeting is over if you want. That new speaker might have the right idea. Bread before swords just might work. We can talk later.

X

***

Determined and a bit perturbed, I scribbled out a note and handed it to the page. As he made his way down, I gathered my staff and satchel and followed after him.

Xena,

Please meet me at the side door ASAP.

Love you,

Gabrielle

***

I waited over by the side door of the council hall, twirling my staff, stretching my body as it had become quite sore from sitting in that Hades of a chair for so long. Before long, the page opened the door and came over to me. Narrowing my eyes at the note he handed me, he almost slipped back into the room. I grabbed his shoulder and told him to wait a moment. As I read the note Xena had sent, I cursed Hera and the chariot she rode in on at what I read.

Gabrielle, I can’t leave right now; we’re working on a plan to employ the archers and swordsmen as part-time farmers. Can’t this wait until we are through?

X

P.S. And if I remember correctly, it was your idea for us to come through Argos. I wanted to go to Melapania after we left Gralius.

Angry and immensely frustrated, I pulled out one more piece of parchment and devised a plan to get Xena and I the Hades out of here and into a bed, or bedroll, or hayloft, or field of grass, or lake, or any Tartarus of a place where we could be alone and naked. By this point, I had worked myself up into a bit of a dander and I was not about to let it go. Funny thing is, the angrier I get, the more worked up I get in other more.. intimate ways. Don’t ask. I don’t know why. I sent the page off with one final note. I was not above an ultimatum, peace treaty for Argos or not.

Xena, honey, if you don’t meet me now, I may be forced to find the nearest Inn and make friends with the barmaid. You know how ‘friendly’ I get when I’m frustrated and angry and at the moment I am very much of all three things.

Signed your lover of almost two years and the person with whom you share your bedroll,

Gabrielle

Folding the note and handing it over to the now-scared pageboy, I turned my back to the door and looked out the window in the hall. I swore under my breath that if my Warrior Princess was not the next person through that door, I would quite possibly go into that room and make a scene in front of everyone and their mother. I had tried subtlety. I had tried what I thought was pretty direct innuendo. And I had tried an all out request. Now I was sending out angry demands. This is what five candlemarks of sitting through politics will do to a bard.

Hearing the door open and steps coming behind me, I knew it was not the pageboy. Not yet willing to turn around, I waited. Feeling familiar hands on my shoulders, I let out the breath I was holding and tried not to let my tongue voice the frustrations I felt. Xena’s words were in my ear where they felt accustomed to falling.

"Gabrielle, there was no need for you to send me an ultimatum. You could have just asked."

Her voice held a hint of reproach and I turned around, my eyes flashing.

"Xena, I did ask, repeatedly! Whatever happened to the signs and secret words we worked out?! How many times have I used the phrase ‘let’s continue our conversation’ to mean let’s, you know...’continue our conversation’?? For the love of Zeus, this morning we left right in the middle of our ‘conversation’ and I didn’t even have a chance to get the last ‘word’ in. You know how I get!"

I continued talking all the while a surprised Xena was backing up as I pushed her forward. Her eyebrows were raised at me while I went on. I knew I was being unfair and unreasonable but my frustration of the day simply fueled me on.

"And while it was my idea that we go through Argos, you were the one who agreed to help the Council even after we got here and they said that it wasn’t really all that necessary. And another thing..."

I pushed her against the hallway wall as one hand went to her leathered waist. My voice lowered as my other hand realized it was resting on her breastplate.

"And another thing.."

When I felt my leg come in contact with hers as I leaned up against her, I almost forgot what that other things was. Her blue eyes danced down at me as a slight smile crossed her lips. She had placed her hands on my bare midriff.

"And another thing..."

I swallowed as the scent of leather filled my senses, I could feel her breathing under my hands. In my lover’s arms, I forgot.

"Yes?"

She asked me in that low voice of hers. Remembering my misplaced anger, my eyes softened in regret and apology.

"Oh Xena...I’m sorry. I have no right to be angry with you and I had no right to give you an ultimatum. It’s just that.."

My eyes dropped to my boots. She smiled as one of her hands came to my face and drew it back up to look at her. I looked at her and only saw the love she had for me. Gods, how did I get so lucky?

"It’s just what, Gabrielle?"

"It’s just that...I am so in love with you, Xena and sometimes I want so much of you and I need so much of you that I just...I just don’t think, I guess."

Leaning down, she placed a soft kiss against my lips, reminding me of how gentle she really could be.

"I’m very much in love with you too, Gabrielle, and it’s ok if you want me."

Her lips found my ear and I shivered just a bit in her embrace.

"And it’s ok if you need me..."

My neck was warm where she left a trail of wetness from her lips along my jawline. I closed my eyes.

"Because the feelings are very, very mutual."

I smiled as I leaned in and buried my face against the skin of her neck and breasts. Her arms pulled me in close and strong. I’d spend all of eternity in a room full of politicians for a moment here in her arms.

Pulling back slightly, Xena’s eyes sparkled as she smiled down at me.

"Well, Gabrielle, I’d better go back inside and hammer out those defense plans.."

Narrowing my eyes, I realized she was teasing me because I can read those eyes of hers like no one else can. That’s one of my many skills, believe me.

"Oh, is that so?"

I looked up at her and let one of my hands trail down the side of her leather, feelings it’s smoothness and then feeling the strips of leather and the heat of her thigh. Taking my hand away from her leg, I leaned up and placed my lips against hers, my tongue telling a tale or two against her lips. When I pulled back, I smiled at the slight flush on her face. Her voice was a little unsteady and hardly convincing.

"Mmm...yes. I have to go back in.."

It was clear to me that I needed to remind my warrior princess of exactly what the situation was here. She would be returning to that room in Tartarus over my dead body. Smiling, I brought my finger to her lips and lightly ran it across both.

"Are you sure I can’t convince you to leave with me?"

Her eyes closed and I smiled as I felt her breathing increase and her hands tighten around my waist. Her tongue brushed against my finger and I knew she was mine. Xena’s eyes opened and burned a sea of blue as she tasted the liquid of my wetness placed upon her lips. Growling, she looked down at me as she licked her lips, my taste finally sending the right message. Her words were clear and to the point.

"Let’s go. Now."

With that, she pulled me down the hallway and out the door, all thoughts of defense appropriations and policy negotiations left to those who could debate for moons. I, for one, never knew politics could be so exciting.

***

Colophon: The writing of this story was greatly aided by some major life avoidance, a few glasses of good, old Midwestern tap water on an especially hot day, and the challenge of writing something without any graphic sex in it. ;)

#xena #xena warrior princess #xena/gabrielle #xena/gabrielle fanfiction #author: ln james #mature #fanfiction #femslash

[silverdrip]

Playing Pretend (Frostiron)

@teckmonky since you’re looking for fluff~

“What are they doing?” Loki asked with his nose scrunched up in distaste. Tony rolled to the side on the picnic blanket to get a view on what Loki was looking at.

“Role playing,” Tony said with an easy yawn. The spring sunlight that dappled through the blooming cherry tree above them provided the perfect amount of warmth.

“But they are not sparring,” Loki added in.

Tony got a better look at the kids. Three girls, all around six or seven years old. They were each wearing a flower crown. One was holding a toy baton that was pink and had a shiny heart on top, along with frilly bows. She was giving some speech as the other two pretended to be enraptured.

“Probably some fairy tale game. Not all role playing games having sparring in them.”

“Then what is the point?” Loki looked genuinely confused and Tony laughed. He would have pulled him down for a kiss, if Loki wasn’t so opposed to PDA.

“The point is to have fun. What did children do in Asgard to have fun?”

“Reenact battles and listen to war stories.” Loki was frowning.

“Well that’s not how we do it down here.”

He could see Loki contemplating his answer. Tony just smiled and enjoyed the weather and having his lover so close.

*

When Tony woke up the next morning it was to Jarvis’ voice.

“Sir, we seem to have a,” Jarvis paused and Tony was put on full alert, “strange situation.”

Tony turned to wake Loki, but he was nowhere in sight.

“What is it?”

“Mr. Loki is outside of the tower, knocking on the front door. I have granted him access, but he refuses to be let in by anyone other than you.”

Tony wrinkled his brow in confusion and worry.

“Put him on screen.”

Loki was right outside of the tower, as Jarvis had said. His hand was rapping against the reinforced glass next to the automatic sliding doors. He was dressed in… Tony didn’t know how to describe it beyond rags. Instead of his normal regal poise he was bent over slightly.

“What the fuck,” Tony whispered while getting out of bed. He pulled on the first pair of jeans he could find, already wearing a tank top. He didn’t bother with shoes, too concerned to find any.

Did Loki have a nightmare? Did it trigger something in him that he’d been hiding? Was this a residual effect from mind control? Had he been attacked and was too scared to talk to anyone, but Tony?

Tony tapped on the casing of his reactor, trying not to let his paranoia overtake him. When he finally reached the lobby he ran to the door, but before he could say anything Loki was on his knees, hands clasped together in front of him.

“Please, Lord Stark, lower the taxes on your domain. I barely have a penny to feed myself or my children.”

Everything clicked into place in an instant.

“Your concerns are none of mine, peasant.” Tony sneered, raising his chin up haughtily, despite knowing he looked completely rumpled.

“Please, sir.” Loki crawled forward on his knees. “The harvest was poor this year due to the drought. We can’t possibly pay you.”

“If you can’t pay then you’ll simply be jailed and made to work in my personal fields.”

Loki’s eyes went wide with fear.

“But what of my children? They’ll die without me.”

“Are you truly so foolish? They’d be jailed too and forced to labor away as they should have been doing already. You peasants coddle your children far too much.”

“They have been working the fields since they could stand,” Loki said pathetically. He looked the perfect picture of helplessness.

“Guards! Seize this disgusting excuse for a human!” His security guards glanced at each other in confusion. They knew Loki had access to the tower. “Now!” He scowled at them, using an arrogant voice that went beyond any he’d used before, even in his most prideful years. The two suit clad guards sprang into action, gripping Loki by his upper arm and pulling him up, waiting for more directions. “This way.” He turned on his heels, knowing they would follow.

“My lord, please!” He could tell Loki was putting up a fake struggle against the guards as he was hauled forward.

“Silence, lest I send you to the gallows for your insolence.” Loki instantly became quiet. Loki’s scuffed boots made a depressing noise as he was dragged across the smooth floors. The elevator opened. “Throw him in. I can handle this scourge from here,” Tony said, knowing it wouldn’t hurt Loki in the least. The guards still tossed him carefully though. The elevator doors closed with the pair in them. “Word traveled that you would darken my doorsteps of my castle, so I had your children brought here, in case you tried to do something foolish.”

Loki looked up at him from the corner of the elevator, curled up and breathing shallow.

“How… how did you know?”

“My men are loyal to me and my tax collectors can always spot a troublemaker.” Tony stared at the elevator doors, eyes disinterested. “Jarvis, to the fields.” He figured his AI would be able to figure out what he meant and he was proven correct when the doors opened to the lab hallway. “Come.”

Loki walked meekly behind him.

“Are… are they alright?” Loki whispered. Tony didn’t respond. When they entered the lab Dum-E and U rolled over quickly, surrounding Loki, beeping and whistling. “I’m so sorry for dragging you all into this,” Loki said while lower down to hug them. “Had I known…” Loki’s voice sounded tight and Tony would have to complement him on his acting skills later.

“Don’t dawdle.” Tony’s voice was scathing. “Dum-E! Fetch me some coffee! U, sweep up that corner. And you,” Tony rounded on Loki, “you shall be my personal errand boy. I hope you’re a quick study.”

“Yes, my lord. Just please don’t hurt my children.” Tears fell from Loki’s green eyes.

“We shall see.” Tony gave him a contemplative look. “Soldering iron, now,” Tony said while turning to one of his projects.

*

The morning was filled with Loki fumbling with tools, tripping, and pretending to be completely incompetent. Tony scolded him, throwing insult after insult, but trying not to cross any lines. He banished Dum-E to his charging port and Loki cried.

When lunchtime came around Tony ended their game by pulling Loki off the ground and smothering him with kisses. Loki laughed and his face became flushed.

“Have fun?” Tony asked, not letting Loki go.

“It was a very different experience, I did enjoy myself though, especially when you ordered your employees around. I think you gave them a scare.”

Tony groaned.

“Yeah, I know. Pep is going to kill me when she sees the videos some onlookers took.”

Loki laughed again.

“Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.”

*

Tony thought that was the end of Loki’s little game, but he was proven wrong four days later.

He woke once again to Jarvis’ voice.

“Sir, Mr. Loki is in the infirmary,” Jarvis reported. There a slight undertone of exasperation to Jarvis’ voice, easing Tony’s initial anxiety.

“Another game?”

“I believe so, Sir.”

“I think I’ll dress the part this time.” He didn’t own any lab coats personally, but knew that Bruce was a complete nerd and probably did. “Call Bruce.”

“You’re up early,” Bruce observed. He almost looked concerned in the hologram.

“Yup. I need to borrow a lab coat.”

“Why?”

“For science,” Tony said right away. Bruce gave him a suspicious look before sighing.

“In my lab, far left corner. There should at least be three hanging there. Don’t bother returning it. I don’t want to know what you’re really using it for.”

“Awesome.” Bruce sighed again and the call was cut off. “J, tell Loki that the doctor will see him soon.”

He had a bit of preparation to do.

*

Tony walked into the infirmary, wearing lensless glasses, and had a clipboard in hand. He was scribbling away on the sheets of blank paper he’d grabbed, not looking over at Loki. He knew from the surveillance feed that he was sitting on an examination table.

“What seems to the problem, Mr. Friggason?” Tony asked, finally looking at him. Loki did look paler than usual. He really was a good actor.

“Dr. Stark,” his voice was hoarse, “I’ve had this cough for weeks and it’s only getting worse.”

Tony nodded, showing grave concern.

“You should have come in sooner. A persistent cough is often an indicator of various maladies.” Loki blushed and looked down at his lap. So he was going to pretend to be shy. How cute. “We’ll start with the basics.”

Tony pulled out a blood pressure gauge and Loki offered up his arm freely. Tony noticed that he wasn’t wearing his usual alien garb, but street clothes.

Tony performed the test, already knowing the results he would get.

“Your blood pressure is good.” Tony pretended to put a note down on the clipboard. “Heartrate next.” Tony rifled through the drawers before finding a stethoscope. “Breathe in deeply.” Loki’s heartrate was ridiculously slow, but it always was. He moved the stethoscope around a few times, surprised by how much he was enjoying himself. He pulled away and drew the picture of a heart then a check mark next to it on his clipboard. “Your heart sounds healthy, but your lungs sounded like they’re crackling.”

Loki coughed roughly and Tony was quick to get him a tissue and glass of water.

“I thought it was only my throat,” Loki said after chugging half the water down.

“I’m afraid not, but I’m going to need to look at your throat and take a swab to identify what you have exactly.” He grabbed a tongue depressor from a glass jar. “Nurse! We’re going to need a throat swab!” Tony said loudly.

From the corner of his eye he watched Loki’s reaction as Dum-E wheeled in, a shirt with little ducks designs was flung on him haphazardly along with a nurse hat Tony had folded out of newspaper. Loki had to cover his mouth to stop from laughing.

“Thank you, nurse.” Tony said completely serious as he took the swab from Dum-E’s claw. Dum-E let out a single beep, somehow sounding professional.

Loki bit his tongue and Tony pretended to look for a small flashlight to give him time to compose himself.

When he looked like he was under control Tony approached him. Loki automatically opened his mouth, sticking his tongue out slightly. Tony swabbed the inside of his cheek before reaching behind him blindly. Dum-E took the swab with another beep before wheeling off.

He pressed Loki’s tongue down with the wide popsicle stick and used the flashlight to look down his throat.

“Your throat is nearly swollen shut. I’m surprised you can breathe at all.” Tony adjusted the exam table so that it was a chair. He pushed Loki back slightly until he was flush with it. “I’ll be right back. If breathing suddenly becomes harder push this button.” Tony handed him a click pen.

“Thank you, doctor,” Loki wheezed out.

Tony nodded before disappearing into the hallway. His serious façade slipped and he was smiling widely. There was a small kitchen and Tony already had brought down Loki’s favorite mug and tea. All he had to do was heat it up.

He glanced around and saw that all his other props were ready. Dum-E was fruitlessly trying to pick up his newspaper hat and put it back on.

Tony gave him a pat while chuckling before tapping the hat back in place.

The microwave went off and Tony made sure the tea was the perfect temperature before returning to the exam room, looking the part of a doctor again.

“This should ease the immediate swelling,” Tony said while handing over the warm mug.

“Thank you, doctor.” Loki took a sip before sighing. Tony pretended to scribble down more notes. When he was done with the drink Tony made a discreet movement, signaling Jarvis.

Dum-E came in, carrying a piece of paper and a plastic bottle filled with the strawberry hard candies that Loki adored.

Tony took the sheet of paper and bottle.

“Hmm, not as bad as I originally thought.” Tony handed Loki the bottle. “Anti-biotics, bed rest, and soup should do you a world of good. I think I should send a nurse with you though. I don’t want you out of bed.”

“Are you sure?” Loki was giving that wide eyed look that always got to Tony.

“Yes, don’t worry. I think you’ll like the nurse. He’s a personal friend of mine.”

Loki nodded before getting off the table, clutching the ‘medicine’ carefully.

“Thank you again, doctor.”

“It was a pleasure.”

Tony waited until he was sure Loki was in the elevator before grabbing a shirt with a little tin can and reindeer pattern. It had been a gag gift from Clint and Tony had no idea where he got it.

He pulled it on before making another nurse hat, one that could actually fit his head.

When he got upstairs Loki was already bundled up in their bed.

Tony introduced himself and Loki held back a smile.

He spent the rest of the day pampering Loki before they just cuddled and fell asleep in each other’s arms.

*

Their games continued for months, from pirates to homemakers.

Tony did notice that Loki did have a favorite game though, playing wedding.

It had startled Tony the first time, but he was quick to get into the act.

It was always the one Loki prepared for the most, using kid scissors to cut out decorations, different each time. He made real cake (or cupcakes), created soundtracks, and set up seats that wouldn’t be filled where ever the ‘wedding’ was to take place.

Sometimes Loki would dress up as a bride, all in white and in a frilly dress that probably cost a pretty penny. Other times they were both be grooms. On one memorable occasion Tony was the bride and Loki pretended to be a bridesmaid as he helped Tony put on his dress which was made solely out of toilet paper.

The bots would always try to catch the bouquet, regardless of whether it was real or imagined. Dum-E and Butterfingers had gotten into a fight once over a bouquet of coiled wires that Tony had tossed over his shoulders.

Loki and Tony had laughed at them before heading to their ‘honeymoon’, which was just their bedroom to consummate their marriage.

*

They were in the park having a picnic again, but this time it was fall and Tony was already bundled up. Loki was reading a book, not bothered by the cold.

“You know I love our games,” Tony said while sitting up, leaves beneath their picnic blanket crunching under his weight. Loki set aside his book.

“I love them too.” Loki smiled brightly and his cheeks became flushed.

“There’s one I’d rather not play again though.” A bit of sadness drifted into Loki’s eyes. Tony shifted, reaching into his pocket. “I’d rather make it a reality.” He held out a golden ring. “Loki, will you marry me?” Loki was frozen for a moment before tackling Tony with a hug, nearly knocking the ring out of his hand.

“Of course I’ll marry you!” Loki said between kisses. Tony wrapped him in his arms and laughed happily.

My AO3

#my writing

[wordsaremybestfriends]

Didn’t Ask For This Chapter 3

Hey friends!! Back again for another chapter of this thing… 

I’m not sure how active I’ll be around the holidays but I really hope I can post one more chapter next week. After that, I’d like to post every Tuesday if my schedule permits it, but I’ll figure that out later. Thanks for reading! 

Warnings: Cursing, child abuse, vocal abuse, violence, *TELL ME IF YOU FIND ANYTHING ELSE*

Dustin royally fucked up.

I mean, unknowingly bringing a baby demogorgon into the house was already a fuck up, in heins sight, but now, he completely, 100% fucked Hawkins over.

After school, he had made sure everyone met at the AV club, including Max. He didn’t care about the dirty looks Mike had given him about their newest recruit and opted instead to focus on the angry blob that he had found on the table in front of them.

Everything was fine, of course, until Dart decided to jump a little bit, and out the front door. Though the five kids were in pursuit of the slug creature, he was nowhere in Hawkins Middle School, and it was already past time to head home for all of them.

Dustin wasn’t surprised to see Emma home already, eating a peanut butter and jelly at their counter and flipping through a book of Greek mythology. When she looked up, however, the pure fire in her eyes froze every cell in his body.

Though she had changed into a pair of tight jeans and a heavier red and purple sweater, a scarf wrapped around her hair to keep it out of her face, the girl looked like she could level cities with one look. She rose from her barstool, arms crossed, and she looked more like their mother than her loving older sister.

“You didn’t think to wake me up this morning, dorkwad.” She was less angry than she was this morning, but the look on her face was certainly not a pleasant one. “I missed calculus, physics, and homeroom!”

He paled. “I was… I woke up and was going to, you know… kill the thing I found last night.” He said it with a straight face, no smirk or wry smile as usual, and it didn’t escape her sister’s intense eye.

“Where did you kill it?” She asked, arms crossed over her chest. “They’re not easy to kill, especially without Eleven with us.”

“Bat.” He replied quickly. His hands began to sweat nervously in his pockets, as his sister rose from her seat, leaning against the tiled countertop. Her usually bright amber gaze was dark from her stare, and even though he knew she wasn’t really angry at him, he couldn’t shake the fact that she might just kill him if she knew what was going on. “S-Steve Harrington. H-His bat. The one with the nails in it, from last time.”

With an unmanicured hand, she flicked a lone chocolate-colored curl off of her shoulder, and began to round the counter. “Funny that he didn’t mention anything at school today. I could always call him up and ask, you know. He lives about two miles down the road, he could be here in an instant.”

“F-Fine!” Dustin said, hands suddenly raised to his head in surrender. He didn’t know Steve super well, but he knew the boy could easily bullshit a lie, just to save some face. “Call him! He’ll just say what I told you!”

Emma wasted no time picking up the landline and dialing the Harrington household, fire in her eyes. Her little brother was going to pay big time if he was lying. The only thing she hoped was true was the fact that the mini demogorgon was gone, and they could go back to life as usual, as if nothing had ever happened.

The line only rang a few times before she heard it connect, the pleasant voice of Mrs. Harrington on the other side. “Harrington residence, Mrs. speaking…”

“Hi Mrs. Harrington, it’s Emma, a friend of Steve’s,” Emma began. “I was just wondering-”

Instantly, Mrs. Harrington, like most mothers, launched herself into a whole speech about ‘oh, Emma Henderson! What a lovely surprise!’  and ‘I was hoping someone would help him with his writing, he’s not doing so well’. Emma impatiently tapped her fingers against the cord and turned to find Dustin missing from his spot in the living room. If that little snot left me mid-argument, I’m going to shave off an eyebrow tonight.

“Mrs. Harrington!” Emma almost shouted over the line. “I need to talk to Steve, is he there?”

“Oh, no sweetie!” She cooed over the line, and Emma wanted to either disconnect the phone or run straight to the Harringtons to disconnect theirs instead. “He left a bit ago to work on a history project with Nancy Wheeler at her house. I don’t think he knows any of our presidents, so he really needs all the help he can get-”

Emma threw the phone back on it’s dock, marching straight into the living room, where Dustin’s bag still sat. “Dustin Peter Henderson, you get your butt here RIGHT-”

The form of her brother barreled straight into her stomach, launching them straight into the couch. The fear of God seemed to be radiating from Dustin, a hand clasped over his sister’s mouth as he looked back to his room warily. His entire body shook, as he kept repeating the same phrase on a loop, like some kind of broken gramophone. “I messed up, I messed up, I messed up!”

Another glare was shot at her brother as she wrenched his slimy hand off her mouth. “What the hell, Dustin-”

“You need to shut up, Em, like right now!” Dustin hissed as he looked warily down the hall where his room was. “Look, you were right and I should have listened to you, but I didn’t and I really really messed up this time, okay?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?!” She hissed as Dustin looked rapidly from his room to his sister, hands squeezing her arm tightly. “Did you clog the toilet again or something?”

“Um,” He murmured, Emma still trying to wrench her hand away from him. “I’m sorry in advance, okay?”

Her eyes followed his, seeing the closed door. It didn’t take long for her to put two and two together.

“You kept the demogorgon, didn’t you?” She asked, voice eerily slow and calm as her body went still.

Dustin nodded beside her. “It ate Mews, Emma.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“And it’s bigger this time.”

The soft sound of a growl, or at least, something akin to that, echoed through the empty house and both kids were glued to their spots.

“I don’t even know what to say,” Emma mumbled, eyes closed as she let her body fall against the wall..They were either about to die, or unleash a beast that wanted to feed on every person in Hawkins. Both were probable, and both were mostly unavoidable at the moment. “You let a monster into our house that we’ve already fought. You let it live in your room, then lied to me about killing it. You also let it eat the cat while we were at school.”

He turned to his sister, reaching to grasp her shoulders. “Look, we can talk more about me being an idiot later, but for now, Em, please, you have to help me trap it.”

A laugh escaped her lips, quiet and high, as if he was delirious from too many painkillers. “Trap it? The beast that ate Barb and kept Will in the Upside Down? The one that Eleven gave her life up for?”

“It came from the same place as the last one, right?” He hissed, eyes wide with the probability of catching the beast. “We could make it take us there, maybe rescue Eleven, figure out what’s going on-”

“You want to talk to a monster that ate our CAT?” Emma squeaked, tears of stress and frustration clouding her eyes. “You think a monster that killed a bunch of people is willing to have a conversation with us?”

He shrugged. “We could always burn the house down, like at the Byers.”

Emma was silent as she kept switching from looking at Dustin’s closed door to her little brother, wishing this entire mess was just another bad dream. Some twisted, awful dream that ended with her and her brother lying dead on their horrid cream couch, awaiting the same fate as their defenseless cat.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this.” Emma shook her head, eyes boring into Dustin’s. “But… We cleaned out the storm cellar last summer. And in case you haven’t eaten it, we might have the bologna Mom bought the other day.”

Her little brother’s eyes brightened as he suddenly launched into a plan, his sister’s incredulous expression never deterring the detailed explanation.

———

With thirty seven slices of bologna laid out in a perfect trail from Dustin’s door to the storm cellar, the two siblings were ready for the mostly idiotic plan that might just kill both of them. The small clubhouse Dustin and Emma made in the side yard would be their base, with a clear view of the opening to the cellar. Hockey stick in hand and fifteen pounds of weight strapped across his body, the youngest Henderson was waiting for his sister, drawing the demogorgon’s attention to the bologna (and their most likely imminent death) with her old shin guards from soccer, umpire mask from softball, and a pair of football pads Dustin had gotten at a yard sale once. Eyes trained on the blue door, she shifted weight from side to side, spinning the trash can lid in her right and clenching an old guitar she had learned to play at one point. Billions of scenarios ran through her head as she waited for confidence to fill her, eagerly tiptoeing towards the bologna trail through the living room.

“I can’t believe I agreed to this,” She murmured to herself as she took another silent step towards her brother’s room.

She passed seven slices of bologna, arriving to the last slice that was placed just next to the door. The shake in her hands was hardly contained now, and she doubted she’d stop it anytime soon. Not with a bloodthirsty monster in the house.

With a breath held tight in her chest, Emma slipped her guitar into her free hand, thin, nimble fingers free and ready to pull the gold handle back. Her fingers grasped the cool metal, and without a second thought, she tugged it open, bolting straight down the hall, out of the living room, and straight to her brother in the shed.

“You did it?” Dustin asked as Emma pressed her body against the door, eyes straining to look through the wooden slats. “Is he coming?”

“Shut up and watch for him!” She hissed, and his body velcroed itself towards the small openings, eyes looking straight into the yard for any sense of movement from the front of their house.

Ten seconds passed. Then twenty. Emma felt her hands shake, the trash lid clattering against her mismatched armor. There was no sight of the slimy slug that had apparently grown since the last time she saw him. It almost would have been nicer to die than to have to wait another few agonizing moments here, helpless and hopelessly awaiting the possibility her brother’s plan had actually worked.

“Maybe he likes real meat, not the processed stuff?” Dustin whispered, and Emma let her eyes slip closed for a moment. There was no way in hell she was going out to be a lure for that damn thing.

Come on, you stupid thing. Get out here. Get in that damn cellar-

The glint of sunlight on the moist skin of a dog-like creature caught both the kids attention. Silence filled the small clubhouse as they kept their eyes focused on the slug like it was magnetized to their sight. It sucked up another piece of the sliced meat, then another, until it was three slices from the cellar.

They were so close. They were feet away. They might actually survive. All they had to do was keep quiet, and all would be okay.

Of course, until Dustin coughed quietly, softer than the drop of a pin to a passerby.

The demogorgon snapped it’s neck backwards at them, hissing and growling. It had found them.

They were going to die.

They were going to be killed because of a cough.

They were in deep shit.

“Plan B!” Dustin screamed, launching himself out of the small door and swinging his hockey stick at the green creature. It fell a few feet backwards like a lifeless doll, though never ceasing it’s disgusting scream out. Emma ran out past him, taking a wind up with the back of her guitar to launch the hideous being straight down the flight of stairs into the dusty darkness below.

With both hands, Emma smashed the metal doors down, trapping the creature with a triumphant scream. Her body fell atop the handles, holding the doors down as it fought back, hissing and screeching as loud as it could. Dustin grabbed a chain, one they had from the garage, and looped it through the handles as much as he could, securing it with a lock for sure, and after a moment, the fight stopped, silence coming from the cellar instead.

Emma let out a breath, rolling backwards on the doors with her football pads clattering against it. “We almost died right now.”

“Yup.” Her brother answered, breathing still quick. His eyes were a bit unfocused as he slid to the ground beside his sister.

“We just caught a demogorgon.” She added, voice eerily calm.

“Yup.”

“Our cat just died.”

“Yup.”

“We need backup.”

“Yup.”

After completely locking up the storm cellar with a lock and chain as well as at least fifty pounds of other junk to keep the door down, the two began the trip to the Wheeler household. Emma was on her old moped, Dustin hanging off the back with her helmet on as he watched the quiet houses fly by. The trees were already beginning their change into fall, filling the yards with a kaleidoscope of colors that were anywhere from the skin of a crisp apple to the shine of her honey bee yellow moped, small bits of clover green spread throughout.

It was just enough to make her forget about the bloodthirsty monster that was locked in her front yard that had just killed her cat.

The Wheeler house looked empty from the outside, as usual. Now that trouble was once again stirring up in town, it was a shot in the dark for where the rest of Dustin’s friends were. Will’s house was almost three miles out from their house, and since Erica had told Dustin that Lucas was out for now, it seemed like Mike’s house was the best option at the moment. The family car was out front, though the lights seemed dim and life didn’t seem to course through the house like it did with the kids around.

Emma came to an easy stop at the base of the Wheeler’s front yard, letting her younger brother jump off. He threw the helmet back at her as he dashed up to the door, ringing the doorbell as obnoxiously as he could.

The entire situation was incredulous to her. She had a mini demogorgon, one that she had captured with her younger brother, stuffed in their storm cellar, and none of her brother’s friends were around to help them figure out what the fuck was going on. Last time, it was easier. Of course, Nancy and Jonathan were stuck with starry eyed gazes at one another, Steve trying to apologize for being a giant dickwad to Jonathan and replace his broken camera, and Emma was just trying to pass her sociology class, but those were the biggest worries of them. When Nancy and Jonathan had first started their plan to catch the monster, Emma began to tag along. She was the smartest, most resourceful one out of all of them, and could help them out in a pinch if needed.

The two girls had gotten into too many messes to count, though being stuck in the Byers’ home trying to catch a creature from another dimension that had supposedly took their friend Barb was definitely one of their biggest. When the creature disappeared, only to reappear moments later in the living room, she had gotten pulled under the creature, it’s flowered face mere inches above her as she felt a bit of it’s slime spread onto her face. Flashes of her father’s enraged face passed through her gaze, and she was pinned to the ground. Her body was rigid, breathing rapid, as slime had begun to drip against her cheek. She could only stare at the hundreds of teeth from within the mouth, wishing that maybe, just maybe, she could have a quick and painless death, one that wouldn’t haunt Nancy and Jonathan for the rest of their lives.

And then, there was nothing but the hazy roof of the Byers’ house above her. Her hands shook as she could only think of her father’s face in front of her, screaming at her and beating her until she couldn’t bear to stay awake for the rest of it. Tufts of the carpet were gathered into her fingers as she curled onto her side with tears gathering in her eyes. Raspy, uneven breaths came out from her mouth as she tried to compose herself in front of Steve and Jonathan, even though nothing could quell the shake in her body. The only sound she could hear was the ringing in her ears, as she let her eyes close, tears leaking onto the ground below her.

Nancy had broke from the two boys as soon as she realized that her best friend wasn’t right by her side. Emma’s state was one she had dealt with before when the memories came back of the screams and the hurt her father would cause. In one motion, Nancy gathered her friend into her arms, holding her small, tremor-filled state as tight as she could from her lips. Small whispers fell from her lips, ones that Emma nodded along to for a few minutes until she could finally raise her head, just to look at her best friend and utter out a few words to her, a watery smile on her face.

“We won?”

“We won.”

And that should have been the end of it. She should have been able to sleep since that night, no more nightmares of what could have been. No more fear creeping out of her each time she drove home from the library in the dark. No more constant glances over her shoulder. No more screams that fell from her lips, every time she found herself pushed on her back.

But it’s started again. And if it took them a few weeks to get over the last one, Emma could only imagine what it would be like to have to deal with a dozen of these suckers.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

She shot her head up, her soft curls bouncing along with her. Only a few feet in front of her was Steve Harrington’s car, him just emerging with a textbook in his hands. He wore his signature brown bomber jacket, his hair as wild and messy as it was this morning at school.

“Why do you care?” She replied as he rounded the front of the car, face solemn.

“I’m studying with Nancy today,” He muttered, eyes flicking back to his textbook. Emma didn’t waste her time to gaze longer at her, watching her little brother repeatedly ring the doorbell to make at least one of the Wheeler’s get to the door. “History.”

“Glad it’s not human anatomy,” Emma said with a smug smile, flattening the chuckle in her chest.

Steve glared from beside her as he began to grit his teeth. “Look, I told Natalie I didn’t want to be with her, like in a relationship.”

“So that’s why she was crying to me at my locker between classes, right?” Emma asked, eyes never looking over to him. “Because, as I told you before, all your little flames come to me for advice, whether you want them to or not.”

He scoffs. “So what, you just know exactly what goes on at school, at all times?”

“Only the interesting stuff,” She shrugs as she goes back to checking her chipping nail polish instead. “Which most often concerns you.”

“You know what?” He snapped, eyes locked in a glare at Emma’s temple as she barely moved a muscle. She had dealt with more frightening things than an insecure teenage boy. “I don’t get why you’re so mad at me for living my life. For God’s sakes, you’re not perfect either!”

“I never said I was perfect,” She drawled, smirking as she turned to face the boy. “And I never said I was mad. You did.”

Before he could reply, Dustin began to cross back from the lawn, groaning to himself. “Neither of them are home, and Mr. Wheeler’s about as useless as a pile of bricks.”

“I could have told you that,” Emma said, mounting her bike once again as she tossed the helmet to her brother. “So I guess we’re going to the Byers’s next?”

“What’s at the Byers’s?” Steve asked, eyeing the two. “Is everything okay?”

“Peachy,” Dustin replied with a roll of his eyes. “I mean, if you call having a baby demogorgon in your storm cellar peachy…”

“Dustin!” Emma barked from the bike. “We’re not even supposed to be talking about that out here. There’s ears everywhere, kid.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Steve asked as Dustin slipped the helmet over his baseball cap and stepped onto the back of his sister’s scooter. “There’s another one?”

“In our basement, yes,” Dustin said as his sister swatted at his leg, aiming a scowl at him.

“And you guys need help to kill it?” He asked, smirking. “‘Cause I still have my bat, you know-”

“We don’t need your help, Harrington,” Emma shouted as she pressed her foot onto the gas and began to speed down the street. She barely gave him a second glance as she turned down another street, and disappeared from his sight.

With a small smirk, the boy began to climb back into his car and tossed the textbook into his backseat. He threw the car in drive and began to pull away from the Wheeler’s lawn, following the two Henderson kids.

If they had really found another demogorgon from last time, they’d need as much help as they could get.

And a bat with nails was pretty handy in a time like this.

TAG LIST: @luv2reade16 @lillie-writes @harringtonwife @tiarrasmith @sarahmariedesserts @kararanae23

#steve harrington imagine #steve harrington hair #steve harrington #steve harrington x oc #steve harrington x reader #stranger things season 1 #stranger things season 2 #stranger things #joe keery #joe keery x reader #joe keery x oc #joe keery hair #joe keery imagine #demogorgon #demodog #el #eleven #dustin #dustin henderson #henderson!reader #steve harrington x henderson!reader #jane hopper #jane #mike #mike wheeler #lucas sinclair #lucas #will #will byers

[chocobutt-trash]

Isn't Emperor's New Clothes from Panic! At The Disco very Ardyn?

Oh it certainly is, and it’s not the only one. Here, Anon, is my playlist of Ardyn-related songs. Caution: might contain a significant amount of edge :P

ARDYN SONG MASTERLIST:

https://open.spotify.com/user/madegg/playlist/29SLYfCdD3TN7CTXpixnW9

(all song details, with some choice lyrics, under the cut)

1.) Forever Can Be - by ASHES dIVIDE

So you dug deep down inside yourselfYou revealed an old manSo pained to be what makes you who you areWe all want you to see the you we seeThe one that carries the worlds tragedies aloneThe cross you choose to bear upon your own.

2.) Smoke and Mirrors - by Puscifer

Now the mirror is broken, we all know what your spell was concealingJust hollow eyes, a stolen crown butNot a kingNo, not a king

3.) Black Cat Bone - by The Mission

wins best opening line with:

When you get to my age the candles cost more than the cake

4.) Red Right Hand - by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds

(thank you Ardynium for reminding me this exists)

On a gathering storm comesa tall handsome manin a dusty black coat witha red right hand

You’ll see him in your nightmares,you’ll see him in your dreamsHe’ll appear out of nowhere buthe ain’t what he seems

5.) Fractured - by Zeromancer

Can’t you see my hands are cleanI’m as holy as can be

(can you just imagine this after Bahamut denies him the first time? Ouch)

6.) Left me for dead - by Rob Dougan

You didn’t stop to look ‘roundYou were gone before I hit the groundYou went on your wayAnd no prayer was saidAh, you left me for deadYou didn’t cover my faceI didn’t merit a communal graveYou set me asideAnd no tears were shedYou left me for dead

7.) Give me back the nights - by DJ Shadow

Give me back the nightsGive me back the agony of my solitudeThe nights I’ve spent aloneThe million endless solitary nights of my life

8.) Unbalanced Pieces - by Mark Lanegan

Something for that final battle:

The twilight’s bleedingAnd the playing board has two unbalanced pieces

9.) Lonely Soul - by UNKLE

I’m gonna die in a place that don’t know my nameI’m gonna die in a space that don’t hold my fameGod knows you’re lonely souls

10.) Reign - by UNKLE

I’m gonna reign this way again

11.) Days are forgotten - by Kasabian

A nice mix of part revenge song, part melancholy song

Days, days are forgottenNow it’s all overSimply forgottenHow to disappear

Cause I am taking back what’s mineI am taking back the timeYou may call it suicideBut I’m being born again

12.) Emperor’s New Clothes - by Panic! At the Disco (of course)

Done my time and served my sentenceDress me up and watch me die

Dynasty decapitatedYou just might see a ghost tonight

(also I love the fact that the word sycophancy is in this song)

13.) Ablivion - by UNKLE

So far gone I won’t ever stopFor all that I am, for all that I’m notSo far gone the edge I’m onI see it now, oblivion

14.) Proxy - by Saltillo

This one’s great - it’s mostly instrumental but features part of a speech from Shakepseare’s Henry IV, which is most fitting

I know not whether God will have it soFor some displeasing service I have done,That, in his secret doom, out of my bloodHe’ll breed revengement and a scourge for me.

15.) Cities beneath the sea - by Gravenhurst

I live on both sides of the mirrorFeel the pain that destruction bringsI want to help put everything in its placeI want to destroy everything

16.) Am I very wrong? - by Genesis

Am I very wrongTo wander in the fear of a never ending lie

They say, we hope your life will never end

17.) This Year’s Man - by Duels

Do your black wings beat like the black eyed crow?All your friendsHave sold you outIt’s so sad, rubberneckingTake control(Forgive us for what we have done)Adjust your aims(We never meant to hurt no one)

18.) The Rapture - by Puscifer

I see you lingerin’ 'roundLike a bad ideaPeddlin’ salvationThreatenin’ damnationAbout to drop you like CainLike Cain dropped Abel

19.) Seven Devils - by Florence and the Machine

See I was dead when I woke up this morningI’ll be dead before the day is done

#ardyn izunia #ardyn lucis caelum #ffxv #ffxv playlist

[pluieenmars]

*2 - G h o s t

It was a rainy month, for the third time. She had been counting, clumsily striking a line in every calendar’s box every year, every month. Third year. Yet she still couldn’t figure out why she should cared anymore. First Sunday. She spent the rest of the day baking cookies, then two minutes of peaceful tea time with some decent books, the clock was ticking and crawling at the same time. She never knew was it her who keep dragging the day off of it’s hook, or was it the time. If she could feel almost none, then maybe it was what she had been desiring and struggling to grasp. The cookies were a bit overcooked, with blackened spots here and there she almost mistook it as the sprinkles and chocochips but the burnt scent told her otherwise. She tried to get a nice, warm slumber in between the threshing of heavy rain, and wild stormy clouds billowing around the tiny house, the tiny world she had formed all over again. She was almost alone considering the fact that her parents worshipped their jobs much more than the average parents would be, and it had it’s perks, like scattered used kitchen utensils, procrastinating concerning dirty plates, et cetera. But it most definitely held all the bad things at once, like the relentless brainstorming that constantly hammering her almost firm fortress. She kept herself busy to fill the empty gaps—sweeping the floor, lurking between the bookshelves, another sweeping the floor, learning the cracks on the wall, painting, avoiding any forms of writing, singing off-key and on, the order wasn’t always like that. Because once she rested for a bit, someone was ready to appear and always on the verge to claim her once more, she knew it better. The darkened eyebags and the evident hollow cheeks were often speaking much more than the words could do. She could never not being dramatic about those lurking shadows—sometime she was choked by memories and she gasped for air. “Why haven’t you gone home?” Her mother once asked, the second Sunday of the rainy month. Rain was being generous enough to allow her tracing the street with her worn out sneakers and thick hoodie in the early morning, some flower were starting to bloom and flourish out of nowhere, but she lamented those newborn flowers. They’d have been dead again by the time the next hurricane arrived, and she was silent for a moment longer, staring at nothing but the blossom. Her mother question had bewildered her for a second longer, her fingernails were polished with brown stains of brownies, she didn’t seem to care enough. “What do you mean, Ma, I am home.” She coughed because the weather had been shabby and even her Dad was starting to catch a cold. “I gotta finish the brownies, or else the taste would be anything but yummy.” I tried to point my smile at her and she smiled a bit back. _ _ _ _ She blamed the scrapbook. Sometimes, you were born petulant, or you were only cranky at some particular points, and some people go breakdown in tears whenever the rage was piling up too much it suffocated their heads, their blood vessels, their stomachs, their hands started to tremble and she could barely think. She had cried in silence at 2 A.M., and she knew she just [had] to call her therapist—her parents had been oblivious to it. So she called and her therapist’s words echoed inside her head for the next six, seven hours. – “Every one has their own limit of strength, and maybe yours is just about this heartbreak, but then it’s your decision to expand your limits or just get stuck right there, for no one knows how long. You can’t lose your demons, honey, you can only learn how to live above them.” The third Sunday of the month, she learned to stop drawing lines with red marker on the calendar, she decided to pack the previous calendars into a medium sized box and was ready to dump it all. The scrapbook smelled of memories, strong stench of the days behind and the particular someone who kept lurking behind her without her noticing. Somehow, she wanted to just befriend the shadow instead of spending her years cultivating a pointless resentment. Hatred is only eating you alive through your bones and flesh, to the extent that you feel like dying and not entirely living. Some nights, she reminisced the way he greeted her for the first time and those sugar coated words whispered in the gloomy nights. They had met, in the middle of summer, two years prior. “Hey, do I know you?” “We... were in the same group?” “Crap. Sorry. Yes, how—how are you?” They started with question marks sprawling in the end of those tiny sentences, awkward smiles and stammering speeches, and the days stampede like a herd of elephants, and she remembered how he had made her smile much brighter than before and showed her bunch of flourishing emotions. Of course, of course what they possessed was astounding and mesmerizing. She woke up alarmed. Her fingers had been trembling until she barked a cough and fetched a glass of water. She always woke up whenever the nightmare was getting to an end, it never let her finish. _ _ _ “Why don’t you just go out? Go somewhere with your friends, you’ve been around at home far too long.” Her mother was like a common mother, who’d get into her nerves because her daughter didn’t look content enough or colorful enough. She wouldn’t blame her; she had felt a bit dull and grayish about herself. “I have. I’m tired, Ma, how many times I’ve to tell you—” “Or why don’t you just. You know,” She was choosing words, “go back, even though the summer holiday isn’t over yet—” “Ma!” I’ve got it. I’ve finally reached the peak—the summit of my stalwart mountain, the pit of my chasm. It suddenly seemed as if the world had been stop moving and also her, and her mother, and her emotions, and her damned past lives and lovers, and she was a frail one, she was the lost one—and that moment hit her like a freight train, so hard, immensely painful and she turned the saucer she held into shards of broken ceramics. “I CAN’T, I can’t, it’s too painful and stop ordering me around, for God’s sake!” She ran, once again dodging from the ghosts from her past, from his fake laced words, from the whispers beneath. She didn’t know—maybe it was her final breakdown, maybe it was the leak of her dam, the water was finally breaking through the plastered cracks, nothing could barely contain it anymore. She stopped somewhere, in the meadow near the house’s backyard, silencing herself, muting the world. And she cried, in a total silence, she heard none. She might had clawed the dirt, because amongst the horrid muted noises, she smelled of blood and soil. She refused. She refused to be played by the shadows. The gauntlet emerging from her past lover—nothing particular, nothing out of common, only a piece of her that had been robbed away with no previous warnings, because nothing mattered more than sharing a piece of you but then they took it away with no guilt. It was not about her and the lover, or how cheesy love storylines ended, it had been all about her and herself all along, and she hadn’t noticed until that moment. The clouds started to assemble, gushes of cold wind cramming her lungs—it was about to rain. And she would let her ghosts get washed away with the rain too. _ _ _ That night she met the ghost once more—the ones with black surroundings encircling, hands were ever so gentle, persuading herself to the past lives. She remembered how he said "love, love, love" affectionately to her ears, and it wasn’t her fault that she admitted those, she succumbed and she approved. Then maybe, he was whispering it, right at that moment, to another girl, another name, another body she could never make out. The thoughts, however, easened up her pain. She faced the shadows. They were about to fade out, the glimmer of worn out candle almost vanished when she reached out, and grabbed it back—the moving haunting shadow she had feared, she would never, NEVER, going to go back to the old her, filling gaps with voiceless movements and dead soul. She had had enough. The shadow before her struggled, forcing it’s shivering arms off of her grip, cursing her loudly. She stood still, pulling forcefully, clambering to her bed. The candle lightened up the face. Her mouth gaped, she could never arrange the words. The shadow was her. Herself. She screamed at the real her, in excruciating pain, rendered her speechless and by the time she blinked, she shouted back: “I let go. I let it all go.” She hadn’t realized there were also real tears flowing down her cheeks, a catapult storming her stance. When it all turned into a silence, the night had felt lighter and easier, although she was still trembling. She let herself go, after a while of restraining herself entirely, imprisoned by the memories, letting all those mockings and snide remarks, letting her hatred towards someone she once loved dearly, she must not hate. And she breathed in a bit. Maybe Mama was right. This was probably not her only home anymore. Maybe where the past and the memories that laid down, that was home too. And all the while she had been rejecting her past, [herself] from encountering her real inner peace. Sometimes, the only escape from those demons is coming back to the demons themselves. That way, you could eventually rescue yourself and that's what matters. Suddenly, after all this time, she was ready to come h o m e. ------ Kepada: Mbak Zaragila Isi: Kalo baper, pegangan. Kalo ngga, hamdalah.

#ghost #philosophy #past #live #love #pain #demon

[futuristicallygayduck]

That’s Us: Chapter Three

Chapter Three: And The Ground Never Changes

Word count: 3,878

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Pre-epilogue: translation of song-lyrics | Epilogue

No trigger warnings for this chapter. More of a filler chapter with less intensity than the past two chapters, but hopefully you’ll all enjoy it anyway :)

Chapter summary: Baz defends Simon and Penny in front of the Coven, while the three of them each look back on the Aftermath of the battle.

To read on AO3, click here.

At the Coven

Baz’s Speech

“Mages, witnesses, Coven. My name is Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch and I am here as a primary witness to the proceedings the day of the battle in which the Mage died. I have a story to tell that is going to take quite a while and I’m hoping you will lend me your ears and refrain from reacting before I have finished the story.

Thank you.

Now, one of my favourite playwrights, William Shakespeare, once wrote: ‘The evil men do lives after them. The good is oft interred with their bones.’

‘So let it be with Caesar.’, he let Marc Antony speak at Caesar’s funeral.

So let it be with the Mage.

It’s actually a bit ironic to quote a man defending a tyrant, while I am here to do the exact opposite. However, while the Romans were aware of Caesars many ‘grievous faults’, the Mage’s have never been known. However, you cannot make a well-informed decision on Simon Snow and Penelope Bunce’s role in his death without knowing them.

Which is why I am here to tell you the truth about the Mage. The truth about the battle, the truth about the past seven years and the truth about way before that.”

- - - - -

The Aftermath

Penelope

Baz only stayed with us for one night. I don’t think he even planned to stay in the first place, but Simon wouldn’t leave him behind. Even though I still didn’t trust him, I have to say I also wasn’t too keen on having him be on his own after showing, in various ways, how little regard he has for his own life.

Mom wasn’t exactly happy to have a Pitch, or Simon, really, staying in our house, but she dealt with it fine. She drove us home (I realise that arriving to a magickal war with a car sounds pretty anti-climactic, but in the aftermath, it has proven to be very convenient), but I don’t think any of us stayed awake to witness the journey. Simon had fallen asleep in my arms quickly after Baz had let the flames die out. Once Baz and I had carried him to the car (Actually, Baz took him in his arms bridal style, but I couldn’t bring myself to completely let go of Simon, so I held onto his hand the whole way), the both of us passed out not minutes later.

I do remember asking one question, hushed, so that my mother wouldn’t hear:

“Have you ever bitten a person?”

I don’t think I’ve ever seen Baz look so disgusted and mostly hurt. There was so much pain and guilt in his expression, that I believed him when he shook his head. He would never bite another human or mage. I guess that was enough for me.

Once we got home, Mum tried stuffing us with food, but even Simon wouldn’t eat. Baz went out ‘for a walk’, but I couldn’t even be bothered by the whole bloodsucking thing anymore. When he returned, we all sat silently around the table, staring into nothing. Simon just kept nodding off and crying in silence until Mum shooed us to bed. Baz made to find a place on the couch, but Simon reached his hand out to Baz and so he silently followed us upstairs to my room.

I still didn’t trust Baz one bit, -I’m not sure if I ever really will-, but if this was what Simon wanted, then I would go along with it.

The three of us fell asleep the second we hit the sheets, not even having bothered to change our clothes.

When I woke up the next morning Simon was still asleep next to me, and Baz was gone.

- - - - -

At the Coven

Baz’s Speech

“You see, Simon Snow has been a mystery to all of us. I’ve spent seven and a half years living in the same room and even I had never uncovered the great enigma that he is.

We have always been wondering so many things about him. Is he an actual mage? For we all know that mages do not leave their children behind. Where did he come from? Is he really the Chosen One? Even if he is the Chosen One, will he be able to control his magic and save us?

During the battle, a few weeks ago, Simon Snow has displayed one of the most miraculous uses of power. He shared it. He pushed it inside the Humdrum until it disappeared. We haven’t had any attacks or new holes ever since. He hasn’t had magic ever since.”

- - - - -

The Aftermath

Simon Snow

I kept a new list in my head called ‘Things I Might Never See Again’: 1. My Magic 2. The Mage 3. Watford 4. The Humdrum 5. Baz

Even though there were numbers, the order did not really matter. Some things I was sad about; some things I was happy about. Most things I didn’t even know anymore of how I felt about them.

Me and Penny were placed under house arrest by the Coven. We would get trials to decide on whether we’re murderers or not. Even I don’t know, really.

Penny got the opportunity to sit out her house arrest at Watford, so that she could finish her final year. At first, she refused to go. She didn’t want to leave me and I was grateful for that. However, merely three weeks after the battle, I already saw the tension eating at her. She needed the distraction and I figured it might be good to not have as much magic around, so I told her to go.

We got into a fight over it that lasted two days. Eventually, I won, and she went.

- - - - -

At the Coven

Baz’s Speech

“After the battle, I invested all my spare time in figuring out what had happened. I went to seek out all the questions we have always had about Simon Snow and the Insidious Humdrum, and all the questions I’ve always had about the Mage. It has been a shame to learn what I have learned about this man.

I know that there are a few people in this room that I would like to shield from this truth. But it needs to be out there.

I’m sorry.

After I returned to school I longed to go back to my mother’s old office. After she died and the Mage took over, I had never been allowed to go there, but it was the place I grew up. This was the place where I played and read books while my mother worked. The place where she would teach me my first Latin words and let me practice my first spells. This place had been my home before she died during the Watford Attack.

While I was reliving all my memories there, and, admittedly, snooping around a bit, I found this bright red leather booklet. I have it here with me and I’ll let you read through it after I finish speaking if you’d like to.

For now, I’ll just give you a quick summary of everything that I discovered through this booklet.

Because this has been the Mage’s diary for the past twenty years.”

- - - - -

The Aftermath

Baz

When I returned to Watford this time, there was no Sesame Open-ing the door. I’d always dreamed of making a dramatic entrance like that, but now I didn’t exactly feel like grabbing my chance. Instead, I tried to make myself as small as possible. Of course, however, Niall and Dev noticed my entrance anyway, although they seemed to be the only ones.

In mere seconds, they were in my face, yelling at me for ruining their childhood. I couldn’t even bring myself to react. I just looked back at them, spine straightened, until they stormed off. When I looked up to watch the rest of the dining hall, everyone was staring at me. I had nowhere to go, no one to sit with. It felt like I was in a completely new world with no familiar face. Perhaps this was what it had been like for Simon when he first got here.

My eyes instinctively searched for the quiet, empty tables on the sides rather than the crowded ones that I’d been used to. This was where I met Bunce’s gaze. She was on her own, too, and after a few seconds of silent staring she nodded at me to invite me over.

When I sat opposite her, at first, we remained quiet for a few minutes, picking at our food. I actually started when she finally spoke up:

“Agatha left.”, she said, “I don’t really know why, but she is in California now. Something about her being done with magic after what happened.”

She tried to keep her voice neutral, but I could still hear the same bitterness in her voice as she said the words as the bitterness I felt as I heard them. Wellbelove just left Simon here to rot. I may not have liked her in any way; Simon needed her. She left him.

“I see your friends have deserted you, too.”, she then stated.

“I think it might have been me who deserted them.”

“I guess.”

“Not that you would complain.” She considered me for a moment.

“No, not that I would complain.”

Since then we would always sit together. Usually, it’d be in silence. That first day I asked her how Simon was doing and I learned that his magic was truly gone. I had been thinking that maybe in this scenario, with the Mage dead, but Simon himself still alive, he might have been the big winner after all. Now, it turned out that perhaps he had had the greatest loss in the end, anyway.

After the first trial, it turned out that it wouldn’t be as easy as hoped to get Bunce and Snow proven innocent. There were not a lot of witnesses left when the Mage died. Most of the mages had already fled when the Humdrum showed up, and anyone who had remained, was too far away to really see everything that happened.

Not that they admitted that. Every witness seemed to have their own agenda. Some were from the Mage’s side and grieving. They lost the man who was their ultimate hero and they needed someone to blame. Others were from the Family’s side. Even though they were jubilant about the Mage’s death, they were still seeking for more blood. Especially, if it was the Mage’s Heir’s blood.

Or course, there were people who spoke the truth. This truth, however, usually came down to: “I was too far away to see what happened.”

After the first trial, Bunce and I permanently left our competition on grades behind us. Instead we focussed all our energy on finding out what exactly had happened the day of the battle and everything before that. We read forbidden history books, we scanned every inch of my mother’s old office, we glued together and took apart the story over and over until the plot finally made sense again. Until all the puzzle pieces found their rightful place, with the help of The Mage’s diary, to show us the picture of a gruesome reality.

That is when we started writing the speech.

- - - - -

At the Coven

Simon

It takes Baz another hour to explain tell the Coven everything that is in the diary. And I mean everything.

He doesn’t tell the story in chronological order. Penny told me it’s because it takes away the whole climax of the story. So, he starts with how the Mage has orchestrated the attack of the vampires on the nursery. How it is his fault that Baz’s mother has died. I can tell Baz is still hurt (obviously, why wouldn’t he be) by the furious look on his face. Somehow, he manages to suppress his anger and my heart aches for him.

He continues his story with a summary of the past eight years living with me. All the times that the Mage has taken me away for missions. All the times he said ‘emotionally abusive’ things. All the times he has ‘used me as a weapon’.

Penny has prepared me for all that Baz would say, so I manage to mostly keep myself together during the hearing. Maybe I will never truly feel how awful the Mage used to be, even though I rationally do understand it now. Hearing it will never stop hurting.

Then, Baz continues to tell about what happened at the battle. He tells about how the Mage fought with him and how the Mage kept demanding of me to share my power with him, even though I had no idea what he was talking about. He then tells about the Humdrum showing up, wearing my face, and me sharing my magic with the Humdrum. Pushing all of it into him, until none was left for me.

“How did the Mage know that Simon Snow could share his magic?”

Always Baz with the rhetorical questions.

From here on in he plunges into the whole beginning part of the diary. The part with the endless analyses of the Prophecy. The part where the Mage set up his plan, where he described every little detail of the execution of it. The part where he describes impregnating my mother and performing a ritual on her to make sure that I would be the Chosen One.

“These are the evil things the Mage has done, for which he would not have been remembered. He desired power so much, that he created the one who would bring the World of Mages down. He willingly experimented on Simon Snow and made him not the Chosen One, but the one to bring our destruction. He manipulated and used him for his own gains for almost eight years.

“That day on the battlefield, after Simon Snow sacrificed everything to save our world, he asked for the Mage to stop hurting him. At that moment, it seemed like a call for the Mage to stop hitting and pulling at him at that very moment and I am convinced that that had always been Simon Snow’s intention.

“Maybe we did now know at that moment what evil the Mage has done, but I think the universe did. I think that the universe understood that the only way the Mage could stop hurting Simon Snow was by dying.”

I thought I could hear this all again without breaking, but as Baz speaks, and the eyes of the audience turn to me rather than him, I can feel the tears well up again. He was my father, and the only way he could stop hurting me was by not existing at all.

For the first time during his entire speech, Baz turns to look at me. He looks composed again, but there is this sadness in his eyes that he can no longer hide from me and he knows it. He doesn’t try anymore and as much as I hate that it’s there, I try to hold on to this one piece of him that I get as tightly as I can.

He pauses for a second to fix my eyes and then nods slightly at me before continuing.

“Simon Snow is a good person. Maybe even the best in the World of Mages. I would not say this without reason. This boy has lived solely in care homes for eleven years before finding out that he could use magic. He has been abandoned from the very beginning and has always had every reason to say ‘fuck you’ to the entire world for treating him so awfully.

“Instead, when he found out about our world, the world that abandoned him, and his role in saving this world, he took the entire weight of it on his shoulders. He did every assignment the Mage gave him, he studied harder than anyone at Watford, because even magic itself betrayed him. He put his life on the line countless of times for our ungrateful arses.”

It’s hard to tell whether the offended murmurs in the room are because of the swearing or because of the meaning of his words. Probably both.

“You might say that maybe he somehow found out about all the evil the Mage has done, and that he willingly killed the Mage, but Simon Snow would never willingly kill anyone. I know this, because I am standing here.

“Simon Snow and I have been enemies for almost eight years. When we met, he greeted me with the warmest smile I’d ever seen and I told him off. I have bullied and challenged him for years and years and years for no reason other than that our ‘families’ are enemies. We could have been friends, but, instead, I taunted him at every chance I got. I said and did unspeakable things to him and I regret every single one of them.

“Simon Snow had every reason to kill me. We have always known that it would come to this. To a final battle to the death. When it came, I knew that I was done being this prop in the Old Families and the Mage’s war. I was only willing to take it this far. So, I didn’t resist, I didn’t attack.

“That day on the battle field, Simon Snow could have killed me. He almost did. The spell had already left him, but he pulled it back by sheer force of will. He saved me from himself, because Simon Snow is not a murderer. Simon and I have been enemies for eight years. The Mage has been his father figure for eight years. If Simon Snow could not willingly kill his longest enemy, he could not have willingly killed the first person who seemed to care for him.”

The entire room stays dead silent for a while. Only when Baz takes a step back does the Coven realise that he is done speaking. They all look uncomfortably at each other until finally one of them speaks up.

“Thank you, Mr. Grimm-Pitch.”

Baz only nods in response, his eyes challenging the mage to argue his point. The mage turns to another and another and another Coven member, but all of them seem dumbfounded. One of them has taken the diary of the Mage that Baz has offered them and thumbs through it.

She pauses at some pages in the book, reads a bit, and then continues thumbing through it. The rest of us watches her and the other members of the Coven shift and mumble and panic.

Then, suddenly, the mage’s fingers halt in her reading on a page. She looks up and coughs a bit. Everyone turns to her and the suffocating silence returns to the court room.

“Mr. Grimm-Pitch, you have suggested that Mr. Snow has never been the Chosen One. Is that right?”

“Yes.”

“However, the Prophecy clearly states that there is in fact a Chosen One.”

“That is correct.”

“If I understand correctly from your story, that day on the battle field no one has brought Mr. Snow’s fall, even though the Prophecy clearly states that one will bring his fall.”

“Simon Snow has not fallen on the battle field indeed.”

“The Insidious Humdrum, or that part of Mr. Snow, is already gone. If this story you’re telling is correct, no one has brought his fall. The Prophecy is pretty clear about the role of the Chosen One, therefore your theory can in no way be correct.”

“I understand your confusion, Mrs, but it actually makes a lot of sense.”

“Please explain then, Mr. Pitch.”

“Simon Snow has fallen way before the battle that day even started.”

“Then how do you suggest that happened?”

The entire room is on edge. Penny didn’t discuss this with me and considering the look on her face, she also had not thought of this.

I can only hope that Baz truly has a good response to this question, but somehow I completely trust him to save us. So, when Baz, for only the second time today, turns to look at me, I meet his gaze and nod at him. You got this, I try to tell him. Fight back.

As if he has heard me, I see some of the tension in his shoulders releasing. I see a small smile appearing. At first, I think it is a happy smile, but when I look closer, I see the bitter sadness taking over. This smile is not as much a thank you or an I got you as it is a goodbye.

“The one who has brought the fall of Simon Snow and the Insidious Humdrum…”

He pauses to shift his gaze to look directly into the eyes of the mage.

“… is the one he has fallen in love with.”

- - - - -

The Aftermath

Penelope

It was the first day Baz came back. Breakfast was mostly quiet, but we both had things to say and questions to ask.

I started asking him why he had done what he did for Simon, but I didn’t get further than a few words:

“Baz, why did y-“

“How is Simon?”

I considered the desperate look in his eyes for a second. He looked down at his plate again, avoiding my eyes.

“Sorry, I interrupted you. What did you want to ask?”

“Never mind…”, I paused for a second, thinking. “I think you just answered by question.”

“Excuse me, what?”

“Merlin, this is all starting to make so much sense…”

“Crowley, Bunce, what are you talking about?”

I hear the frustration and fear simmering in his voice and I take a second to go over every thought, every memory, every conversation of the past seven years. It makes so much sense.

“You are in love with him.”

I look him defiantly in the eyes and I see a panicked look flashing by before his gaze hardens.

“I am not in love with Snow.”

I smirk.

“You called him Simon before.”

- - - - -

At the Coven

Baz

We win the trial. Bunce and Snow are free to go and none of us will get any punishment. Well… at least not from the Coven.

Needless to say, I don’t think my father will be accepting me back in the house for quite some time, if ever. I’m still the monster I’ve always been. A monster that never should have even stayed alive if it were up to my mother. I didn’t tell the Coven about that. Or anyone, for that matter. I have to carry that burden alone. I am not sure I will.

Simon lost everything. His magic was the only thing that got him out of the care homes. Watford was the one place he could call home. The Mage may have been his biggest enemy in the end, but he was his father nonetheless. The person he had looked up to and who had shown him a whole new world. Snow had been a monster as well. It may not have been his fault, but it was still his burden to bear. I wonder whether he will.

We survived the battle and we won the trial. We’re still the losers of all this. We survived, but what for.

Yay, that was the third chapter! I hope you enjoyed it :) Please let me know what you thought. 

I’ll be posting the next chapter hopefully quicker than I posted this one. I’m sorry I kept you all waiting. Life gets busy sometimes.

Thank you all for reading so far!

#snowbaz #carry on fanfiction #carry on #my writings #my writings: that's us #please let me know what you all thought! #i'm really excited to post the next part so youll probably get that way too soon #i still need to finish the epilogue though #oops #its not even that necessary for the plot but i just want them to talk #like that whole conversation is basically the things that started the whole fic that was inspired by the song #so imma write it anyway #muhahaha #thank you for reading #you all make my days quite a bit better #snowbaz fanfiction

[38-planes]

How the couple behind Come From Away created a Canadian musical hit

The Globe and Mail, 17 February 2017

Come from Away creators David Hein and Irene Sankoff struggled as artists, found each other as life and business partners and became the dynamic duo of the Canadian musical

For Valentine’s Day week, here’s a love story, times two.

It’s about how a Prairie dreamer with a guitar and a Toronto realist who always had a backup plan got together as romantic partners – and then, a decade later, saved their relationship and discovered a unique voice that would take them to Broadway by getting together again, as artistic partners.

Come from Away’s creators David Hein and Irene Sankoff, whose Newfoundland-set hit about the 38 planeloads of people stranded in Gander after 9/11 opens in previews on 45th Street on Saturday, told it one morning before departing for New York, in the living room of the two-storey Toronto home they bought in 2006 with the help of their parents, day jobs and a 35-year mortgage no longer offered by banks.

A decade later, they have a three-year-old named Molly, are working as artists full-time – and, financially, the picture looks a heck of a lot different. Best-case scenario, if Come from Away sells out in Manhattan the way it did in Seattle and Toronto, as sole authors of the work, they could pull in $27,000 (U.S.) a week – more every seven days than the average Canadian author or writer earns in a year.

That’s my estimate based on industry standards – but money is the one topic these two children of divorce who both, at times, lived in humble circumstances with their single mothers are sheepish about. “We grew up without a lot of money, so the whole thing makes me really nervous,” Sankoff says.

Hein further cites the statistic that only one in five shows on Broadway makes a profit. “Literally, we’re the fifth show out of five to go to Broadway from Canada – and one of them [2006’s The Drowsy Chaperone] has already made it!”

Falling in love

Their first love story is beautifully conventional: Hein, born in Regina, and Sankoff, from the Toronto suburb of North York, met on the first day of frosh week at York University in the 1990s. “Irene thinks it was a welcome barbecue; I think it was at a welcome pancake breakcast,” Hein says.

“Because it was outside, right?”

“You can eat pancakes outside.”

The aspiring songwriter and aspiring actress both loved theatre – but, musically, were divided. Hein, as a kid, through visits to the Winnipeg Folk Festival with his mother, had developed a taste for bands such as Blue Rodeo and Great Big Sea (a similar sound pervades Come from Away’s score), while Sankoff was a musical-theatre nut who danced all her life and bonded with her mother over old movie musicals. “My mom would come back after working to 11 or whatever on Christmas Eve and we would start watching Top Hat … or those old Gene Kelly musicals,” she recalls. “I was obsessed.”

But Sankoff was also an academic overachiever feeling pressure from the science-focused side of her family – and, while she acted extracurricularly at York, she graduated with a double major in psychology and creative writing.

The young couple’s first major fight was, as only a young couple’s could be, about whether theatre could change the world. They went at it until the sun came up – the dreamer trying to convince the realist.

Hein didn’t win the argument – but, on the verge of applying to do a master’s in speech and language pathology, Sankoff did decide to at least give acting a try professionally.

New York

So, in 1999, Sankoff and Hein moved to New York. Sankoff began studying at the Actors Studio – as seen on TV – and Hein, who has dual citizenship, began work as “assistant everything” at a music studio where The Muppets recorded, borrowing the equipment to record his own songs at night.

The pair lived in a residence called International House in Upper Manhattan along with grad students from 110 countries – and that’s where they were when, on Sept. 11, 2001, planes were flown into the twin towers of the World Trade Center. That night, windows shut to keep the smell of smoke out, scared students from around the world gathered around a piano in the residence for an impromptu concert – a moving experience Sankoff and Hein would later draw on for Come from Away.

But 9/11 had a more immediate impact on them. A month later, Hein woke up and said, “Hey, why don’t we get married?” They were already engaged – but on Oct. 12, 2001, they headed down to City Hall and secretly eloped.

Playbills from Hein and Sankoff’s New York years still hang on the kitchen wall of the house they share with their daughter and two cats, one named Elphaba (after the Wicked witch) and the other Gambo (after the Newfoundland town).

But it was not always a dream: Savings dwindled, the studio Hein was working at shut down, and Sankoff – who had an agent and was getting gigs – separated a shoulder in a dance class.

Uninsured, she took a trip to Toronto to see a doctor – and it turned into a move back home.

The second love story

Back in Canada, Hein and Sankoff had to build an artistic community from scratch. She landed a role in The Mousetrap; he released an album called North of Nowhere. And so it went for years – pursuing art at night and paying bills through tutoring or graphic design. Soon, they were married homeowners, but they barely got to see each other and grew lonely, especially when Hein was off on tour. Was this living the dream?

And this – in 2009 – is where the second love story begins.

Hein had written a song called My Mother’s Lesbian Jewish Wiccan Wedding – based on his own experience as the son of a woman who came out later in life and remarried – that was popular on tour. More than most of his work, it was influenced by the musical theatre that Sankoff had introduced him to over the course of their relationship. What if, he wondered, they could expand it into an actual musical – and, at the very least, spend some time together?

Marrying their skills, Hein and Sankoff began trying to turn their family’s story into a fictional musical – at first, a conventional “book musical” where an invisible fourth wall descends in front of the audience and scenes and songs alternate to tell a story.

But an epiphany Sankoff had on Valentine’s Day led the pair to a different writing style – one they later refined with Come from Away.

At the gym that day, Sankoff was talking with an enthusiastic friend about Wiccan Wedding – and heard her say, “The best thing about this is that it’s based on a true story.” A light bulb went on.

“I came home to David and said, ‘We’ve got to throw it out. Let’s tell the real story.’”

The new version the couple started working on during an unorthodox Valentine’s date would eventually feature Hein sitting on a stool in his Glass Tiger shirt, singing songs about his mother’s coming out, how he introduced his two moms to Irene at a Hooters and the history of same-sex marriage in Canada, using a troupe of actors that included his wife to tell the stories.

The sweet and direct show became a hit at the Toronto Fringe Festival that summer, then was picked up by producer David Mirvish to play at the city’s 700-seat Panasonic Theatre he had just purchased – and Sankoff and Hein’s career as commercial musical-theatre creators was launched.

When the idea to write a show about what happened in and around Gander, Nfld., in 2001 was proposed to them shortly thereafter by Michael Rubinoff at Sheridan College, it could not have been a more ideal project for them.

They had seen how strangers from around the world bonded, with music, on Sept. 11, and seen how music played a role in bringing them together – and they had found the right aesthetic for such a story, having learned that a musical could be a true story set in our times, told with plenty of direct address, and that authenticity was as important to winning over an audience as craft in lyrics and lines.

Armed with a $12,000 grant from the Canada Council, they headed to Gander for Sept. 11, 2011, to interview locals and “come from aways” returning to commemorate the 10th anniversary.

Hein and Sankoff’s subsequent five-year journey – buzz-creating workshops on both sides of the border, a bidding war by commercial producers at a showcase in New York, record-breaking runs in San Diego, Seattle, Washington and Toronto – has been told in these pages before.

Now, the last chapter is about to be written as final adjustments are made in a preview period ahead of a March 12 opening.

As the statistics show, Come from Away may not make them rich. Canadians who have had what are referred to as “flops” in the harsh language of Broadway – such as Cliff Jones, whose Rockabye Hamlet closed in a week in 1976; and Neil Bartram and Brian Hill, whose The Story of My Life did the same in 2009 – have advised the couple to just enjoy the ride.

In any case, the two have a bigger goal beyond making money, Hein says, “Especially now, it feels important to talk about welcoming refugees off planes, strangers into our communities.”

Yes – he’s finally won the argument about whether theatre can change the world.

Sankoff came around after meeting senior citizens who changed their minds on same-sex marriage after seeing Wiccan Wedding, and receiving letters from Come from Away audience members about how it’s inspired them to be better people.

“I still have my moments where I’m like, ‘It’s a drop in the bucket,’” Sankoff says. “But at least it’s a drop.”

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