#I AM PREPARING FOR THE EXPANSE EVENT OKAY I GOT A LITTLE EXCITED

[steveroger]

SIMU LIU as LIEUTENANT PAOLO MAYER 
The Expanse s3e10 | Dandelion Sky

#simu liu #the expanse #theexpanseedit #simuliuedit #scifiedit #mcucastedit #pocedit #pocheroes #usertom #usertreena #userlar #underbetelgeuse #supervalcsi #userriah #usersunny #omgari #lauriegifs #I AM PREPARING FOR THE EXPANSE EVENT OKAY I GOT A LITTLE EXCITED

[peachyteabuck]

eating a heart in a marketplace

summary: "[C]ommunion doesn’t need to be holy. Or even decent." -  THOMAS C. FOSTER 

After one of Tony’s men injures one of yours, he must present a peace offering in order to keep his black market distributor business afloat. 

Good news: you accept the gift. 

Bad news: the gift is Thor.

pairing: Thor Odinson x Reader

words: 5,863

trigger warnings: dubcon ig, humiliation, heavy d/s dynamics, mentions of canon-level violence, use of gags, collars, basically kidnapping, dehumanization (sexual and nonsexual)

notes/other: this fic is entirely self-indulgent and i am anticipating sequels bc i .... love it.  enjoy!

sk box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

The obnoxiously long, dark oak table lays mostly bare, the only places set are the ones at each end of the exquisitely made piece of furniture.

The pink, sheer robe you’re wearing does nothing to hide the matching baby pink lace lingerie, just as the equally feminine heels donned with a strip of pink puff across the base of the toes would do nothing to protect your perfectly manicured feet from the harm of the eerie storm raging outside. Still, the garments and accessories are not meant to be something that cover you up, keep you warm, help you run from danger; they’re tools, tools you’ll hopefully use to get your way as the final meal of the evening approaches.

The entire event is set up just the way you want, with your makeup setting just as expected; the pig roasted to perfection, the pasta firm to the touch, the carrots and broccoli steamed until palatable, the champagne chilled. Most important, though, was the arrival of your guest. At exactly 6:05, your head butler comes in to notify you of the car pulling in front of your expansive home. With the wave of your hand she’s instructed to let the man come in, allow your rival to step into the palace you’d constructed for yourself when you’d risen to the top of your organization.

Well, maybe “rival” is the wrong word. “Rival” implies an active dislike or struggle, when in reality you two operate in separate spheres of influence.

“Companion,” though, seems too friendly.

As the distinct sounds of footsteps filter through the grand hall and into your study, the man you’ve decided to call “fellow leader” steps into sight. His fine pressed suit, dry as the Sahara desert, smiles as you come into his view.

“Ah, my favorite mob woman.” His eyes seems more sinister than you expected. You attribute it more to the dark tones of the evening rather than actual malice.

“Stark,” you say with a curt nod. You go up to exchange a kiss on each cheek, heart racing with the anticipation of what’s to come, excitement increasing with each step. “Come, we have a wonderful meal prepared for you.”

Anthony doesn’t protest, simply accepts a glass of Scotch a maid hands to him and follows you into the dining room. He chuckles a bit at the display you’ve put on, but doesn’t say anything outright. You two have enough respect for the other not deny their counterpart the joy of a dramatic display. He simply sits, the pig placed in the middle of the table large enough to be an obvious sign of wealth but not too big as to deny the two of you eye contact.

Small talk is exchanged as the meal is served, biscuits placed, and pork cut into thick slabs. Vegetables placed delicately on plates and napkins placed on laps. You ask how Pepper is doing, he asks if the dress you had handmade from some extravagant designer turned out how you wanted. Half your plates are clear before either of you truly start to converse.

You’re the first to break the silence as Anthony begins on his mashed potatoes. “I appreciate your understanding of the deal. I’m not a fan of bloodshed, and the demonstration at the club that night are something I wish to forgive and forget as soon as possible.”

Anthony nods, speaking around a bite of the creamy starch. “I agree. Odinson’s actions were inappropriate, wildly and unpredictably so. In truth, I’ve thought he was a liability since he joined, but I never thought he’d lash out like that.”

As you slice through a particularly thick cut of meat, your fork slips and scraps against the china. Both of your winkles your noses at the grating sound.

“Yes,” You pause to chew. “cutting off Barnes’ arm during a bar fight does seem a little…” The bite of biscuit you had gotten was just perfect, the equal amount of butter and brown sugary, apple flavor from the pork together. God, you really do love a good meal. “Rash.”

Your guest hums in agreement. He then clears his throat, preparing to talk. “To symbolize my apologies, I have brought you the gift we spoke of earlier,” he pauses, raising his left hand just above his elbow and bending his first two fingers forward. You sit up, intrigued.

As the large French doors behind him open, from the dark depths of your hallway comes the man who scarred your oldest friend for life, cost you hundreds of thousands of dollars in medical bills, and has put your best hitman out of commission. He’s tall, fills the doorway like a key in a lock. His scruff thick and dark, bags under his eyes from lack of sleep.

Something deep in you stirs, and squeezing your thighs together does nothing to stop it.

Thor Odinson is clad in a suit, as most of Stark’s enforcers are. Though, the handcuffs keeping his hands behind his back are new.

“Interesting addition,” you note, staring at his straining arms in the expensive fabric.

Anthony doesn’t give any indication that he hears, let alone cares, about your sarcastic comment. “I’m assuming this” he gestures to the man. “Will put me back in good spirits with you and the rest of your crew?”

Odinson walks to your side, head hung in shame and hair tied in a tight bun as his former employer speaks. He knows what he’s in for now, has been told in so many words he is now something less of a person – and it’s obvious this has put him to shame.

You consider it – think about letting all that happened go with a simple olive branch. Before you can do that, though, you must make sure that the merchandise lives up to the promises on the box.

“Down,” you command. Immediately, he drops to his knees. You smirk, dragging your baby pink nails down his stubbled jaw.

“Oh, yes. This will do just fine, Stark. Just…fine.” The last two words are long, almost forgetting to finish them as your mind travels to all the things you could do with him.

Anthony smirks. “Perfect. I’m assuming business with resume as usual?”

Your fingers stroke at the sides of Thor’s face and trace around the shell of his ear. “Of course. I’ll call the appropriate people later. Everything should be up and running by midnight.”

Suddenly Anthony tenses, his fingers moving to fidget with his tie. “If I may-”

“You may,” you tell him, not meeting his eyes.

Anthony audibly gulps, fidgeting in his seat and with his tie. “That’s quite late, that’s hundreds of millions of dollars that we’ll miss out on if we-”

You hold up your hand flat while your gaze remains locked on your new toy. “That’s the earliest I can assure you. Whether or not it happens before that is,” you stop to try and feed Thor a small bite of carrot from your hand. He hesitates but accepts after a few moments, plucking the orange vegetable with beautiful teeth and a gentle bite. He doesn’t make eye contact like you originally wanted, but this is a good start.  “Not guaranteed.”

Anthony knows that you’re stubborn, much too stubborn to be moved away from your current stance. He’s done all that he can do to sway you, and now whatever income he hopes to make between now and the end of the day depends on Thor.

In short, Anthony Stark Junior (and his bank account) are royally, utterly fucked.

As he leaves your home he can hear you call to your head servant to tell Customs and Border Patrol to let his packages in (an assured start to him not losing a fortune), but he still wrings his hands as he slides into the backseat of his solid black Escalade. As the partition opens to reveal the man at the wheel, the thought of angry text messages from smugglers trying to get their goods into the States flash in front of Stark’s bloodshot eyes.

His driver, Happy, notices the fellow man’s anxiety as he looks at his boss through the rearview mirror.

“You think Odinson is gonna be okay, boss?” He asks, sort-of worried but mostly focused on filling the deafening silence in the expensive car. Money can buy a lot of things, but it can’t fill the awkward spaces in conversation that always come post-transaction.

Tony just laughs, typing something into his watch. “Of course not. That woman is going to chew him up and spit him out by the end of the fiscal year.”

Happy chews at his bottom lip. That’s two weeks from now. “You really think it’s gonna be that quick?”

“Probably,” Tony shrugs. “She’s never been known for mercy.”

The other man nods, quiet as he makes his way to the Stark residence. The quiet, cold night air strikes the mobster as he steps out of the car; the sharp grass smells fills his sense and bloodstream, calming him as he steps into his home. Pepper’s at the counter, stirring something in a pot. She doesn’t turn around when she hears his footsteps, but knows he’s somber nonetheless.

“Hard day at the office?” She asks, giving him a small taste of the homemade alfredo sauce.

Tony snorts, moving to lick at the wooden spoon. “Oh yeah,” he mumbles, wrapping his arms around her waist. She’s in one of his t-shirts and sleep shorts, the soft material comforting him. “You could say that.”

You only make good decisions when you’re in a good mood, and right now said mood depends on Thor Odinson - a man so insecure he once got himself tortured just because his captors told him he couldn’t take it. The man is a stubborn, uncontrollable mess with an anger issue to rival that of Lyssa, or a lighting on a field of dried grass.

He was feared within the Nest and by the lower Excidium members, but he didn’t make palms sweat and hands shake and hearts beat faster quite like you do.

No one fucks with you because you’ve very appropriately placed yourself on a pedestal based on madness, control, and desire for power. Thor’s just feared because he’s a dumbass with a short fuse. It’s the difference between a forest fire and a crazy, drunken uncle holding a lighter; one you can try and prevent, coax it into submission and run away if necessary. The other? More unstable than Francium.

(At least you know that thing’s only going to last twenty-two minutes, though. At least it’s predictable in its instability.)

Back inside, you’re more than ecstatic to have a new plaything. You were fully prepared to let the kid’s behavior slide, especially since the Nest brings in a hefty amount of revenue. But if Tony wants to give up a weak link, you’ll gratefully treasure the broken piece of steel you picked up from the gravel.

Thor stays like that, on his knees and eating out of your hand, for so long his legs fall asleep. You spend the rest of the night chatting at nobody, talk to him like he’s an old, deaf cat who just remains in your favor because he’s soft to pet and is cute. You sign some deals, check the language of some proposed treaties, write your to-do list for the next day all at the dinner table. Thor only dares to look at you when you’re too busy conversing with maids or chastising someone who works under you or any time your head is turned enough that he can make out the scar that runs from behind your left ear to the back of your neck.  

Your form, the way you speak, he’s obsessed with his chance finally take it all in.

He hasn’t seen you in person before, just heard rumors and conspiracy theories and whatever else people spend their time making up about you. Thor always passed it off as fiction, simply inflating the higher-ups to pass the time. Everything about you, though, seems exceptionally true. Maybe even underestimations. It’s true you walk around your house in matching lingerie sets, possibly a robe if it’s breezy. The East Coast heat can be unexpectedly warm, but as the sun sets on the July day he can see goosebumps rise across your soft skin and the shivers that sometimes shake your spine. Your house fits all the descriptions he’s heard, too. The decor seems almost welcoming, faded oranges and pastel pinks and dull whites and baby blues and mustard yellows. Plush, velvet furniture the same deep magenta, mirrors trimmed in what Thor can assume is real gold.

It’s like a scene from Mean Chicks or whatever those 2000s teen movies are. If one of those movies took place in the home of an incredibly powerful mobster, it’d look like this.

“What do you think, pet?”

Oh shit. Thor was supposed to be listening, wasn’t he? When he looks up, Bucky Barnes (the man who called him a pussy and “Stark’s whore,” prompting him to grab one of the decorative - but still fully functional - swords from the wall of the bar they were in and just...slice away at his tormentor), Steve Rogers (who looks like the human version of a sugar cookie while specializing in torture) , and Sam Wilson (a sarcastic little shit who knows exactly how to get anything past the feds) are all staring down at him. Barnes’ left arm (stub? It’s mostly just stub now) is still bandaged, but he’s at least walking now. Thor was told he might die from blood loss, but no. Thor Odinson would never be that lucky.

“They never listen, do they?” You sigh, rolling your eyes as you shift to face them. None of the men sit, knowing they won’t be there long. Plus, they get a much better angle of Thor’s tortuous position while standing.

“You don’t think that deserves punishment?” Steve asks, a smile curling at the sides of his mouth that speaks volumes.

You shrug, not looking at him. “Later. Now I want you to donate fifty thousand to the Vermont special elections. I need that entry point into Canada or else there’s no way we can get out shipments into that garbage country in a timely manner. Also,” you turn to Sam, whose eyes are caught staring between Thor’s left upper ribs. “Call CBP. Stark held up his end of the deal, I have to hold up mine.”

All three of them huff, both at the large sum of cash you’re about to give to a twenty-something know-nothing frat guy who knows nothing about politics but everything about being open to bribes and about them not being able to watch the man they hate become the most embarrassed version of himself in front of the man he tried to kill and his two best friends.

Whatever. The trio’s time for revenge will come, you promised them that - promised Bucky when he was in the ICU that you would find the man that did this and would make them pay.

Bucky has never known you to break a promise.

When the three leave you and Thor, you raise your left arm high flick your wrist towards the large doors. Understanding the cue, your maids wordlessly close them to seclude you from whatever responsibilities you were intending on dealing with tonight. Whatever it is, was, can wait until tomorrow, can wait until you’ve begun Thor’s assimilation into your home.

There’s a moment of quiet, of stillness in the house before Thor hears the sounds of several pairs of footsteps – maybe four, he counts – that enter the large dining room with haste. He’s quickly escorted down a long hallway and up a winding set of stairs. Thor can’t see much as he’s rushed away, and the little he can make out is a baby blue wallpaper with gold patterns etched into it, and fine paintings that appear sporadically on the walls. Some are black and white with abstract patterns, others depictions of angels, a few featuring intricate designs that resemble the sky and sea.

It feels like a forever before Thor is slammed down onto the floor of your bedroom, his knees hitting the wood with a painful smack. Despite the earsplitting sound, he doesn’t wince, doesn’t even flinch as his hair is pulled back by one of the maids so he’s forced to look at you. As you gaze upon him he bares his teeth; you can see fire behind his eyes. What a cutie, you muse to yourself.

“Wrists,” you instruct. Another maid moves behind him with dusty pink rope, securing his wrists together behind his back. “Legs,” you tell them next. Thor is easily flipped onto his back, arched at an uncomfortable angle because of his arms. Just as quickly as before, his legs are tied so that his calves and the backs of his thighs meet. When he’s flipped back up, all he can see is you smiling devilishly. “I’ll do the rest myself ladies. Go ahead and take the night off, I want him all to myself.”

“Yes ma’am” they respond in unison, Thor unable to see their hurried steps but understanding that when he hears the door closing behind them, he’s completely and utterly alone.

For a moment you two just stare at each in silence, his nostrils flaring and chest rising from anger and adrenaline. He heaves as you calmly gaze upon him, pissing off your captive even more. All Thor can do is react while you stand there, stationary and speechless.

Within a few moments, he’s lashing out to break the painful quiet. “This fucking sucks,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “That Barnes fucking deserved that shit, you know? He’s a whiny bitch that gets into shit he doesn’t belong in. I bet he’s fucking compensating for something, ya know? He’s not even a big enough man to come at me himself, needs his master to do his bidding ‘n shit. Why the fuck am I ever here anyway, do you go through boytoys so fucking often you just steal them so that you don’t have to pa-“

You roll your eyes, shoving three fingers into his mouth. Thor looks more confused than anything else, but he does immediately stop talking. Good, exactly what you wanted.

You two stay like that, your jaw tightened with one eyebrow raised – daring him to defy you - and him looking up at you like a puppy who’s just pissed on the carpet in defiance. “Listen, you little brat. I used to babysit for twenty dollars an hour. I put myself through grad school twice on money from too-rich white-ass parents who couldn’t control their kids so they pawned them off to underpaid college kids. I got here because I worked for it, dealing with men much more powerful than you acting like children. If you think for a fucking second that I will tolerate this behavior in my house, under my roof, then you are wrong. Very wrong. Do you understand me?”

Thor’s eyes narrow, and though he doesn’t bite, he does press his teeth into the skin of your first knuckle. It’s enough to keep your attention entirely on him, eyes locked on his as you throw your phone onto the bed next to you. You know this game, and you know breaking first would mean he has some sort of holding over you. Unblinking, you stay silent as he swallows around your fingers.

The tension in the air is thick; it’s nothing you can’t handle, nothing you aren’t used to. Thor is the first one to surrender, looking down at your baby pink stilettos. “Good boy,” you huff, moving to open a drawer that conveniently sits just within arm’s reach. You withdraw you hand from his mouth but don’t move to wipe his spit from your fingers. Thor can’t see anything you’re doing, but does hear a smaller (and less used, judging by the squeaking noise it makes as you open it) drawer open, the sound of a little bell, and then the loud scraping of both drawers closing on top of each other and hitting the back of the structure that holds it.

“Head up,” you command. “Look at me.” Thor’s hesitant but ultimately obeys. His eyes widen as he sees the items in your hand. The first is a simple, black ball gag and the other a frilly, pink collar with a small bow and equally tiny bell at the front center. In the back, an adjustable metal clip.

The gag is slipped on first, the uncomfortably large sphere blocking any searing remarks from leaving his lips. As spit pools below his tongue and from the corners of his mouth, all he can do is growl low in his throat.

Despite your long, pointed nails you open the clasp of the collar with ease, flashing it close to your captive’s face like an owner showing a dog his new restraint. Thor may be your pet, and you may be his rightful owner, but the move isn’t one that builds trust. It’s one that makes his insides curl, because it’s a demonstration of how much power you have over him. Look at this thing, the gesture conveys. Do you understand now? You’re mine. Everyone will know that. Everyone will know what you did. This is your retribution.

“Are you gonna shut up now?” Thor doesn’t move, but he also doesn’t make any disgruntled noises. “Good. Now, let me make myself clear, since it appears you do not know the terms of Stark’s and my agreement; Stark settled to give me the man who permanently injured one of my best men in exchange for my forgiveness of the entire event. That means two things. First, Stark gets the money he needs from my business in order to remain powerful. Second, I get to do whatever I want to you. Understand?”

Thor’s eyebrows furrow. What do you want to do to him?

“For now, though, I am going to untie you and go to bed, because I am tired, and it has been an exhausting day. Got it?”

Thor nods.

“Good.”

He flinches as you kneel down to his level and begin to untie him from the complicated binds. Your fingers move with purpose, your nails occasionally scraping across his electrified skin. With his body uninhibited, he flexes his fingers as to examine the indents in his flesh.

“Don’t worry,” you tell him. “Those will go away by morning.”

Somehow, he doesn’t believe you.

He spends the night on the cold wooden floor, occasionally making a desperate attempt to fit himself on the tiny plush pink carpet that the dresser rests on. Thor doesn’t get much shut-eye, time either spent shivering or trying to plan for survival. He can’t escape, it’s been made very clear that both Excidium and the Nest will both be hunting him down if he so much as pisses where he’s not supposed to. It seems keeping his mouth shut, following orders, and taking whatever it is you want to put him through with whatever tiny amount of dignity he has left.

(As the night progresses, he realizes the last part will be the hardest).

When the world comes alive again, Thor remains mostly ignored. As the sun comes up and you awaken with your alarm, he barely gets so much as a brush of fabric as you pull off your white nightgown and slip into a pale-yellow sundress with a long, white cardigan. It’s much different than what you were wearing last night, but as you readjust the strap of your lacey white bra from its improper place on your shoulder, he guesses that was more show(wo)manship and a reiteration of hierarchies than an honest exchange between business partners.

As the first full day under your whim progresses, he’s left behind as you move to your office. You feel some time apart may be good for his insolence, even if his fierceness amuses you so.

You like a challenge, especially one you know you can win; a little tussle didn’t hurt anybody, has it?

You instruct one of the new recruits to buy you a dog bed – the largest one they can find – and you have it placed on the floor next to your bed so you can keep an easy eye on him throughout the day. Thor’s kept on a leash attached to the collar on his neck; the piece of leather is flimsy at best, but the man still refuses to break out of it for fear of punishment.  

There, on a large, baby pink pet meant for some Doberman or Pitbull or other bigass dog, he waits, ears perking up whenever someone, anyone steps into the room. But, while he craves human contact, the hushed voices of the maids that clean up the dirty clothes and make your bed make the hairs on the back of Thor’s neck stand in fear.

Natasha, lover, retribution.

Bucky, money, revenge.

Loki, trip, return.

He can’t tell which name fills him more with dread. Barnes is barely healed and full of rage at his injury, desperate for vengeance against the man that hurt him so. Natasha Romanoff is a woman that Thor has never truly met, only seen when Stark and you have business that requires some back up. Even so, the stories of her apathy and brutality need no introduction; once, she cut a dude’s dick off, made a wallet from the foreskin, and sent it to him while he was recovering in the hospital. She carries a switchblade in the inside of her bra. She only has red hair because the blood crusted onto it permanently stains the follicles.

And Loki…

Well, Loki and him have been estranged since they were both late teens. They’ve both had daddy issues since birth, and Loki’s so happened to manifest in a weird mix of picking up mercenary work, becoming a serial sugar baby, and wearing a lot of black. The last thing Thor would expect is for Loki to settle down for someone like you, a woman who requires loyalty of heart, mind, soul.

His thumping heart and terrifying internal monologue are interrupted by a maid, one he hadn’t yet seen, whose face scrunches up when she notices your absence from the room. She then sighs, and beckons two other maids – one pushing a cart filled with a small buffet of food, one carrying a cart with cutlery and dinnerware – through the threshold. The three of them stop at a bone-white desk, fretting about as they set up what Thor can only assume is a late lunch.

As you step into the bedroom – pushed through the doorway by the maid from before – Thor can tell you are less than happy.

You’re annoyed, to say the least. Can’t even tell why, really, can’t find an even barely comprehendible reason for you to be tearing through financial documents as if they were important family heirlooms that were on fire. No reason for you to snap at a recent recruit for misspelling the code name of a spy you had placed in the Nevada Supreme Court three courts back. Some madness bites at your skin as you nibble on small sandwiches and drink a large glass of cold sun tea, and Thor can tell it’s tearing you apart.

Thor can’t see much from the floor, but he can feel the electricity in the air as you scribble in a notebook that he guesses is where you plan all of your mob’s heinous activities. He wonders what your handwriting looks like, how you keep all the people you’re blackmailing straight, what kind of code you use. Stark keeps everything on paper as well, in a locked room inside of a secret room inside of his basement (well, maybe. Thor’s never been there, he’d never gotten high enough in the Nest to warrant being given access to such a space, but he’s heard the rumors).

It's about an hour later when the head butler from before, the one who led him, his (former) boss, and his (former) bosses men through your maze of a home, steps just into view of your tired eyes.

“Miss, you need a break,” she says simply.

You sigh, rubbing at the bridge of your nose and then your temples. Resting your head in one hand, you use the other to grant her permission to grab your paperwork. It’s only when she’s gather your things and left the room that you speak.

“She’s right,” you let out a small chuckle before sauntering over to the white dresser in the far corner of the room. “I do need a stress reliever.”

The man on your floor can’t see what you’re doing, his eyes only widening when you place the thickest, blackest dildo he’s ever seen into his view.

“Wh-“he starts to speak, trying but failing to push himself away from you. “What are you doing to do with that?”

You shrug, eyeing it up and down. “I don’t know. Could fuck myself with it…could fuck you with it…”

Thor’s stubbled face is beet red from embarrassment, even more so than when you made him kneel in the dining room or gagged him with your fingers.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, you little slut,” you hiss. When he doesn’t look up at you, you grab his chin and force his head back. He doesn’t want to admit it, but it wouldn’t be fun if he just gave in the second you put the tiniest bit of pressure on his overly-tough facade. “Tell me you love sucking my cock.”

But all Thor does is open his mouth wide as it can go and pushes his flattened tongue as far out of his mouth as it’ll go. He’s got this glimmer in his eyes and a smirk on his lips that tells you Thor knows what he’s doing, he knows he’s pushing every button he can think to push.

You’ve danced this routine before, though this time Thor’s much more confident, willing to push further, push harder.

“You want to be a brat?” You ask, begging him to give you a smartass response. “Then take it like one.”

With swift movements of your right leg he’s pushed flat on the ground, his back hitting the hardwood with a low thud. “Flip over,” you tell him. With an unfortunate lack of protest, he does, toned stomach settling onto the floor barely warmed by his back.

You climb over him, leg on each side and core pressed into him as you gather his hair in your first. “You’re such a fucking tease,” you hiss through grit teeth. Thor makes a similar – but more pained noise – as you wretch his head back. “Such a little tease, begging me to put him in his fucking place. If you wanted me to fuck you like you deserve, you should fucking ask for it next time.”

Smack, the deep sound of your callous hand hitting the soft flesh of his ass almost makes him flinch more than the pain. Smacksmack, two more, quicker this time.

“I’ve met little fucking brats before, but never like you,” you pull the rest of his clothes off with minimal protest. “Gotta get you cock drunk before you’ll figure out how arrangement of ours works, don’t I?”

Thor, with his eyes scrunched shut and mouth lax, says nothing in return.

Your hand reaches under him, hips lifting to provide a small space between him and the floor. He’s already hard, aching, leaking, and he moans brokenly when you wrap your hand around him.      

It’s rough, hurts more than it pleasures, but it still feels so, so good all the same. Thor almost wants to say so, too, but can’t make himself push the words from his throat.

“So easy to get you all fucked out isn’t it?” You whisper low in his ear. “So easy to break brats like you, makes me wanna make you cum and then leave you here for the rest of the night…”

The subsequent whine from Thor makes you laugh and push him harder into the floor. “But I won’t do that, can’t leave little things like you all alone, would be like leaving a baby bunny to a bunch of wolves.”

Thor doesn’t disagree, doesn’t try to build his demolished ego back up.

“Doesn’t that feel good, sweetheart?” you purr, hand keeping a slow, torturous pace. “Doesn’t it feel good to be good?”

All Thor can do is squeak and push his face into the floor, trying to hide the deep redness in his cheeks.

For once, you don’t punish him. You want to, want to stop and make him beg for forgiveness for his nonanswer. Maybe tie him up and fuck him with your fingers until he’s ready for your biggest strap, pounding into him.

Oh, Babyboy, you’re being so good taking this whole cock inside of you, aren’t you? So good for your owner. I bet nobody’s ever fucked you this good.

Maybe you’ll tie him up, edge him until he’s sobbing. Wait until he’s just about to cum and pull a vibrator or your hand away – make him whine and tease him as his whole body twitches.

Are you not enjoying yourself, baby? Because it looks to me like you are. Look at those glassy eyes, do I need to slap you to make you pay attention?

Thor screams as he cums all over your floor, whole body tense then completely lax within the span of seconds. His breathing is loud enough to be heard across nations, each exhale laced with a small moan.

He cries, deep and low, when you climb off of him, tries to arch his spine into the nothingness that once held you.

“Shh,” you tell him. “Mommy’ll be back in a second.”

Thor seems to calm with that, heart still racing but head and body slumped.

When you come back, you hold a bit of salmon - small grains of buttery jasmine rice and cranberry sauce stuck to the pink meat. You’ve grasped it with three fingers – thumb, middle, point – and have it nearly pressed to Thor’s plush, pink lips. It’s still warm, dinner having  been served by the maids despite your absence from the dining room.

“C’mon baby,” you tell him. “You gotta eat sometime.”

Thor glares at you but knows you’re right – his already flat stomach howling in pain from lack of sustenance. Reluctantly, meekly, he pulls your fingers between his lips and swallows the soft food.

“Good boy,” you tell him. “See? Following directions isn’t that bad.”

Thor, for the first time in days, says nothing to the contrary.

 //

#thor odinson x reader #thor odinson smut #thor smut #lukis writes stuff #thor x reader #thor odinson imagine #avengers smut #avengers imagine #sub!thor #sub thor #thor x reader lemons

[hollenka99]

A Day Long Overdue

Summary: Jack is allowed to spend his birthday with the egos. (Essentially a sequel to A Talk With The Creator).

Hey, guess which AU isn’t dead! It’s been like 3 months since I last posted something for the Creator AU (or anything for that matter) but I’m back. Have some bittersweet fluff with a hint of angst.

Jack wakes up, older than he remembers being. He's in a bed, a medical one at that. It would appear he was in Schneep's medical bay. There is no recollection of being sent here. The grogginess is interfering with that. He should probably find an assistance button to alert the doctor. That's when he notices the cards. Upon further inspection, he can only assume these are for a birthday. His birthday. He is able to read some of them before a commotion is heard in a different part of the building. Henrik stands in the doorway, seemingly incapable of not staring at him. Unsure of how to break the ice, Jack comes out with "I guess I'm not 27 anymore, am I?" "Not really." His doctor remains stationary, smiling until his attention diverts to the collection of footsteps approaching. "Wait! He's not ready yet." "Schneep, what the hell are you doing? We want to see Jack too." That sounded like Chase. "Just one minute." Henrik points to someone Jack can't see. "You see him first." "So it is your birthday today. We got you cards and presents. But there is something I think you will like better than all that." "What is it then?" Jack smiles humourously. Schneep turns his head back to the corridor. "Come now." Dressed in jogging bottoms and a hoodie which swallowed him, a teenager stepped into his view. Eyes brim the longer he takes in the image of Jack sitting up in bed. His face has matured a little since they'd last been in the same room. All those months he'd been petrified at the thought of him being hurt while held captive, where he'd pointlessly jotted down memorable events in the hope the youngest ego was still alive to possibly read them one day. All that fruitless hoping and searching must have finally produced a result. It had caused him to be standing feet away. The kid even had a bit of a quiff going on. Jackie. Fuck, this was Jackie. "Hey." Jack breathes out an incredulous "No way." Jackie takes a seat on the bed. The hero's embrace is stronger than the one he can return. Jack gets so lost in mutterings of 'Oh my god' and 'You're okay' that it accidentally becomes melded together at one point. When they both register the blunder, they dissolve into snickers. "I think I forgot how to English properly." "I think so too." "How long have you been back?" "September 2017." "We missed each other by a month?" Jack stares at the baby of their little family. "Yeah." "That sucks." "You have no idea." Tears are wiped but it proves futile as they are immediately replaced. "We've all missed you so much." "You can say that again." Jack glances past Jackie's shoulder to see a small crowd crammed by the entrance to the room. Before he is allowed to greet anyone else, Henrik insists on detaching him from as many wires as was necessary. Once given the all clear, Jack is left beaming as he is encompassed by three of his friends. Chase has a revelation about someone who shouldn't be missing out on the action. He sprints down the corridor to fetch them. He is perched on the bed, assuring Henrik he felt absolutely fine, when the two return. One near-inaudible 'Crikey!' is all it takes for him to freeze. Surely not. Yet there was one of his oldest friends. Angus didn't appear so run down. Was this for real? First Jackie was home and now Angus was healthier. He hadn't been awake for very long and it is already shaping to be a fantastic day. "You look much better than the last time I saw you." "Speak for yourself, mate." He can't help but sob as he approaches Angus. At least the survival hunter wasn't leaving him to be the only one. He is so grateful for the others allowing the two of them to stay in each other's hold for as long as they needed. It's been so long since his Australian friend has been this present. God, it's been so so very long. Despite Henrik not being sure it was for the best, the five of them lead Jack to the living room. Apparently, they had bought a cake to commemorate the day. He had always been partial to red velvet. Although, thinking about it, that was likely the point of them picking that flavour. Cake was still cake either way. He wasn't going to pass up the opportunity for a slice. He notices a German Shepherd hovering by Jackie. He assures his dog that she doesn't need to work at that moment. Work? Gwen, Jackie clarifies, is a service dog to help with his mental health. She sleeps in his room and keeps him company for most occasions excluding his heroing duties. Oh, okay. Well, that just makes her even more of a good girl, doesn't it? Marvin mentions the expansion of his cat collection. Hardeen and Houdini tended to do their own thing while Trico was up for cuddles most of the time. There was also his rabbit whom he had dubbed Tim the Enchanter. Hang on, hang on, so Marvin was saying that not only did he have the Egyptian goddess of cats but also one of the best known magicians in history and his brother, the best fictional creature in gaming as well as a minor character in Monty Python as pets? The magician's completely straight expression as he challenges Jack to fight him causes him to burst into laughter. Trico turning out to be from a small breed makes it all the better. Chatter explodes between the group over cake slices. Okay, let him get this straight. He has been a coma for the past year and a half. Schneep still isn't sure what exactly the illness that caused this was. Regardless, it's good to have him conscious once more. It is not his 28th birthday as he had initially presumed but his 29th. In that time, a fan game was released which aided in Angus regaining some strength. There were four new egos: a community-conceived zombie called Robbie, Shawn Flynn who was born from a Bendy voice acting gig. Jameson Jackson the pumpkin carving actor that communicated via BSL and an android nicknamed S34Nnor. On top of all that, there was a significant lack of green in anyone's hair. Jack wasn't going to say it out loud but perhaps Chase's beard could use a trim. Not only was Sean doing voice acting gigs, he had travelled across America and Europe with his own comedy show. He was interviewing celebrities too. Sorry, what do they mean, Sean met Ryan Reynolds?! Wow, that was huge. They mention Sean also hanging out with some guy called Bryan Dechart but that name doesn't ring bells. "Okay, Chase, do the line." Jackie encourages. "Alright but that was Sean's series so... keep that in mind." Chase take a breath in preparation then, "Hi, I'm Connor, the android sent by Cyberlife." They all cheer and laugh at that. S34Nnor speaks up. "As a combination of both the character of Connor and Sean, I believe I can improve upon your already good attempt." The line is repeated and everyone becomes excitable once more. "Yes!" The outburst is Chase's as he points to the android with a grin. When the noise has died down again, his expression appears to make his new words honest. "I'm planning on stealing that jacket one day." "You're going to have to fight me for it." Jackie gives a disingenuous glare. "Besides, I'm part machine now sooo go off, I guess." Jack loves the atmosphere. It's been years since it has been this lively here. If this was February 2019 then it must be over two years since their household has been whole. After Halloween 2016, they lost Jackie's playfulness. His absence had been deeply felt throughout the house. It didn't matter now. Who cares if he's so out of the loop that this Cyberlife stuff and any other running jokes don't make sense to him? This house has been missing this sort of energy. He refuses to risk killing it. However, one comment piques his interest. Something tells him to broach this subject carefully. It seemed like it may be sensitive. "Part machine?" "Oh right. Well, I don't technically have any knees anymore." Jackie gestures to his legs. "Prosthetics, both of them." That made sense, given the comment. It doesn't faze him in the slightest that Jackie has had life altering surgery at such a young age. Nope, not at all. "....Prosthetics." "Yeah, it's not that big of a deal. I just hurt my legs when I was getting out." "He has been doing very well with the physical therapy." Henrik smiles. Coming back with a drink in hand and a grin, Jacques pats the superhero's shoulder. "Got a little crush too. What is her name? Aisha?" "Nyesha. And I don't have a crush on her. We're just friends. Not even close ones at that. Tori is aesthetically admirable too." "What a sophisticated way of pronouncing attractive." Marvin teases. "Stop!" The hood was up now with the surrounding strings yanked. "Okay, okay, I think I've got the idea." Jack leans closer. "Promise me you'll let me know if you ask her or anyone else out, alright?" Out of resignation, Jackie mumbles out a "Sure.", only to sit up and divert the attention to the magician. "Marv has a partner though." "Oh, does he?" At this, the new subject of the conversation chuckles, happily telling Jack whatever he wants to know. Jack tries to protest when Jackie is given alcohol. With a soft smile, the youngest member of this family reminded Jack he was 18 now. Of course he is. It was 2019. Jackie has been 18 for some seven months now. July next year, he'll be entering his 20s. Actually, now that Jack thought about it, he and Sean would be 30 next February. Well then. That wasn't crazy to think about. Speaking of Sean, the two of them should really sit down and have a discussion. Although hazy, memories were slowly converging to form recollections of the disastrous dispute. There was a lot to talk about. He's lost eighteen months of his life. There were amendments to be made. If Sean's been on a worldwide tour, he wants to hear about it from the horse's mouth. That must have been an amazing experience. And Signe, he wonders how she's doing. He always regretted the way she kept getting indirectly caught up in his and Sean's dysfunctional friendship. He should wish Sean a happy birthday. That's probably a decent first step to brokering peace. Plus, if his long time friend woke up from a coma on his birthday, that would probably make his day. Jack can only hope Sean would agree. He makes an off-hand comment about this. The idea of reconciling with Sean gets shot down within seconds. Jesus, he doubts he's seen this level of hatred in Marvin towards anyone other than Anti. What the hell did Sean do to warrant this sort of universal repulsion towards him? "Trust me, you do not want to know." Henrik grumbles. Right. In that case, he'd better leave it until tomorrow. Jack is careful when enquiring about Chase and Henrik's families. He's pleasantly surprised when it is generally positive. Chase sees his kids on weekends now which is fantastic. But surely Noah couldn't be little over a week away from turning 5. He was just 3. Willow and Alina were much more confident readers. Jack remembers two little girls who struggled to piece together syllables in simple sentences. They would both be beginning primary school in September. Likewise, Elias was already in his first year of secondary school. Could people stop getting older? He can't keep up. He laughs with them when Chase says "You think they're growing up too fast for you." They order pizza in the evening. Schneep is still against him eating solid food but relents once more. Jack has eaten cake today and there have been no repercussions. As Jacques and Jackie debate with Angus about whether stuffed crust enhanced the experience, Jack took the opportunity to get to know Jameson. With Chase translating, he discovers this is a unique ego. An entire life before coming to exist here. It's such a novel concept to Jack. Even he, as the first ego Sean ever made, can't imagine having proper memories prior to creation. He's used to the others being born with limited memories. Man, he could listen to this guy's anecdotes of the early 20th century all night if he and Chase were willing to carry on that long. They are still hanging around in the living room as midnight is crossed. Some egos have already excused themselves to retire to bed. Once Jack realises it is nearing 1am, he urges everyone else to head to their beds. They shouldn't stay up for him. Besides, he was the one who didn't sleep, remember. He would never wish for them to become sleep deprived for his sake. They refuse and remain. Before long, the man who never slept was experiencing long blinks. Was he tired? Wait, no, this isn't right. The only time he's felt this close to collapse is when... when it's a medical emergency. Like when his throat was bleeding. Or when all he knew was that he didn't feel well. Henrik crouches before him, steadying him in his hold. It's not okay. Stop saying it's going to be okay. Something's wrong, incredibly wrong. Henrik takes his hands, encouraging him to stand. The doctor explains it's likely the sudden regaining of consciousness is catching up with him. Assurances that it was perfectly fine for him to be feeling like this are repeated as they head towards the infirmary. All Henrik wanted to do was monitor him safely. Jack's arm couldn't help slipping from where it was wrapped across his friend's shoulder. Schneep adjusted it without hesitation every time. He defies his eyes any attempt they make to gain an advantage over him. Even when laying on the bed, he refuses the urge to relax. Henrik promises nothing will happen. He is as much of a Good Doctor as he is his friend, right? Please trust he will try to provide the best care he's able. He knows he has failed him before but- "Never!" Jack protests. "You are little bit tired. Is okay for you to sleep. Don't need to fight the sleep, my friend." "Not..." He drifts, only to remember himself a minute later. "Not a failure." "Thank you. Now please rest. We can have a lot of the chit chatting in the morning, yes?" "A'right." A roll of the eyes. A drowsy half smile. A prolonged exhale. And that's all it takes for them to lose him once more. No matter how much Henrik sits, gripping his friend's hand as the monitors revert to the figures they were displaying previously, it won't prove helpful in the slightest to permanently wake Jack up. When Marvin regretfully comes to urge him to get some sleep himself, Henrik waves him off. Just a few more minutes, okay? Then he'll go to bed. As much as they had to fault Sean on, they couldn't say he hadn't done something good today. Henrik can only hope Jack had enjoyed his birthday. Maybe they'd be able to celebrate with him next year too. Maybe. Either way, he couldn't stay here the whole night. With a final check of the equipment, he bids him goodnight. "One of these days, we will get longer. I promise."

#jacksepticeye #jacksepticeye egos #creator au #my writing #writersofjack #It will be 2am in roughly 20 minutes but I got it done #it hurt me to end it like that but there was no other way

[haydenmarin]

( samuel larsen | cismale | he/him ) ——— well well, if it isn’t hayden marin coming out of apartment 5.1. i always think of the sweet smell of nicotine clinging to worn leather, the vibration of bass through your rib cage, and the bittersweet freedom of giving up when i see them, don’t you? anyway - i heard the twenty five year old moved out to new york seven years ago to go to school and become a baseball player. that must’ve gone nowhere because they now work as a club owner; maybe that’s because they’ve a tendency to be calculating, libertine and sarcastic. i guess they could’ve been someone… — [ pepper | 23 | est | she/her ]

heyo all, i’m pepper, twenty three, she/her pronouns, and i’m always late dfkjdfkj as you can see, like i literally had everything prepared beforehand i don’t know how i’m still late... honestly rip. a bit about me i guess, i am still waiting for fergie to come back from her hiatus (because no song goes as hard as fergalicious, that’s a fact), i still don’t really understand what tiktok is and i’m okay with that, i’m  addicted to pinterest and atm i’m really craving some fries. okey doke, now that that’s over with i’m super excited to PROPERLY introduce you to my trash son hayden!  here are some stats on him, here is his pinterest board, and here is his playlist! down below is hayden’s bio which is hella long sdkjdskj i’m so sorry i wrote up a short form but i liked his full bio better. if you read absolutely ANY of it i love you okay.

CANCER TW, DEATH TW

BIO ;

Hayden was born and raised in Santa Barbara, California where he happily spent most of his childhood by the beach. He was raised solely by his mother, Rosie Marin, who did her very best to bring him up on her own despite his father’s purposeful lack of involvement. Rosie owned a small local bakery (aptly named Rosie’s) that she and Hayden lived above. Hayden’s childhood was peppered with memories of waking up to the scent of fresh bread, pushing up onto his tiptoes to ice cupcakes, and of course, always being the most popular kid in his classes because his mom brought the best snacks. Hayden and his mother had just nearly enough to get by most of the time, but Hayden grew up very loved and very happy. His mother made sure of that at the very least.

Unfortunately, Rosie was diagnosed with lung cancer when Hayden was just ten years old. She fought hard against the disease for two hard years before she unfortunately passed away when Hayden was twelve. In all honesty, Hayden has never really quite gotten over his mother’s death. At the time his mother was quite literally all he had. He never knew his overly religious grandparents (who disowned Rosie for having a child out of wedlock) and he had no aunts or uncles that he knew of. All he really grew up with was his mother, and watching her die for two years was incredibly hard for him, and after her death he felt that for the first time in his life he was truly alone.

To everyone’s surprise, but especially Hayden’s, after his mother’s death his father got into contact with him through his godmother who Hayden was staying with at the time. Shockingly enough despite his total absence for majority of Hayden’s life, Hayden’s father wanted to take Hayden in. Hayden was very much against it, considering he had never met his father and was reasonably rather upset with him for abandoning both him and his mother. However, Hayden’s godmother thought that living with his father would be best for him, not only considering that it may be Hayden’s last chance to have a relationship with a parent but also because Hayden’s father, Raphael, was very well off. So despite his (very vocal) protests Hayden was then sent to live with his father, which quickly became a very sour arrangement.

It became very clear very quickly that Hayden’s father wanted nothing to do with him. He spoke to Hayden only when necessary, seemed to forget his son was there most of the time, and left on business trips near constantly. Eventually Hayden learnt (through some rather sneaky eavesdropping) that the only reason his father had taken him in in the first place was to please Hayden’s stepmother. Apparently, Cheryl, or ‘Cherry’ as she insisted everyone call her, was practically begging Raphael for a baby, and seeing as Raphael had very little time or desire for having a child he decided that having a twelve year old around was better than an infant. Hayden was hurt to learn the truth about his father’s desire to take him in, and even attempted to run away in a fit of anger. But he was very quickly found by some of his father’s security and brought back to his father’s expansive home before he could get very far, and every attempt following the first resulted in much of the same thing.

Eventually Hayden gave up on running away. His father was rarely home long enough for Hayden to demonstrate how much he loathed him anyways, and within the walls of his father’s home Hayden was at least clothed and fed. He resented his father and longed to run away back to his godmother’s home but unfortunately his father’s home was a long way away from Santa Monica.

So Hayden started to build a life for himself where he was, and that life started with school. Even without being the kid in school who’s mom brought the best snacks, Hayden was still quite popular in school, and for the most part that was due to baseball. Hayden had always played baseball, ever since he was young and his mother used to bring plates full of orange slices to his peewee games (the Marins had always been a baseball family. Screw football or hockey, if it wasn’t on a baseball diamond they didn’t care about it). Hayden also had the good fortune of actually being very talented. So when Hayden tried out for catcher on his high school team he got the position very easily, and was even bumped up to first string to boot. Although some of the upper year students weren’t particularly happy about a freshman making first string, a lot of the colleges were. Hayden’s talent was noticed and sought after from the time he was about halfway through his sophomore year, and his near prodigy level skill was even featured in some local sports magazines and the local newspaper. Despite knowing that the magazines likely wouldn’t have cared about Hayden’s skill if he wasn’t going to one of the most well known private schools in the state, Hayden’s ego still inflated a bit at the recognition.

For a few years that’s all Hayden’s life was. Playing baseball, hanging out and partying with friends, and occasionally having to deal with his father and stepmother when the situation called for it. It wasn’t the best life, and Hayden wasn’t exactly happy but it was all Hayden really had, so he did his best to make do with it. In all honesty at that point the thing that made Hayden happiest was his team. While Hayden’s home life was broken, his team helped him find the community he craved. Playing baseball and being part of a team made Hayden feel that he belonged somewhere, like he was wanted somewhere, and Hayden clung to that sensation gratefully.

But when Hayden was about halfway through his junior year things rapidly went downhill. You have to be a level 10 friend to unlock what happened there because I honestly don’t think Hayden has talked about it since the night it happened, but basically all you need to know is that a series of events happened one night that led to Hayden basically being thrown out of his home that very same night and disowned, full stop. 

Hayden’s only saving grace was that his father was too proud to let his son live on the streets. Raphael set Hayden up with his own apartment near his school, and paid for Hayden’s rent and expenses. However, he did so without communicating with Hayden even once, and it was very clear that Hayden had essentially been disowned. When Hayden was eighteen the money stopped, and Hayden moved out of the apartment. Hayden and Raphael haven’t really talked since.

Hayden got into university on a full baseball scholarship, despite all the chaos. He leaned heavily on his chosen family, his baseball team, throughout that difficult interim between being kicked out and graduating, and during that time he threw himself into baseball with such vigor and intensity that he impressed more than a few of the scouts circling around him. He ended up choosing NYU because it was the school that was the farthest away, and although Hayden didn’t want to be far from his hometown and his mother’s grave, he did want a fresh start away from his father and Cherry.

Hayden university experience was unremarkable but very significant to him. In fact, the fact that it was mostly unremarkable is what made it so special to him. For the most part, Hayden was pretty close to completely happy. He became captain of the baseball team his second year, made lifelong friends in his team and his frat, and eventually achieved his ultimate goal, getting recruited onto a professional baseball team in his junior year. Hayden graduated early with a degree in business, proud of his accomplishments, and finally feeling as if he was breaking through a barrier of tragedy through his life. He was finally approaching his happy ending.

But of course it didn’t last. Hayden played for the New York Yankees for almost two years, (and was damn good at it too) before he injured his shoulder in a game. The injury was serious enough that his future in baseball seemed to just sudden became nonexistent. In a moment, a split second really, all of Hayden’s dreams that he had just barely reached suddenly crumbled in his hands. Disappeared into fucking nothing. It was like god had it out for him. Hayden didn’t take it well.

After the doctor’s final diagnosis (a solemn gaze behind wire rimmed glasses, a fucking clipboard that Hayden wasn’t allowed to see, stainless steel, the smell of death, god Hayden fucking hated hospitals), Hayden stayed in New York because even if he wasn’t living out his dream, well he had nowhere else to go. He went on a bit of a bender though. Drinking, partying, drugs, girls, guys – you name it, Hayden indulged in all of his vices in an attempt to find comfort. Some friends he made through the years tried to get into touch with him (and some very notably didn’t) but Hayden never really did much more than go through the motions with any of it. ‘I’m fine’ quickly became an automated response, one he didn’t even have to think about, one he would give whether drunk or high or completely and utterly lost– Because he was. He was fine. Anyone who thought differently could get fucked.

Hayden bought the club on a whim. His time in the league meant he had more than a bit of money saved, and since the place was for sale and Hayden liked to party, he figured it was a no brainer. He’s owned the place for almost three years now, and it’s actually been surprisingly successful. Hayden’s status of ‘former baseball player’ was enough notoriety to get people to show up, and the fact that the place was actually more than decent kept them coming. Hayden treats the club like more of a hobby than an actual business, too busy with his extracurricular activities to have more than a passing interest in it but… it’s fun. And well. It’s not like he has anything else to do.

Hayden also moved into 5.1 on a whim just over three years ago, mostly to make sure there were people around him in case he happened to drop dead one day yk, a precaution. He lived by himself for a while before that while he was in the league and after his injury but honestly Hayden is a big extrovert, he hates being alone, and living by himself in the huge ass loft he used to own just made him feel more lonely. So he responded to the first ‘roommate wanted’ ad he could find and now here he is. He honestly has enough money that he doesn’t need to be there, but he likes the company so he’s sticking around. 

PERSONALITY / HEADCANNONS ;

Hayden, is as the kids say… a fuckboi, probably

He is very loyal, like he cares a lot about his own but anyone outside of his circle he’s kind of indifferent to. Like he’s friendly, and almost pleasant but like… he does not really care about them yk, there’s a distinct lack of like sincerity in the way he treats his friends vs randos (or even ‘friends’)

Morally grey to the max

A very good liar, who lies often. Can be very manipulative but he doesn’t have a reason to be lately, so he mostly just manipulates business partners.

LOVES messing with people. It’s like crack to him

Very sarcastic

Will sleep with anyone he’s attracted to tbh. Bisexual, and very comfortable with it by now. Used to be kind of iffy with it when he was playing professionally, but now that he’s got no chance of ever being a pro again and the paps have pretty much left him alone he gives no fucks.

Actually pretty clever, hence the whole actually being able to own a successful business thing.

Might bake for the roommates of 5.1 if they’re nice to him and he’s actually really freaking good at it like he learned from his mom, and honestly baking highkey reminds him of her so he doesn’t do it too often. 

Lowkey his dream is to go back to santa barbara and run his mom’s bakery (his dad sold the place but hayden bought it back as soon as he had the money) but since he kind of considers himself a failure and disappointment to his mom at this point his bitch ass doesn’t think he deserves to yet, so he’s staying in new york for a while. 

Hates hospitals with a passion. Would rather die than go to one willingly. When Hayden is sick he just voluntarily suffers. 

Oh, and Hayden’s club is named Omnia and friends get in for free so feel free to hit him up for a good time.

WANTED CONNECTIONS ; 

i would love a bromance for hayden honestly that would be fun 

a godsibling! hayden used to be v close to his godmother so this could be fun too

someone who he has a bad influence on? someone who’s a good influence on him? 

one night stand! maybe they didn’t even realize they were going to be living in the same apartment complex at first but then they found out and it was like oh shit 

fwbs or ewbs

a secret fling could be a fun thing to play out!

a hateship. like they bicker all the time and they really wanna wring each other’s necks, just give me some good old fashion animosity.

someone who frequents his club maybe, perhaps he’s always kicking them out or perhaps they’re always partying together.

maybe an ex that he was dating during his time playing professionally (can be f/m/nb) that Hayden ended things with when he got his injury and moved to New York? Fun drama. 

Some friends from college would be cool too if anyone went to NYU.

omg that reminds me i have a headcannon that Hayden dated the first and only person he ever loved in college and they broke his fucking heart so if anyone wants to play that out and dive head first into some angst with me then lemme know. 

TAKEN CONNECTIONS ;

dolly = little sister he never wanted / soft spot 

kitty = work wife / flirtationship / friend from college

jac = ex fwb / ride or die 

art = bad influence / haaaave you met ted? 

juliette = good influence / in house nurse 

chris = bromance / friend from cali 

#h.m. | intro. #dreamed:intro #this took me way too long considering the bio was already written up like?? why am i like this

[dilettantereviews]

Due to some personal circumstances, finishing this list took longer than I’m proud of, but I hope it’s worth it.

Isolation by Kali Uchis- This was a hard album to write for, not because of the quality (obviously), but because it’s so all over the place and hard to classify. I first paid attention to her through an ONTD original about pop stars with personas, then I thought of her as an indie pop girl, and her collaborations with rap and Latin artists make me compare her to women in R&B or urban music as well. But she’s just Kali. People always talk about “it took Ms.Nancy 8 years for her debut but it’s iconic!!” but for Kali I definitely feel it. The psychedelic baroque intro alone lets you know that you’re about you go on a journey of an album. Songs like Miami, Tomorrow, and Your Teeth, My Neck (and I guess Just a Stranger) all talk about the uncomfortable intersection between wealth and desire, while songs like Dead to Me (lol) give some brevity and energy to this album. For critics who think she can’t sing, Killer has a great Winehouse-esque performance. The album cover looks like a Prince Protege vanity set fantasy painting.

Joyride by Tinashe- Tinashe had a weird 2017, with Flame flopping, Light Up the Sky dropping, and a bizarre Taco Tuesday outing (why?!?! They said it was a networking event, but for who? The girl has more collaborations than all the different companies Pepsi distributes for), but her 2018 was better. We got a random HQ picture that turned out to be the first cover for a tringle that lead to Joyride. She answered many questions like yes, she did need to use legal options to release Joyride, and no, she didn’t like Flame. She release a great pop album that is a little Frankensteined together but you can still use all the songs. Although things seem murky now, I feel that Tinashe will keep giving us great, unique music. Personal favorites include No Drama, Faded Love, No Contest, and Ooh La La.

Caution by Mariah Carey- I keep seeing people mention that this is their first Mariah album, which is appropriate, because this feels like a new beginning for her. It’s my first Mariah album too, but I’ve seen one Popjustice member say that this is her only album where she mainly sings in a lower register and where the background instrumentals are darker electronics. I’ve heard that Me.. I am Mariah at least tried out new things, but this incorporated everything successfully. I’ve never really listened to Mariah before because I just figured it would be mostly ballads and midtempos, but this album kept things unique. Highlights include GTFO, A No No, Giving Me Life, and Portrait. This album is the sonic equivalent of putting your favorite Bath and Body Works moisturizer on, making a warm drink, and hiding under a weighted blanket, and who doesn’t want that in a year like this?

Take Me to the Disco by Meg Myers- People say that there are too many meaningless buzzwords (true) but I don’t think alt vs indie rock is one of those. Indie is generally minimal and guitar based but alt is left of the middle rock and expansive. Meg went for category 2. Following her great debut album from 2015, she went for a bigger, better, and darker sound this time. It reminds me of Tori (Tear Me to Pieces and Jealous Sea sound very Choirgirl), PJ, Trent, and the Smashing Pumpkins. Take Me to the Disco is a nice ballad that starts out the album, which doesn’t prepare you at all for Numb, the following track. Done and Funeral are also strong. Listen if you’re tired of slackers in music.

Childqueen by Kadhja Bonet- If music indicates mood, I don’t know what Spotify premium subscribing, Allmusic reading, time travelling aliens would know about 2018. Sure, there were some political albums, but I feel like the pace of crappy events was faster than (High quality) political music. Even on a personal level, 2018 wasn’t ridiculously iconic or anything for me, and I was still petty and had grudges to work on. That being said, I have no clue how psychedelic music became big for me this year. We had Moodoid, Melody’s Echo Chamber, The Internet (sort of), and Dita Von Teese. But my favorite is perhaps Kadhja Bonet, whose theatrical sounds are like the score to an old Disney movie. Mother, …, and Second Wind are great. Bonus EP was released this fall.

so sad, so sexy by Lykke Li- I haven’t really listened to Lykke before, so I figured her pop reinvention was a good time to get into her. This album reminds me of Nelly Furtado for indie songwriting but with hooks. Although sometimes the trap parts are a little awkward (use vaporwave instead!), this was a good reinvention. My favorites include Two Nights featuring Amine (he is NOT a rent a rapper!), Jaguars in the Air (you and me we’re psychedelic!), and of course, sex money feelings die. I would love a Jessy Lanza remix album commissioned.

Silk Canvas by Vanjess- Everyone loves whisper registers and high pitched whisper singing in R&B (Diana Ross, Janet, Aaliyah, Ciara, Cassie, Tinashe) but what I really love is a deep voice (or at least one that sounds a little raspy). Vanjess joins Her, Total, and T Boz and even The Weeknd in the deep vocals crowd. Don’t mark these Nigerian princesses as spam, just give them a stream, no bank accounts required. I like that they have a better understanding of making a cohesive album with different genres and still staying in a certain vibe instead of doing the same song 12 times. Even their remix EP gets that. Control Me and Addicted, the big singles from this album, are good symbols for their moody R&B sound but they have more than that. Touch the Floor is more uptempo in the vein of Kaytranada, as are the excellent Through Enough and Another Love. My Love reminds me of Aaliyah’s One in a Million. The One picks up where the 80’s revival trend left off, but improves on the synth funk sound. Even Cool Off the Rain, a 2 minute interlude, is worth listening to.

7 by Beach House- I don’t know what made this album click with me. This is my 4th album for Beach House, so I thought I just wouldn’t get them by now, I listen to dream pop and shoegaze enough where I thought I’d like any vibey music. This album didn’t reinvent the wheel but it has warmth to it, without losing their signature ‘when your arm has pins and needles and you need to wiggle yourself to a healthy blood circulation again’ sound. Favorites include Lemon Glow, Black Car, Dark Spring, and Girl of the Year. I also recommend Wax idols and Pinkshinyultrablast if you’re looking for more shoegaze..

Dita Von Teese by Dita Von Teese- This was always going to be a niche passion project by a burlesque artist, so I don’t think it was ever going to set the charts on fire, but not even the internet cared about this? If you miss Lana’s old Hollywood glamour, you should check out this album. It mixes 60’s psychedelics with electronic music to create a perfect loungy sound. I’m not saying I’m those “I miss 2012 Lana!!” but I stuck with her through her Old Hollywood Jackie Kennedy Born to Die phase, her 60’s Manson Girl Ultraviolence cult phase, her 50’s (?) maps to the stars Honeymoon, and 70’s singer songwriter Lust for Life phase, so I was excited to see what other incarnations we would get. Would we get a full on spaced out culty version of Honeymoon? An 80’s Midwest goth album? A late 90’s vaporwave mixtape? Okay, most of these are just words thrown together that nobody would want, but Dita’s album had the concept and the execution there, all it needed was the audience. The French songs have a certain sadness in them. I like Bird of Prey and Dangerous Guy as well, but the whole album is well produced and beautiful sounding, so you should listen to it if you just want some easy listening that’s riskier than most of pop and alternative’s current artists.

Black Panther- Yes, this should count as an album. I’ve seen people treat The Hunger Games soundtracks (yes, those movies didn’t spontaneously appear on TNT one day) as real albums and stan Lorde’s vision for it. I’ve seen people stan the soundtrack for A Star is Born, like it’s a real Lady Gaga album, but Black Panther is where y’all draw the line? Okay. Aside from the breakout single, you get a good vocal performance from SZA, a top tier Jorja Smith song, the best flute performance of 2018, and the downtemp Seasons. That a random soundtrack can have that much cohesion is good for Kendrick Lamar but bad for other artists.

#best of #best of 2018 #kali uchis #tinashe #mariah carey #meg myers #kadhja bonet #lykke li #vanjess #dita von teese #black panther

[thedistantstorm]

A Shipwright Worth Her Salt Chapter 09

In which: Zavala reevaluates his priorities. Amanda is asked a question.

Feels, incoming!

Cayde is grateful that the Deputy Commander gets called away at some point in the middle of the night. Amanda wakes screaming and sobbing, the result of strange dreams brought on by narcotics and the previous evening’s events. They’d both been expecting it, and it was certainly mild on the scale of hiccups in her recovery, but it was still emotionally draining.

He convinces a rather polite medic to assist her in cleaning up even though there’s only a skeleton crew on overnight, and excuses himself when the woman offers to take her for an actual bath instead of whatever sponge bathing they’d done while she’d been critically ill.

She’d been only mildly shaky when he left, and he promised to stay nearby just in case. Of course, what he hadn’t planned on was for the Commander to appear not much after that, looking tired but not dead on his feet.

“What are you doing?” Zavala intones quietly, as he makes eye contact. “It is an absurd hour of the night for you to be lingering.”

Cayde shrugs, though it just looks like his cloak moves up and down since it wraps around his shoulders in what he calls a perpetual hug. “Guard detail, I guess.”

“I don’t believe Andal and I determined that to be a necessity.” His eyes narrow. Cayde tears his gaze away. “Things are alright?”

“Yeah. More or less. She’s just getting cleaned up. Finally well enough to have a real bath, they said.” He looks the other direction, toward an open window with full view of the dark sky and stars. The Hunter sighs after a decent expanse of silence. “Your next question is going to be ‘why it’s happening at this hour,’ so here’s your answer: she woke up a few hours ago, and couldn’t fall back asleep. Didn’t like the feeling of narcotics.”

Zavala allows Aashimah to transmat the majority of his armor away. “I can’t imagine she would,” He replies. “She is well?”

“Well enough, yeah.” Cayde shrugs yet again, twiddling a knife between armor plated hands. “She’s tired of being stuck in that bed all day, been getting pissy about it with anyone who will listen. It’s a good thing.” He straightens. “You bash every Fallen in the EDZ with your fists of havoc?”

Zavala hums. “Enough of them, yes.”

“Make you feel any better?” Cayde finally blinks two bright optics in the Awoken’s direction.

The way the Titan’s jaw is set gives him away before he speaks. “Not in the slightest. It does nothing to fix this.”

“Suppose not. Probably good to let some of that frustration out though.”

The silence between them stretches out for a few moments. Zavala shifts his weight and moves to stand across from the Exo instead of in the middle of the hallway. In rare undisciplined form, he allows his back to rest against the wall in a sort of pseudo-slouch.

“You sleep at all since this whole thing went down?”

“Do you often check on your superiors?”

Cayde laughs. “Andal wouldn’t know how to tie his boots without me sometimes. But, no. I just know that taking care of her,” He jerks a thumb at the wall behind him, “Is gonna be a busy job for a bit. You okay with signing up for that? I don’t know if she can stand to lose you again. I dunno much about whatever happened between you two, but she’s pretty, uh, attached, if you catch my drift.”

The Commander sighs. “I would have been here to check on her hours ago. We tied the loose ends up in the early evening. The Speaker requested to speak with me.”

“That religious old coot,” The Hunter comments. “Wha’d he want?”

“An invaluable counsel,” Zavala corrects. “He wished to evaluate my sense of duty.”

Cayde turns on his heel and paces. “Of all people? You? Because of one little girl? That’s ridiculous.”

Zavala sighs. “He remembered her.”

“What?” The pacing stops abruptly mid-turn. “From where?”

“A celebration. Commemorating this-” He gestures to the Tower as a whole. “I had brought her up here, to show her the hangar, let her watch the ships. She had always wanted to fly.” Cayde nodded but did not speak. “The Speaker,” He clenches his fits, unclenches, and looks away. “He announced that following the commemoration celebration, the Tower would not be accessible to non-Guardians with the exceptions of staff. Guardians would mostly stay in the dormitories and housing built within the walls. It was a move designed to keep our perimeter protected and to free up housing for our growing population. Guardians would only patrol within the City. And the Vanguard Commander would oversee it all from above. I wouldn’t be able to see her, as I had in the past. I was barely able to with my responsibilities, as it were, by that point.”

“And?”

“I had known about it for months.”

“You didn’t tell her.” Cayde nodded more to himself than to the other Guardian. “She put it together when he said-”

“It gutted her. She ran off in the middle of his speech.” He closes his eyes. “I was standing up there with him when he made the announcement, as was expected of me. I had never wanted someone to stop talking more in my entire existence.” He pauses, thinking about his words. “When I found her, I tried to talk to her, but-”

“Your duty ultimately won out.” Cayde’s optics matched similarly glowing irises. “Knights and their castles,” He said softly.

“What?”

“Something she said. To you, I think, after that mission I, uh, commissioned her for.” Cayde lets the glare roll off him at that. “Anyway, the Speaker remembered her, from that day…”

“...Yes. I told her that my duty was to the Traveler. There was no feasible way to protect the needs of humanity and also be available to her. Or, that is what I thought.” He looks at Cayde. “I told the Speaker that my sense of duty has never wavered. It has not. It will not ever. I was tempted to bring up Saint to him, but,” He shrugs, “I will not give away my hand just yet.”

Cayde smirks. “Good plan.”

“Whatever I am able to give, I will,” He says softly, as blue optics blink back. “If she will forgive-”

Cayde slaps a hand on the Titan’s hulking shoulder. “I’ll stop you there. I believe you,” He says back in a low tone. “We’re having a moment - and it’s great, really, it’s got me all warm ‘n fuzzy in the circuitry - but I don’t think I’m the one you need to have this moment with. Tell her. Try and keep her here, if you can.” Cayde scrubs a hand over his metal forehead, tracing the outline of his horn. “She’s got wounds that aren’t physical. We, uh, both know that.”

Awoken eyes narrowed. “Yes.”

“I tried talking to her about…” He gestures vaguely to the Titan. “... That, er, business with us… uh, holding her down,” He finally grits out. “She panicked. Told Sloane - who I’m sure told you, you're not that sneaky - it was related to her leg being cut off.” He shakes his head. “She can accept that. There’s plenty of options, she’s down but not out. Her body will heal. But this,” He taps a temple gently, “Trust me, this takes way more time and effort. The ticks fade and you can hide ‘em well enough, but the memories remain. Some of that stuff you can live with, but it doesn’t all just - Poof! - go away.” Cayde makes an explosion gesture with his hands. “I know it bothered you, too. You gotta talk to her about it. She’s mortified about it, but you gotta tell her it’s okay. She needs to know you don’t, y’know-”

“You know?” Zavala’s eyebrows furrow.

“Love her any less.” Cayde grunts. His posture is straight. Serious. “That you don’t think she’s broken.” He shifts his weight from right to left.

Zavala perks at his words, too. He takes them to heart, even if the 'L’ word is a bit too much to consider at this moment. Finally, he whispers, “How could I? To survive against such odds-”

“Tell her that,” Cayde nods. “Fuck, if it were me I’d have a bullet in my head and hope that Sundance could put me back together with all my parts shiny and new.”

“I would hope that my ghost could heal me without such dramatics,” Zavala replies, “But I agree.” Zavala gives the Hunter a once over when silence falls again. “Cayde?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.” The Commander crosses his arms and resumes his stance against the wall. “If you and Andal had not been there, I do not know what I would have done.”

The Exo smiles. “Just another day on the job, Commander. But I will remember to bring this up next several times I piss you off. Should get me out of some trouble.”

Bright eyes regard him with something Cayde will absolutely describe as tears of gratitude in a wild exaggeration to Ikora and Andal later. “Do not push your luck.”

-/

“Alright,” The nurse says to her, “I’ll go out and see if Cayde is still there for you. Everything else alright?”

The girl nods. “Thank you,” She says shyly. “I ‘preciate it.”

The woman smiles. “You are very welcome. I’ll come back to check on you later.” She turns in the direction of the door and takes a step into the hallway. “O-oh! You are not the person I was expecting to see,” Surprise is evident. “Excuse me.” She steps out of the doorway and into the hall, pulling the door closed behind her. “She said you weren’t going to be back until later this morning.”

Zavala nods. “I managed to finish things earlier. I was surprised to hear she’s awake.”

The nurse chatters. “Yes. She’s really turned around in the last few days, certainly since you were here last. Go on in. She’ll be excited to see you.” She leaves him, standing a step away from the door.

Aashimah appears beside him when he stares at the closed door for more than ten seconds. “If you don’t go in there on your own, I will transmat you through the door, Guardian.”

He blinks at her. “You will not.” She begins to spin her cones like she’s preparing to do so. He sputters. “I’m going,” He says to her, and she evaporates into a small shower of sparks as he wraps his hand around the handle and pushes as it turns.

“What took you so long, Cay-” Her words get caught in a small ‘eep’ in her throat as she lays eyes on the Vanguard Commander who is definitely not Cayde.

“Hello, Amanda.”

He doesn’t realize he’s been holding his breath until her expression changes from one of surprise to a wide, bashful smile and he’s able to exhale. “Hey, yourself.” She still looks sickly, with rosy cheeks and too pale skin, but she looks so much better than she had when he’d been forced to leave to clean up the Dead Zone. He moves closer to her without giving it much thought.

The weight of what’s happened to her, of how poorly things could have truly gone settle upon him, heavy and unbearable. His brain seems to snag on repetitions of ‘she’s just a girl,’ and he can’t bear to look away from her, so small and frail but so vibrantly alive. She would be okay. No tubes or cables attached to her, existing of her own volition. She would truly be okay.

“I-” His voice cracks and there are actual tears in his eyes this time as equal parts guilt and relief consume him. “I’m so sorry.”

She shakes her head.  “Please,” She says, “Don’t apologize. I never should have gone out there. Y’all saved my life,” She adds the last bit in a whisper. “I’ll be fine.”

He reaches for her, slowly. “I know you will be,” He wraps his arms around her shoulders, and her eyes widen before she relaxes into his embrace, clutching the forearm that’s wrapped around her front. “I was so worried I was going to lose you.”

She pulls back from him when he says that, and looks up into luminescent aqua eyes. Her own tidal green ones dart back and forth in wide-eyed evaluation. Her lower lip trembles as her own eyes well with tears, and she scoots to the side of the bed that he’s standing beside. She throws her arms around his neck as he leans down. “I thought I’d never get to see you again,” She whispers into his chest. They stay that way for the longest time, through her quiet sobs that turn into heart-wrenching ones that make her entire body shake, and subside into little tremors and hiccuping.

“No more,” He says, when they finally part. She gasps, as he takes both of her hands. “Never again, Amanda.” His eyes are fiercely blue, especially since they’re mildly bloodshot. “There was something you were trying to tell me,” He says softly. “When we were trying to get you out. Do you remember?”

She looks up at him, surprise and concern evident. He immediately saw exactly what Cayde had mentioned earlier. Panic lapped at the edges of her consciousness, and she pulled her hands out of his, wrapping them around her tiny frame as he pulled a chair close and sat beside her.

“I was in shock,” She whispers. “I was seeing things that weren’t happening. I-I know I th-thought y-you were-”

“Don’t trouble yourself with that right now,” He says in as low of a tone as he can. She shudders, but does not flinch when he puts his hand on her cheek and turns her head to face him. “We’ll talk about that another time. It’ll be alright.” He releases her cheek and leans back. “You were trying to tell me something,” He redirects, looking away from her. “And I would like to give it to you, if you’ll allow it.”

Her brow furrows, and she looks at him. “What was I askin’ for?” She asks, after a moment’s consideration. “I only r’member you carryin’ me,” She adds, quietly. “Felt nice. Safe.”

His smile is small and sad. “Once,” He reaches out, and she lowers her left hand into his right, “I told you that my duty was to the Traveler and to protecting humanity.” She blinks. The tears are back. She ignores them, and he catches one when it falls treacherously down her cheek with a large, calloused finger. “Do you remember?”

She nods.

“You nearly died multiple times that first night. I watched them... attempt,” His voice catches, roughly, “To save your life. The entire time, I thought: if I hadn’t made that decision, if I had tried to balance my duties to all this,” He motions to the Tower around them, “And my duty-”

“It’s not your fault, you don't owe me nothin,” She interrupts. “I feel like I’ve told ya that.”

He chuckles, “You have. However, listen to me,” He implores. “Please.”

She nods, and squeezes the hand that’s held by his.

“I was… afraid,” He admits. “That if I made the choice to balance both my duties as Vanguard Commander and the one I couldn’t admit, that I would fail. I thought that if I continued to deny that I had any ties to you my feelings would fade and I would forget.”

She looks down at their entwined hands, afraid to see whatever emotions his eyes betrayed. Afraid for what the truth might be.

“I should have known better,” He says with a knowing chuckle. “You have been ingrained upon my heart since the day you fixed that horrendous radio.” A little sob gets trapped in her throat and she looks up at him with widening eyes. He squeezes her hand. “For the last week, all I have been thinking about is what I would say to you, if you would forgive me for my folly-” She inhales to speak and he shakes his head. “But, most of all,” He’s sure to meet her gaze as he speaks in a hallowed whisper, “Would you let me make it up to you? Would you let this foolish man do what he should have from the very beginning?”

Her eyes, glassy with unshed tears, shine with the question he intends to answer.

“Will you stay with me?”

Her mouth opens in a little ‘o’ and she closes her eyes. “But, the rules-”

“Rules be damned,” He barks gruffly. “Do you wish to stay here, in the Tower?”

She nods. “Yes. Please,” She breathes. “I want to stay with you.”

She launches herself at him, bad leg all but forgotten about as she nearly topples off the bed and into his chest. He adjusts quickly, catching the pajama clad girl in strong arms and cradling her against him, mindful of her bad leg.

He smiles down onto the top of her head, looking rather relieved. She clings to him tightly as he rumbles, “I had rather hoped you still would.”

#destiny 2 fanfiction #swhs fanfic #amanda holliday #commander zavala #cayde-6 #destiny 2

[itslittlegiggle]

Secondary Check

A/N: A tradition in my family is that we all must become (basic) first aid certified. My younger brother is working on getting his, and I was reading through one of his books when I came across secondary checking. I know what it is, of course, as I am certified myself; but rereading the procedure made me think about how awful it would tickle if used gently. Solangelo is literally my joy in life, so I used them in this fic. It’s based... shortly after the Heroes of Olympus series, I guess?

(Also, I’m sorry I haven’t written anything in a while... please accept my apology along with this mediocre fic.)

“Please, Nico?”

“No.”

“Oh, come on-”

“I said no!”

Will huffed at his boyfriend, annoyed with his stubbornness. 

“Nico, I just want to practice secondary checking. Is that so wrong?” Will asked, crossing his arms. “No, but I don’t want to be your guinea pig!” Nico responded, crossing his arms as well. 

“You make it sound like I’m some evil scientist,” Will mumbled, rolling his eyes. 

“You could be! We just got together, I don’t know what you’re capable of yet,” Nico retorted in a sassy tone, and Will couldn’t help but smile. Nico was just so cute when he tried to act all stubborn and tough.

In consideration of recent events, Will had decided he wanted to completely perfect his first aid; he had been practicing on everyone, constantly asking other campers to be his next “victim”. Hey, is it a crime for a medic to make sure they know what they’re doing?

“Come on, just once? I want to really know what I’m doing. Son of the god of healing or not, I need to review stuff!”

With a sigh, Nico looked up at his boyfriend and rolled his dark eyes. “Fine, but just because you’re annoying me, and doing this will make you shut up. And only once!” He reminded as Will gave him a bright grin.

“Thanks!”

“Yeah, yeah.”

After some coaxing, Will convinced Nico to lie down on the floor in the Hades cabin. Nico refused to do it in the Apollo cabin where one of Will’s siblings could waltz in at any moment.

“Okay, so say I’ve dealt with any major injuries, and now I’m checking for minor ones I need to deal with. It’s called secondary checking,” Will commentated before he got started. “Ideally, I’d be wearing gloves, but I’m not going to waste them on practicing.” 

He knelt next to Nico’s “unconscious” body, near his head, gently placing his hands on the sides of his head. He moved his hands around slowly, “checking” for head injuries. After that, he used his fingers to softly prod the sides and front of Nico’s neck. His smaller boyfriend twitched minutely, but Will ignored it. His hands were probably cold. “Sorry.” 

He stood and moved to Nico’s side before kneeling again. Will tenderly gripped the sides of his boyfriend’s rib cage, pressing his fingers in lightly as if feeling for broken ribs. He was startled when Nico’s body arched slightly, an almost indecipherable whine leaving said boys’s lips. Assuming he was being too rough, Will lightened his touch. 

“Sorry if I’m hurting you a little,” he said with a frown. 

“It’s fine,” Nico responded in a tense voice.” “J-just hurry it up a little.” 

Will complied, pressing his hand on Nico’s stomach, tapping the back of his hand like he was feeling for internal damage. Nico arched his back again, and a harsh breath came out of his nose. 

“Am I being too rough?” Will asked concernedly, removing his hands. Physical secondary checks were almost always used on people that were unconscious; he had no idea if it hurt on someone awake. 

Nico shook his head. “No, just finish soon,” he said. Will wasn’t sure if he should keep going if he was hurting Nico, but Nico insisted. Moving on, Will placed each hand on one of Nico’s hip bones, pressing down gently to test for alignment.. 

He was definitely not prepared for Nico to suddenly bark out a laugh and sit up violently, attempting to push away his boyfriend's hands. "Enough!" The smaller boy shrieked, turning beet red as Will studied him. The two boys sat in silence for a few moments before Will realized what was really going on, a smirk gracing his features. 

"Ah, I see," he purred, never taking his eyes off Nico's face. "You're not in pain, you're just-" 

"Will, shut up!" 

"What? It's cute that you're-" 

"I said shut up!" Nico yelped, eyes flitting around as he tried avoiding eye contact with the older boy. With a sigh, Will removed his hands from Nico's grip. "Okay, okay. Can I finish the secondary check at least? I'm almost done!" He added quickly, sensing that the smaller boy was about to decline.

Nico chewed his bottom lip as he considered. “...fine, but be really careful,” he said slowly, lying down on his back once more. “Don’t worry, I will be,” Will reassured him, but he was smirking internally. This was just too cute; the stoic, grumpy “Ghost King”, Nico DiAngelo, was ticklish. Will found it too delicious not to exploit. 

Continuing where he left off, Will wrapped both hands gently around one of Nico’s thigh, squeezing lightly with his fingers as though feeling for any broken  bones. Nico’s entire leg jerked, but Will could tell Nico was embarrassed and was trying to keep his reactions to a minimum. 

Will did the same thing to Nico’s other thigh, earning more shaky leg movement from the smaller boy. He then felt his way down each of Nico’s slender legs, feeling his knees and calves with careful fingers. Nico’s legs were absolutely quivering by the time Will finished each one, and Will couldn’t help but chuckle. 

“I just have your arms left, Neeks. I’m almost done.” 

“Okay, good,” Nico sighed. 

Will softly gripped one of Nico’s biceps, pressing his fingers in and moving down the appendage. He could feel the younger boy’s muscles jumping under each touch; he could’t believe how ticklish Nico was. Even his arms were ticklish! Why didn’t Will figure this out before?

He quickly finished the other arm, sitting back on his heels. “Okay, finished,” he told Nico. Just as the smaller boy started to sit up, Will pounced on him, pressing him back onto the floor and holding him there. 

“Uh... Will?” Nico asked in a nervous voice, “What’re you- NO!”

Will cut him off by grabbing his ribs with one hand, digging his fingers into the spaces between each bone. Nico flailed and tried desperately to get away from the tickling, shaking his head wildly in an attempt to hold in his laughter. 

“Did you seriously think that I would let you go after finding out how ridiculously ticklish you are?” Will laughed as he chased Nico’s wiggling torso around with his tickling fingers. “Let me hear you laugh, Neeks!” 

 Will moved his fingers higher and squeezed them under Nico's left underarm, despite said boy's attempts to keep that arm glued to his side. Will noticed, disappointedly, that though the smaller boy was still violently squirming, this spot was less effective. "Okay, not underarms, then..." he teased, pulling his hand out and prodding Nico's side. "Where are you the most ticklish then, hmm?" Nico didn't say anything because he was trying so hard not to laugh, but that was okay; Will planned on figuring it out for himself anyway.  

He decided to go lower, positioning himself accordingly on his boyfriend's small frame, and brought his hand back to give Nico's kneecap a few squeezes. Nico jerked like he'd been electrocuted and let out a high pitched squeak before bursting into laughter. "Will, quit it!" Will subconsciously slowed his fingers down, staring at Nico with his mouth slightly agape. 

Nico's laugh...  

It was high-pitched and light, breathy and childish. It was so unlike what you would expect from the son of Hades, and it filled Will's very core with an unbelievable warmth. Will couldn't keep the grin off his face as he stared at the boy underneath him, who was blushing profusely. 

 "Nico, your laugh! It's so cute!" 

 "Shut up, it's embarrassing!” Nico scowled. “I sound like a five-year-old moron." 

 "Well," Will counteracted, "sometimes you act like a five-year-old moron. So, it's perfect!" 

Will moved his hand again and dug his fingers into Nico's thigh, which was so small compared to his own long fingers, he could almost tickle it all the way around with just one hand. "Will!" Nico shrieked, breaking down into more of his sweet laughter, "S-stop!" Will simply smirked and slowed his tickling slightly. 

"So, where are you the worst?" 

 "L-like I'd tell you!" Nico panted through his giggles, desperately twitching his legs in an attempt to dislodge the older teen. 

Though Nico wasn't going to tell him, Will had already figured out the answer; he had noticed that Nico only ever fought him off with one hand, while the other arm was nearly cemented to his body. 

 Cemented right across his stomach and hips. 

 Hey, doctors are supposed to notice small details, right? 

 Nico seemed to have noticed that Will was excited, for he struggled more violently. His eyes widened as Will reached down and easily forced Nico's arm away from his middle. Nico tried to use his other arm as a new shield, but Will grabbed that one quickly as well, and Nico found himself completely defenseless. 

 "Will, don't." Nico threatened, but he looked so very amusing with his red cheeks and stifled smile that Will shook his head. "You're just too cute, you know that?" And while Nico was in the middle of saying no, he isn't cute, he's frightening, Will gently dug his nails into the middle of Nico's belly, spidering them around the soft expanse. 

 Nico shrieked so loud, Will almost fell off of him. "Woah," Will laughed as he righted himself, "I knew this spot would be ticklish for you, but I didn't think it'd be this ticklish!" Nico just laughed his childish laugh, his breathy laugh, his beautiful laugh. "Wihihill! NO!" He cackled, trying to roll his torso away from Will's offending fingers, back arching.

Will moved his wiggly appendages slowly downward while he teased. "You know, this spot kills Austin. How about you?" He suddenly dug his thumbs into the dips of Nico's bony hips, causing the boy to buck up ferociously as he screamed with laughter. "WILL!" Will kept jumping his now vibrating fingers between Nico's tummy and hips, for those seemed to be the places that made the younger boy laugh the loudest and the cutest. "WIHILL, I'M GONNA K-KILL YOUHOUHOU!" Will slowed his fingers once more, softly dragging his nails that were currently under Nico's shirt across the quivering belly that awaited him. 

Nico looked like a disaster; His hair was even more disheveled than usual, his cheeks were completely pink, and he was hiccuping quietly between the sweet giggles that came out of his mouth. 

Will ruffled his hair and rolled off of his waist, pulling Nico into a sitting position and kissing his forehead. "...oh, my gods. That was the cutest thing I've ever seen in my entire life.” Nico tried glaring at his smug boyfriend, but his residual grin made it impossible. 

"Solace, you're the worst boyfriend in the world. I'm gonna get you for this!" 

Will laughed. "Sure you are, with your tough and scary demeanour," he joked, wiggling his fingers teasingly into Nico's side to make him giggle. Nico pushed him away once more and attempted to scold him. 

 Nico's laughter was more precious than any sound Will had ever heard. It was better than poetry, better than music. It was a complete contrast of Nico's gloomy and quiet personality. Will didn't care if he never heard any other sound for the rest of time. If he could make Nico smile and laugh while also being able to enjoy the sound of it for himself, he was set. 

Who knew first aid could be so handy?

#heroes of olympus #percy jackson #percyjackson!tickling #heroesofolympus!tickling #solangelo #solangelo!tickling #will solace #nico di angelo #ticklish!nicodiangelo #fluff #tickle fic

[waywarddaughterwrites]

Do You Feel It?

A/N: I absolutely LOVE the “seeing wings = soulmates!” troupe. However, the fics I’ve come across for Gabriel always seem to have him getting super excited super quickly. I feel like it would be a more emotional moment that takes a moment to adjust to. I wanted to see him vulnerable and flustered. Here’s my take on the idea of wings and soulmates. 
Pairing: Gabriel/Reader 
Warnings: fluffy fluff 
Synopsis: “Angles have this…thing. About angels. And angel wings.” ______________________________________ Gabriel. The name was familiar, obviously. Besides perhaps Lucifer, he was the most well known Angel, even if I hadn’t been raised Christian. I’d learned about the Archangel Gabriel in the same breath I’d learned about Jesus, seeing how he announced Jesus’s existence to the Virgin Mary. His name was spoken in a reverence by every religious figure I’d met growing up, he was a biblical fixture in my life. Which is why I was left a bit short for words when Sam and Dean announced his impending arrival with undisguised disdain. “Gabriel. THE Gabriel. Is coming here? To help us with a hunt?” Sam gave a disgruntled sigh, “yeah. Hopefully he won’t be here long and we won’t have to deal with him too much.” I knew the stories about the boys’ run-ins with the angel. As much of a show as they put on, they didn’t seem to hate him as much as they hated some of the other angels. There was a deep-seated distrust and vague annoyance, but their faces didn’t darken at his name like it did with others, which I took to be a good sign. Honestly, I loved the stories about Gabriel. While misguided, he seemed to have a good heart and sense of humor. I mean, come on, trapped in TV? It’s the single-greatest prank I’d ever heard of. The Mystery Spot mess was perhaps a little overboard, but the point he was tying to make to Sam was with good intention. Surely he’d redeemed himself, at least somewhat, in their eyes when he helped them against Lucifer. It had broken my heart to think he’d almost died, even though I’d never met him. It was several years later that the boys found me hunting a rugaroo solo and had taken me in. I’d been with them for about a year now, so it surprised me that I hadn’t met Gabriel. I was quite looking forward to it, much to the apparent annoyance on the Winchesters’ faces. If they’d expected me to be sulky about this interesting turn of events and expansion into my hunting life, they were sorely disappointed. “(Y/n) really, he’s not that big of a deal, and if you act like he is, it’s going to go straight to his head and make him even more of an annoying jerk than he already is.” Dean piped up, “Not to mention he did technically kill me, like, a lot. No matter what funny façade he presents, you can’t afford to forget how dangerous he can be. In fact…maybe it’s best if you aren’t here when he comes. The less he knows about you, the better, if you ask me.” “Are you kidding me, Dean?” I turned to Sam, who had an expression that was starting to mirror Dean’s. “Sam, you’ve got to be kidding me! I am a grown woman, the two of you are not my keepers!” They may have taken the place of surrogate brothers in my life, but they most certainly did not have any authority over me. “If I want to meet the infamous Archangel Gabriel, I will, and you cannot stop me. Dean, no-” Dean had opened his mouth, about to argue. “I was hunting for YEARS before I met the two of you. I’ve met every monster imaginable and my religion is one of the only things I’ve held on to from my pre-hunting life. I’ve been around Cas a ton and hell, I’ve literally met Mr. Call Me Chuck himself! You say Gabriel has information that could help us, by Chuck, I’m going to be there to meet him with you and there’s nothing you can do about it!” I finished, a little childishly, just short of stomping my foot and sticking out my tongue. “This one’s firey, I like her. Where’d you find her?” Startled, the three of us whipped around. Standing in the middle of the library behind us was a (rather attractive) man. He was much shorter than the boys, but a couple inches taller than me. He had golden blonde hair and caramel-colored eyes that seemed to constantly sparkle like he was mid-laugh. His face was upturned in an amused smirk. He noticed me watching him and gave me a wink. “Gabriel, Archangel of the Lord, but I believe you’ve figured that out.” He turned to the boys, “No holy fire? No pre-drawn angel banishing sigils? Boys, I don’t know whether to be disappointed in your lack of preparedness or impressed with your increasing capacity for trusting people. What can I do you for?” The boys begrudgingly began explaining to Gabriel the details of the case. We suspected the witch we’d been tracking had somehow gotten hold of a Hand of God. With Gabriel’s attention fixed on the boys (or, mostly fixed. Every so often he would glance at me, almost like he was sizing me up. It was both intriguing and intimidating) I took a moment to examine the most incredible feature of my new acquaintance: the six massive golden wings protruding from his shoulder blades. They seemed to fill the entire room. They looked like they were spun with pure gold. Not only did they reflect light, they seemed to radiate light and warmth. There was an edge of one of the wings near me. I resisted the urge to reach out and stroke it. I wanted to know if they were as soft as they looked, but I didn’t want to overstep any weird angel boundaries. I couldn’t help but be a little confused. I’d been around Cas a hundred times. I’d met Hannah and Balthazar. Why had they kept their wings hidden? Gabriel seemed to be proud of his, showing them off like he was. Every so often he would give them a gentle shake, as if he was adjusting them, causing the light to ripple down his feathers. The effect was mesmerizing. If Cas’ wings were half as beautiful, surely he’d want to show them off, too. “–(y/n)? (Y/n), you there?” I shook my head a little and turned to the three pairs of eyes watching me, waiting for a response. I wasn’t sure whether or not mentioning an angel’s wings was acceptable or appropriate, so I decided to keep my thoughts on their beauty to myself. “Sorry, I got lost in thought for a minute there. What were you saying?” Dean replied, “we were saying that we need hard proof before we go charging in, just in case this is the real deal. You ready to tank this bitch tomorrow?” “Sure,” I replied. “The three of us? Or…all of us?” I tried to ask innocently, glancing at Gabriel. With all my heart I wanted Gabriel to be there, too. However, I had only just met the man. I hadn’t even spoken to him yet. Why I so desperately wanted him to stay I didn’t know and I didn’t want to be…weird. Gabriel was watching me, dear Chuck I hoped he wasn’t reading my mind. “You, me, and Dean tomorrow,” came Sam’s reply. “We need to cover our bases and find out everything we can about what we’re dealing with tonight. If this truly is a Hand of God, we need to be prepared.” “I’ll be on standby,” Gabriel added. “Just a quick prayer and I’m there. Now, who’s hungry?” Gabriel ended up spending the afternoon at the bunker. After he popped in six pizzas (two topped with chocolate sauce and candy. It looked awful but according to him “candy goes good with everything”) Gabriel half-helped the boys research and half-spent his time talking to me. I tried to help research with the boys, but I couldn’t help myself talking to Gabriel. There was this strange pull I was feeling toward the angel. Perhaps it’s because he’s an archangel. Against my normal thorough hunter’s training, my head was only halfway in the researching while he sat across from me talking about his favorite biblical misconceptions and telling me stories about the boys from before I’d met them. “Here’s a thought,” I said two hours later after closing the book I’d been attempting to read from. “Why don’t we simply…ask Chuck?” “Well, we don’t exactly have him on speed-dial,” replied Sam. “Besides,” added Dean, “He split after the whole Amara thing, remember? ‘The world has you’ and all that bullshit. I doubt he’d answer even if we could call him.” I nodded my head, conceding to the reasonable argument. I grabbed another book and pulled it toward me. I could feel eyes on me. I looked up and my eyes met Gabriel’s. He was watching me with an intensity that almost made me uncomfortable. Instead of opening the book, I stood up, breaking eye contact. “I need some fresh air. I’m going for a walk.” The boys didn’t look up from the books they were engrossed in. Dean grunted and Sam gave a vague wave of acknowledgment. Determinedly not looking at the angel, I grabbed my jacket and walked across the room and up the stairs to the door. Making sure I had my key, I stepped out into the cool evening air. I took a deep breath and began walking. I barely paid attention to where I was headed, vaguely west toward the sunset. I had walked a radius around the bunker of a few miles in every direction during the year I’d spent here and my feet took me to one of my favorite spots: a small clearing in a grove of trees on a hillside, perfect for watching the sunset. I sat down and surveyed my surroundings. The air was definitely helping me clear my head. What was wrong with me? It was like Gabriel was clogging my senses, making my head fuzzy and warm. It was a strangely comfortable suffocation, one that was equal parts invited and confusing as hell. I had literally only met him this afternoon! I had never developed feelings for anyone this quickly, especially feelings this strong! It didn’t make any sense! “You feel it too, don’t you?” I stood up quickly, turning to the voice behind me. I relaxed immediately once I saw Gabriel. Which was also wrong! I was a hunter! What was I doing relaxing at the sight of a potentially dangerous creature that I barely knew? Gabriel seemed to read the mix of emotions on my face. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. I…don’t think I even could. I have this…weird pull toward you. Am I crazy? Do you feel it?” It was almost unnerving seeing him so vulnerable, asking for reassurance. The stories I’d read and learned about for as long as I could remember were of this mythical and intimidating figure of Heaven. The stories the boys had told me were of this powerful and annoyingly pretentious asshole. The man before me was…a man. He reached his hand up to awkwardly scratch the back of his neck, obviously uncomfortable with my silence. His wings twitched, causing the light from the setting sun to dance with the golden luminescence of his feathers. The movement caught my eye, which he noticed. His hand froze on his neck and his eyes widened. I met his eyes and his eyebrows cinched, mouth slightly agape. He shook one of his wings purposefully. I glanced toward the movement and back to his face, confusion I’m sure was evident on mine. His hand dropped from his neck and he released a long breath he had been holding. He took a step backward as if in shock and asked in a quiet voice, “…you can see them, can’t you?” Slowly, I nodded. “Gabriel…why can I see your wings, but not Castiel’s? Hannah’s? Balthazar’s? Do they keep theirs hidden?” Gabriel’s focus on me was intense as he seemed to gather himself. He cleared his throat and took a couple steps toward me. His hands looked like they were attempting to reach out and take my arms, but he was holding himself back. “Um…no. Not technically. There’s this…thing. About angels. And angel wings. Even we can’t see each other’s wings.” This surprised me, but it only deepened my confusion. Angels couldn’t see each other’s wings? So, why could I? “I guess that’s not entirely true,” he amended. “In certain…circumstances, we can. It’s simply one of those things. Showing your wings is kinda like showing your privates. It’s an intimate thing. Only reserved for special…partners…” he trailed off. I stepped toward him. We were inches apart. The fuzziness in my head was starting to return, along with a strange clarity. “Partners?” I pressed. “Well, more like…mates. Like…soul mates. It sounds cheesy, but only an angel’s soul mate is able to see an angel’s wings. You can’t see Castiel’s because he’s not your soulmate.” “But I can see yours. So that must mean…” “Yeah.” He closed the distance between us, allowing his hands to wrap around my back and hold me closer to him for a fiercely passionate kiss. I returned it with fervor. His hands trailed up my arms to cradle my face. My hands found their way to his hips and our bodies pressed against one another. Every cell in my body was on fire. Every ounce of my being was screaming how perfect this felt, how natural and overwhelmingly right. I wanted to kiss him for the rest of my life. I started to giggle while we kissed. He broke away and rested his forehead against mine. “What, in the name of my father, could be so funny at a moment like this?” He teased. I grinned at him. “I’m standing on a hill in a field kissing THE literal archangel Gabriel whom happens to somehow be my soulmate. If my mother could see me now…” he chuckled and kissed my nose. His wings, unbeknownst to me, had wrapped around us, forming a sort of cocoon around us both. I started to reach my hand toward the feathers close to me, but stopped. I glanced at Gabriel, who gave an almost imperceptible nod of permission. I continued my reach and stroked the feathers. They felt like clouds woven into a fabric. Their softness was indescribable and the warmth was comforting to the touch. Gabriel let out a hissing gasp the moment I made contact. I pulled my hand away and looked to him immediately, terrified that I had somehow managed to hurt him. He noticed my distress and kissed my forehead. “It’s okay. I’ve just…never felt anyone touch my wings before. It’s like if you suddenly had nerve endings in your hair. It’s startling, but extremely pleasant.” Just then, my cellphone began to buzz in my pocket. I pulled it out and glanced at the screen. “The boys seem to be getting worried…how long have we been out here?” I couldn’t see the sunset behind Gabe’s wings. When he pulled them back, I learned that not only had the sun gone down long ago, but the heat radiating from his wings had effectively blocked off the chill of the night. I was immediately onslaught by cold air and wrapped my arms around myself, shivering at the temperature difference. Gabriel noticed and held me in his arms. “Hold on tight, sugar,” he whispered in my ear before snapping us into the bunker’s living room. Dean and Sam, who had been sitting on the couch and in an armchair respectively, both jumped up as we materialized in front of them, concern evident in their faces. Concern that quickly turned into confusion and apprehension as they took in the protective and possessive way Gabriel was standing with his arms around me, and the comfortable way I was leaning my back against his front. Dean’s eyebrow slowly raised as he caught my eye. Grinning sheepishly, I looked at the two of them and said, “boys…you may want to sit down. I believe you both need a break from research and there’s some…things….that need to be talked about.”

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #wingfic #soulmate au #Gabriel x reader #Gabriel fic #reader can see Gabriel's wings #waywarddaughterwrites

[lollercakesff]

soft touch

chapter 20 | ao3 pairing: anne/gilbert rating: mature wordcount: 3,548

The weather turns hot in the Glen and I finally find an apprentice in the next town over who’s willing to cover for me as I take Anne home. Susan declines the invitation, choosing instead to visit her daughter and give us what she has kindly termed ‘family building time’ which none of us will admit is actually coded words for letting Anne and I roam the house together whenever Harris is down for a nap or tucked away at night.

Though she would never admit it, lately whenever Anne and I found each other after too long apart she would give a knowing look and then disappear out of the house for as long as she could, returning only to help us prepare supper and care for Harris throughout the evening. It was almost predictable, by now, and while it made our cheeks flush with embarrassment it was the only time we managed to find each other with the summer activities and my work calling at all hours.

Not looking a gift horse in the mouth we took it kindly when she excused herself for her trip, preparing ourselves for the journey to Avonlea and mentally checking every box. When the day finally comes to depart I step out of the house and press my hand to her back in greeting. She holds Harris tightly in her arms as she works to convince herself off the first step.

“It’s okay to be nervous,” I state, my hand cupping her elbow as she looks out at the waiting buggy with trepidation.

“I’m not - I just haven’t been home since school. Is it very much different?”

Shaking my head I step down and stand before her, urging her forward. “Some things are. But it’s still Avonlea. Just think - Diana is on the other end of this and won’t she be so thrilled to meet Harris?”

“Oh, Diana! My sweet lovely Diana... “ She sighs and steps off the porch, closing her eyes tightly for the briefest of moments before exhaling on a rush. “It will be nice to go home. To say goodbye like I should have.”

“Nobody holds it against you, you know. Bash and Mary remind me that with every letter. I think they’ve made sure to fill the rumour mill with so many other things,” I chuckle, thinking of Bash’s story about the children in the Easter play and their off-key meandering songs.

“I’m glad we’re going, Gil. I am. I’m just nervous.” I don’t offer her any words for that, choosing instead to help her into the buggy and begin our trip to the station.

We travel through the day and into the early evening, trips up and down the train cars to soothe a mutinous Harris as the travel wears him out. When finally we pull into the station near Avonlea it’s with a sense of relief, of peace, that we disembark and collect ourselves on the platform.

“Anne!” A voice calls excitedly, Diana Wright crashing through the people and wrapping Anne up in a bone-crushing hug. Tears abound as the two friends reunite, their words babbling over one another until they pause for breath, screaming like schoolgirls. I stand to the side and watch it unfold, holding a sleeping Harris against me with a dopey smile on my face.

“Aren’t they just a sight for tired eyes?” Fred Wright says at my side, nearly making me jump out of my skin as he claps a hand on my shoulder.

“You’re telling me. It’s good to see you, Fred,” I greet brightly, turning towards him and offering him an extended hand. He takes it quickly and then reaches for Harris, eyes wide.

“Let me see him! It’s been years since I held a wee one like this,” he coos, holding the child to his chest and running his thumb along the boy’s nose.

“Gilbert! Oh it is so good to see you again!” Diana shouts, apparently finished with Anne and now moving onto me. In unladylike manner she lunges at me, wrapping her arms around my waist. “You found her! You found her again - I couldn’t - oh, Gil!”

Diana’s tears come quickly against my chest, her composure failing as she turns back to Anne and holds her once more. I rub a thumb under my own eyes quickly, looking away as Fred chuckles. “They’re a real pair, aren’t they?”

“You could say that,” I respond and watch them for a moment longer. When Harris begins to cry I turn to Fred and extend my arms, only to be cut off as Diana instead pulls him to her chest. Together the two women fret over the wails, leaving Fred and I to collect the bags and steer us out towards the waiting carriage.

The ride to the Wright household is filled with excitement, boisterous stories from the couple keeping us in stitches as we ride down the trails. When we eventually crest the edge of their property I breathe a sigh of relief, my hand squeezing Anne’s side gently as we pull up their lane.

“We’ve prepared the spare room for you, Anne. It should be big enough for the three of you,” Diana explains as we step through the front door to the expansive house.

“And you’re sure it’s no trouble for us to stay here? Rachel said Green Gables was still furnished but…” Anne’s voice slips as she swallows her words. Diana reaches out and squeezes her hands as I step instinctively closer.

“We’re sure. My home is your home,” Diana insists and breathes through the shake in her voice. She settles herself once more and leads us through the space and towards our room to start settling in.

It’s later, after night has fallen and the stillness of the house has crept in, that I hold Anne against me as the tears finally catch up to her. We don’t speak, our touch enough to keep us grounded as all of the hurt rises and colours our day. When finally she drifts off to sleep with her back pressed to my chest I breathe a sigh of relief, my lips pressing a gentle kiss to her shoulder before I follow her quickly into slumber.

Morning comes later than we expected, Harris’ cries not rousing us at dawn like they always seemed to now. It’s almost disorienting, I find, to wake up well rested and with Anne curled into me. Disorienting and wonderful, I have to admit.

But the peace is short-lived as soon she stirs, her short red hair a tangled mess as she raises her head to look at me. “Why does it feel like I’ve slept for five years?” She yawns, tightening her arms around me before starting to withdraw.

In a quick move I chuckle and lean towards her, capturing her lips in a deep kiss that leaves her dazed. As I withdraw she groans, lifting her hand to my neck to keep me with her a moment longer.

If not for the knock at the door I wasn’t sure we ever would have gotten out of bed, the taste of her making me feel lightheaded as we reluctantly pulled apart.

“May I come in?” A small voice calls through the wood. Anne lifts a brow at me and I lean to the side of the bed, pulling on my shirt as I hand her her oversized sweater.

“You may,” Anne replies lightly, watching as a little girl carries in an overflowing tray.

“Father said not to bother you but Mother wanted to make sure you had sus-sus-tan-eze,” the girl greets, looking up at us with wide eyes as she stumbles over the word. I can see the recognition come over Anne’s features, her gaze softening.

“And what lovely girl brings us breakfast in bed?” Anne’s voice shakes as she takes the tray from her hands.

“Why, I’m Anne Cordelia!” The girl replies, a wide smile on her face.

“I’m so very pleased to meet you. I’m Anne Shirley Cuthbert Blythe,” Anne whispers, reaching a shaking hand out to the girl.

“Mother said we had the same name but you’ve got oh so many more than I do!” Anne Cordelia insists, taking Anne’s hand and shaking it thoroughly. “But I need to get back to the kitchen. Father said I couldn’t bother you for too long or else I’d have to do Fred’s chores. Are you coming out soon? It’s almost mid-day you know.”

“Yes - we’ll come see you as quick as we can,” Anne replies with a laugh, squeezing my hand tightly and watching as the girl retreats back out the door. Once the latch has clicked shut she turns to me abruptly, launching herself against me in a bone-crushing hug. “I’m so glad we’re here.”

“Me too,” I mumble and rub my hand along her back.

We finish the tray and dress as we go, preparing ourselves for the onslaught of Avonlea that awaits us this afternoon. A church picnic happened to fall later that day and Diana urged us to attend, promising that it would be a merry event for everyone to visit and see the long-lost scholars.

“Has he been behaving?” I ask Diana as we join them on the porch, reaching for Harris and settling him against me with a soft smile.

“Of course! We collected him this morning from your room when he was getting hungry. You looked too peaceful to wake up,” she says with a cheeky smile, her cheeks flushing. I feel my own colour rise as we share a knowing look that makes Anne slap at my shoulder.

“Are we meeting Bash and Mary at the picnic?” Anne asks, sitting down beside Diana and looking out over the rolling fields with a wayward gaze.

“Yes. They were helping set up and couldn’t get out of it,” I reply as I bounce Harris playfully on my thigh. He smiles and wobbles, his expression bright and warming.

“You look so lovely with him, Gil. I always knew you would make a splendid father,” Diana interjects, watching us with a soft gaze. I catch her eye as she smiles, looking between the three of us. “Did I mention how wonderful it is to see you together? After all this time?”

“Don’t start again or you’ll get me going too!” Anne groans, shifting towards her friend and grasping her knee. The two laugh and shake their heads, words unspoken but conveying the closing of the miles of distance between them.

“To have you home Anne… It’s a dream I could not imagine after all those years where we didn’t hear from you. It was the longest silence,” Diana sighs, lifting a handkerchief to her eyes and dabbing at the tears that appear.

“It really was the loneliest too,” Anne adds before standing and pulling Diana into her embrace, a proper tight hug bringing the two bosom friends back together.

I take my leave to let them re-connect and head towards the pond, toting Harris along with me as I show him the beauty of our home. By the time we arrive back it’s nearly time to leave again and we quickly get ready, dressing in our best under strict instruction from Diana.

The church courtyard is full of people when we arrive and for a moment Anne simply sits in the carriage looking out at all of our old acquaintances and their families. “I can’t believe how many people I recognize,” she whispers as Diana and Fred head with their children and Harris towards the gathering. I sit with Anne’s hands in my lap, waiting until she’s ready.

“It’s different but still the same,” I agree softly.

“Blythe!” A familiar voice calls out from behind us, Bash coming into view with his arms raised wide and over his head. He climbs into the carriage and pulls us into tight hugs, eventually dragging us down and towards the crowd excitedly.

With my hand wrapped tightly with Anne’s we approach the cluster of people, eyes wide as they all look towards us. Bright smiles greet us as the crowd parts, inviting us forward and towards a small arch lined with summer flowers. Below the structure stands Reverend Allan, aged but still smiling.

“Bash,” I hiss, looking towards the man who gives me a wink. I look to Anne who freezes mid-step, the whole picture starting to come together as her brow furrows.

She turns to me then with a stricken look, grey eyes wide. “Is this what I think it is?” She questions, her fingers squeezing mine so tightly that I nearly lose feeling. Instinctually I pull her into my arms, ducking my head so that I can whisper my replies into her ear.

“It just might be. Do you want to leave?” I offer. Anne pauses, her hands coming up to draw my gaze to hers.

“No. Do you?” With a shake of my head I grin and turn us back towards the altar, leading us forward with a blush colouring up my neck. “Reverend, it’s been a while.” I greet as we join him. Behind us the crowd quiets, anticipation filling the air.

“As it has, Doctor Blythe. Mrs Wright informed me things were a bit unorthodox in your marriage which, to be honest, only surprised me a little. Miss Anne, how are you?” The Reverend greets, beaming down towards Anne with a knowing look.

“I would like to hug you - Oof!” Nearly knocked off her feet with the impact, Anne laughs as Reverend Allan pulls her into a quick hug.

“It might not be proper but you’ve always held a special place in my heart, dear girl. I couldn’t pass up the chance to be here for you,” he replies, settling his hands on her shoulders as she wipes away tears.

“Kindred spirits still?” She laughs and we join her, my own eyes blinking away tears.

“Always. Now - shall we get onto the real reason we’re all gathered here today?”

The wedding happens in the blink of an eye. One minute we’re slipping off our rings and then next we’re placing them back with weighted words, our hands shaking as we say our vows before the people of Avonlea and God himself. Though surely we would offend some in the crowd with our out of order nuptials and the obvious glaring truth of Anne’s existing marital status, on that afternoon there doesn’t seem to be a care in the world for propriety and the idea of right and wrong. There was only us, our family, our friends, standing with us as we promised each other for now and forever.

“And now you may kiss the bride,” Reverend Allen announces to a roaring applause. I grin down at Anne, her beaming smile meeting mine, before I pull her against me in a breathless kiss that makes the crowd whoop and Bash let out an ear-piercing whistle.

“Mrs Blythe,” I breathe as we part, her arms still tightly wrapped around my neck

“Doctor Blythe,” she counters softly, her fingers playing with the curls in my hair.

“You’ve got your whole life to kiss her, Blythe!” Bash interrupts eventually, jovial in his excitement.

The gathering dissolves into a party unheard of in the small town, a band setting up under trees filled with lanterns as the evening begins to set in. We dance and visit until our feet ache, only giving ourselves a moment of peace when it’s time to settle in to eat.

“Miss Anne!” Seb shouts and leaps to his feet as we tuck ourselves into the table. He’s at Anne’s side in a flash, his arms outstretched as he barrels towards her before he stops abruptly, nearly colliding into her as he slows and puts his arms down. “Sorry Miss Anne, I almost forgot. May I hold your hand and say hello?”

My heart nearly stops in my chest, the memory of Christmas flooding back into my mind as little Sebastian curbs his excitement for a more refined approach.

“Oh Seb,” Anne sighs, reaching towards the boy. “I do wish you would give me the biggest hug you can provide.” He holds nothing back and leaps towards her, arms wrapping around her neck as tightly as he can make them.

“I was afraid you were still scared of soft touches and I didn’t want to ruin your day,” he whispers conspiratorially, leaning back and lifting his palm to her cheek. Her eyes shine as she glances over towards me, colour rising in her cheeks as the boy smoothes her hair back.

“Well, Seb, I’ve had quite a good teacher these last few months. Uncle Gil has been helping me remember how to let - how did you say it? Love speak through our hands?” Seb nods vigorously, a wide smile beaming from him. “He’s helped me realize that you were very right to say it like that. I’m not as afraid as I used to be and I’m even able to help Harris with it too.”

“So do I have to ask first everytime I see you?” He asks pointedly, dark eyes gazing into hers.

“It’s always good to ask first but if you get really excited and you just want to give me a hug, I wouldn’t mind that so much. Okay?”

“Okay Miss Anne, you got it.” He crawls down from her lap and heads back towards his chair, stopping once to look up at Anne with a charming smile. “I almost forgot - I like your red hair a lot better. It fits my memory of you best.”

I feel like I’ve been run over by a horse, Anne’s hand clasping tightly in mine as she takes the compliment and blows the boy a kiss. He runs off in another second and she turns to me with the widest smile I’d seen from her in decades, her colouring flushing out her freckles. I could nearly drag her into a bedroom right now for how the joy makes her look, stunning and alive.

“You pick good, Doctor Blythe,” she whispers into my ear, resting her chin on my shoulder for a moment before the food is placed before us.

“Tell me about it,” I murmur back, my hand squeezing her thigh until she chuckles and brushes me away. The meal passes and I don’t remember tasting a thing, at some point finding myself tied up with tiny dancers, the daughters of our friends having taken my dance card and filled it so that I barely have a chance to sit down.

When I finally do it is with a surprised glance that I realize Anne is nowhere to be found, Diana and Fred sitting with Bash and Mary, Harris soaking in the attention that the group would provide him.

“Has anyone seen Anne?” I question over the music, watching as they all look at me with confusion. Only Mary smiles sadly, nodding in the direction of Green Gables without a word.

I don’t hesitate to go to her, making my way through the fields and hopping the long standing fences between the properties. The graveyard sits in the corner of a field and it’s there I see a small figure seated on the ground amongst the tombstones.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming here?” I ask as I come to join her. There’s fresh tears on her cheeks, her hair a wayward mess as she sniffs and looks up at me.

“I felt like maybe I needed to tell them on my own,” she replies lowly, looking between Matthew and Marilla’s graves. I settle beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and letting her lean back into me.

“Were they happy to hear the good news?” She chuckles and absently plays with my fingers, drawing her nails across the back of my hand in a soft pattern.

“I like to think so. I saved that part for last though. I wanted them to know the whole story so that they understood why I didn’t come back but I didn’t want them to be sad for me. How could they be knowing that it all brought me back to you?”

“They would have understood. They loved you Anne,” I say unnecessarily.

“I know.”

We sit there together until the moon is cresting the horizon, dusk evolving into night and the cool evening air wrapping around us. Occasionally Anne shares another tale, a funny story from the Glen or a charming piece from school, sometimes it’s me with a recollection of admiration for their girl, something that would have pleased them so.

“I’m glad we came back,” Anne admits as we get to our feet, our arms linking together as we head back towards the party. “It’s almost like I’ve closed this book on my life. Like I’m ready to start fresh with you, finally.”

“Are we on the same page then?” I ask with a pause in my step. She twists and wraps herself around me, looking up from where her chin has settled against my chest.

“I’d argue we’re in the same sentence,” she whispers and without thinking we hold tight to one another, my hands lifting her chin so I can meet her lips with mine in a promise of forever.

#anne of green gables #anne with an e #anne x gilbert #shirbert #shirbert fanfiction #lollercakes

[studio77photouk]

Meet with a Wedding Photographer in New York, NY: Adam W Cohen Photography

Today’s wedding photographer meeting is with Adam W. Cohen of Adam W. Cohen Photography, located in New York, NY! Enjoy:

Tell us a little about yourself and your company.

My family and wedding photography studio is located out of NYC and we cover the Tristate and New England Region.     I love this job because  people who I am and everything I really care about.   I am  a romantic realist.   Photographing evidence of the feelings that induce individuals to marry each other is not just a big part of my job, it’s also profoundly, personally fulfilling for me.

Read the entire interview after the cut!

The term my customers most often use to describe me would be “sweet” Sweetness has an important place in wedding and portraiture work. Technical mastery of camera settings and light just really matters in a wedding when the bride and groom and all of their loved ones members and guests feel relaxed and positive  in my own presence. When you like having your photographer around, then you are truly at the moment with each other, which is what it’s all about, either romantically and photographically.

When I’m not taking pictures, I’m out discovering amazing meals in NYC, playing Ultimate frisbee, taking the ferry to Brooklyn (it’s the ideal amusement park ride from the city for the son), hitting on the shore, and hiking paths. In NYC, there’s endless opportunities to research, and my loved ones and I can not get enough of it. It takes java to get me buzzing with ideas for your essays and stories that I write in my spare time. And I’m still excited about pictures when I’m not recording once-in-a-lifetime occasions. I love analyzing the work of many others, taking workshops, and experimentation and practicing in my.

How did you get to wedding photography?

I had been working mostly as a movie producer and manager when I got back in touch with a college friend who was a successful wedding photographer. I had been curious about what her working experience had been like and she hired me to function as next for a couple weddings.   Everything about the job excited me. I had been hired for 3 hours on my next wedding, but I worked for ten. Frankly, I couldn’t pull myself away. The wedding scene was really full of personality and lifestyle, a  stream of    creative opportunit ies  at a life-affirming setting.   I had been hooked. We worked together to get a year, and she told me that I was the greatest second photographer she had ever worked with in more than a decade of shooting weddings, which of course was very encouraging and humbling since I was going to throw myself to studying and mastering a whole new art form. My job with her led to other opportunities and then finally I had customers and weddings of my own.

What is your favourite part of the wedding to capture?

Taking pictures of people completely surrendered to what they are feeling at the moment. When I capture this, I know my customers are going to have an authentic record of the wedding experience. As a photographer, that’s the type of film I know I will find at every wedding, in minutes of authentic connection, vulnerability, shared reality, bliss, tenderness, disbelief, ecstasy, poignancy, relief, and overpowering love.   These moments occur daily and not necessarily when you’d anticipate. Couples have different styles, different energies appear spontaneously. So it’s very important to pay close attention to what is happening emotionally, not just keep tabs on the series of events, but also to actually be current and receptive to what people feel.

What’s the most embarrassing moment you’ve experienced while on the job?

Awkward moments often precede something amazing, like a burst of tears or laughter or other displays of pent up emotion. A silence that goes on a bit too long, a individual says something somewhat off, people grab each other’s gaze unexpectedly, an elderly comparative dances flamboyantly, a child cries out — function weddings and you also know it’s the off-script minutes that make our weddings genuinely our own.

As for personally awkward minutes, I once had an officiant say in the end of the service, “And the photographer will guide you.” Everybody looked at me, including the couple who had only kissed. I lowered my camera and said, “okay, first let us congratulate the bride and groom as they walk down the aisle, but please remain where you are for a picture later.” I had been caught off guard, but serendipitously the officiant only created a picture that I wished to take a lot easier to pull off.

What is your favourite place and why?

I love outdoor locations–beaches, gardens, the streets of NY for the pure light and grandeur. Gorgeous light are discovered in wide-open spaces and at the most romantic and shadowy corners of a small restaurant. But any place selected conscientiously by my customers is going to be a location where they feel comfortable and excited and “themselves,” and that’s the main factor when creating pictures together.

Having said that, among my favourite places would be the Prospect Park Boathouse at Brooklyn, which will be so romantic and romantic, also Tappan Hill Mansion at Tarrytown, NY (Mark Twain’s mansion overlooking the Hudson River) which is expansive but still warm. Both are surrounded by natural splendor, as it happens both are catered by Abigail Kirsch, who is incredible.

Nikon or Canon?

I shoot with a set of Canon 5D MkIV DSLRs.

What’s your dream place to shoot a wedding?

MOMA in New York! It could be a excellent location for unusual and trendy angles, reflections, and stunning backgrounds. I’m also fascinated by Iceland’s exotic landscapes, I would love to shoot a  couple on a black-sandy beach with crashing waves and sheer cliffs behind them.

If you were able to shoot any celebrity wedding (past, present or future), who are the lucky bunch?

Jennifer Lawrence and Bradley Cooper at Silver Linings Playbook. Their characters are so romantic and quirky, too! Especially now that the Eagles have won the Superbowl, that could be a heartfelt party, and the speeches could be hilarious, and the dancing could be crazy!

What is the biggest lesson you’ve learned, and could pass along to some other new wedding photographers only getting started?

Take nothing for granted and always be a student of your craft.   Anything you can do to improve, take action. If you do not feel this drive obviously, as part of your response to wedding photography and portraiture, then you might want to think about doing something different. If you aren’t there because you love it, even if it feels like a chore or a task, that’s likely to be more upsetting for you and your clients. If you like it, you are going to get better and better with experience and it will be a fulfilling way to make a living.

What advice or tips can you provide couples who want to hire a photographer to cover their big day?

The most universal advice I would offer all couples is there are a whole lot of talented photographers around the world, so that you can and ought to take some time to discover a person one of that group with whom you feel a personal connection.   Your wedding photographer is going to be a significant part of your wedding experience, a part of your memories of one o   f the most important days of your life. So after you find individuals whose aesthetics you prefer and whose technical mastery you anticipate, pick one which you get together with.

When you’ve got your short listing, meet your last photographers in individual. There’s really no substitute for doing so and at this point, you can not lose since you are just fulfilling artists whose work you prefer. I adore these meetings! We get to know each other and naturally talk about your wedding, whatever you know up to now and the ideas you are working on. I provide you with a customized estimate within a day or so of our assembly, and that I also include some particular comments meant to assist you make decisions regarding your wedding favors based on my experiences.

Your wedding photographer has appreciated more weddings than you’ve got and you ought to take advantage of her or his insights to help to make your day as terrific as possible.   Here are two quick tips:

Less experienced photographers occasionally emphasize they exercise  “natural light” photography for a way of sidestepping their own inexperience (and their lack of confidence) with using flash in low-to-no-light circumstances. All photographers prefer normal light, but when a number of your wedding has been scheduled to occur after the sun sets or in dimly lit rooms, then you are going to need a photographer who knows how to take good pictures of individuals with off-camera flash. You should ask photographers to reveal pictures similar to this in their portfolio.

And finally, you are going to be feeling all kinds of emotions and nerves on your big day. Attempt to take a breath and soak everything in. You’ve spent so much time preparing for your wedding day, so that it arrives savor it, do not rush it. And if your vows are all over, forget about everything and everybody and only live during that kiss for a moment longer than usual. Nobody dreamed taking an excess beat with their very first kiss as a married couple.

Thanks, Adam! For more information about Adam W. Cohen Photography, please visit his WeddingLovely Vendor Guide profile or head straight to his site.

Do you have any questions or remarks for Adam? Add them to the comments below!

from Studio 77 Photography Gwent Wedding Photographers http://www.studio77photography.co.uk/meet-with-a-wedding-photographer-in-new-york-ny-adam-w-cohen-photography/

[bluegoattoken-blog]

What is this; and why is it here? Who am I?

This is going to primarily be a blog about Goat Control, and various concepts and musings I have about the format, both currently (in its re-re-reemergence in my local scene as an alternative to the contemporary format) and back in the moment, sometimes juxtaposed. It will mostly be to try and articulate some feelings I haven’t yet fully formed and hope this medium will force me to do so. Though, I hope you dear readers can get something out of it as well. I thought of myself as an adequate player at the time, improving up until my first departure from the game following the Perfect Circle format/ introduction of Destiny Heroes. Since then I’ve come and gone in and out of the game to various and mild successes. If you told 14-year-old me I’d long for the days where my “only” complaints about the game were, “Oh, the dude opened trinity on me…” Or “Got sacked by a ripped BLS/Snatch/Ring” I’d probably kick you in the knee. Yet here we are.

My name is Jon Sturick, formerly and firstly TheMysticOne-LV4 (I’m judging my twelve year old self pretty hard, as I’m sure, are you) back in the good old Pojo days, followed by theSAVAGEindian, modeled after theSAVAGEcanadian, and my Jae Kim/Team Savage fanboyism on duelistgroundZ (Sorry OD), jayhawn on several sites and forums and finally the Bluest of Goat Tokens you see here today. This is going to be an unnecessarily long winded, and probably uninteresting to most, history of my experiences with, and tales regarding, the game that consumed and shaped so much of my adolescence. So, if you’re here for goat stuff, it’s coming. I just have some things I’d like to finally write down first.

My history with the game dates back to the North American release in 2002, where I begged my mother to buy me the starter decks on ebay after watching the show, which she did. I’d play with my friends, not entirely sure we were following the rules correctly. This is because I, of course, would play all the high attack tribute monsters played by the characters in the show, letting my friends use “those other cards,” but I’d frequently lose. Therefore, obviously, we must not be playing correctly.

As my collection grew so did my deck. Back in the day there was no main deck limit and my strategy was not very refined. It was along the lines of, “All my cards are cool, so all my cards go in the deck.” -- At least the ones that I can legally play. I still followed the rule that you can only play three copies of a card and adhered to the limited and semi-limited card list. In my elementary school we were allowed to bring in our stuff and do with it what we would during lunch and/or recess. There had been no huge issue after Pokemon Cards came and went. However, one day, I made the mistake of bragging about my Gate Guardian and how much money it was worth ($80 according to ebay at the time). Naturally it got jacked, and I was devastated. It was my only secret rare other than the Gaia the Dragon Champion that I pulled in my first ever pack. Worst of all this little prick was parading it around and had his parents write him a note saying they bought it for him. My family and teacher had some pity for me and bought me a few packs, attempting to replace the missing centerpiece of my collection. The game had three expansions at the time (Legend of Blue-Eyes, Metal Raiders and Magic Ruler) so they got a little of each because they didn’t know the difference. This is blessing in disguise eventually ended up accelerating my first “break” into the tournament scene, as I ended up with staples such as Raigeki, Mirror Force, Heavy Storm, Pot of Greed and an extra copy or two of Fissure, Trap Hole and Man-Eater Bug. These powerful cards would have otherwise been inaccessible to a youngster such as myself.

One day, after agreeing to accompany my mother to the mall on the condition she buy me a pack of cards, I discovered a Yu-Gi-Oh! tournament being run in the back of the store. I ran the idea of participating the next weekend by my mom. She was initially disinclined to acquiesce to my proposal of carting me to the mall at 9am on a Saturday. She also wasn’t thrilled about the prospect of sitting in the mall with me until I was done, either. She eventually agreed after my insistence that I’d be okay alone, and that I’d call her after every round. Not to mention I’d keep the sharpest eye of all time on my things, lest we repeat the disaster that happened in school.

I remember sitting on the bench outside of the comic shop in the mall at 9:30am before my first ever tournament with my tin of cards, containing my deck, before the store opened at 10 and feeling nervous and alone. It wasn’t the typical pre-tournament jitters, peppered with an anxious excitement that I’d eventually come to know and love. I was just scared. I was no stranger to competition as I was naturally quick witted, and able to adapt well on-the-fly, for my age. The consequences of which were my friends and I challenging each other to video game triathlons, decathlons; marathons in every sense of the word (because I’d never sit, always standing, pacing and jumping) in every game we owned, trying to prove our superiority. However, I was not with my friends. This was no test of reflexes or dexterity. There were no mini-games to practice and memorize. I had no way to prepare for what cards would be in their deck, nor could I know what I would draw from my 325 card monstrosity. Eventually people began to file in and I gave the man behind the counter $5, and told him my name. I tried to articulate my strategy, which to him probably seemed like anxious babbling, which it almost certainly was. I was looking for validation or even any friendly notion to calm my nerves. I got no such gratification, so I went in the back and watched some kids play games before the event started.

The pairings were posted, and I noted how long this list of names seemed and the fact there were almost as many people in the back of this store as one of my classrooms. I sat down across from a teenager, and began nervously struggling to shuffle nearly every card I owned. I won this match. I’m not sure how, but I remember being very pleased with myself nonetheless. The next round I was mercilessly destroyed by a different teenager who seemed totally disinterested that I had flipped my trap card that did damage to his life points. Defeat after defeat followed and I went home, tail tucked between my legs, but exhilarated by the prospect of this new challenge. The following week, a similar tale of defeat, but with much less anxiety. I challenged every person who would agree to entertain the notion of playing against this little kid, losing most games. After this tournament one of the older kids there, Jake B, asked to look through my deck. I was wary, because I noted his shock, then amusement and eventual interest in the Mirror Force I flipped on him in my round one loss, but I agreed. I watched, hawkishly, every motion of his hands as he began separating the cards in my deck. First, he asked if I wanted to trade. A quick, “Nope.” was my reply. He then chuckled and sighed and recommended that I run as few cards possible, as close to the 40 card minimum that I could in order to maximize my chances of drawing my more powerful cards. As he helped sort through the giant heap I once called my deck in order to create a considerably more concise pile of cards, I relaxed and realized he was just trying to help. Upon later inspection I noted many of the cards remaining said, “destroy” in the text, or had 4 or fewer stars and relatively large attack and defense.

I insisted on keeping my one copy of Alpha, Beta and Gamma, the Magnet Warriors, in my deck as they had a similar strategy to my beloved and departed Gate Guardian. The next week I found myself thrashing kids who only a week prior showed no interest in our game together, as the outcome, in their mind, was never in doubt. I finished with a score of three wins and one loss, still being metaphorically eviscerated by Hamad, the near-silent Middle Eastern gentleman who sat in the corner. We began the top 8 cut and I was paired against Jake, who was still very intimidating to me, despite last week’s friendly assistance. I managed to win this game as well and was next playing a fellow by the name of Josh Eller. Josh was tall, confident and borderline arrogant, though depending on who you asked, extraordinarily arrogant... and a dick. This brazen confidence could only be displayed by either a master, or a fool. I would quickly come to realize during our match he was certainly the former, as he annihilated me in game one. In game two I drew my most powerful cards early on and was able to overwhelm him. I managed to win game three by protecting my Beta the Magnet Warrior with all manners of traps and removals, just as Jake had showed me. Josh was so upset and frustrated by this loss to such a novice, he punched a hole in the drywall. Despite my understandable fear at the time, that hole soon morphed into a symbol of pride for me. It was a marker of my victory that day that stood, covered by a poster, until the store’s departure from Shoppingtown Mall. 

I was in the finals. My excitement was short lived as I had to play Hamad again, and again got pummeled. It wasn’t a disheartening loss, despite its one-sidedness, as the way he played his cards proved to me there was much more strategy than I had previously believed. You didn’t need to, and in fact, shouldn’t, play a card just because there was an instance in which the card can be played. This concept seems simple, but it was foreign to me. I had only ever played card games like Uno and solitaire before. It allowed me to think much more critically and begin to develop strategies on my own and make more insightful reads on my opponents. Deep stuff for a twelve year old. I was hooked. And I belonged.

#history #yugioh