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scandalsavagefanfic · 3 years

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Hello! I am a huge fan of ur writing. I've loved everything I've read of yours. I've read alot of what you've posted, except for a couple of the tags that are squicky for me (so I'm very thankful you tag very thoroughly). No judgement for the squick, it's just not for me. & when I'm having a bad day, I usually just go thru ur ao3 and find something to reread. I think about Therapy's Bruce & Jason every damn day. While I obvs appreciate ur darker more "problematic" content (I really vibe with some of the themes you write about bc of my own trauma, & so it's very cathartic to read about in a fictional setting), I am truly a sucker for ur more happy content. The Happily Ever After verse also lives in my head rent free. Idk more wholesome stuff just seems more special when you write it. Anyways. I would die for you. But the point of this ask is cause I'm curious as to why you don't like Urban Legends? I'm sorry if you already talked about it here or on twitter and I missed it. I was just wondering because I really enjoy your take on things and would love to hear why you dislike it. I've been enjoying it so far personally, but I am always open to DC comics criticism.

Aw thank you so much! I'm so flattered by everything you just said. You're so sweet ❤❤❤❤❤

I haven't talked about Urban Legends here or twitter (I haven't been very active in either place lately. Just a lot going on and no energy 😔) but I'm happy to do it here.

Before I start though, I just want to add a standard disclaimer and make it clear that if you like it, there's nothing wrong with that and you don't have to let me ruin it for you lol. Like what you like.

That said, since you asked...

I said this when I was talking about it on discord, that there is a difference between hope and expectation. I always hope that a new story centered on Jason (or anyone really, but things have been especially egregious for Jay for 15 years) will be good or at least treat the character with a minimal level of respect (to be honest, the bar is super fucking low). But my expectations always temper my hope, to keep it from getting unrealistic. Because my expectations are based on experience.

The long history of Jason Todd, since even before his resurrection, has been one of retroactively trying to make him "a bad seed" in order to absolve Bruce of any responsibility in his death.

I don't even expect DC or their writers to start honoring the fact that Jason was not an angry, reckless Robin (and less of the later than Dick or Tim and definitely Damian). There plenty of ways that retcon can be folded into his history and be compelling and sympathetic. And if they're going to stick with that retcon, I'm only asking that they do it in one of those compelling and sympathetic ways because Jason was 15 when he died, heroically, in one of the most selfless acts in comics, to save a woman who literally handed him over to be brutally murdered. He was 12 when Bruce plucked him off the streets, he'd been homeless and fending for himself for at least two years. I personally think that Jason's story hits harder for him and Bruce if their original, canon relationship, of Jason as starry-eyed and eager to learn and absolutely devoted to Bruce and Bruce to Jason, is preserved. But Jason's origins does leave room for a meaningful interpretation of him as angry and frustrated at the lack of meaningful results of Bruce's methods.

And that's really where my irritation at stories like Batman: Urban Legends, Cheer and Batman The Adventure Continues has it's roots.

Every time one of these stories comes out, I think (or hope, rather) that this will be the one that remembers and respects the origins of the Jason and the Red Hood, that takes into account the changed sensibilities of comics readers in the 30 years since Jason's death and the subtle, 20 year, retroactive campaign to make him the "bad Robin". The "born bad" trope is played out and literally no one likes the message it implies. That some kids are just bad eggs and there's nothing parents or the adults around them can do. Especially when it's played as the kid's fault. If Jason's time as Robin is going to be characterized by anger, then it should be rooted in anger at the social injustices he witnessed as he grew up in an impoverished, crime-ridden, area and the horrors he faced raising himself when every day was a battle for survival. There are topical, meaningful, stories to tell with that backdrop.

But those are never the stories we get.

⚠⚠ Spoilers for Batman: Urban Legends, Cheer ⚠⚠

I'm particularly disappointed in Urban Legends because for the first issue, it looked like that was the kind of story we were going to get. I was put off by the first flashback of Jason being mesmerized by Bruce's guns, and I got that feeling in my gut that it was a bad sign. Jason depicted as impatient and overconfident and the scene with the guns is heavy-handed foreshadowing that got my spidey-sense tingling. I had a inkling then (in the first three pages) of how this story was going to play out, but it was early and I could still see many narrative paths that could lead to a satisfying story. My concerns were soothed somewhat and the little flame of my hope fanned, with the flashback of Alfred scolding Bruce, with Barbara's concern for Jason. A bit of worry returned with the way Jason ruthlessly pursued an addict who didn't appear to be a dealer and with the ending of the issue. The stuff with the addict sat wrong with me but the ending was tempered some by how despicable Tyler's dad was written. The scene was clearly set so that the reader could sympathize with Jason's decision and the scene with the addict could be brushed aside as a side-effect of comics over-the-top need for constant action, so I still held hope.

Issue 2 made me uncomfortable and it's where my hope starts to take a backseat to my expectations. I can dismiss Jason's self-deprecating internal monologue as unreliable narration, except that the flashback reinforces his thought process to explicitly show that it's not unreliable narration, and should be taken at face value. Jason faces physical abuse at the hands of his mother's drug dealer and when the flashback continues later, Jason kills the drug dealer. To be clear, this is a pre-Bruce Jason. His mom is still alive. He's like... 10. He kills this guy for shoving his head into a wall and implying Jason's mother paid for her drugs with sex. This is a scene that serves a single purpose. To show that Jason has always been prone to violence.

In the spirit of full disclosure, there is the small chance the drug dealer might not be dead. But the story obviously wants the reader to think he is, and it hasn't done anything to change that yet.

Starlin already did this story with The Diplomat’s Son in 1988 and he did it infinitely better. AND that’s still technically canon. So now I’m supposed to believe that Jason lost his cool bad enough to kill two douche bags before his sweet 16? Like it’s totally normal for abused kids raised in poverty, who’ve led hard and heartbreaking lives to just... haul off and kill people? That’s bullshit, and when taken with the Jason in the third issue, who is little more than an idiot thug, this story is really doubling down on some fucked up stereotypes.

Which brings us to the most recent issue. I went into this installment with very low expectations. I thought this story was going to be about Jason, through this experience with Tyler, a young boy with a similar background to Jason's, coming to the realization that Bruce's way is the best way and that Bruce did his best by Jason.

That would be annoying (in no small part because it takes increasingly absurd levels of plot armor to keep Bruce's no kill rule relevant, let alone irrefutably right). But I can probably live with that, if only because maybe if Jason officially falls back into line with the Bats crusade, maybe I'll get stories that treat him with respect, stories that don't relegate him to comic relief, dumb brute, or a background body with no lines in a story about the Joker burning Gotham (like Jason would just fucking stand there quietly for that).

And that may still be where the story is going, Jason realizing Bruce is right.

But holy shit do I not have the right words to describe how fucking insulting and gross issue three is.

From start to finish--including the flashback--Jason is written as cruel and fucking stupid. Like straight up dumb.

The entire issue is Bruce explaining the fucking basics to Jason like it's his first day. And Jason flies off the fucking handle and terrorizes a doctor he knows isn't a part of making the Cheerdrops, beats the shit out of some random addicts, and finally, when he can't accomplish anything on his own because he's a dumb brute he calls Barbara for help and rushes in with no information where he's promptly incapacitated and must now wait to be rescued by Batman.

This panel is the least of the issues sins but I can’t screenshot the entire story but it’s representative of the tone for the whole issue (and retroactively tainted the prior two issues).

This is beyond insulting. The only conclusions Jason comes to in this issue are the ones Bruce leads him to by talking to him like he can’t make the simplest connections. And like... in this story Jason can’t make the simplest connections.

This (and the Jason throughout the entirety of this issue) is a far cry from the Jason we fell in love with in Under the Red Hood, who was competent and strategic and intelligent enough to seize control of Gotham’s underworld from Black Mask (who’s no fucking slouch, he’s the first and only person to unify organized crime in Gotham) AND elude and manipulate Bruce until the time and place of his choosing.

This is a far cry from even the Red Hood and the Outlaws Jason who is competent enough to fight the League of Shadows and Ra’s al Ghul (among very dangerous and skilled others) and smart enough to create antidotes for mind control nanotech viruses.

As he should be, by the way. Jason Todd is one of the best, most comprehensively trained fighters in DC’s stable of non powered vigilantes. He’s not irrational or hot headed. He’s pragmatic, tactically minded, and patient. He’s a detective. Right now. Has been since he was 12. Bruce doesn’t have to make him one because he already is.

Jason is not a stupid thug who uses his fists because his brain doesn’t work. And I can’t tell you how so very exhausted I am by this narrative.

This is actually the most egregious example of Jason’s skills and intelligence being not just undermined but dismissed entirely. Even Morrison’s Jason had some degree of competency.

The one, single redeeming factor of this story is the art. It’s beautiful. And Marcus To is a godsend he seems to be one of only a couple of artists who remember that Jason was a child when he was Robin and I’m literally only buying this book because of him.

Anyway, I’m sorry. I didn’t want that to come out so... um... passionately lol. I’m just very very tired. My intention with this isn’t to ruin it for you, if you like it, that’s fine.

But this issue shot this story to the top of my "Vehemently Despise” list. 1) Batman: Urban Legends (Cheer), 2) Battle for the Cowl/Morrison’s Batman and Robin, 3) Batman The Adventure Continues.

I hope the next issues somehow salvage this dumpster fire. But I’m not expecting it.

(Damnit. That sounded harsh again. To reiterate, I’m not trying to judge anyone who enjoys it, I just personally hate it and you asked me why lol 😅)

#Batman #red hood #batman: urban legends #nice art #shit story #or at least shit characterization #jason todd deserves better #this response got long and I didn't edit it #please forgive any errors #and/or unclear spots #spoilers

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titan-fodder · 3 years

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Prima Vista Part II

[ previous ]

Rating: E (explicit; mdni) Pairing: Mike Zacharias x fem!reader wc: ~ 10.2k

Warnings: specific character attributes (not appearance, mentioned favorite color, movie, etc.), oral, rough sex, multiple orgasms, Erwin is kind of annoying, semi-exhibitionism, too much testosterone A/N: And, here we go again. Thank you to everyone who enjoyed the first part and told me about it. This one’s for y’all~

Mike immediately notices when you start to avoid him. You had already been doing it, but now it's to the point of ducking into buildings you have no business being in and walking a little too briskly when you catch sight of him somewhere on campus. You also won't get anywhere near the Pi Kappa Alpha house.

And, he gets it. He fucked up that night. Or, he didn't fuck up, but he opened up. Too much. Showed that he was willing to be vulnerable, and you obviously had not liked that.

The first week of watching you duck and cover from afar isn't so bad. He's a little bummed, yeah, but he figures you'll come around, if not for him then at least for his dick.

But, one week turns to two, and Mike gets irritated, a little angry even. Because it's not like he did anything wrong. It's not like you haven't wanted it every time.

He doesn't know your class schedule exactly, but he does know when you get out of your 11 AM and have to cross the courtyard to your dorm. It's where Mike caught you last time when he was playing frisbee with Nile, and it's where he catches you now.

Your speed walking is no match for his normal stride, and he easily closes the distance between you two and grabs your wrist to tug you toward a more private area by the library.

"What the fu—what are you doing?" You spit, pulling yourself free.

"What are you doing?"

"Trying to get to my fucking room to nap! Is that okay?"

Mike ignores it, glances over his shoulder to make sure no one is watching, then asks, "Why are you avoiding me?"

Scoffing, you mumble an unconvincing, "I haven't been avoiding you."

"Bullshit."

"I've just been busy, okay? Midterms are coming up, and I'm falling behind…" He can tell you're lying by the way you can't meet his eyes. "I need to focus."

"Am I that big of a distraction?"

You don't miss a beat—"Yes," and your eyes widen at your own answer like you're surprised by it.

Mike raises his eyebrows, taken off guard, and you try to cover your tracks. "I mean, like, I don't have time to be fucking frat boys. And, I know you have the pick of the litter, so it's not like you'll go without."

He has to bite his tongue, a confession right on the tip of it—I pick you—but knows that's the last thing you want to hear. It's too early for thoughts like that anyway. You're too closed off, and he's too transparent. It's not like anything serious could work out anyway, and even if it could, he shouldn't tie himself down.

"I mean, yeah, but—"

You hold a hand up, take a deep breath. "Look, I'll be honest with you. You seem like an okay guy, but you should find some other girl to do this with. I don't wanna be another notch on your bedpost—"

"Then, don't be. We can just hang out."

"Yeah, we tried that at the party and still ended up sleeping together."

"We can make it a rule then." He's trying too hard, he knows, but he can't help it. "No fucking. I won't come onto you, and you won't come onto me."

You snort and pick at the hem of your shirt, obviously not buying any of this. "Why do you wanna be friends so bad anyway? Is it the hard-to-get thing? Is it that I'm making it difficult?"

"Maybe but not entirely."

Why does he want to be your friend so badly? You haven't given him any real reason to. You can bond over nerd shit here and there, but other than that, you don't have a lot in common.

You just seem… Cool. Aloof. Like you don't give a shit about anyone or anything, and Mike never thought he'd find that attractive in a girl, but apparently he does.

"Just come over one more time. We can watch something again or—"

"I'm not going into your room again!"

"You don't have to," Mike says, speaking with his hands to emphasize his point. "We can stay in the living room. Totally public. Any of the guys could walk in."

"Has that ever stopped any of you before?"

Not a hundred percent of the time. Mike has definitely seen more of Erwin and Gelgar than he'd like, but he can tell a little white lie.

"Yes."

You stare up at him, a skeptical look on your face, and then, "I'll see if I can pencil you in."

"Fuck yeah, I promise I'll show you a good time without, like, showing you a good time."

"Yeah, whatever."

You're unimpressed, turn to walk away, but Mike is feeling a little too triumphant, a little too bold, and catches you before you can get too far.

He premises, "Just to get it out of my system," then bends down and kisses you. Palms covering your cheeks, fingers curling around the back of your head kisses you. He uses both of his thumbs, just under your mouth, to part your lips so that he can slide his tongue past them, and you push at his chest half-heartedly, no real force to it as you let him lick into your mouth.

The first whimper that escapes you is what makes you break away, your hands stronger against him to shove him back, and Mike smirks when you glare at him.

"You're on thin fucking ice, Zacharias. Thin ice."

"I'll keep it in mind."

With that, you leave the little alcove the two of you were in, grumbling and cursing the whole way. Mike just watches the sway of your hips and licks his lips.

You come over on a Saturday afternoon. Mike can tell you've tried to make yourself look not cute in loose, ripped jeans and a t-shirt, but it doesn't work. Mike still smiles, and you still roll your eyes at him before kicking your shoes off by the door.

"Okay, so what are we doing?" You ask, sitting two cushions away from him on the couch.

"I brought my Switch in here, so we have that…"

"Oh, do you have the SNES games downloaded?"

"Dumb question. Of course I do."

"Rude. Open that shit up."

He does, and you demand to play Donkey Kong, which Mike has no problem with, but, "A please would be nice."

You click your tongue, holding your hand out for the second tiny controller and tell him, "You don't get to hear me beg anymore."

Mike feels his shorts tighten, but all he does is kick a foot over his thigh and warn you, "Best not test my self-control like that."

"Is that a threat?" You laugh, toggling down to 'Two Player' on the screen and clicking it.

"Not a threat." He bobs his head to the theme music. "Just lettin’ you know."

You get as far as Mine Cart Carnage together, but Mike ends up getting tossed from the cart, leaving you to take over as Diddy. He watches the way you move with your character, sitting up straighter, raising the controller to your chest, swaying one way then the next as if your body is tied directly to the game.

Erwin walks in a little while later when you're focused on Stop & Go Station. He sits down in a plush chair, phone in his hand that he ignores in favor of asking, "What are you guys doing out here? Shouldn't you be in Mike's room?"

Mike glances at him, gives him a look and shakes his head, but you're much less subtle when you snap, "Can it, Smith," eyes never leaving the screen.

"Don't count on that," Mike snorts. "I think it’s physically impossible for him to keep his mouth shut for longer than four seconds."

"Wooow," Erwin drawls, thick eyebrows high in offense. "I'm supposed to be able to trust you, and now you're just talking shit right in front of me."

"For some reason, I get the feeling your ego can't get bruised that easily," you muse out loud.

"I'll have you know I can be very sensitive," Erwin informs you matter-of-factly. "I have a heart. I have feelings. And, I've been told on multiple occasions that I'm more considerate than most men, so there."

You laugh, a silly sound that gets stuck in your throat. "Oh, really? And how many of those women—'cause that's what they are, I'm sure—were left behind after they built you up like that, hm?"

Biting both of his lips, Erwin sits back in his chair and crosses his arms. "I plead the fifth on that one."

"Uh huh, that's what I thought."

While you're fixated on the screen, Mike glances over at his friend, sees blue eyes shining as Erwin stares at you, a tell-tale smirk on his face. He's amused by you. Interested, even.

You stay for about an hour longer before going back to the dorms. As soon as the front door shuts, Mike swivels around and points a finger at Erwin, uttering a low, "Don't you dare," that makes the blond chuckle.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

You mostly hang out on weekends and only in small bursts. Alternating between movies and video games, it's a little hard to speak to one another, but Mike is still able to pry some information out of you and share more about himself.

You're majoring in geological and earth sciences while Mike is working toward a degree in environmental science— "Kinda weird we haven't run into each other before."

You played basketball for a year in high school before getting annoyed by the other girls. Mike, on the other hand, made some of his best friends on his old soccer team.

You had a ferret growing up and now you'll "Never get another pet again 'cause when he died, I died a little with him." (It's the first time Mike has ever seen tears in your eyes, but you blink them away at record speed). He tells you about the dogs his family has had and how the one at home with his parents now is actually his. (Her name's Scout, and I would take a bullet for her.")

Hitch is your best friend even though she irritates the shit out of you, and Mike says something similar about Erwin. "He's a good guy. He's just… Passionate about so many things. He gets obsessive. Drives me insane."

"Obsessed with that pussyyy," you joke in a deep, stupid voice.

Mike snorts, "Perv," and keeps watching the movie that's playing.

And, speaking of movies, your favorite Disney film is The Fox and The Hound— "Good taste," while his is Lion King— "Classic." As far as other movies, though, the two of you spend half an hour arguing over which Mel Brooks is the best, end up having to agree to disagree (Young Frankenstein vs. High Anxiety).

Your favorite color is green. Your favorite food is pizza (“What are you, twelve?”). Your favorite animal is the pangolin. They’re all little facts that Mike stores away, and by the end of the semester, he actually feels like he kind of knows you, and somehow, against all odds, you've managed to not hookup through it all.

That's not to say it hasn't been hard (that he hasn't been hard). Sometimes you come over in skin tight jeans or crop tops, outfits that accentuate your body in all the right ways, and Mike is pretty sure that you do it on purpose.

You're both careful not to drink too much at parties, aware of the likely consequences, but you hang around him enough to gain people's attention—jealous girls watching in disappointment, curious guys sizing you up.

Questions inevitably arise. You complain about Hitch pestering you for details that you will not give her, and he tells you how he has to keep brushing off his brothers.

"She doesn't, like, know we've had sex—would never fucking leave me alone if she did. But she and all her other little friends are so annoying about it."

You're on the steps outside of the frat house, jackets zipped up, nursing steaming cups of cocoa you got from the nearby shop.

"So, what do you tell them?" Mike asks.

You shrug your shoulders. "That we're not fucking. Just friends. They don't believe me, but that's my story, and I'm sticking to it, dammit."

Mike laughs through his nose and takes another drink. "I mean, it's not a lie since we're not fucking and we are friends."

You make a high pitched noise, doubtful, challenging. "Friends is a strong word."

"Whatever."

He's used to you doing that now, denying him every chance you get even in a joking way. You've never once admitted to any type of feelings out loud, and he isn't sure why, some kind of avoidance behavior, but he won't complain because he knows you're at least a little fond of him. You wouldn't keep spending time with him if you weren't.

Deciding to change the subject, Mike prompts, "So, Erwin's party over the break," and you glance at him over your cup with interest. "You're coming, right?"

"I don't know. Isn't it at, like, his ranch house in bum fuck nowhere?"

"Kinda. It's only about a two hour drive from here, but it's definitely off the beaten path."

"I'll have to see. Need to spend time with my mom while I can."

Understandable. He's looking forward to seeing his own parents (and Scout, of course).

The last game of the season is played and won, then finals pass after too many all-nighters and too much Red Bull. Mike actually sighs in relief when he slides into his white Wrangler, all packed up and ready to make the drive back to his house.

He sends one text before pulling out onto the main road—Be safe—and hopes he won't have to wait an entire month to see you again.

Staying with your mom is nice but always slightly depressing. The house is empty with just her in it, less lived in than ever before. You can tell exactly which spots she spends most of her time in—her office to work and the couch in front of the TV to wind down.

You sleep in your old bedroom, spend most evenings texting Hitch after your mom goes to bed, but a few conversations with Mike slip in too. He sends you several pictures of Scout—beautiful but always wearing one of those perpetual Boxer frowns—and in return, you send him pictures of the pretty betta your mother has in her office. It's the best you can do.

After a week of being in your hometown, you're ready to leave it again. It's not terrible or in a bad part of town. It's just… lacking. You'd never tell your mother this, but you have a feeling she knows. It's probably why she doesn't put up a fight when you tell her you're gonna run off for a couple days to attend Erwin's party.

"I promise I'll be back. It's just one night and then the drive back."

Her tone is very serious when she tells you to stay out of trouble, but then she walks you out to your car and hugs you, watching and waving as you drive away.

You text Erwin on the way there to ask if it's okay to arrive early—like a few hours early cause I needed to get out of my house—and he replies enthusiastically.

Absolutely! Mike and Levi are already here 😃

You have no idea who this Levi is outside of hearing Erwin mention him a few times, but you very quickly find out when you get to the large but secluded house. You see Erwin's stupid (gorgeous) vintage Mustang parked in the gravel driveway as well as Mike's white Jeep and an unfamiliar, black Prius.

All three of them are on the porch occupying outdoor chairs that probably cost more than your fucking dorm expenses, but Mike and Erwin both stand when you make your way up the sidewalk. Staying seated, or really sprawled out with his hands behind his head, is a fairly small man (boy, maybe) with inky hair and sunglasses covering his eyes. He’s dressed much differently than the other two, ripped jeans, Doc Martens, and a striped long sleeved shirt under a short sleeved band tee.

“What in the e-boy fuck…” You mutter to yourself, nodding at the blonds and letting Mike take your backpack—not that you really have a choice considering your grip on it is no match for his.

“Was the drive okay?” He asks, swinging the bag over his shoulder and making it look incredibly small.

“Yeah. Once I hit the backroads I could start going, like, eighty-five, so that shaved some time off.”

Mike snorts. “You sound like Erwin. Dude’s always speeding.”

“Don’t fucking start with me. I was in the car with you when you almost hit a pedestrian on a crosswalk.”

“We don’t talk about that.”

Everyone follows Erwin inside the house. It’s just as nice as you thought it’d be, sprawling and open with wood floors, plush furniture, and rustic decorations. There are moose antlers mounted in one room and a god damned bear head in another. It makes you roll your eyes, but to say you’re unimpressed would be a flat out lie.

“Not everyone is staying the night, but I know you have to, so just pick an upstairs room,” Erwin tells you after the grand tour. “I can take you around on the golf cart once you settle in.”

You see Mike roll his green eyes and amend, “We can take you around.”

“Yeah,” Erwin nods. “That’s what I meant.”

Levi is making a face up at Erwin, furrowed brow, squinty eyes, and a little grimace. He hasn’t said more than two words to you since you’ve arrived (“I’m Levi.”), but he doesn’t seem like the chatterbox type, a little more standoffish, and you can’t blame him for that.

“Just in case you’re wondering, I’m in the middle room,” Mike tells you with a grin.

“And why, pray tell, would I be wondering that?”

He basically sings in his deep voice, “No reason,” then walks back downstairs with Erwin and Levi, leaving you to make yourself comfortable.

You take the bedroom at the far end of the hallway out of spite more than anything, but you figure the farther away you can be from Mike the better. After setting your things down and organizing deodorant, perfume, and every day jewelry on the dresser, you join the guys downstairs to find them huddling over the kitchen island talking about plans for the night.

“Should we get a keg? It won’t be that many people, but it might be easier to just pour from one,” Erwin thinks out loud.

“Don’t bother getting a keg if it’s gonna be the same shitty beer you guys have at Pike parties,” you chime in, hip checking Mike so that he’ll scoot over and allow you join their little meeting.

Levi lets out a little laugh, the most expressive you’ve seen him so far, while the other two pout at your criticism.

“Why don’t you pick the beer then?” Erwin prompts. “Since you have such refined tastes.”

Eyebrows lifting, you laugh. “Oh, we’ve got a smartass in the house tonight.” The blond smirks and dusts off his shoulders, making Mike groan in either annoyance or embarrassment. You can’t be sure which one.

“Fuck, is this what it’s always like between you three?” Levi asks, looking between all of you. “Just constant bickering?”

“More or less.”

“That seems exhausting.”

“It is,” you confirm. “‘S’why I can only hang out with them in small doses.”

“Ouch.”

“Wounded.”

“Anyway,” you let your head hang so that all they can see is your shoulders shaking as you giggle, and when you look back up, you make sure that the smile is mostly wiped from your face. “I’m not saying I’m some kind of beer expert, but I at least know that the shit you serve at parties is rancid.”

“And yet, you always seem to forget,” Mike teases. “I always end up having to finish yours.”

“You don’t have to. You choose to, you fucking alkie.”

It’s hard to come to any sort of decision with the non-stop push and pull of the conversation, and eventually Levi just walks away to let the three of you work it out. Erwin orders a keg of Rolling Rock, says something about, “Dad won’t mind me splurging a little since I downsized this whole thing for him,” and you scoff at him.

He’s well aware of his privilege, talks about it in an ironic manner that’s both maddening and hilarious— “Father is going to let me take the yacht out this weekend,” and, “Oh, that’s not country club appropriate.” It makes you laugh every fucking time, but it also usually earns him a smack or two.

The next few hours are spent gathering party supplies and getting the house ready (as in moving some furniture around and hiding valuables). Erwin leaves to pick up the keg after assuring the vendor on the phone that he can drive to them and pay extra for the short notice. You don’t know how he manages it, but you assume his confidence has a lot to do with it.

Only about twenty people are supposed to come, “An Erwin Smith exclusive,” Mike jokes with you as you stash a couple of vases in the kitchen cabinets.

“Oh, does that mean I’m special?” You play.

“Absolutely.”

There’s something churning in your gut as you move around downstairs with Mike and Levi, an omniscient feeling, like you know how the night will end, but you’re going to fight it every step of the way. You’ve made it this long without a slip-up, and you’re determined to make it one more night.

Erwin gets back with about three hours to spare. He and Mike disappear to change into what you assume to be their usual douche-y attire, and you and Levi sit alone in the large living room waiting quietly.

You’re surprised when he speaks first, stating, “You don’t seem the sorority type.”

Turning, you try to make sense of it, respond, “Well, I’m not.” You’re almost offended that he’d even consider you were.

“Then what are you doing hanging around with those frat boy fucks?”

“Oh, that.” You sigh. “Uhh, my friend made me go to one of their parties, and I just… Made an impression, I guess.”

“You fucked one of ‘em, didn’t you?” Levi is smirking, so sure of himself that you don’t really see the point in denying it.

“Yeah.”

“Rich boy or the giant?”

You look over at him, defenses rising like they did your first night in the Pi Kappa Alpha house. “The fuck is it to you?”

Holding his hands up, Levi chuckles, “Alright, alright, forget I asked.”

You cross your arms over your chest, stare off as you wonder if it’s actually that hard to tell. You figured it would be obvious that you’re more comfortable with Mike than with Erwin, but you have been getting more used to the other brazen blond over the last few months, just like you’ve been getting a little more used to Nile and all the other brothers. You haven’t sucked any of their dicks, though.

“How’d you meet Erwin?” You try.

You’re not surprised when Levi snarks, “The fuck is it to you?”

You can’t tell if the two of you are going to leave this ranch house as mortal enemies or as friends, but it’ll definitely be one of them.

“‘Cause you don’t seem the type to hang out with them either,” you tell him.

It's definitely odd. He and Erwin have to go back some time to have been able to stick together through their college years and all of their superficial differences.

Levi admires the black polish on his nails then informs you in a bored tone, “We’ve been friends since we were kids, but it’s no big deal. Just can’t get rid of him.”

The corner of his mouth turns upward, so he can’t be too heartbroken over it. You understand that, haven’t quite been able to shake your puppy-dog of a friend since the beginning of the semester, but you’re not as annoyed about it as you pretend to be.

“They certainly do get attached,” you hum.

The two men in question join you once again, looking much more palatable in jeans and v-necks. Erwin has a button-down hanging open and rolled up to his elbows while Mike is wearing a black and white flannel in similar fashion. It’s the most casual they’ve been at a party, and you can’t help but joke, “Wow, look at you two. More human, less lizard people for once.”

Erwin rolls his eyes while Mike mumbles a Doctor Who reference that makes you suck on the inside of your cheek to keep from grinning.

He’s got his charm turned on tonight, the kind that appeals to you, which will definitely pose a problem.

People start arriving at around eight, some you recognize from the college, some you don’t who you assume to be some of Erwin’s older friends. Gelgar taps the keg within minutes of walking in then plays the role of bartender for the next ten minutes as everyone lines up for a drink. There’s liquor and mixers set up on the counter, and you consider just making your usual, but you figure you should have at least a little of the beer since you’re the one who fought for the more expensive brand.

When you get your cup, foam nearly overflowing past the rim, you take one sip only to cough it back up when Mike shows off his usual party trick—appearing out of thin air—and asks, “You gonna finish it this time?”

You splutter as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand then glare up at him. “I’m gonna try, but it’s gonna be pretty fuckin’ difficult if you keep making me spit up like a god damn baby.”

He’s amused, light eyes dancing mischievously, and you know you’re in for a long night.

Erwin has a playlist filtering through the house’s sound system, a nice balance of several different genres playing at a bearable volume for the first time. Games start up in the kitchen, rage cage around the island, beer pong at the table, and while you’re content to just wallflower in the corner, Mike drags you into it.

“You’re just as bad as Hitch," you complain, but he isn't fazed, just plants you in an open spot at the island and stands right beside you. He's gonna regret doing that; rage cage is one of the only competitive games you're actually good at, but he'll find that out.

It's fast-paced, full of screaming and laughing, jumping and shoving. You get to slam your cup into Mike's on several occasions, drawing curses from him every time.

"Honestly, it's a little embarrassing," you ridicule with a smile.

He downs the small amount of beer in the cup he pulls, adds it to the stack, then challenges, "I'll show you embarrassing. Just wait."

You've had maybe two beers altogether, but it still sends a jolt down your spine.

The two of you play another couple of rounds, and Mike does seem to catch on a little more, but he eventually bows out and pulls you away with him.

More beer. Meandering around the party. It's pretty tame in comparison to all the Pike events you've attended, but the later it gets, the rowdier everyone becomes. Music gets turned up to dance. The keg stops being used for pouring and starts being used for stands. You have the absolute pleasure of watching Erwin hold Levi upside down as the smaller man chugs as much as he can. He beats Nile's record, raises his arms in victory as Erwin shakes him by the shoulders in excitement.

"They're pretty close, yeah?"

Mike looks down at you as you stand on your tip-toes to get closer to his ear as you speak.

He nods. "I don't really understand them, but yeah. They've been friends since, like, elementary school, I think."

"No shit?"

"No shit."

You play beer pong against Gelgar and Nile, end up losing by quite a lot, and by the time you finish the remaining cups and another full drink, you're feeling good. Warm, happy, dangerously giggly.

Mike stands too close as you make your rounds to talk to people, many of them asking how the lacrosse season went. He puffs his chest a little, tries and fails to act modest, but instead of getting irritated like you usually do, you find yourself resting your cheek against his arm as you shake your head. You don't know if the action is to disagree with him or to get closer, but it makes Mike chuckle and shift so that he can wrap that arm around you and pull you to his chest instead.

He smells nice—woodsy with a sweet little bite. It makes your mouth water. You try to call back your determination from before, that readiness to fight and deny, but Mike's body is firm and massive and hot against yours, and he's also drunk and smiling sideways. His eyes are hazy and gorgeous when he peers down at you. His stubble has grown into that perfect length, the kind that feels incredible between your legs, and you can already see your hands tugging at his shaggy hair as he flips it from his face.

"You okay?" He rumbles, tongue darting out to lick his lips.

He knows. You know he knows. And, he knows that you know that—

Fuck. Stop. Just…

"What do you think?" You're aware of what you're saying. The words make perfect sense. You just can't stop them from falling from your mouth is all.

"I don't know," Mike says, a playful lilt to his voice. "Why don't you tell me?"

You're not sure if he's asking for your consent or if he just wants to humiliate you by making you spell it out for him.

"I mean…" Your gaze travels from his face to his neck to his pecs and downward. "The semester is over."

"It is," he agrees, hand moving from your waist to your hip.

"Don't really need to be, uh… What's the word…" You squeeze your eyes shut, splaying your fingers on his stomach. "Studious," you snap. "Don't need to be so studious on vacation."

Mike very slowly starts walking backwards toward the staircase, holding you at arms length by both your hips now.

"No, you really don't."

Voice of reason fading away, you step around him but grab his hand, taking the stairs two by two until you're on the balcony that wraps above the living room. Once you slip into the closer room, yours, you lock the door.

Mike's mouth is familiar in its desperation—tastes like beer and want and him. He pulls his flannel off behind him by the sleeves just in time for you to start pushing his shirt up over his abs, in awe all over again at the muscle group.

It's really not fair.

You pause between kisses to strip, smiling and groaning whenever your lips meet again. You've missed it on some level—the heat, the fucking attraction you just can't shake. All the times you hung out with him, purposely keeping distance, avoiding flirting and touching and staring—you figured it would come to a head. You even guessed there was a good chance that it would be at this party.

But, that doesn't mean you're prepared when he throws you onto the bed, doesn't prepare you for the way he bites your lip and sucks on your neck and pinches your nipples until you moan his name and grind against him, and it certainly doesn't prepare you for the way he spreads your legs, runs his nose up the inside of your thigh, then drags his tongue over your slit.

"Fuck, Mike."

He groans, quick to slide the muscle into your pulsing cunt to taste you. His fingertips are digging into the fat of your thighs, keeping you still save for your trembling which makes the feeling of his mouth even more intense. You want to buck against his face, want to put out the fire raging inside of you by moving somehow, letting some of the energy out, but you can't. All you can do is lay there as Mike licks around your hole and nibbles at your clit and laps up your juices.

"Missed this fuckin' pussy," he breathes, sucking on one of your lips and then the other, pulling blood to the surface and making them puffy and sensitive.

You card fingers through his hair before fisting your hand in it and shoving his face further into your cunt, trying as hard as you fucking can to ride any part of him you can manage—his tongue, his nose, anything that will give you friction.

The sound he makes at your pathetic attempt is bestial, a low, throaty grunt as he rubs his chin up and down your slit, drenching himself in your slick and quickly overstimulating your swollen clit with his stubble.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck—"

"You wanted it," he grits. "You pushed your sloppy little cunt right in my face, so now you've gotta take everything I give you."

You cry as he continues the motion, pussy drooling as the little bud starts to grow raw. "Mike, please, please…"

"Gonna make sure you feel this tomorrow." He stops only to lean back down and suck your clit into his mouth. The tip of his tongue is soft in comparison to the coarse hair, but it still makes your hips twitch, and when he grazes his teeth over it, you squeal and kick.

It's so close to hurting, right on the edge, but it's that helplessness that has you steadily leaking on the bed. It's what makes it easy for Mike to push a finger into your clenching hole, pump a couple times, then slide another one in beside it.

Your climax is coiling in your gut, compressed like a spring and only getting tighter with every thrust of long, thick fingers and every measured flick of his tongue.

Gripping his hair again, you ride it out. Mike loosens his grip just enough to allow you to undulate in time with the waves that wash over you, and you moan loudly as he moves to flatten his tongue over your entrance so that you come on and against it.

He gives you some time to settle down, but you know he isn't done yet, and since you're not quite ready to take his cock in your sensitive pussy, you pull your legs from the sides of his head and crawl to lay with your head off the side of the bed.

Mike gets the picture immediately, and you hear a huff of air leave him all at once before he clambers off the mattress to position himself at the edge. You're a little too low, so he grabs all four pillows to shove under you, and as he does, you lavish his bobbing cock with kitten licks, going as far as sucking on his balls when he leans over you.

"Jesus fucking—"

You can feel the way they tighten, his cockhead dripping pre that lands just below the notch of your sternum. It isn't until he's thoroughly coated in spit that you stop and let him straighten, then open your mouth and relax your shoulders.

Mike is careful as he slides his tip past your lips, letting you adjust to the weight of his cock in your mouth before he pushes in a little further. Your eyes start watering as soon as he passes between your molars, making you stretch your jaw and drool from the corners of your mouth.

He pulls out then, taps his cockhead on your cheek, leaving a mix of precum and spit on your skin before lining himself up again and sliding back in.

He repeats the process a few times as if it'll actually get you used to his size, but it's just not possible. You gag and gurgle, slurp back drool when you're given the chance, and your entire body throbs when Mike tells you, "I'm gonna give you more now, okay? Wanna see your throat bulge with my cock."

You moan around him, try to make the passage of your mouth and esophagus as straight as possible then let your eyes roll back as he slips into the tighter sleeve for a few seconds. Your toes dig into the bedspread, fingers clawing at the material as you fight back the panic that comes with not being able to breathe.

Mike pulls out panting, and you wish you could see his face, the look in his eyes, but you can't. All you can do is lap at his cock until he pushes it into your mouth again.

This time when he slips into your throat, he reaches down to press a hand to your neck, letting out a deep, disbelieving laugh as he feels the way his length moves in it. "Holy shit. I could—" he just barely gives you more, and your responding whine is completely muffled by him, "—Could come like this."

The thought makes you tingle. Or maybe that's the lack of oxygen. You are feeling a little lightheaded. But the idea of him coming down your throat, right into your stomach, fuck, it makes your cunt pulse again.

Mike pulls out, and you suck in deep breaths, a little sob making your chest heave. Tears are streaming from your eyes, getting caught in your hair, and you have to wipe other various fluids from your face.

He helps you sit back up, rubs your shoulders and kisses the back of your neck as your heart rate returns to normal. As soon as he sees you relax, though, he's tugging you from the bed and bending you over it.

The scream that's pushed from you is hoarse as you're split open on his cock. Mike holds you by the hair, pulling your head back as he snaps his hips forward and back relentlessly. He slides in and out of you easily, but that doesn't mean he isn't stretching you to your breaking point.

You shake on the bed, thankful when he lets go of your head so that you can fall back to the mattress, crying and moaning all you want.

"Feel so good, baby," Mike groans. "So good."

He punctuates it with a slap to your ass that causes you to squeeze him, and that only encourages him to repeat the action until both your cheeks are radiating heat and stinging from his hands.

He flips you like a doll, and you're finally able to see his face clearly as he stares down at you with a dropped jaw and heavy lids. You know you're a mess, fucked out and sloppy, but as he abuses your g-spot with the ridge of his cock, all you can do is grin drunkenly and let your eyes roll.

"So pretty when you smile," he praises. Fingers grip your chin, and when you're able to focus your gaze again you find Mike leaning over you, face level with yours. "Open your mouth for me." His tone is soft yet demanding, and you don't hesitate for a second as you do what you're told.

Mike pushes spit through his lips, letting it drip and stretch until it lands on your tongue. It makes you feel cheap and disgusting, but it doesn't stop you from squirting around him.

Devolving into nothing more than grunts and groans, Mike continues to fuck into you but straightens so that he can reach your clit better. He flicks it back and forth until your true orgasm hits you, and then he keeps going.

You cry out, squirm wildly beneath him, but all it results in is two fingers being shoved in your mouth. Stroking over the back of your tongue, more saliva pours from your mouth just like the slick that pours from your pussy while he toys with your clit.

You come again. And again. When Mike finally removes his hand from between your legs, you're nothing more than a puddle, moaning and crying for him.

Every orgasm has made your walls swell around him, his cock feeling longer and thicker than ever as he kisses your cervix with every thrust. That lightheaded sensation is back, white dots dancing around your eyes, and you just barely manage out his name, tapping in his forearm.

"Need… need…"

"What do you need, babe?"

Your arms curl up by your head, fingers moving and spasming as every one of your senses is overwhelmed.

"Need you to—t-to—to come. Need you to c-come."

You've never had to tap out before, but you can't take him anymore. His size. His expression. His lack of fucking mercy.

"Yeah?" He coos, but his cock is still dragging in and out of you. You nod, but Mike draws it out, asking, "Where do you want me to come?"

"Don't… Care…"

"You don't care?" He's still moving, fucking you absolutely stupid as he lists out, "Your face? Your tits?" He gropes your chest, pinching both nipples, and the fact that you don't even whimper must clue him into the fact that he's about to lose you.

Your mind is swimming, fading every time he pulls out only to be brought back online when he pushes back in.

"What about your pussy? Want me to come all over your pussy?"

You moan, the simplest part of your brain apparently finding that appealing, so after a few more thrusts, Mike pulls out entirely and jerks himself off until he covers your folds in hot cum. He gets some on your thighs, some on your pelvis, soaks your peaking clit so that you take in a stuttering breath.

His hand is between your legs again, fingertips spreading the viscous fluid around and dipping into your slit.

Your eyes shoot open for the first time in God knows how long, a panicked, "M-Mike," tumbling from your lips, but he hushes you.

"I'm not pushing it inside or anything. Just having fun."

And, fuck, tonight is the night you learn how filthy he is. Mike spends a few solid minutes rubbing his seed over your puffy lips, fingers the raw tissue around your hole so that you leak for him, then uses it to massage your clit slowly and softly, pulling one last orgasm from you that makes fresh tears spring in your eyes.

You're going to be in a world of pain tomorrow, but you can't regret it—not when your legs continue to shake long after your climax, not when you can already feel that satisfying ache deep inside of you, not when Mike crawls to sit on the bed and lifts you into his arms.

"You okay?" He asks into your hair.

He's rubbing soothing circles on your stomach as you drift in and out. You know you need to shower, but you're so tired and so wrecked, you doubt you'll be able to stand for long enough to clean yourself.

"Did I hurt you?"

"Mm, little bit," you tell him honestly. You can actually feel his heart start to beat harder in his chest, so you reassure him, "Liked it, though."

You think something like twenty minutes pass, but you can't be sure as you keep dozing. It's hard not to with Mike rubbing your stomach, his body rising and falling in rhythm with every breath he takes.

When your eyes open more than halfway, you begin to move, grimacing at the soreness between your legs as well as the mess.

"'m gonna hop in the shower," you announce.

Mike sits up too, stretches his arms and asks through a groan, "Want me to come with?"

"You've done enough coming tonight," you snort. "But nah, I can clean myself on my own."

His eyebrows furrow, but he doesn't say anything, just lets you get up and walk to the bathroom on shaky legs.

The hot water almost puts you back to sleep. You manage to rinse off where you need to, step back into the room fully expecting to see Mike passed out in your bed, but he's nowhere to be found.

As you crawl under the covers, you try to swallow the feeling of disappointment that's stuck in your throat.

Mike is up before almost everyone in the house the next morning, so he spends most of it trying to clean up alongside Levi, though he apparently isn't doing a very good job of it according to the smaller man.

"Jesus, have you ever mopped a floor in your life?"

"Oh, so we're just throwing everything in the same trash bag? No recycling? Your future kids will thank you for that, I'm sure."

"No, there's no way I’m letting you wipe down the counters. Just move."

Levi is lucky Mike is as laid back as he is otherwise he would have thrown the little fuck into the koi pond behind the house a long time ago.

Erwin wakes up around nine and walks down looking a little rough, but Mike has definitely seen him in worse states.

"Thanks for cleaning up," he says, bent over the island and holding his head in his hands. "Pretty sure I would have thrown up if I'd tried. Several times."

He tells the other two that pretty much everyone else started heading out at around three and that he has a list of party-goers he needs to text to make sure they made it home in one piece, "When I can actually fucking see straight."

Naturally, the conversation turns to Mike. Erwin, with his cheek now pressed against the cool, granite countertop, smirks up at him and asks in a sly voice, "So, how was your night?'

Mike bites his lip to hide a smile, leans out of the kitchen to make sure you aren't stumbling down the stairs or traipsing about the house, then looks back to his friend and laughs, "Fucking mind-blowing, dude." He doesn't go into explicit detail—that's never been his style—but he does whisper about you taking him better than any other girl and that he's, "Addicted, dude. I genuinely think I am addicted to her pussy."

"Don't be fucking dramatic, Zacharias," you pop out behind him, slapping his back as you pass him to get to the fridge. He can see the ghost of a smile turning your lips up, but it's hard to feel satisfied at that when his own face is beet red.

Looking at Erwin, Mike throws his hands out by his side, mutters an incredulous, "Dude," that makes the other blond chuckle.

You grab a water bottle from the refrigerator, making Levi grumble, "Are none of you guys concerned about the planet? God damn."

Standing between Mike and Erwin, you take a few gulps, all eyes on you until you swallow and question, "Can I help you?" Now that you're right next to him, Mike can hear a scratchiness to your voice, almost as if you're getting sick, but he knows better, knows exactly where it came from, and fuck if it doesn't make him twitch in his sweats.

"Have a good time at the party?" Erwin pries once again.

You look at him with a deadpan expression, then answer, "Seems like you already got the deets, so sure. I had a grand time."

Mike isn't sure if you're being sarcastic about it just like you are everything else. You had just kind of left him hanging when you'd gone to shower. He hadn't thought too much into it even if he'd been a little bummed, but he thinks he understands. You just need more space than he does.

Or, it could have been that you hadn't enjoyed yourself. Oh god, what if you'd just been faking? What if you'd lied to him when he asked if he hurt you? What if you're in pain right now and just hiding it?

Mike zones out while you talk with Erwin and Levi about plans for the day, works himself into a nice little panic but is still able to hear you tell them you're just gonna head back to your mom's.

"You sure?" Erwin asks. "I know you only planned to stay one night, but you're more than welcome to hang out for longer. We’ll be here for at least another few days."

Levi adds an, "Unfortunately," that earns him a hair ruffle he swats away.

"No, it's cool. I can't leave mom alone for the holiday or she'll start to think I don't like staying at the house."

"You don't, though."

"Yeah, but she doesn't have to know that."

Mike stares after you as you take your water bottle and return upstairs, and it doesn't escape the notice of the other two men.

"You're so fuckin' whipped, man," Erwin teases.

Mike doesn't deny it, just holds up a middle finger.

Erwin isn't entirely wrong, though. Mike has been trying to deny it or play it off as nothing more than lust, but there's more to his feelings at this point. He tries not to be obvious around you, to keep his cards close to his chest because he knows you just want to keep things casual—barely even want that if he's being honest.

So he can hide it. He can pretend it isn't happening. In fact, Mike should be thankful that you only want sex (sometimes) because it leaves him to do whatever he wants. He could fuck other chicks left and right, and you wouldn't even bat an eyelash. That's a good thing, right?

That worry about last night still has him on edge, though, so before you can leave, Mike catches you in your room as you're packing up and closes the door.

He expects you to make some kind of comment about not being able to go again, but all you do is tilt your head to the side in a dangerously cute way.

"Hey, I, uh… I just wanted to make sure you felt okay after last night."

You blink at him, pause in folding your clothes, then show a wide, real grin.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Sore in various places—like, super sore—but I'm fine."

Mike's mouth twists to hide his smirk, and he mumbles a low, "Sorry."

"Don't ever apologize for your monster cock," you tell him, setting your shirt down on the mattress before pacing over to him. "Like, unless there's tearing of some sort, which there really shouldn't be since you're good at preparation, whoever you fuck should be okay. Sore but okay."

His eyes go a little wide when you stop in front of him, looking up with an expression he's really never seen before—or maybe that you've never allowed him to see before—and the longer he stares, the more he realizes that you're god damn glowing.

Taking a chance, he finds your waist with his hands, inches just a little closer, then leans down when you stand on your toes and tug him by the shirt.

You taste like peppermint and already smell like the perfume you wear every day, the scent that has made Mike dizzy for the past few months. He moves a hand to your back to press your body into his, and when you take his bottom lip into your mouth, biting and sucking, he groans and pulls back before he can get too hard.

"What's all this? Why are you so perky this morning?"

"I get giddy after good sex," you say with a shrug. "Sue me."

"That why you run away every time I fuck you?" He questions.

You nod. "Couldn't run away this time, though."

"I'm sure it's really bruising your pride, letting me see you all warm and gooey."

"I am not warm and gooey," you protest. "I was last night, but—"

"Aw, gross, why'd you have to say it like that?"

You giggle—giggle—then remind him, "You're the one who felt the need to fucking fingerpaint."

Mike vividly remembers the way your pussy looked covered in his cum, the way it felt to smear it and play with your swollen entrance and clit, and now… Now he is definitely hard again.

"Better stop before you end up on that bed again."

Your eyes are dancing, tone mischievous when you respond, "Only if you're gentle."

"Christ—"

He's got you naked and spread on the mattress in less than thirty seconds, tongue buried in your cunt as he soothes every part of you he can reach.

It would be cruel to actually fuck you again. He knows you're probably a little more tender than you're letting on, so Mike settles for licking into you and flicking your clit, never using teeth as it swells in his mouth so that you pant and moan, and promise, "I can handle it, Mike, I can…"

"I don't care if you can or can't. Just lemme do this."

And, it's not like he hasn't pulled his cock from his pants, pumping it and coating his length in the pre-cum he drips at the mere sight of you.

He can tell you're getting close when your thighs start to tense. You alternate between shifting your hips and going slack. It's the latter that you leak the most, pussy opening around his tongue only to clench a few seconds later.

"Just one finger, Mike, please, I want—I need something inside me, please, please," you moan.

Mike turns his face to kiss your thigh, sighing but giving in easily when he acquiesces, "Only one."

The noise you make as he slides his middle finger into you is like music, high pitched and drawn out, with an awe one would sing hymns with.

"Yes, yes, yes, thank you, fuck, tha—"

He understands why you wanted it so badly when he pulls it out and sees his finger coated in white, considers fucking you with it to the point of tears, but before he can, the door to the bedroom swings open and fucking Erwin walks in to ask, "Levi and I are going to the store—"

“Jesus fuck, Erwin!" Mike swears. "A little busy here!"

His friend is unfazed, but more importantly, you are too, arching your back, pulling Mike's hair to get him back where you want him, then moaning his name like you never have before as you come.

You tremble and take in stuttering breaths, and Mike does his best to hide your exposed pussy from prying eyes as he looks at Erwin and barks out a furious, "No, I don't need anything from the store. Get out."

The blond shrugs and turns, walking out without shutting the door, and Mike swears he's gonna kill him. He's too bold and too entitled and now he's seen far too much of your body, and Mike doesn't like that.

"Did you come?" You ask in an airy voice. Mike guesses you could feel the rhythm of his hand on his cock, probably pushing his face harder against you with every pass.

"Uh, no. I don't know if you noticed, but Erwin walked in."

"I noticed," you snort, sitting up on your elbows. "Why do you think I moaned your name like that?"

"What?" It had seemed a little odd. Mike knows he's pretty good at oral, but you've never made a sound like that before.

"Fucker wanted to see what we were up to, I decided to show him. Now he knows how good you are."

Mike stands, peers down at you skeptically and says, "You're being too nice to me today. It's freakin' me out a little."

He doesn't think it's necessary to add that Erwin is already aware of his sexual prowess considering they definitely had a threesome with a rather adventurous girl back in freshman year. It's just not pertinent information.

"Soak it up, Zacharias. I'm sure the good mood will be gone by tomorrow."

"Why, cause I won't be at your mom's to fuck you stupid every night?" His voice comes out cocky, but it's stifled by the way you squeal when he slaps a hand over your wet pussy.

"I'm sensitive, you asshole!" You're smiling even as you whine. "And, here I was about to give you head to get you off."

"I mean, you can still do that."

You glare up at him the whole time you slide off the bed to your knees, warn, "Better hope I don't bite."

After you leave (and after making out against Mike’s Wrangler for a little too long), he goes back inside to find Erwin and Levi lounging in the den with a movie playing. He wastes no time in snapping his fingers at Erwin and commanding, "We're gonna talk."

"Oh, are we?" Erwin doesn't even look away until Mike grabs the back of his shirt, and only then does he move from his spot. "Okay, okay, watch the wrinkles, bro."

He follows Mike into the kitchen, out of earshot unless either of them raise their voices which… Could happen.

"What the fuck was that?" Mike hisses.

Erwin looks at him with big blue eyes and plays dumb, "What the fuck was what?"

Taking a deep breath through his nose, Mike makes sure his voice comes out low and steady, "Smith, I swear to God, it's been a long time since I've punched you, but you're fuckin' testing me, dude."

Erwin smiles, face lighting up with what looks like excitement but could also be fury.

"Mike," he starts. "Don't tell me you're getting violent over a girl." His tone is patronizing, his eyebrows are high, and his grin is downright menacing.

"I haven't gotten violent yet," Mike grits.

"Hey, how was I to know what you two were doing up there?"

"It's not about you walking in, dude! It's about you just fucking standing there!"

Erwin chuckles and blows him off, "Mike, I've seen your dick before. You've got nothing to worry about."

"That's not what I'm worried about. You just, like, came in when she was in a vulnerable position, and that's fucked up."

"She didn't seem to mind."

Mike sucks his teeth, takes another grounding breath, then asks again, "Why? Why did you wait to leave?"

"You want me to be honest?" Erwin rolls his neck then his shoulders. Mike has seen him do that many times before lacrosse games to loosen up—to get ready for a fight.

Mike's fist clenches at his side. "Yeah, I do."

"You've been making yourself crazy over this girl since the start of the semester, and I want to know why."

"What do you mean?" Mike doesn't know why he asks, has a pretty good idea of what Erwin is alluding to.

The blond still dodges the question but in about the worst way possible. "It's not like you two are exclusive or anything."

Mike feels the way his lungs fill to the point of burning, how his jaw clenches until his molars begin to ache under the pressure, and before he really knows what's happening, he's bowing up to his best friend.

Erwin matches him, only a couple inches shorter, chin tilted, that maddening light in his eyes.

"Walk away, Mike," he warns. "And, we can forget this little spat even happened."

Mike peers down his nose at him, trying to rein in his emotions because Erwin is right. You two aren't exclusive. You don't want to be. You told him it was because you need to focus on school, but it could be that you want other options.

But fuck, Mike doesn't want Erwin to be one of them. He's stolen more than a few girls right from under Mike's nose with his stupid charm and stupid face and stupid money. He doesn't want you to fall prey to all of it too.

Mike doesn't even register the quiet footsteps padding into the kitchen, but Levi's smartass, "You guys about to kiss or somethin'?" definitely snaps him out of his head.

Stepping back, Mike resists the urge to punch the counter and break his fucking hand, then turns and strides out.

He's supposed to stay at the ranch house for a couple more days, but Mike needs to distance himself before he does something stupid.

When he comes back downstairs with his bag on his shoulder and his keys in his hand, Erwin seems to realize his error on at least some level and stands from his place on the couch.

"Mike, come on, I'm sor—"

"Let me cool off, dude,” Mike snaps.

Erwin shuts his mouth and sits back down, smart enough not to follow Mike outside.

[ next ]

#mike zacharias x reader #miche zacharias x reader #aot x reader #aot fanfic #mels prima vista #mels frat house

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effei-s · 3 years

Text

What shatter-me Warner would do.

The fastest character assassination I’ve ever seen.

Here’s the thing: Warner from original trilogy had character arch. More important: he was a character.

He was mean, villainous, cold, cruel murderer, with daddy who basically bought him regency (like come on, if it wasn’t for Anderson no one would even think about giving him that position; n for nepotism), but he also was deeply traumatized and abused his whole life and had little to none normal human interactions. I loved that fact that the only good thing he did (killing Fletcher because he was abusing his family) resolved into a complete catastrophe (Anderson killing children and wife) because Warner didn’t think it through. He tried to do the right thing and failed miserably, because he was more concerned with making a spectacle for Juliette. And after that he still had the audacity to paint himself as a hero who saved poor family from terrible tyrant in Ignite me.

I didn’t expect him to act and think like a human being. He didn’t need to act like a normal human. Warner gas lighting Juliette in the first third of ignite me is Warner’s thing to do. Him yelling and throwing tantrums and making scenes in Unravel me is Warner’s thing to do. Him forcing Juliette to do things she doesn’t want and traumatizing her in the process in Shatter me is Warner’s thing to do. Him wanting to torture Adam to death is Warner’s thing to want.

There’s a few reasons for this:

a) he doesn’t know how to communicate with people other than giving them orders or making threats;

b) he truly believes that he’s in the right here (he doesn’t see himself as a bad guy in Juliette story, more like a knight on a white horse);

c) he’s physically unable to be honest with himself and always has someone to blame for his own mistakes and failures;

d) he’s ‘results justify the means’ kind of guy.

Changes for good, with trauma that deep, when you basically don’t have a moral compass, don’t happen over night.

Was his ignite-me arch made sloppy? Yes. Everything was too info-dumpy and too convenient (Juliette forgetting that Warner was going to torture Adam to death; Juliette feeling that she’s the one who needs to apologize; Leila’s entire character used only for a sob story; Adam turned into a douchebag so Warner would look a more suitable love interest, etc). But it still was an arch. And the finale of ignite me was so open I really could imagine that, little by little, in the future, he will start to trust people more and really gonna help Juliette and co to make the world a better place. And his redemption arch wasn’t finished in the slightest, and I would even say that it was only the beginning of it, but it was implied that things will get better from there (the most important part of that being him genuinely wanting to make things right with Adam and James; he’s the one who makes the first step and initiate the bond).

So what went wrong in new three books? Ehm… everything, to be honest. Instead of developing a character that was already there, she decided to give him a new personality. Actually it can be said about every single one of characters, but Warner just happened to be the biggest victim of them all.

Let’s look at Restore me.

Okay, we have his pov, and I never thought I would say it but… Warner is kinda dumb. He’s supposed to be this military strategy genius, someone who knows how RE works from within and… it turns out that he just as clueless as Juliette. More than this, we never actually see him do ANYTHING except fucking Juliette. And for some reasons he never helps Juliette with her work??? There’s so much paperwork and instead of helping her to sort though it he’s… just not there???

Those stupid long monologues about how she’s capable to do anything mean nothing if he doesn’t actually help (as we can see at the end of restore me, when Juliette gets captured).

That fact that he doesn’t immediately check if Castle’s words are true? And instead of helping Juliette with Haider (telling everything he knows about him and his family, preparing her for the dinner) he fucks her??? This is a dumb bitch shit. And maybe you didn’t noticed but Shatter-me Warner wasn’t a dumb bitch.

After all, there’s a simple reason I never wanted the job of supreme commander myself—

I never wanted the responsibility.

It’s a tremendous amount of work with far less freedom than one might expect; worse, it’s a position that requires a great deal of people skills. The kind of people skills that include both killing and charming a person at a moment’s notice. Two things I detest.

Remember shatter-me Warner who wanted power because power meant that he could have control over his life? Remember shatter-me Warner who wanted to work with Juliette as a team to change the world? Yeah that’s him now.

No personal ambitions allowed when you’re a walking dildo, I guess.

Off the topic, but Mafi really enjoys making Juliette stupid as fuck:

“Oh, yes, of course,” she says, remembering. “I’ve gotten a bunch of letters about that. I didn’t realize it was such a big deal.”

Let's continue.

Hurting Haider would be enough to start a world war.

Warner says and then Juliette threatens Haider, a foreign official on a diplomatic mission, and instead of being even a little bit worried and think about possible consequences, Warner thinks this:

But I can only smile at her. I want to scoop her up and carry her away. Take her somewhere quiet and lose myself in her.

Okay, I guess it’s official, there’s sperm inside of his head instead of brain cells. I can’t find any other explanation for this clownery.

Shatter-me Warner would… Shatter-me Warner won’t be in this situation in the first place.

Someone tries to kill Juliette and Warner does… nothing about it. He never goes to check the body of the assassin himself. He thinks that Nazeera hides something and he still allows her to go around and doesn’t even interrogate her when Juliette says that Nazeera was there at the moment of the attack. He doesn’t find it even a little bit suspicious? That guy who had tremendous trust issues in the original trilogy? Remember him? Yeah, that guy. Shatter-me Warner would lock Nazeera and Haider up and demanded answers. Shatter-me Warner would be angry as fuck, and would try to kill Kenji with his bare hands, because Kenji was stupid enough to leave Juliette alone. Shatter-me Warner wouldn’t stop until he had answers (and the head of a person who wanted to kill Juliette on a plate).

New Warner is too busy feeling sorry for himself to actually do anything about it. And after one chapter it’s completely forgotten, like that fact that someone tried to kill her is not important at all.

And then Castle enters the picture with his stupid and sloppy info-dumping (I guess Mafi never heard of ‘show don’t tell’ rule). And says this:

“She can’t lead this resistance,” he says, squinting at something in the distance. “She’s too young. Too inexperienced. Too angry. You know that, don’t you?”

and if that wasn’t enough he also says this:

“It should’ve been you,” Castle says. “I always secretly hoped—from the day you showed up at Omega Point—that it would’ve been you. That you would join us. And lead us.” He shakes his head. “You were born for this. You would’ve managed it all beautifully.”

AND HE’S STILL ALIVE AFTER?

This is a fucking treason right there. And Warner A-OKAY with this.

Shatter-me Warner would strangle him right there. Or better yet, he would go along with this until he has 100% evidences of Castle’s betrayal and then he would kill him. Or he would kill him simply because Castle was withholding important information and earlier in books he put Juliette in a great danger by sending her to Anderson without telling her the truth (unravel me).

But not this Warner. New Warner is far more concerned with fucking Juliette then helping her or looking for a way out of this situation (because now he has dick instead of a brain).

After my father’s revelation, my thirst for information became suddenly insatiable. I needed to know more—who these people were, where they’d come from, how much we’d known—

WHERE AND WHEN DID WARNER IN PREVIOUS BOOKS DISPLAY THIS?

When I say that Mafi simply forgot her own characters this is what I mean. Warner from original trilogy didn’t give a flying fuck about them. He thought that they were weak and stupid.

I will lose her.

And it will kill me.

He said this shit and after he nearly had a panic attack because he imagined her dating someone else? Oh, come on, how more pathetic can he get?

There are words for this kind of behavior: toxic codependency.

Oh wait wait! I know! This is not Warner! This is Edward Cullen disguised as Warner! The mystery is solved!

Oh, he fucks her again. Apparently it’s the only thing he’s good at. What a character! The layers! The complexity!

And then Lena came into the picture.

Until that moment I was more or less okay with Warner. Yes, I was very confused, but I was ready to give Mafi benefit of the doubt. He lost his father and was dealing with grieve. We all can act out of character in the face of a tragedy or drastic changes.

“Why do you keep pressing this? Who cares if I’ve been with other women? They meant nothing to me—”

And there I felt in my guts, I’m not gonna like what next to come.

Haider was exhibiting suicidal tendencies. Self-harming. And I got really scared. I called Warner because I knew Haider would listen to him.” She shakes her head. “Warner didn’t say a word. He just got on a plane. And he stayed with us for a couple of weeks. I don’t know what he said to Haider,” she says. “I don’t know what he did or how he got him through it, but”—she looks off into the distance, shrugs—“it’s hard to forget something like that.

Oh, so Warner's words about how he never had any real interactions with anyone before Juliette were bullshit. About how he doesn’t understand people were also bullshit. About how Juliette was the first person who was not afraid to speak with him freely were also bullshit. Because all of the sudden he can help someone heavily depressed. Someone with suicide tendencies? Someone who harms himself? And now he has an ex-girlfriend who’s ready to beat the fuck out of him and calls him mean words (she clearly doesn’t fear him)?

Now his entire character in the first trilogy doesn’t make any sense. And his excuses don’t make any sense.

Bravo, Mafi! Bravo! This was the fastest character assassination I’ve ever seen.

She says that Lena was in love with him—really in love with him—but that Warner broke her heart, that he never treated her with any real affection and she’s hated him for it.

Oh, so he’s not only stupid and absolutely useless, he’s a fuckboy. And if there’s one thing I HATE, it’s fuckboys.

There’s a big-big-big difference between someone who has one-night-stands and THIS SHIT:

“You’re upset, I understand. But it’s not my fault you feel this way. I don’t love you. I never have. And I never led you to believe I did.”

“She and I,” he says, “it was—we were nothing. It was a relationship of convenience and basic companionship. It meant nothing to me. Truly,” he says, “you have to know—if I never said anything about her it was only because I never thought about her long enough to even consider mentioning it.”

“It wasn’t like that. It wasn’t two years of anything serious. It wasn’t even two years of continuous communication.” He sighs. “She lives in Europe, love. We saw each other briefly and infrequently. It was purely physical. It wasn’t a real relationship—”

So he despised her but used her for sex? WOW. Cool. He can go and trip over a fucking knife or fall out of the window for all I care.

“Everything in my life was different before I met you,” he says. “I was lost and all alone. I never cared for anyone. I never wanted to get close to anyone. I’ve never—you were the first person to ever—”

And how exactly he was able to help Haider with his self-harm then??? If he didn’t CaRe for anyone before Juliette?

This was the moment when Warner from original trilogy died in agony.

Okay, let’s see real quick what we have in Defy Me:

He thinks about escape but never really does anything to escape;

(anderson is the one who opens his cell;

he stands in front of a guy who murdered his mother and doesn’t even think about her, yeah I can see how important she was for him;

/again, shatter-me Warner would probably demanded answers, but not walking dildo, walking dildo cares only about Juliette. his excuse in ignite me 'i did it all for my mom' doesn't make any sense now, because he actually doesn't give a flying fuck about her/

he gets captures one minute after he “kills” Anderson;

nazeera is the one who gets him out of there;

super soldier taught his whole life how to survive, everyone. useless as fuck)

He doesn’t know anything about jewelry.

(super ooc, i know what Mafi was trying to do here: she tried ‘sherlock holmes doesn’t know that earth revolves around the sun’ thing Arthur Conan Doyle did, but the problem is WARNER IS A FASHIONISTA, or he was).

He wants to get married because…???

He sees a woman who tried to kill Juliette and he’s a-okay with staying at her place, because she said that it was actually a message (???).

Castle is still alive.

Nazeera who knew all this time about Anderson and was working for him is also alive and well.

Oh and he doesn’t care about Anderson being alive and being a real threat to Juliette (fucking her is more important for him, as usual).

His complete disregard for Juliette’s safety only makes me hate him more with every new book.

Imagine me.

First and foremost: don’t call imagine-me Warner shatter-me Warner. Don’t insult shatter-me Warner like that. With shatter-me Warner Anderson would have to try very hard to get to Juliette. It would be ‘Warner made 100 back-up plans, but Anderson knew him too well and created 101 plan and that’s how he managed to win’ kind of situations.

But walking dildo is too busy feeling sorry for himself (as usual), he just sits by her bed FOR TWO FUCKING DAYS, doing absolutely NOTHING to make sure she’ll be safe.

Nooira says that Juliette should be killed and she’s still alive for some reason.

He’s entire persona is that he’s rude to people (but not bbc’s sherlock holmes kind of rude, when he’s unbearable dick but he’s actually smart and really gets shit done, so we can tolerate him). He’s just rude.

He doesn't care about Adam or James's wellbeing (remember Ignite me Warner who really wanted a family? Yeah that's him now).

But he has gruppies now, because he’s hot and everyone in the sanctuary wants to fuck him.

Oh and he proposed to Juliette. HE PROPOSED. THEY ENGAGED! DO YOU HEAR ME??? THEY GONNA BE MARRIED! HE PROPOSED TO HER! AND SHE SAID YES! THEY GONNA MERRY!

Because god fucking forbid we forget about it.

(mafi really thinks that her readers have the mental capacity of a golden fish, huh?)

I lost count how many times walking dildo implies that he's gonna kill himself if Juliette is not with him (disgusting).

Then our walking dildo cures Juliette by the power of petting (it’s not power of love, lads and gents; you want to see love go watch defenders on netflix; mafi already copypasted elektra’s arch from that show into imagine-me Juliette, you can do yourself a favor and see how this trope can be executed without borderline on sexual assault petting scene).

18-old girl marries a fucking sociopath believing he’s actually a good person.

(we all know how shit like this ends, people like that don't change; and this 'he's different with me cuz i'm very special and i'm gonna teach him the right way' it's really harmful message considering that the audience of those books are mostly teenage girls).

Trust me, there's nothing revolutionary in this trope, it's tale as old as time.

Here's the thing, good written character always defined by connection to other people: friend, lovers, enemies, family, foes, acquaintances, even some random strangers. It's the easiest way to establish what kind of person they are.

Walking dildo doesn't have any of that because all of his "character" revolves around Juliette. He's not a person anymore. By the end of Imagine me he doesn't have friends (his relationships with Kenji or Haider non-existent), no family connections (no talks with Adam or James), even enemies or foes or even people that don't like him (because everyone wants to fuck him, because being hot is his only character trait).

His only family and friend is Juliette. And you know what? It's fucking boring, overdone and lazy as fuck. And insulting to the character he once was.

No redemption arch, no character arch at all.

Happy end.

#i'm gonna pretend that second trilogy doesn't exist #long-ass post #shatter me series #shatter me #aaron warner #nazeera ibrahim #kenji kishimoto #paris anderson #juliette ferrars #eff writes #meta #restore me #defy me #imagine me #fantasy books #tahereh mafi #character analysis

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girl4pay · 3 years

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This might be a big question but what would be the ideal way for the raven king to have ended in ur opinion. Bc it doesn’t make sense as is and thematically falls apart I feel but I can never quite figure out what the actually most narratively satisfying thing would be

lets get married. okay keeping in mind i haven't read the series in full in a couple years my core issues with trk are: i think gwenllian was criminally misused, i think adding in laumonier and blue's dad made very little sense and i think doing the gansey noah and cabeswater deaths back to back the way they were was a terrible way to handle a climax. you don't need blue's dad and you don't need laumonier. too many random new parents and men who are absolutely vestigal. gwenllian should be blue's mentor, you focus the piper plotline completely on a professional antagonism between her and henry's mom who can act as the antithesis to piper's greed and recklessness. the grey man is the reader's familiar link between Crime and Magic here, so you can still have him face the challenge of his old life threatening his new life by having to forge an alliance with seondeok to take down a shared threat.

gwenllian as blue's mentor would come with a similar but almost opposite effect to persephone's mentorship on adam: blue isn't getting stranger, she's getting angrier. this witch who knows what she is keeps getting mayo in her hair and her teachers don't understand her and her family is being evasive and the boy she loves is going to die. also a demon is clouding her perspective, but she doesn't really know that yet. more adam and blue scheming to keep gansey alive. more research and bugging relatives and desperately looking into rituals while it becomes clearer to the reader that adam is losing his agency and blue is losing her clearsightedness. gansey's panic attacks begin to attune themselves to the moments where noah is not himself as well. his chest hurts, he can't breathe - it feels like something is sucking away at his heart. at the same time adam is still trying to help ronan with waking up the dreams, and blue is getting closer to gansey and henry, trying to imagine a future that feels like her own when she has the weights of her confused identity and her fate hanging around her neck.

i would have ronan and gansey's relationship blow up here: between the hospital and aurora's death, maybe after his birthday party, ronan finds out - probably through declan, to add insult to injury and even more fucked up brother resentment - that gansey is trying to buy him a diploma. actually definitely just after the night of truth bullshit for prime outrageousness lmao. it goes nuclear. blue is, catastrophically to gansey, on ronan's side. adam is, infuriatingly to everyone, judgmentally neutral. things progress as they were except instead of henry getting kidnapped we get a very reluctant henry passing a message to tgm - things have progressed past the point that is acceptable with piper, and his mother wants to meet. also the visit with gansey's family is tense - they love her and henry, and they just can't understand what's gotten into gansey, who's distracted and snappy, and when helen confronts him, he blows up at her, saying a lot more about his worry for ronan and his fear about what will happen to him than was revealed in the initial fight. they're siblings, their relationship can handle it, but there's still an overarching sense that she doesn't really understand, because gansey is still holding his real fear of dying close to his chest.

cut to auroras death and the grey man having to leave maura with this tragedy to join seondeok - a king, joining a king, doing what needs doing, instead of just a continued trope about being made for violence or whatever that was. there scene with ronan at the bmw goes more or less the same. gansey goes off on his own because he feels isolated and like the burden of fixing all this lies on his shoulders, gwenllians weird witch pep talk goes to blue instead. here is where you would insert cool fun shit about what being a mirror actually means! all of them reunite as in canon, ronan and gansey reconcile after ronan is like you dumb motherfucker i need you here you're my brother and gansey says some self sacrificing shit and blue and adam make it clear without Making It Clear they are going to stand by him, because they still don't know he knows he's going to die.

here is where we reach the core difficulty: i think the death kiss is incredibly stupid and i don't know how i would write around it. i know how i would finish trk from here, but the kiss curse would not show up at all. i like the kiss curse as a concept but it just doesn't make any sense in the narrative of agency trc constructs and i think it limit's blue's storyline. so without considering the kiss curse: as the demon hijacks adam and tries to use blue as an amplifier to spread to other ley lines, everyone realizes the stakes. everything cabeswater has touched, everything the ley line has touched is at risk, and the ley lines are ALL CONNECTED. blue and adam have been skirting around the realization that the demon and cabeswater are like mirrors the whole book. you can't have one without the other. there is no corruption without something to corrupt. the way cabeswater focuses the ley line for ronan is how the demon has been getting power too, but it's a self contained loop, consumption instead of guidance. kill cabeswater, kill the demon. gansey asks it, realizing in a way they others don’t seem to that he and cabeswater are linked, and the others act. there's a little giving tree moment between ronan and cabeswater, which will surely not contribute to any farreaching survivors guilt that might show up in a sequel series. here is where blue being a mirror comes into play. when neeve was trying to see farther than she could, she used a mirror and it sent her there. the demon is trying to consume beyond it's bounds. a mirror sends it inwards. here blue sees the moment of violence that birthed the demon, and she's terrified and it's tragic. it's a very bildungsroman moment of grief and terror of what will come after for everyone. death of the child birth of the man etc. noah, perpetual child, gets laid to rest with cabeswater, but without cabeswater the ley line floods. here is where gansey dies: without noah fighting his hardest to keep him going, because noah loved him, because cabeswater needed him, his heart simply stops. here is where blue kisses him, because it doesn't matter any more, because he dies even though she didn't, because she's seeing without the demon clouding her for the first time in what feels like the longest time and all she can see is grief. shit gets magically weird with adam and ronan too, and it's henry who grounds them all, who is used to enforcing practicality on the unknown to keep himself safe. with his help the three of them dream something to save gansey. ta da!

i feel like this would also feed much better into the theme of the dreamer trilogy of like opening ley lines etc bcus trk completely glosses over what happens to the ley line without cabeswater there, and adds to it making sense that ronan thinks opening the ley lines is a good idea - he saved gansey with it! what more could he do! whereas adam felt overwhelmed and out of control and spends the next year trying to construct and repair his own real life conduits and safeguards on the ley line as ronan builds lindenmere. what are your thoughts did i miss anything that you were like absolutely not hate that need it to be gone

#trc

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boop-le-snoot · 4 years

Text

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 7

Rating: Explicit.

‼️TW: Reader is EIGHTEEN! Recreational drug use, smoking and alcohol consumption, deeply internalised self-loathing, very questionable moral standards. Daddy kink taken half-seriously. BDSM themes in later chapters - explicit content will come with it's own TWs. FIRST PERSON POV. There is violence in this chapter.

Summary: You're Peter's classmate, a child of rich and famous but uncaring parents. Getting paired up for a lengthy project with the boy was an interesting turn of events and you don't know whether to feel blessed or cursed when you develop, seemingly, a perfectly normal, harmless crush on Tony Stark. Fueled by feelings of inadequacy and boredom, your life spirals out of control - and you're lucky your newfound friends are there to pick up the pieces even if you cannot find it in yourself to believe these amazing human (and not so human) beings voluntarily give you more than a fleeting glance and an offhanded thought. And they brought cake!

A/N: *chants* BRUCE FLUFF BRUCE FLUFF BRUCE FLUFF. *sings* they're ain't no big thing just show them a little swing. Beneficial Cucumber. Author's notes are spoilers without context at this point... Y'all-

My beta, @miscmarvelwritings . We make the best duo. I am her dumb of ass and she is my gay. I love her.

Tony was elbow-deep in a robot when I came out of the elevator, Peter holding up the spare part needed, hovering next to the engineer. Without preamble, I was directed to help and dutifully fulfilled Tony's requests. Nothing indicated that my evening stunt ever happened besides Pete's faint blush; I might as well have written it off to the tank top hugging the upper part of my body in all the right places.

I was disappointed, I won't lie to myself - I expected Tony to tease me at least a little bit, snark something vaguely lewd and move on. But the engineer was quiet today, eerily so, almost to the point where it seemed he was ignoring me on purpose. My pride didn't let me begin any of our usual banter so I frowned in silence, making the appearance of a very focused person. Bolts and screws - most interesting things in the world!

As usual, I clocked out first around eleven thirty, leaving Pete and Tony some time to discuss their secret science stuff. Usually I would be exhausted by this point which left little to no room for jealousy but that night, emotions hit me like a freight train and it took me every ounce of my willpower to head out to Bruce's for the inevitable "I'm disappointed in you/Fuck safely" round of brainwashing.

My brain kept returning to the downwards tilt of Tony's mouth and the somber mood around him. I hated seeing him so...unhappy and tense.

The moment I set step in Bruce's lab, I saw the man's back hunched over a tube, I felt the same energy coming from him. What a fucking day! The sigh that left my mouth was resigned. "Bruce?"

A couple of seconds passed before he turned. He attempted a smile but it didn't reach his eyes at all. "Hi, Princess."

I cocked my head in defeat. "If this is the part where you lecture me, let's get over it. Or even better, you say nothing and we carry on," I pursed my lips, inspecting my nails in favour of actually facing the scientist.

I heard the click-clack of his instruments being placed on the table and the soft taps of his shoes against the tiled floor. His arms reached around my shoulders before I could even attempt to pull away, one of his broad palms tucking my face into the crook of his neck.

"I'm not mad, baby girl," He told me quietly.

I felt some of the tension dissipate, wrapped my arms around him, coming to a realization the man was all but melting into me.

"Just stay safe, alright? I don't want you to get hurt," With the same quiet tone, Bruce gently shushed my worries away. "If something is wrong, you can come to me. You know that, right?" He sounded painfully hopeful as he withdrew just enough to capture my face in his hands, forcing me to look him in the eye.

Something about the look in his eyes made my heart ache. I didn't have the heart to refuse, nor did I want to, so I nodded. Promptly, I was embraced yet again, his lips resting on the crown of my head, both of us swaying gently.

I've never wanted to cry so badly in my entire life.

"I'm a fuckin' mess, Bwucie, you haven't got a clue what you've gotten yourself into," I settled for a round of self-deprication instead. Bitter as it was, it was the barenaked truth.

"Then you're a beautiful mess," I could feel the smile tugging at the corners of his lips. So I smiled, too, obscured by his lab coat.

As much as I didn't want to leave the embrace, like, ever, I had to get home before one o'clock - before mother went to bed, zonked out on Valium and Ambien from the endless supply closet courtesy of my dad. "M'hafta go home," I mumbled.

Bruce sighed deeply. "I'll grab one of Tony's cars and drive you," He went over to remove his lab coat as I gaped. "I'm a forty-five year old man, I can drive." He chuckled humorlessly.

"Tony won't mind?" I asked the first question that popped into my mind to attempt dispelling the awkward moment.

"Trust me, he won't mind at all," Bruce mumbled darkly. I wondered what's up with that but the immediate future for me was already planned out: I was really looking forward to going home, crawling into bed with my clothes on and having a good old fashioned cry.

We made quick work of locating a set of keys and peeling out of the garage in Tony's shiny Audi R8, tires squealing on the wet pavement. It had stopped raining sometime during my robot building but the city was still filled with puddles. I could smell the moist, decaying leaves through the tiny gap of the window, the city was drowning in autumn like I was drowning in my own cluelessness.

The adrenaline rush, the weight of Tony's foul mood, the grief and pleading that radiated off Bruce mixed into a horrendous cocktail of misery and pain. Too much pain for my little, weak, dumb heart to handle. And all these people out in the streets, dressed to the nines despite the disgusting weather - laughing, hugging and drunkenly giggling, it was like salt on my wounds, rubbing it in how much of a good time they were having.

"This your house?" Bruce pointed at the black, high gate of the entrance to my garage.

"Yeah, it's a bit much," I nodded absentmindedly, seeing Bruce's eyes bulge at the sheer size of my estate. My mother wouldn't settle for any less than the best so having a monstrously huge (for NYC) home was what she got. Dad just signed the checks.

Bruce hummed.

I made a face, reaching for his warm hand and giving it a squeeze. "Thanks, Bwucie," Smiling at him, I used up the last of my good mood to show the gratitude he deserved.

He pulled me into a tight hug right over the middle console. It wasn't comfortable by any means with the numerous buttons and switches poking at the soft of my stomach but there was nowhere else I'd rather be than in his arms during that moment. The breaths that left me felt like they were punched out of my chest cavity by steel-toed boots.

"Good night, Princess. Sweet dreams." He kissed my cheek, lingering just a tiny bit.

I did the same, rubbing softly against his stubble and giggling at the ticklish sensation. "Night night, Bwucie."

I waved at him again as I unlocked my front gates and watched him speed off from behind it, obscured by the shadows of the decorative trees growing right behind the fence.

Bruce's face had morphed into something akin to torment or suffering the moment I disappeared from his immediate eyesight and it baffled me to no extent. I ransacked my brain left and right, searching for a reason I might have inadvertently caused him to feel that way but found none. The only logical reason was that he was just lonely. He didn't have many friends from what I gathered and if judging by the proud tone in which he spoke of Will-Mr Davies today, he desperately needed some other company than his teammates. I wish I could have helped.

Mother was nowhere to be seen when I entered the house so a beeline for my bed was successful. The ugly, loud, dry-heaving sobs weren't in any shape or form attractive or acceptable to show to anybody but me so when they forced their way out of me, the pillow keeping me company. I cried as for everything that was happening to me as much as I sobbed because of the self-pity I was indulging in.

It was pathetic, really. My mother would scoff and my father... Well, he'd offer me to 'cheer up, throw a party, do normal teenager stuff'. The bottle of wine I kept in my closet was empty in no time: I justified that as a single lady in a big city, I was entitled to relax once in a while.

Who was I lying to? I downed a bottle in twenty minutes just so I could fall asleep and begone from all this bullshit for a while.

On Monday, I anonymously submitted the documents pertaining to Thompson's behaviour to the school board and to a local newspaper that was known to dabble in socialite gossip. Next day, an investigation was promptly launched and important-looking people started to appear in the hallways, going in and out of the principal's office. Flash was pulled out of class by two police officers: at this point, half the student population was unashamedly filming it on their smartphones, me included. With grim satisfaction, I sent the video directly to the group chat with an added message of "so long, fucker".

Steve didn't even remark on my profanity, just sent a thumbs up.

It really fuckin' blew up the next morning. The news was plastered across every paper, every social media site - "Midtown Principal's son arrested for grand theft auto and assault", "Midtown Principal Being Investigated for obstruction of education" and other ridiculous headlines that had me, Bucky and Natasha in shit-fits.

Flash returned to school on Wednesday accessorized with a pretty ankle monitor and a sullen frown. During lunch, he sat only with two of his closest minions instead of the chatty group he was usually seen with. Everybody avoided him like the bubonic plague, even teachers ignored him.

With the final bell, me and Pete went on to look for Happy outside the school territory.

I was spending nearly every evening at the tower either in Tony's or Bruce's lab or sandwiched between Wanda and Bucky on the couch, gossiping while TV shows mutely played in the background. I had found a second friend in the face of Winter Soldier who, much like me, spent a lot of his days occupied by the internet or in a general state of confusion. Bucky was charming, funny and very flamboyant. I enjoyed the no-nonsense attitude and zero fucks that he gave the world in general.

The moment I stepped on the other side of the gate, I immediately knew something was wrong. Peter squirmed uncomfortably beside me, looking frantically in every direction, trying to spot Happy's car in vain.

"Ay, Parker," The familiar obnoxious voice of Peter's bully reached our ears. "You wanna tell me how you got your grubby little hands on that file?"

Thompson had brought back up with him, the idiot that he was. He was standing off to the side, leaning against the fence while five older boys surrounded us in a tight circle.

"Leave us alone, Flash, you're already in trouble," Peter tried reasoning with the bully meanwhile I... I was searching for a cleaner, dryer spot to dump my $1500 bag onto in preparation for the inevitable. I was no stranger to swinging my arm - as a frequent house party guest, I've had to fend off enough unwelcome advances. I've been told I have a mean, mean right hook.

"Bold of you to assume Peter would actually steal something," I stated in a bored tone once my bag was out of the way and Pete was standing securely behind me. I wasn't afraid of Flash, mostly because I knew he'd step back for the fear of retaliation from my family was usually too much.

"Oh, look at that, the weirdo is talking," Thompson mocked, getting up and standing right in front of my face. "You know, I don't get why the likes of you have to go to school with us, normal people. See, Peter here might be a little wimp but at least he won't shoot up the whole school one day because his daddy didn't love him enough," Thompson decided to test his luck. To finish his epic tirade with a flourish, he spat on the ground next to me.

I snorted. "Wow, that's an awful lot of smart words for someone as dumb as a doorknob," I shook my head in disdain. "Look, either you go now or I'll sue you so far up your ass, you'll be sucking dick in prison just to get something to fill your stomach with." And wow, that comeback was really, really good. I was proud of myself.

I saw pure rage mar Thompson's already ugly face into something demonic and ducked at the last moment, feeling the blunt sting of his knuckles connect with my left cheekbone. Reflectively I swung, too, decking him straight in the nose with all the rage and despair that was burning deeply inside of me at that time.

I heard gasps all around me as the students whispered, shouted and cheered at Thompson's confused form hitting the ground. He held his face and his palms were stained a deep crimson; I felt something warm on my face, copper in my mouth.

"Does anybody want some of that, too?" My tone was icy. I shrugged off the hand that landed on my shoulder, glaring down one of the boys who came with Thompson.

"Shit, cops, RUN!" One of the students suddenly shouted and just like that, both me and Flash were surrounded only by a handful of students who had filmed the entire incident on camera. God bless technology!

"Uh, I think you're bleeding," Pete timidly remarked from behind me, hand still awkwardly outstretched towards me. He cast a guilty look to the side where Happy was running towards us, phone held to his ear, no doubt already on the line with Tony and the rest of the Avengers. Shit, fuck, SHIT. I didn't plan for this!

The police officers called an ambulance for Flash and took my statement while I was holding my bleeding nose up to the sky, much to the officer's dismay. Happy had passed the officer his mobile phone and I briefly heard Tony's voice saying that I will be taken care of in the tower's medical suite - and let's face it, no cop will go against Iron Man's charm and wit.

As an eighteen year old, I could refuse the on-site medical assistance that the city provided and my parents weren't required so I was let go after my statement was taken and my injuries photographed.

Not that the photoshoot really was required. Multiple people had the incident on video, from multiple angles. It was an open and close case. I called my mother in the elevator (she didn't answer) and left her a voice message with the bare facts of the situation and my current whereabouts.

Seeing the whole team assembled in the living room, some nervously twitching, some anxiously pacing, I couldn't help but let out a slightly hysterical giggle. "Oh my god, guys, I'm not in a coma, stop acting like I'm in a coma!"

Bucky was the first to approach me, carefully hugging me and steering me towards Bruce. He looked a bit rough, green-ish? I guess. But the first aid kit was already on the table and Stephen Strange was hovering nearby.

"You decked the sucker real good, doll," Bucky's Brooklyn accent made his speech less intelligible but he definitely got all the cookie points for the heat and the passion.

"Ditto. Should've kicked him in the balls, too," Natasha smirked and Steve mirrored her smirk with a darker twist.

"I'm going to sue him so darn far up his ass," Tony seethed, looking absolutely livid.

"Don't worry, mother's got it handled," I obediently laid down on the couch, staring up at Bruce's wide eyes and Stephen's focused face.

"You are fearless and fierce, dear lady," Thor boomed from somewhere.

All of this was making me... Emotional. I just punched a piece of human garbage, it was not a big deal, okay? He had it coming. I chuckled uncomfortably, wincing when Bruce began dabbing at the dried blood on my face with a piece of gauze soaked in alcohol. "Petey, you alright?" I asked, worried about the sudden onset of silence from the usually chatty boy. He mumbled something. "Speak up, I can't hear shit with all the ringing in my ears."

That earned me a worried look from doctor Strange and a frown from Bruce.

"I should've protected you-I mean-it's not that you can't do it yourself, or because you're a girl, it's just-I," he suddenly stopped.

"Go ahead, kid," Tony urged him with unmistakable kindness in his voice.

"You see, I'm-I'm actually Spider-Man and I'm afraid to accidentally kill someone, 'cause I'm really strong." Pete blurted out.

I had to replay his words several times in my head to get to the gist of what he was actually saying. Shy little Peter? Spider-Man? So that's why he was such a fucking pacifist? I mean, it made perfect sense if he really was strong enough to lift cars and hold together collapsing bridges like I'd seen on YouTube.

"Huh," I stated after a brief pause. "I guess I did double the work today, dumped out some trash and prevented a potential murder. I'm on a roll and I deserve chocolate cake," I rambled to distract myself from the incoming dull headache and the sting of the alcohol against the split skin of my cheek.

Strange chuckled, looking, possibly, the happiest I've ever seen him. Bruce giggled too. A tiny bit.

"Friday, order the biggest, most expensive chocolate cake that can be delivered in... Two hours," Tony immediately spoke up.

"Cake," I mumbled happily, a strange drowsiness overcoming me, making my eyelids droop. "Hey-mmm, doc?" I slurred, seeing Stephen's face fall. "M'think m'concussed, f'king 'ell!" The snort that left his mouth was absolutely hilarious; I started giggling, too, startling Banner into action.

He picked up his phone, saying something I didn't understand at all.

"Y'kno," I had this totally bright idea I absolutely NEEDED to share with everyone. "Y'kinda look like the guy... Wha's'is name... Bendy-snap Crum-ble-sticks? No, wait," Snorts and giggles began to resonate through the room as the amount of Doctor Stranges suddenly multiplied by two. He was a WIZARD, that was so cool! "I think... Mmm, yes... Benadryl-Claritin? No-no-no, 'das meds," Woah, a lot of people were there and they were suddenly all laughing. I wondered what was so funny. It was hard to think with so many people laughing; my temples were pulsating uncomfortably. "Wait, I know, I know!" There were wheezing noises now, noises that distinctively reminded me of Tony and Wanda and Bucky. "Bubble-butt Coitus-snack!" I triumphantly exclaimed, finally happy to have gotten it right.

The laughter turned into truly demonic cackling, surrounding me, they were so loud I almost managed to get fully afraid. And then, I passed the fuck out.

TAGLIST IS OPEN Y'ALL.

@another-stark-sub @mostly-marvel-musings @vozit @littlegasps @pilloclock @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads @hermione-grangers-wife @individualistfem

#tony stark x reader #tony stark x y/n #tony stark x you #bruce banner x y/n #bruce banner x reader #Bruce Banner fluff #stephen strange x reader #stephen strange x you #Stephen Strange x y/n #doctor strange x you #doctor strange x reader #bun writes #party favours #IN THIS HOUSE WE PROTECT PETER PARKER WITH OUR LIVES AND FACES

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woodchoc-magnum · 3 years

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Lone Star Episode 2x10 Hate Watch

If this ends up in the main Lone Star tag I apologise in advance, because I a) genuinely don’t know what that is and b) never intended for it to go there.

As always - if you love this show, great! I hate this show and I like to complain about it, and at this point I am only watching for Judd, Grace, Tommy and Buttercup.

Let’s do this fucking thing:

So Mateo lives in a share house situation like Buck did in season 1 of 911

Wow his friends are kind of assholes

Wow his friends are really fucking stupid

'I need new friends' understatement of the CENTURY

Oh wow Tarlos are moving in together ommggggg you guysssss they've developed this relationship so welllllll /sarcasm

#Carloscandobetter2k21

Thank GOD we can go back to our regularly scheduled Rob Lowe-apalooza after last week's Judd and Grace fest

I think Buttercup should go live with Carlos as well though just saying

Omg if Buttercup is DEAD I WILL LOSE MY FUCKING MIND THAT DOG BETTER NOT BE FUCKING DEAD I SWEAR TO GOD WHERE IS THE FUCKING DOG OH MY GOD WHERE IS THE FUCKING DOG

WHERE IS THE DOG

WHAT THE FUCK

OH THANK GOD

He was just getting his rocks off with the neighbour dog everything is fine

Fats Domino! Wow okay Lone Star great music choice

Hey Donovan the lacrosse douche is HOT

What is a sweet cream, I know not of your American treats

Oh WHAT IS THIS MACHINE

WHAT IS THIS DEATH MACHINE

Question – do machines in America not have auto shut-offs?

Love these assholes filming this poor girl what the fuck, people have no goddamn empathy anymore

No masks on literally anyone at all

COME THROUGH MARJAN

Nice for Nancy to actually have lines, good for her

These assholes with the phones though fuck these guys

I'm sorry I said he was hot I regret thinking he was hot

Oh my god they are DRILLING INTO HER LEG? WHAT THE FUCK?

Damn Marjan 10/10

Oh no it's the Owen broods a lot show

Is Mateo going to move in with Owen?

Oh fuck he is, isn't he

God poor Mateo

Just Rob Lowe casually lifting weights with Mateo in the gym while they have a deep conversation

What a legend

GRACE

It's been way too long without Grace and Judd in this show

He loves her so much

17 minutes in and I'm going to say that this episode has been very boring so far

Are there any fics that have paired Owen and Mateo up yet? Because I 100% think that will happen

Also when we were envisaging a roommates storyline for 911, we weren't envisaging it for Lone Star OKAY

One hundred percent someone has already written a fic about these two drunk fucking and listening to Steely Dan

21 minutes and I'm so bored

I broke out the chocolate covered almonds, my cat has gone to sleep… it's grim

Oooh Owen cancelled the surgery – why? Because he's a little BITCH

How does nobody know his house blew up? If a house blew up in my town, that would be front page news

Maybe Austin doesn't have a local newspaper though

Yeah that's right we still use newspapers here don't judge

I shouldn’t have opened these almonds, I'm 100% going to eat them all

And OMG GRACE HAS TAKEN HERSELF SHOPPING? DO YOU GUYS NOT HAVE HOME DELIVERY THERE? WHAT THE FUCK?!

Oh my god Grace

Girl

What the actual fuck were you thinking

SHE DROPPED THE DANG KEYS

GRACE ACCEPT HELP FROM YOUR HUSBAND OH MY GOD

YOU SHOULDN'T EVEN BE DRIVING

These are caps lock of concern okay? I'm WORRIED

Look when you're in a bad situation, just eat some ice cream, I get it

This kid is throwing a 10/10 temper tantrum

Why the fuck is Owen going up? He's the captain. Who runs things if he does all the things?

He's such a fucking knob I swear to god

Also question - why didn't they just climb out one of the conveniently placed windows near the child having a temper tantrum on the roof?

Yeah your friends actually care about you Owen? I have no idea why but maybe you shouldn't be fucking complaining about them you numpty

GRACE HAS BEEN IN THE CAR FOR SIX HOURS

I would’ve peed myself 100%, no way I can hold my bladder for 6 hours

She ate that whole thing, damn girl I've been there I get it. Obviously not stuck in the backseat of my car but like eating a whole pint of ice cream, yeah, I've been there.

Gina Rodriguez is a blessing to this show

"Get up Dad," TK says in a monotone

I wish the camera in 911 lingered on Eddie's ass the way it lingers on TK's ass, ngl

But in a respectful way, of course

Is this a fucking intervention jfc

Why am I watching this shit

The crossover was such a high point wasn't it? Remember when Eddie was running around in the filter looking so goddamn amazing… those were the days.

This show is so dumb. Nobody in the OG would do this to Bobby. It's so fucking corny and it only serves to prop up Owen as a character to the detriment of all the other characters

It's just an opportunity to blow smoke up his ass

One hundred percent Rob Lowe did the "smiling depression" thing in Parks & Rec – maybe Owen needs to pay a visit to Dr Richard Nygard, I hear he's doing amazing things in Pawnee, Indiana

It's amazing how much I like Rob Lowe in Parks & Rec and can't stand him in this show

I'm typing a lot because this show is dumb as fuck and it's also SO BORING

This is so boring

Ronen sucks so much

There's been like one interesting emergency and one boring one and the rest of it has just been Rob Lowe's bullshit

Except for Grace and Judd, god I love them

These two are amazing and they have such great chemistry. They can do some storylines on this show so well and the rest of it is just garbage

IF BUTTERCUP IS DEAD I WILL LOSE MY FUCKING MIND

WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH BUTTERCUP

DON'T YOU DO IT SHOW

DON'T YOU FUCKING DO IT

BUTTERCUPPPPPPPPPP

Okay he's fine

This show really needs to stop toying with my emotions

Also absolutely no masks whatsoever in this show at all this episode, amazing. Haven't seen one.

Okay so overall I would say that the Grace and Judd stuff was great and everything else was terrible.

I also did NOT finish the almonds, admire my self control! Admire it!

3/10

Diaz to CLEANSE god look at that man holy shit

Remember the crossover guys? That was amazing

#lone star hate watch #this show is gaaaarbaaaaage #hate watch

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bamfdaddio · 3 years

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X-Men Unabridged: Hellfire (1980)

The X-Men, those often stripsearched mutants that have sworn to protect a world that hates and fears them, are a cultural juggernaut with a long, tangled history. We’ve been untangling that history for a while, but sometimes, you really want a more in-depth look. Interested? Then read the (un)Abridged X-Men!

(X-Men 129 - 131) - by Chris Claremont and John Byrne

Since I think Scott, square extraordinaire, would also say: “I know squat about rap, but this Vanilla Ice dude is excellent,” I’m not putting much stock in his musical opinions. (X-Men 130)

Before we finally reach the apotheosis of the Phoenix saga, we’re going to take it a little slowly by focusing on the first three issues of 1980. They are basically the ramp-up to the end, putting all the pieces in place for the X-equivalent of the Red Wedding, the Bridge of Khazad-Dûm or the explosion of Alderaan. But, before smashing the board, Claremont introduces three new queens to the game. Here they are, in order of Awesome:

Emma Frost, or The White Queen; a telepathic HBIC with ambitions beyond dressing up in lingerie;

Kitty Pryde, or Sprite (Shadowcat, these days);

Alison Blaire (Dazzler), a disco dolly with light powers who unfortunately starts out as a relic of time gone by.

But before we can expand, Claremont shrinks the cast: Banshee, who sold his voice to a sea witch has injured vocal chords, stays behind on Muir Isle, retiring officially. (It’s gonna be a while before he returns to the X-Family in any true capacity - I think it might be the 90s?) It’s the first time since Thunderbird’s death that the core cast changes, and it’s not that surprising that Sean gets the shaft: Banshee, who has been positioned as the older, more experienced member of the team, has had very little to do (and Claremont has seemed reluctant to flesh him out the way he has the rest of the X-Men). Sean is essentially a decent, upstanding man who has mastered the use of his powers: there’s very little way to go without breaking him down or changing the course of his character. (If you’re a fan of him, go read the Phalanx Covenant and 90’s Generation X: it’s the best use of Sean.)

Polaris, Havok and Jamie also stay in Scotland, choosing a quiet life without superheroics. (For those familiar with X-Factor, this is where you laugh and laugh and laugh.)

Jason Wyngarde, meanwhile keeps fucking with the Phoenix, using his psionic fantasies to unleash her darkest self.

Jean’s darkest fantasies amount to little more than a Victorian bodice ripper, which is adorable. (To be fair, if I were trapped in a lusty prison of my own design, I´d probably dream up my own Downton Abbey soap opera where I was sleeping with all the hunky house boys, so…) (X-Men 129)

Scott, meanwhile, reveals the sheer depths of his repression by admitting that he never let himself feel the grief for Jean’s death.

If you think it’s weird that Jean falls for a sleezeball like Wyngarde, remember that the love of her life is a man who is so repressed that it took him 5+ years to tell his friends he had a brother. Her taste in men is questionable at best. (X-Men 129)

The whole “I accidentally picked up a stray thought” has to be such a bullshit. It’s like your sister claiming that she heard from a friend of a friend that you like someone, while she actually just read it in your diary. Telepaths are snoops, Jean, own it.

Speaking of telepaths without boundary issues, Professor X is back from space! He immediately slips back into a stupid, patriarchal role and treats this X-Men team the same he treated his X-Men in the sixties. Scott is like: dude, these aren’t the same dumb teenagers we were, but Xavier won’t listen. Their squabble is interrupted by Cerebro, alerting them to the existence of two new mutants! One in NYC, one in Chicago.

Somewhere else, the Hellfire Club is revealed to be listening in: they have bugged the mansion a long time ago. While most the Inner Circle is featured in some way in this arc - we finally get to see Sebastian Shaw’s face! - the main villain here is the White Queen. She’s coordinating the attack on the X-Men and is looking to recruit Kitty for her Academy in Massachusetts.

It’s kind of bizarre that it took so long for this plot - an emerging young mutant is an object of interest for two competing factions - to be a main plotline, considering it’s such a staple for the X-Men mythos as a whole. (See, for example: the New Mutants, Generation-X, the Young X-Men, but also Rogue in the first X-Men movie and the whole of X-Men: First Class. Hell, X-Men Evolution’s first season was practically built on this trope.) It is kind of fitting that one of the mutants introduced this way is Kitty Pryde, the first X-Man that would be completely Chris Claremont’s creation.

While teacher’s pets Cyclops, Phoenix and Nightcrawler can go to New York, Xavier takes Colossus, Storm and Wolverine to a suburb in Chicago (“to monitor them in the field”, fuck you too, Chuck). In the Windy City, we meet plucky YA-novel heroine Kitty Pryde, who’s being tormented by headaches.

The KISS-poster in Kitty’s room is fortunately the only crossover we’ll have between the X-Men and the KISS-comics published by Marvel. (X-Men 129)

Just after a certain Ms. Frost has pitched her Academy to the Pryde parents, the X-Men arrive. While Charles works the parents, Ororo takes Kitty to get some ice cream, letting slip the secret of the X-Men.

Wolverine reading a titty mag in an ice cream shop while both Ororo and Charles are trying to convince people they run a legitimate school is a hilarious mood. (X-Men 129)

Kitty’s appearance is supposed to have been inspired by a young Katherine Hepburn, which is particularly evident in these panels.

Anyway, they are promptly attacked by Hellfire droids, who spook Kitty into jumping through a wall. Finally, her powers are confirmed: Kitty can become intangible, ‘phasing’ through objects. When the X-Men defeat the droids, Emma Frost comes along to finish the job, psychically overwhelming Storm, Wolverine and Colossus. She abucts them, not realizing Kitty has stowed away in their… floating… hovercraft… thing. She also manages to abduct Xavier.

I love how Emma’s to-do-list was:

Abduct the X-Men

Strip them naked (X-Men 130)

The Inner Circle and their motivations are slowly fleshed out: they’re all in it for power, money, glory. (Emma would love Lana del Ray.) But they’re not a united front: Wyngarde considers Phoenix the road to power, Emma believes in raising (and controlling) the next generation of mutants and Shaw… Well, Shaw is a clever opportunist, not afraid to sell out his own kind. (It’s heavily implied the Hellfire Club helped fund Lang’s Sentinel program.)

Through Jason, we pick up the thread in New York, where Jean and Scott visit some shady club downtown. Nightcrawler is stationed outside. Inside, Jean enjoys the relative perversion of the clubbing crowd, until Jason shows up and twists reality, shunting her to ‘their wedding day’.

It’s never made explicit, but in between the lines, it’s highly probable that Jason seduced Jean, violated her body and mind. That, combined with the whole BDSM/Marquis de Sade atmosphere of the Hellfire Club where the men are fully clothed and the women prance around in lingerie amounts to a whole lot of ick, ick, ick. (X-Men 130)

In Chicago, Kitty skulks around the compound of Frost Enterprises. She manages to creep up to Ororo’s cage, who gives her a number to call. Before she can do anything else, Emma sees her, calls all her henchmen cretins and orders her to get that pigeon kitty. Kitty flees and manages to get a call in.

Kurt picks up the phone in their limo (which feels super swanky for the eighties!) and Kitty delivers her warning. Kurt is then promptly attacked, as are Phoenix and Cyclops. Together, they make short work of their attackers, with the aid of Dazzler. Introductions follow:

Dazzler’s “nope” tells you about 80% of what her character is about. (X-Men 130)

It’s funny to see how relatively unknown the idea of mutants still is. Kitty doesn’t even consider it, even though freaky shit is happening to her, and Dazzler hilariously doesn’t give a figgin where her powers come from. (Though she may just be in denial. Anyone who wears a disco ball around her neck can’t be accused of good common sense.) In ten, twenty years, I bet there’s tons of teenagers in the Marvel Universe who get headaches or weird growing pains and fear that one morning, they might wake up a mutant.

It’s odd how Cerebro picks up Dazzler as a ‘neo-mutant’, even though it’s obvious she had her powers for a while. It might have to do with the fact that Dazzler wasn’t created by Claremont and Byrne, but by Tom DeFalco and John Romita Jr. However, because editorial wanted to Dazzler’s debut to make a splash, so they added her to their best-selling book and she had to be shoe-horned into this plot. She was originally intended to be closs-platform - there were plans for albums, Bo Derek would star as her in movies - but since Marvel had the keen foresight to introduce her just as disco was dying all of this got shelved. After a solo series, she’ll become a pretty solid B-Lister X-Man in a couple of years. (Should I be covering her solo series? It’s only very tangentially X-Related. Sound off below!)

Cyclops, Phoenix, Nightcrawler and Dazzler Trojan Horse their way into Frost Enterprises and make quick work of the White Queen’s cronies while Emma is creepily making Storm her personal plaything. Kitty, meanwhile, manages to free Wolverine by phasing through the electronic lock. Jean recognizes the Hellfire Club from her (fake) memories with Jason, but doesn’t connect the dots quite yet.

Emma, frustrated that her plan is falling to pieces, takes out her ire on Storm, threatening to lobotomize her. Jean… does not take this lightly.

“I understand you call yourself something of a telepath” is absolutely the most badass line Jean has ever uttered. Fuck yeah. (X-Men 131)

With the White Queen defeated (rumors of her death are greatly overrated), the X-Men can briefly regroup. Dazzler does not join the X-Men, being too into the idea of becoming the mutant Madonna, while Kitty is delivered back to her parents. To prevent a nasty scene, Jean casually alters the memories of her parents, removing the memories of Kitty’s involvement with the kidnapping of the X-Men. This also neatly prevents her parents from realizing what a horrible idea it is for a 13 year old to join a superhero squad. (Even if she has a defensive power.)

This arc ends with the two people who love Jean the most voicing their concern:

When you look up ‘muhahahaha’ in the dictionary, this picture of Jason Wyngarde will be the definition. (X-Men 131)

Hold onto your butts, people. We’re almost there.

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authoressofdarkness · 3 years

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Guide Me Safely To Shore (Chapter 3)

Peter’s on the floor in a pile of broken glass, wearing the Spider-Man suit, blood leaking from cuts and various injuries on his body. His eyes are drawn to a particularly nasty looking split on his leg, and for a moment he sees red. Rhodey’s hand on his shoulder steadies him, giving it a gentle squeeze that snaps him back into reality. “Bad,” he completes, finishing his thought from the table. “I told you it was going to be bad.”

Notes: So it’s come to my attention that I’m a dumb bitch, and I haven’t updated this here in ages. So. Uh. Yeah. Doing that now. Happy New Year to all my fellow people that follow the general calendar; congrats to everyone for surviving this long. Hopefully it’s all going up from here.

If you missed the first two chapters, here you go: 1 2

It is more than a few days, but not by much.

To say that he’d mostly put their meeting out of his mind would be… well, a flat out lie, if he’s being honest. Frankly, he’s spent every free moment practically stalking Peter from a distance. Having men assigned to follow and protect him, watching him himself through the cameras as he goes about the city and during his patrols.

Because of course he’s still patrolling. He wasn’t lying when he told Peter his suit would be waiting for him at home; he’d repaired and done some minor tweaks to it before having it deposited by a drone on the young omega’s bed, but he’d made sure it was returned, all the same. He’s a man of his word, after all, if nothing else. And he hadn’t interfered with his patrols at all, besides monitoring them closely now. Even when the boy interfered with some of his operations. Even if it was pretty irritating.

He’d also began making some basic changes around the tower. Peter is his soulmate; whether they like it or not, nothing either of them will do can change that. So he may as well start reflecting it. He doesn’t want him finally deciding to come after him and being shot down by one of his numerous security measures.

So he inputs Peter’s name and DNA into all of the security, and decreases the safety measures around his personal floors of the tower from above, just in case he decides to come swinging in randomly instead of taking the more normal way up. And on the off chance he actually does decide to take the normal way, he makes sure his name is added to his list of personal contacts, people that are allowed to see him without an appointment and have access to his private elevator to his floors whether he’s there or not.

On his actual floor, he starts setting up a room for him, making sure he has a place to go if he needs it. He doesn’t want to discourage him from showing up by thinking that they have to be sleeping in the same bed immediately; and frankly, he thinks that’s probably a bad idea. He only has so much self control, for starters. But there’s also his night terrors to consider, and he hasn’t slept regularly beside anyone in years, and… yeah, until they’ve gotten to talk in some detail, that’s probably not a fantastic idea. Besides, he wants him to have his own space, to some extent, even if it is where he can keep an eye on him. And he’s still young yet; he may want to have friends over, or at least a personal space to keep the stuff for his hobbies. Tony doesn’t have to be seeing him every second of every day, after all. He just needs to know that he’s safe and taken care of. Preferably in his space, where he’s sure it’s secure, and he’s not much more than a flight of stairs away if something were to happen.

As it turns out, maybe he needn’t have worried so much about the first part.

He hadn’t really considered, admittedly, even for all his genius, that meeting his soulmate might have some physical effects on the young omega. Some… very physical effects. At least, he doesn’t until Peter comes crashing in through his window.

He might have had more of a heads up if he was still stalking him quite as intensively. But the need started to fade a little after the first few days, when he started to figure out more about Peter’s routine: who he was with, what he was doing, whether his family and friends were trustworthy, the area he was living was safe, that he was eating, that he had everything he needed. And for the most part, everything checked out. His friends were clean; his aunt was busy but seemed like a good woman; he lived in a safe enough neighborhood… So by the weekend, he’d backed off, just a little, starting to mainly check in on him at different intervals, and only really watching actively when he went on patrol.

That was his first mistake, probably.

The second was abandoning his normal post watching him almost altogether on Saturday night, when he had company show up unexpectedly.

It’s his own fault, of course. He has precious few people he trusts in the world, and most of them have almost equal access to his security, his information, that he does. So of course, one of them was bound to notice the changes he’d made to his security.

The third was letting that company stay long enough to notice something was seriously up.

He’d say the fourth was having a drink, but the thing is, alcohol doesn’t really affect him anymore, not since the serum. He still occasionally finds himself drinking socially, or reaching for a glass of something strong when he’s particularly stressed or emotionally in turmoil about something, but it’s more of a placebo than anything now. The motion and familiarity of it soothes him more than the alcohol ever could, especially now.

So yeah, he has a drink in his hand when he opens the balcony door, and blinks in surprise when he sees Rhodey, his suit melting away as he takes the invitation to come inside. “I thought you were in California.”

“And I thought alcohol didn’t do anything for you anymore.”

Tony shrugs, taking a long drink of the whiskey in his hand, heading back to the kitchen to refill it. “It doesn’t. I just like the taste.”

“Bullshit. You drink when you have something on your mind.” Rhodey follows him back inside, tilting his head and watching him fiddle with the bottle. “This have anything to do with the kid you added to the security system?”

Tony glances up at him, surprised for just a moment before he shrugs. “Am I getting so easy to read?”

“It’s not a far leap to make. Though the alcohol indicates it’s something bigger than I thought.” Rhodey watches him. “You know I prefer you only set up dangerous traps like this with backup on hand. Why are you trying to make my job harder?”

“Maybe I just like inspiring you to randomly drop in on me. Making your job harder is the only way I get to see you, honey bear. You know I get lonely,” Tony deadpans, deflecting. On the inside, his mind races. He trusts Rhodey with his life, that’s for certain. But is he ready to reveal his hand so soon? He could, but where’s the fun in that?

Rhodes scowls at him. “Tony… really. Come on. Who is he?”

He shrugs and sips his whiskey. “He’s Spider-Man.”

Rhodey’s eyeshadows shoot up on his forehead. “Really. So you thought the best course of action now that you’ve figured out his identity was to make it easier for him to break into your building?”

“Well, he’s also my soulmate, so.” Tony quirks a shoulder again. “Yeah.”

“That’s all well and good, Tony, but you know how I feel about-... wait. What?” The words seem to take a long moment to fully register, and he’s halfway through beginning to lecture Tony about stupid, unnecessary risks just to make captures with a flair when he realizes exactly what he’d said. “He’s your soulmate?”

“Yep.”

“He’s barely an adult.”

“It’s not like I chose it, Rhodey.” Tony sighs, setting his glass down and folding up his sleeve just enough to expose his wrist, the tender skin where the previously ghostly words are now etched in stark black. “Look.”

Rhodey carefully takes his arm to get a better look, then lets out a low whistle as he releases it and leans back. “Damn. I can only assume it didn’t go well?”

“Well, I almost killed him before he said it, so you could say that.”

Rhodey settles down on one of the stools and motions for a glass, apparently deciding that he needed alcohol to continue this conversation. Tony doesn’t blame him. He slides a tumbler across to him and continues as Rhodey pours himself a glass, telling him the full story of the hunt and chase and the revelation as they drink.

“He’s afraid of me now, of course,” Tony murmurs. “But then, who isn’t, really.” He sighs. “I don’t know what to do, Rhodey.”

“Yeah, that’s kinda a shitty situation, Tones. I don’t know.” He shakes his head, swirling the remains of his whiskey around the glass with a thoughtful look. “Is he here, then?”

“No. I released him Sunday.”

Rhodey looks surprised. “ Why would you do that?”

“He didn’t want to be here, Rhodey. He wanted to go home.”

“This is his home now.”

“Maybe legally. But that’s not exactly the way to gain his trust, is it?”

“So? He's your soulmate. Legally, you’re responsible for him now. As his alpha and his elder, concern for his safety should come before anything else. Besides, he’s a liability in about twelve different ways out there. Did you ever consider that?”

“Of course I did! But keeping him prisoner here isn’t going to solve anything. He has to come to me on his own, Rhodey. It doesn’t mean anything if he doesn’t want it. And right now I just want to give him enough time for him to realize I’m not going to murder him outright. He’s already scared of me; any kind of pushing on my part is going to make that worse instead of better, and that’s not what I want.”

Rhodey exhales a long breath, rubbing his forehead. “Yeah, alright. Whatever you say. You’re a reckless, romantic fool at heart, you know that? Just watch yourself, Tony. And you might have to consider the possibility that keeping this... arrangement isn’t going to benefit either of you, let alone both of you.”

Tony shakes his head. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Believe me, my tender heart already hurts,” he deadpans, joking to cover up the fact that it’s not that far from the truth. The bond has a serious pull, even unconsummated, and were he a lesser man in terms of strength of will, things might be looking very different right now. He doesn’t want to acknowledge how close he is to doing something irrational anyway.

“I’m serious, Tony. You know horrible things can happen if you’re apart for too long, especially since you haven’t solidified the bond in any permanent way, yet. You’re supposed to be together more than ever at the beginning, not separate again within hours. The recoil of that is going to be-”

Glass shatters.

They both jump to their feet. Rhodey’s suit reappears in an instant, but while Tony gets up, he doesn’t summon his armor. There was no alarm before the glass broke, which means…

Tony jogs out to the living area with Rhodey hot on his heels. They both stop at the sight.

It’s Peter — of course it’s Peter, no one else would have been able to get so close or so high up without the alarms going off. And the sight of him makes Tony’s instincts scream.

He’s on the floor in a pile of broken glass, wearing the Spider-Man suit, blood leaking from cuts and various injuries on his body. His eyes are drawn to a particularly nasty looking split on his leg, and for a moment he sees red.

Rhodey’s hand on his shoulder steadies him, giving it a gentle squeeze that snaps him back into reality. “Bad,” he completes, finishing his thought from the table. “I told you it was going to be bad.” He heaves a sigh. “I’ll start on cleanup. You take care of your boy.” And with that, he flies out.

Tony spends another moment just staring, unsure how to respond to that for a moment. Peter actually is his boy. Weird.

Then he jumps into action, crossing the floor to him. He’s not wearing shoes, having been in the tower for hours and not intending to go back out, so he lets the suit form just around his feet and ankles, so he can walk on the shattered glass without worry as he approaches him. “Peter? Are you alright?”

The younger man’s head snaps up. “Mr. Stark?” he asks, sounding almost tentative, lenses on the suit indicating his eyes are wide. He’s almost glad he can’t see them, knowing those Bambi eyes would ensnare and distract him in a second.

He wants to tell him to drop the formalities, but it seems like there’s bigger problems at hand right now. “That’s me,” he says instead, forcing a light little half-smile so he doesn’t scare him, furious as he feels. “C’mon, let’s get you out of all this glass, yeah?”

He almost expects the boy to resist, but instead his body practically melts into Tony’s as soon as he reaches for him. He’s surprised, for a moment, and has to readjust his grip to actually take his full body weight instead of just helping him up. He scoops him up, carrying him out of the mess and back into his bathroom. He needs a place to set him where he can get him cleaned up and assess his injuries, and in the middle of the room with all the broken glass seems like a bad idea.

Peter doesn’t move except to curl a little tighter into his chest, and he suddenly realizes the boy is shivering against him. That cold fury rises up in his chest again, but he forces it down, forcing himself not to focus on it, because if he feeds it right now it’ll grow until he can’t hide it and even a hint of it might terrify his young soulmate even more than he already has. And right now he needs him not to be afraid as much as possible, so he can get him taken care of with minimal fighting.

Not that Peter is fighting. In fact, he’s frighteningly pliable in his hands. He sits him on the bathroom counter, gently, tilting his head back to him and watching the lenses widen and close like his eyes are flickering open and closed, in and out of focus. That’s not good.

“Peter.” The lenses flare and fix on him. “I gotta take the suit off to check these injuries out, alright?”

The little whimper that comes from his throat goes straight through him in more ways than one. “Don’t… can’t take it…”

He isn’t sure what he means for a minute, but when he understands, it makes his chest ache. “I’m not taking it. Did I take it from you last time?” Peter shakes his head. “I just want to make sure you’re okay. I can’t do that like this, alright?” The lenses flicker again. “Peter?”

Too late. The boy slumps forward into his arms with a little groan. Tony jumps to catch him, pulling off the mask and frowning when he realizes he’s passed out. Great.

Well, at least it makes his job easier, if not happier.

He moves him to the floor, knowing he won’t be able to effectively hold him up and check him over. Carefully, he gets the suit off again, draping it over the hamper for him to deal with later. It’s going to need cleaning, and a whole list of repairs again. Does he deal with that level of damage to his suit and bodily injuries every time he goes out as Spider-Man? No wonder it takes him so long between patrols sometimes.

From there, he fishes out a first aid kit from somewhere, too focused now to pay much attention to anything besides the unconscious omega on his floor, and sets to work. He has Jarvis scan him so he’s sure he doesn’t miss anything and that he’s not in immediate danger. He’d take him to the hospital wing if necessary, though he’d rather not do that again.

It doesn’t seem to be. There’s a lot of blood and embedded, little shards of glass, but overall the injuries are superficial. Only the cut on his leg looks particularly bad. He probably won’t be able to walk properly until it heals, but Tony isn’t worried about his ability to clean it, so he sets to work.

It’s a tedious process, carefully picking out all the little shards of glass in his skin and then delicately as possible cleaning all his wounds. First with peroxide, sanitizing them, and then getting a warm rag from the tub and effectively sponge-bathing him. He was covered in blood, sweat, and probably some other things Tony didn’t want to acknowledge. He leaves his underwear on — a pretty little pair of panties that don’t leave much to the imagination, though he can hardly focus on that right now with bigger problems obviously at hand — but otherwise cleans him thoroughly before taking off his shirt and draping him in it. It’s huge, goes down to the omega’s knees nearly, but it’s got to be warm and it’s clean and it satisfies that little possessive rumbling inside him, seeing him in his clothes, smelling the way their scents mix. Peter’s is just so soft and sweet — like warm vanilla, with a hint of something that might be strawberries, maybe his shampoo, and something else distinctly omega and Peter that calls to him, though he wouldn’t dream of doing anything about it while Peter is asleep.

He washes his hands and makes quick work of cleaning up most of his mess before returning to scoop the omega up. He’s suddenly extremely thankful for his foresight when he realizes he has a place to take him that isn’t his room, and that he’s actually going to get to put it to good use.

He carries Peter to the room he’d began setting up for him, depositing him on the bed and watching him for a moment. He’s just moving to tuck him in when there’s a quiet tap on the doorframe.

“How is he?” Rhodey asks, quietly, seeming to realize he’s not awake.

“He passed out before we could talk at all,” Tony admits. “So I have no idea what happened to him or how he’s feeling. But I cleaned him up and took care of his wounds. He’s not in any immediate danger.”

Rhodey nods. “I finished cleaning up the mess and blocked off the hole. It’s not gonna be good, of course, you’ll need it professionally fixed, but it’s not a gaping hole now.”

“Thanks, Rhodey.” Exhaustion suddenly slams into him, and he sighs, putting a hand to his head.

Rhodey senses it immediately. “I think it’s time for you to get some rest, man. I know you’re superhuman now and all, but you need sleep still.”

“I know. I just…” Hardly ever sleep. Hardly did in the first place. He does even less, now that his body actually requires less of it, but these past few days… well. Rhodey is right; the recoil effects of this are nothing to scoff at.

“I know.” He claps him on the shoulder. “I’m going down to my room for the night. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Tony just nods. He waits for him to disappear, the door closed behind him, before turning back to the bed. He reaches down to tuck Peter in, and is surprised when a hand closes around his wrist, stronger than he had expected.

He tries to pry his hand off as gently as he can, but the omega is having none of it, apparently, grip tightening to the point he can feel the finger-shaped bruises starting to form. A quick glance at his face is enough to confirm that Peter isn’t actually awake. He’s just instinctively seeking him, whether for his heat or by scent or maybe their bond.

It doesn’t really matter. Awake or not, if he wants him to stay, then he’s not going anywhere.

Getting into bed with Peter is probably his final mistake, but it feels too damn right to regret it.

At least until one of them wakes up screaming, and things begin to spiral again.

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decayandfanfics · 3 years

Text

The great book of sayings

PAIRINGS: Tomura Shigaraki x FemReader

SUMMARY: He looks at you, his scarlet eyes fixed on yours, burning a hole through your head, every bit the predator he is, but you are as tough as it gets, so, against your better judgment and any well-founded logic, you answer his silent threat, the animalistic look he gives you with nothing less than a fearless smirk, irises burrowing into his pupils.A clever girl. He thinks, finally labeling you inside his head, cursing himself in the very moment he allows his brain to think of you as more than an asset. He is sure (he knows himself enough to know) he’ll think of this moment many times from now on.A clever pretty girl.

Reader is a typical college student until she gets herself tangled with the league of villains.

WARNINGS: Unhealthy/complicated relationships, violence, Tomura being Tomura, mentions of murder, heroes’ abuse of power, smut later.

A/N: I’m trying so hard to write crusty boy here really in character. At least after AfO is taken. Any misspelled words, english is not my native language so i’m trying Helen.

___________________________________________________________

Chapter 8 / Chapter 9

You show me the man and I’ll show you the rule.

Tomura thinks he knows nothing about beauty, but then she proves him wrong.

(He thought her pretty before already, but after seen it…he concludes she’s the most beautiful, terrific thing he’s ever seen. Not that he would tell her that.)

A feral dangerous creature living inside of her with no other match.

No other but him.

Oh...you have no idea...She told him.

It happens so fast. One moment she’s there, sitting in front of her laptop, pretty and quiet and serene. All harmony and light, resting softly under the sunlight, between her dumb succulents and the spices that fill her home. Then he can hear Dabi’s caustic laugh and the wrong words. He’s disrespectful, an instigator, skilled in the art of making others lose their composure like is his favorite game.

He hears the foul words, the berating, and the mocking aimed to him, while she sits wide eyed and impossible flustered by the kitchen table.

Dabi smirks triumphant, like he always does after giving everyone a piece of his drama and Tomura watches him, wincing, reminding himself again that Dabi is supposedly oldest than him and Toga, and yet he does his best to being an annoying brat.

Tomura knows better to just let him bark, his remarks mean nothing to him, he knows what he is, and he knows what he isn’t. He’s a freak, yeah. That too, but he isn’t a child anymore, so he let it slide, keeping his eyes glued to his phone arching an inquisitive brow, ready to just let it die there.

He just forgot about the stupid little stunts of bravery she has this tendency to commit. (An annoying dangerous trait that makes him chuckle with something akin to fondness.)

She’s having none of the bullshit, Dabi’s little remarks had fed her up after a whole week of spiteful teasing, her precious patience has run thin.

“blue eyes are a mutation too, so you are no one to talk about it.”

The moment she opens her mouth, Tomura feels something warm filling the hollow place where his dead heart should go and it’s so foreign to him that for a moment he panics and thinks (very stupidly) that maybe his energy drink-based diet is finally going to kill him, and he (barely in his sweet twenty’s) is having a stupid heart attack.

But the pain never comes, it’s just her, voicing a clever answer, defending him.

“A quirkless little bitch? Seriously, Dabi? Where you raised in a fucking barn that you know nothing but fuck this and bitch that?

He wants to make her shut it, but he can’t find the words. Not when her remarks are sharp and funny to hear. (Besides, her voice sounds so sweet when she’s throwing smart ass angry comments just to back him up.)

It warms him and enrages him equally. How dare she to defend him? He can speak for himself on his own and doesn’t need her to make any back up about an insult he doesn’t care for. Stupid pretty woman. Trying to shut Dabi, putting herself in danger for the likes of him...Is she insane? (later that day, he’ll conclude that she must be pretty fucking nuts to have them all in her home after all, but somehow the thought only makes him like her more.)

“yeah. I know stupid cunt too.”

Dabi likes to cause havoc and now he’s pissed, so he throws a vulgarity aimed at her. Tomura feels the hot pang of anger at the other man, because the offense is not only an insult, but also a lie. She’s not stupid nor a cunt. She's sharp as a knife and kind enough to share with them.

“Dabi, cut it out.” He warns with a grimace, and now the fight has everyone tense in the room.

“I’m sure you do. Pretty useful to describe yourself I bet.” She snarls showing her teeth, an angry frown darkening her features and Tomura swears her eyes begin changing color.

“you sure like to bet, like how you are betting I don’t burn you alive for being an annoying bitch.”

This time Tomura gets fucking furious, something animal revolving inside of him at the idea of Dabi threatening her. But the fight is escalating so fast, he can’t say anything before she answers back.

“Fuck off, Dabi. This might be shocking for you, but you don’t scare me.”

He wants to laugh at this, truly. Feisty little thing she is when angered, all her soft ways and nerd knowledge thrown out the window in a fit of cocky bickering and a part of him is living for the chaos of it.

“now, that’s pretty fucking stupid of you.”

“Dabi, shut up!” Tomura growls irked with the way her hair has begun to float over her shoulders, now completely convinced that she’s not quirkless at all.

“I’m not the one insulting everyone just because I cannot deal with some fucking daddy issues.”

God fucking dammit woman, just shut up. He thinks frustrated, giving her a look worth a stab.

“YOU DON’T KNOW SHIT” Dabi snarls before kicking the little table in the living room, breaking one of its legs with a loud crack.

“CUT IT OUT!” she screams this time, standing from her chair “I don’t have to know when it’s plainly obvious you have problems with authority.”

“you really think you are so clever, don’t you?” Dabi states, crossing the living room, aiming to her, so Tomura leaves his place in the corner to stand at her side without even thinking why.

“I know I am, asshole!”

Dabi stops his tracks, looming over her like a monster. His eyes scanning her face before looking at Tomura, who stands by her with his hands open in front of him in clear warning.

The black-haired man looks at her before moving to Tomura, his brows raised in surprise as he chuckles darkly.

Shigaraki hates the way he looks at him, like he knows his thoughts. Like he knows he’s been creeping into her room to watch her sleep and the sinister lustful visions that sometimes plague his dreams after some playful back and forth every time she defies him with some smart-ass comment.

“stupid woman. You should know better.”

And then…he just slaps the laptop out of the table; the computer smashing open against the cemented ground.

Tomura remembers this moment like one would remember the witness of a car crush or a catastrophe. A simple second enough to amaze him for a lifetime.

The way her eyes just ignite into scorching red lights shining like burning embers under her frown brow. Her hair floats free from gravity over her shoulders like a terrible chaotic crown as her mouth flash pearly teeth in a feral snarl.

He watches how she claws her right hand, fingers curling, knuckles tensing and Dabi is suddenly choking under the pressure of some raw power. His limbs twisting painfully in horrific motion and unnatural angles in complete agony.

A second later and before anyone could grasp what’s happening, her other hand pointing pinky, index and thumb to Compress, Toga and himself, keeping them frozen in their place, a strange rigid pressure making him feel like he’s full of cement and any movement will shatter his bones and snap his spine.

He can’t move, he can barely breathe. Feeling like if every fiber of his being, every muscle, every cord is solid hard under his skin, unavailing him to get away.

But he can watch, so he watches her terrified and amazed.

Her quirk is rare, and powerful and dangerous. But she keeps it locked away, sleeping soundly, safely caged inside her ribs, like the best hidden weapon, perfect for torturing bodies and bending wills. Buried deeply under her layers of kindness and humor.

One twitch of a finger, and Dabi’s neck would snap in two and they can do nothing but just watch when little blood vessels begin to burst in the white of his eyes as he pants desperate for air, his veins contorting furiously under the marred skin of his neck and the flames scatter in some random parts of his body without any control.

Tomura swears he can hear Dabi’s bones crackle under the invisible force as his spine bends backwards in a sickening angle.

And, as sudden as it begins, ends.

Her hair falls and her eyes are no longer red. Dabi breathes again falling to his knees and for a moment Tomura thinks he will cry out of pure fright.

For a moment he wonders if Toga and Compress want to cry too because that felt like certain death, but is sweet, somehow. Something within him squirms joyfully with the notion of her own violence. She is as dangerous as him, no damsel in distress, no little girl in need of care, no simple quirkless girl, but a horrifying woman. A dangerous and powerful creature with a quirk made for torment, just like-

He looks at her, just to find a sad disappointed face. A thick trail of blood began sliding silently from her nose, tainting the perfect bow of her lip. Only then he notices the bloodshot eyes and how the color has run from her face.

She stands quiet and bitter watching between her hands and Dabi trying to catch his breath. Her face giving away guilt and self-loathing (two feelings he’s very familiar with.) but unlike him, she is no tormentor, she grasps no joy in watching Dabi suffer, nor do she wish of making them quiver to the sight of her.

She is kind, and brave, and witty. Humorous girl, quick at wordplay and puns; buying vitamins and oranges for them and something about no one getting scurvy under her watch.

He wants to laugh hysterically at her sight because she is magnificent, and for a moment he thinks that the boy with the destructive touch and the girl with the tormenting gaze sounds like a hell of a name for rulers and his heart shivers in excitement, but she is crying and clutches her guilty hands against her chest and ask them to forgive her for using her quirk on them.

She didn’t mean to; she didn’t want to. She likes them all very much, so she promises she’ll never hurt them again, and somehow it reminds him of something, but he cannot place a finger on what exactly.

He feels the sorrow drowning him. A grudge so horrid it makes him want to vomit and scratch his neck raw because something in her resembles something in him, but he cannot really grasp the motive of such connection, only knowing it has something to do with the hands he carries around like a symbol of his own distress and a little black-haired boy crying in some familiar backyard.

The sound of the bathroom door startles him and she’s no longer in the living room, but he can hear the quiet sobbing coming from behind the door.

Finally, Dabi decides to just fall backwards against the cold floor, still panting, an arm over his eyes.

Only then Spinner breaks the dreadful silence and ask the question they all want to make.

“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT.”

Chapter 10

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goofylittlebear · 4 years

Text

Not Meant To Be Temporay

Chapter Two: Another Day Of Unsuccessful Flirting

Summary: Remus never though he would be swooning over a man that he only only spent a few hours with, but he knew he needed to get back to that tattoo shop.

Warnings: Teen!Patton, Mentions of/implied Homophobic parents but it’s very lowkey,

_____________

Roman sat on the couch, scrolling through Instagram when his brother came flopping down right next to him.

“Well hello there.” Roman rolled his eyes and Remus only sighed, loudly and continuously until Roman put his phone down. “What? What do you need?”

“I’m thinking about that guy from the tattoo shop.” He groaned.

“Okay. So?”

“I wanna go back.”

“You can’t just go back.”

“Says who?”

“Me. Your truck is getting fixed. How are you supposed to get there?” Roman crossed his arms.

“Well I was thinking that you-“

“No.” He rolled his eyes

“Please?” Remus’ eyes were pleading and his voice was sincere. Roman could only remain resolute for so long.

“Get in the car.” He sighed.

“Yes!”

He ran up to hug Roman, who was disgusted at the reaction.

“Get off! Get off! You’re a literal rat, stop it! Stop! It!”

Remus finally desisted and ran to the car.

Roman put his shoes on and begrudgingly drove Remus back to the tattoo shop.

“I’m not going inside with you.” Roman said with his face hiding against the steering wheel.

“Fine by me!” Remus told him and ran inside, right in front the exact man he wanted to see.

“Yeah but he was kind of c-“ Virgil turned and saw Remus, “Oh no.”

“Glad to see you too, Twink-182.”

Logan sighed and went into the back room as the conversation began to unfold.

“So, how’s your tattoo been?”

“I think it’s been alright... maybe you wanna check it out.”

“Maybe I don’t.”

“Either way,” Remus moved in closer, “I know what I wanted to check out.”

Virgil rolled his eyes and began working on paperwork, “The exit?”

“Ugh. You’re not being fun! Can we please just have a dandy ol’ conversation?”

“Start one. I doubt I’ll enjoy it.” He sneered.

“So uh... you come here often?”

“I work here, dumbass.”

“Okay, fine. Hypothetically if I were to ask you if you were single, what would your answer be?”

“Why would it matter to you?”

Remus held his hand to his chest in offense, “Well if you must know, then I’m just curious.”

“Bullshit.”

“But like... are you?”

“What do you think?” He rolled his eyes.

“All I know is that you’re hotter than a frying pan, my good pal.” Remus said and leaned on the counter. He continued to try to banter with Virgil, and every attempt was shot down with some snarky remark. The only conversation that could be held was a conversation on spiders and other venomous animals. ”So if you’re single then... do you want to go on a date?”

“No way.”

“Why not?”

“Why the hell would I want to go on a date with somebody who makes an entire room uncomfortable?”

“Hey! I don’t try.”

“I don’t know if that’s better or worse.”

“Listen, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I don’t know why I did because I think I’m being relatively normal.”

Then the shop door opened.

“I’m so sorry,” Roman sighed as he walked in and stood next to Remus.

“It’s not your fault.” Virgil shook his head and placed his pen down.

“Well, he made me drive him.” Roman admitted.

“Nobody’s perfect.” Virgil shrugged and began stacking up his paperwork. “And Remus,”

“Yeah?”

“Your brother is cuter than you.” Virgil teased.

As he walked away he could hear the complaints of Remus accompanied by Roman’s laughter.

“Stop laughing!” Remus complained, “Wait! Virgil, Can I have your number?”

“I’m sorry did you say something? I couldn’t hear anything over the sound of your ego being shattered.” Virgil said without turning around. Roman could on my respond with more laughter.

“Ugh! Roman, you’re dumb!”

“Oh I like that guy. He’s fun.” Roman said, being shoved away from a very offended brother of his.

Virgil shut the door behind him and let out an exhausted laugh. Though he felt almost endeared that Remus actually called him by his real name rather than a dumb nickname.

“This is bullshit.” He complained to Logan, who couldn’t care less.

“No. This is your life now, bitchass.” Logan shrugged and walked away.

“Now hey, that’s being a little bit rude don’t you think?”

“Absolutely. That’s why I said it.” Logan walked back into the lobby quick enough to see Roman and Remus leaving.

Remus was pouting at Roman during the whole drive home. How could Virgil be so uninterested in him? He was a pretty unique guy if he said so himself. And he was as respectful as he could be without actually using self control, in the sense that he didn’t suggest anything entirely disgusting, just hinted at it with strange comments.

“He was just doing that to mess with me.” Remus realized out loud. How dare he? And after that charming conversation about bugs. Is nothing attractive to this man?

“Well it worked. And as a bonus, I feel great about myself now.”

“But what about me? You saw how hot he was!” Remus shouted, “You better not flirt with him.”

“You’re already after him, I’m not gonna do anything.”

“Really?”

“No. I don’t care. Sure he’s cute or whatever but it’s not like I really care. I don’t even know him.”

“Sometimes you don’t suck ass, Roman.”

“I can’t say the same about you.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet of you, Roman!” Remus said.

“I can’t wait until your truck is fixed.” Roman sighed as they continued to drive home.

Virgil was staring out the store and nearly didn’t notice asking when he was going to leave. His shift is over, after all.

“My brother is supposed to be staying over at my apartment. I told him I’d meet him here.”

“Then can you close the shop when he gets here?” Logan asked, “And tell him I said hi.”

“Sure thing.” Logan tossed him the keys before leaving and he waited for his brother.

He was listening to music as he waited, and was very concerned by the amount of songs he was able to get through without his brother showing up.

Deciding that calling him was the next best option, he was relieved when he picked up. And even more relieved when he was right outside the door.

“Patton, what took you so long?” Virgil asked as Patton crushed him in a hug. If they could see each other more often they would.

“It’s hard to walk in the cold.” He pulled his jacket tighter around himself.

“You should’ve called me. I could’ve picked you up.”

“But mom and dad said that-“

“I know,” Virgil was well aware that his parents said they never wanted to see him again, “But I wouldn’t be at their house, would I?”

“I guess not.”

“Come on, let’s get in the car,” Virgil said, “it’s been too long since I’ve seen you.”

“Yeah.” He agreed, waiting to find something to say before it hit him, “My birthday is next month!”

“You’re turning twenty five, right?”

“You know I’m not!” Patton complained, yet he was excited to see his brother joking around with him, “I’m turning thirteen.”

“Oh. My next guess was forty three.” Virgil sighed, acting defeat.

“You’re being mean.” Patton sighed, but Virgil’s smile- no matter how minuscule made him happy “Do you think mom and dad will let you come to my party?”

“Do you want the honest answer or the optimistic one?” Virgil asked with no real answer given to him.

“Do you think they’d even consider it?” Patton asked as the car came to a stop and his feet hit the ground outside of Virgil’s apartment.

“Maybe if you ask really nicely and hype me up. Maybe tell them I have a girlfriend.” Virgil joked.

“Why?”

“Bud, there’s a reason I don’t go over there anymore.”

“Oh... right. Sorry.” Sometimes it’s hard to pull Patton into the reality that not everyone is accepting of others, especially people like him and his brother.

“Nah. It’s good to be away from bad situations.” Virgil said, knowing the extents of his parent’s bullshit, “And if you ever need to get away from a situation- any at all, give me a call, please?”

“Okay.” Patton said, as his expression returned to being serious, “Do you think I’ll have to come out?”

“If you’re lucky then no... but they might find out.” Virgil said honestly as they walked into his house.

“Do you think it’s okay to know that I like boys when I’m a kid?”

“I think it’s fine. I’m glad that you’ve accepted yourself.” Virgil paused, “Speaking of which... do you like anybody?” He watched Patton’s face get redder after he changed the topic. He couldn’t understand how Patton could be we blatantly attracted to somebody but he would never admit it.

“Stop teasing me!” Patton looked down and found a seat on Virgil’s couch. Virgil knew that he very much did.

“Okay, okay.” He told him and prompted him to start his homework by handing him a pencil. “You know, I found a cute guy at work.”

Patton gasped, “Are you gonna date him?”

“I don’t know about that. He’s kind of an ass.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s cute. I’ve only seen him twice but he keeps flirting with me? Or so I think he is. He might be messing with me, honestly.”

“What did he say?”

“Things I don’t want to repeat.” Virgil sighed, “He’s a bit of a weirdo. And he’s really gross but I guess he has good intentions.”

“Would you want to date him?” Patton asked, a bit less enthusiastically.

Virgil didn’t hesitate to respond, “I don’t know. He makes me a bit uncomfortable sometimes. But if I could work past that with him then maybe I’d give him a chance.”

“What does he look like?”

“Well, he’s tall, he has dark hair- he dyed part of it, and he has a weird moustache... his eyes are brown... I don’t know. That’s him I guess.”

“Is he fun?”

Virgil ran his hands through his hair and sighed, “You could describe him like that. How about your mystery guy? Is he fun?”

“Hush. This guy sounds cool.” He said as he avoided answering the question.

#teen!patton #kid!patton #homophobia mention #homophobic parents #sanders sides #remus sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #dukexiety #not meant to be temporary #nmtbt #dukexiety fic

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himbowelsh · 4 years

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Drunk BOB guys??? Who are the softie hug-loving cuddlers and who are the loud and obnoxious ones? The ones who break out of their shell when intoxicated? The unusually quiet ones? The ones who throw it tf back when Usher comes on? I'd love to hear some thots

oooooh my god okay okay, here are the biggest thots

Richard Winters: Umm, alcohol whom? Has never been drunk in his life and doesn’t intend to start now. He gets all the buzz he needs off the exhilaration of a brisk jog, or a cool glass of water.

Lewis Nixon: The Literal Alcoholic. Thinks he’s more fun when he’s drunk than when he’s sober; is actually not a very fun drunk. Is even worse when he’s sobering up! At this point, he has to have some liquor in his system 99% of the time, otherwise his body feels like it’s out to destroy itself. (Alcoholism is a disease, boys and girls.) Nix buzzed is Nix at peak performance; he’s friendly, efficient, and capable. Nix drunk is a slowly spiralling plane crash. He usually passes out before he hits the ground, but god forbid he gets there, because... it’s messy. He can occasionally be a messy, emotional, overdramatic drunk, but only when he’s really overdone it.

Carwood Lipton: The Respectable Drunk. A very calm, kind of sleepy drunk. Doesn’t get drunk often, even though he holds his liquor well, because he doesn’t prefer it --- when he’s had a few, he prefers to just watch the people around him, smiling and only half paying attention. His mind tends to wander when he’s drunk. Drunk Lip does have one fatal weakness: if he’s out with his partner, and his partner shows even the slightest bit of encouragement, Lip will get riled up very quickly. He goes from calm drunk to horny drunk in a very short time; will eagerly press his partner up against the wall if given the chance. (Drunk Lip is way more inclined to PDA.)

Ron Speirs: The Soft Drunk. Literally, he’s such a tender drunk; he has absolutely no balance, and is a little confused, but he’s sweet, okay? Ron is far more expressive when he’s drunk; he gets touchier, ramblier, kinder. Drunk Ron has faith in humanity where Sober Ron gave up long ago. He’s a really relaxed drunk, unlikely to go off and do anything wild, but he wants to be around other people --- around his friends. Ron never has a good time when he drinks alone. (Plus, he’s got a reputation to uphold, and only certain people are allowed to see him with his guards down.)

Harry Welsh: The Bionic Drunk. Nothing can injure him; nothing can kill him. Many things have tried. Harry has done so much dumb shit when intoxicated, things that would have wounded him in a heartbeat if he was sober, and has never gotten a scratch to show for it. He’s a very fun drunk --- he laughs a lot, is very affectionate, and super pleasant to be around --- but common sense and self-preservation goes out the window. Look out, because he might too, if someone dared him.

Eugene Roe: The Changeling Drunk. Who is this man and what did he do with Doc Roe? Drunk Gene is... an experience, alright? His inhibitions are gone. Suddenly, his personality has been turned up to eleven; he’s extroverted, he’s exciting, he laughs loudly and jokes around... he’s dancing on top of the bar, holy shit. Is a very fun time, but you have to keep an eye on him, because he sometimes goes off and does something insane, a-la-Sober-Speirs. Drunk Gene fears nothing, including himself.

Joe Toye: The Depressed Drunk. Zoinks, Scoob. Drunk Joe is actually willing to talk about his emotions --- and maybe he shouldn’t, because he’s got some sad stuff going on there, man. Drinking is supposed to numb your worries, but Joe often finds the opposite is the case; his burdens somehow get heavier, harder to ignore, and if he’s allowed to slip into them he’ll end up dwelling in them for the rest of the night. So long as he’s around buddies who are actively keeping his spirits up, he’s a decent drunk guy to have around. If neglected, however, Drunk Joe may shed a few tears into his Guinness.

George Luz: The Showman Drunk. His jokes and impressions get way sloppier, but somehow he’s twice as hilarious, so he can get away with it. Drunk George is way more animated, with a seemingly endless supply of energy; he teases everybody, he laughs the loudest in the room, and he really seems like he’s just come out to have a good time. The kind of buddy you want to get drunk with. (Be warned: comes with a rarely activated Depressed Drunk mode, when he shuts off and wants to be left the hell alone. Maybe his battery runs out after a while or something. During this time, George is feeling a lot of things very strongly; this condition is best treated with a cozy blanket and glass of water. Very rare, but once you’ve seen him in this state, you can never unsee it.)

Bill Guarnere: The Loud Drunk. Is there a difference between sober Bill and drunk Bill? Debateable. Drunk Bill is just Bill turned up to eleven. He doesn’t actually get drunk a lot --- somehow he ends up the designated driver, and minds less than he should --- but social drinking usually leads to Bill shouting over a crowded bar. He’s usually up for a good time, he just has no volume control. (Also, the accent. It thickens. Can someone translate, please? Is he speaking English? What the hell is he saying?)

Babe Heffron: The Weird Drunk. Drunk Babe will break it down on the dance floor (should he? maybe not) and do his president rooster impression in public, but he’s equally likely to just... confuse everybody else. He’s got a lot of thoughts. A lot of feelings. Some of them are about the meaning of life, some of them are about the best kind of sandwich bread, some of them are about whether the Loch Ness Monster has a favorite type of bird. He talks so much when he’s drunk, and will ramble anyone’s ear off about any of these topics. Escape while you can.

Joseph Liebgott: The Volatile Drunk. Really a mixed bag; you never know what you’re going to get from him. Sometimes, Joe can be a very fun drunk, the life of the party, willing to do anything anybody dares him to. That’s if he’s drinking in a good mood. If he starts drinking in a sour mood, it’ll only get worse from there. Honestly, he can be a mean drunk. He lashes out at people, gets angry, sometimes starts crying... it’s not great. You have to keep tabs on him while he’s drinking, because if his mood looks like it’s dipping, he should not be allowed any more alcohol.

David Kenyon Webster: The Emotional Drunk. He’s just... got a lot of feelings! And he really wants to talk about them! Becomes extremely talkative while drunk; this is not always a good thing, because he’s pronouncedly less eloquent. Drunk Web is very passionate about politics... and the environment... and marine biology... and the commercialization of public holidays. He has something to say about most things. Sometimes he’s just muttering to himself, and no one can keep up with what he’s saying. Makes so many notes, either in his phone or scribbling them down on napkins, because he’s “going to need to remember this”, but they’re all illegible come morning. Feels things very strongly. Might cry.

Johnny Martin: The Feral Drunk. Wrangling Johnny when he’s had a few too many is an experience. Holy shit, this man knows no fear. Drunk Johnny has 5x less patience for everyone’s bullshit, and wants them to know it. The amount of bar fights this man has gotten into... the best part is, he’s never lost. (Yeah, because he has Bull right there to make sure his drunk friend doesn’t get himself killed.)

Frank Perconte: The Confused Drunk. Only kind of knows where he is. Complains a lot; puts things down, misplaces them, and blames someone else for taking them. Drunk Perco has a ‘Real Housewives at Brunch’ mode, only activated when someone gives him tequila; he will scream and throw drinks. Otherwise he’s just kind of tiresome and needs someone to make sure he makes it home okay.

Floyd Talbert: The Mom Drunk. Yes, he did just do four shots of gin, but he’s still going to make sure everyone else is drinking water and not wandering off with anyone creepy. Drunk Floyd’s got an eye on everyone; he’s kind of the mama hen wrangling all her chicks, making sure they don’t stray far. He parties like a frat boy, but will wrangle everyone like a girl scout mother.

Shifty Powers: The Missing Drunk. What the hell? What happened, where did he go? He was sitting right there a second ago --- when he’s drunk, Shifty tends to wander. He just likes the quiet. His friends will always find him in bizarre places, after a few minutes of panicked searching. Once, he was laying on top of a car; once he was on the club’s roof. He’s fine, he knows where he is, he’s just thinking about stuff.

Donald Malarkey: The Absurdly Lucky Drunk. He’s got some Irish faeries looking out for him or something, because Drunk Don is literally living his best life. If he gambles, he’s going to win. If he misplaces his wallet, he’s going to find it with an extra $30 inside. If he trips, he’s going to land in an attractive person’s lap. Everyone wants to be in proximity to Drunk Don, not only because he’s a pretty good (if emotional) time, but because some of his luck might rub off.

Skip Muck: The Giggly Drunk. What’s so funny? No one knows. Skip might not even know, but he’s going to laugh anyways, because everything is hilarious. He somehow tells even better jokes when drunk, but he laughs at them himself, so that measures it out. He effortlessly makes himself the life of the party; Skip will get up and karaoke with the band, cheer all his friends on in their dumb shit, drink way more than he reasonably should... going out drinking with Skip is always a great time.

Herbert Sobel: The Alarmingly Fun Drunk. No, I’m not going to elaborate. Fill in the mental images yourself.

#winters and i say teetotaler rights #headcanons #band of brothers #hbo war

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pantstomatch · 4 years

Text

Clint steals a horse | fic thingy

so I was feeling like a useless loser and @lissadiane told me to just write something short and sweet so this is her fault.

Bucky’s immune to big, blond and dumb. Totally immune. Steve might have the constitution of a god now, but ninety percent of the time he’s still all big eyes and bad decisions--Bucky’s got a bullshit meter honed for these kinds of things. He can ignore Steve’s looming sulks like a champ, this should be no different.

“Okay,” Barton says, coming down off his perch on the breakfast bar to pout at Bucky from a different angle, “but what if I already stole the horse?”

Bucky’s hand pauses mid-spoonful of cereal. He arches an unimpressed eyebrow at Barton. “You stole a horse.”

“Well, he wasn’t going to let me buy it!” Barton looks extremely affable, teeth gleaming in the harsh kitchen lights, which is, Bucky knows, entirely an act.

Bucky very carefully returns his spoon to his bowl. There’s no clatter or splash; he’s all controlled motion. He’s a wall of strength. Barton isn’t going to break him down. “Barton,” he says, jaw clenched. “Why?”

“I don’t know if you know this, Barnes,” Barton says in a soft, mock-conspiratorial tone, “but some people are just assholes.”

He’s not really giving him a reason, but Bucky can extrapolate. He nods, resigned and says, “Then what do you need me for exactly?” It’s a rookie mistake to ask--he knows it as soon as the words slip out, and he can tell for sure by the way Barton’s eyes light up.

“I need you to help me hide the body.”

Hiding the body, apparently, means finding somewhere to stash a tall, angry palomino beast with big teeth and bigger hooves.

Bucky has no idea what to do with it, but he knows it’s his problem now. He knows it by the way Barton grins at him and pats the horse’s neck and the horse whips its head around to try and bite him.

Barton’s gonna lose fingers. This is what’s going to happen. Bucky’s a sucker.

“How did you get it here?” Bucky says. And by here, Bucky means the jet hanger, and that’s the only good thing about this, so far--Stark’s gonna lose his shit about all the poop, and it’ll be hilarious.

“Her,” Barton says, wisely aborting another pat with a sheepish grin, “and I used pure, Barton gumption.”

“You bribed her.”

“I bribed the shit out of her,” Barton says, nodding earnestly. “She likes candy corn.”

“Don’t give a horse candy corn.” Bucky doesn’t know a whole lot about horses, but no one should probably be eating candy corn.

So. So, she needs food, water and lodging, preferably hidden away where no angry, asshole farmers can find her. They’ll need to talk to Friday, probably--which Bucky hates--and Bucky still can’t believe he let himself get talked into this mess.

But then Barton stuffs his hands into the pockets of his worn jeans, rocks back on his heels, all aww-shucks shoulders and a pretty fucking calculating flirty tilt to his chin, and Bucky realizes--shit, his big, dumb, blond immunity apparently only works when he doesn’t want to sleep with them.

The horse has a stupid name that Bucky refuses to use, but it’s not like it matters, because the horse hates Bucky just as much as she hates Barton. And Friday’s a snitch, so now Stark’s shouting about paddocks and companion goats and lawsuits, and Bucky decides he’s only in charge of not letting Barton get mauled, which is apparently where he is right now: all because Barton has a nice ass and a terrible personality.

Steve has a worse personality, that’s his only consolation.

Bucky clasps Barton’s hands, circles his wrists and squishes his palms together, and says, “She wants to eat you.”

“She’s not going to eat me,” Barton says, but his face says he’s not exactly sure.

“Congratulations,” Stark yells at them across the hanger, voice echoing, “you’ve kidnapped Death’s pale horse.”

“She’s golden, you dick. She’s an angel!” Barton yells back, but he lets Bucky keep his hands still, and only fidgets his feet.

Neither of them say it’s unneeded, not when Steve the demon-whisperer is rubbing her velvety nose and grinning stupidly at her at least twenty feet away from them. He’d been delighted, and only flashed a righteous frown when Barton told him where he’d found her, hobbled in a dirt field, owned by a vicious drunk.

Barton waggles his eyebrows and says, “See?”

Unfortunately, Bucky totally sees.

Barton says, “Do you want to get lunch?” and to his credit, he only lets his surprise show for the barest flicker of a second when Bucky says, “Yes.”

Lunch is grilled cheese and soup in the compound kitchen, since Friday won’t let Barton leave until the “horse situation” is taken care of, legally, and Bucky doesn’t care one way or the other.

Bucky has a personal bubble he doesn’t care about either, because even though it’s a dumb fucking idea, he’s trying to get out of the habbit of denying himself crap he wants: corn dogs, fresh cut flowers, Dog Cop reruns, and apparenlty Clint Francis Barton.

He can tell it’s throwing Barton, too, and that’s just a fucking bonus.

Bucky sits down next to him at the table, instead of across and farther away. He nudges the back of their hands together when he thanks him for heating the soup. He leans over him to grab the parmesan. He steals a sip of his water, when he’s finished his own.

Barton gets big, bewildered eyes, and Bucky, for once, doesn’t try to hide his grin.

Barton says, faint, “You’re fucking with me.”

Bucky doesn’t exactly want to be honest, but he’s pretty sure he should be. He says, “No,” and, “Finish your sandwich,” and when Barton just gapes and says, “You are,”--

Bucky reaches out with greasy fingers and tugs on Barton’s chin and fits their mouths together to show him.

Barton kisses like he’s not sure he should be kissing, which is everything about Barton: all bravado and self-assuredness until someone actually calls him on it. The only thing Bucky’s seen him do without hesitation is shoot, and Bucky isn’t sure he wants to know what that says about his past.

Now, though. Now, Bucky shakes him a little, keeps his grip firm until Barton’s shoulders relax, until his lips go soft, until he breathes out through his nose. His teeth click Bucky’s when he opens his mouth, but then he’s sliding a hand over Bucky’s back and their heads are angled just right and he laughs a little, backing off enough to smile against his lips, when Sam says, “Is there a reason we have a goddamn horse now?”

He also says, “Oh, man, why?” and, “Hands where I can see ‘em,” and, “Why am I still here?” faintly, and mostly to himself.

Bucky lets Barton go, finally, and Barton slips his arms off Bucky, dazed, and Bucky nudges at his plate and says, “Finish your sandwich, Barton.”

Barton blinks at him. Then grins; a big, dumb, blond grin, the kind of grin Steve uses before he gets into massive, terrible fights for fun, and the effect is totally different on Bucky coming from Barton. His chest gets tight, and his mouth goes dry. This is going to be so much trouble.

He can’t wait.

#winterhawk #my fic #skoosiepants #I don't know guys it sort of just happened #there's a horse #why are all my horses demons I swear I actually like horses a lot #it's just so much fun to make them scary

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epochofbelief · 4 years

Text

Breath Control, Chapter Ten

an A Court of Mist and Fury College Swim Team AU

Feysand and Elriel

All characters belong to SJ Maas

Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged!

Author’s Note: Is it too early to apologize?

Enjoy!

Full Fanfic: Masterlist Link

TEN

~~~Feyre~~~

The world spun around me as I slammed back through the glass doors into the dark hallway of the club. I could have sworn I heard a voice shouting my name from far behind me but that was probably all the alcohol talking. I mean, I was going crazy right? Surely it hadn’t taken all of two days before my brand new boyfriend decided to cheat on me? I was just imagining that. Right?

I stumbled through the bathroom door and barely made it to a stall before I hurled up everything left in my stomach.

“Shit,” I spit out. Then--

“Shit,” I said again as I somehow managed to puke up even more alcohol. It was red--what had I been drinking that was red?

Fairly certain I was done emptying my stomach, I wiped my mouth, flushed, and emerged from the stall.

My eyes directed at my shoes, I bumped directly into Rhys’s hard chest.

“Get the fuck away from me,” I said quietly, pushing off his chest and stalking over to the sink. Well, I tried to stalk. The few steps from the stall to the sink seemed to take years, rather than a few seconds. Everything was spinning, ever so slightly.

“Feyre, you’ve got to let me explain.”

“No.”

“Feyre, please.”

I turned at his desperate tone of voice.

“Were you or were you not just kissing Amantha? I mean, Amarntha. You know who I mean!”

Alcohol, you are not my friend tonight.

“I was. But--”

“No buts! That’sss called cheating, Rhys, in case you didn’t know. So get out of my way. I’m going--”

I realized I had nowhere to go. I was staying with him, for crying out loud. I did have my car at his place... But I was drunk.

So I was stuck.

“I’m going somewhere and you better not follow me there! Wherever there even is!” I was shouting now, and Rhys looked like he wanted to keep talking, but I turned, stumbled, and burst back through the bathroom door into the quiet dark of the hallway. I ran as fast as I could without falling flat on my face and didn’t stop until I was in the center of the dance floor.

Bodies pressed against me tightly from every direction. Only two people grabbed my ass on the long journey to the middle of the group. I was pretty sure I was crying, the world spinning around me thanks to the alcohol and what I’d just seen, when I finally found Mor. One look at me and she stopped dancing.

“Feyre!” She shouted, gripping my wrists with her hands. “Are you okay?”

I shook my head. “I have to leave. Can you call me an Uber? I don’t have the app!”

Mor nodded, looking concerned. She pulled me outside of the club and we sat on the curb, leaning against each other as she fumbled around in her pockets until she found her phone. Ten minutes later, our collective drunken efforts resulted in a successful call for an Uber.

When it pulled up, I looked at Mor. “Wait, where are you sending me?”

She shook her head as though trying to clear it. “No, no. We’re going to my place! Where I hope to hear everything.”

At her mention of “everything,” I started to tear up again. Damn it. Sad drunks were the worst and now I was one of them. Mor merely tugged me off the curb and we collapsed into the back of the Uber together. Twenty minutes later, we were outside yet another massive estate on the edge of town.

“You Nights don’t mess around,” I mumbled.

“What?” Mor asked, giggling a little.

“Nothing, nothing. Can we just go inside?”

She nodded seriously and led me around to the back door.

“My father really doesn’t approve of my inclination to party, so I have to sneak in and out. Shhh,” she added before another fit of giggles hit her. That was Mor. Her upbeat mood could not be beaten, even while drunk and with a crying friend tagging along behind her. And I was full-on crying by now.

Mor carefully unlocked the back door. She led me into an enormous kitchen bathed in shadow. We made a brief stop so Mor could grab a huge bag of chips and a couple bottles of water. Except for a close call that involved a cat on the staircase, we made it upstairs unnoticed.

Mor’s room was the first door on the right on the second floor. She led me inside, flipped on the light, and proceeded to flop down onto her enormous bed in the center of the room. Her room was… like a fairytale. The four-poster bed, hung with gauzy white curtains, seemed to float freely in the center of the room on a white fluffy carpet. The pale blue walls were covered with pictures of her and her friends, band posters, Polaroids, and other various paraphernalia. A terribly cluttered white desk sat on one side of the room, and a white dresser on the other. In one corner there lay several enormous white bean-bag chairs covered in luxurious blue and gold pillows and blankets.

“Alright, Archeron,” Mor said, sprawled across her bed, her shoes kicked off and her mouth stuffed full of chips. “Please tell me why we just fled the club faster than Cinderella at midnight.”

I wasn’t sure why, but I chose to sit down on the floor in the center of her bedroom, halfway between the door and the bed. “I don’t even understand what just happened, Mor.”

“Well, tell me and I’ll help you puzzle through it. And maybe start with why we stranded Rhys at the club?”

I let out a groan and flopped onto my back. The ceiling was still spinning, but only a tiny bit now.

“Drink this,” Mor said and chucked a water bottle at me.

I jumped as the water bottle landed right next to my head. Then I sat up, chugged it down, and put my head between my knees.

“Mreesechertedonme.”

“What?” Mor said sharply.

I raised my head. “Rhys cheated on me.”

Mor sat straight up on her bed. “What,” she said again.

I sighed, then explained what I had seen and heard. The tears kept coming as I told her about Amarantha and Rhys admitting to me what he’d done.

Mor looked thunderstruck. Her water bottle, which had been halfway to her mouth when I’d broken the news, was slowly dripping water onto her shirt. “And he said he wanted to explain? I’m confused. Rhys would never do something like that. Ever. Especially not to you.”

“What do you mean, especially not to me?”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re not serious.”

“Serious about what?”

“Rhys has been in love with you from the moment you set foot on campus for your recruiting trip.”

“That’s a bunch of bullshit. I barely knew Rhys until like a month ago, when he saved me from the Halloween party.”

Mor shook her head slowly, her mouth hanging open. “No,” she began, eyes wide, “it’s not bullshit. I don’t know if you remember much about your recruiting trip. But Rhys and I were freshmen that year. You showed up to campus, your usual gorgeous self--” she winked at me “--and Rhys was a goner. He thought you were so pretty, and so cool, and you talked about books or something for like five seconds and then he thought you were so smart, too (which you are). And when the team decided to make the really dumb decision of drinking with the recruits that weekend, you turned down every offer for sex, drugs, whatever, that came your way from the upperclassmen guys, no matter how drunk you were. Not that he would have judged you if you had. But he could tell you knew what you wanted. It would have been easier, as a senior in high school on a recruiting trip, for you to do and say whatever the upperclassmen wanted in order to fit in. But you had those values, and you stuck to them. You surprised him.

“And then,” she added, laughing as I stared at her in disbelief, “you, drunk off your ass, got up on that table in the middle of the party, and announced to everyone that you were committing to swim at Prythian as soon as you sobered up enough to call the head coach. May I repeat--he was a goner.

“So,” she added somewhat awkwardly. “I hope he doesn’t hate me for telling you that shit. There’s a lot more behind it but I wanted to explain a little because you’re so obviously clueless!

“But none of that excuses him cheating on you, of course.”

Now it was my brain that was spinning instead of the ceiling. Rhys had been acting suspicious around me since the Halloween party--I had suspected his feelings even then, unwilling to admit it to myself. But I would never have guessed that he’d been interested for over two years… Why on earth had he cheated, then? Being drunk wasn’t an excuse. But it didn’t make sense that someone who was supposedly… in love… with someone else would go and cheat on them two days into their very new and fragile relationship.

I couldn’t puzzle this out right now. “Yeah. Um. I just want to go to sleep. Can you take me to Rhys’s in the morning so I can get my car and leave?”

Mor nodded sadly. “I wish things turned out differently,” she said. “But I do think you should talk to him.”

I shook my head. “Maybe. Where can I sleep?”

She patted the bed. “Right here. I’m about to pass out anyways.”

I merely stood up and shuffled over to the bed. I kicked off my shoes, tossed my rings and bracelets on the ground. The last thing I remember was how impeccably soft one of Mor’s pillows felt against my cheek as my tears dripped onto it.

~~~Elain~~~

***three days later***

I really did not want to do life for the next few weeks.

Okay, that might have been a slight over exaggeration. Really, I just didn’t want to do my classes and finals for the next few weeks. Christmas break was coming up, and the last thing I wanted to focus on during the holiday season were my exams. Nursing was hard--why had I decided to do this, again?

Of course, I did have one thing to look forward to now that I was back in Prythian.

Azriel.

We’d spent hours on the phone, texting, since the storm had stopped and Azriel had walked me to my car. He hadn’t kissed me. I’d wanted him to. And he seemed like he had wanted to. At least, that was what it seemed like.

I pulled my car into the parking lot, locked it, and started the trek to my eight hour long Monday morning nursing immersion ‘course’. I didn’t even want to think about all the ‘fun’ I’d be having until five pm tonight. But I only had to make it until five. Then I was meeting Azriel in the Student Union for dinner. His practice ended around five, so the timing was perfect. And I did like my degree, and job. It was just going to be very difficult to concentrate when I knew who I’d be seeing at the end of it.

Focus, Elain. Do your job.

Eight hours later, I shuffled out of the building, exhausted but satisfied after a hard day’s work. I barely made it to my car. I sat there for a moment, reclining the seat all the way back, and told myself I could close my eyes for just two minutes.

Twenty minutes later I jerked awake.

“Shit!”

I put the car into Drive and made it across campus to Student Union parking in what had to be record time. Still in my scrub top, I raced across the parking lot, body slamming my way through the front doors and directly into an extremely tall male standing just inside of them.

“Oof! I’m so sorry--Az?”

“Elain?”

“Uhhhh…” I suddenly became aware of what I must look like. I was wearing scrubs, my hair hadn’t been touched since that morning, and forget about makeup. Not to mention the crazed look that was probably in my eyes after my accidental nap and subsequent frantic race across campus. “Hey!” I gave him a hug.

His arms wrapped around me and as if by magic my body relaxed. Shoulders falling, I sank into Azriel’s strong chest, my head barely coming up to his shoulders. I breathed out. “This is nice.”

“It is,” he agreed.

“But I’m starving.”

He chuckled as I broke away from him and made a beeline for the line to the fast-food place that served the best chicken in the whole world. At least, it was the best chicken in the whole world when I was this starving and had no other options.

The line was way too long for a Monday night on campus. I was definitely going to die--of embarrassment at my appearance or hunger, I wasn’t sure which would kill me first.

“Elain?”

“Huh?”

“I asked you a question.” Azriel grinned. “But I understand if you were too busy bouncing on your toes to listen.”

I lowered myself to the ground and chuckled awkwardly. “I’m sorry--I’ve just had a horribly long day and haven’t eaten since eleven o’clock this morning.”

“I love it when you laugh like that.”

“Like--what?”

“When you’re uncomfortable--you have this laugh you do and it’s honestly the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.”

I covered my face with my hands and stepped forward to the front of the line. “Ohhhh my gosh. That’s so embarrassing.” I clenched my jaw to keep myself from laughing again.

Azriel gently prised my hands from my face and then put his fingers under my chin and pressed slightly. “Don’t do that! I live for every embarrassed laugh from you.”

I swatted his arm away--but I was smiling. “Alright. If you get to keep my embarrassed laughs, I’m gonna need something cute and embarrassing to hold over you.”

“Good luck finding one. I’m the portrait of smooth,” he said, rolling his eyes, hands in his pockets.

“We’ll see about that,” I said as I flounced up to the register. Azriel insisted on paying for my food--after he swore to let me pay for our third date. (Third date!!) It was ready before we’d finished paying and he swiped the tray before I could get to it. He carried it over to a table and chairs on the second floor balcony of the Student Union. I flung myself into the chair, resting my wrists on the armrests and slouching down.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Azriel said.

I raised my eyebrows and put my chin in my hand. “What makes Azriel Umbra uncomfortable? Hmmm..”

He shook his head, rolling his eyes.

“That’s it!” I said. Several heads whipped over to stare at us. “I mean,” I whispered, “That’s it.”

He sat down across from me. “What’s it?” Eye roll.

“You roll your eyes way too often. Like, way too often.”

I watched him attempt to restrain the eye roll.

“See, now that you’re aware of it you’re incredibly self-conscious.”

He stared at me. Then rolled his eyes. “I give.”

“Ha!”

Toward the end of the meal, I decided to be nosy.

“So… have you talked to Rhys recently?”

He looked up from his food so fast I thought he’d give himself whiplash.

“He mentioned a couple of things.”

I put my elbows on the table. All around us, the Union was emptying out for the evening.

“Feyre won’t give me any details about what happened between them. All I know is they went to a party, Rhys did something, and Feyre drove straight back to school from his place the next morning. She didn’t even come home to see if I wanted a ride. And I’ve heard squat from her since. They just seemed so… happy.”

Azriel sighed, leaning back in his chair. “I never actually saw them when they were ‘together-together’ because they got together over the break, but I know that whatever must have happened, Rhys didn’t do it on purpose. I’m not sure how much to tell you, but… he’s liked Feyre for a very long time.”

I bit my lip. “She was just so different while we were at home for the break. Much different than she’d been since she started dating Tamlin. Carefree, bubbly, talking with my father, joking with Nesta, of all people. I don’t know what to do.”

“I’ll try to get more out of Rhys. All he said on the entire car ride back to school was that he made a mistake, it was out of his hands, and it was probably better for Feyre if she hated him anyway. And I know that’s not true.”

“Let me know if he tells you anything else.”

“I’ll try,” he said. “Shall we go?”

He walked me back to my car. It was full dark outside, only the light of the streetlamps guiding us.

I opened the driver’s side door and threw my purse in. “I had a really good time--”

The world never heard the rest of my sentence because he kissed me before I could finish it.

His kiss was gentle, his hands cupping the sides of my face. My hands fumbled up to wrap around his shoulders as his lips caressed mine, increasing the pressure slightly. I understood and his tongue swept in. I ran one hand down his chest, feeling the hard muscles beneath his t-shirt, my other hands pulling him closer to me.

But he pressed one more kiss to my lips, then kissed the top of my head. “Good night, Elain.”

I gulped down air, the chill of the night surprising me as soon as his body moved away from mine.

I smiled at him and he kissed me again, briefly this time. “Good night, Elain,” he said again. “And there’s the laugh I was looking for!” He exclaimed after I chuckled nervously, but not unhappily, after the kiss.

“Oh go to hell!” I said, and he rolled his eyes. Purely for my benefit, I knew. I didn’t stop smiling the whole drive home.

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