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scarletwidowsbaby · 1 year

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Lover's Quarrel

Summary: A simple few happenstances lead you to two very special women.

Pairings: Omega!Fem!R x Alphas!WandaNat

Genre: Angst, sprinkles of WandaNat fluff.

Warnings: ABO dynamics but no smut. Reader seems a bit depressed.

A/N: This is my first attempt at ABO so pls be nice :)

*credit to owners*

You still struggled to be normal around the brightness of the day. Normally, you’d be holed up in an ex-HYDRA safehouse and hide away from the sun before you would do what you needed, but you were running low on supplies and needed them, now.

What am I talking about? Oh, sorry, you’re still new here.

You, Y/N Stellaluna Romana, grew up in HYDRA. You don’t remember much of your parents, except for the fact that they sold you for protection. You jumped between what you now know to be HYDRA and the Red Room, but the female-dominated organisation had a much better teaching style for aggressive female omegas.

Whilst HYDRA was always there as a threat, the Red Room forced your body into labour if you misbehaved. Growl out at an instructor? Stand on your head in the corner for a time limit set by the victimised instructor. Refuse to make a kill? Your dinner is sacrificed to them, but is laced with cyanide, making you fearful of every meal that touches your lips.

Bite an instructor? You will be beaten black and blue until you pass out, for which some girls wake up and don’t remember who they are.

But enough of that - you were free. You got out. Now, you were just trying to get through every day without your status in the world being revealed. You took your suppressants daily, which you were on your way to get more of, kept your head up and acted confident, which were all the behaviours of an Alpha.

You should know, since you studied them.

But for now, you relaxed slightly, having taken your second last suppressant this morning and now waiting in line for your coffee. It was a truly beautiful day, not a cloud in the sky, whilst the wind kept it cool enough for a light jacket.

Speaking of, you were going to have to get new clothes soon. Your daily ‘uniform’ was becoming bland with a simple pair of jeans, a graphic shirt, sneaker and a cap. You paid the seven dollars for your coffee before making your way out of the cafe, down to the mall, and in search of some better clothes.

You strolled through some normal big chain stores like Myer, Cotton On and H&M, and even though nothing caught your attention, that was exactly what you needed. You grabbed three pairs of jeans and four tops, just like the ones you had on, as well as a jacket, a hoodie and some extra socks.

After paying in cash you found your way towards a shoe shop two stores down, but there were some people standing outside of them, like bouncers. You casually moved to the side like you were checking your phone, but you carefully brushed your hair away from your ear as you listened to a new couple coming in.

“Sir, Ma’am, we need to check your status, please.”

“We’re both Alphas.”

You watched them show some form of ID, probably their drivers licences, which contain both sexes of female/male and Alpha/Beta/Omega. They were then let in, and you saw this with almost all of the other shoe shops.

*Dumb laws.* You grumbled, pulling out your umpteenth fake ID as you made your way to the shop.

“Status, please.” The bouncer asked and you handed the Alpha ID over.

He let you in, but hesitated and you gave him a trained Alpha stare, to which he let you in quickly for. You found two pairs of shoes, almost exactly the same, and quickly made your way back home.

Once you returned, you quickly dumped your bags and checked outside - almost sunset. Your supplier was going to meet you soon and you had to be there on time. He knew you were an Omega and was a strangely kind Beta, feeling sympathetic for how you acted like an Alpha but couldn’t deny your half-yearly heat and your drops.

You threw on the new set of clothes, knowing that meeting with old clothes led to the possibility of your scent releasing. They were comfy, but they felt new, like how the hoodie’s fluff wasn’t built over time, but stock-standard.

As soon as the sky changed, you eyed the figure coming out of the shadows to your left, his lips curled into a gentle smile.

“Y/N! It’s been a while.” He shook your hand, which led to you handing over half of the money.

“So, you got it, Vladi?” You asked as you walked with him to the truck.

“Oh yeah. I have some strong stuff too if you’ve run out, by the way.”

You shrugged. “Normal order.”

“One of everything, coming riiiight up.” He grinned, rummaging through the boxes to find yours.

You were patient and handed him the other half of the payment before he began to drive away, your whole body tense until you locked your apartment door behind you. You tipped the last suppressant into the new box before hiding it behind the sink drain pipe, keeping the other ones hidden within your belongings. Inspections were random sometimes and you needed to be prepared when hiding your illegal suppressants.

The next day was even more boring since you had nothing to do; no suppressants to collect, no clothes to buy. It was just another day, spinning on the big dumb rock.

Or so you thought.

You decided to treat yourself and go to the top of the roof for the evening, watching the stars whilst eating your takeaway noodles. It was peaceful and it was the only time you could truly let your guard down, even if that meant no scenting because of your suppressants.

You leaned back in the sunchair and observed the different constellations, connecting the dots much more easily than the average person. Pegasus was angled slightly down, with Perseus to the left and Capricornus to the right. Hercules was just in front of it, whilst Ursa Major and Minor sat next to each other.

But then you heard the sound of tinkling metal from behind you, as well as the scrapes of it digging into the rooftop. You waited patiently as the almost silent footsteps came closer to you before you stood up and kicked the sunchair back, the mess of blonde hair in a white suit wincing at the hit to her stomach.

“Ow!” She growled, and you could smell the Beta in her.

“Who the hell are you?” You growled back, extending a set of claws.

“Look, I just want to talk. What do you know about the dealing of suppressants around here?” She asked calmly, a thick Ukrainian accent matching it.

One you almost acknowledged. “Those are illegal.” You commented like an Alpha.

She nodded. “Indeed.”

She backed away from you but not without your eyes catching a small vial of red, another grappling hook attaching to the rooftop before a noirette with bright blue eyes came into your vision.

“Yelena! What the hell?!”

The name only confirmed your suspicions.

“Kate, not now!” She hissed at her, a smirk coming onto your face.

“Lover’s quarrel?” You jeered.

They both gave you a glare and you put your hands up. “I’ll leave if it helps.”

Kate sighed and faced you. “Has anybody moved in here recently? Like, four months?”

You shook your head in a stone-faced lie. “Not that I’ve heard of.”

Yelena looked you up and down before she pocketed the red vial, to which you watch them leave you alone and head back down their grappling lines. You calmly made your way back to your apartment before you looked at the time - 1:30am.

“Man, work’s gonna be a bitch.” You grumbled, collapsing as soon as your head hit the pillow on the ground.

And it truly was, yet you were only a quarter of your way through it.

Bartending was a profession most Omegas went into, serving drinks, doing dishes, serving food; it all helped calm down a bit of the biology. Your bar manager, Sophie, was a Beta, which helped mute out the smell an Omega could possibly give off when under stressful conditions. And your restaurant manager, Danny, was a married Alpha who often had dinner with his wife Alura and kids, Raquelle and Jason.

It was a slow start to the night at the bar section, which allowed Sophie to leave you alone and help the kitchen staff with delivering orders to tables. You were what she liked to call a ‘spicy Omega’, which she saw as an Omega who could stand their ground.

At least she didn’t know about your other Alpha-resistance training.

But then you recognised two heads at the front of a group of people, a very recognisable group - the Avengers. You mentally caved and regretted ever having a conversation with the blonde and noirette as they came over to you.

“Nice to see you again.” Yelena commented.

“Not so sure I can say the same.” You smirked.

“What can I get for you?”

“A table-”

“For ten, booked under Stark.” The one and only billionaire interrupted Yelena and you lightly scowled at the only Omega celebrity you knew.

“Your table is over there, but let the lady speak next time.”

He nodded before guiding the group over with Captain America's hand in his own, your eyes noticing a child and a teenager which led you to grab some crayons and colouring pages for Sophie as she passed by. You didn’t try to listen to their conversation, instead focusing on keeping the glasses and trays stocked and clean.

Sophie soon came over to you about three minutes later with a large order of drinks. A few cocktails, one for each woman you assumed, whilst a couple of beers would be for the men and the lemonade and apple juice were for the kids.

You also noticed that the little girl was watching you from the end of the booth, propped up on her knees to watch you mix drinks. Now that you had an audience, you were prepared to amaze her.

Flipping the drinks and shakers around, you mixed the drinks up and watched her smile grow as you threw in a few extra flips here and there, gathering a crowd of attention now. You finally laid out the four cocktails and expertly poured straight across, receiving a cheer from the people sitting nearby as well as a loud squeal from the little girl.

You then decided to make your way over to the table, all of the drinks weighted neatly on your tray before you started to hand them out. You were right on all of your guesses, smiling at the little girl when she showed you her messily coloured picture of a scene in Bambi, whilst the teenager was still busy with his Lord of the Rings picture.

“Would you like me to frame it?” You offered her, a couple of surprised chuffs coming from the adults.

“Yes please!” She begged and you took the picture, making your way back to your station before pulling out a picture frame.

You carefully slid the picture in, making sure it wasn’t dirty, before clasping the frame together and hanging it on your wall. You then took over a couple more menus since you saw them struggling, and put your hands in your pocket to reach your ordering device.

“Alright, is anybody ready to order?” You asked and they all gave each other confirming looks.

“Would you like to put names on the order or just keep it under Tony Stark?”

Some raised eyebrows came your way and they decided to do separate names, but only after checking with you that it was okay. You took down their orders and slowly ‘learned’ their names, even if you already knew some of them.

“I-I’m Morgan, and can I have some pizza please?” She asked you sweetly, putting her hands together.

You smiled at her. “Of course. What kind of pizza would you like?”

“Cheese and-and ham! And the yellow fruity triangles!” She exclaimed.

“Hawaiian, please.” Tony clarified, to which you winked at Morgan.

“I was hoping to have the kitchen staff confused so I could make it myself.”

A few more chuckles came from the group until you took the last two orders from 'Wanda' and 'Natasha', but you noticed how their eyes lingered on you for a touch too long.

And then you made the mistake of taking note of their scents.

Six of the eight adults were Alphas. Shit, shit, shit.

You gave them a curt nod and tried to not scurry back to the kitchen, needing to take a break even if you were scheduled for one later. Once you were in the back room, you scrambled for your small bag of belongings and saw the extra strong suppressants Vladi had given you.

You chucked one down and took some deep breaths. An Alpha or two you could handle, but six? Might as well shoot you with a tranq dart.

You quickly made your way out when you were done and asked Sophie to manage that table from now until they finished, getting an alarmed look from her but you explained that you were fine, just overwhelmed.

“I just had a talk with them, sweets. They won’t be doing any more scenting, okay?” Her lovely Southern accent calmed you and you nodded, letting her kiss your forehead before she moved to the back again.

By now there was a steady stream of customers at the bar and you were handling it well, speeding through margaritas and cocktails whilst scotches and vodkas were a simple pour-n-go. However, you did almost have a heart attack when Wanda and Natasha were the last in the line.

“Hey, can we get two more of those cocktails? Just for us.” Natasha asked calmly and you nodded, beginning to make them at a slightly slower pace.

“Morgan likes you, you know.” Wanda added, bringing out a small smirk from you.

“Does she now? Well, you can tell her that her picture isn’t coming down any time soon.” You pointed at it.

They both chuckled. “So we were wondering…”

*Don’t say my name, don’t say my name.* You muttered in your head, but their eyes inevitably flitted down to your nametag.

“Y/N… could we see you outside of this establishment at some point?” Wanda questioned curiously.

“We could just get coffee if you want?”

You gulped down the Omega in you and shrugged. “What days? I’ve got a busy schedule.”

“Any time.” Natasha replied.

You looked at the two of them. They were Alphas, you were an Omega, the possibility was there. But were you mates? Did all three of you share marks? Yours were placed just underneath your neck, a perfect hiding spot when coupled with a jacket, hoodie, bartending shirt or even a low ponytail.

“I’m sorry, I can’t remember my schedule off of the top of my head. Calendar and all.” You chuckled sheepishly, handing over their drinks.

“We can give you our numbers if that’s more helpful?” They both asked at the same time, pulling out their phones.

You were suddenly called to your station and had to abandon the girls, but they were determined. There was something about you, something wrong, yet so right. Dinner came and went, dessert came and went, and as the bill landed in front of them, they made their move.

You opened the bill to sort the receipt, ignoring the two pairs of eyes on you as they tidied up, and saw a message written on the back. ‘Y/N - hope to see you soon! W&N xx’

You hid your blush well but felt a presence behind you, a familiar yet towering one at that. “Hi, Danny.”

“Hi, Y/N. Are you feeling okay? They were giving you some very weird looks.” He commented, watching the group leave quietly.

“I’m okay.” You murmured, but he knew you.

“Go home, Y/N. Take the night off, I’ll still pay you.”

“Danny, that’s not fair-”

“You made us more than enough profit tonight. Go home.” He put a hand on your shoulder and you sighed.

“If you say so.” You shrugged, grabbing your bag and heading out the back door.

Yet, those voices were still there. Wanda, Natasha, Yelena, Kate, Tony - you could decipher them all. Some were different and you couldn’t match them without a face, but you steadily followed behind them as you walked home.

You eventually crossed the street, your apartment a few turns away from the Avengers Tower, which drew the attention of Wanda and Natasha. They told the group they’d meet up in the Tower and they followed after you, just making sure you got home safe.

But a group of men were wolf-whistling you, and they watched them crowd around you.

“What’s a pretty little thing like you doing out at this time all alone?”

“She’s not alone.” Natasha growled, the group jumping at the sight of the two Avengers before a man stepped forward.

“Oh yeah? What, is she your little bitch? Keep her on a lead next time, or she’ll be ours.” He grabbed you roughly and pulled you into him, something which you did not like.

You pushed him out, grabbed his right wrist and flipped him over, pinning his arm back in an excruciating hold that had him whining like a pup. “Submit.” You growled, trying to sound as Alpha as possible.

He tapped three times quickly and bared his neck, making your ego inflate at your acting abilities. You looked at Natasha and Wanda for a few more seconds, trying to decipher their objectives, before turning 180 and heading into the building.

Wanda’s eyes glowed as the men turned to them. “Try it, let’s see how you feel being thrown fifty feet into the air before dying on impact.”

They scattered like prey and it almost enticed them to chase, but they waited until you were inside of the elevator before going back to the Tower.

The next afternoon, having slept away the morning, you sent a generic text to the two Avengers saying hi. They then sent back dozens, asking to meet for lunch or afternoon tea by the shore. You sighed, knowing they wouldn’t budge until you said yes, so you obliged and agreed to meet at 4.

Now, you were making your way down there, a casual stroll in your step as you came into the sunshine in your simple jeans, top and hoodie. No cap this time as it was shaded, and you smelled the two Alphas at the restaurant before you came to the front door.

“Status, please.” The bouncer asked.

*What the fuck?* You grumbled in your mind, handing over your Beta ID since you saw it on his.

He held it to your face and you took off the hoodie, revealing your ponytailed hair and the rest of your body. He handed it back to you before you walked over to the girls, reining in your scent.

The conversation was light, learning about each other and how they met. You were surprised to hear they were on opposite sides twice, but now that the Sokovia Accords were scrapped, they were okay.

“How about you, Y/N? Got a partner?” Wanda asked and you shook your head.

“Still looking. Haven’t really had time to look, though.” You shrugged, sipping on your hot chocolate.

“Are you gay or straight or…?” Natasha questioned.

“I like women. Not really good at the labels.” You replied nonchalantly.

“Fair enough.”

The chatter went on mindlessly for a bit longer and if it wasn’t for your training, you weren’t sure you could have kept it up for so long. The questions were so mundane, so dull compared to your ever busy life.

But then again, you should really knock on wood when you say something like that. Or an explosion will go off underneath the waterfront.

The ground shook beneath you and people ran for safety, whilst Natasha and Wanda recognised the group of people as HYDRA agents. Wanda’s magic protected some civilians whilst Natasha’s trusty guns fired upon some, a trigger in one’s hand that set off another explosion.

“Y/N, get inside!” Natasha commanded but you ignored the Alpha, moving to help some other restaurant goers.

“Y/N!” Wanda barked, but watched you help up a lady and her son.

“Go! Get inside!” You yelled, but the ground shook again, almost like the bomb was underneath you.

You stumbled and almost gained your footing, but the rushing crowd tripped you until you landed face first. It earned you a graze along your cheek, a few scrapes on your arms and elbows, but that was the problem.

Now, there was blood. And blood was not something a suppressant could do anything about.

You looked up and saw the bouncer fall over, his eyes going to you in shock. “Omega?”

Your face turned ghostly at the status, scrambling to get to your feet. You spun around to see Natasha and Wanda looking for you, but when Wanda saw the state you were in, you knew it was too late.

‘Omega?’ She mouthed to you.

You sprinted faster than you’d ever sprinted in your life. Fear had truly grasped your heart, not letting go until you were in the safety of your apartment. You locked the door before barricading it, doing the same to the window in the bedroom and bathroom.

Your breathing was still heavy as you slid down the wall of the bathroom, trying to regain your senses as you cleaned yourself up. You had to admit, it was more of a struggle when your surroundings were spinning and you had two Y/N’s to look at in the mirror.

You slowly bandaged yourself up before looking for another apartment, your time here up as not one, not two, but three people had just found out about your status. You scrambled to pack your things, only taking away the barricade when you were completely ready.

But the sight of two Alphas was enough to make your knees wobble.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Easy, Y/N.” Natasha caught you, her touch warm to your skin.

“Holy shit, you’re jacked.”

You rolled your eyes at that well-known fact for ex-Widows and ex-HYDRAs. They guided you to the bed and helped you sit down, your eyes unable to stay open for very long as pain rang through your head.

“Y/N, you might have a concussion.” Wanda explained, raising her hand up to your head before you grabbed it.

“Don’t touch my head.” You growled.

She backed off, confusing you. Alphas were supposed to be demanding. Why wasn’t she demanding? Natasha came to try next, but soon there were two of her and two Wandas, sending your Omega core into a state of confusion.

“How did we not smell it before?” Natasha’s voice sounded far away as you stood, but four hands tried to keep you down.

“Get off me!” You growled, pushing them away with the same force of an Alpha.

“This doesn’t make sense…”

You collapsed as Natasha failed to finish her sentence. Or maybe your ears just didn’t wanna listen. Either way, you welcomed the familiar darkness.

A/N: Part 2.

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feyhunter78 · 10 months

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PLEASE UPDATE IM BEGGING THIS IS MY BRAND NEW LIFE SOURCE RN

I'm gonna assume this is about Pink Pastels, and gladly give you what you're asking for👀

Pink Pastels Pt 6

Description: It's time for Gabi's field trip, and wouldn't ya know, you and Miguel are in the same group.

Pt 7

Miguel’s never been a chaperone before. During Gabi’s Kindergarten field trip he was away on a business trip, but this time he made sure to be there, not just because Gabi’s class was going to the zoo, and she loves the zoo, but because of you.

There’s this need to protect you, like an itch beneath his skin. He can’t forget the look of fear on your beautiful face, or the way you clung so tightly to him, desperate and terrified. The crunch of that man’s bones beneath his fists, the fear that ran through your attacker as Miguel tore into him, talons and fangs covered in his blood, crimson drip, drip, dripping down to the pavement below, it was an almost ecstasy.

Your broken and discarded shoes are hidden in the back of his closet, along with your hairband. It’s pathetic, really, the makeshift shrine that’s beginning to form, and he knows that his actions could so easily borderline being creepy, but you’re his. He knows it. You’re meant to be together, and he’s simply showing his devotion.

“Papá, Papá, we’re here.” Gabi tugs on his shirt sleeve, her face lit up with pure, innocent excitement, and he resists the urge to crush her to his chest and never let her go.

“I see, where do you want to go first, Mija?” He asks, adjusting her baseball cap and making sure it’s snug on her head. He doesn’t want her face to get sunburned, but she hates the feeling of sunscreen, so they compromised.

“I want to see the hippos!” She says, bouncing in her seat as she turns to talk with her friends behind her, little, high-pitched voices discussing and debating which animals were the best.

“Mr. O’Hara, here’s your map, and safety packet. I trust you went over the info online ahead of time?” You hand him a manila envelope, smiling brightly at him.

Your hair is down today, the crown of your head covered by a white bucket hat, and you’re wearing jeans with a sage green T-shirt that reads SRE Field trip, in big white block letters. He’s wearing the same, everyone is, to ensure if a child is lost, they can be easily returned to their group.

He takes the packet from you, nodding. “Of course, can’t leave my chaperone partner to do all the heavy lifting.”

You laugh a little at that and continue down the bus aisle, handing out the remaining packets.

He lets Gabi pull him off the bus and is soon swarmed by five first-graders, each one a friend of Gabi’s—she makes friends so easily, something he can’t take credit for.

“Okay everyone has their groups, please stay with your chaperone, and your buddy, don’t go wandering off, and meet back here, at the entrance at three o’clock.” An older teacher says, before she gathers her own group and heads through the zoo gates.

You bend down to face the kids, an excited smile on your face. “Alright, what animal are we seeing first?”

“Hippo!”

“Lion!”

“Monkeys!”

“Seals!”

A chorus of answers rings out, and you turn to Miguel. “Mr. O’Hara? Do you have any suggestions?”

You look so pretty, the sun shining down on you, the casual outfit, the way you tap your finger against your lips in thought, clearly putting on a show for the kids. If he ignores all the others and focuses on only you and Gabi, he can almost imagine this is a family outing, not a field trip.

“Last time I was here, they had snow leopards?” He feigns ignorance, but when your face lights up, he feels that intoxicating shot of dopamine.

Snow leopards are your favorite animal, the one you’ve voiced your desire to go see many times while in the school’s teacher’s lounge. One which has cameras, that Miguel has access to. Obviously.

“They still do, they’re my favorites.” You confirm what he already knows, and the children immediately change their answer to match yours.

“Why don’t we go there first, then if the kids see any animals, they want to visit on the way there we’ll see them afterwards?” He suggests, still acting oh so innocent.

“What do we think? Everyone agrees with Mr. O’Hara?” You ask the children, straightening up and throwing him a smile when they all agree to his plan.

Miguel stands back behind you and the children, watching as you join them up at the glass, helping them read out the informational signs, and marveling over the big cats.

The environment set up for the leopards is lush, full of greenery and stone. Perches and outcroppings meant to mimic their homelands, and mounds of snow that they seem to disappear into, reappearing with a flash, causing Gabi and her friends to jump back in surprise then burst into giggles.

You soon join him, your arms tucked behind your back as you watch your students. “I think this is one of my favorite days of the year. I know it’s stressful, and tiring but seeing how excited they all are, just really makes me happy.”

“Gabi loves the zoo, we come here every year on her birthday.” He tells you, desperate to include you in their life, if only through shared pieces of personal information. “I’ve got all the photos in my office, my coworkers’ joke that by the time I retire I’ll have half my office wall covered.”

“I used to go to the aquarium when I was a kid, there’s something about standing underneath those giant tanks, with the way the light plays through the water—it’s breathtaking.”

You’re breathtaking. He wants to say, but he doesn’t. Instead, he says, “I know the feeling.”

You smile shyly at him, and for a moment he’s back on the side of your building, watching you through your window. He didn’t intend to be there, to watch you, he only wanted to ensure you were okay. You were fast asleep, hair askew, in a soft looking oversized t-shirt, the moonlight dancing across your peaceful face.

He couldn’t tear himself away, enraptured by the sight.

You let out a huff, and in his peripheral, he spies the name on your phone. Todd.

He hates Todd.

“Everything okay?” He asks carefully, his eyes on Gabi.

“Yes, sorry, just some personal issues, nothing serious.” You say quickly, sliding your phone into your pocket.

“Ms. Y/N, can we go see the hippos now?” One of Gabi’s friends, Emma, comes up to you, looking up at you with big blue eyes, her hand tugging at your shirt.

“Is that what everyone else wants to see?” You ask, gaze sweeping over the other children.

“Yes.” Emma says confidently, running off in the direction of the large animals, Gabi following closely behind.

“Girls!” You call out, looking from them to the others.

“Go, I’ll bring the others.” He reassures you.

You take off after them, and he gathers the remaining four children, who huddle around him like ducklings.

“Is Ms. Y/N mad? She looked mad.” One of the little boys—Tony, named after the Avenger or a family member, Miguel isn’t sure—asks him, chewing on his bottom lip.

This is that Tony, Gabi’s told him about this boy, how he’s very nice, and funny, but gets scared easily. She likes him, maybe not in a way she yet understands, or that Miguel is ready for, but if his baby girl has to have a crush on anyone, an easily scared little boy isn’t the worst.

“She’s probably mad at her dumbass boyfriend.” Dahlia, a girl he can tell is from the Bronx by her thick accent, speaks up, and it’s all he can do to keep from laughing at the scandalized look on Tony’s face.

“Don’t tell Ms. Y/N I said a bad word, but that’s what I’ve heard Ms. Melissa call him.” She says quietly when she sees Tony’s face.

“I won’t tell if you won’t.” He promises.

“Gabi’s right, you are the coolest.” Dahlia says, grabbing his hand and swinging it back and forth as they walked.

The coolest? He wanted to run ahead and scoop his daughter into his arms, she thought he was the coolest.

Tag list: @nyctophilic0vitnir, @miggyoharaswife, @badbishsblog, @imisshim2much, @wanderlustingcastaway, @lynn-9703, @sleepyamaya, @erensbbg, @sweetea85, @ilovemiguelohara, @natthernandez, @stxrrielle, @ihateuguys, @jenniferdixon05207, @blep-23, @luvisaaxoxo, @minimari415, @emerald-09, @violet-19999, @kenchosaikuo, @groovycass, @youcantseem3, @lovefks, @nightshxdex, @dusstory, @aesniri, @munsonssecretblog, @kirke-is-my-name, @starbearieee, @chatoicboy, @act1839, @needsleep3000, @totally-not-georgia

#meg's writing #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o'hara #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #Miguel's pastels #miguel ohara x y/n #miguel ohara x reader #atsv miguel #miguel ohara x you #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099

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i9messi · 11 months

Text

Dating Max Verstappen

Specific things I think Max would do as your boyfriend

max’s masterlist

Max was a little shy at first, but he became so much more extrovert when you spoke to him casually

At the beginning, he stalked you once or twice on social media. Not in a creepy way, just because you had caught his eye and he wanted to ask you out

He may seem a little cocky at first, but everything changed when you met him and realized how he actually was

Max is a beautiful person and you enjoyed spending time with him

Max is someone who gives you 100% of his attention, hears you talk about what you are most passionate about and asks you questions about it. He is a very attentive person and makes you feel comfortable

Less than you both thought, you started to date

He treats you like a queen. If you want something, he’ll do his best to get it for you as quickly as he can, there are no no no’s when referring to you

Max is quite disciplined and organizes everything with the smallest detail, including dates and holidays

When something does not go as he wants he tends to get frustrated, but you tell him that you love that he had spent time to organize something

You don’t need everything to be perfect, because even though things don’t go as your boyfriend has planned them, everything is already perfect

He learns as much as possible about your tastes. You have a specific favourite music artist? He’s gonna play that artist’s music every time you’re in the car just because he knows you’re gonna be happy with that

He loves your happiness and will do everything to make you smile

Movie nights. Max likes to watch films with you, no matter what genre or whether they are children’s films, just spending time with you is everything he needs

“If you steal the blankets, I'm going to put my cold feet on you.”

He gives you teddy bears and flowers when he has to be away from you for a few weeks

You casually steal all of his Red bull's merch

“That's my cap?”

Both adopted a pet and accepted that this is your child. You post photos of Max and your "son" all the time, because they give you so much tenderness

Max is such a boyfriend material

Fans love the couple

You are the type of girlfriend who supports him in every race and who is there to listen when things do not go as predicted

He knows you’re going to be there to support him and that’s all he needs to feel safe

You’re the one who keeps him focused, with his feet in the real world

You were so proud of him when he won the formula 1 championship in 2022

He’s an incredible driver, even though many have opinions formed against him

You are the same one who will be there to defend him always, from bad press and people who have prejudices against your boyfriend

Outside open doors he’s the least clumsy person you’ll ever meet but in the comfort of your home, it’s the same one who asks you for hugs and kisses when he needs it most. Max is like a little boy who needs attention

“Just a kiss, pretty please, liefde.”

You can’t say no to Max, not when he looks at you with those cute eyes and talks to you with that accent that makes you crazy

He always tells you nice things in Dutch and you have to ask him what it means, the answer makes you smile

“voor mij ben jij de wereld.” (to me, you're the world.)

Max gives you a lot of pet names in Dutch, of course

Besides being your boyfriend, he is also your best friend and confidant

You can tell him practically anything and he will be there to support you

Stressful day? You can both cook a meal and then lie down on the couch to wait for it to cook. You both just need to be hugging and talking, nothing more than that

You’re soulmates and you love each other so much

#max verstappen blurb #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen one shot #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen #max verstappen headcanons #verstappen #f1 #formula one #f1 blurb #f1 x reader #max verstappen x you

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saikira999 · 16 days

Text

~ Dear Photography

Annotation: Yuu dragged him to be photographed with daisies :)

Tags: Friendship, a little bit of love, tsundere.

Attention! English is not my native language, and if you find errors in the text, please write about it in the comments.

+ In My native language, the words "Dear" and "Expensive" are considered the same word and look the same (Dorogoi). In the original language, this plays into the plus of fan fiction, but in the English translation, the meaning breaks down a lot.

Just remember:

Dear = Expensive

(Below I will also provide a version in the original language)

Pouting his lips displeasedly, Azul shrank a little incredulously, quietly wrapping his tentacles under the water around a small island with daisies overgrown on it, as if for safety. Having unsuccessfully tried to blow away a silver strand of wet hair that had fallen right into his eye, from his face He squinted slightly. Aschengrotto was definitely too used to life on land...

Yuu, who was standing nearby, barefoot, with her pants slightly pulled up to her knees, was fiddling with her bag as if trying to find something. Watching Her from the side, the octomer was silent for a while, looking at Her search either with boredom or with slight irritation.

- Prefect, let me ask... - As if out of habit, turning on His “Aschengrotto” style of a businesslike, insinuating conversation to the point of gritting his teeth, He began, straightening his lock of hair. “First, you barbarously pulled Me out of the office, tearing me away from business, then dragged me to the shore. ... - Azul slouched slightly, and his black shoulders, shining in the sun, noticeably tensed, while long thin fingers with black nails anxiously twirled and kneaded one winding curl near his sharp left cheek - Forced me to take... This form... - Shrinking, the tentacles tightened around and squeezed the stone-looking sides of the island, as if thinking of crushing it - And I’m afraid to ask what you will demand from Me now...

- Flower.

- .....What?

Raising an eyebrow, Azul straightened up a little and looked at Yuu, who was unsuccessfully shaking out the contents of the bag onto the green, slightly crumpled grass, trying to find something inside. Pens, pencils, chewing gum, candy bars and who knows how the Grim fur got there (Again this damn cat sleeps on the first thing that came)... - Take the flower. - Yuu repeats in a casual tone.

- For what? - Now, Azul raises both eyebrows, and a pair of large black and purple tentacles peer out of the water with curiosity, as if wanting to understand the essence of the demand.

- Take the flower and don’t freak out, senpai... - Grumbles in a friendly manner, Yuu freezes for a moment and slaps his palm on his forehead.

Throwing the bag aside, She unzips her light jacket a little and takes hold of the angular old camera hanging on Her chest.

Realizing what was happening, Azul only became more embarrassed, and reluctantly suppressing the desire to hide from Yuu under water, he crossed his arms on his damp chest, tapping his finger on his forearm.

- I hope you know what you are doing... And that it will not cost you free....

- I know. Now, take a flower. - Yuu just shrugs, removing the cap from the camera and preparing it for work.

- If speak openly, it will cost you very dearly.

- Since when does a photographer pay?

- This is your idea, My dear prefect. - Sighing a little in disappointment, Azul leaned his elbow on the island, which was a little prickly because of the sand and grass, resting his sharp chin in his palm - I know about your interest in photographs, but I don’t think that this octopus is suitable for your collection... And it will also be expensive .... Did I talk about this...?

-You don’t like being photographed that much, senpai? - Raising a curious glance at her friend’s dissatisfied pale muzzle for a second, Yuu continued tinkering with the camera

- It’s not that I don’t like... - He turned away, slowly, as if lazily crawling his gaze over the white tops of daisies - You yourself know the reasons... And also, you know that this will be an expensive photograph.

- But she will be My favorite.

Octomer was silent.... He frowned in disbelief again...

- "Favorite"...?

- The most favorite.

- And expensive.

- And expensive... In every sense.

- I talked about the price. You and your pesky furrball won't eat for a week!

- Are you trying to intimidate Me with the price tag, senpai? Hehe, I think we'll come to an agreement.

- There’s no point in even negotiating here, my dear prefect. I can leave You right now!

- And miss the opportunity to get money so easily and quickly? You're losing your grip, senpai. - Yuu grinned, coming closer, stepping on the soft grass and warm sand.

- Do you REALLY want to have a photo of Me as a merfolk? - Azul hissed, ashamed and anxious - Why?

- Because You are very handsome in Your true form, of course! - With difficulty holding back a giggle, Yuu grinned softly - And I decided to take photographs of all the people dear to Me before the headmage returns Me back to My world... - Turning away and frowning slightly, Yuu wrinkled her nose and quietly grumbled - If this beak-nosed dork even remembers My existence....

It was as if Azul had received a blow to the head from Floyd (comparable to being hit with a sledgehammer)... Did she just call his octomer shape beautiful? Is he a dear person to Her??? His eternally spinning somewhere nearby, constantly getting into trouble, but still damn it, will his DEAR colleague one day leave Him and return to his native world??????

....Oh, the great seven, He forgot about it....

While Azul, who had funnyly raised his tentacles, was recovering from silent shock, mixed at the same time with embarrassment and anxiety slowly growing in his soul, Yuu herself picked a flower and handed it to Azul, grinning widely.

- Take it!

Focusing his gaze again and batting his white eyelashes in surprise, the slightly red Azul paused, but still slowly took the flower from her hands and its tentacles again slowly fell into the water.

- Ahem... - He cleared his throat, slowly returning (at least trying) to a relatively calm appearance. He again propped his cheek with his hand with a flower clutched in It, somehow incomprehensibly looking into the lens, again slightly pouting his lips...

He should definitely send Yuu an invoice for this photo...

This art was drawn by Me relatively recently. I wrote this fanfiction for that :)

Please, if you like My work, feel free to ask Me questions and requests! Also, I will be very glad to receive your reblogs :)

The original:

~ Дорогая фотография.

Недовольно надув губы, Азул немного недоверчиво съежился, незаметно обхватывая щупальцами под водой небольшой островок, с поросшими на нём ромашками, точно для надёжности. Безрезультатно попробовав сдуть с лица упавшую прямо на глаз серебристую, точно бок жемчужины прядь мокрых волос, Он чуть прищурился. Асшенгротто определённо слишком уж привык к жизни на суше... Стоявшая неподалёку Йуу, босая, в немного задранных по колено штанах, возилась в сумке, точно пытаясь что-то найти. Наблюдая за Ней со стороны, октомер немного помолчал, глядя на Её поиски ни то со скукой, ни то с лёгким раздражением.

- Префект, позвольте спросить... - Точно по привычке включив Свой "Асшенгроттовский" стиль делового, до скрипа зубов вкрадчивого, разговора, начал Он, поправляя прядь - Сперва Вы варварски вытащили Меня из кабинета, оторвав от дел, затем потащили на берег.... - Азул чуть ссутулился, и чёрные, блестящие на солнце плечи заметно напряглись, пока длинные тонкие пальцы с чёрными ногтями тревожно накручивали и мяли один извилистый локон у левой острой щеки - Заставили принять... Эту форму... - Сжавшись, щупальца крепче обвили и сжали каменные глядкие бока островка, словно думая раздавить его - И мне страшно спросить, что Вы потребуете от Меня теперь...

- Цветочек.

- .....Что?

Вскинув бровь, Азул чуть выпрямился и посмотрел на Йуу, безрезультатно вытряхивающую содержимое сумки на зелёную, чуть мятую травку, пытаясь найти что-то внутри. Ручки, карандаши, жвачки, батончики и неизвестно каким образом попавшая туда шерсть Гримма (Опять этот проклятый кот дрых на первом, на чём пришлость)...

- Возьми цветочек. - Повторяет Йуу обыденым тоном.

- Зачем? - Теперь, Азул вскидывает уже обе брови, и пару крупных чёрно-фиолетовых щупалец с любопытством выглядывают из воды, точно желая понять суть требования.

- Возьмите цветочек, и не выёживайтесь, сенпай.... - Дружелюбно хмыкнув, Йуу на миг замирает и хлопает Себя ладонью по лбу.

Откинув сумку в сторону, Она немного расстёгивает лёгую куртёжку и берётся за висящий у Неё на груди угловатый старый фотик.

Смекнув что к чему, Азул смутился только сильнее, и нехотя подавив желание скрыться от Йуу под водой, скрестил руки на влажной груди, настукивая пальцем по предплечью.

- Я надеюсь, Вы знаете, что Вы делаете... И что это не обойдётся Вам бесплатно....

- Знаю. А теперь, возьмите цветочек. - Йуу только пожимает плечами, снимая с фотоаппарата крышечку и подготавливая его к работе.

- Если говорить открыто, это обойдётся Вам очень дорого.

- С каких пор платит фотограф?

- Это Ваша идея, Мой дорогой префект. - Немного разочарованно вздохнув, Азул опёрся локтём о немного колючий из-за песка и травы островок, подпирая ладонью острый подбородок - Я знаю о Вашем интересе к фотографиям, но не думаю, что Вашей коллекции подойдёт этот осьминог... И ещё это будет дорого.... Я говорил об этом...?

- Вы так не любите фотографироваться, сенпай? - На секунду подняв на недовольную бледную морду друга любопытствующий взгляд, Йу продолжила ковыряться с камерой

- Не то чтобы не люблю... - Он отвернулся, медленно, точно лениво переползая взглядом по белым макушкам ромашек - Вы сами знаете причины... А ещё, Вы знаете, что это будет дорогостоящая фотография.

- Но она будет Моей любимой.

Октомер помолчал.... Снова недоверчиво нахмурился...

- "Любимой"...?

- Самой любимой.

- И дорогой.

- И дорогой... Во всех смыслах.

- Я говорил о цене. Вы и Ваш надоедливый комок шерсти не будете есть неделю!

- Пытаетесь запугать Меня ценником, сенпай? Хе-хе, думаю, Мы договоримся.

- Здесь даже нет смысла договариваться, Мой дорогой префект. Я могу покинуть Тебя прямо сейчас!

- И упустить возможность так легко и быстро получить деньги? Теряете хватку, сенпай. - Ййу усмехнулась, подходя ближе, ступая по мягкой траве и тёплому песку.

- Вам ДЕЙСТВИТЕЛЬНО так хочется иметь у Меня Мою фотографию в виде мерфолка? - Зашипел Азул, ни то со смущением, ни то с тревогой - Почему?

- Потому что Ты очень красивый в Своём истинном облике, конечно! - С трудом сдержав хихиканье, Йуу мягко ухмыльнулась - И Я решила сделать фотографии всех дорогих Мне людей перед тем, как Верховный Маг вернёт Меня обратно в Мой мир... - Отвернувшись и чуть нахмурившись, Йуу сморщила нос и тихо проворчала - Если этот клювоносый дурак вообще помнит о Моём существовании....

Азула как Флойд по башке стукнул (Сравнимо с ударом кувалдой)... Она только что назвала его форму октомера красивой? Он дорогой Ей человек??? Его вечно крутящийся где-то под боком, постоянно влипающий в истории, но всё ещё чёрт её дери ДОРОГОЙ коллега однажды покинет Его и вернётся в родной мир??????

....Ох, великая семёрка, Он и забыл об этом....

Пока Смешно взвивший щупальца, Азул отходил от немого шока, смешанного одновременно со смущением и медленно нарастающим в душе беспокойством, Йуу, сама сорвала цветочек и протянула Азулу, широко ухмыльнувшись.

- Возьми!

Вновь сфокусировав взгляд и удивлённо похлопав белыми ресницами, немного красный Азул помолчал, но всё-таки медленно взял цветок из её рук и его зупальцах вновь медленно опали в воду.

- Кхм... - Он откашлялся, медленно возвращая (По крайней мере, пытаясь) себе относительно спокойный вид Он вновь подпёр щеку рукой с зажатым в Ней цветком, как-то непонятливо глядя в объектив снова чуть надувая губы...

Он определённо должен выслать Йуу счёт за это фото...

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peanut-butter-parkerxx · 26 days

Text

Summary: As winter wraps its chilly arms around them, Y/n and Elijah's bond deepens from tangled up in satin caps, unruly curls, to the sweet chaos of braiding hair. Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x Fem!reader Prompt(s): Friends to lovers, "i can't believe you talked me into this.", "Stop moving and let me braid your hair." Warning: a whole lotta fluff A/N: I haven't really seen much fluffy Elijah Mikaelson fics lately, so I thought I'd write my own :) REQUEST FORM II NAVIGATION

Winter had woven its frosty fingers through the city, coating rooftops and streets in a delicate layer of snow. For Y/n, it meant pulling out her trusty satin cap to tame the wild waves and curls that cascaded down her shoulders. The chilly air had a knack for stirring up her hair into a frenzy of frizz, much to her frustration.

Amidst the wintry backdrop, Y/n found comfort in the warmth of friendship, particularly in the company of Elijah Mikaelson. Their bond had grown stronger over time, from casual acquaintances to confidants who shared secrets beneath the glow of moonlit nights. Yet, there lingered an unspoken tension, a thread of something more that neither dared to unravel.

One evening, as the snow danced outside Y/n's window, Elijah arrived at her doorstep, a soft smile playing on his lips. "I thought we might enjoy some hot cocoa together," he suggested, the warmth of his voice melting away the chill of the night.

Y/n welcomed him inside, her heart fluttering at his presence. She couldn't deny the butterflies that danced in her stomach whenever he was near. But tonight, as they sat by the crackling fireplace, a different kind of nervousness tingled within her.

Elijah noticed the satin cap perched atop Y/n's head, a curious glint in his eyes. "What's this?" he inquired, reaching out to touch the smooth fabric.

"It's my secret weapon against the winter frizz," Y/n admitted sheepishly, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "The humidity always wreaks havoc on my hair."

Elijah chuckled softly, his fingers lingering on the satin material. "I must say, I've never seen such a...contraption. But if it works for you, then it's worth its weight in gold."

As the night wore on, their laughter filled the air, mingling with the aroma of cocoa and crackling flames. Y/n found herself drawn to Elijah's magnetic presence, the way his eyes sparkled with understanding.

But it wasn't until a sudden gust of wind rattled the windows, sending Y/n's curls into a frenzy, that Elijah made his move. With a gentle hand, he reached for the satin cap, his touch sending shivers down Y/n's spine.

"May I?" he asked softly, his gaze searching hers for permission.

Y/n nodded, her heart racing with anticipation. "I can't believe you talked me into this," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

Elijah flashed her a charming smile before carefully removing the satin cap, revealing the tousled waves and curls beneath. His fingers brushed against her hair, eliciting a soft gasp from Y/n's lips.

"Relax." he replied, his voice low and husky.

With practiced ease, Elijah set to work, his fingers deftly navigating through Y/n's locks. He parted her hair into sections, gently coaxing the curls into submission. Each touch sent a jolt of electricity coursing through Y/n's veins, igniting a fire that burned brighter than any winter night.

"Stop moving and let me braid your hair," Elijah teased, his lips curving into a playful grin.

Y/n complied, her heart pounding in her chest as Elijah wove intricate patterns into her hair. With each twist and turn, their connection deepened, intertwining their souls in a dance as old as time itself.

As the last braid fell into place, Elijah stepped back to admire his handiwork, a look of satisfaction crossing his features. "There," he said, his voice filled with pride. "Now you're ready to face the winter with style."

But for Y/n, the real magic wasn't in the braids or the satin cap, but in the way their friendship had grown into something deeper. And in that moment, surrounded by the cozy glow of the fire, wrapped in Elijah's arms from the chilly atmosphere, she looked into Elijah's eyes, and she couldn't help but wonder if this little encounter changed anything.

#elijah mikaelson #elijah mikaelson x reader #elijah mikaelson x female reader #the originals #vampire #vampire romance #new orleans #daniel gillies #fluff #elijah mikaelson fanfiction #elijah mikaelson fluff

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writing-till-i-am-dead · 11 days

Text

Laigan oneshot

(I’m just having fun with these ship names now)

Ashlyn stepped to the front and clapped her hands. “Ok, so.. my parents have been saying that in order for us to survive, we need to work as a.. team.”

Taylor tilted her head. “Don’t we already?”

“Apparently bonds formed only from trauma aren’t strong enough.”

This seemed to blow everyone’s minds as they all said, “They aren’t?”

Ashlyn shook her head. “No.. so, I’ve decided we are going to split into teams of two by having three people draw one name from a hat.”

Ashlyn turned and picked up a baseball cap filled with torn papers.

“So, who will be drawing names?”

Taylor, Aiden, and Ben all rose their hands.

Aiden jumped from the bus seat bounded forward excitedly as he drew out a name.

“Let’s see.. LOGAN!”

Logan damn near fell out of his seat as he exclaimed, “HUH?!”

Aiden plopped himself right next to Logan and Logan tried to make himself as small as possible in his seat.

Why did it have to be Aiden?

Logan would’ve taken Ashlyn, or Ben, or Taylor, or even Tyler’s aggressive attitude!

He slowly turned to face him and give him a friendly smile.

Aiden smiled back and Logan felt his blood run cold and he quickly turned away again.

Why is he so creepy?! he thought anxiously.

“So, uh, Ashlyn!” Logan blurted out. “What sort of team building exercises are we going to do?”

“Well.. my dad said that in his time in the military, the best way to form bonds is helping each other in life or death situations, and having heart to heart conversations. And, well, we already have the first one down.”

Everyone looked a little confused. “How are we supposed to have those just.. casually?” Tyler asked as he sat next to Ben.

“I don’t know!” Ashlyn exclaimed. “That’s just what he said!”

Everyone looked awkwardly at their partner. Well, except Aiden. Logan was pretty sure it was impossible for Aiden to feel awkward.

“So, um.. Aiden.. you like.. dangerous stuff?” Logan asked, trying his hardest to keep himself from freaking out.

“Ya! Haha, one time I jumped off a ski lift. The way my ankle snapped was so weird, but also funny, haha!”

“Oh, um.. ya.. haha..” Is he purposefully trying to freak me out?! What the hell?! Someone help me!!! “Um.. well.. one time I was on a hike with my family with our dog and he ate some oleanders.. that was pretty messed.. haha..”

“Oleanders?” Aiden asked, suddenly seeming genuinely interested.

“Oh.. um.. they’re these really toxic flowers. They can cause irregular heartbeats. And seizures. My dog had a really, really bad seizure after eating it. He just kind of.. flopped around before he dropped dead.. haha..”

Aiden’s eyes widened and he cleared his throat after a moment. “Descriptive..”

“Huh? Oh! Uh, I’m sorry! I, um.. I didn’t really think about it!”

“Ha, it’s fine, man, don’t worry about it!” Aiden said, wrapping his arm around Logan’s shoulder. “You got any more stories to tell?”

“Oh.. uh.. oh! So, my aunt works at a hospital and one time she was babysitting me and I had to go to her work. And this patient had burst into the hospital, vomiting everywhere and passing out. He had eaten a death cap!”

“A death cap?! That sounds so cool, what is that!”

Logan wasn’t even aware of the proximity of them, or the fact that he was talking to Aiden. He was just excited to talk about things that interest him.

“They’re these very poisonous mushrooms. They cause nausea, low blood pressure, and vomiting. The mortality rate for eating them is at 30%!”

Aiden seemed a little let down by that number. “30%? Really? What’s the most poisonous mushroom, then?”

“Oh, um.. the death caps are..”

He raised an eyebrow. “Really? That’s it? Man, that’s just so low..”

“You.. want more people to die??”

“Well, no. But it just makes it more interesting, doesn’t it? Kind of like the same morbid interest of watching true crime..”

“I guess I understand?”

There was a moment of silence between them.

“Do you know all these plant facts because your grandparents are florists?” Aiden asks.

“Oh, ya..”

Aiden smirks. “Kind of like how they got us access to drugs?”

Logan’s shoulders jerk up and he quickly gets defensive. “H-hold on, it’s not what you think! They were just able to get the drugs because they have poppy flowers which are used to make opioids! N-NOT THAT THEY MAKE OPIOIDS OFTEN, OR EVER!”

Aiden burst out laughing, clutching his stomach as he fell out of his seat. “Oh! Oh my gosh! Your face! Haha!!”

Logan’s face went red and everyone turned to look at them, curious.

“Ummm, A-Aiden.. it wasn’t that funny.. haaaa..” He grabbed Aiden’s arm and pulled him back into the seat. “Quit being so loud!” he said quickly, his face bright red.

“You quit being so embarrassed all the time!” Aiden countered.

“I-! Ughh.. Aiden..” he whimpered, covering his face.

“Pfff.. cmon, Logan. Keep rattling on random facts about deadly plants!”

He still seemed hesitant before saying, “Have you heard about the Sandbox tree?”

“Oh? No, I haven’t!”

Logan smiled, knowing this would be right up Aiden’s alley. “Their seeds.. explode!”

Aiden gasped. “No way!”

“Ya!”

“How dangerous is it?”

“Pretty dangerous. It can severely hurt humans. Not to mention that it’s poisonous all over.”

Aiden burst out laughing and pat Logan’s back. “You know what I like!”

Logan laughed along with him as he rattled off more plant facts. Eventually plant facts moved facts about how deadly space is.

“They actually have no idea how black holes function?! Movies lied to me!”

Logan snickered and nodded. “Same here!”

“What do you think happens? When you enter a black hole?”

“Hmm..” Logan thought for a moment before saying.

“You’re lost in a void. There’s no up, there’s no down. There’s no escape. Only fear and loneliness and existentialism as you stay there forever. Your cells won’t age or change.. so for eternity, you’re stuck there, never able to achieve freedom…”

He looked up at Aiden, who seemed very, very surprised.

“O-OR, UM… maybe you just come out on the other side! I-I dunno, haha!”

Aiden chuckled and shook his head. “You have some pretty dark thoughts. Just different from my kind of dark. I like it, though.”

“Y..You do?”

“Ya! You should say more stuff like that. It’s really interesting!”

“I…”

“All right everyone!” Ashlyn exclaimed. “It’s getting late. Cmon, we don’t wanna fall asleep on the bus.”

Aiden stood up and held out a hand to Logan. “Cmon.”

Logan was surprised by Aiden’s genuine friendliness before smiling back at him and letting him help him up.

“I think today was really a smart idea, Ashlyn,” Aiden said to her.

Ashlyn nodded. “Glad to hear it. My dad will be proud of us, I think.”

Logan smiled at that. Proud of him…

#Sbg #school bus graveyard #Logan fields #logan sbg #aiden clark #aiden sbg #webtoon #oneshot #fanfic

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chosos-mascara · 2 years

Text

Dad's Best Friend- Kento Nanami

cw: age gap (kento is 40, reader is in 20s), blowjob, reader is called 'good girl' at one point, alcohol but neither are drunk

You decide to take action on your attraction to Kento.

minors+ageless dni. 2.3k words

"Will he be there tonight?" Your friend, Maki questioned as you fiddled with your thumbs beneath the table, watching her scribble words onto the pad before her. You shrugged, letting out a sigh as your lecturer had entered the hall. "I think so, my dad mentioned beers." You flattened out the pages on the desk, pen in hand. Glancing between the smirk on Maki's lips and the presentation being cast onto the wall, you wondered if tonight, you'd have the confidence.

Nanami and your father were close friends, the blonde often sharing dinner with the pair of you, coming over after work for lighthearted laughs, despite his hardened exterior. When you'd first met him, he'd immediately caught your eye, body heating up as he'd side eyed you through his glasses, a short introduction via your father. If he'd have asked for your name directly, you were sure you would have stumbled over words, unable to use your brain as your eyes met with his. Maki was immediately called, having to listen to you gush over the male your father had brought home; her initial reaction had been disgust, but after she'd visited, she had to agree with you. He was insanely attractive.

Nanami's closed off personality added to his alluring demeanor, a mystery of composed modesty. Every time your father had mentioned his friend's past and you'd tried to push a little for more information, but even he hadn't known the extent. Nanami had even left the job a year ago, and neither of you were entirely sure what the new career path was, something to do with a highschool. But with the amount of overtime he'd had to do, you'd wondered what sort of position he'd held - and how he'd managed to become an important role with only a history of office work.

Sure enough, as you'd set your bag down following dinner at Maki's, your father and his friend had been sat around the table, laughing. The warmth of your home had encapsulated you in contrast to the cool winter air outside, face feeling flush as your skin had contradicted the environment around you, an itch from heat on icy flesh.

You'd walked through to the kitchen, laying your eyes upon the beer bottles between the males, walking to the fridge to grab a can of soda before you'd retreat to your room and leave the men to talk. "Wanna drink with us, y/n?" Your dad's jolly voice pierced your ears, stomach churning as you watched not only his, but Nanami's eyes fall onto you. You shyly shook your head, hoping to avert the attention elsewhere. "Come on, you're old enough to have a bottle with your old man." He pulled the seat from beside him, patting on the worn out cushion. If it hadn't been for the warm smile he'd presented, a gleam of hope in his eye, you'd have declined the invitation - only due to the company you'd held, but instead you found yourself sitting beside him. He popped a cap from one of the beverages before you, and you'd taken it from his hands.

They kept conversation casual as you'd sipped, asking about university, Kento inquiring about the details of the subject you'd chosen, your father spouting on about how intelligent you'd grown to be. It was a wholesome encounter, an enjoyable way to spend the remaining evening. You couldn't deny the way your heart raced every time Nanami's eyes had landed to meet your own, the soft pink tint across his cheeks as he'd felt the alcohol in his system, maybe a little tipsy.

Your father had decided to end the night, stumbling up the stairs to his bedroom, while you and Kento had carried a conversation. You'd asked about his job, as to which he gave a vague description of being a teacher, mentioning some form of martial arts - it had been confusing to you but you'd nodded along nonetheless, a bashful smile across your cheeks as you'd listened to his voice, allowing it to caress the insides of your ears, your brain going somewhat fuzzy from having an actual conversation with the man you'd silently admired for the past year.

He spoke with intellect, composed through each of his words, despite the liquid courage bringing forward more slip-ups on information he'd previously keep to himself, like a recent break up he'd gone through. The mention of romance had your chest fluttering. "So, you're single now?" You questioned, fighting to maintain eye contact through your own trepidation. He nodded, a smirk swiping across his skin. "Why, you interested?" It was a joke, one he had said without thinking - you were the daughter of his closest friend after-all. He went to apologise, but you'd beat him to it. "What if I said I was?" Your tone had been teasing, almost unable to believe the opportunity had arisen in the conversation so casually. Something you'd imagined you'd have to push for had fallen right into your hands.

Nanami had been too stunned to reply, jaw tensing as he'd watched over your expression. Leaning forward, you planted a kiss on the hardened cheek, hands trailing over the disheveled shirt that had been left untucked from his trousers, stopping at the belt he'd worn. You unclasped it, undoing the button and fly to slip your hand over the fabric, lightly squeezing the area. His hips had pushed into you a little, though concern had been written across his face at your actions.

You smiled in attempts to ease his doubts, palming the growing bulge in his trousers, dropping to your knees. You hooked your fingers around the beige trousers, pulling down a little. He shifted to allow his garment's movement, cock springing from the fabric. You traced over the hardened member with your fingers, bringing forward to your lips as you took him into your mouth.

He groaned, bucking hips upward as he'd felt the warmth of your mouth encapsulate him, wet saliva coating his shaft with a flick of your tongue; bob of your head. As you massaged him within your cheeks, he brought a hand to entangle through your hair, guiding your movements half-heatedly through his gratification. It hadn't been controlling, more of a place to rest his hands, a way to feel a little more of you as you'd pleased his aching member.

Nanami tilted his head backward, closing his eyes as soft groans had grumbled through his broad chest, lightly squeezing his hand within your locks as he'd hit the back of your throat, of hollowed out your cheeks. You'd brought your hand to work at his shaft as you'd flicked your tongue over the head of his cock, pumping over him to bring him closer to orgasm.

"F-fuck, good girl." His encouraging words had brought a ripple through you, tightening your thighs as your body had shifted, hoping to give yourself a little friction as you'd felt your arousal spike, hips rolling. You'd gotten into more of a rhythm, drool rolling down to meet your hand. His groans had grown a little louder, but you were confident with the amount beer your father had put back, he would sleep through anything the pair of you had done within the confides of the kitchen.

He hadn't given warning, as he'd been oblivious to how close he'd been, abruptly thrusting forward with a sigh as you'd felt the salty liquid pour into your mouth, maintaining the tempo you'd been going at until you felt his hand tremble against your head, the man heaving for oxygen at the orgasm you'd gifted so eagerly to him.

You removed your lips, wiping over your face with the back of your hand, looking up to watch the disarranged male lull back into reality.

#nanami kento #nanami smut #jjk men #jjk smut #kento smut #kento x y/n #nanami x reader

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ronearoundblindly · 1 year

Text

Threadbare (3)

Steve Rogers x Fashion Designer!Reader

Part Three: Rupture/Fracture (see previous or series)

Summary: Steve skirts the line between protector and absolute doofus. Your fashion show begins.

[Image submitted by ask and does not reflect reader's race or body type. It's just a visual of the gown described in this chapter. Also from an unknown source. Credit to the creator.]

Warnings for canon-level violence and some mild language. This story is rated Teen. WC 4251

Captain America: Man of Action.

Steven Grant Rogers? Eh, not so much.

It’s a risky strategy—to do nothing—but Steve’s run out of ideas.

He doesn’t know what’s upset you. He doesn’t know what Tony does know. He doesn’t have a backup plan to his initial, lame, ‘date’-in-the-diner-downstairs idea, and yes, he knows that was pathetic in-and-of itself. Steve got the words out, though, didn’t he? That’s progress in the trench warfare he’s waging on the one thing that still completely intimidates him: womanhood.

That’s not to say Steve is fighting against you and all you are, but he doesn’t know where he fits in anyone’s equation of life and partnership. Relationships imply relating to each other, and he lives in a tower with superheroes, a billionaire, highly-trained agents who are all ranked above the other 99% of their classmates, and several legitimate aliens.

This does not instill him with confidence on his relating-to-the-average-human skills.

Before Steve was a super soldier, he was also pretty shit with women. It never got better because there was no time to try.

Since Steve has time now, he’s convinced he’ll do something stupid, and that’s really why he sits on his laurels.

This behavior apparently frustrates more than just Steve.

“So how’s your girl?” Sam Wilson asks nonchalantly, petting his beard while watching the final assessment of their newest recruits.

“Faulkner looks injured. His form is off and he’s slower than usual.” Steve makes a note on his tablet.

“Yeah, guy got kneed in the berries for a bad pickup line at the bar last night. Don’t change the subject.”

“Not necessary,” Steve grumbles in avoidance.

Sam scoffs. “You didn’t hear the pickup line.”

“Guy gets hit like that and you think that makes me want to talk about dames more?”

“Ladies, Cap, go with ‘ladies.’”

“Old-fashioned man with—“ he yells out “—find your balance, Pritchard, then block—“ then sighs “—old-fashioned notions.”

“This might surprise you, but we noticed. Maybe you should make some effort to be in her space, huh?” Sam jots something down. “I’m just saying, she spent weeks here. With you. Close. Convenient. Maybe it’s your turn?”

Steve scans the fighters across the room, his brain processing nothing he’s seeing for a moment.

“Maybe it is…”

Steve isn’t actually doing nothing, per se; he’s simply keeping tabs (respectfully) from afar. He sets up an alert for your location if the posted cops call in anything whatsoever. He’s got an alert for Richard Fisk, too, and that has let him know that the man who threatened you has spent one overnight in jail on the opposite side of the city within the last week. It reassures Steve that Kingpin’s son is not wholly focused on you. Maybe this will all blow over? That’s good, right?

Your storefront’s curb still sports a police cruiser, but inside aren’t the same two men from your run-in with Fisk.

Steve rolls the garment bag he brought off his shoulder and does not take an extra deep breath right before pulling open the door. It’s a normal breath. He’s fine. Fine.

Again, as several other times before, you’re nowhere to be seen.

“Oh my god,” your fourth assistant squeaks from behind the counter.

He knows his name. They know each other’s names—clearly—but have never met.

The young man stands taller. “Oh…my god. Hell-oh.”

Steve…is not sure whether the once over your youngest employee gives him is flattering or objectifying but rallies to get to his point.

“You must be Byron,” Steve tries casually, suppressing the awkward smirk rising with gentle heat to his cheeks. “I was wondering if the lady of the house was in to return this.”

Steve’s glad he has the jacket as a prop, something to do with his hands as he nervously glances toward the upstairs where he knows you live anyway. You’re here. He knows it. You’re working, and Steve doesn’t want to interrupt you. He has no other options, or at least, no other options that don’t make him feel a bit creepy.

“‘Fraid not, sir. But—“ Byron gathers his wits more admirably than Steve seems to be “—I’m sure I can help with anything you require, Mr. America.”

“Just Steve is fine,” he smiles back. Steve scans the open fitting rooms for Dominica or any of the others he has a rapport with, but no such luck. “And just the jacket.”

“What seems to be the problem with it?”

“Oh, no, it’s not mine. I was just standing in for a fitting when I got called away and…accidentally took it.”

Byron eyes Steve suspiciously. “You…you stood in…for the fit of another client’s jacket? Another client that…looks like you?”

Steve rolls his shoulders in discomfort. “She asked me to,” he defends lamely.

Byron keeps looking at him as if Steve’s grown an extra head instead of just a head taller than his original stature. “Ok,” your assistant shrugs, “let’s see who the marker is for.”

Steve shoves the hanging bag in Byron’s outstretched hand, nervous again. He shouldn’t have come. This was a bad idea. Damnit, Sam, stay in your lane.

Deftly, clearly recalling a move he’s executed thousands upon thousands of times, Byron unzips the bag, tucks the opening under the shoulders of the jacket, runs his hand down the left side seam, and flips up the corner to peek at the lining.

Steve sees a glint of metallic he never noticed.

“Remind me of your middle name, Mist—sorry, Captain Rogers.”

“It’s Grant,” Steve blurts without thought. “Why?”

“This is your jacket, sir, down to the threads.” Byron smiles, a glistening white band of teeth bared for the enjoyment of all, and gleefully spins the garment around to show a delicately stitched ’S G R’ in silver against the deep purple.

Steve’s cheeks are on fire.

“But…” he stammers. “That’s not…” Steve hunches over the counter as if it will settle a bet his mind and heart are arguing.

You asked about the color…and he said he loved it.

You shyly asked if he’d spare the time to help you…and he jumped at the chance.

You made him a custom jacket and tricked him into having it fitted.

Steven Grant Rogers: Idiot.

“Captain!” a voice exclaims from the stairwell. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Tarik shuffles down the last few steps looking a little worse for wear and sidles up beside his coworker. His gaze drops to the counter.

“Oooh, I see ma’m’selle went with the midnight—“ Steve doesn’t understand the next few words he uses and Tarik notices the glazed look. “The shine,” he clarifies. “Gives it that color-changing look.”

Byron leans to his left. “He says he wants to return it.”

As soon as Tarik tries to lift the hanger up though, Steve pulls it back.

“No, no. Not returning. I only…thought…” He tucks the jacket back under the protective liner, scrambling for an answer. “I didn’t know…it was for me,” Steve tries once more, like that helps to explain anything. “Hey, can I ask you both a question?”

The young men put on perfect customer service faces and wait.

“Is that unit outside keeping everyone safe in here? I mean, do you all feel, ya know, covered, I guess?”

They look at each other quizzically.

“Yeah, I guess,” Byron shrugs.

“Nothing’s happened,” Tarik mutters.

While Steve is pleased to hear that, his concern for you isn’t exactly diminished. “But she’s never here alone, right? Is no one staying overnight? You’re not…worried about Fisk?”

“We’ve been working some insane hours since the overhaul,” Tarik admits, but there’s no chance for Steve to ask what that means. “Doma was here until three in the morning, so she’s off today. Abby’s set to come in—“ Tarik checks his watch “—an hour or so for Ronny.”

“It’s family dinner night,” Byron jumps in. “Mom’ll kill me if I miss.”

Steve softens. His ma would be the same way if she… “Family dinner night,” he repeats, holding the garment bag a little closer. “Right, and no other unnerving customers bothering you?”

The younger assistant gulps and continues to stare.

Apparently, Steve counts as ‘unnerving.’

If there’s no threat anymore, then truly how the hell is Steve supposed to get closer to you again? In the most bizarre way, a villain looming over you was the perfect excuse for Steve to spend all that time and effort on you, and shifting back to ‘normal’ scenarios of dating a civilian isn’t exactly in his wheelhouse.

“Ok then,” he drawls, “would you—if it’s—if you wouldn’t mind letting her know I stopped by?” Steve waits for Tarik’s polite nod, fighting the urge to say you can call him. You could have called Steve this entire time. He left his personal cell at the fittings, so you absolutely have the number. If you haven’t used it yet, there’s probably a reason.

He finishes with a lame, “I’ll be on my way. Have a good evening and dinner with your family.”

Steve’s being supportive. He’s just here as an extra set of hands should the need arise. He’s absolutely not being a creep. He only sits atop your roof watching one cop return from the routine perimeter check in case you need help.

He won’t bother you, he doesn’t expect anything, and he can’t even see you. There’s nothing untoward about it.

Steve crosses his arms across his chest and watches the sun go down but with much less of a view and a swath of boring gray clouds all over. “For safety,” he grumbles lowly. “That’s all.”

He justifies staying because the cops neither spotted him nor cased the top of the building. He’s filling a gap in your security. It doesn’t, however, alter the fact Steve is skulking around the rooftop of the girl he likes, but he’s here. He expects nothing in return except the piece of mind that you’re okay.

Maybe some would find his night shift boring, but Steve brought his sketchpad and can see just fine in the ambient street light. The freedom to sit and draw all night long is wonderful.

No one watches him. No one looks for him. His phone sits at his hip, and since the Team think he is with you, no one calls.

Abby finally leaves at 1am, yawning a goodnight to the officer in the passenger seat and walking away unfazed. Steve even hears the man ask if she wants an escort home, but your assistant says ‘no.’ From the way the offer is worded, it’s as oft repeated as it is rejected.

If Fisk were going to leverage one of your employees, he’d have made that move by now, and Steve’s impression of Kingpin’s son is the man enjoys direct control. He wouldn’t want you obedient to keep others from harm. Fisk wants submission. He wants you to do what he says for him, not for anyone else. The irony is that Richard Fisk isn’t intimidating enough on his own and uses the muscle of bodyguards to complete the illusion of strength.

Steve knows the type. He’s only worried when he’s not close enough to handle Fisk himself, if it comes to that.

Luckily, the night passes quietly, and close or not, Steve doesn’t have to do anything. The rounds of perimeter checks are like clockwork while the lights glow from your apartment onto the thin windowsills below him.

Steve huffs. That means you never officially turn in. He crosses his arms again, wondering if you fell asleep at your drafting desk.

Byron returns, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, wearing an actual fur vest, at 5am.

The cops change shift at 6, the cruiser replaced by an identical car and two very similar passengers.

Byron emerges right at 6:10 with coffee for the officers in hand—two insulated tumblers—and fifty minutes later, one of the pair takes the cups back inside before his round.

Steve naps in the gentle spring sun as if this is truly a vacation, waking hungry enough for a late lunch and a walk in the park a few blocks over.

This is probably the park you stroll when overwhelmed, and stressed, as you probably are right now, but you never come out. He keeps walking, passing close enough to see your shop before another lap, and another. He gets a strange amount of enjoyment from trying every street vendor setup nearby until he’s back on the roof before sunset, remembering how you tucked your feet up on the folding chair and under the blanket about a week ago. It’s stupid that feels like forever ago.

Steve sighs before leaning comfortably on the cool concrete and his little bedroll.

He wishes he had the stones to barge in and demand you take a break, but the access door he’s staring at only opens from the inside and he doesn’t want to end up like Faulkner.

The white noise of the city must have lulled him to sleep. He’s startled from his propped-up position by a thunk on the slab at his back.

There you are, letting go of the mug from one hand with a phone in the other.

“Hold your horses, Stark. Let the man get his bearings,” you hoarsely joke before pulling it away from your ear and extending it toward Steve. Your voice sounds good in the morning.

Of all the things rushing through his mind, all he gets out is, “what time is it, Button?”

You give him a small, tired smile and stand back up from crouching at his side. Your bare feet teeter while one side of your open robe sash brushes the ground.

“Time for you to learn to take your charger on sleepovers, sweetie,” Tony’s voice blares. “No breakfast in bed for you.”

Wiping sleep from his eye, Steve focuses on you stretching your neck from side to side.

“You okay?” he mouths.

The same tired smile flashes as you nod.

“What’s that racket? You two sleep with the windows open? How hot did that room g—“

“Tony,” Steve interrupts, more forcefully than intended, “what’s happened?”

“Three ping fire.”

“Don’t you mean three alarm fire,” Steve groans and buries his face in his palm, shifting to wake his tingling legs.

“Location pings, Casanova, and as the dude with a suit intended as a walking fire hazard, I’m not exactly in a position to steal that department’s lingo. Ya feel me?”

There’s silence while Steve picks up the dead phone at his hip and pockets it. “No, I do not feel you.”

Tony releases a raspberry on the other end. “I am suppressing half a dozen jokes to make you feel supported in your romantic endeavors right now. I hope you appreciate that effort.”

Steve picks up the mug left beside him and moves to say ‘thank you.’ It’s not a travel cup like Byron or Abby brings out to the cops which Steve assumes means this was your drink. Tony must have called while you were waking up, too.

“Your efforts are—“ Steve turns to see an empty roof again “—unnecessary.”

You’re gone. The access door closed again.

“I bet you’re already halfway here,” Tony muses. “You doing that power-run thing?”

The call disconnects and Steve lets it fall with his arm, limp in his lap. He sips at the steaming tea for mere seconds before it occurs to him.

If he texts himself from your phone, he’ll have your number.

“Damnit,” Steve exclaims when the locked screen taunts him.

Thank god the Team doesn’t actually know how bad he is at this. It’s embarrassing, really. He deserves to skulk around on concrete treetops and sleep on stone.

He leaves the mug and phone by the door before rushing off. He notes how impressive it is that not only is the roof access door so quiet that he didn’t hear it twice, but that also counts as a security concern. He might just be splitting hairs. He’s also impressed by how you could sneak up on him. Perhaps he’s gotten too comfortable with even the fake idea of being with you, but the fantasy is pretty great.

As Steve runs back to the Tower, all he can think about is how perfect breakfast in bed sounds, and it’s distracting enough to slow him…just a little.

Fighting helps. Kinda. Or rather, fighting takes Steve’s mind off of other things right up until the tide of battle turns and Tony Stark has a spare second to insert himself into Steve’s life as well as everyone’s comms.

“So what’s it gonna take for you to really do this thing?”

Steve doesn’t understand at first because he’s busy checking in on the agents around him like he’s supposed to be doing. Stark, on the other hand, casually flies toward the hidden base of their enemy’s operations.

“What? You thought you fooled anyone?”

“Not the time, Tony,” Steve gripes, sending the shield in a bouncing arc off two trees and three bad guys. Honestly, he also did think that everyone bought you two together. Why wouldn’t they? It was convincing enough to haunt Steve.

“Guy’s not usually jonesing to drive a golf cart if he’s already on the bullet train, if you know what I mean,” Tony blusters.

“Really, Stark,” Wilson yells from his position on the other side of the valley, “a train metaphor was your best choice?”

Steve purses his lips in response, slamming into one guy, using the momentum to jump, and kicking another guy dead in the chest. That guy ricochets back into a third. The third guy’s gun goes off and drops two more guys. Steve still doesn’t want to have this conversation, even if the actual attack situation is going well for his side.

“I’m just saying if he needs some help sealing the deal—“

“—leave him alone, Stark—“

“—then I can put in a word.”

“Oh!” Steve pops the shield straps back over his arm after mowing down another line of men. “Like you put in the words that made her leave?! What the hell did you say?”

Dang it. If you and Steve were really dating, he’d already know the answer to that.

“Easy, Straps and Abs, it was a test.”

Sam beats Steve to it. “And did she pass?”

There’s a burst of sound and an explosion in the distance.

“Um. She got pissed, for sure, but I don’t know yet. I may have suggested that she only liked Cap for being, ya know, a shiny, blond beefcake.”

“You used those exact words, did you? I take it back,” Sam mutters. “That is the most hypocritical thing Stark’s ever said.”

“Somebody’s gotta top me,” Tony snorts. “Might as well be—“

“Are you KIDDING?” Steve finally breaks.

“It’s important to me that she likes you for you. Sue me—though I’m obligated to warn you you’ll be stuck in litigation for—“

“Stark!” both Steve and Sam shout in frustration.

The leagues of bad guys lose formation as their base crumbles and their radios cut out. They exchange confused looks and disagree on whether to continue attacking or retreat.

“Relax,” Tony purrs before Iron Man touches down in front of Steve. The helmet opens. “I’ve got a ticket to the Tovarich Spring Show with your name on it, and I think…” Tony scans the floundering group just as backup jets arrive to help arrest the survivors. “We’ll be home in time for Rogers to put on a ballgown and hop in a pumpkin.”

One spot of purple in a sea of white.

This isn’t how it was supposed to be.

“Ma’am, the screens you wanted set up are all positioned, and we are ten minutes from showtime,” the stage manager says in seeming slow-motion beside you. “Ma’am,” she tries again when you don’t answer. You’re too distracted by the wrong arrangements.

“I ordered butterfly bush…”

“What?”

“I ordered…I didn’t order white roses,” you croak.

Fisk’s signature flower sits on every table, lines every aisle, adorns the entire rim of the runway, and you did not order them.

Richard ‘The Rose’ is messing with you. It makes your blood boil more than it makes your hands shake because he’s not going to get what he wants. You’re not going to give it to him, but you are going to show what you can do. He can’t take credit for your work. He will not own you.

“We don’t have time to change them—“

“He’s here!” Abby bounds over, gripping your shoulder, panting after running all the way from the press tent. “Captain Rogers is here. He’s wearing the jacket.”

A nervous smile forces its way across your lips before you grasp Abby’s hand, quickly looking back at the single stalk of butterfly bush dangling in beautiful fuchsia clusters in a vase of roses. It’s a sign, proof that Fisk was able to rewrite your order, a threat that he can rewrite your life if he so chooses.

He’s wrong. You’ll show him. You’ll show everything tonight.

“Thank god for that,” you whisper, squeezing your assistant, “because Steve’s probably about to get a hell of a show.”

The stage manager calls for all the models to line up. You fuss with the finishing touches on all the men, asking how they feel, delighted when each and every one answers with some form of ‘great,’ ‘fantastic,’ or ‘never better.’ That’s what this whole line is about: confidence and comfort.

There’s no cookie-cutter mold for a handsome man. Every frame is inspiring.

You’ve explained to the models that they can reflect however they feel in the clothing on their walk down the runway. If they feel like strutting, then by all means. If they feel like beaming a beautiful smile, it’s welcome. Several pick a pocket to sink a strategic hand into.

A one-minute warning is given.

From your spot deep in the stage left shadows, you can see Steve front and center, pulling at his lapel anxiously before petting his thumb back and forth over the smooth fabric.

Nailed it, you think. He looks happy, so it’s just an added bonus that he looks so good and is covered.

Suddenly, his eyes find you and Steve sits straight up at the edge of his chair just as the lights go out.

The countdown softly descends from ten nine eight seven, the music cranks up above the short round of applause, and you exaggerate silent words, hoping not-quite-beyond hope that the super soldier can still see you in the dark.

‘For you, handsome.’

They’re off. Ten models. Slim and slight men radiant in perfectly crafted, fitted clothing that makes each look like a king in his own right. Not one is taller than 5’6’’ and not one weighs more the 130lbs. Next year, you’ll go bigger, but this statement is essential. One particular build is flawless to you, whether it ever changes or not.

Steve Rogers was just born to be loved by you in any body.

You get to watch it dawn on him, too.

Model 1: he’s a little miffed.

Model 2: his jaw goes slack.

Model 3: he’s transfixed and taking a shaky, deep breath.

By model number four, Steve doesn’t even see anymore, his head turning to where he knows you still stand, a soft expression in the soft glow from the stage.

Even in the dark and shadow, you feel pinned, flattered, and embarrassed. Your hands smooth down the navy overlay of your full skirt and tug at the thick structured cuffs to your metallic threaded bodice. It’s the same silver laced into Steve’s jacket.

Politely, Steve stands to cheer with the rest of the crowd, staring without demanding your attention, and you wait for all the models to start their final walk before stepping out into the cacophony of light and sound. The models flank you. Several grab your arm in appreciation.

It’s so bright. So loud.

The screens of fabric you had the crew raise are still visible at the back, lit through from the entrance where no one should be during the show, yet you see movement. Figure after figure files in, and then the noise shifts. Hands aren’t just banging together. Bullets are banging on the metal scaffold across the ceiling. Your audience’s screams morph from triumph to terror.

People scramble, knocking chairs and each other out of the way, pushing in opposite directions to avoid the same source of fear.

It’s chaos, and you can’t hesitate.

“Behind me,” you scream as loud as you can, and race to the edge of the runway.

Steve lunges for your feet as you pass, but you don’t let him stop you. Whatever he yells to do is lost in the din as you spin to flair your long skirt over the edge.

Rose stems snap and litter the floor.

Your back to Fisk’s men, you beat your fist to the star placard on your chest and activate the battery. It hums to life as electric current races through the silvery details on your chest and down your body, stiffening the thick, bulletproof fabric now on display high like a peacock’s plume.

And it works.

Steve stares up from the floor at a wall of red and navy around a silver star, and you have succeeded where Tony Stark could not. You created a shield not of metal but of thread.

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @deandreamernp @shelbygeek @rogersideup @eyebagsanonymous @yiiiikesmish @trudy-shams @darsynia

A/N: I made myself entirely too emotional with this, so I am praying that you all like it as much as I do. I seriously need to go scream into a corner now though.

[Next Part]

[Light Masterlist; Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fic #steve rogers x f!reader #steve rogers x female reader #fashion designer!reader #threadbare #captain america fanfiction #captain america x reader #captain america x you #romance #steve rogers angst #action/adventure #captain america angst

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sardonic-the-writer · 1 year

Text

VALENTINES DAY WITH THE CHUCKLE SAMMY BOYS <3

• You had all decided to spend a day together—just to meet up and enjoy some talk. And shenanigans of course, but that was to be expected

• The boys all wore some form of pink that day—somehow roping you into it along the way

• Ted and Charlie were wearing their own respective hoodies, both a pale red color with different valentines day designs

• Schlatt had instead opted for a pink baseball cap with the words Little Guy on it, the detail having been added on per request of Charlie and you last minute, both of you doubling over with laughter at just the mere thought of it

• The costume choice had you practically beaming—which was the only reason Schlatt had even pretended to entertain the idea in the first place. Although as the holiday further progressed, he found himself enjoying the trivial activity alongside both you, Ted, and Charlie

• Valentines day was spent without cameras or microphones. No videos or podcasts were recorded, not even a tiktok, and the only bits you all played along with were your own inside jokes

• Eventually, after a few casual drinks and scrolling through social media, Ted reminded everyone of the gift exchange he had brought up a couple of weeks ago as an excuse to show appreciation for each other

• To say that everyone had scrambled to bring out the poorly hidden gifts would be a crude understatement

• Playing along with his egotistical persona, Schlatt had gotten each of you a free youtooz from his brand—although you and you alone had gotten a small plush Jambo tacked onto your gift, which Charlie whined about for a bit

• The goopy man himself then revealed that he had gotten everyone coloring books he commissioned a fan to do. Just some four to three paged books with things like the Chuckle Sandwhich logo and each of you in a rather cartoonish art style linking arms, along with a set of cheap crayola crayons

• You, being you, had winded up getting everyone a group gift. It was a new light up sign for the irl set of Chuckle Sandwich, the only thing different about the original model being the smiling faces of each of your online personas sticking out from the side of the sandwhich to wave with flashing lights. Everyone had enjoyed it, although Schlatt teasingly complained he was way too short in the depiction

• Going last, Ted had pulled his own gifts out reluctantly, sollomly handing them over. After the tissue paper and heart themed wrapping paper had been cleared away, you all saw why. He had given away one of his coveted Rainforest Cafe cups to each of you, explaining he picked them out with care and reason

• "Just to be clear, I will be expecting each of you to take me on a seperate trip to the Cafe to pay back your debts. These gifts are not handed out lightly."

• "Sure Ted, my boy. Sure."

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from-izzy · 3 months

Note

things/aesthetic you associate with your moots please!

anon! this is such a fun ask! thank you so much for this one!! 😍

i'm doing the ones i've talked to enough (dm and/or on gcs) for me to (somewhat) answer this ask (sorry if i missed you or gave you something that doesn't suit you 😭) also limiting to fifteen (15) things or else we'll probably be here all day oop---

my obsession with alphabetical order strikes once again!!

honestly this became more of an appreciation post but 🥺

@astrae4

my child, cute round glasses, colourful heart shaped balloons and parties, 'i just go with the flow', energiser, miffy, light blue jeans, photobooths, wanderlust, 'paris! it's no longer just europe now', ice skating, falling gracefully despite being sick and swamped into 'sewer water' 😭, bakeries, caffeine in the form of daily matcha, doesn't like me as much as i thought she did

@cloverdaisies

black and white (with a splash of red), dynamic hair colour changes, black sleeveless satin dress, but also oversized monochromic shirts, a glass of wine one on hand, blurred pictures, mirror selfies with flash on, eyeliner wings, but also fruity and lovely, same age but so mature, 'guys it's due today and i haven't started', 'i knew you would come back with time' (🥺), juvenile, no emojis at all, sarcasm (not) detected most of the time (i'm gullible ok 😭)

@cupidjyu

my hyunjae bestie!!, bows and croquette, pink and white, picnic with flowers, toro inoue, spring breeze, texting and chatting during school times, 'i'm bored' (talking about class), thirteen-hour time zone difference (and my body clock makes it worse), 'sunwoo is cute!', but also 'hyunjae!', but also sleep >>> anything (including hyunjae 🙄), sexy brain (please gimme those braincells), going around in circles, 'why do you do this to yourself? sleep!'

@heemingyu

honey bee, distorted purple and white aesthetic, gilmore girls, late deep night talks, love and patience, three-leaf clover (shamrocks), the grinch filter, being a huge menace to society but still lovable so it's hard to really tell her off, in reality i love her more than she loves me, but i still give her silent treatment anyways, 'naur', economics and crying, missing the bus and then blaming it on me, black cat, izz instead of izzy 🥺

@justalildumpling

chaotic sibling energy, my no.1 bitch, casual night time walks, fearless, freedom, making videos during said walks, lovesick puppy, ohmyface by silichmasha on instagram, side eyes, selfies with a slightly tilted head, sometimes cutely gaped open mouth other times closed (either way it makes me wanna squish her cheeks most of the time), 'izzy i have tea! well...not really tea! actually no it's tea!', talking late into the night (well...the morning), sunlight and blue sky seeping into her blinds, 'come get unready with me!'

@littleroaes

pastel purple, pastel pink, pastel blue, basically fairy floss, innocence and beauty, supportive and real, very shy, long white dresses, flowers all around her dancing in the wind, but is also very funny, drawing reactions, sometimes talking in all caps, sometimes talking with lower caps, all the time very cute, sitting down at the beach and watching sunsets

@mosviqu

pink and white, scarfs and gloves, long-sleeved shirts paired with short skirts, long drives with dynamic playlists changes, and would ask her friends to go and make sure they have a great time, jamming out to a playlist at 3am (but she has a healthy sleep schedule so), that one friend who knows what to do, not afraid to express herself 99% of the time, the other 1% is just the world being mean, will always be a white cat, 'izzy i'm so proud of you', words of comfort, head pats!!, artistically talented, eric sohn's soulmate

@winterchimez

soulmates (but lives in the wrong country), ireland, loving mother vibes, but also tired mother vibes, sunrise vibes but specifically orange and yellow, hard worker, faith in god, quiet art museums but also bustling concert halls, turning bitterness in life into a lesson that can never be replaced and is always thankful for the opportunity even though the period of that life was hard, mental and physical resilience through crazy back to back schedules, videocalling on the bus/train on the way home, 'so/saur', my favourite purple jacket, music and piano are forever ally's vibe tbh, 'if i missed your call, i will always call you back'

@zzoguri

crying when seeing a friend, headphones all day every day, classy look, black top with light blue jeans, vintage camera film filter, journalism (it really does suit you), 'YEAH YEAH I GET YOU!', crying about uni (same tho 😭), gaming for hours, specifically valorant, my infj bestie, acoustic guitar vibes (ykwim?), 'you're so valid though', a distinct unique accent, jacob bae's partner

#💖 izzy answers your asks!#📣 izzy's tag games!#gill ⛸️🥇#clo 🎧🤍#yumi 🎀🧸#sana ☘️🐝#j 🦝🍚#dora 💌💜#bar 🫂💕#ally my soulmate ❄️🎶#moni 🫶🍊

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blazescompendium · 8 months

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Blaze's compendium entry #7: Never deny tobacco to the Saci Pererê

The Saci painted by Newton Cavalcanti to a stamp collection, 1974

Warning: Faith and religion are important real life topics, that tackles the culture and way of life of millions of real life people. It is a cultural expression, and must be respected by all means. Here, we use a video-game ( some times) and other media series only to ignite the flame of learning about the matter, using its art when well depicted, but we do this with all due respect to the cultures we talk here, grounded by real life sources, cultures and people. And i mean this with respect. Hope you all enjoy.

I can finally talk a bit about my home country myths after a brief trip around other countries mythical creatures. The Saci is an extremely popular creature in Brazilian Folklore, and if you are Brazilian i am absolute sure you have encountered its fabulous tales already.

The Saci is (regrettably) not represented in the Megaten game series, as most of characters from my Compendium series. But i want to pop this bubble going forward, and not be exclusively tied to this games, since Mythology is a much more expansive subject, and i like to use Megaten just as a welcoming gate to more casual audiences!

The Saci Pererê is a Brazilian folkloric creature, akin to the trickster ''gnome'' archetype, not considered an evil creature by any means, but very mischievous and a prankster. Normally depicted as a black skinned toddler smoking a pipe, red cap, and some times red clothing. It's most striking feature is his only leg, which he uses to jump around in a surprisingly agile manner. His mischief deeds are many, like he would tie horse's manes, startle them, move objects inside people's homes, etc... His most known power is his control of wind currents. He can summon small sized typhoons, in which the creature can ride on to flee or use to fight if he needs to.

The Saci is hyperactive and fast, always doing something. Some people can interpret this creature as malevolent since its mischief and pranks can cause serious problems, like stealing the breaks of a carriage. However, that's not exactly the truth. The Saci is, almost always portrayed as neutral creture, and it has been since it's inception into the public consciousness. As we can see, some times it can be treated as a little devil, but it's a beloved figure nonetheless.

The name Saci Perere cames from a theorized corruption of the Tupi Guarani words: Caa Cy Perereg, which means ''Jumping Evil Eyes''. That's stated on the book ''Saci Perere: An Inquiry Result''. I was not able to verify it independently because i do not speak Tupi, and i was also unable to find online translators. But, this wording is also verified by the book ''Geography of the Brazilian Myths'' by the legendary Brazilian folklorist Camara Cascudo, so it seems legit. There will be a lot of this book in this subject, because it is such a complete work and a vital piece of research for anyone getting into the topic. [2], [1]

Cascudo does a great scholar work, going as far as giving dis-ambiguity of the Saci from other myths, and even animals that could be related to the legend.

Context: The Tupi Guarani, or just Guarani are the biggest native population living in the territory of Brazil today. They live more from the central region to the south and south-east, relatively far away form the Amazon forest in the northern regions. In general they are polytheists, and today are around 57.000,00 people. [This is sourced by the IBGE, Brazilian Institute of Geography and Statistics]

But, even being a very popular creature in the local folklore, and even transcending the boundaries of its homeland some times, (as we will see ahead) the Saci has a relatively recent history. It's impossible to pinpoint exactly who and how this legend started. But we know it started on the southern and south-eastern most regions of the country, but there's no mention of it on the old fables from native people, which makes scholars think that the Saci is not that old as its relatives of the regional folklore.

A fact that corroborates this assertion is that, besides being a very popular folklore in Brazil, Saci is absent form any mentions to ancient sources, starting to appear more from the 18th century and above. [1]

The name Saci is not stranger to Folklore in the region though. Saci is also the name of a bird, Tapera Naevis, which has a related myth according to the Brazilian National Museum. The Saci bird is treated sometimes like a demon, that can confuse travelers with its singing. Another local legend has that this bird can suck the dead's souls. Al tough both of those claims are backed, i personally did not hear about it until researching for this topic. [1]

This particular bird its said to be seen as a bad omen to this day, in the Amazon region. This is pretty far away from where the folkloric Saci was born, but it seems that a common association with the bird is that it asks for tobacco to its pipe, just like the Saci does. This animal has the habit to sing during night times, so the legend says that it means it wants tobacco. If you actually replies to it, its said the bird will come after your promisse. [1]

This particular bird can also be connected to another folkloric tale, this time from the northern regions of Brazil, a witch called the Matinta-Pereira. This is a particular demonic witch, that can transform itself into the Saci bird, (Tapera Naevis) to get offerings from residents of villages. When her demands are not met, she causes bad things to happen. She also wears a red hat, and her name also bears the ''Perereg'' wording from before. Scholars believe that this is because this bird sometimes jumps in one leg, and has red feathers in their heads, which would also make senses with the Saci! I personally could not find any visual registry about it, but i am sure most of birds some times do this kind of stuff. [1]

The Matinta eventually became a generic name for haunting and supernatural ocurrences in the Northern regions, while the Saci became a thing in the southern regions. The Matinta became more associated with its cursed singings, as the book mentioned before says: ''It trespasses villages with its haunting screams. It will not attack or go after people, thought.'' [1] It kinda resembled me personally of the European Banshee, which also caused misfortune and disasters, and possesses a terrifying cry.

The Saci bird and the Matinta-Pereira witch. (Art i got from Wikipedia, can't find the artist ): )

But this is just one, of the whole ''Birds named as Saci''. There is also the Romococcyx Phasianellus known colloquially as ''Peixe Frito'' (Fried Fish) and inhabits most of Brazilian territory. It has myths around its singing. [1]

If you got interested in this whole rabbit hole of folkloric birds, there's a lot to go on around the world myths! Just some time ago we made an article about the Muh Shubbuu from the Buryati people!

Notably the Saci shares its notoriety and Brazilian legends Pantheon with other similar trickster spirits, like the Caipora and the Curupira. Both are protectors of the nature, both of those are tricksters, and both also asks for tobacco in some legends! Although, the Saci is not a protector of nature, his only goals are to cause mischief. In more recent times, Saci is treated like he's a friend of those two, but this has more of a childish connotation, when teaching about national folklore to children.

The Saci also has spawned some relatives in neighbor countries. In Uruguay there is the Yasi Yatere, which is kind of a gnome with a magical wand. It can shape shift, and it usually kidnaps woman. When its wand is taken, much like the brazilian Saci with its hat, its powers ceases and it becomes weak. It's described in great detail in the book ''Supersticiones y Lendas'', from Juan B Ambrosetti. [1], [3]

In Argentina the Yasi is described mixing the features of its cousins from the region. It is also a dwarf type of gnome, but it's red and also carry a magical wand that protects its powers. They also would kidnap children to play with them, but they would go insane after that. It is also described by Ambrosetti. But also mentioned in a letter of a European missionary called José Guevara. [1]. [3]

Many of these features that the Saci and the Yasi shares comes mostly from European legends, the old archetype of a monster that can be tamed by taking it's belongings. Like the Vouivre from France with its carbuncle. The Saci wears its distinct red hat, that its often taken as the source of its power, so capturing a Saci involves capturing his hat. This could have a Portuguese influence. [1] Theres myths in Portugal, like the so called ''Pesadelo'' which is a creature that when having its hat stolen, could be controlled by the assailant.[1]

-Interesting fact that i have found many sources for this Portuguese myth, and other books mentioning it, but when talking with a friend from Portugal, he could not recognize this specific legend. If you are also Portuguese, and know about it, please let me know!

The 1924 book from F.C Maytzhusen: ''Pigimeos en Leyendas de los Guarnies'' Roughly translated as ''Gnomes in Guarany legends'' tells that the own Gurani people from the region had already its own myths about small magical people living in the woods, which some scholars attribute to an ancient memory of a small stature tribe that potentially lived around. This concept probably mixed very well with the before cited European beliefs, brought by the invaders. [4]

As you can see, it's like the already established lore about native gnome myths got fused with the European equivalents, such as like: The haunting trickster spirits of the woods, small size, agile and mischievous. In the book Geography of Brazilian Myths, the author makes a lot of comparisons to Djins, Imps, Faes, Fairies, and in fact i believe the Saci can absolutely fit in any of those ''races'' of mythic creatures, specially a Djinn or Yokai.

But in that book, the author fixates on the European Kobold being it's main ''ancestry''. The Kobold is like a Goblin, gnome and other whimsical forest creatures like the Brownies, Knockers and Silkies. Kobolds are a bit more versatile than its relatives, being told to live in houses, mining sites, and even boats. The boat ones used to smoke pipe! Kobold are individuals and can be mischievous, haunting and tormenting Humans that don't do their will. Just like their possible Brazilian relatives, the Kobold encounters are not usually fatal.

Silky, Knocker, Kobold and Brownies are just some whimsical European fae that can be the common ancestor to the Saci

While some of those European Fae often smoked, the actual academic theory on why the Saci smoked pipe, it's from the native smoking rituals and culture of the Brazilian Native people, such as the Guarany. In the book before mentioned, the native people from Brazil teached the European invaders how to smoke. This was quick considered to be a sin for some European priests and got demonized by some as well, while it spread quickly between their peers. [1]

The Saci being one legged is not something original in mythology. Going back further in time to the legendary book ''Natural History'' from Pliny the Elder, (i really want to come back to this book one day) where he describes the Monopods, humanoid creatures that had just one leg and a giant feet, which they used to cast refreshing shadows on themselves when it was too hot outside. This creatures were before described in the even older book, Indika from Ctesias, and supposedly spotted in India. Just like the Saci, this creature was extremely agile even if just having one leg. They continued to be believed and continuously described well over the middle ages. [1], [5]

Monopod. A rather Silly guy from Nuremberg Chronicle, 1493

There's no consensus on its origins, but some people say that the first people from the Europe seeing Yoga practitioners in India stand in one leg, or have some kind of parasol confused. We will likely never know, but that goes to show one legged humanoid creatures were already talked about much earlier. [1]

In Chile you also had the Ketronamun from the native people there, a small gnome with just one leg, that appear in myths from almost every part of the Pacific South American coast. [1]

But there were also one legged deities around, take Tezcatlipoca from the Mexica (Aztecs) for instance. Being the god of moon and the stars, and one of the most important beings in the Mexica pantheon, he lost its leg fighting Cipactli. It was also related to the nocturnal wind, another connection with the Saci. But there is no scholar belief that the two were actually connected, they just shared a lot of similarities. [1]

T ezcatlipoca misses his leg, or foot in many depictions!

But How the Saci was actually Born?

As we discussed the Saci Pererê was not cataloged by the first European Invaders of the 16th century. In truth, there are a lot of myths and tales that were properly archived by them, but the Saci is nowhere to be seen. So, scholars deduct the Saci was not that old, being actually born and popularized around the 17th century. [1] But the Saci would just gain character and personality around the 19th century.

The legend much probably, spread by word of mouth from south to north, while it would slowly absorbing local and foreign elements during its trip. From the regional mythical creatures like the Curupira, he inherited the ability to confuse and mislead people. From Caipora he inherited the haunting whistles and its relationship with horses. Its only leg could be from the Bird myths, and also inherited from European folklore as well. Its own red hat also coming from there. [1]

The red hat sometimes its a sign of supernatural entities in Europe. The name ''The One With The Red Hat'' was an euphemism for Satan himself and other devils in Portugal. The Saci some times is treated like a devil, in the Book ''Saci: An Inquiry Result'' at the page 83, there's a tale about the Saci appearing with a sulfur scent, just like demons would normally do. [2]

The Revival and the Controversy of Monteiro Lobato

When we talk about the Saci in Brazil, the elephant in the room is always Monteiro Lobato, an author from the 20th century. Without a doubt, his work was one of the most prolific and known authors if its time, and also dedicated a lot of his work to disseminate national Folklore. There was just one big problem: He was a terrible person. Lobato was a racist, aligned with the United Statian KKK, (yes) and generally treated people, specially black people, very poorly. So, if that was a text oriented only for Brazilians, i'd completely ignore his name, and would focus on the texts. But, for the sake of education of foreign readers, i had to mention him.

In 1917, this (awful) individual published an inquiry in one of the biggest newspapers of the country, searching for personal and regional tales about the Saci, which he planned to catalog and archive. The idea was to protect the national Folklore, since he would argument that we should focus on our own mythology, rather than importing everything from other countries. While the Saci had the ancestry of European Myth, it was a 100% modern Brazilian born legend. This kind of thought is pretty impressive from a racist dipshit, but ok.

Although Lobato did had the idea of collecting tales, they were all brought from other people, regular people, which i prefer to credit. With this rather than him. They published the book ''Saci: An Inquiry Result''. This book would be very important for the Saci lore, because it ended up skyrocketing its dim popularity, making sure he would survive for more centuries.

A funny trivia about this book, is that at the time of its publishing, the newspaper asked its sponsors to make ads using the Saci. Which had some pretty weird art that i rather not show. Thank you Monteiro Lobato for creating our capitalist version of the Dictionaire Infernal, very cool.

[EDIT] Lobato is also the creator of the work ''Sítio do Pica Pau Amarelo'' or roughly translated as Spot of the Yellow Woodpecker. I ended up not talking about it, but this is by far his most famous work that featured the Saci Pererê as one of the main character, as many other folkloric Brazilian entities. This work is often credited as many children's first contact with the Saci, and other folk Brazilian tales. This particular series is about a farm owned by Benta, an elderly woman that lived alone in the countryside. Her friend Nastácia lives along, and is famous for her dishes. She often gets visits of her nephew Lucia, which has the nickname Narizinho. She brings along her doll Emillia, which ends up gaining life and becomes a sort of tomboyish sidekick. They both live adventures along her friends and folkloric creatures.

Much regarded as the ''Brazilian Wizard of Oz'' this work was so popular it got adapted into several comic books and live action shows. The most popular of which aired during the 2000s from 2001 to 2007, and i as a kid often watched it. My favorite character had to be Emilia. (She will be present in the compendium, or a lesser post soon enough)

Al tough, due to Lobato awful nature as a person, the series is often pointed out as racist and problematic, being also written in the early 20th century it was filled with problems, which made a lot of people that grew up with this work depressed by those details. Luckily this is one of the rare occasions where there is an active effort from scholars and fans alike, to separate Sitio's influence on Brazilian culture and Folklore, from the awful person that was Lobato. The book is now on Public Domain, and each new iteration of the story deletes more and more problematic points, and as more decades went by, it gets more safe to consume and mixed with the Brazilian folklore, leaving the author in a sweet side note.

That said, not everybody is ok with this approach as well, and prefer to just abandon the literary work entirely. Which i honestly can't blame them for...

One of the latest iterations of Sitio do Pica Pau Amarelo is a cartoon, produced during the 2010s. Here are Emilia and Lucia.

But, as the 20th century went by and more people went in contact with the Saci tales, now widespread, the once regional myth started to gain the world, and became a symbol of the country culture. For instance, in the 70s and 80s the Saci would be featured in the Japanese anime: Akuma Kun, from the legendary author Shigeru Mizuki, which i already covered many times here. Mizuki is an old acquaintance of us theologians, because he was not only a mangaka, but also a devoted scholar of over the world mythologies. Its studies some times ended up in Brazil, and that's how he got the Saci.

You may know this author from the famous Ge Ge Ge no Kitaro series. Mizuki made some mistakes, but he was one of the most important folklorists of its time, helping to protect and disseminate the folklore of his country. According the author Michael Dylan Foster, in the book ''The book of Yokai'' Mizuki was influenced by folklorists as such Yanagita Kunio (we already mentioned him here as well, for the Obayrion post!) And thanks to Mizuki, most post war Japanese people were thinking of his works, when thinking about Yokai.

But back to the Saci, he was a recurring character in the Akuma Kun manga. The series was about a boy that could control mythical creatures from around the world. Since Akuma Kun got a lot of sequels and reboots, we are talking about Saishinban Akuma Kun, from 1988. There, the Saci makes an appearance! The looks is very faithful, but the hat isn't red, and in the animation the character would have two legs, rather than the only leg always associated with it. Still, he controlled the winds and was very mischievous just like in its home country!

The Saci in Akuma Kun Manga vs Anime

Mizuki's iteration of the Saci also just loses its powers when people take out his pipe, which differs from our regular version, where the hat does that. Besides this fact, Mizuki takes the artistic freedom to make the creature liking Football, which i particularly find funny but a bit stereotypical, and some people did not liked it. Overall, i thought it as a great representation!

Akuma Kun will get a new Anime in 2023. Lets hope that our Brazilian whimsicall friend makes an appearance.

There is much talk on how Mizuki found about the Saci Pererê, and the contact of Japanese with Brazilian folklore. I already explored that on my text on the Pokémon Whimsicott as well. However, the Brazilian Folklore in my opinion resonates very well with Japanese Folklore, so much that a lot of other Japanese artists that came in contact with it ended up using it as inspiration as well. A very known example is from the animator Ype Nakashima, that much probably had contact with Mizuki. The Saci was a character in one of Ype's most beloved works, the animation Piconze.

Although the exagerated details in the Saci, that can be seen as problematic nowadays, this depiction is a product of its time, and i do not agree with it. It's here for the purpose of education.

While the Saci is not from Japan, we can see that it would get along very well with other Yokai, which ends up making it kind of popular with Japanese audiences. Other Brazilian Mythical creatures were also explored by foreigners like the Cuca, Caipora, (which appeared in the Demi Kids series of games, by the way!) The Curupira, and many others!

The Saci vs the Halloween a National Symbol

The Saci Pererê got the status of a national symbol. And as such, it was often used as a counter point to foreign interference in Brazilian culture. Since its rebirth in the 20th century, in an attempt to retrieve its legacy, the creature is often held as a protector of Brazilian culture.

As such, in 2003 it was proposed by Brazilian politics that the Saci should have a national holiday, and it should be commemorated in October 31st, in opposition to the growing Halloween culture around Brazil. The argument was that this was a foreign holiday, not from our country, and we should celebrate the Saci as a symbol of patriotism.

But the problem is that Halloween was never a tradition nor a holiday in Brazil, and both holidays never caught too much attention. Still, the Saci vs Jack O'Lantern fight is somewhat took lightly as a funny way to protect our national Folklore.

Notoriously, the beef between the Saci and Jack O'Lantern was commemorated in a song, from the 2013 parody metal album ''Metal Folklore'', sang by the Brazilian metal singer Bruno Sutter, acting as his parody Persona the Detonator. The album was pretty well received and brought attention to the concept again, with the song called ''Saci.'' which is a critic to United States imperialism and its forced influence on Brazilian culture. Bruno brought along the famous Punk Rock singer João Gordo to this track, which is a celebrated artist in the country, who even ended up in some Nirvana gigs, back in the 1990s.

I personally got to know Bruno during a concert, and even watched him perform live. The dude is amazing, and you should give it a listen!

You can listen to this particular song on Spotify!

''October 31st is the Saci day!

Do not fool yourself my friend

Halloween is american, which is far away from Brazil

Trick or treat is your fucking mother!

Saci is the red cape warrior!

Saci is a mischievous boy!

The Pumpkin is already shitting itself

Don't fuck with Brazilian Folklore!'' -Some Lyrics from the song

This amazing artwork was provided by my great friend @atmaflare! Here we see the Saci having an argument with Jack O'Lantern, probably saying to him to stay away from his turf.

The comedic and critic nature of the song made it pretty popular at the time, and this canonically beef between the two creatures became somewhat common here. Still, both are dates are celebrated without any major incident!

Inside Brazil, Saci is also a major character of the amazing Netflix series ''Invisible City'' which is all about Brazilian Folklore, and supernatural occurrences in a life of a police officer in modern times. Give it a watch!

On Personal Notes

So, in this case the Saci comes from my home country and naturally i grew up with his tales of mischief and supernatural occurrences. In this sense, i have much more of a personal connection to my topic of study for this text, and so i can have my own verdict to it. It's natural for kids here to have contact with this mythical character. Or at least, it was when i was a kid in the early 2000s.

When i was little, the Saci was a particular mythological being that i feared. It was not that he was dangerous in a real sense of the way, but i rather not find it alone in the woods, or be bullied by him.

Still there was a grain of fascination by his figure, because there was the possibility to actually win against the Saci, taking his hat and making him do as our biding. And most of time, his mischief ended up as funny for kids.

Nowadays the Saci is still regarded as one of the most beloved folkloric tales of Brazil, inspiring newer generations of folklorists to protect and share the culture that they belong and grew up with, such as myself. For this reason, the Saci will always stay in the Brazilian collective consciousnesses, not only because of its supernatural powers, its haunting abilities surviving the current age, but also as a symbol of our own home in this planet.

As Camara Cascudo said in his book:

''Today the Devil that is inseparable from tales, from countryman conversations. Vague, haunting, unexpected, malicious, humorous (...) Now, diluted in the memory of those who does not have the spiritual age to fear it anymore.''

Sources and Bibliography:

1- Camara Cascudo: Geografia dos Mitos Brasileiros (Geography of Brazilian Myths)

2- Saci: Resultado de um Inquérito, Monteiro Lobato (Saci: An Inquiry Result)

3- Supersticiones y Lendas'', Juan B Ambrosetti.

4- Pigimeos en Leyendas de los Guarnies, F.C Maytzhusen

5- Natural History, Pliny the Elder

6- The Book of Yokai, Michael Dylan Foster (small Citation)

#blazescompendiumentry #brazilian folklore #folclore brasileiro #saci perere #jack o lantern #pyro jack #megaten #folclore #long post #m #mythology #brazilian mythology #shin megami tensei 2 #blazescompendium

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surpriseroundtellyourfriends · 3 months

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RED STITCH LOVERS... REPORT!!!

(Thoughts on the finale below! NOT spoiler-free!)

What a fantastic finish cap to a fantastic show. You may have seen me complain about the endings to the other arcs before, but you won't see me complaining about this one. We wrapped up just about every loose thread (no pun intended), and those left dangling seem to be saved for the afterparty.

Notable highlights:

THE ISABELLE AND IAN SIBLING MOMENT... I was so happy multiple people drew it; I want to animatic it. I cheered so fuckin loud, tbh. Ian IS the shitty older brother, and Isabelle is his darling twin sister who will keep him in line, and together they will murder their Uncle Hunterpalm <3

(I am specifically referring to him comforting and teasing her while she cried into his shoulder but ALSO, what is more sibling-coded than planning how to commit a murder and hide the body together?)

Unexpectedly delightful dynamic between Cadmus and Hutch. This whole time, Cadmus has been the only party member who really HATES Hutch with a vitriol, and the animosity with Cadmus trying to steal a buff from him (albeit while saving his life) was just so good. And then Hutch using his overclass to full-restore Cadmus (WHO FINALLY GOT TO NOT DIE DURING A FIGHT) and offering to help get revenge on Vice afterwards? Really good stuff.

(And like, we NEEDED that confirmation that Vice was gonna get his just desserts. I would've thrown hands if we didn't.)

Lots of good polycule bits. "If you were hitting on me, you're gonna have to get in line. There's forms and stuff." I fucking love these science freaks.

THE GROUP HUG... even though Florence was not technically a part of it, I'm pretending she was.

On the note of Roob being gone for so long—much as I also wanted them to get back, tbh? I think it provided an EXCELLENT excuse for (non-combat-planning) roleplay. Some of the best moments likely wouldn't have happened if Roob hadn't dipped.

God bless Craigor for INSISTING they all go out and get ice cream. In my head, Craigor's vital role in the found family is that he keeps everyone sane by forcing them to indulge in small pleasures like dairy queen.

Cadmus removing Florence's stitch for her was such a good casual moment of intimacy. It's like letting someone do your makeup for you, only in a more brutal and fucked-up scenario because it's RSR. Nobody fucking look at me I love their friendship and will talk about it for ages

I actually like how Isabelle's "dry anger" finally broke into crying. It feels more in-character that she's been trying to act tough and uncaring this whole time, but really, she's just overwhelmed. I also like how it's more obvious now when she's being possessed by Venutia. HUGE "the souls of the innocent" "a bagel!" energy.

On that note: there's a moment I've always loved where Isabelle uses a Beam of Unreality and deletes several rock fans, and Connor says to Cadmus "stick with me here: there might be something more dangerous to your health here than the goddamn rock and rollers," to which Cadmus (who didn't see the beam) replies "who, Isabelle? she wouldn't hurt a fly!"

What I'm saying is, I want that moment to happen again but now with both Isabelle and Cadmus having the knowledge that she IS a monster. But they both choose to keep quiet about it. That's Cadmus's work daughter, he is not losing ANOTHER person in his life—

ISABELLE IN GENERAL WAS GREAT THIS SESSION. HER BIG SPEECH? A+. GOOD JOB, SIX, YOU GAVE A CONCLUSIVE THEME AND CAP TO THIS SHOW THAT HAD THE BALLS TO BRING UP THE QUESTIONS JELLO WOULDN'T.

Carol/Carmen in general was a really great antagonist. Sympathetic in nature, simple motivations that make sense to her character, and still a massive bitch who needs to be stopped. I don't have any brainrot over her but I felt the need to acknowledge her since, y'know, the whole series kinda hinged on her.

Congrats to that one person for getting their rat canonized

in conclusion,

RSR good

#red stitch report

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chronic-ghost · 10 months

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Chapter 3 of Recovery Road

chapter rating: E (18+)

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

word count: 7266

chapter summary: dieter and natalie finally figure out why the hell they can’t seem to get along.

chapter warnings/tags: masturbation, discussions of addiction/rehab/drug use, angst, discussions of shitty parents, cursing, discussions of infidelity/cheating

a/n: i've finally put together a taglist request form if anyone wants notifications about this fic or any of my other series! This fic will update every Thursday now!

▲ Series Masterlist | Previous | Next

▲ AO3 Link

Somewhere, out there, in some sliver of the universe, someone might possibly– curiously– be looking out for him.

The five days, counting down to the possible end of his life, extended into a week. Then two.

While most of the shooting had taken place at the soundstage in south LA, the new director – Scott Manley – had found a new location out in a real desert in New Mexico where some of the beginning scenes could be reshot without adding too much to the budget. Maybe he agreed too quickly to getting out of the city, but Dieter put up no argument against the reshoots. Two weeks to do his scenes again with Mark, play the guitar, maybe finally get that drink with Mark he’d been meaning to. He even paid for the AirBnB just outside of Albuquerque for himself. Hell, he rented a car without telling anyone. He got up there a day early to drive the 511 all by himself.

Scott even seemed like a reasonable guy. Not possessing an ounce of Heidi’s creative talent, but all he had to do was stick to her notes and not fuck it up, and he seemed to be capable of that.

For a few brief moments, it seemed like things were back on track.

And then the universe forcibly reminded him exactly what it thought of him.

“Close quarters character work?” Dieter parrots back to Scott, who nods seriously. “What the fuck – sorry – what is that?”

Scott always wears a black ball cap and thick 70s glasses. He looks like he grew up on too much George Lucas and too little social interaction. He knows how to run a set, and aim a camera, but human emotion seems like a foreign concept to him. Dieter vaguely wonders if his good behavior got him here; if it was the old Dieter, then maybe they would have sent someone who could carry a conversation instead.

“Close quarters character work is designed to enhance chemistry and create a sense of comradery between otherwise antagonistic talent,” Scott says with all the inflection of wet cardboard.

Dieter sputters. “‘Otherwise antagonistic talent’? What are you talking about?”

“You two fight a lot. I need that fixed.” Scott’s expression does not change.

Fuck, maybe they did send the right guy for the job.

Dieter swallows.

He couldn’t exactly disagree with the man. Since Heidi left, the barrier between whatever was going on between you and Dieter had completely disintegrated.

But better way to phrase it might be: it burned up in a colossal fire of rage, yelling, and walk offs. What had been subtle and hidden arguments behind stages had ignited into almost knock-down, drag-out fights.

Everything you did irritated the shit out of him. The way you walked. Your voice. Even the way you breathed. Every single goddamn thing you did was wrong and he was going to let you know it.

You still showed up casually high to most scenes, and because he was such a fucking upstanding guy, he never brought it up in public once.

You fought and you yelled and you screamed at each other. Which worked for a while because that’s what the characters were going through. But then the arguments continued past when Scott called cut. They continued over the crafts table, at lunch, into the makeup rooms. You’d stand in the parking lot until midnight to finish an argument that started at three that afternoon. You made him want to claw his own eyes out.

“We’re getting complaints, Dieter.” Scott continues, just as deadpanned as ever.

He cringes. “From the crew?”

“From the janitorial staff.”

“Got it.” He fiddles with his ring. Not the gold one. Another black one. “Okay, what does this close quarters character work look like?”

“Two hour sessions every day until we get things running back up here. Shouldn’t be more than a week or two.”

He runs his tongue against the back of his teeth, trying to ignore the high-pitched screaming in his ears.

“Okay. Where?”

“Anywhere you want. Just have to clock in and out with one of the PA’s here.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Does she know about this?”

“She does.”

“How did she take it?”

“About as well as you are.”

Fuck, he wants to be more obviously casual.

Dieter twists his jaw and scratches the back of his neck. “And if it doesn’t work out. If we keep fighting?”

For a man with little social skills, the look on his face clearly reads, you know exactly what will happen.

“Okay, then, when do we start?”

The air is warm and he tastes the desert sand in his mouth. He’s got the top down of the blue coup he rented and his hair is longer than it has been in years. Sweat sparks along the back of his neck, but the sensation isn’t unpleasant. There’s something about the sun, the sand that makes him feel alive, that whatever out there is also in him and it’s more ageless than the world itself. He wants to rub himself in sunlight like a cat.

If he imagines with his whole heart, he can picture himself alone in the car.

But he’s not. His rings on his fingers knock against the hard black steering wheel.

Neither one of you has so much as looked at the other since leaving the parking lot.

He thought you’d scoff when he drove up to the temporary studio the project was using in New Mexico with the top down – my haaair, he imagined you screeching – but you just threw your purse over the lip of the car door and dropped down onto the waiting leather seat.

At least, this time, you had the decency to wear pants. Jean leggings so tight he was sure he could see your thong, but whatever. He floored it so hard, the tires squealed, smoke fluttering into the face of the bewildered PA left behind.

He drives north, towards the mesas and the open plains. The road curves up, and around, and around, and around, Albuquerque a small bundle of toy buildings over the edge of the cliff. It’s about two in the afternoon and he’s pretty sure this is already the longest day of his life. He fears he might stall out the clutch at the speed he’s going but he’d sooner drive you both off this cliff than slow down. As if that would somehow shorten the time he’d have to spend near you.

The car swerves into the white stone driveway of his AirBnb and he cuts the engine. He probably should have spent the drive thinking of ways to somehow talk to you like a normal person, but his brain was just a static hum. Not quite rage but the two seconds before it where everything goes white and blank and you exist only in a void.

Calling Chloe wouldn’t help with this one. In fact, he scowled at the mere idea you’d ever hear her beautiful voice. He’d smash his phone before he let that happen.

Dieter slams the car door shut as he shoves the keys into his pocket. He taps the code in the keypad and strides in, not looking back and not holding the door for you. If you fell off the top of the mesa, that was hardly his problem.

This is the part where he’d pop open a stopper of outrageously expensive whiskey and drink until his body released the tension, until the white noise in his head quieted. But he’s not that Dieter, so he goes right for the fridge. He snatches out the carafe of orange juice, pulpy as it was legally allowed to be, and takes three gulps. Sometimes, ice water didn’t burn enough. He needed something acidic.

He breathes. The knot in his chest eases.

Fuck, if you had fallen off the edge, they would assume he pushed you.

He calls out for you, licking the last bit of orange juice off his mustache. He calls again, when you waltz in.

You’re no longer scowling, which is an improvement from when he picked you up, but you look about as comfortable as a tomcat that’s been out on the streets suddenly forced to live indoors. You seem eager not to touch anything, your eyes roaming every square inch of the room.

“You want anything?” He asks gruffly. “Soda? Water? Sparkling water?”

“I’d kill for a shot of vodka and a lime.”

He glares at you. “Fresh out.”

You nod, as if this confirmed something for you. You wander to the edge of the long white marble countertop, eying a brass bar cart with every single bottle empty. You stand up right and look at him.

“I Googled you, you know.”

“Congratulations on being able to work technology a five year old can do in their sleep.”

“I know you went to rehab after you got arrested for possession of illicit substances, in amounts that would make Escobar blush,” you continue as though he hadn’t spoken. You slid into one of the black and gold bar chairs at the island countertop, your hands folding over one another as you lean forward into your shoulders. “I know you’ve been doing movies and television every year since you were twenty-five, whether or not you were as high as a kite. I know Heidi thinks very highly of you, even if she won’t give me a real reason. He’s talented, she says, but I don’t believe her.”

He lowers the carafe. “You don’t think I’m talented?”

“I think you owe your life to Heidi Morgan,” you snap, but then recoil your fangs. “But you’ve been through hell to get your life back.

“And . . .” you add begrudgingly, “I think you’re an insanely talented actor. Sometimes I’m actually intimidated by you.”

He swallows. “Thanks. Uh, you too. You’re good – great – I mean. You’re a natural.”

You smile smugly because you cannot take a compliment. “I know.”

He rolls his eyes.

A moment passes and he knows Heidi would want him to figure this out.

“Look, you saw the arrest photo, right?” He works his jaw and you nod. “So, no, I don’t drink. There’s not a drop of alcohol anywhere in this house. No uppers, no downers, either. Nothing.”

You nod again, glancing up to the top shelves of the cabinets as if there might be something stashed up there.

“And I know how quickly things can get out of hand,” he says slowly. You tense, perched on the chair, your gaze still up turned. The golden desert light from the window behind him makes your throat glow. “I know some good centers nearby. They can get you help. They’ll be discrete–,”

“And I know I don’t have a problem,” you say, your voice raising. “I don’t need your help or anyone else’s for that matter.”

Maybe this can’t be solved. Maybe this would end in a murder-suicide. He does think about the inside of your skull, sometimes, before he drifts off to sleep.

They were having problems with scenes of vulnerability. The rage, the hatred – that all came naturally. But when he exposed himself to her, or she let the truth filter in, everything came off stilted and wrong.

And maybe all that came down to the fact they’d never once had a normal conversation. They weren’t coworkers, or friends. They weren’t even castmates. They were something else.

“Is that why it started?” He asks, gently because he knows you’re not afraid to pull his hair if he pisses you off enough. He runs his thumb against the cold bottom of the carafe, not looking quite at you. “Because you want to do everything on your own and the drugs keep you awake. Keep you going. Keep you from thinking.”

Your eyes narrow at him, black holes inside your skull. He definitely found a nerve. “Oh, fuck off, Dieter.”

You stand up and push away from the counter, stalking off to some other corner of the house. “That’s none of your goddamn business.”

“It doesn’t have to be, but you’ve gotta give me something.”

He follows you to the living room. You’re standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the canyon below, your arms bunched up around yourself. He can’t see your face, but he knows your mouth is contorted, knotted. You want to crawl into yourself, he knows it.

“Either we figure out how to work together, or we’re both out of a fucking job. More than that, my career is over and so is yours, even before it really began. We don’t even have to like each other, but we do have to work together.”

Your fingers wrapped around your bicep clench. “Jesus Christ– and I have to do this sober?”

Dieter snorts, unable to help himself. “We both know you aren’t sober right now so let’s not start with that.”

You whirl around, fists clenched tightly. “I don’t even need the drugs, you know? I can quit whenever I want.”

“Oh yeah? Prove it. Take whatever you’ve got in your purse and flush it down the toilet right now.”

There’s a flicker of hesitation across your face before your scowl tightens. “Fine.”

He watches you stride back to the kitchen, low-heeled black boots clicking on the tile. Glaring at him, you snatch up your purse and he waves down the hall.

“Go on. Bathroom’s right down there.”

He leans against the doorframe as you kick the toilet seat – bamboo lid – up with the toe of your boot. Your hand dives into your purse and pulls out two orange prescription pill bottles. You rattle them once for good measure, smile deranged, and then with a flick of your thumbs, you pop the caps off and pour the contents down the porcelain bowl.

He does not break eye contact with you as the blue and red pills swirl down and away in a rush of water.

“Satisfied?” You bark. You almost bare your teeth at him.

He is waiting for you to drop to your knees and stick your hand down the hole to grasp at the pills before they’re all gone.

“No,” Dieter snaps, crowding you against the sink. “Empty your pockets.”

“Do it for me,” you reply, your smile so flat and broad you look a little bit unhinged.

“Fine.” Without further prompting, he shoves his fingers into your front pockets. The lip of your pants sway and rub against your skin as he digs in. That delirious smile still plastered on your face is going to haunt his dreams. He thinks he feels the line of your panties.

Finding nothing, he then cups the meat of your ass, his fingers diving into the back pockets of your jeans. He takes his time molding and squeezing your ass, the real search of his conquest only vaguely in the back of his mind.

Pills. Find pills.

He pulls his hands off you, your gazes connected as if tied by string.

It could be sunburn, but he swears your cheeks are pink.

“Want to check my bra next? Since you’ve already copped a feel and a half.”

“Give me your purse.” You shove it into his chest, but do not step away. You’re both pressed up inside the small bathroom and he doesn’t even think about breathing in deeply.

He digs around for a bit, before rattling it. There’s a clear metallic clacking – his chest sparks at the way you go slightly pale – and he pokes around until he finds the hidden pocket. Triumphant, he plucks the silver compact out your purse and drops the rest onto the ground. He opens the compact over the toilet, and a dozen pills tumble out into the stagnant water.

You watch the pills break down and disappear as the water rushes down the hole. There is concern, uneasiness, in the rims of your eyes. Your mouth is soft, parted. All at once, he feels sort of guilty – but it had to be done.

“Now will you get off my dick?” You glare at him, the softness gone and that distinct displeasure at his mere existence burning in your eyes. “Now that you’ve gotten rid of any chance that this will be tolerable?”

For the first time around you, he smiles. “Buck up, buttercup. How about I make you dinner, so you stop trying to think of ways to kill me in my sleep.”

He leaves the bathroom, the air less stifling. He hears you snort behind him.

“That wouldn’t happen even with a birthday cake shoved up my ass.”

*~*~*

It’s not dinner under the stars, with fresh pasta and mozzarella and basil, with a smooth glass of red wine to top it off.

It’s not that. But it is something.

Turns out when you’re not at each other’s throats, you’ve got a lot in common.

“No fucking way, I love Coney Island too.”

You smile and lean back in your seat, the heels of your bare feet balancing on the edge of the white patio chair. You both are sitting outside on the second floor patio, the great black maw of the canyon in the distance below. The sun is fading fast and the air is growing colder by the minute. But he doesn’t mind and, it seems, neither do you.

The ivy around the back patio pergola shudders in the faint breeze. Water from the pool below laps at the edges of the white concrete, the sound soothing like a rhyme. The plates of arroz con pollo are empty. He was quite sure if you were alone, you would have licked the plate clean.

You prefer sparkling water while his is still and ice cold, but that’s at least something else in common.

“Yes, Coney Island is the best! We went there one summer as a kid and I’ve dreamed about it every day since.”

He smiles and drinks from his glass, legs spread wide as he rests comfortably in his chair. “So did you see the rest of New York when you were there?”

“God, I love New York,” you groan, grinning widely. “I’d live there if I could, but everything filmed is out in LA. Would love to do theater again, someday.”

“Fuck, I know what you mean. Six months of production, live shows, all of it in one place.” Dieter shakes his head. “I used to do a bunch of off-Broadway stuff up there. I really miss it sometimes.”

You jerk an eyebrow at him, that grin turning warm. “Yeah, I know. I told you I Googled you.”

He twists his mouth, fighting between a smile and a scowl. “I Googled you too.” It feels like a confession when he doesn’t want it to be.

“Oh my God, really?” You clutch the glass to your chest, toes flexing on the edge of the seat. “What does it say? I am wildly curious.”

“What do you mean? You’ve never Googled yourself?”

You shake your head as you take a sip. “Nope. I lived it. And the internet always takes things and twists them. Make the good things bad and the bad things worse. Plus, I don’t need to know how many photos of my ass there are online.”

“If you wore pants, that might not happen as much.”

“Ha, ha, Bravo. Don’t slut-shame me when I’m this close to having a good time.”

Something passes between your gazes and it makes his heart flutter. He drops the connection like it burned him.

“But seriously, what did you find out about me?”

He shrugs and leans forward onto his elbows on his knees. “If it helps, I only looked at Wikipedia.”

“Yeah, and? C’mon, man, I’m in suspense here.”

“You worked in smaller parts in the early 2000s. Mostly movies where they needed a cute kid to save or have a line about the big scary monster. Then, when you were in your early teen years you got that part on Red Money with Sean Connery, as his daughter. That was big. Lots of articles about that. You got a few, higher profile roles – Helen Miriam’s niece, Gerard Butler’s step-daughter – you’d hit the big leagues. There were talks of you getting an Oscar but then . . . it all just stopped. The entry ends with, ‘she lives in California today’.”

He stops, waiting to see if you’ll yell at him or throw your glass of water in his face. Instead, you nod and drink slowly.

“Does it say my father is Henry Milklen?”

His eyes go wide. “No. No, it doesn’t. Your father is the Henry Milklen, the CEO of MaxWide Entertainment?”

“Biologically, yes,” you say, a bit prickly, “but I haven’t seen him in-person since I was eight. Mom kinda went off the rails when I said I wanted to do acting, but unfortunately for her, I was really fucking good. I think she thought I wanted to do it to be close to him.”

“Did you? Did you want to get close to him?”

You shake your head.

“Nah. If anything, I did it in spite of him. I wanted to know if I could do this without his help.” You hold up your glass like an award. “‘You didn’t give me shit growing up and you didn’t give me my first Oscar,’ – because I plan on owning several – ‘so, eat shit, old man.’”

He grins in spite of himself. “Winning an Oscar is definitely one way to tell your old man to fuck off. There might be other, easier ways to do that, though.”

“C’mon, don’t act like you don’t do it all for that moment. That moment of standing on stage, in front of all your peers – in front of everyone who told you you couldn’t do it – and be recognized as someone of value, of real talent.”

You’re close to touching something very close to his heart. He drinks from his ice cold water. “Nah, it’s always been about the money for me.”

You roll your eyes and he chuckles.

“Sure, I do it for that,” he says softly, thumb nail scraping against the glass. “The art, that’s what really matters, but having other people see value in your art . . . it’s a good feeling.”

“Cheers to a night on stage.” You raise your glass to him. Something was fundamentally different about the way you looked at him. “Hope we see each other there.”

He accepts your toast with his own, his heart beating mildly faster, as he thinks of a way to steer this conversation back into something he’s capable of handling.

“So your mom had some issues with you acting – how’d you end up back in LA then?”

You smile wryly, your defenses going back up so quickly, he was surprised he didn’t hear a clicking sound.

“She got over it pretty fast when she realized she never had to work again, once things started going well. I think she liked being a sugar mama to men half her age. Men that never hesitated to hit on me while she was out of the room, even when I was fourteen. The money was coming in, but not as fast as she was spending it. I wanted a way to hide in my own room so I didn’t have to hear her literally fuck my money away . . . So, drugs. Got caught twice drunk driving but Dad managed to get all blown away — without ever actually having to see me. There were no real consequences in my life so it felt like I didn’t have one. The day I turned eighteen, I left and never went back. Pulled together the scraps she left me, got a place on my own, and now I’m trying show biz again.” You roll your bottom lip between your teeth. “But I don’t really blame her, or my dad, you know. They were forced to be parents when neither of them have a nurturing bone in their bodies. Anyways . . . does my drug use have to be their fault? Can’t I just be fucked up on my own?”

Dieter snorts softly. He taps your glass with the rim of his. “Cheers to being fucked up on our own.”

You both drink, letting the ding of the glasses ring out into the night air. His bare feet are starting to get cold but he doesn’t really want to go back inside. Not yet.

“Can I ask you a personal question?” You ask and drop your arms over your knees, glass dangling from your fingertips.

“I think that’s the whole point of this, so sure. Fire away.”

“What’s with you and drugs, man? You gotta know everyone’s on something in this town.” You say, without a hint of malice. “And more specifically, why are you always on my ass? Roxie and that gang do shrooms in the back lots all the time but you never go after them about it. Why me?”

He chews on his lip and sits back in his seat.

“Because I’ve been where you are,” he says to you under his eyelashes. “You’re too fucking talented to throw your career in the garbage because you’re too high to show up to casting on time. I know you think you have it under control, that you can stop when you want, and maybe you do. But there’s too much at risk to go fucking around with shit like that.” He drops his elbows onto his knees. “And to be entirely honest, because I don’t trust you when the parking brakes are off.”

It’s a bigger admission than he means it to be, but it’s there and he can’t take it back. He looks up at your face from his bent-over position.

Your eyebrow twitches as if you want to frown from confusion, but are actively fighting it. You want to ask just what the fuck he means by that – he can tell – but for once in your life, you keep your mouth shut. Instead you throw back the rest of your water and stand up.

His mouth is inches from the seam of your pants.

“Wanna watch a movie?”

“Okay, his stuff is good but it’s not the pinnacle of acting, alright?”

“I never said it was but it’s raw and real and every single performance he gives everything,” he says adamantly as you step over his legs stretched out on the table in front of him with a bowl of popcorn on your hip. You had insisted on the popcorn, even though you both just ate. What the fuck is the film experience without buttery popcorn? You asked him indignantly and he found he couldn’t argue with you.

You huff as you settle in next to him on the black leather couch in the living room. The lights are off and the TV screen glows in the dark.

“And, you know, art is subjective. Who's to say what the ‘pinnacle of acting’ is anyway?” He snatches up a handful of popcorn as you narrow your eyes scornfully at him.

“That is such a cop out. You’re just saying that so I don’t have an argument against watching Vampire’s Kiss.” You say as though the name of the movie burned the inside of your mouth. “It’s a thought terminating cliché, most common in cults.”

“I’d gladly join the cult of Nicolas Cage,” Dieter admits, his mouth half full of popcorn, as he clicks the remote to play the movie.

“Okay, but this is your one freebie.” You say as you dig into the bowl yourself. “Next time I’m gonna make you watch Amélie or some shit.”

“I happen to love Amélie,” he says, eyes still on the screen.

You’ve gone quiet, which is never a good thing, so he glances over at you.

There’s something soft about your face. Your mouth hovers open, lips parted and warm. This is the look you should have been giving him at the table read.

When you begged him to never, ever leave you.

His blush is so hot and fast, it shoots down from his ears into his cheeks before he can stop it.

“What?”

Slowly, you blink.

“Sorry . . . it’s just . . . I really love Amélie and I couldn’t imagine you’ve ever seen it. It just . . . surprised me, I guess.”

“What can I say, princess?” He folds his arms over himself to ensure not a single patch of skin touches yours. “I’m surprising.”

He can hear you swallow as you turn back to the movie.

It's the 80s and it’s trash and Dieter can’t remember the last time he had this much fun. Chloe was never a big fan of movies, didn’t like to sit still that long, and all of his other friends hadn’t been around since the arrest.

He can’t remember the last time he was this relaxed.

So relaxed, in fact, he falls asleep before the third act, his head dropping to the back of the couch.

He’s crawling out the depths of a warm, plush sleep when he hears it.

At first, he’s not quite sure what exactly he’s hearing. It’s familiar, he knows he’s heard it before, but it’s at the same time foreign, too. Like he’s never heard this exactly before.

His eyes flicker open. The room is pleasantly warm and his back doesn’t ache as bad as it usually does when he falls asleep on the couch.

His gaze focusing, he realizes something’s different about the TV. The movie is no longer playing – rather Vampire’s Kiss is no longer playing and instead, it’s one of his old movies. Back when he didn’t need to exercise to have v-lines in his hips and his skin was naturally sun-kissed. It’s the high fantasy one where he kissed so many men and women during shooting, he found out he definitely wasn’t straight by the end of it – and –

You’re moaning.

That’s what that noise is. Moans. Stifled, but high-pitched, breathless, tense moans.

He knows exactly what that sound is, but he had never, ever heard it come from you before. It’s not him, it’s not the movie, so it has to be –

You are arched against the back of the couch, chest rising and falling, with your hand down your pants. The buttons are undone and the zipper is halfway down and the fabric bunches and twists against your knuckles.

You’ve got your lip between your teeth, cheeks flushed, air rushing out of your nose, and your eyes are glued, attached, bound to the screen.

To him.

You lick your lips as his character takes off his cloak, revealing a broad, sculpted back and you whine, almost panicked. Your mouth falls open, eyes falling shut as you work your hand faster in your pants. There’s sweat on your forehead.

You’re masturbating, right here on his couch.

You’re masturbating to him.

He’s on top of you before he knows what he’s doing.

His fingers dig around your wrists, pinning them above your head, your tits inches from his chest. You look up at him in bewilderment and beside his head, your fingers glisten in the light from the screen.

You were using three of them, judging by the shine.

He drops his head, fighting the body-wracking groan that’s pulsating in his throat.

God, he can fucking smell it, you, from here. If your fingers are anything to go by, your panties must be drenched.

He’s shaking– actually shaking – from restraint.

He cannot look at your face, cannot see what’s in your eyes.

The word ballistic is knocking around in his brain.

I’m gonna go ballistic. You’re making me go ballistic. This is the night I go ballistic.

He might actually drool.

You breathe in and he squeezes your wrists harshly. No, no talking from you. But of course, you don’t listen. When in the history of the fucking world did you ever listen to him?

“In my defense,” you begin slowly and he can picture the shameless coy smirk on your face, “I thought you were asleep. I checked. Twice.”

He doesn’t know whether he’s going to kiss you and fuck you, or split you apart with his bare hands.

“FUUUCK!” Dieter roars and physically shoves you deeper into the couch.

He bounds up, and snatches your purse off the floor. He’s rifling through it as he slams open the sliding door to the pool so hard the glass shakes. He finds what he’s looking for and chucks your purse behind him.

His hands are still trembling as he lights the cigarette in his mouth.

He inhales so deeply, he can’t breathe right.

It doesn’t slow the hurricane in his mind, but it does ease the knife wound between his ribs.

His feet are cold against the concrete by the pool.

Water laps behind him and the stars above are indifferent to one man’s plunge into insanity.

“What’s got you so wound up?” You come out from the open door, with a blanket wrapped around your shoulders. It might be cold, if his skin wasn’t burning from the inside out. You’re scowling as this is somehow his fault.

“No. Fuck off. Go back inside. I’m not talking to you.”

“What’s your actual fucking problem, dude?”

His eyes grow wide and he plucks the cigarette out from between his teeth. “Are you fucking serious? Is that a real question?”

“Look, I figured out why we can’t have a scene together that even fringes on vulnerability.”

He huffs darkly. “Since you’re not going to leave me alone, feel free to fucking enlighten me.”

“You see this project as the be-all-end-all to your career, right? And you’re afraid you’ll screw things up with your wife permanently if you have one more fuck up. That’s why you can’t be vulnerable with me, because you’re scared someone will see the truth in it. Well, baby, the truth is a matter of perspective.”

He balks. He can feel the heat of the cigarette burn his skin but he doesn’t care.

“‘Truth is a matter of perspective’? What the fuck are you talking about? Do you hear what comes out of your mouth sometimes? Nobody talks like that! That is not how normal people talk!”

“If it’s not that, then what? Tell me, Dieter! What are you so fucking mad about?”

“You were masturbating– to me! That’s like some kind of violation, right? I should call the fucking police on you.”

“Why does it bother you so much? You’re an actor, you've gotta know people do sick shit online all the time!”

“Yeah, but I don’t know them. I don’t. . .” He swallows. “I don’t know– it doesn’t bother me so much thinking about the nebulous them.”

“Then what the fuck is up your ass about . . .” You trail off. His heart by his ears, he turns to you. You’re watching him, your eyes the size of silver dollars, your earrings glistening like diamonds in your ears. “Oh my god . . .”

He doesn’t like that tone of voice at all, doesn’t like the look in your eyes. You step closer and he steps back. You take another step and he almost falls backwards into the pool fully clothed.

“Oh my god, Dieter . . .”

“What?”

A smile breaks out across your face. Relief. Hope. Shock. Delight. A joy that verges on cruel.

“That’s it, isn’t it?”

He turns his shoulder away from you, trying to wiggle out from under the pin of your eyes.

“The fuck are you talking about? What’s it?”

You stepside him and he catches your wicked smile again. Your eyes are glittering. Victory.

“You’ve masturbated thinking about me, haven’t you?”

“. . . no. What?” He turns away towards the house, but you block him. He could pick you up and just move you, but he doesn’t. “Get out of my face.”

Triumphant, you snatch the last bit of cigarette out of his fingers and inhale. Your hip cocked, maroon shirt trembling in the night air, you look like you own the mesa and all the stars in the sky. You lick your bottom lip, transcendence shining in your eyes.

“You’ve totally jerked yourself off thinking about what it would be like to fuck me,” you whisper, a secret just for the two of you. “Was it big? Was it messy? Did it go everywhere?”

Dieter nearly snarls again and claps his hands over your shoulders. He wants to shake some sense into you or pull you closer.

Despite everything, having his hands on you is a balm. It quiets some part of him.

“For the love of God, stop fucking talking. I am literally begging you to. stop. talking.”

You don’t say anything, but that boastful grin is still on your face. He doesn’t drop his hands and you don’t step back. You are farther apart than in the bathroom, and somehow, out in the open air, it feels even tighter, enclosed. He can see the individual lashes around your eyes, the barely-there wrinkles forming at the corners. You’ve got freckles in places that he’d very much like to taste.

God, how you love a challenge. You bring the cigarette to your mouth. You inhale, then slowly dip your head forward to his mouth. You don’t go any further, but then you exhale, smoke escaping past your lips and dousing him. His eyes flutter shut from the heat, the warmth, the burn of the smoke. He thinks he can smell bubble-gum. The smoke kisses him on the lips, gentle, inviting. A promise of many, many possible futures.

The smoke passes, flits away on the desert wind. And there’s your face, emerging from behind obscurity. The smirk is gone. Instead, you’ve gone soft, wanting, full of desire. Your eyelids are halfway closed against the smoke and the flood of need scorching you from head to toe. He thinks you and hurricanes share the same sort of powerful, thunderous beauty.

It would be easy.

It would be so easy. No one else had to know.

But he would know. He wasn’t quite there.

Not yet.

He takes the cigarette back from between your fingers, careful not to touch you.

“That one’s mine,” he murmurs, hoping his words land where he wants to put his mouth. “Almost gone anyway.”

He flicks the butt across the white concrete as he goes back to your purse. He gets two this time, the lighter in his back pocket, and he sits at the edge of the pool. He rolls his jeans up to his knees before easing his legs into the cool water. The pool light below him throws constellations of blue-silver onto his calves.

You sit next to him, after a moment, the blanket still around your shoulders. You roll up your jeans just like he did and find a matching position next to him. He offers you the other cigarette wordlessly and you take it and light it. Faint smoke trails waft up into the night sky from between your fingers and his, inches from each other.

“If it isn’t entirely obvious, I wanna fuck you too,” you confess to your thighs, voice small and edged. “I can’t tell you how disappointed I was that you didn’t take me up on my offer at the hotel.”

His eyebrows slowly rise. “You remember that?”

You nod. “I was ready to kick out those other two assholes if you had said yes. I wanted you all to myself.”

It was out there. You knew his secret and he knew yours. A monumental weight had been shifted and Dieter no longer feels like there is a burning knot of metal wool in his chest.

The paper crinkled as it burned.

Still, something lingered.

“What do you want to do about it?” You swing your ankles through the water. It catches the light and your skin glows.

“About what?”

“About this. About us.”

“Nothing,” he says. The hand at his lips trembles. “Nothing can happen and it never will.”

“Because you love your wife so much.” You make it sound genuine. But there’s enough bitterness inside of him to know it’s not.

“Because I can’t do that to her. Not again. She’s a better person than I am. A better person than I will ever be. I don’t know why she loves me but I don’t deserve her and I’m not putting her through that again.”

You sit quiet for a moment, your mouth puckered and cocked to the side. He thinks– just for a moment, for a minute, as you stare out into the night-blue abyss– he thinks your eyes are wet.

His heart, his whole chest, aches deeply. Just for a moment.

“Seems kinda fucked up to stay with someone out of guilt,” you say finally. Your voice is clear and maybe he was just imagining things. He swallows and smokes some more, hoping the burn in his mouth will somehow give him the right words to say. His fingers drum on his knee.

“You only get two of those a day. From now on. Only two.”

“Two what?”

He grins because he really does like spending time with you.

“Comments that make me feel like an asshole. You get two a day. That was one.”

You scoff, tossing your hair over your shoulder. “Four. I want four.”

“You get two.”

“Three.”

“God, you are bossy. Three and that’s it. You go over and I’m throwing you off this mesa.”

You smirk, and he lets you have this victory. You need it, he knows.

You wade your feet some more, ankles spinning out in slow, small circles. He watches your thigh muscles move. How soft the backs of your knees are, he can only imagine.

“So, was this all worth it?” He waves his hand around, smoke trailing from between his middle and index finger. “Close quarters character work or whatever. Are we friends?”

His smile is teasing, but it falls off slowly when you don’t smile back. Your face is blank, but your eyes are dark as they stare, heated, at the water, a storm brewing in your thoughts. You pick at your nails, resting on your knee, the cigarette weakly chuffing silver smoke.

“I don’t want to be friends,” you murmur softly.

“Natalie, I —”

“I don’t want to be friends.” You say louder, forcefully. You turn your gaze to him and he sees that girl on set that’s always a word away from pushing him over the limit, towards the edge of his sanity. “And I know you don’t want that either.”

He works his jaw, buckling under the weight of your desire. He looks away. Your ankles are sparkling.

“That’s all I can offer. I’m sorry.”

“An apology. Wow.” You scoff scornfully. “You know, Dieter, I think that’s the most honest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Your voice is strained, grated, unpolished. Your face is tragically beautiful, even when it’s holding back tears.

“This is the way it has to be. Do you want me in your life or not? Can we be friends?”

He doesn’t know what he’s gonna do if you say no. He hadn’t really considered a life without you in it, in some shape or form. But the dread he felt when he made it an option, it was overwhelming.

He can’t swallow air right. He rubs his chest, suddenly light-headed from the smoke. He wants to lie down somewhere warm.

Slowly, thankfully, with a grace he didn’t think you possessed, you nod. You switch the cigarette to the other hand and lift your palm. A greeting. The waving of a white flag. A rain-soaked battlefield full of ghosts and dreams.

He takes your hand and shakes it once.

“Friends it is.”

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