#like I’m mostly fine these are super manageable and I am very lucky to have all the support I need

[oviids]

I have a lot of issues going on health wise but mostly it’s like. yknow. fine or pretty normal for me! (except that time last year when I randomly passed out and bashed my scalp open idk what THAT was about)

#like I’m mostly fine these are super manageable and I am very lucky to have all the support I need #I’m just used to not feeling good a lot of the time in one way or another (yes I realize this is bad hence being helped by writing it down. #i think. anyways) #the alie tag

[sagahin]

Since it got to 2am and other people are going to bed, my internet sped up enough that I was able to do Stone Vigil, and was lucky enough to get a super nice tank that asked if I was comfortable with big pulls.

Me, having little experience with healing and even less with Scholar in particular, unsurprisingly just responded with a no ma’am I am not.

I feel like the tank still went kinda fast? But also, I managed to keep up well and at the end they told me I need to be more confident ‘cause I did just fine.

AND WHY I’M TELLING THIS is because it’s just so very Saga. Like the whole “no I don’t think I’ll be very good at this, please go easy on me”, and then proceeds to do a perfectly good job that would have others going “you could handle more, you know.”

Chances are he wouldn’t really register praise like that though, because he never does well enough by his own standards, leaving him kinda perpetually lacking in confidence. He could point out a hundred mistakes in his performance, you can’t just say he did a good job when he obviously didn’t with how much room for improvement there was left!

This applicable to basically everything he does. He’s very eager to try out new things, to learn and improve. He’s not discouraged by his own shortcomings (real or mostly imagined), because he can always, always try to do better next time for as long as there is a next time. He’d only really lose if he gave up.

But that kind of persistence does nothing to how badly he critiques himself.

#headcanons

[ink-on-the-brink]

Okay yes sorry for like putting in another but my goodness you’re great!! I hope it’s okay if I ask another but like, what would happen if the guys of your choice saw their partner hurt? Platonic or romantic up to you (:

No problem at all! Ideas are always welcome. Especially since I've had a bit of time on my hands! (aka I'm procrastinating on my other stories but shh)

Anyway! Here's Engie, Scout, and Soldier when their S/O is hurt because I put names onto a wheel and they popped up so yeah.

These are gonna be general headcannons that can be taken as either romatic or platonic.

Engie

If Hurt By Your Own Stupidity

Chances are you were messing around with a machine he told you not to touch.

If it's a small injury he'll scold you, telling you to listen to him next time. He won't help you. You have to learn your lesson somehow and if that means you have to drag your way to Medic, embarrassing yourself in the process, then so be it.

If it's a rather big injury he'll be rightfully angry. He's picking you up and carrying you to Medic with a string of mumbled curses at how stupid you had been and that you're lucky he was watching otherwise you might be dead. Even though he's angry you can still see the very clear concern on his face. Once you're all fixed up he's not letting you into his workshop for a while and becomes rather paranoid every time you have to.

He just doesn't want to see you hurt over a machine he built. He would probably never forgive himself if that's the way you ended up dying.

If Hurt By Something Else

Probably while helping him. Grabbing tools, maybe fixing up some wires if you're experienced enough.

Small injuries happen all the time. I mean you're messing around with electric wires and sharp objects here, it isn't exactly the safest thing. He always has an extra medkit in the room and won't hesitate to help you with a small cut or electric burn.

Larger injuries are an entirely different story. He goes blank, immediately carrying you to Medic. He won't leave until he knows you're 100% fine and afterward he'll be deathly quiet. You can see rather clearly that he blamed himself for you getting hurt and that he wasn't about to just forgive himself for it. Afterward he has a hard time letting you help again and finds excuses for you to do something else.

It might just be better if you stick to smaller ways of helping, not just for your own sake, but his.

If Hurt In Battle

If he sees it happen he knows it's better to ignore it. That's what happens in battle and at least during battle you guys have respawn. He'll most likely move his dispenser to where you are to help you out as best he can. He likely won't think twice about what happened...

That is unless whoever hurt you did so in a rather cruel way, enjoying seeing you in pain rather than working to complete an objective.

If that happens the person who harmed you becomes his main target. He won't compromise the battle with the urgency to kill them but it's pretty obvious that given the choice between them and killing anyone else, he'll choose them.

If he were to get close enough, and no one else is around, he'd hurt them and then just kinda sit there, letting them be in pain a moment while he maybe sets up one of his machines. If caught doing this he has about a hundred likely excuses. It was a Spy and he didn't want to deal with his dead ringer, he thought they were dead, another person came along that he had to deal with, pretty much never getting caught for doing it. Basically one of the only things that keeps him calm when he sees you hurt is the thought that he's going to make them suffer later.

Engie's a calm man but that doesn't mean he doesn't know how to dish out revenge or hold grudges.

If Hurt By Someone On The Team

Ooooh boy, this isn't going to end well.

It was most likely not meant to be you who got hurt. Being Engies right hand(or left hand rather)meant you always helped him to de-escalate fights. Which meant you were probably only hurt in the crossfire.

That, however, does not stop the anger flowing through Engies veins.

A small thing is enough to get him angry. He rarely yells but in that case he will, silencing everyone immediately before going on an absolute tirade about how stupid they were all being. At this point people would be shocked enough to stop, meaning the goal was achieved but not without some sacrifice.

If you get really harmed though...

Engie's a calm man but he has limits. That just so happens to be one of them. He won't even stop the fight. He's immediately taking you to get fixed up. It's afterward that the consequences come.

He will talk to whoever was involved alone. No one's sure what happens but no matter who ends up seeing that side of Engie they always come out a bit shaken up and not willing to talk about it, though seemingly unharmed.

It's likely to never happen but if it does everyone will become just a little bit more cautious when around him or you.

Scout

If Hurt By Your Own Stupidity

You were trying to toss a baseball as high as you could into the air and catch it to try and impress him.

If it only managed to hit just a little bit of sense into you, aka your throw is weak, then he'll most definitely laugh, telling you to leave it up to the professionals.

If you managed to knock yourself out because your toss was godly but your catch was dogshit then he'd burst out laughing for a good five minutes. It's only after his laughing fit that he thought to help you. You'd have to give him a matching bump to keep his mouth shut about it.

If Hurt By Something Else

You two were probably setting up a prank and something went wrong along the way.

If only a little hurt he'd hold in a laugh and ask if you were alright, to which you'd glare at his hidden grin and say you were fine.

If you were actually hurt he'd go into a bit of a panic, quickly bringing you to Medic. The two of you most defiantly had to lie to get away with what you two had been doing. Unfortunately you were both really bad liars. Medic wasn't convinced but he also didn't care, thankfully.

You'd often bring up how scared he looked when you got hurt every time he tried to act like he didn't care about you that much. It never failed to get his tongue stumbling.

If Hurt In Battle

He's not one to care about a few bumps and scratches. He'll likely tell you to try to be as tough as him(he saids as he calls for medic over a splinter). He sees his job more as a game then a battle so it's rare he holds a grudge against anyone. He's maybe a bit more competitive from that point foward but not obsessively so.

Larger injuries and he's quick (litteraly) to dive into the heat of battle to help. More than often he ends up dead beside you but when he does manage to save you he's super macho about it. He'll say stuff about how much you needed him and how you'd never survive a day without him Even though most of the times you're the one pulling him out of those situations...

Just let him have his moment.

If Hurt By Someone On The Team

It was most definitely because you had annoyed someone, most likely Soldier or Heavy. This happens quite often.

If it looks like you're winning the fight he'll cheer you on. No need for him to get involved if you've got it handled.

If something really starts to go down though, he's on your side. There isn't a time where only one of you was beaten to shit, it always had to be the both of you.

Soldier

If Hurt By Your Own Stupidity

You were trying to rocket jump.

Literally just...Why did you think you could do that?

A small injury and Soldier won't even acknowledge it. Be that a bloody nose or a sprained ankle he's going to act as if you were perfectly fine, mostly because he seldom felt pain anymore and he had a hard time trying to recognize it in other people.

If severely hurt he's most likely going to explain to you everything you did wrong and you'll have to either scream for Medic or wait until he carries you there after his lecture.

You do dumb shit you deal with the consequences.

If Hurt By Something Else

Likely a sparring match that got out of hand or possibly a malfunction of a rather precariosly built weapon.

A small injury and he isn't going to care. If you make a big deal out of it he'll tell you to 'man up' and deal with it though it's more so in good fun rather than antagonism.

A large injury though and he's quick to help. He's calling for Medic and asking you to count how many fingers he's holding up. You'll say three, he'll begin to panic, saying that you must have broken your eyes.

He was, in fact, holding up three fingers...

Just don't question it

If Hurt In Battle

Small injuries are victories to him. If you're not at least a little banged up then are you really in a war?

If you for some reason can't walk though he's the first person at your side. Doesn't matter how many bullets he takes as long as you're brought to safety. He'll say something to the effect of 'don't die on me soldier! No, I am not talking to myself!'

After you're taken care of it's revenge time. He's gonna rack up a killing streak, your injury giving him the last bit of encouragement to win the round most of the time.

If Hurt By Someone On The Team

Defending honor! Whether it's yours or his, you are there to defend it and if that means getting a bit rough in the process then so be it.

If you're less injured than whoever you're fighting then, like Scout, He's cheering you on with probably a few insults to the other person as well.

If it looks more like you're losing he's still not going to intervene. He believes in you! You've got this!

If you end up knocked out though he's going to beat the shit out of whoever it was that defeated you. For your honor! (And because he just likes a reason to beat people up)

#tf2 #reader x tf2 #tf2 x reader #engie #soldier #scout #tf2 engie #tf2 scout #tf2 soldier

[thefirsttree]

A personal update + my next game

OK, time to do this. I’ve been meaning to do a big DAVID WEHLE™ update for a while now and explain why I haven’t released a new game yet, but you know how life gets in the way. Especially when life is a quarantine hellscape, you have three beautiful, amazing, exhausting kids to raise, a spouse’s job you support, a viral YouTube channel that turns your brain to mush, a thousand emails waiting in your inbox since your game is free on the Epic Games Store (with an impressive number of redemptions too! … meaning lots of emails and customer support issues), etc., etc. What also contributes to my lack of updates is because… I just don’t really like posting online. Fascinating correlation, I know!

Don’t worry, this isn’t going to be a venting/ranting blog post (well, maybe a bit), because my life is seriously AMAZING and INSANELY BLESSED and LUCKY. I can’t believe how many dreams keep coming true, so much so that I feel I don’t deserve it and I really pulled the wool over everyone’s eyes… but I did want to at least be honest, because I owe that to myself.

Wow, where do I even begin? Well, how about we start with the reason I’m even a full-time indie game dev now: The First Tree. This small hobby project I worked on at night morphed into this gargantuan beast (or fox) that took over my life the past 5 years. Which is great! I’m living the dream! And yet, I really didn’t expect it to do as well as it did. At its core, my game is a slow-paced, sad walking simulator (ahem, I prefer the term “exploration game,” but you know what I mean) that somehow seemed to launch at the right time to the right audience. It resonated deeply with some of you, and for that I’m eternally grateful. I still get emails almost daily how my game changed their lives in some formative way. I’m beyond honored.

However, with that spotlight came criticism and demands from the ever-present, insatiable internet. I would randomly be surfing the gamedev subreddit trying to decompress, and I would see a comment by some rando saying how much I didn’t deserve my success, and how it was all one huge lucky fluke. And I believed them!

And to add to it, some devs considered me an indie marketing “guru”, which I was uncomfortable with. I worked hard to market my game every week, and after my GDC talk, people assumed marketing was my passion; the reason I got up every morning. Just to clarify… NO, I don’t like marketing, and I hate being the center of attention. I don’t like asking people for money and wishlists. But I did what was necessary because I was passionate about telling stories, and I wanted to give my story a fighting chance to be seen on the crowded pages of Steam.

So now, you’re probably wondering “well then David, why did you make fancy YouTube videos showing off your success? Not very modest if you ask me.” This honestly could be a long blog post all on its own, because my experience of putting myself in the spotlight and becoming a “content creator” is… complicated. It was an unusual step for me, especially since I never even showed my face online (as a game developer) until my GDC talk.

First off, I always wanted to teach and start a YouTube channel. I love video editing, especially since I’ve been doing it longer than making games! It’s a huge passion of mine. And teaching people who didn’t know they could make and finish games was a huge motivator (and it’s been so rewarding already). But the second reason is, I was scared. I was self-employed, and I was riding the success of a “huge lucky fluke” that would probably not happen again. I wanted to make sure I could provide for my amazing family, and give them food and health insurance and security in these tumultuous times. I was turning my lifelong passions and hobbies into a business, and it wasn’t as simple of a mental transition as I thought.

So, I went all in on YouTube and the accompanying online course called Game Dev Unlocked. I spent years editing the scripts and videos, and polishing them to a shine. At first, no one watched my videos, no one was buying… and in the blink of an eye, the YouTube algorithm picked up my main autobiographical video (“How Making Indie Games Changed My Life”), and I started getting 5,000 subscribers a day. Right now, I’m at 150,000 subs, which is still hard for me to believe. I always had a dream of earning 100k subs on YouTube, so I was pretty happy with the whole thing. Sales were OK, but mostly people didn’t want to buy the course. Then the emails came in…

Something you should know about me: I am a textbook “people pleaser,” and if someone asks for my help, I take it very seriously. If someone is mad at me, even if I didn’t do anything wrong, it’s all I can think about, and it ruins my day. So, taking an onslaught of people begging for help and multiplying that by an impossible amount of people for my brain to truly comprehend thanks to the internet… and let’s just say it wasn’t a healthy mix.

I received thousands of emails from people who were begging me for some kind of reassurance that everything would be OK. That their dreams would come true too. And I wanted to help every single one of them. I went from a nobody working on a game for fun to becoming a spokesperson for the indie game dream. I couldn’t even get a shake from the Chick-Fil-A drive-thru without someone recognizing me and asking for game dev advice. And it didn’t stop there… I would get emails from suicidal kids asking for help, teenagers from Afghanistan asking me to get them out of their country, and on one occasion I received an email from a hopeful game developer in a war-torn country who had just experienced a bomb blowing up their neighboring village. His friends were dead, and he was hoping he could finish a game before he died too, and he needed my help. How do you say no to something like that? Didn’t I owe it to everyone because I was lucky with my hit game and I needed to “pay it forward”? (Something people constantly reminded me of)

And then to top it off, after you’ve given everything you’ve got to other people in need… you get hate mail in your inbox. You spend the whole day serving your children and strangers on the internet, then when the kids are finally asleep, you hit the bed to relax and take a look at your phone to decompress, and you randomly come across an angry gamer in your Twitter mentions telling you your game they got for free sucks, and that you took away a potentially great game from them and that your apology isn’t good enough.

Long story short, I went to a mental therapist for the first time in my life. I was broken trying to care for two toddlers and a new baby in a pandemic (which is very, very hard), taking care of my course students who gave me their hard-earned money and demanded results, and the countless people begging for help on the internet. I was this introverted, internet-lurker trying to take on the weight of the world. I was so tired and hurt that no one cared about me and my needs… only what I could do for them.

Quitting my day job and making this hobby my full-time job has stirred up… mixed emotions. This statement may disturb some of you, but I was definitely 100% happier when I had a full-time job and I was working on my game at night. I missed working with the amazing team at The VOID, working on Star Wars… back when the success of my game was this abstract thing I could only daydream about. Mostly, I was making my game for me with no outside expectations to pay the bills or satisfy the ever-demanding internet, and that brought me a lot of joy.

It’s not all doom and gloom though! I’m actually very happy now and in the best shape I’ve been since the pandemic started. I’ve had to confront my weaknesses and personality quirks, but I’m a better person for it (and I’m sure these issues would’ve come out eventually). I hired an awesome community manager for Game Dev Unlocked who is helping SO MUCH with the emails, I can’t even tell you the mental burden it alleviates. I even leased a co-working office to help separate work from my home, and that’s been a huge help too. I’ve decided to work with my old friends from The VOID on a cool, new VR experience. It will take me away from my projects a bit, but I’m ecstatic to work with a great team again (and not manage anything, whew).

These are all things I would’ve never guessed I needed, because I thought I knew myself pretty well… turns out I didn’t.

The reality is: running a business is HARD. Running it solo is even harder. You have to remember, I was burnt out on The First Tree well into the Steam release in 2017, but I kept working on it for 4 more years due to my fears of failing again and not earning enough money for my family.

So, I was wrestling with the age-old concept of commercialism and art. There was this dichotomy of doing whatever I wanted and being true to my vision (what most people assume the indie dev dream is like), and doing only what customers wanted to buy. This is something that has killed me with YouTube… in one specific instance, I was super excited to make the exact video I wanted to make. I loved every part of its creation, and I thought it had a message that would inspire everyone. I lovingly edited it over several weeks, posted it, and excitedly waited for the stats… and it was by far my worst performing video.

This is not a new problem. Even the Sistine Chapel by Michelangelo was a commission forced upon him by the very violent Pope Julius II. My wife and I regularly talk about the fine balance between artistic integrity and commercialism, a problem she is very familiar with as an artist who constantly needs to balance what she wants to make with what the customer wants to hang up in their home.

For The First Tree, I was lucky. It was pretty much what I wanted to make (I had to compromise a lot of things of course), and it turned out millions of people wanted it too. Recently, I thought the safe business decision would be to do it all over again, so I started work on a spiritual successor to The First Tree (an idea that I may revisit one day since I do love the story idea). But that isn’t happening anytime soon. Trust me when I say I am now currently burnt out on animal exploration games.

So that realization left me with a question: what do I do next?

I’ve decided I need to make a game that I want to make, for me. It will be a bit different and I’m almost certain most fans of The First Tree will not love it… but it’s an idea that gets me super excited. It’s an idea that could help me fall in love with game development again.

A few more details: this game will be story-driven, first-person, and will use the Unreal Engine. That means development is gonna be slow going, because I have to learn a whole new tool. The “smart business” decision would be to make something quickly in Unity which I’m already familiar with… but I want to do this for me, and UE5 looks like a lot of fun. I’m also shooting for an early-ish release date so I avoid burn out and I keep the game short: I want to release it in Fall 2022, but knowing game development, it will probably take longer.

With the help of my therapist, I’ve also concluded that I’ve been too accessible on the internet and that my self-worth isn’t determined by the amount of people I try to help online. Of course, I love helping people and seeing them succeed, but I need to step back and focus on my family and myself. I will delete my social media apps on my phone (I will still post big updates occasionally) and stop responding to most emails, tweets, DMs, etc. It’s not that I’m ungrateful… in fact, if I don’t say thank you or at least acknowledge the incredibly nice people who share a sweet message about my game or want to tell me how I inspire them (still hard for me to believe, lol), I feel a ton of guilt… but I need to let that go. Please know I’m extremely grateful to all the fans who follow my work, so even if I don’t thank you directly, I truly mean it: thank you.

I will still post and stream occasionally on YouTube when I want to (and I still do live Q&A’s for my GDU students). The online course sales will help support my family as I work on a potentially risky game idea (and my new job will help alleviate the risk too). I’m gonna try one more marketing experiment and sell a mini-course soon (and add an Unreal section), and after that I’m done working on it. A gigantic thank you to the people who bought my course and are part of the amazing community, it has helped me and my family tremendously, and it’s inspiring seeing the games you make!

I’m a bit worried about the whole thing since this new game idea could flop, which could definitely affect my family. But a sappy, high-school yearbook quote is coming to mind…  I think it applies here: “A ship in harbor is safe—but that is not what ships are built for.”

Thanks for reading,

David

#gamedev #indie games #the first tree

[weasleyswizardpleases]

And the Living is Easy (Fred x reader)

Summary: You spend the first night of summer vacation getting into trouble with the Weasleys + Harry and Hermione. Fred x reader. Fluffy mischief mostly, but sex is discussed and implied. 

Warnings/Notes: Light sexual content but not all out smut, alcohol, heights, language. I wrote this to be a stand alone, but I enjoyed it so much that it might become part of a loose series of slice of life-y reader x twins fics set at the burrow over the summer! ps i did not edit this at all after writing it at 2am so. uh

Summer at the Weasley’s is my favorite time of year. After my mother passed, you were tossed around from boarding school to boarding school, relative to relative, never really having a say in where you went, or with whom. But ever since becoming fast friends with Fred and George while repairing brooms for the Gryffindor Quidditch team, you’ve pretty much been considered an honorary Weasley.

You stow your suitcases in the overhead and squeeze into a seat next to Fred and George. Across from you, Ron, Lee, and Harry are packed in. 

“Do you reckon you’ll ever make it out to the burrow, Lee?” asks George pointedly. 

“Yeah, you don’t know what you’re missing out on. Mrs. Weasley’s hotcakes are out of this world.” Harry says.

“And there’s loads of space to play quidditch.” you say.

“And loads of secret spots not even Mum knows about where we can basically do whatever we like.” adds Fred.

“You know my mum will hardly let me out of her sight for a day. Merlin’s sake, she’s practically ass to elbow on me all summer.” Lee says, faking a pout. “Quit ribbing at me, would you? Or I’ll spend the summer in my room coming up with derogatory names to call you on the Quidditch pitch.”

Murmurs of “Come on, we’re only joking.” and “Fine, fine.” fill the packed compartment. You lift your rat Pansy up to the window to show him the scenery.

“Bet you’ve never seen the fine English countryside like this, eh Pansy?” you baby-talk at him, scratching his little noggin.

“You know that thing is never gonna talk back at you, right Y/N?” says Fred, rolling his eyes. 

“You never know. Look what happened to Scabbers.” you say, wiggling you eyebrows. “This rat could also secretly be a creepy little pervert who watches me undress at night.”

“I suppose it isn’t unprecedented in the rat community,” agrees George. Ron scowls in disdain.

“That’s my pet we’re talking about!” he says, causing everyone to burst into laughter.

“Yeah, fine pet he was.” says Harry, grinning.

“I will say, Ron-” Fred begins, clearing his throat. “You’ll never find another like him.” He claps his little brother on the back and stands up, peering down the hallway. “Oi, it’s the trolley, look alive Georgie.” George rises and straightens his coat. The boys have been planning for ages to charm the trolley witch into selling their skiving snackboxes. They run off down the car towards her. You tuck Pansy back into his cage and watch the scenery go by yourself. Before you know it, you’re being shaken awake by Fred and George. 

“C’mon, Dad is waiting!” says George. 

“Got you some chocolate frogs, but that means you owe us one.” says Fred, shoving a wriggling paper bag into your hands. Delighted, you expertly open the bag, catch a frog, and slurp it up before it manages to escape. 

“Tank -ou” you mumble, your mouth still full. Lugging your trunks over to meet Mr. Weasley, you smile with excitement. Every summer with the Weasleys is a blast, but you know this one will start off with a bang because last week Fred absconded with a jug of top shelf mead from Filch’s office. You’d all agreed that you needed it more, since you want to have fun and have no money, while Filch obviously dislikes fun and ostensibly has some amount of money squirreled away from all his groundskeeping or lurking or whatever his job is. 

After greeting Molly, you and the twins bound up to their room- and, when you’re here, your room- pushing and shoving your way up the narrow stairwell. You toss your things down and throw yourself onto a bed, spreading your arms as if making a snow angel. 

“Oh, boys, it is good to be home!” you say, laughing. Fred and George always joke that their mother likes you, Harry, and Hermione better than any of her own actual children, and you love teasing them about it. 

“Speak for yourself, she’s already got that sending-us-to-de-gnome-the-

garden-while-hungover gleam in her eyes,” retorts George good-naturedly.

“And get your shoes off my bed! Mum will have all three of us beating out the rugs if she sees that.” says Fred. You close your eyes and pretend to be asleep, baiting the boys into attempting to push you off the bed. You wind up making such a ruckus roughhousing that Hermione comes in looking concerned, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. You all three pause from your compromised position to look at her, you releasing a vise grip on Fred, George dropping your left leg, which he had been twisting violently.

“When did you get here?” you ask, running to hug her. 

“Just apparated over, my parents would never forgive me if I didn’t at least drop by for dinner before practically moving here for the summer!” she replies, turning to greet the twins. 

“Are you going to be participating in our little soiree tonight, ‘Mione?” asks George, raising an eyebrow. 

“What are you three planning?” she asks sternly, stifling an excited smile.

“You’ll just have to wait and see,” you say. 

“But don’t wear white shoes.” warns Fred. Hermione gives you all a funny look before running off to finish her greetings. 

“Where are we going tonight, Freddie?” you ask, looking up at your tall friend. He gives you a cheeky glance.

“Oh, out by the bog. There’s a huge hill between there and the house, so we can make a fire and nobody will see.”

“And there’s a huge stand of trees and a pond between that spot and the neighbors’,” says George. 

“You two have got it all figured out. And you’ve got the firewhiskey! What a night, what a night it shall be.” you say, your voice singsonging as you dance exaggeratedly. 

“Too bad nobody invited any girls.” says Ron from the doorway. He’s been standing in the hallway looking in the mirror for some time now, fussing with his hair.

“What am I, chopped liver?” Ginny shouts from her open door down the hall.

“YOU don’t count!” Ron replies.

“We know you’ve got someone else in mind, little brother.” George says, flicking Ron in the ear. 

“It’s pretty obvious,” Fred agrees.

“You get all flustered when she corrects your grammar,” you say.

“And you let her braid your hair.” says Fred.

“And you-” begins George, but Ron interrupts, his face beet red.

“Shhhh! Buzz off you two, or I’ll start blabbing on about who you’re interested in as well.”

The twins exchange a somewhat threatened glance, but say nothing.

“That’s right, I’m not as dull as you lot like to think, thank you very much. I notice things. So let me alone or I’ll sing like a canary!” Ron finishes, turning back to the mirror for a final glance at his hair before trotting downstairs. 

“You two have crushes?” you demand, turning to stare down the twins. Fred shrugs with his usual attitude but you notice a light blush spreading across each of their cheeks. You swat him across the chest. “Why didn’t you tell me? Who is it? You motherfuckers.” You grab George by the collar. “George, tell me who it is! A crush, my god.” You throw your hands up in the air. They’re being super weird, so you decide to drop the subject. “When you snog every girl and half the boys in the school, between the two of you, you practically hold us all down to tell us the details but now you’ve got a crush and suddenly you’re like a couple of mimes.” You look each of them in the eyes, and both avoid your stare. “Fine! Don’t tell me.” You throw your hands up in mock anger and lead the charge downstairs to begin setting the table for dinner.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~After dinner, you pass the evening playing cards and chatting until Mr. and Mrs. Weasley retire for the night. Then, you’re left with all your friends and Percy, who it has been agreed simply cannot know you’re sneaking out to drink in the woods, because he is a killjoy. Using a previously discussed maneuver, Hermione attempts to trick him into believing that she and Ginny are going to bed, hoping that he will get nervous about being bullied if left alone with you and the twins, and elect to follow them to bed soon after. However, Percy is in an unusually jovial mood, and so Ron and Harry are forced to retreat as well. As a last line of defense, you pretend to fall asleep on George’s shoulder, nuzzling into his sweater. When Percy gets up to go to the bathroom, you dash outside into the moonlit yard, covering your mouth so your giggles don’t give you away. You run to crouch behind the garden shed, doubled over with laughter. 

“I thought he would never stop yapping.”

“God, how are you two related to that bore?”

“We can’t help it.” Fred says, bending to gather rocks from the ground. 

“What are you doing?” you ask.

“Watch!” he raises his hand to throw a pebble at Ginny’s window, but you grab his wrist.

“Have you lost the plot? Percy will hear! And probably your mum too, with your aim. I’ve got a better idea,” you say, peeking around the garden shed while gesturing for the boys to stay put. You pop out of the shed with a dusty, rickety broom. 

“Does this thing still work?” you ask.

“Well enough,” says Fred, getting a running start and jumping on the broom. Wobbling a bit, he sails up to Ginny’s window and confers with the girls, then moves on to Ron’s window, where he perches on the sill, one foot dangling out the window.

Beside you, you’re aware of George’s presence beside you in the cool, sticky night.

“Bloody brilliant,” he murmurs, elbowing you gently. “How’d you even know that thing was in there?”

“Lucky guess. I mean, with a family full of Quidditch players, there’s bound to be a broom lying about someplace.” 

Fred jumps down onto the broom and turns a few experimental loop de loops overhead before nearly falling and coming to a shaky landing near your feet. 

“That one belongs on the rubbish heap, honestly,” he says, laughing as he tosses the old thing aside.

“Oh, sure, blame it on the broom,” you tease.

He’s soon followed by Ginny and Hermione on Ginny’s broom. They glide down and come to a halt next to you, stepping down gracefully.

“How are Harry and Ron going to get out? They’d have to go right by Mr. and Mrs. Weasley’s room, unless Harry has his broom up there with him, but I think I saw it in the foyer.” says Hermione, looking at Fred worriedly.

“Well, err, I told them to climb down,” says Fred earnestly.

“What?!” says Hermione. “They’ll be loud as bison, besides probably breaking their necks.”

“It’s not my fault they’re too dumb to pass their apparation O.W.L.S! They’ll be fine.”

As he finishes his sentence, Ron’s window slides open and Harry’s head pops out. He lowers what appears to be a rope made of sheets and blankets tied together. Hermione’s brow furrows as she watches, helpless, while Ron artlessly slips one leg out the window, before even checking to see that the “rope” is nowhere near long enough to reach the ground. Ginny giggles, biting her lip when she sees Hermione’s distress.

“Do something!” Hermione hisses, nudging her. Ginny groans and soars over to boost Ron onto the back of her broom, going back to do the same for Harry.

“Shite! The firewhiskey,” you whisper, smacking your forehead. Everyone lets out a collective groan, but before you can send someone back up to hunt down the alcohol, Ginny opens her backpack, revealing the gleaming jug. Everyone cheers, but then quickly realizes that loudly cheering may have blown your cover. Fred and George scurry off into the brush and you all follow them down a lightly trod path through the countryside, eventually reaching the open bank of a large, murky pond. This is a spot you’ve never been to before, probably because it’s a fair stretch away from the house, and apparently from any civilization at all. 

Hermione quickly conjures a large fire, creating a pocket of warmth in the chilly night air. You lean against a large rock and shiver when the cool stone brushes the back of your neck. Ginny pulls out the firewhiskey and hands it to Fred, who pops the cork, shouting with glee before knocking back a sip and passing it to George, who passes it to you. The familiar sickly sweet liquid burns your throat and warms your stomach, and you feel your (already barely existent) inhibitions begin melting away.

Before long, Ron suggests that you all play a game, and you run through your options: truth or dare, spin the bottle, a wizarding game you’ve never heard of, and hide and go seek. Hermione refutes hide and go seek on the basis of safety, and Fred refutes spin the bottle on the basis of the fact that four out of six of you are siblings. Not everyone brought their wands, so you can’t play the magic game, and you’re left with truth or dare as the apparent winner, which you were rooting for anyway, because you want to see what you can get the twins to do. It almost makes you wish Percy was here so you could put him in a compromising position, but knowing him, he’d find a way to make walking on hot coals boring. 

“I’ll start, I’ll start!” you volunteer, looking around the circle. “My first victim will beeeee…” you look at Hermione, who cringes nervously, then spin around to point at Harry. “Harry Potter. What will it be, Mr. Potter, truth or dare?” you ask.

Harry shrugs. “Hmm.. I’ll do.. Dare, why not?” he replies. 

“Alright Harry, I dare you tooooo.... Oh, easy. I dare you to smack Ron every time he says something you think is stupid tonight. And be honest, or we’ll smack you,” you say. The twins nod in agreement. 

“That’s not fair! That’s barely a real dare!” protests Ron. You raise an eyebrow at Harry, who turns and gives his friend a good wallop. 

“Alright Harry, your turn.” 

You play for nearly an hour, all the while passing the bottle lazily between you, until everyone’s good and tipsy on the strong liquor. Several good dares are exchanged: Fred is dared to give you a lap dance, which he does with gusto and an uncomfortable amount of eye contact. You dare Ginny to race you across the pond and back, and you both strip down to your skivvies and plunge into the chilly water. Ginny wins, of course, but you just wanted an excuse for a swim. Fred lends you his cloak, patting it onto your shoulders to dry them before you pull your pants back on. George dares Ron to walk back to the house and get food, which he reluctantly agrees to after everyone bullies him into it. By the time he gets back with a basket of pastries and jam, you’ve transitioned to mainly truths, because the well of dares has run dry. 

When it’s Hermione’s turn to ask Fred, she blushingly asks if he’s lost his virginity. 

“What, do you all think I’ve snogged every girl we know without scaring? Have a little faith, please.”

“Clever, but that’s not an answer!” slurs Hermione, pointing at him and grinning. “Have you actually had sex before, or do you just talk a big game?” 

“Well, have you?” you ask, laughing as he tries to bluster out an answer.

“”Course I have. Ask anybody. Everybody must think George and I are the male sluts of the century, the way you people talk.” 

“Still not an answer!” you say, looking at him mischievously. 

“How’s this for an answer, then?” he retorts, pulling you to his waist and kissing you on the lips melodramatically, throwing you up against the rock, practically fucking but for the clothes. What’s probably thirty seconds of kissing at most feels like an hour. Everyone goes “Oooooh!” and when he finally lets you go you’re flabbergasted, but you recover your senses.

“Point taken, then. Alright Freddie, your turn,” you say, straightening your clothes and trying not to look like you enjoyed that. 

“I dare Hermione to let us play hide and seek, for fuck’s sake,” he says, lazily.

“Ugh! I might be drunk but I’m not letting anyone stumble around alone in the pitch black plastered out of your mind. Ask me a real question!” 

“What if we weren’t alone?” Harry asks, looking around. “I mean, we could go in pairs or little groups. Like team hide and seek, basically.”

“I call Fred and George!” you cry, throwing your arms around their sweaty necks. 

“Fine, but please be careful. And everyone should be on a team with at least one person with a wand,” says Hermione, who teams up with Ron. That leaves Harry and Ginny on the last team.

George produces his wand and casts an illumination spell.

“Not it!” You shout, immediately echoed by Ginny. 

“Alright, we’ll count to 50” says Hermione, but Harry and George protest until they finally agree to 3 minutes.

Fred tears off into the woods and you and George follow, bushes thwacking you in the face, vines snagging at your ankles. You break through the brush into a field, panting, and stop for a break. 

“Where are we going?” you ask, looking around. “And where are we?” 

“No idea!” Fred says gleefully. 

“What about over there?” George nods towards a patch of grass and trees down in a glenn. You lope down hill through high grass and crash to a halt in the stand of trees, crouching low. Fred huddles next to you and George clambers clumsily into one of the trees, flattening himself into one of its crooks.

You can feel your stomach churning after your run, but you manage to successfully push down the acrid taste rising in your throat. Above you, you hear George belch, and just manage to slip out of the way as he spits a pitiful glob of vomit to the ground.

“Oi, we’re down here, you lout,” hisses Fred, ducking.

“Look at the state of you,” you drawl, bumping into Fred as you readjust around George’s vomit. He groans from his spot up in the tree and lies back down sleepily. To your surprise, you feel the urge to pull Fred closer rather than pushing him away. The earthy smell of the forest floor calms your stomach, and you find your mind wandering to his lips, his hands on your waist and neck. Buzzing with drunken impulsivity, you wrap your arms around his slender waist and pull him to sit beside you. He looks surprised, but readily slouches against the tree trunk next to you. You can feel his chest rising and falling with each breath. The air is still and cool in that settled way characteristic of the night.

Overhead, you think you can hear George beginning to snore. 

“Freddie-” you begin, but before you can say a word, his lips are on yours, his hands tangled in your hair. You push him down and roll over so that you’re straddling him, gripping his jaw in one hand as you kiss him, hard, then gently. His lips are softer and more relaxed than they were when he kissed you earlier, and his body less certain. There’s no false bravado in him now, and you bite his lip gently, your tongues barely batting together. You reach down to unzip his pants but he pulls back.

“Y/N- I- Look, I may have lied earlier,” he says, his face flush with desire and embarrassment. You look at him quizzically, your drunken mind not connecting all the dots. 

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I haven’t… done this before. I’ve only ever kissed. Although I’ve done quite a lot of that.” he says quietly. You blink.

“Oh. Oh! You total freak. Why go to all that trouble to convince everyone you have?”

“Have you considered that maybe I just wanted to kiss you?”

This shuts you up. He pulls you back down to kiss you again, this time on the cheek, on the forehead, the neck. 

“Don’t do anything you don’t want to do,” you say carefully, brushing a bead of sweat from his forehead. 

“No… no, I’m ready. I want this now,” he says, tugging at your shirt. You pull it off over your head and toss it into the grass, the game of hide and seek forgotten. Let the shirt be a warning flag to any nosy passerby. Fred kisses across your chest. 

“Freddie, we’re drunk,” you remind him, your breathing growing heavier as his tongue flicks across your nipple.

“I want you,” he mumbles into the crook of your neck in between kisses. “I want you, I want you, I want you,” he says. You kiss him in reply, and move again to unzip his pants. You feel his hard member ready to burst out of his jeans, and it sends a thrill through you.

You had considered that you might one day wind up with Fred or George, and honestly, you had figured it would be on some less-than-sober whim like this, but you never really pictured it. You certainly never imagined Fred like this, innocent and tame, hoping for someone else to take the lead.

“Will you show me how?”

“Yes,” you breathe your reply into his mouth.

“Will you go slow?” he asks sweetly, his coy submissiveness sending tremors through your body. 

“Yes. Come closer.”

In the morning, you groggily open your eyes at the sound of birds chirping. You sit up, your head throbbing, and look around. Above you and a few feet to your right, George is sleeping soundly on his belly in the flat convergence of an oak tree’s branches. To your left, shirtless and smeared with dirt, is Fred curled on top of his cloak, also fast asleep. 

“Guess they gave up on finding us,” you mutter, running a hand through your hair to smooth it into place. You remember what happened last night well enough, although some parts are cloudier than others, and you don’t remember deciding to fall asleep at all. You suppose it just happened at some point. Your heart beats faster, wondering if you and Fred will be an item after this, or if he’ll want to keep it quiet, or if you just won’t talk about it. You’re not sure what you want, yet. It’s still purple pre-dawn in the countryside, the sun not quite peeking over the horizon yet.

You know you enjoyed yourself, and you adore Fred- as a friend, certainly. As something more? Maybe. You brush away your anxieties and trust that you’ll settle things when you’re less groggy. Suddenly, it dawns on you that you’ve got to get back to the house before Mr. and Mrs. Weasley wake up and notice your absence. You stand up as though the ground caught fire, kicking at Fred and shouting at George to get down.

You fetch your shirt from a nearby bush, and pluck a twig from Fred’s hair as he looks up, dazed.

“God, my head,” he says, squinting up at you. “What the hell time is it?”

“Never mind that, you’ll have worse than a headache if we don’t get back to the house by like, yesterday.”

“Merlin!” George exclaims, perking up and basically falling from his perch to the ground. Recovering he stands up, taking his surroundings in. “Hold on, what the hell happened to you, Fred? Where’s your shirt?”

“No time for all that, go!” you say, shoving George in the direction you suppose the house is in. You muster as fast a pace as you can and follow him, Fred scrambling to gather his cloak and tee shirt before catching up with you. With George’s back to both of you, you exchange a goofy grin and a wave of relief runs through you. He obviously doesn’t consider last night a mistake, either. You slip your hand into his and make your way into the breaking dawn.

#fred and george weasley #fred and george #george and fred #gred and forge #fred weasley #george weasley #weasley twins #ron weasley #ginny weasley #fred weasley x reader #ronmione #fred weasley x y/n #harry potter #hermione #hermione granger #ginerva weasley #percy weasley #molly weasley #quidditch fic #the burrow #weasley family #weasley family fluff #hp fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #harry x ginny #although.... yuck #relcutantly harry x ginny #and the living in easy fic #hp fanfic #fred weasley fanfic

[lorddistancebarry]

Forest In Chains - Chapter 1

"500, 600, 700, 800, 900.." Garcello counts the cash in his hands after he was given the bag of money. After Tabi fell and didn’t get back up from the half-giant cutting loose and throwing him through the cage into the left most stands of the audience. After the red haze cleared. After basically running with fire and panicking the entire way. He still feels the burns and cuts on his arms, chest and face from Tabi's strikes. The bruising deciding to make itself known by the numbness hidden via his bangs on the left side of his face. The wounds just adding on in a pile especially when the reaper decided to stop fucking around and went all in... his body shivers as the pain compounds and the wind from the September season hits him while he sits on the bench waiting for the bus.

"You barely von that, child." a deep, voice spoke.

Garcello looks up and looks intrigued and surprised at who it belonged to.

"Ruv.." He noted looking up from his money and putting it away, quickly.

"You did not expect me?" He noted with a smirk,"Illegal fight, legal fight. I come to all, vatch them. Sarvente spoke of it being good move. I believe her."

The large Russian man walks over and sits down like a neighbor to Garcello on the bus stop. "But, I can go on many years speaking about her." Ruv noted,"Vhat about you, Young Smoke? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." Garcello admits,"Just.. didn't expect to get cut and burned alive like I'm a fuckin piece of meat."

"Equalizers are not to be trifled vith. As gang or as fighters in vrestling circuit." Ruv chuckles,"Go to be undefeated, An equalizer gets sent, test you. It is cycle to see if you are actually good or you are veak bitch."

"Well, was i actually good?" Garcello laughs wryly,"Cause i feel like shit."

"No, you vere lucky, you use your strength. You are shit, but vorkable shit. Trainable." Ruv critiques as he takes out his vodka flask from his jacket. "So.. you're going to train me?" Garcello asked looking up as Ruv drinks. "Vin against Agoti or Vhitty." He directs looking to Garcello stoically,"Then I teach you. I vant to see if your are vorth time."Ruv takes another drink from his flask. Garcello takes out one of his cigarettes and lights it. A green light illuminates at the end as he inhales, steam and smoke coalesces and flares outward into a glowing green, mist smoke hybrid. "I see." He nods once,"And if I am worth your time?" "I train you.break you, see vhat you.. really are. Then ve progress from there."  Ruv stated looking to Garcello with his lone, glossy eye. Almost seeming to look through Garcello and into him.Garcello shivers looking back. Friend? Enemy? "I see." He gets up as the bus is rolling up."Well for now.. I'm gonna get dinner and go home. Thanks for checking up on me." "Anytime. I do not like promising student, be jumped by Equalizer scum." Ruv chuckles with a grin. Garcello pales a bit, "Uh... what?" Ruv looks to the fellow titan with an incredulous stare,"You scraped out vin, but you also humiliated Tabi. Young Reaper vill vant revenge..." The Russian raises an eyebrow,"You did not expect that?" "But you beat some of the Equalizer's asses and you didn't get  jumped!" Garcello points out as the whir of steam leaving the bus' brakes occurs and the door's open. "That is because of grace of God and grace of throwing truck across street." Ruv laughs wryly,"Now go, child. Before you are stuck here." Garcello waves Ruv off before getting on the bus and using his bus card. A satisfied beep of payment as he moves. Knowing the timer, he sits down quickly before the bus moves with a hiss of the breaks lifting from the ground and the bus hovers, flying down the roads and over ground locked travel.He looks out the window at the night sky and at the many lights below of Funk City. Advertisements, cars, city signs, street lights. Garcello lets his mind wander at the light pollution and the sound of hover cars flying by. Its mesmerizing. Watching everything just fly, zip, and zop by. Time could pass as the colors of the city and the energy takes him in. The concept when he was young had never gotten old or changed. The colors of the world, the lifeblood of the people moving, growing and just living. This is why he and his mother had migrated here. Such a decision had to be lived through not just decided on a whim. But this.. This wholesome peace and tranquility at this time. Away from the violence, the darkness and the weight of it all... Was a very big deciding factor. "One day... they will be able to feel this way.." Garcello resolves quietly as he looks down through the window to the city below. "Feel so.. free..." He coos starting to let the pain and tiredness get to him. Starting to fall asleep on the bus and get complacent in his space... until a growling, gurgling reminder makes itself painfully known in his core. The tender flesh of wounds on his abdomen only make it worse. His body went through hell.

It wants food, it needs it. He needs it. NOW. "First.... step... free myself." he grumbles softly as pain burns in his core and it forces him out of falling asleep and dragging on. Sitting up properly and starting to search for a close enough bus stop so he doesn't just add more suffering with a long as fuck walk that only lengthens the burning. Finding one, he pulls on the wire that signals the automated system to stop. The bus stops after a bit before landing with the soft 'woosh' of steam. Getting off the bus, he walks down the streets. Looking up to keep track of his own placement on the road, looking down to light a cigarette to ease some of the pain, looking back up now to search for those heavenly golden arches. After a minute, 6 cigarettes later.. the yellow and red light beams down upon his form. At this point, a soft, barely noticeable film of red covers everything and everyone that walks by and every sensation, smell and taste is heightened. Painfully so. "Finally..." he exhales, dry air hitting a watering, near drooling maw. He walks into the restaurant with a dragging motion of his feet. Garcello looms over to the counter with barely any real patience. People move away and those that don't, go quickly about their order then move. "Hi." he stated, "I would like.. the whole left menu. Twice. Add 6 McChicken meals. Super size it..." "I-is that-that all sir?" A timid female voice asked quietly. "Yes.." he confirms. Not really looking up. "It's going to be disc-discounted. Y-you don't mind right?" She asked.As she asks that, the red film sight as it was dies down a bit. Garcello looks up from the counter. There is only one person that ever asks about discounts in his mind. He looks at the attendant at the counter and sees the fuchsia and sky blue eyes looking up and right back at him from her gaunt, modest face and shivering, small frame. "Rebecca? What are you doin' here?!" He asked actually in shock. "Um.. well.." she shrugs,"I work here. Y/N got me the job, t-they're the manager." Garcello looks on in shock. He tilts his head back with an incredulous stare. Looking for you and seeing you wave a short, polite wave as you're working with the drive through attendants to ensure chaos is handled. Garcello looks back to Rebecca. "Don’t give me a discount girl just charge me normally. I'll treat ya." He says softly. "A-are you su-sure?" "Entirely." He nods handing over 80 dollars. "You were c-close but a bit over. Your price is 72 dollars and 12 cents." "I know." He nods,"Tips. Put the change in your pocket." Rebecca looks sheepish, looking down and shivering."B-but.." "Do it." He commands sternly. Rebecca takes the money, makes exact change and keeps it immediately. Every motion is fast and shaky like an unstable roller-coaster. "T-thanks..." she murmurs shyly poking her fingers together. "When are you two off?" He asked. "In.. 30 mins.." Rebecca looks up at Garcello. Her eyes narrow and she grimaces.."I'll get an ice baggy.. and. I'm going to be frank... I have questions. And if i have questions.. Y/N is going to want answers..." Garcello grinds his teeth,"Alright. I'll wait and we'll talk." Rebecca purses her lips then exhales,"Thank you." Garcello leaves from the counter and to one of the large benches at the furthest back of the restaurant and waits. Waiting, letting time pass as he patiently sits. His core burning with hunger and primal thoughts when the mental shock subsides. The herd is curious.. tell them. "I.. don’t want them in danger..." Lies are over... tell them something... they worry. They fear. "Garcello? Are you good?" You asked concerned, "Rebecca told me about.-" "The bruise on my face. I know." Garcello says as Rebecca comes over with the food trays. "Ice bag, 3 o clock?" Rebecca offers the baggie of ice. Garcello looks to it then takes the bag, wiggles up his cap and bangs, revealing the recently closed gashes, burns and cuts on his chin and face. Your eyes widen from the sight, brow furrowing in concern. "What h-happened?" Rebecca says before you do. You see Garcello is staring at the food, half listening. Mostly tired, dragging on fumes really. "No." You say then look to Garcello,"We talk. After you finish eating. Got it?" "Yes'm"  Garcello nods once then  finally let's his brain drop being alert.Rebecca looks to you with concern, she shakes more from anxiety. "Oh.. don't worry I know." Your reassure,"But overwhelming him is the last thing on my mind. I don't think this is a simple little 'fall' like last time anyway." "You want to h-hear it fro-from his mouth." You nod once and sit down before looking to Rebecca, she nods once with a small smile. "Both of us are signed out, we wont get in trouble with higher ups for over time."She confirms just before- CRUNCH! TEAAAR! SHHRRIIP! Garcello eats like they aren't there, there is no smacking noise. Just an absence of control from tiredness and physically going through hell. Hes going through hoops with food like a functioning sponge with water, trying to replenish what was forcefully squeezed out of him. Rebecca looks to you. "I.. haven't seen him like this.. or well this bad.. Do you think hes..." "I think so." you confirm," Maybe on drugs. But regardless of whatever it is... This cant be swept under the rug. Did you call Annie?" "I-I did." Rebecca nods,"She's coming as fast as possible. I warned her to not run red lights. I was promptly cursed out in German. I responded. She hung up knowing I was right." Garcello stops eating into his 6th McChicken. The man didn't unwrap the wrapper off, the whole ass sandwich is just getting murdered with his teeth. The devouring however stops short at the mention of Annie. With bloodshot eyes, he looks to Rebecca and you. "You.. are all going to be here?" he asked and you shake your head no. "No." You respond,"But. I'm happy you have a brain in there again. Because like it or not.. you're going to tell us what we need to know." Garcello pales in the face for a moment like he saw a ghost, his heart races in terror. His pupils contract as he knows hes cornered now. There is no wiggling out like before.

"We aren't g-going to hurt you, big guy." Rebecca coos softly. "I.. i know its jus'..." Garcello starts but its hard to put words together. "You know you can't bullshit us anymore." You finish looking at the man directly in his face. Garcello looks away looking down at the scraps of paper, unwrapped or just ripped apart making a mess on the table. "Yeah.. I cant." he confirms as Annie rampages in like a crashing tsunami and yells just as loud, scaring customers out of the restaurant. "NOW WHOMST THE FUCK JUMPED GARCELLO?! I'M ABOUT TO FUCKING BEAT THEIR SHIT IN!" Annie yells, her flesh is tinting blue from the glowing blue of her veins spidering from her skin. A sign of her stress before she drinks ‘the liquid’. "You bout to calm so i can explain." Garcello says strictly, unafraid as he’s been used to seeing the entity pour our from her veins and skin. He’s more than used to being attacked as he knows it doesn't like him. But for now it has no power here. Just like his other half. "Then talk." You egg on, as Annie takes a few breathes, grabs a chair and sits in it, the back of the chair acing the table."We're all listening." Garcello bites his lips. His S/O and his best friends, the core of the herd, his herd... now are looking at him like hes wounded. Doesn't help that he is on the outside and inside... ‘Now you gone and done it, Garcy.. but now.. what do you do now?’ He asks himself in his thoughts as he takes a deep breath in. Act as you are, You are alpha. Time to be a man.

#fnf fanart #reader insert #fnf au #scifi #let-love-run-red #fantasy #fnf garcello

[thevioletjones]

I’d love to see you tackle 5 or 44! Congrats on the Kudos!

Thank you! 5 was included previously, so just 44. 🙂 This one is explicit, FYI.

Prompt 5: “I still remember the way you taste.”

Cell Date

Getting smart about how he acted behind bars was really starting to pay off for Mickey. Not only was he staying out of trouble so that he’d have a chance of making early parole, he was also forging advantageous relationships, mostly with the guards and the old-timers that liked to do good deeds like helping other inmates get an education or decent legal representation.

Little things like that, plus abstaining from shanking for pay or cold-cocking bitches who got mouthy, were making this Mickey’s most pleasant and drama-free stint in prison since his unceremonious induction into juvie ten years previous.

Along with his cooperation and best behavior came some quality perks: first pick of audiobooks from the dude he helped in the library; extra jello, pudding, and french fries from that dude’s kitchen husband; extended yard and gym time when the guard he had people doing favors for on the outside was on duty; and the holy grail, his very own recently acquired smartphone, which he could keep with him in his cell whenever the right people were working, and otherwise stow with a friend when sweep checks were imminent. All he had to do to get safekeeping was provide phone privilege favors. Gave him an extra source of income too, when he sold video call time to inmates on the side.

Tonight, though, he was finally gonna have the damn cell to himself all night long. His bunkmate had just been released, no one else had been assigned to his bed yet, and the overnight guard was a friendly. That meant that at long last, he’d be able to have some kind of sexual escapade with his boyfriend for the first time since he’d gotten locked up nine months ago. As a bonus, they could maybe stay up shooting the shit too. But really, Mickey was horny as hell, and he imagined that Ian was too.

They had a kind of ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policy when it came to banging other people while they were apart, but as a rule, they weren’t allowed to do it more than once a month, or with the same guy twice, blowjobs included. That meant a lot of lonely masturbation sessions on both sides of the prison walls.

It was cruel that the only relief they could get from each other was by proxy of their own hands anyway, but at least now they’d be able to watch each other and egg each other on. It wasn’t the most ideal situation ever, but it was way better than having to stick to innocuous topics on the prison landlines that ran out at the ten minute mark.

This was going to be a treat.

He waited ’til 30 minutes past lights out just to be sure the coast was clear, counting down the minutes like a fucking schoolgirl waiting to make an illicit phone call after her parents fell asleep. As soon as the digital display hit 9:30, he was eagerly punching in the memorized number, smirking as he selected the video option.

He actually felt nervous as it rang, irrationally worried that Ian would be indisposed despite their agreed upon time and date. It took almost four whole rings before the display lit up, and a buffering vision of Ian appeared.

Mickey’s smile couldn’t help but mirror the cheerful redhead’s, and it only widened when he heard his deep, familiar voice.

“Hey, Mick.”

“Gallagher,” he replied softly and full of affection.

“I can barely see you,” Ian said with a chuckle. “That's not really fair.”

“Oh, shit, yeah. Forgot. Hang on.”

He’d managed to get his hands on a clip-on reading light through the library contraband network, so it would have to do. He dug it out from the hole in his thin-ass mattress pad and clipped it to the bar of the lower bunk, angling it toward his face and flipping it on. It wasn’t exactly super-bright, but it was good enough.

“Happy now? This is the best I could do on the after-hours lighting.”

“Yeah, I am. You look good.”

“Shut the fuck up. You look way better. Like a free man.”

Ian ran a hand through his hair, and Mickey wished it were his hand. “It is a nifty advantage, but it’d be a lot better if you were next to me.”

“Yeah, no shit. I’m getting the rawer deal here.”

“Who’s fault is that?” Ian challenged with a raised brow.

Mickey licked his lips, humming. “Didn’t realize the purpose of this call was to get on my ass about gettin’ locked up. Thought we already did that fun routine.”

Ian sighed. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I just miss you.”

“I’m doin’ what I can, gingerbread. Might get lucky in the next few months. Been playin’ the game all nice like. No demerits on my scorecard.”

“I appreciate that. You know I’ll be waiting.”

“Mm.”

“So… what’s new?”

Mickey laughed. “You want me to recount the thrilling tales of the jailbird jerk-offs? How would that be interesting or entertaining?”

“I’m pretty sure you witness more random acts of weirdness than I do everyday. You want me to talk about my job and coworkers, or my niece and nephew? I’m sure you’re dying to know on all counts.”

“Yeah, you got me figured out, Gallagher. That’s exactly why I wanted this dimly lit video call with your pale ass.”

Ian snickered. “Is this the part where we jump straight to the sex?”

Mickey shrugged and scratched his balls. “I mean, if we were in person without that fuckin’ glass between us, we woulda already been bangin’ by now.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

“So?”

“What?”

“Show me your dick.”

Ian snorted, and it was nice to see him laugh unrestrainedly. They usually didn’t do too much laughing during his visits.

“It’s not hard yet.”

“Well, what the fuck you waitin’ for? Shoulda started before I called.”

“God, Mick, you really know how to romance a guy on his first date in nearly a year.”

“If this is a date, you got a really low bar, man.”

“Haven’t I always?”

“‘Ey! Fuck you.”

Ian laughed again and it made Mickey smile wide. He was gonna get addicted to these phone interludes, he could tell.

“Which reminds me… I expect you to take me out a few times when you get sprung, Milkovich. Restaurants, clubs, movies, the works.”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Exactly how many acts of penance are on your little atonement list?”

“As many as I want. You got a problem with that?”

“You know I didn’t get locked up on purpose, right? Cuz I think you maybe don’t know that.”

“I think that I want you to stop putting yourself in situations where one of the possible outcomes is getting locked up. Cuz then we’re forced to resort to one sad long-distance video wank every nine months, which kinda fuckin’ blows, and not in the good way.”

“First of all, as long as I don’t get this shit confiscated by one of the asshole guards, we can keep doin’ this pretty regularly. Secondly, we haven’t even gotten to the wank part yet, so don’t call it sad. Also, is sex all that matters to you?”

“Says the guy who just told me to shut up and get my dick out.”

“Like you said, it’s been a long time.”

“And I’ve already told you that I miss you and want you beside me. I thought you wanted your dick stroked, not your ego.”

“Good one,” said Mickey, reaching down to fondle himself. “So how we gonna do this?”

“The only way we can, I guess.”

“Fine. Do I get to ask you to start touching yourself now?”

Ian giggled. “Yeah, yeah, let’s get it over with.”

“What kind of attitude is that? Get the hell on board or this ain’t gonna work.”

“Calm down and get your cock hard, convict boy.”

Mickey didn’t need to be told twice. He slipped his hand under the waistband of his boxers, rubbing and squeezing gently.

“You gonna give me somethin’ to look at or what?”

“Gimme a minute, fool. It’s not gonna be very pretty in its current state.”

They both went non-verbal for a while as their arms started working, the only sounds being stray gasps, rustling noises, and slick skin against skin.

“‘Kay,” urged Mickey, “lemme see it.”

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

“Fine, just flip the camera.”

Mickey pressed around and activated the rear camera with flash, licking his lips when the screen filled with Ian’s lower half, hand jerking his big dick in that perfect rhythm he remembered so well. It forced out a moan before he could catch himself.

“Mick,” Ian whispered, and he suddenly missed the feel of his boyfriend’s breath blowing hot against his skin as they fucked. And that just reminded him of the way he’d nip and lick at Mickey’s neck, or pinch his nipples at just the right time.

“Ian,” he groaned, his strokes getting faster and more deliberate now that he was fully hard. “Miss you.”

And that was definitely the lamest shit to say when you were supposed to be talking dirty for the purposes of video sex, but it’s what came out of his mouth on account of all the memories surfacing, coupled with the regret of not being able to put his hands on Ian or have Ian’s hands put on him.

Mickey had never wanted to suck a dick so badly in his entire life, simply because he was being denied the opportunity. He’d almost forgotten how delicious Ian’s cock really was. It could wreck him all night long, or Mickey could worship it a little on his hands and knees when the urge overcame him. He wanted it in him one way or the other. Keeping him away from it was cruel and unusual punishment.

“Wanna fuck you, Mick.” Ian was still using this soft, breathy voice that was making him crazy. “Wanna see your ass.”

Mickey’s hand faltered for a moment as he snickered. “How the fuck am I supposed to get you that camera angle right now, genius?”

“You really didn’t think this through enough first,” chided Ian.

“Suck my dick, Gallagher.”

“Mmm, I’d love to get my mouth on you right now. I still remember the way you taste.”

“Oh, shit.”

Mickey’s jerks got tighter with that fantasy egging him on, and silkier with the ease of the pre-cum oozing from his slit.

“You got something to stick up your ass?”

Mickey whined. “Fuckin’ wish. Don’t exactly got a dildo permit, and that’s the kinda contraband no one tries to smuggle or sell.”

“A finger or two will do, right?” asked Ian, pausing for a moment to squirt some lube into his hand.

“‘Ey! What the fuck? No fair! You want me to try and prop this thing somewhere so you can watch me finger myself without lube, and you’re gonna casually use some to jack off with right in front of me? Read the room, fuckhead.”

Ian chuckled. “Sorry, Mick. What happened to the mayo packets?”

Mickey grimaced, regretting ever having told Ian about sometimes using that condiment as lube when he wanted to spice up a solo sesh. “Shut the fuck up and just help me get a damn orgasm.”

“What else am I supposed to do?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know! What am I, the video sex expert?”

“You’re not a sexpert?”

“Now is not the time for your lame jokes, okay?”

“Yeah, okay, but I’ve never done this before either, jackass. I already made my request and you’re ignoring it. You do that for me, I’ll do something for you.”

“Fine, but if I do this for you, I won’t be able to see shit while it’s happenin’, so you have to fuckin’ wait to blow your load, or I’ll never do this with you again.”

“So is that your request? To see me blow my load?”

“Bitch, do I need to explain how porn works to you? You know how at the end of the video, you get to see everybody come? Jizz flyin’ everywhere?”

“Oh, believe me, next time we’re actually together in bed, I will cover you in jizz from head to toe.”

“That’s a lofty goal. Could take a while.”

“I’m willing to put in the hours. Now… get to it.”

Mickey sighed and let his cock fall out of his grip, glancing around to try and figure out how he could set the camera up in a decent place to where it would actually get what Ian wanted in frame.

“You’re gonna have to tell me if I need to adjust it, but I don’t have a lot of options, so just tell me when it’s good enough. Don’t need to get all Scorcese with the precision.”

It took a couple of minutes to figure out something that worked, his erection flagging to half-mast as he concentrated on the task Ian had given him. He was pretty sure that Ian should be the one going out of his way to give Mickey a nice show, but he figured if he let Ian have one first, he could make requests for their next long-distance fuck date.

Once Ian said it was good, Mickey kneeled and sat on his haunches, body remaining upright. He could only imagine what his asshole looked like through that badly lit phone camera, but whatever. At least he didn’t have to look at it. Ian could go crazy for it if he wanted to, and apparently he was if the renewed moaning was any indication.

“Get it wet,” Ian directed.

Mickey licked his palm and gave his cock a few tugs to get it back into the game, then spit in his hand and did what he could to work it around his hole. He was crouched with the damn top bunk rubbing against his bent head, with no view other than stiff white sheets and his own thighs and dick.

Yes, Ian was going to owe him a nice fucking show for this crap.

“Well?” the cocky little prick demanded. “Play with it.”

“Hold your damn horses, I ain’t a cam boy,” retorted Mickey.

With a deep sigh, he emptied his mind of the discomfort of his position and the embarrassment of his actions, and just went for it, wetting his finger with his mouth, then shoving it in as far as he could get it on initial entry. It wasn’t very far, but he wiggled and shimmied it as he slid it in and out, until eventually it was in as far as it could go from the angle he was in. He could faintly hear Ian going to town on himself, and he once again longed to be the one doing it to him. Pressing his ass back onto Ian’s cock instead of his own measly finger. Getting Ian’s big hand around his own dick while he did it.

As it were, he had to use his left hand to get some action on his dick, and as soon as he got back into the swing of things on that score, he set about trying to hit his prostate with his right hand.

“Add another one,” rasped Ian.

“You’re gettin’ real mouthy, ain’t you,” Mickey complained, wetting his hand again before sliding in two fingers to the knuckles.

“Oh, sorry, am I supposed to just remain quiet during this phone sex?”

“Stop sassin' me while I try to hit the spot. Some of us don’t got long-ass E.T. fingers.”

Ian chortled. “Jesus, Mick. Can you not bring my favorite childhood movie into this? Plus, you don’t need to go that deep. Just flip your hand over and crook your fingers. You’ll find it.”

“You think you know my ass better than I do?”

“Probably.”

Mickey did as suggested, even though it was the weirdest combination of body angles. It didn’t do anything at first, then all of a sudden, “Oh.”

Both hands got fast and furious as he felt that familiar tingly throb building up inside. He let himself get lost in it for a few minutes, then came to just enough to realize that he wanted a visual of Ian to orgasm to. It’s what he'd been looking forward to all week.

All at once, he stopped, flipping onto his back and grabbing the phone. All he could see on screen now was the damn ceiling, which was annoying, but also hilarious, since it meant that Ian was probably holding the stupid phone a few inches from his stupid face.

“Why’d you stop?” asked Ian breathily.

“Cuz I wanna see you, numbnuts. As fascinating as your ceiling is, it'd be great if you got the main attraction back onscreen. Please and thank you.”

Ian tittered and angled the camera back down, pushing it past his sternum. “‘Kay, where’s yours?”

Mickey pointed his phone back toward his crotch, eyes extremely focused on Ian’s impossibly hard red dick and large pale hand, sighing when he touched himself again. He needed a finger or two back in his ass, though. He always came harder with something up his ass, and it reminded him more of Ian too.

But there was no way to film himself and still get a view of Ian, plus use both hands to get himself off. He had to choose one type of orgasm to have, and since he wasn’t entirely sure he could pop from anal only, he stuck with the jerking off.

Maybe Ian was right. He hadn’t thought this through enough. But he knew exactly what his daydreams would be scheming up until their next interlude.

“You gonna come all over yourself like I asked?” said Mickey.

“Just a sec,” Ian replied with a grunt.

Mickey’s hand synced up with Ian’s, flying up and down his length on the phone screen. “Wanna see it on your stomach and in your pubes.”

Ian’s moans and groans got louder and closer together, building Mickey’s excitement up to the edge.

And then of course his gay-ass boyfriend had to go and say some gay-ass shit like, “I love you!”

And then he was shooting jizz out the tip of his dick, letting it get everywhere.

And the effect was the same as a quality porno scene in that it made Mickey come too, eyes squinting shut as the sensations overwhelmed him. He wanted to throw the phone across the room, but he somehow managed to keep it resting against his chest and filming everything.

As soon as the last of it gushed out, he did let the phone drop next to him for a short time, and Ian must’ve been recovering too, because he didn’t hear any complaints. He reached for the toilet paper roll and wiped himself down as best he could, not bothering to put his shorts back on when he was done.

He flipped onto his stomach, picked up the phone and went back to the front camera, leaning it up against the wall as he burrowed a pillow under his chin.

“That was halfway decent, Gallagher.” He grinned in relaxed satisfaction.

Ian flipped his camera back too, lying on his side, and propping the phone up against what was probably the empty pillow next to him that Mickey should be on.

“You’ll get the real thing soon enough,” Ian replied with a sleepy smile.

“Fuckin’ hope so…” he trailed off in thought. “Sorry I can’t be there. It is my fault.”

“Nah, just forget about all that, okay? All we can do now is get through the time that’s left. But if you think I’m not gonna ride your ass the non-sexy way when you get out, you’re dead wrong. Not gonna let this shit happen again.”

“You want me workin’ some minimum wage bullshit legit job?”

“Yep. We know how to be poor, Mick. Tired of getting the shitty end of all the risk.”

“Your pillow talk could use some work, Red.”

“I know. Thanks for showing me your asshole earlier.”

Mickey laughed. “No sweat. Well, probly some sweat.”

Ian snorted and shook his head. “Shut up. I’m glad we get to do this. It’s nice being with you at bedtime.”

“Be nicer if it included your dick in my ass, but I guess it’s alright.”

“Want me to tell you about the boring shit now?”

“Might as well.”

“As long as you don’t fall asleep before you tell me you love me, bitch.”

Mickey frowned. “Normal people don’t shout that shit as they’re coming, you freak.”

“I don’t care when you say it, just fit it in.”

It wasn’t really something they could comfortably say to one another on their regular taped prison calls and visits. It was better for Mickey's orientation not to be common knowledge to the wrong people around the joint.

“I love you, you silly bastard, now tell me about your dumbass day.”

Ian smiled brightly. “Franny did the cutest shit…”

Mickey half-listened, content to be in the distant presence of Ian’s face, voice, and manner; imagining a day soon to come when they would be reunited for good in the great wide open.

#ian x mickey #fanfic #gallavich #fanfiction #asks #answers

[mrsalwayswrite]

This Night (40s!Bucky Barnes x Hispanic!OFC)

Summary: When she saved a scrawny blond in a back alley, she would never have anticipated the ripple effects it would have. Nor how meeting someone with a pair of baby blue eyes and cocky smirk would draw her in, encouraging her that for one night, to taste revelry like she never had before.

This is my submission for @allaboardthereadingrailroad​ Marvel Diversity Challenge! My prompt was “a little danger never hurt”. 

I am going to admit, I’m super nervous to post this. I’ve never written a person of color before and would be horrified to accidently offend someone. That being said, I also had so much fun writing this piece. I adore 40s Bucky and Steve, so I was excited to finally have the inspiration to write them. 

Few notes:

-All translations are via google and what I can remember from university (if any of my Spanish is wrong, please please please someone tell me and i’ll correct it!)

-I threw in some 40s slang for fun, so that will be in italics.

-In the little research I did (again, someone please correct me if I am wrong), in the 40s there were not many Hispanic or Latino people living in NYC yet. So for my OFC and her family, they would very much stand out. 

Warnings: a few swear words, some angst, sexual tension, topic of racial discrimination and inequality 

Words: 8k (the story kept growing, i’m so sorry)

<gif is from Pinterest>

She clutched the parcel to her chest, trying to avoid the muddy puddles on the sidewalk. Mr. Hendricks would be furious with her if she got any mud on the packaging of the parcel. He always said it reflected his reputation.  

 Weaving through those walking down the busy Brooklyn sidewalk, she could feel the few glares and inaudible comments following in her wake. She tried to ignore it, knowing was not the first nor last time others judged her for her different skin tone. Though she doubted she would ever get used to it. One of her older brothers would try and cheer her up saying the white folks were jealous since they burned when in the sun too long while Spaniards became more beautiful. Without fail, she would smack him but end up laughing along. 

 Peeking at the address scrawled in precise handwriting, she surveyed the street names around. A sinking feeling in her gut confirmed her fear- she had somehow gotten lost. 

“Mierda.” She hissed, turning around in a circle. Not just to try and relocate her whereabouts but on the off chance her mother happened to be behind her to whack her over the head for swearing. 

 Not wanting to be run over by a fellow pedestrian, she stepped off the sidewalk into an alley nearby while she tried to get her bearings. She brushed down the front of her workwear, dark blue, princess style dress with its Peter Pan collar, double pockets and pleated skirt. A glance at her tights showed a couple spots of mud she somehow managed to still get on her even though her kitten heels were still mostly clean. A miracle really. 

 It was only mid-afternoon but Mr. Hendricks hated when she returned late from delivering parcels. He was the best tailor in Brooklyn and practically thrived off that title. He employed her to help keep things organized, the shop looking nice and delivering parcels to their patrons. It was mindless work but that did not bother her. It was a job...and she was lucky to have one. Being from one of the few Hispanic families in the area was not a perk when trying to find work. She knew the only reason she even got this job was she willingly took half the pay he would have given to anyone else, she could sew well, and she was pretty. 

 A crash at the end of the alley drew her attention behind her. There was some hushed talking followed by another sound of something hitting the ground. Hard. 

 Logically, she knew she should walk away. She was already lost. Her mother frequently reminded her to not involve herself in other people's business, it would only get her in trouble. The problem was her curiosity was a near palpable thing, driving her forward, along with her independent streak the size of the Upper Bay. So when she heard what sounded like a smack and another crash, her feet started moving without a second thought. 

 She darted around a half brick wall to find herself at an "L" intersection. And at the end of both alleys, stood a tall man with a face like a bulldog and the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows, fists at his side. Below him lay a much smaller, blond man who was sprawled out on the dirty ground. The smaller man groaned, rubbing a hand on his jaw. He rolled onto his side, then slowly and painfully rose back onto his feet, his own fists in front of him in a poor imitation of a boxer. 

 "You think you somethin' special, huh?" The larger man jeered, a nasty smirk on his face. He leaned on his back foot, preparing to throw another punch. 

 The smaller man raised his fists but made no other move, prepared to take the hit and most likely go back down. 

 So, she decided to do something stupid. 

 "BILL!!" She cried out, her voice echoing off the brick walls of the alleys. 

 Both men froze, turning to look at her. 

 Tucking the parcel under her arm, she jogged over to the smaller man, uncaring now of the muddy puddles. "There you are, Bill. I've been so worried. You promised to show me where Mrs. Wilcox lives. I tried to find her myself but I got so lost." Ignoring the quizzical look from the blond man, she stood between the two men, meeting the eyes of the larger one. She twirled a strand of her long, black hair around her finger, nerves getting to her but she pressed on. "I'm so sorry for whatever trouble he has caused you. He won't bother you again. We have to go now; our boss will dock our wages if we aren't back soon."

 The man trailed his eyes over her as if looking for a lie tattooed on her skin or dress. Finding nothing of interest, he stared hard at his victim for a long moment. She found herself holding her breath, silently praying her ruse worked. 

 Finally, he rolled his shoulders and unclenched his fists, his thick jowls still tense. "Keep ‘im away from me or next time his ass will end up in the hospital."

 Slowly, she released her breath as she watched the bulldog of a man turn on his heel and stomp away, back down the alley and onto the main sidewalk. 

 "Are you hurt?" She asked, looking over the smaller man. As he dusted off his brown trousers and tan jacket, she was surprised to realize he stood about her height, and probably about her age, in the young twenties. If her guessing was any good. 

 He rubbed his jaw again and winced where an impressive bruise was already growing. "I've had worse." 

 She could not help but smile at his nonchalance. His bright blue eyes met her own honey brown. A timid smile echoed hers, his face so open and expressive. Something about the man she found endearing already. Maybe defending him was not such a stupid action.  

 "All that stuff you said, about lookin' for me and gettin' lost…"

 She huffed a laugh. "I am actually lost. I'm trying to find this address here." She showed him the scrap of paper with the address scribbled on it.

 It took only a glance before he handed the paper back with a smile. "You're not too far. Only three streets away….I... I can take you there if you like."

 "Oh, I'd hate to impose on you."

 "No, it's really fine. Seems you saved me from...well…" He shrugged, sticking his hands in the pockets of his tan jacket. 

 "And... you...don't mind, you know, being seen with me?"

 "No, why?" Eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed slightly, he stared at her like that was the strangest question. 

 It was in that moment she knew, whoever this scrawny man was- he was a good man. The difference in their ethnicity made no difference to him. He was a rarity in her experience with most New Yorkers. 

 Even though it was 1940 and this was supposed to be a land of equal opportunity. 

 It was not. 

 With a shrug and momentarily, awkward silence as they both thought about their own answers to his question, they fell into step with one another as they headed back out of the alley.

 "So, what's your name? Or is it actually Bill?" She spoke up once they hit the sidewalk. 

 "Do I look like a Bill?"

 She squinted her eyes then shook her head giggling. "No, you don't."

 "It's Steve…. Steve Rogers."

 "It's nice to meet you, Steve."

 He directed them down another street. Their shoulders brushed occasionally as they walked, due more to their need to maneuver around puddles and other pedestrians than any sense of intimacy. "You gonna tell me your name or do I have to make one up for you?"

 "Oh! Sorry. It's Elana Morales-Díaz. So, what caused the fight?"

 The tips of his ears and cheeks turned pink as he ducked his head. "He, um, we...we had a disagreement."

 "Obviously. I would hate to know you're friends and beat each other up for fun."

 "My best friend is a boxer. He's tryin’ to teach me some moves…. does that count as beating each other up?"

 She pretended to think about it. "I may let that one slide but it sounds like you might need some new friends."

 "Yeah," he chuckled and peeked over at her. "Know of any openings?"

 "I just might."

 They stood at an intersection waiting to cross the street when they heard a shout from further down the road. Neither paid much attention initially until the shout repeated itself. 

 "STEVE!"

 The blond looked down the road, a smile on his lips. He waved and tugged on Elana to move away from the curb. She followed along, surprised since he told her they needed to cross. 

 A man glided through the pedestrians easily, a few lingering looks thrown his way by some of the women. When he noticed her standing next to Steve, his eyes widened for a brief moment before a lazy smirk appeared on his face and his strut became more pronounced. With boxing gloves dangling over his shoulder, his white shirt and black trousers, he looked like he just walked out of a gym. Especially with the way his dark brown hair ruffled in the breeze, a few strands sticking up like he had run his hands through it a few times. 

 "I leave you for one afternoon and I come back to find you with the prettiest gal in all of New York." 

 Steve rolled his eyes. "You're always at the gym now."

 The man put Steve in a teasing headlock. Only after a flirtatious wink at her, he released the smaller man. "So, you gonna introduce me to this wolfess, Steve?"

 "Ah, right. Elana, this is my best friend, Bucky Barnes. Buck, this is Elana."

 "Nice to meet you." She said, a small smile at their interactions. It reminded her of her brothers.

 The man -Bucky- reached over and took her hand but instead of shaking it, pressed a kiss to her knuckles, maintaining eye contact the whole time. "Pleasure is mine."

 Oh, he was a charmer. The kind her mother warned her about. Then again, her father had the same devilish charisma and Elana liked to remind her mother of that. To which her mother would laugh and say that's why she warned her daughter of those men, she knew from experience. With just a wink and kiss, she would fall madly in love, leave her home and give him five babies before she even knew it. It was always after this statement often said loudly and with feigned annoyance that Elana's father would wrap his arms around his wife, lovingly kiss her temple and remind her how long he had to chase her before she even agreed to go on a date with him. 

 "So how do you guys know each other?" Bucky asked, those blue eyes bouncing between the two of them. 

 Steve coughed, rubbing the back of his neck. It was then Bucky finally seemed to notice the slowly darkening bruise on Steve's jaw. 

 "Steve!" He grabbed his friend's face and glanced over him, concern etched in his movements and expression. "What happened this time, punk?"

 "Nothin'...just a disagreement. I had 'im on the ropes."

 He dropped his hand, running it through his brunet hair. "You gotta stop pickin’ fights, one of these days…" The implications hung heavily in the air. 

 "Ah, Steve…" When he looked over at her, she nodded toward the parcel still in her arms.

 "Oh right! Sorry. Buck, I gotta take her to drop somethin' off."

 Bucky shrugged. "Lead the way, punk."

 "Jerk."

 The three of them quickly crossed the street. Steve, and soon Bucky when he understood what was going on, pointed out markers for her in case she got lost again. In a short time, they arrived at the house, one of the nicer ones in Brooklyn. The boys waited on the sidewalk as Elana walked up to the front door and handed the parcel over with the man's tailored suit. 

 "Where you off to now, doll?" Bucky asked when she approached them. 

 "Oh, I need to get back to the shop. Mr. Hendricks will most likely be upset with how late I am anyway."

 "The tailorin’ shop near Prospect Park?"

 "Yeah." She played with a strand of her hair, trying to hide her nerves.

 "What a coincidence. We were headed that way ourselves, right, Steve?"

 "What?" Steve looked at Bucky, head tilted in confusion. Bucky cuffed him in the back of the head. "Oh, yeah. Yeah. Um, gonna take a nice walk in the park."

 Elana could not help but giggle at the two. With Bucky looking skyward like he was silently praying for patience to deal with his best friend; meanwhile Steve rubbed the back of his head and glared at his best friend. Although she just met them and hardly knew them, she found herself enjoying their presence. Friends were not something she had in great supply...or any supply really. 

 Plus, if she was being honest with herself, she found her gaze drifting to the tall, charming brunet more times than she cared to admit. The butterflies in her stomach did not help the situation. She knew it was foolish. He was attractive and knew it. But when he turned those baby blues on her and winked, she could not help but be drawn to him, like a moth to the flame. 

 "How come we ain't seen you round before? I know I'd remember a dame as beautiful as you round Brooklyn." Bucky said on her left side while Steve walked on her right. Neither one crowded her space. Sometimes one would touch a hand to her back to direct her steps or hold her elbow when she jumped a puddle. It was sweet instead of condescending. 

 She shrugged. "I recently got the job at the tailor shop and I live in Queens."

 They both winced making her laugh. She would never understand this animosity the boroughs had with each other. 

 "Well that explains a lot." Steve muttered. 

 "Hey!" She nudged the blond with her shoulder as she muttered. "Me gusta Queens. Ustedes dos están celosos."

 "What language is that?" Steve asked, curiosity evident. 

 "Spanish."

 "Is that why you have an accent?"

 She nodded, unable to meet their gazes as she answered. "My family moved here from Spain when I was six." Although she had grown up here in New York City, gone to school just like the other kids, she still maintained a slight accent to her words, different from the stereotypical New Yorker's accent. 

 "Say somethin’ else." Bucky smiled down at her. 

 She laughed. "Like what?"

 "I don't know. Anythin’."

 "El cielo es azul. Me duelen los pies con estos tacones. Me he reído más con ustedes dos que en semanas".

 Bucky had almost a dazed look on his face. "That's beautiful."

 "You have no idea what I said."

 "Doesn't matter." The brunet stated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Steve can talk in Irish." 

 "Buck…"

 "What?" 

 "I mean, a little." He rubbed the back of his neck. "My ma came from Ireland." 

 Bucky snorted. "You wrote a poem for a girl in the second grade in Irish and read it to her on the playground. I'd say that's more than a little."

 Steve's face was red and jaw dropped as he stared at his friend. "How...how...how do you know that?" He sputtered. "We weren't even friends yet."

 Bucky winked at Elana as he answered. "Gotta be friends with the right people."

 The three of them walked back, talking and laughing. Well it was mostly the boys talking and teasing one another but she enjoyed just listening to their banter. Occasionally they would direct a question to her or she would throw out a remark that had them laughing. 

 She guided them to the back alley of the street front shops. Mr. Hendricks disliked her walking through the front unless she had her work apron on and clean shoes. 

 "Well thank you for helping me and walking me back."

 "It's not a big deal." Steve said. 

 "We'll see you round, yeah? I'd hate to just meet a gorgeous dame like you then never see her again." Bucky threw a wink at her, adjusting the boxing gloves still over his shoulder. 

 She opened her mouth to tease them then stopped. She truly hoped this was not the last time she saw these two. In a spur of the moment decision, she stepped closer to say goodbye. She pressed her cheeks to Steve's first, giving the traditional cheek kiss. She did the same to Bucky, though she had to rise on her toes to reach his face, and she suspected he bent over slightly. 

 "Hasta luego, mis amigos."

 "What was that, doll?"

 She looked from Bucky's smirk to Steve's red face and back. "A traditional goodbye."

 "Mmm…I could get used to that." The boxer teased, nudging his friend who refused to meet her eyes now. 

 She smiled and started to open the back door when Bucky's hand grabbed her forearm, stalling her movements. 

 "Hey, wait." Those baby blue eyes met her honey brown ones. "It's Friday night.  We usually go to the Stork Club for drinks and dancin’. Come with us."

 "Oh, I don't know…"

 "Come on. It'll be great. If it helps, we'll pick you up from your house."

 She could not help the laugh that slipped out at the thought.  "You'd come to Queens... to get me?"

 "It might break my heart to leave my beloved Brooklyn but I'd do it for you, doll."

 "Honestly it'd be dangerous for you to come to my house." 

 "A little danger never hurt." He brushed some of her hair behind her ear, sending shivers down her spine. 

 He was trouble, complete trouble for her...and she knew it. But the longer he stared at her with those pleading eyes and hand now at the nape of her neck, she could feel her resolve crumbling. "I have three brothers and a protective father."

 "They can't be that bad… Come on, please? Steve, help me out!"

 Steve just laughed, raising his hands in surrender. 

 She bit the inside of her cheek thinking about it. Her brother Mateo owed her for when she covered for him when he almost got caught smoking cigarettes behind the apartment building. Tonight, her parents were supposed to visit her eldest brother and his new wife in the Bronx. 

 "Ok…" She whispered. 

 "Yeah?" A beaming grin spread over his face.

 "Ok...I'll meet you there though."

 "Yes!" Bucky bent over and kissed her cheek loudly. "You won't regret it! Nine o'clock!"

 "Nueve. Estaré allí."

 "I still don't know what you said, doll, but I love it."

 She laughed, pushing him away from her. "Go! Before I'm even more late."

 Before they were three steps away, she ducked inside the back of the shop. Hopefully she was able to slip in unnoticed. The shop should be closing soon so Mr. Hendricks would be in his little office room. 

 She leaned against the back door, hands pressed against her cheeks to will away the warmth in them. Thankfully with her brown skin, the blush would be harder to notice. As she stood there, the realization of what she just agreed to finally hit her. An icy fist landed in her gut, drowning the blush away. She had never been to a club before. She had no idea what to wear...or how to act. How was she even going to get there? 

 Underneath the fear though was a determination to go. Why couldn't she have fun for one night, like other young women she regularly saw and envied. Both of those Brooklyn boys seemed nice. Thinking about them brought the flush back to her skin, especially when she thought of the kiss on the cheek from Bucky. He was trouble and fun and charming and devilish and… and she wanted to spend more time with him. And Steve, the sweet, kind, funny guy that he was. She liked them both. But when thinking about those baby blue eyes, insufferable smirk and broad shoulders...her heartbeat sped up and butterflies erupted in her belly. 

 "Oh Dios, ¿qué voy a hacer?" She whispered to herself. 

 *****

 Just after nine o'clock, Elana climbed out of the taxi. She stared up at the sign that brightly screamed ‘Stork Club’. So many people milled about, either walking into the club or chatting, waiting for others in their group. A couple people already looked like they had been hitting the bottles for some time, if the rambunctious yelling and obnoxious laughter said anything. The atmosphere was loud and vibrant with an air of debauchery...and she had not even stepped foot in the door. 

 "Oh Dios, ¿por qué estoy aquí? Estúpido. Tan estúpido. Debería irme. Ni siquiera se darán cuenta." She murmured to herself, her hands wringing the strap on her clutch. Actually, it was not even hers. She "borrowed" it from her mother's closet and prayed that she could return it before her mother noticed.

 "Elana!" 

 At the call of her name, she turned around to see Bucky and Steve crossing the street, dodging a car that decided they were taking too long. 

 "You made it!" Bucky exclaimed, bubbling with excitement. He scanned her over, giving a low whistle. "Damn, doll, you look beautiful."

 "Gracias." She smoothed down her floral-patterned tea dress that reached mid-calf, her kitten heels still on from earlier. Her raven hair hung loosely down her back, unstyled in the typical curls that most women wore. There had been no time to try one of those hair styles and not bring attention to herself before she snuck out. Just to make her even more self-conscious, the cherry red lipstick she wore felt heavy on her lips. Something she only wore on rare occasions. "You fellas clean up nicely."

 Checking over them, they each wore nice suits. Though Steve's looked a size or two too large and the prominent bruise on his cheek ruined the look a bit. Bucky was practically sinful in his suit, showing off his broad shoulders and strong legs, his hair slicked back. Improper thoughts flooded her mind and a heat warmed her cheeks. She had a feeling she would need to go to confession tomorrow. That was tomorrow’s worry though, tonight was about fun.

 "Ready to have the time of your life?" Bucky asked, excitement practically bubbled under his skin. 

 "That's a high standard."

 "Guess I better not disappoint. C'mon!" He grabbed her hand, pulling her towards the crowded, open door. In her sudden fear, she reached back and snagged Steve's hand, dragging him along. She would never admit it but having both of them on either side of her made her feel better. 

 There were several different calls for Bucky, vying for his attention. He just waved or yelled something back but kept her hand in his, pulling them through. She noticed more than one disappointed female face when Bucky passed them. It churned something in her stomach which she tried to ignore. 

 When they finally entered the dance hall, she froze. It was nothing like she imagined and so much better. At the far end was a stage with a large band playing an upbeat song that made her bounce on her toes without realizing it. A large bar area was set up, packed with people already looking for something to wet their throats. Booths and tables lined the walls. Already the hardwood, dance floor looked packed with couples jiving. Mirrors and photographs hung on the walls making the place feel bigger even when it was so crowded. The air smelled of alcohol, sweat and a youthful zeal she had never experienced. 

 It was intoxicating and nerve-wracking. She could not wait to join in. 

 The next thing she noticed when she glanced at all the people...she was the only non-white person there. 

 "Let's get a table." Bucky tugged them along towards an open booth on the right side of the dance floor. 

 She slid in on one side while Steve scooted in on the other. Bucky stood at the end, grinning ear to ear as he seemed to quickly survey the place. 

 "Right." He tossed his suit jacket on the seat next to her then clapped his hands, the sound muffled by the volume from the band nearby. "What kinda drink would you like?"

 "Ah, vino?"

 He nodded and waltzed towards the bar, throwing an arm around the shoulder of one of the men standing there waiting. 

 She turned back to the blond. "You're not drinking?"

 "Nah, too many health issues to make it worth it." 

 She hummed and took note of Steve's fidgeting. "Is this your first time too?"

 He chuckled. "No. I just don't...well, this isn't where I'd prefer to be on a Friday night...but don't tell Bucky... though he probably knows."

 "What would you rather be doing?"

 "Drawin’ or paintin’, maybe playin’ cards but I'm terrible at them."

 "You're an artist?" The realization warmed her heart. This scrawny man with a heart too big for his body and kindness an invisible cloak around him. It made sense somehow. He could look past the ugly and see beauty and somehow capture it. 

 "I don't know if I'd say that...I just enjoy it. It's usually what I end up doin’ when I come here. Doodlin’ on a napkin while Buck dances with every girl he can."

 Her stomach dropped while hearing that, which was stupid. So stupid. She swallowed thickly, hoping Steve did not notice, before she spoke again to distract herself. "Well if you doodle something tonight, can I see it after?"

 "If you like."

 Bucky appeared a minute later with a foamy glass of beer and a glass of red wine. Carefully, he placed them both on the table. "Ready to cut a rug?" He asked, looking at her expectedly. 

 "Um, I don't...I've never danced like this before." She hesitantly admitted. Steve gave her a sympathetic smile like he understood. 

 "Don't matter. I bet you're a swell dancer." He held out his hand for her. When she did not immediately accept his hand, he wiggled his fingers. "C'mon, ain't that hard. I'll teach you."

 With a sigh, she took his hand, his smile beaming as he tugged her out of the booth. She could not help but smile back at his sheer enthusiasm. It was contagious. 

 He led her off to the side of the dance floor. Putting one hand on her lower back and taking the other in his hand, he began demonstrating the steps. Her eyes stayed glued to his feet while he moved, willing her brain to understand and not make a fool of her. 

 "You got this, doll. Told you, you're a natural. Just follow my movement, let me lead."

 So she did and before she knew it, they were flying around the dance floor. 

 Bucky was an amazing dancer and it showed in how he effortlessly led her. A couple times she stumbled or stepped on his toes but he would just grin and encourage her to keep going. The faces of those around them blurred. The music seemed to sink into her blood and with every beat of the drum or clap of the hands from the band, her heartbeat echoed it. It was intoxicating and she had not even had a sip of alcohol. Now she understood why people flocked to these dance halls. There was something freeing in them, losing yourself to the music and movements. For a short time, you could ignore the outside world and all its trials. Here, you could be free. 

 Eventually she begged a break, practically panting from the several songs they danced through. The brightness in her eyes and smile though showed how much fun she was having. Still holding hands, they weaved through the crowd back to their booth where Steve sat with a napkin in front of him, pencil in hand and eyes focused downward. She slid into the booth first, Bucky right behind her. 

 "Have fun?" Steve asked, eyes bouncing between the two before him. 

 "I can't breathe." She giggled out, hand pressed to her chest. Her lungs struggled to fill up properly but instead of installing fear into her, it only made her laugh. 

 Bucky took a long sip of his beer and slung his arm behind Elana, on the back of the booth. "Told you, you'd have fun. You're a great dancer."

 "Only cause I had a great teacher." Taking a sip of her wine, she focused on the quiet artist.  "Did you draw something, Steve?"  

 "Yeah, just a little sketch."

 "Can I see it?"

 He slid the napkin over to her, nerves obvious. Giving him a small, reassuring smile, she flipped the napkin over and felt her heart stop and jaw drop. The pencil sketch was of Bucky and her dancing. His mouth was next to her ear, whispering instructions or flirtatious comments, his hand on her lower back. Her gaze was on his chest but the brilliant smile on her lips gave her away. The sketch was so realistic, it was astounding. It completely captured Bucky's confidence and her nervousness but somehow the opposite emotions only added to the image, bringing a sense of balance and trust between the two dancing partners. 

 "Steve, esto es…. hermoso…. increíble." She breathed out, never taking her eyes off the napkin. When she finally looked up to see him blushing and fiddling with the pencil, she smiled. 

 Bucky had been leaning against her so he could see the sketch also. "That might be your best one yet, pal."

 "Thanks, guys. S'nothing."

 "May I keep it?" She softly asked, eyes tracing the delicate lines and shading.

 The embarrassed blond flapped a hand at her. "Course. It was for you if you wanted it anyway."

 Silently, she reached across and squeezed Steve's hand, unable to convey all the emotions she was feeling. "There's one thing you got wrong."

 "What's that?"

 "I'm not that pretty."

 Both Steve and Bucky chuckled.  

 "Elana," Bucky started, gazing down at her. "He drew you like-"

 "Bucky!" A silky voice interrupted. A young woman stood at the end of their booth. Her blonde hair in perfect curls, bright red lipstick matched the equally bright red dress she wore. Her eyes zeroed in on the handsome brunet at the table, ignoring the other two patrons like they were just wallpaper. "Wanna dance?" 

 The sun-kissed woman could feel Bucky's hesitation. Nudging him gently in the ribs, she nodded towards the interloper. "Go. Have fun. I still need to catch my breath."

 With a nod, he slipped out of the booth and followed the beautiful woman onto the dance floor. The two easily fell into step like they had done this a million times, each movement flawless and smiles on both of their faces. 

 She turned back to Steve, ignoring the churning in her gut. "What's your favorite thing to draw?"

 They talked for a few minutes about art classes he had taken and the few commissioned pieces he had done for local businesses. The passion he spoke with about art, hands flapping and eyes alight, it was impossible not to join in his enthusiasm. 

 The presence of someone standing at the end of the table drew their attention away from the quick sketch of a monkey Steve had drawn on another napkin. This young woman had a haughty expression on her otherwise pretty face, glaring down her nose at Elana. 

 "You shouldn't be here." She stated, venom lacing every word. Hands on her curvy hips, the gold stitching in her emerald dress catching the light from above. 

 "Ruby, we-"

 "No one is talkin’ to you, Steve." She barked then continued glaring at Elana. "I bet you're a real floozy, comin’ in here lookin’ like that. Well news flash, no one wants you or your kind here."

 Tears stung in Elana’s eyes, threatening to fall. She knew this would happen. It always happened. There was always someone to remind her she was not one of them, even if her own eyes could see it. She had hoped tonight would be different. That for once, she could fit in. 

 "I want her here. She's my date."

 The lady -Ruby- spun on her heel so quick, her dress flared out. "Bucky," she crooned, her voice sugary-sweet, so different than a moment ago. "You're lookin' like a real Fred Astaire out there tonight. Let's go-"

 Bucky did not even look her way as he slid back onto the bench, eyes focused on Elana. "You alright there, doll?"

 She nodded numbly, staring at the table. Twirling a strand of hair absent-mindedly around her finger, she tried to force the tears from falling. It was not even the worst insult she had heard hurled at her, but it still cut her to the quick. Every time. 

 "Why don't we head out, yeah? Steve there looks like he's gettin' a little warm and the music ain't so good tonight." Bucky said gently. 

 She nodded again, not trusting herself to speak. 

 "Bucky, stay…" Ruby tried one last time but he leveled a glare at her that made her take a step back. 

 "Take a powder, Ruby, I ain't interested."

 Bucky wrapped his hand around Elana's, entwining their fingers as he slid out of the booth with her right behind him. Without even a backwards glance, he led the three of them out of the dance hall. Elana kept her head down the whole time, unable to meet anyone's eyes for fear of what she would see. 

 The night air was blissfully cool after the heat of the dance hall. It kissed her skin as if trying to help calm her down. At this point, the street was not as busy, everyone mostly inside now. Only a few pedestrians and cars interrupted the quiet scene. 

 "Elana, I'm so sorry."

 "Debería irme. No debería haber venido. Soy tan estúpida." She muttered to herself, not even hearing Bucky's statement. It was a foolish idea to come out. For so long she had tried to fit in, especially as a child. Her mother always told her to be herself and embrace her difference. That was easier said than done. Tonight felt like a taste of it when she was on the dance floor. What things could have been like if everyone was accepted. If where she was from did not matter. She had been so happy dancing with Bucky, this handsome devil who treated her like she was special, holding her hand in front of everyone. Sure, Steve said he danced with a lot of girls but for tonight, she was someone while on his arm. She was someone special. 

 And oh, did she love the feeling of his hand wrapped around hers. Him holding her close as they danced, his warm breath hitting her neck just right. He was trouble, through and through. Her mother would call him a Casanova and tell her to run the other way. Yet she did not want to. He drew something out of her. An almost recklessness. A desire for more. More in life. To experience life with a passion. Both this new feeling and Bucky’s presence were addicting...and she found herself unable to turn away. At least not for tonight. She wanted to revel in it tonight. 

 It was not until a hand cupped her cheek and tilted her head up to meet a pair of worried baby blue eyes that she was jolted from her internal spiral. 

 "Hey, hey. I have no idea what you're sayin' but it don't sound good. Why don't we walk for a bit, mmm? The night's still young."

 Wordlessly, she followed. It was then she noticed Bucky was still holding her hand, palms flat against one another's. That realization drew a small smile on her lips. On her other side walked Steve, hands in his pockets but a genuine smile on his face when he caught her eye. Even after all this, these two Brooklyn boys wanted to be with her. With that in mind, she shoved her despair and pain away. Let tomorrow bring what worries that came with it. Tonight she wanted to be reckless without fear of the consequences. Tonight was supposed to be fun.  

 "Can't believe Ruby would say that. Always thought she was a nice dame." The brunet mused, slipping his suit jacket back on before taking Elana's hand once again.

 "She only showed what she wanted you to see, Buck."

 "Dance with a girl a couple times and she thinks you owe her or somethin'."

 The blond quirked an eyebrow at his friend.  "Was it only dancin'?"

 "What you gettin' at, Rogers?"

 "You ditched some other girl for her once before."

 His head swiveled to stare at the smaller man in shock. "I did?"

 Elana spoke up. "Sounds like you have quite the selection of dance partners to choose from."

 Steve snorted. "Guy has been doll-dizzy since he was twelve."

 "What can I say? I appreciate fine art." Bucky said with a self-satisfied grin.

 "Don't usually lock lips with paintings or statues…"

 "You know what, Rogers!"

 Elana laughed as Bucky let go of her hand to race around her and put Steve in a headlock. The two pretended to box for a couple minutes, grins on both their faces. When finished, the champion boxer slid up to her, a rakish smile teasing his lips as he claimed her hand back.

 "Well if those gals are fine art, you sweetheart, are a masterpiece." He twirled her around once, making her dress flare out around her legs. "Have I told you yet how beautiful you look tonight?"

 "Yes, Bucky."

 "Good, I'd hate for you to forget." He winked and the trio started walking again. 

 "Oh, here." Steve suddenly said, fishing something out of his pocket. He held out his hand almost shyly.  

 She took the offered item to see it was the napkin with the sketch on it. "Oh, Steve. Muchas gracias." She leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek, leaving a red stain behind. "Oops."

 "Here." Bucky tossed over a handkerchief to Steve. 

 She glanced at the napkin one more time before reverently placing it in her clutch. She already knew where she was going to put this in her room so she would always remember this night.

 "Oh drat." Steve said after glancing at his watch. "It's almost eleven. I have class early tomorrow."

 "Go on, punk. I'll look after her."

 Elana hugged Steve and was thrilled when he squeezed her back just as tightly. "I'm so happy to have met you."

 "This isn't goodbye, right?"

 "I hope not. You have more artwork to show me."

 He blushed yet nodded before giving Bucky a quick hug. 

 "Night, Steve."

 "Night, jerk."

 Together, they watched Steve walk down the sidewalk, wave back at them then disappear down the next street. 

 "Wanna keep walkin'?"

 She nodded. She knew she should go home. It was getting late and she still had to get back to Queens. Yet walking side by side with this man whom she had only met several hours ago, she found the idea abhorrent. Glancing up at the night sky, only a couple of the stars were visible through the smoke, clouds and street lamps. They were lovely though, a reminder that there were greater things out there, one just had to look for them. At least, that is what her father always said. 

 "Hey," Bucky's voice pulled her attention back, "I never got to say it earlier but thanks...for havin’ Steve's back earlier today. Punk doesn't know when to quit."

 "I'm glad he got in that fight...is that odd? If he didn't, I wouldn’t have met either one of you."

 "Alright, this ONE time I'm glad he got in a fight. Though, we probably would have ran into each other eventually."

 They walked in comfortable silence for a couple minutes. Two cars passed them separately and only a handful of people walked their way. Otherwise it almost felt like they were alone. It was peaceful, still holding hands and wandering the streets of Brooklyn.  

 "Y'know, I was kinda hopin' we'd get at least one slow song at the dance hall."

 "Me too." She confessed. 

 "Well, we should!" An idea sparked in his eyes. "Wait here." He moved over to one of the parked cars near them. He tried to open it but it was locked so he moved to the next one. This one opened without hesitation and he slid in. The whole time Elana switched between watching Bucky and scanning the streets for someone to yell at them. What was he thinking? Suddenly music came on, drifting from the radio through the open passenger door. 

 Bucky stood there, leaning against the car with the biggest grin on his smug face. "Who needs a dance hall?"

 She laughed, understanding what he had done. "We’re going to get in trouble."

 "No, we ain't. C'mon."

 "Oh, Dios mío, yes we are!" 

 "Dance with me." He cooed, standing before her looking like an Adonis. 

 With that lazy smirk and enthralling blue eyes staring down at her, refusal was not an option. The words died on her tongue as she stared up at him. The music was slow, a singer crooning about his love. The moment felt like something from a fairytale story her mother would tell her as a little girl. She knew she should go home. Stop this heat that seared through her when she found herself caught in his eyes. Stop the butterflies in her stomach when around him. Stop the way she melted under his touch, his hands always so gentle. 

 But she wanted this. Right now. To pretend this was her reality. To dance with her prince under the stars. That love did not care about the differences in their skin tones. For when the sun rose and this dream faded, reality would seep back in. Plus, he was a charmer. Doll-dizzy. She would not keep his attention past this night. 

 For now though, she could pretend. Enjoy the night in a way she never had before. 

 He placed her hands behind his neck and his on her hips. Standing there under the streetlight and distant starlight, they danced, swaying back and forth. Her head landed on his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath it. So steady and soothing. The world faded away around them, the only things that mattered was their dancing and the music. It wrapped around them like a warm, thick blanket. Enveloping them in a sense of security and vitality. One of his hands slowly traced her spine leaving a trail of fire behind. His cheek pressed against the top of her head. She felt safe...and wanted. A heady feeling that she could sense herself beginning to crave even more. Her hand tangled in the hair, her fingers lightly scraping the back of his neck. 

 "Say something in Spanish." He whispered, his lips against her scalp. 

 "Gracias por esto ... todo esto. Ha sido la mejor noche de mi vida".

 She looked back up at him, hoping to convey without words what she said. As she lifted her head up, their eyes locked. Tension filled the empty space around them, pulling them closer. For a split second, his eyes drifted to her lips and back up. Her heartbeat began racing anew. Slowly, as if waiting for her to turn away, his head tilted towards hers, his hands gripping her just a little tighter. His breath fanned across her face, warming her inside and out. She swore her heart was going to beat out of her chest. His nose brushed hers, an almost timid action that drew a smile from her. He chuckled silently then somehow pulled her even closer. She closed her eyes, a gasp escaping her when she felt the faintest touch of his lips on the corner of her mouth. 

 "Hey! Hey, you kids! What ya doin’ with my car?!" 

 All the tension evaporated like rain drops under the scorching sun. 

 "Shit...c'mon!" He grabbed her hand and started running away. Holding on tight, she ran next to him, as well as she could while wearing heels. The yells of the car's owner soon a distant sound behind them. 

 Finally, they stopped two streets later. He let go of her hand, running his hands through his hair and pacing. She leaned against the brick wall, hand over her mouth, giggles spilling forth between gasps of air. Never in her life had she done anything like this. She closed her eyes as the giggles turned into full-body laughter. One hand covered her mouth and the other wrapped around her own waist to try and contain the sound. This night was nothing like she expected but it only seemed to get better and better. This newfound revelry of youthful zeal, this silly recklessness...she wanted more and more of it. 

 When the laughter dissolved into small chuckles, she wiped her eyes as she opened them, hoping her make-up had not smudged too much. Not that she particularly cared in the moment.

 What she saw standing before her killed the laughter on her tongue. 

 Bucky stood just at arm's length, staring at her like she was the stars in the heavens. 

 In a single step, he crowded her against the brick wall. "Elana…" he growled, voice low, and it might have been the most exhilarating sound she had ever heard. One of his hands cupped the back of her head, as he lowered his lips to hers. The kiss was gentle, their lips just pressed together. A soft pressure that made her melt into his arms. 

 He leaned back to press his forehead against hers. His breath just as shaky as hers, both still breathing hard from their run. 

 "That was my first kiss." She blurted out, immediately regretting the words once they escaped. 

 He leaned back to look her in the eye. "Really?"

 She shrugged nervously. "Not many fellas lining up to kiss a girl like me."

 "Their loss, doll face." He smirked, running a thumb over her bottom lip. "May I have the honor of your second kiss ever?"

 She giggled and nodded. 

 This time when their lips touched, it felt like more. The first was like licking the spoon used after mixing cookie dough. A taste of what was to come. The second kiss was eating warm cookies right out of the oven and practically ascending to heaven. 

 His lips slanted over hers perfectly, as if they were formed just for her. Their mouths moved in tandem, picking up speed. No longer were the kisses sweet and gentle. His tongue traced her bottom lip and she willingly opened her mouth to receive it like a present. These kisses were all-consuming and fiery. It was as if his touch seared into her soul, leaving an imprint there for all eternity. 

 She knew right away when she met Bucky Barnes, he was trouble. He was the kind of man her mother warned her about. The kind to sweep her off her feet and make her forget the world around her. He was kind, charming and so full of life. Yet she knew even as she was wrapped in his arms, lips pressed against his, that there was one truth that would haunt her. Even if she ignored it for now. That truth would never leave. So she overlooked it, sinking deeper and deeper into his kisses and embrace. Drowning herself in him. With her back pressed against the wall, her hands tangled in his hair and mouths devouring one another, she had never felt more alive. 

 Tonight, she would choose the fire he poured into her. Tonight, she wanted to enjoy life without fear. Tonight, she wanted to pretend that this night would never end. To thrive in this feeling of passion and life, that nothing could go wrong. 

 For the truth was one day, he was bound to break her heart.

#marveldiversitychallenge #marvel #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #Bucky Barnes #James Buchanan Bucky Barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x ofc #bucky/ofc #bucky fic #Steve Rogers #Hispanic!ofc #POC character #40s!steve #40s!bucky #40s! #1940s #mzwrites

[bumbleberrysky]

alexa, play candyshop (bass boosted) | 03

pairing: gabriel x reader genre: soulmate au, canon divergent around s13, hurt/comfort, humour, future smut (probs) wc: 3.7k rating: sfw warnings: none really

You knew there was a reason some divine power brought you to the Winchesters all those years ago, but to this day you still have no idea what that reason is. It’s something you’re destined to find out soon though, especially when you return to the bunker after months away and find not only a new face, but one that belongs to someone who up until that point you’d thought was dead. What does his return have to do with the changes you’re suddenly experiencing in yourself? Will you finally find out the reason you’d been brought here in the first place? Maybe…

Chuck works in mysterious ways after all.

prev. || next

“Well, whatever it says, we’re gonna have to wait until Cas and Dean get back before we can decipher it.”

You huff, sparing a glance to the angel huddled in the corner, resting his head against the drawers beside his bed. It’s been a few days since you’d first come back and you wish you could say you’ve had all sorts of good progress with Gabriel, but the truth is that you haven’t. He has receded so far into himself that a part of you is actually worried the archangel you knew is gone completely.

“I’m a bit worried,” you admit quietly to Sam after a moment. He turns his gaze to you and you hold it. “He’s… he’s worse than I thought.”

And, put bluntly, you’d thought he was bad.

Sam doesn’t say anything, merely releases your gaze and turns to survey the room once more; the walls are plastered in a scrambled mess of what you can only guess is enochian. You’re not sure when Gabriel had the chance to do it, but you know that earlier you’d visited him to offer him a portion of his grace back and he’d refused, so you’d left and when you returned some time later the walls were like this.

“Did Dean say when they were going to be getting back?” you ask, wringing your hands.

“He didn’t respond to my text, so I can only assume he’s driving.” Sam huffed a laugh. “Cas forgot to charge his phone again so I can’t reach him either.”

You purse your lips, trying not to smile. Of course, it is the little things that Castiel forgets. Like that wireless technology needs charging, that Beyonce is too well known to be used as a cover name, and those straws that don’t always come with fast food drinks.

You’re about to speak when the faint sound of metal hitting metal echoes through the bunker, heavy footsteps on steel stairs following suit.

“Well, I guess that saves us asking,” you say, patting Sam on the arm as you move past. The two of you depart Gabriel’s room, sparing him one last concerned glance before you close the door behind you.

“I’m home! And I brought food!”

Yeah, that’s definitely Dean. You just hope Castiel came in with him so he can see his brother and read the scribble on the walls.

x     x

 The scribble, as Castiel informed you, is a thrilling account of Gabriel’s Story, so to speak. What happened to him after his so-called ‘death’, and you tuned out for a fair amount of it (mostly during the detailed recount of time spent with porn-stars in Monte Carlo) but heard the important bits, like how he was traded in to Asmodeus and what the Prince of Hell then proceeded to do to him for the years following.

It saddened you, despite it being largely something you already suspected if not knew.

After listening to Castiel read the enochian on the walls, you’d had to leave. Uncharacteristic of you, and Dean had given you an odd look as you passed him in the hallway, but you couldn’t spend another minute in there. You felt bile rising to the back of your throat.

You really don’t have an explanation for why you’re reacting so strongly, so viscerally, to everything that has to do with Gabriel. Like you’d affirmed earlier, you only really met and interacted with him a handful of times! You aren’t close with him, haven’t known him extensively—

So why do you have this gaping pit of loss and grief in your stomach, like you’ve lost a limb?

It doesn’t make sense, and you’re not sure if you can make it make sense, honestly. You’d like to be able to put it on the backburner too, but every time you try it just creeps its way back to the forefront of your mind. In a bid to distract yourself, you hole yourself up in your room for the rest of the day, marathoning whatever dumb show is on TV. If you’re lucky, the entertainment channel might have old reruns of Neighbours. That never fails to make you laugh with its exaggerated soapy drama.

To your disappointment, the only thing playing in a marathon fashion is Family Guy, and with a sigh you bundle up in your covers and resign yourself to the afternoon. Well, if you wanted to numb your brain then this result isn’t so bad after all.

You spend the rest of the afternoon in your room, and pass out at some indiscernible hour. When you wake next, it’s a ridiculously early hour of the next morning and the TV is still running. You have a cramp in your neck from your odd sleeping position, and you rub it with a scowl as you emerge from the blankets and turn off the TV. You slept way too long, and there’s no way you can get back to sleep now.

Begrudgingly, you slip from your bed and into a standing position, relishing in the stretch you feel as you lengthen your tight, tense limbs. The floor is cold against your feet but you’re too lazy to search for the slippers that came with your room and instead just go on your way. Destination: kitchen.

You feel like a ghost, wandering the silent halls of the bunker. Dean is most definitely passed out by this point, and Sam… well he’s probably asleep, but you wouldn’t bet on it. That psychopath could also be out jogging. You’re so zoned out that you don’t even realise you’ve reached the kitchen until you stub your toe on the doorframe.

“FUCK!” you curse, managing to restrain yourself from howling like a lunatic just barely, at the last second. You double over, heaving in a big breath. Of course it had to be the little toe—

“y/n? Are you alright?”

The low, gravelly tone that brushes your ears is familiar and always welcome. You stick your thumb up so Castiel doesn’t worry while you grasp your bearings. When you find your voice, you follow up the gesture with a squeaky, “Fine! Peachy.”

“I would remind you that I can tell when you are lying, but I don’t think you aimed to be very believable.”

You straighten, throwing Castiel a bright smile despite the pain still throbbing in your foot. You should have looked for the slippers—this is your hubris catching you slipping.

“Sorry Cas, I shouldn’t be sarcastic. I’m fine, but I think one of these days I’m gonna break my toe for real on that stupid doorframe.”

Unfortunately, this isn’t your first run-in with the doorway. If anyone asked, you would tell them that the design of the hallway is atrocious and that door is not where it’s meant to be. Well, it’s not where you expect it to be every time you come to the kitchen, and is clearly an obvious design flaw.

The angel lets out a soft noise of understanding, lips twitching in the ghost of a smile. “Perhaps. You don’t seem to have very good luck with doorframes.”

“Nope, I definitely do not,” you respond, shaking your foot out before moving over to the fridge and checking to see if Dean bought strawberries. A noise of delight escapes you as you find what you’re looking for, several punnets stacked in the back corner. Ah, and they say old dogs can’t learn new tricks—Dean is a very good learner with the proper motivation!

(Pavlov would be proud of you.)

Castiel has a smile on his face as he watches you remove one of the punnets, hopping up onto the bench facing him and flicking the plastic open. He approaches, movements fluid and calm, and for a few moments you sit in comfortable silence. He is the first to break it.

“y/n… are you alright?” At his repeated question you give him a confused look, and he hurries to elaborate. “I mean… with everything. With Gabriel. I noticed how you left, yesterday.”

Ah. Well, you knew that you hadn’t been subtle, but you hadn’t been sure whether anyone was going to question you on it. You munch on a berry as you think, gaze flicking to the side. You wouldn’t dream of telling Sam or Dean about the odd sensations you’d been feeling, despite the fact they knew how you’d reacted to the news of Gabriel’s death, but Castiel… you felt comfortable confiding this in him.

“Well… yes, and no.” You drop the top of the strawberry into the lid of the punnet and reach for another. “To be honest, I don’t really understand what is going on with me. It’s like… super overactive empathy. It just hurts, to see him that way. And it makes me sad, knowing what he went through. Painfully so.”

Castiel nods, light eyes on you as he listens attentively and with care. You chew through another two berries before continuing. “Hearing it straight from him—well, as straight from him as it could be, I suppose—it just got to be a bit much for me. I had to leave. It just… made me feel a bit sick, is all.”

The look on the angel’s face is pensive, and it’s as though you can see his mind whirring a mile a minute behind the sky of his eyes. “I see,” he murmurs, gaze flicking to the side as he thinks. “Well, you are a very kind soul, so I am not surprised by your empathy. Though, if it is affecting you so strongly…”

He pauses, eyes finding your own again. “If you feel ill again, come find me. I’ll help as much as I can.”

You smile at him, every moment as sincere as you’ve ever been. “Thanks, Cas. I really appreciate it.”

x     x

Sam must have done or said something to Gabriel while you were locked up in your room, because there seemed to be a sudden change in his progress.

For the better, you think. Well, you hope.

He was a little less withdrawn, a little less manic and fidgety. He still doesn’t really speak, and doesn’t react well to loud noises or sudden movements, but Sam told you he had spoken last night.

To correct him about calling the Monte Carlo porn-stars ‘hookers’, of course. You’d wanted to slam your head into the tile wall when you’d heard that.

The day passed quickly after your encounter with Castiel, and you spent it cleaning and polishing your weapons—you don’t want to go down as that one stupid hunter whose greatest folly was improper upkeep of her arsenal. Only when you’d polished your machete to a gleaming shine did you admit that it was likely time for a break. You thought it had only been a few hours, so when you wandered out and found that it was actually almost dinner time, you’d been pretty surprised.

Sam had run into you in the hallway and filled you in, and afterwards had insisted on accompanying you to the kitchen. It seems you spend a lot of your time there, now you think about it.

The large, industrial-feeling space is where you find yourself now, making a lazy stir-fry from pre-packaged vegetables and beef. You’d tasked Sam with cooking the rice since he’d insisted on lingering for conversation, and since you trust that he’s more capable than his brother you don’t bother checking on his progress.

“Castiel was worried when he first saw Gabriel, but after seeing the writing he’s happy because it means the Gabriel we know is still in there, somewhere.” Sam updates you from your side, sniffing and peering into the wok before you in mild interest. “That smells good. You sharing?”

“Maybe,” you answer him, giving him a sly look. “Depends… you got any of that guilt-free ice cream hiding in the freezer?”

Sam peers around to make sure his brother isn’t listening before nodding, “Back corner, behind the frozen berries. We got a deal?”

“Pleasure doing business with you, young Winchester,” you answer with a shake of his hand, putting on an accent for his benefit. He snorts, moving away to grab two bowls—good timing, you have to note, since the stir-fry is almost done. “Kind of sad you still have to hide it from Dean, though.”

“Are you kidding? He has a nose like a bloodhound for sweets,” Sam says, coming back with porcelain in tow. “Did I ever tell you about the time he found an industrial-size bag of Hershey’s kisses I bought? I hid it in the vents in the dustiest corner of the library, and he still found it. That was meant to last me months and he tore through it in a week.”

You blink, mildly impressed. You knew he had a sweet tooth but you didn’t know it was that bad. “Dude, get your brother some therapy.”

Sam snorts, muttering something about how it would be easier to herd cats and juggle at the same time. You’re distracted for the moment by an errant thought that filters across your mind at the mention of chocolates.

Gabriel, in his time spent as a trickster, developed quite the soft spot for them… could it…?

You stir the food before you once more before taking the wok off the heat, moving it to the wooden chopping board on the bench; Sam takes initiative and turns off the stove behind you, something you’re thankful for.

You’ll have to test your theory after dinner.

x     x

The chocolates and candies you’d left for Gabriel after you’d had your dinner are, to your delight, gone the next time you see him.

You’d placed them on a tray for him outside the room and knocked, letting him know you had left him something. Of course, after that no matter how much you wished to stay you forced yourself to be on your merry way so he could retrieve them in peace. The rest of the night had been spent arguing with Dean about the proper name a werewolf-vampire hybrid should be called—not because you have an important opinion on the matter, of course, but because Dean gets very fired up about the subject and it’s very funny to behold.

Back to the point, when you’d returned on your trip past Gabriel’s room this morning (on your way to the kitchen, as anyone would expect), the tray had been placed neatly to the side with the wrappers twisted into the shape of a big, shiny bow. Kind of impressive, especially since you have no idea how he got them to stay stuck together like that.

It made you happy, though, that he’d eaten them. Angels don’t need to eat, of course, but he’d seemed to develop a taste for them ever since adopting the mask of Loki so you thought it might help make him feel a little more like himself.

You try not to think about it too much because it actually makes you a bit embarrassed— why are you so invested? You don’t quite want to know.

Currently, you’re settled in the library with your legs crossed and a tome on celestial beings in your lap. By your side is a plate of celery and a jar of peanut butter, and Dean, who is seated at the oak table with Castiel across from him, is giving you periodic looks of disgust and twisted curiosity. He’d started off attempting to read up on some monster—you suspected it was Werepires, after last night’s argument—while Sam popped off to the store for groceries, since Mary and Jack were meant to be returning tonight. The keyword to note here is attempting; each crunch of celery between your teeth yanks his gaze from the book to you and you can tell its wearing on him. Castiel says nothing, having discovered candy crush on his phone earlier, and merely glances between the two of you every now and then with a faint look of amusement.

“Alright,” He finally breaks after your third stick of celery, giving it a look like it personally offends him. “How can you eat that? Just use a spoon if you like peanut butter so much.”

“What the fuck, ew,” you comment, chomping loudly before dipping the stick into the jar for another coating. “I hate peanut butter.”

“You’re sitting there practically eating it out of the jar!”

“I get cravings sometimes, Dean!” you throw back, somewhat defensively. “It’s like when people eat vegemite—no one likes it, but you get cravings for it, you know?”

“What—ew, no, I don’t know!” Dean’s face has now crumpled into a complete look of disgust at the mention of that particular spread, and he shudders as he regards you. “Every time you leave I almost forget what a freak you are, and then you come back and I’m reminded all over again.”

The way he says it has no bite whatsoever, and you flash him a grin. You don’t realise Castiel has even been paying attention until he speaks, the humour lacing his deadpan tone the only give-away that he’s teasing.

“That wasn’t very nice, Dean. You eat some weird things for a human yourself—like that greasy, fried dessert from the stall in the food festival we drove through.”

Dean at first looks like he wants to argue, but at Castiel’s example a flush of green instead washes over his features. “Ugh, god that was gross. Don’t ever let me buy before I try at a food market again, Cas.”

Castiel snorts softly, turning back to his phone, “You have my word.”

Dean seems to have forgotten he was shaming you for your celery topping, his attention now directed back to the book before him. His face is still kind of pale and you assume he is now adequately distracted enough for you to continue eating in peace. After consuming the rest of the celery in your hold, you go to turn back to your own book. It isn’t meant to be, though, because in the next second the familiar sound of the heavy metal bunker door creaking open splits the air and Sam’s bright voice follows after.

“We’re back! We brought fried chicken.”

You slam the lid back on the peanut butter, putting it on the plate with the celery and launching to your feet in record time, the book unfortunate collateral. It’s like you’re possessed as you zoom into the kitchen, stomach alive and stirring at the mention of chicken despite the fact you’d already been eating.

Upon entry to the kitchen, you’re faced with two new people you have yet to be introduced to—considering you’re familiar with most of Sam and Dean’s other contacts by this point in your friendship, you presume that these two must be Jack and Mary, the Nephilim and the Winchester brother’s resurrected mother, respectively.

“Hello!” you greet, darting forward to help Sam with the food. He gives you a look that tells you he knows exactly why you’d come to help and gives you the bag full of groceries instead of the one with chicken, just to spite you. Your face falls into a pout but your voice is still cheery as you continue, “I’m y/n, I hunt with Dean off and on.”

Both of their faces light in recognition, and you realise that your reputation has preceded you. Exactly which reputation depends on which brother mentioned you—you imagine Dean would have had some very interesting comments to add.

“Hello,” the woman, Mary, speaks, and you’re taken aback by how soft-spoken she seems in contrast with the badass aura and get-up she’s got going on. You’re a little surprised to see her, considering she’s the same age as you presume she would have been when Sam was a baby. “I’m Mary, I’m sure you’ve heard about me. It’s a pleasure to meet you, and… thank you for looking after my boys over the years.”

You beam a grin and it must come across as a very shit-eating one because you hear Dean groan from the next room over as he ambles to join the crowd in the kitchen.

“Don’t encourage her,” he says gruffly as he enters the kitchen, hugging his mother and ruffling Jack’s hair before following his nose to the bag with the chicken in it. “She’ll never let it go.”

“I’m Jack!” Your attention is torn from the previous interaction and redirected to the youthful blonde man next to Mary, grinning at you brightly. “I’ve heard so much about you—it’s nice to finally meet you!”

“Oh, you’ve heard about me?” you can’t help yourself from asking, and you hear Dean’s groan echo behind you. “All good things, I hope.”

It’s a little unfair of you to be fishing in the Jack pond for little tidbits you can use to bully Dean later, considering he’s literally barely a year old and doesn’t really know better to keep his mouth shut, but it is what it is. The question left you out of habit more than anything.

“Oh, definitely,” Jack answers, going to help Mary the second he sees her struggle with a bag from the corner of his eyes, “Well, mostly. Dean—”

“Okay, that’s enough!” Dean interrupted loudly and pointedly, not-so-subtly holding his finger to his mouth to tell Jack to shut it. “Dinner time! Everyone into the library, we have a lot to catch up on.”

Begrudgingly you let it go and follow his directions. He has a point; there is definitely a lot of informing to be done, especially regarding the archangel in the room down the hall.

You take a seat and wait for your meal to be served. The night passes quickly from that point on, the brothers cracking out some beer and Dean snickering when you turn your nose up at it (bad experience, better not to remember it). You get to know Mary Winchester and Jack Kline a little better, and now with all of your heads put together you hope you can come up with a solution to the issues around Gabriel and his recovery.

Well, that and you’re going to see if you can get some good material out of Mary to tease the brothers with. When in Rome, after all!

prev. || next.

#supernatural #supernatural x reader #supernatural fanfic #supernatural gabriel x reader #gabriel x reader #reader insert #spn fanfic #spn gabriel #gabriel x you #supernatural gabriel x you #supernatural soulmate au #soulmate au #wing fic #hhhhhhhh #supernatural au #supernatural series #gabriel series

[obxfics]

We’ve Always Been Real

summary: reader knows she’s supposed to be having sex with her boyfriend, but it all feels so fake, so she goes to someone she knows will make it all real

pairing: jj maybank x reader

word count: 2,816

tagging: @thatjohnd @letsgofullkook @ims0golden

warnings: yeah this is def smut (my first attempt) and just general rafe being gross and kinda emotionally manipulative

Previous Part: You Against the World

Next Part: on the moonlit shore

a/n: this takes place in the same universe as you against the world (its a prequel when reader mentioned losing her virginity at 15 to jj) and my very first attempt at writing smut so if it sucks i am so so sorry. hope you enjoy!

You looked down at your hands and twisted your fingers in your skirt as you tried to listen to what your boyfriend was saying. It was just the two of you in his bedroom as the rest of his family was out at some event that he’d gotten out of somehow, and that should’ve clued you into what he wanted to do, but it was your first relationship. You’d never really hung out with the people from the Figure 8 much anyways other than Kie, so everything was new to you. It was a surprise when Rafe Cameron, son of the richest man in the Outer Banks, showed an interest in you, but as you had been made painfully aware, you were lucky. Your family barely qualified to be “Kooks” even if everyone loved your dad’s brunch, and so dating Rafe elevated your status. Now your family’s restaurant was always crowded, and many Kook families were interested in hiring him to cater all the parties that would inevitably be thrown in the summer. Your relationship with Rafe was helping your family, and he got a pretty, gentle girl on his arm in the meantime. The whole thing was purely transactional, and of course now after dating for a month he was ready to cash in for more.

“Do you even have a clue as to how lucky you are right now?” he snapped, causing you to jump ever so slightly. “Your dad’s restaurant is doing so well now. We’ve got a good thing going, don’t we?” He looked at you expectantly. “Don’t we?”

You nodded and chewed the inside of your cheek to keep from yelling at him or crying. You were lucky. You knew that. All of this was fake so why was this so important to you?

“We’ve been dating for a month,” he continued. “Don’t you think it’s time we moved things to the next level?”

There it was. You’d managed to hold him off for two weeks now whenever his hand started to slide up your skirt or his lips wandered below your collarbone, but he was impatient now. He couldn’t wait any longer, and you knew you wouldn’t be able to stall him for much longer. He wanted sex, and he wanted it soon. The only problem was you were a virgin. Everything else in this performance of a relationship wasn’t a big deal to you. It wasn’t as if he was your first kiss or your first makeout session. Those two belonged to someone you cared about, one of the two people you inherently trusted with your body. That’s why you didn’t really care about kissing him or letting him get a little hot and heavy when his dad was away. But this... this was the one thing you couldn’t allow to be fake. Everything in your life right now seemed to be simple transactions, and you wouldn’t let this be one of those.

“Rafe,” you started in a quiet voice, having learned the hard way what happened when he perceived you as getting confrontational with him, “I know I’m incredibly lucky to be in a relationship with you, and I do think we’re ready to...” a shiver ran down your spine, “to take things to the next level.”

A grin grew on your face, one that made you nauseous and cold. Your heart leapt into your throat when he leaned close to you, dragging his tongue up your neck and placing his too warm hand on your thigh again. You didn’t want to do this. You didn’t want your first time to be fake. You ducked out of his hold and stood up, curling into yourself as you tried to push down these feelings of disgust and unease. Rafe groaned and looked up at you as he leaned back on his bed.

“I thought we were finally getting past this. Do you even want to be in this relationship?”

“Yes,” you lied. “I just... I wasn’t prepared for anything tonight. I want to look good for you when we finally do it.” You swallowed the bile trying to make its way up your throat.

“Really? You’re not just trying to get out of this again? I won’t keep waiting for you.”

“I’m not. I promise.”

“So then when?”

“This weekend. I’ll be ready this weekend.”

“You better be.”

He got up and towered over you, grabbing your arm in a vice like grip. You bit back a whimper. You wouldn’t let him see how much you detested him. He brought his face down to yours and stared right into your eye.

“I won’t wait for long,” he promised you. “I’m not going to be very happy if you give me another excuse this weekend.”

“I know,” you squeaked out.

He released you and sat back on his bed. “Then I’ll see you this weekend, kitten.”

You quickly grabbed your bag and scurried out of his room, offering him a smile that will never quite feel real, and ran down the stairs. You texted JJ to meet you at your house with some booze as you started the long walk from the Camerons to your place. You didn’t want to call your brothers to pick you up, not when you looked like this. You felt like there was a layer of grime coating your skin, and you couldn’t wait to scrub it all off when you finally got home. You wanted to curl up under the scalding hot water in your shower and cry all your emotions out. The disgust settled deep in your bones was not a new sensation; in fact you were more than used to its constant presence since getting with Rafe Cameron. Disgust for him, disgust for Figure 8, but mostly just disgust for yourself. For submitting to this farce of a relationship. Was this how things worked on Figure 8? Just surrender yourself to fake love for the rest of your life? Perhaps that was fine. Maybe you could live with your disgust. If you could just have one last real thing.

Thankfully your parents seemed to be out and your brothers seemed to be busy when you got home. You didn’t have to deal with faking smiles on your way to your room. Your limbs seemed to weigh you down as you dragged yourself down the hall. You didn’t even feel right in your own body anymore. Was it even yours? Or was it Rafe’s? No, not yet. You wouldn’t allow him that. You opened your door to see your window open and JJ lounging on your bed. The fading sunlight bathed him in a pink light, and his blonde hair seemed to glow like a halo. An angel. Your angel. He looked up when you entered and smiled, only for his bright expression to slip off when he saw the unshed tears in your tired eyes. He immediately rolled off your bed and approached you, his hands reaching out to comfort you.

You felt bad as soon as you did it, but you couldn’t help but flinch back from his touch as you whispered, “Wait. Let me just... let me wash these feelings off first. And then I’m gonna need a hug.”

He nodded and laid down on the bed as you grabbed some clothes from the dresser, always keeping an eye on you to make sure you didn’t break down then and there. He knew what it was like, flinching from touch, even the gentle touch from someone who loved you, because all you could think of in that moment was the touch from the person who had hurt you. He wasn’t sure, but he was almost positive he knew where you had just come from. Why else would you be so gussied up in your dress with your makeup done up like that? You had to be coming from your boyfriend’s place. White hot anger filled his veins at the thought of Rafe Cameron laying a single finger on you. JJ and John B had almost torn the whole Chateau down when you had first told the Pogues who you were dating. They couldn’t fathom it. Their sweet, gentle y/n with that scumbag? But you always had a smile on your face whenever they saw you with Rafe, so why would they interfere with your happiness? Now JJ wasn’t so sure, not with how you reacted to him. Should he tell John B? Have him come over? He didn’t think it was a good idea to overwhelm you, so he just texted John B saying he would be coming over later. It hurt him keeping this from his best friend, someone he loved with his whole being, but it wouldn’t do anyone any good. John B would just get upset and probably try to force you to break up with Rafe, and JJ would take advantage of your fight to go over and try to beat the shit out of Rafe, and then you would be left here crying all alone, abandoned by your best friends.

“Hey,” you whispered as you finally exited the bathroom.

JJ looked up to see you loitering by the door in your fluffy white rob, your fingers playing with the wet strands of your hair as if you were shy. He sat up against the headboard of your bed and lifted his arms, beckoning you to curl up beside him. You crawled onto the bed and let him wrap his arms around you. Let him envelop you in warmth and love that felt so real that you could almost forget about what had happened.

“JJ.”

“Mhm?”

“Have you... have you ever had sex before?”

You could feel every muscle in his body tense and freeze, and you heard his heart beneath your ear begin to race. That answered your question before he could even utter a single word.

“I haven’t either,” you told him although you were sure he already knew. You could feel him let out a puff of air from his lungs. “Would you like to? With me?”

“Would I what?” he asked with a loud crack in his voice.

You carefully slipped from his embrace so that you could look at him properly. This was what you wanted, and you needed to see if it was what he wanted too. You couldn’t have your first time to be fake, and what could be realer than your best friend?

“JJ, do you want to have sex with me?”

“Why are you-- you have a boyfriend. A super rich Kook boyfriend! Doesn’t he want to have sex with you?”

“I don’t...” your voice lowered to a whisper that he had to strain to hear. “I don’t want it to be fake. Everything else in my life, in relationship right now is fake. I can’t let this be fake too. I need it to be real.”

He looked at you, like really looked at you and felt his heart break. He could see it now, how unloved you felt. You were supposed to have everything now that you were dating the Kook prince, but you didn’t. You didn’t have anything. He knew what that felt like. He lifted a hand to cup your cheek.

“Why me? Why not John B?” he asked quietly.

“John B... he was my first kiss. From when we were thirteen and everything was real and love seemed like a possibility. I don’t want him to see me for what I am. Alone. Unloved. Despicable. He can’t see that, not now with everything he’s going through. But you... I know you understand. That’s horrible to say, but I know you know this feeling inside me. It wouldn’t be as real with John B right now because I’d be hiding this from him, and I need it to be real, for someone to see all of it.”

He nodded and brought your face close to his, brushed his nose against the bridge of yours. Your breaths mingled together. He breathed in the self loathing you breathed out. You breathed in the smoldering sadness he breathed out. You were one and nothing had even happened.

“Okay, sweetheart,” he mumbled against your lips. “Let’s be each other’s firsts.”

His pupils were blown wide open as he watched you pull back and slide the robe off your shoulders. He was mesmerized by each centimeter of skin that was revealed. He could hear the breath catch in your throat when he brought his hands to your bare skin to drag the robe farther down your body. Every part of you was beautiful. Every freckle and stretch mark was gorgeous, and warmth swelled deep within your gut when you noticed how hard he was getting. This was real. No calculated smiles or faked looks of attraction. You didn’t need to push down any nausea or feelings of disgust. You felt real, genuine love in this moment. JJ let out a groan when you slid your hand to the back of his head, tangling your fingers in his golden tresses and pulled his lips to yours in a passionate kiss. You could get drunk off the feeling of his lips against yours, the way his tongue licked its way into your mouth. Finally the robe pooled around your hips, and JJ’s hands moved to untie it to get it off your body and throw it to the floor. A breathless laugh escaped you when he lifted you so you were straddling his lap.

“You’re gorgeous,” he panted out, moaning as you ground your hips down onto his crotch.

“And you have entirely too much clothing on.”

He pulled back just enough to let you rip off his shirt before his lips were attaching themselves to your neck, his sharp teeth grazing at the sensitive skin it found there. Your soft whimpers filled the room, and you felt him twitch beneath you when you tugged at his hair. God you hoped your brothers were on the other side of the house playing Call of Duty or whatever. You prayed they didn’t hear what was happening because you never wanted this feeling to go away. You hadn’t felt this buzzed in a long time. It was addicting, this electricity between you and JJ, better than any high you’d gotten from his cousin’s dope. JJ’s hands found your hips, and matching moans left the two of you as he brought your center over his still clothed crotch again and again.

“Fuck,” his voice sounded strained as he panted in your ear.

“I need you,” you whined, tugging at his shorts in vain. “JJ, I really fucking need you right now.”

He wasted no time in rolling you over so he was hovering above your sprawled out form. Your bare body, parted lips, and hooded eyes painted a pretty picture, and he hurried to kick his shorts and boxers off of him where they joined his shirt and your robe on the floor. One of his hands traced its way down your body, leaving goosebumps in its featherlight wake, and drifted ever lower. From there on you felt as if you were in a haze, reaching newer highs with every movement of JJ’s body against yours. Everything else in the world, every sound, every memory, every sensation was replaced with JJ’s lips and his hands and the promises he whispered into your hair. The way his body pressed against yours so there was no space between you anymore, just two souls in one vessel, would forever be etched into your very being. You felt like you were floating, separated from everything else, but everything also felt so much realer than anything else as of late. You reached the peak, where everything was so much and you let go; you thought maybe you’d heard JJ breathe something into the crook of your neck as he came after you, but you were so far gone, you couldn’t focus on anything except the way he was making you feel.

The both of you laid there trying to catch your breath afterward, JJ bringing the covers up over your shaking body. You rolled onto your side and studied him, the way his chest rose and fell with the effort of his pants, the way his blonde hair stuck to his forehead, the way his bare shoulders glistened with sweat. He was gorgeous, absolutely stunning. He turned his head to return your gaze, his ocean blue eyes seeming to pierce your soul. Your heart skipped a beat when you felt his fingers tangle with yous, and then he brought your hand to his lips and brushed a gentle kiss against your knuckles.

“Whatever you have with Rafe,” he whispered, “it may not be real, but I am. I will always be real. John B will always be real. You know you can show everything to me, even the part that feels unloved, but you can show it to him. We’ve always been real. The three of us. And we always will, promise.

#outer banks #outer banks netflix #outer banks imagine #outer banks x reader #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #obx #obx netflix #obx imagine #obx x reader

[kamosweasley]

I don't want to talk - Part I (George Weasley x Reader)

Description : Reader and George are in a relationship for 4 years, since their last year at Hogwarts. But after the war, everybody changed and had to deal with trauma. For Reader, it was to spend time with Luna, her ex-girlfriend, trying to find peace by being with this singular woman. But as the months went by, George realized that something had changed.

Part II Part III

Word's count : 2 819

Warnings : Evocation of war and cheating, angst

Author's note : English isn't my first language so I'm sorry for the mistakes, I hope you'll enjoy it anyway :)

You hate this, that feeling of guilt that almost prevents you from breathing when you’re with him. It started a few days ago, it was almost nothing at first, just a little discomfort when you came back to the apartment. Seeing him on the couch, tired of his day at the store and smiling at you makes you start having a lump in your stomach. It was so strange since you never feel this way around George, you always felt free to be yourself and honest with him and you never had to hide something to him. It was like your body knew before your brain that something wrong was happening, it warned you but you didn't listen. For the simple reason you feel so good around Luna. Now you get why it was a bad idea, why your stomach feels sore and why your heart is full of guilt.

-So, you gonna tell me what’s going on with Luna ?

-We talked a lot, I helped her in her research on Nargles today.

-That's not what I'm talking about.

-So what ? What do you want me to say ?

He does the dishes in the kitchen with his back to you sitting in the living room, you can’t see his face but you can tell by the tone of his voice. He’s suspicious and … a bit angry ? Or uncertain, you don’t know. But you know exactly what he wants to talk about, except that you don't feel like it at all. You don’t even feel ready to consider what’s happening in your heart, so talking about it with your boyfriend is impossible. How could you tell him anyway, how could he understand ?

Luna has always been so special, the day you met her at Hogwarts you already didn’t know if you wanted to be her best friend or her girlfriend. You were simply dazzled by her personality, her way of being and seeing the world. She was always so sweet and kind, without judgment and always listening. Getting close to her has been so simple at Hogwarts, it's almost surprising that it has been so simple again. With her it’s as if the outside world no longer existed, you create a new one just between the two of you. One where there was no war, where no one is broken and where you are not afraid to go to sleep at night. It hurts to admit it, but Luna's sweetness and "madness" was all you needed when you turned to her a few months before. George couldn't give you that feeling that nothing was serious anymore just by his presence. He himself was totally changed by everything that he’s been through, he too has been looking for a way to get rid of the fear and pain that persists every day, and despite your love, you didn’t choose each other. He immersed himself in work by taking over the store with Fred and working hard every day while you went looking for a sweetness you once knew, with Luna. You're both not very proud of your choices, but that's what happened.

-Do you honestly think I’m stupid ?

-Absolutely not, you’re the smartest man I know. But I don’t understand

-Stop pretending like everything is fine. That's not the case, I can see there's something between you and Luna.

Your heart stops beating for a second, these are the words you hoped you wouldn't hear from him. Because it brings too many problems and you don’t want to be hurt anymore. The war has brought you down, the only purpose in getting closer to Luna was to get better after this. Not to blow up your couple, and George's heart with it. But if he gets it, there is no way to avoid the disaster now. It already started.

-Could you say something ?

-You’re jealous ?

-Oh, maybe if you weren't spending all your days with her I wouldn't have to be. In case you forget she’s your ex and I am your boyfriend. I’m supposed to be the person you want to see all day long and ask for comfort. Not her.

-George, please. I love you. I’m with you right now and ... I don’t get why you’re so mad suddenly. You never said anything about it in the last few months and now you're super angry.

-Are you kidding me ? I'd have to be blind not to notice that something has changed with you ! As I said, you spend all your time at her house and when you come back home you’re always too tired to talk or to do anything together. We used to be a couple who shared everything and could count on each other, and for a while now it’s mostly Luna and Y/N. I don’t really feel like your boyfriend anymore, it’s more like a housemate.

-Don’t say that ! I love you, you don’t have the right to doubt it after all we've been through ! It’s just that … the war has changed me. Luna has always been different, being with her helps me to forget a little bit the fear. I’m trying to get better and with her vision of the world, she helps me a lot. It's not against you, I know that I don't manage my time well and that you deserve more, but you spend so much time at the store with Fred …

-You love her. Tell me I’m wrong.

His gaze penetrates you, as if he could read the answer directly into your eyes. You’re starting to feel like crying and you’re sure your hands would be shaking if they weren't on your laps. Your brain processes the information at the same time George seems to realize it, and it’s terrifying. You had to know it in your heart but even your mind didn't want to express it, to not make it real.

You look at the floor, trying to breath and not starting a panic attack in the middle of this mess. How did you get there ? How can he feel forced to ask you if you’re in love with Luna ?

-Don’t lie to me. I want to hear the truth, no matter what it is.

-I’m sorry.

You can say nothing more, but just those two words are already too much. Something in glass breaks on the kitchen tiles, it’s like hearing George’s heart breaks at the sound of this confession. It will be necessary to explain to him, he will demand explanations. It's normal, in his place you would’ve done the same. But you are not ready for the questions that are going to be asked, and above all you are afraid of the answers you are going to have to give him. You will be forced to destroy your couple little by little, piece by piece, until there is nothing left but ashes and tears. You already hate yourself for what you’re about to do to George, beyond your couple, it’s him that you are going to destroy with your words.

-How could you ?

-I didn't mean to. After all this time I couldn’t even imagine falling in love with her again. I was 14 the first time, we were together for 6 months and then it ended. I no longer had feelings for her, she was a friend again and then it was you. I fell in love with you and you know the rest. I don't know how it could have happened, it just did.

-Do you even still love me ?

-I still love you ! And I love her too, I don’t know how is possible but I love you both. Believe me George, I never wanted this but I can’t do anything now. It’s too late.

-What the hell were you thinking ?! Don't try to make me believe that you didn't understand earlier that there was something going on with her ! You did nothing, you knew at one point that you were falling in love with her and you did nothing to stop it ! Am I nothing to you ? So that you didn't even try for a moment to get away from her !

-I’m so sorry George, I never wanted this I swear ! I thought it was nothing, that it was because of the pain and trauma of the war. I assumed it was because her gentleness was foreign to me after all I've been through this year. I didn't understand what it was until today. I’m sorry George, I truly am.

-I don’t want your apology !

You don’t know what to say, there is nothing that can be said without making things worse. You couldn't tell how you fell in love with her again. It's the kind of things we never see coming, that we only realize once it's too late. You were hit hard by your feelings the other day, when you were helping Luna repot a strange flower whose origin you have already forgotten. You were close, your faces only a few inches apart, and when you looked at each other smiling for a moment, for a microsecond, you had the devouring urge to kiss her. The next moment you felt extremely ashamed, thinking about George and what he would say if he knew. You made a terrible mistake, the kind that can't be repaired.

-You know what, I’ve let you go with her from the beginning because all I wanted was to see you smile again. All I ever wanted for you was happiness, because I love you with all my soul. I was uncomfortable with the fact you wanted to spend time with your ex to get better, but I accepted it because I trusted you. And in the end I find myself with a girlfriend who has fallen, again, in love with her ex. Lucky me.

-I’m sorry, I know it should have been you. Everything would have been more simple.

-Shouldn’t you be with her ? Since you’re also in love with her. Did I get it right ? You love us both and you can't choose ? I'll make it easy for you, get out.

-What ?

-Get the hell out !

-No way ! I screwed up but I'm not gonna let you, I’ve loved you since we were 16 ! I understand that you hate me and you are angry at me, you have every right to be angry at me. But I will not leave, understood ? I will stay here and we will get through it, together.

Having finally found the strength to stand up, you go stand in front of him, trying to catch his gaze. But he is one head taller than you and he looks straight ahead, his eyes misted with tears.

-Don’t you think you’ve done enough ?

-I choose you, I'll never see and talk to her again if that's what you want. I can let her go, but not you. If I lose you it’ll be the death of me. I already told you that I can’t live in a world without you and I meant it. It’s you for me, even if it will take time to make those feelings disappear for her, it will always be you before anybody else. Trust me.

-You lied to me, how I’m supposed to believe you ?

-It’s up to you. If you still love me enough and still want me, I'll do anything to make it work.

-For the last minutes I didn’t believe you cared.

You raised your hands to wipe away the tears that had soaked his cheeks, for a moment you hesitated, with fear that he might find it inappropriate. But you want to prove to him you are sincere, and you want to make these marks of sadness disappear from his face. He grabs your wrists on the fly, suddenly lowering his gaze at you. You feel petrified on the spot as you see the ocean of anger and pain in his eyes. It hurts even more, you are the one who is doing this to him. You thought about all those moments when you swore to yourself that you would never hurt him, that you would do everything right with him because he’s the kind of man you want to make your life with. Honestly, you've known for years that George is the man of your life. If you have a future to build, you want to build it with him. Except we don't always get what we want, especially when you've screwed up like you did.

-You talk a lot about what you want for us, except there are two of us. I’m not sure I want to stay with you. You betrayed me, you know it ?

-Yes … I’m ready to do

-I’ve got it. Just leave me alone.

He lets go of your wrist, with an empty look in his eyes, as if he had just closed himself to you. In a second you realize you just lost him, it's over, he's not your man anymore, not your Georgie. You've lost all rights because you were stupid enough to think you couldn't fall in love with your ex. You saw no danger in there and you were wrong, now you have to pay the price of this mistake. You step back, the broken glass squeaking under your feet as you begin to cry. The world falls apart and you are still standing here, in front of the only person you really want but he doesn't want you back.

-Maybe you should ask Luna to host you.

-I don’t want to see her anymore, and I promised you I wouldn’t see her again.

-You may find yourself all alone then. You should try, with her you still have a chance.

If words could physically hurt you, you would be bleeding to death right now. He cuts you open, it tears you apart, but it's only fair, he must want to hurt you the way you make him suffer. Or maybe he’s already made up his mind, that he doesn’t want you anymore and he’s letting you know it that way. He lets you go, he’s mad and what could you say about it ? It hurts like hell, heavy heart and corrupted lungs, it feels like falling and don’t see the end of it. We cannot be dumped like that when we have nothing else but that love in our lives. How are you supposed to survive ?

-You know, it's a real shame. I was really starting to consider buying you a ring. That sounds stupid now, but I imagined that … how good it could have been to call you Mrs Weasley.

-Don’t say that, I’m begging you. Please ...

-Oh now you want to become my wife ? It’s unexpected for a woman who goes back to her ex’s arms.

-Don’t be so rude ! I told you that I’m sorry and I know I screwed up ! I don’t know what to do to prove to you that I’m

-I don’t care ! It’s that simple ! I don’t give a damn fuck about your apologies and your feelings ! I’m in love with you and you did the only thing I can’t forgive you for ! No matter that you kissed her or you slept with her, the worst thing you can do is have feelings for her ! And guess what ? That’s exactly what you did !

-So that’s it ? Does it just stop like that ?

-How is this my fault ? Next time think about not cheating on your partner.

-Do you really think I’m happy about this ?

-Merlin, you’re the one who messed up ! Shut up and go away ! Don't you have any dignity ? I don’t want to talk anymore.

The effect of a bomb blast must be your level of pain right now. You go to your room, feeling like a ghost. Without paying much attention to what you take, you stuff a bag with clothes and other personal items. This feeling of being chased away from home is horrible, even more when you know it’s deserved. It's a storm in your thoughts, everything gets confused to be nothing but fear. The same fear that you wanted to take away when you went to see Luna. You got caught up in your own game somehow, and you must be the biggest loser. But there's not a single word that comes to mind. As he said, you have already done enough.

As you pass in front of him you hold your breath, hoping that he may catch you and ask you to stay after all. But he doesn't and it's just another stab in the heart. You close the door behind you, you don’t even know where to go. The only thing you have on your mind is that you will probably never come back here again. Your world has just collapsed but you're still standing, and you have no idea how.

#george weasley fic #george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley imagine #weasley twins

[davidmann95]

So... Crossover #1: any thoughts?

Anonymous said: You seemed not to think much of Crossover #1 on Twitter. Your full thoughts?

wcwit said: So Cates' Crossover #1, best bad comic of the year or just regular pretentious trash?

An incidental note upfront: What you’re seeing there is the apparently SUPER-RARE SECRET VARIANT COVER I unwittingly picked up at the store - at first glance indistinguishable from the standard cover, the kid getting four-color-fucked by mysterious comic book rays is in fact themselves reading a variant cover of the book, rather than the main cover again in an infinite painting-within-a-painting sort of deal that’s the standard.

So I wasn’t gonna get this: my initial post on the comic and what an obviously awful idea it was back when we only knew half the premise and it was known as Pray The Capes Away actually got some out-of-nowhere traction recently, and I’ve grown rapidly tired of Cates’ Marvel work. Even learning that it was going to be Image’s biggest debut in decades - Jesus fuck, how and why - mostly just made me wish it was Commanders in Crisis getting those kinds of numbers. But Sean Dillon/@deathchrist2000 and Ritesh Babu both got early looks at it and assured me that I, specifically, needed to see the last page, so in I dove. I’ll be posting my reaction to the last page below because I recorded it for their amusement, and below that I’ll talk about said last page. It may surprise you, however, that that wasn’t my main takeaway from the issue.

Let’s accentuate the positive first! This book is gorgeous. Geoff Shaw was terrific back with Thanos Wins, but this is an incredible stylistic level-up aided and abetted by Dee Cunniffe’s colors: it’s rote as hell to say “They mix the elevated and the mundane so well!”, but even beyond the obvious ben-day dots stuff there’s such a tangible sense that the comic book beings don’t belong here, that they’re of higher, misty, platonic stuff and we squishy non-paper-people inevitably crumble and break and bleed in their wake, communicating that big idea so much more powerfully than the actual loads of text on the subject. And if we’re talking good things, I’ll concede it’s possible that there could be subtleties that play out in more interesting ways as it goes on, and that not everything is meant to be taken at face value: a smart friend who actually did like it mentioned being interested in it as clumsy but potentially effective exploration of ‘what if the fun hobby you had inadvertently became contaminated and stigmatized by forces beyond your control?’ In a post-Comicsgate world where we recently ended up inches away from the Superman logo almost certainly becoming a fascist propaganda symbol ala the Punisher skull for at least a generation, that’s a defensible lens to view this book through.

For all Donny Cates’ legitimate talents however, I don’t think an expectation of subtlety is gonna work out with this one.

Okay first off getting into the rest of it the main characters’ name is Ellipsis because “Those three little dots...they can become anything”, so there’s that. More importantly, in the world of this story where comic fans face social oppression after superpeople materialize and fuck up Colorado, they face EVERY KIND OF OPPRESSION: there are clear parallels drawn in here to the violence and harassment faced by people persecuted for their religion, people seeking abortions, queer people, and people of color; this motherfucker even drops a “hates and fears” to let us know comic collecting basically makes you one of the goddamn X-Men. Which in theory could be a purely misjudged allegory rather than stemming from actual, obscenely inflated to the point of disgusting fears of ‘nerd oppression’, except that the book literally opens with a quote from Wertham. If Cates didn’t want to make the message “Hating comics? That’s bad. Like, racism bad”, he utterly, grotesquely failed by inextricably intermingling imagery of real-world bigotry with systemic, deluded fanboy paranoia, at least as of this first issue that’s supposed to meaningfully convey the premise. As a queer dude I think I’m somewhat in my lane to say it’s too blunt and broad and dopey to be particularly offensive, but the co-opting of oppression is what this is rooted in.

The idea of ‘comics good no matter what people think, ain’t it?’ extends to the last traditional local comic store standing in this world: much as superheroes are the primary cause of suffering in this world but the point of the story is still supposed to reveal the beauty in them, part of this is that the comics community isn’t perfect but it sure is great. Which is expressed here via Ellie’s boss Otto, a loveable asshole who yells at people coming in trying to sell the wrong kind of comics to fuck off, but at heart is we’re supposed to understand a good enough dude that the shop he runs is “the only home a lot of (the benighted nerds) have left” (because I guess in this alternate universe the physical stores are still the main hub through which comics fans talk with one another?).

So here’s a story of my very own! That’s me in 2013, it must’ve been some kind of special day because I’m wearing a shirt with a button. I’d at that point only frequented one of what would be my thus far four regular comic shops. The first was a great place, and while to say I had a sense of community there would be overstating it a bit, I was on really good terms with the owner and we regularly chatted when we had the time. When I left for college my store there wasn’t as well-stocked, and for some damn reason all variant covers were double-price, but I got along really well with the owner there too. The third I wasn’t so lucky; the guy regularly behind the desk was never overtly hostile, but clearly wanted to wring my neck every time I asked when a missing comic might get in or if I could update my pull list, and given I’m in the ‘ideal’ demographic for being a comic book store regular and was dropping a solid lump of money there every week, I wonder how others were treated there (the store nearly went under, was saved on the last day of operation by another store that wanted to incorporate it as part of its franchise, then shortly afterwards DID go under and is now I believe a beef jerky place). My current store is fine, I didn’t chat much with the folks behind the counter even before we all had medical incentive to get in and out of places fairly quickly but it almost always has what I’m looking for.

Just because those were my regular stores of course doesn’t mean those are the only ones I’ve ever gone to. About a year before that picture was taken - it’s the closest I could find - when I was 17 my store didn’t have something or another I was looking for, so I head across town to see if another place I had looked up had it. This other place didn’t have what I was looking for either, though I distinctly remember picking up a few issues of Hickman’s FF while I was there since I had foolishly fallen off, hence my remembering the year. I bought a couple issues, but hung around for a bit looking to see if I might grab something else out of a dollar box, setting my comics down. Without realizing it, I’d set my books down on top of another issue, and when I decided I wasn’t getting anything else, I just picked that up along with the rest of the pile and was about to walk out before the owner stopped me. He explained what I had done though assumed it had been deliberate, and because I was a good-hearted little geek I even recall thinking “Well, he’s gonna chew me out, but I guess I deserve it. I’ll try and take this to heart as a learning experience.”

Then he pulled up his shirt a little to show me the gun on his belt. He pointed at the security camera monitors at his desk, and explained to me that if I ever did something like that again, he would have it on tape, and he would pull that gun on me and hold me there while he called the cops.

As it turned out, the comic was free.

The whole thing was so sudden and bizarre and unexpected I didn’t actually freak out until the drive home. It wasn’t until weeks or maybe months later that I managed to tell my dad about the experience, because I *had* nearly stolen a (free) comic and my guilt was mixed in with my nerves and I guess I was somehow too close to register just how disproportionate his response was. It wasn’t until now, nearly a decade later and thinking about it for the first time in a long time as I write this, that I wondered if that might have gone differently - especially living in the midwest - if I hadn’t been a white, squeaky-voiced 17-year-old.

So, minor spoiler, when our cantankerous but well-meaning LCS owner yells to call the cops and grabs and yells at a small kid for pocketing a comic (and later displays fantasy racism towards said kid), I am not filled with nostalgic love for the brotherly safe space that is comic book stores, where this guy while not meant to be seen as perfect is still framed in part as a charming, witty representation of Why We Love These Places, And This Community, And This Genre, And This Medium. Cates is clearly drawing on real time at his local stores, but he equally clearly has a very different takeaway from those experiences than me. And I am, again, in a demographic - white, cis-male, abled, bi but more interested in women, disposable income, a lifelong collector - that the industry and a lot of the guys who sell it to us contort themselves around catering to, even if I had a single very negative experience and later an ongoing low-key uncomfortable one to help disabuse me of any notions of the purity of the dork community. In the world of Crossover as of #1, toxicity is intertwined, deliberately or not on the part of the creators, with what we love on the cosmic and small business scales alike, but at least in the latter case it’s the whole picture that’s beautiful, not any single kernel that needs to be worked on to be dug up.

So underneath is my video reaction to the last page of Crossover #1. Very minor spoilers because I mutter the last two words of the comic to myself, but under the video I discuss said final page and some other scattered thoughts. Whether you read that or not, my takeaway is this: I’m fascinated with wherever the hell this thing is going, I’m glad my dad liked it well enough to want to keep getting it because now I’ll get to see where it heads, but my first impression is that this is at heart meant as cheapass Oscar-bait for people who only read Batman. It’s big and high-concept but also small and intimate! It’s meta and about how great you, the reader are for your consumption, especially the consumption of this! It’s going to be in large part about a forbidden love between a couple divided across impermeable social lines (a couple where they’re a seemingly straight white man and woman, but one likes comics)! Maybe it’ll become Not That, and I’m sure it’ll do at least something interesting along the way because Cates has done good stuff before and there are some inherently interesting big ideas for him to play with here, but for the love of god if you’re thinking about getting this buy Commanders in Crisis too or instead, it’s another new book out of Image about superheroes dealing with the collapse of the multiverse but that one is really fucking good.

So the final page splash reveal is that when the comic book child discovered in here got out of Colorado, which has had an impenetrable energy shield erected around it by one of the heroes for years, she and others were ferried out of there...by Superman, as the narration declares that “This is a story...about hope.” They don’t say the word, but she sketches her savior, Ellie and Otto freak out and go “Is that---” when they see it, and on that last page we see that while a crude drawing it isn’t a rough analogue character, it’s a guy with a cape and trunks with an S on his chest. Surprisingly, I don’t have much to say: it’s just another blunt signifier that superheroes rule and are the best, paired with the most utterly devalued notion as of late of what makes Superman special in ‘hope’. I mean, I’m perversely excited to see whether this is building the entire series on a hook it can never deliver on, or if Cates actually has talked DC into an intercompany crossover; believable given they’ve done a bunch of those over the last several years, and why else would Mark Waid be supervising as ‘story editor’ on this? I guess it’ll shake out one way or another with #6 given Cates has said it “has one of the more epic and — I would argue historic — sequences in comic book history in it.” But I’m far less convinced this is gonna truly go into the meaty question of “What does Superman mean and what makes him unique in this world where superheroes in general are indisputably either failures or monstrous bastards given the scale of destruction their presence has brought about, and he himself failed to stop that?” than as some kind of holy grail of how great superheroes are despite how dang violent they’ve gotten these days for the crew to chase after, whatever additional twist will surely be placed upon it. At least he’s kinda helping an immigrant kid get over a wall, if that’s deliberate?

Random final thoughts:

* If I wrote the opening essay and turned it in in a college course, I would be expelled for plagiarizing Grant Morrison. This is not a joke.

* If mainstream American superhero comics ended January 2017 in this universe, its own last ‘crossover’ was Civil War II, which is hilarious.

* God, please tell me if it takes the dive after all that this isn’t somehow tied into whatever Waid’s Superman project is.

* I wouldn’t normally crap on issues with the finer details of worldbuilding, but A. This is rooted in a nominally ‘real’ world playing by recognizable rules, B. I’m ragging on this anyway so what’s the harm, and C. It’s really obvious. So: Why is one of the racists against the superheroes the guy who loves superheroes so much he’s the last holdout in the entire world still selling comic books about them? How does this modestly-sized shop exist long-term with apparently a significant regular customer base if there are no new comics or even reprints to restock with, ever? Who’s buying the serialized cop/cowboy comics that the U.S. government apparently created pretty much overnight (nobody, it’s just another Wertham dig)?

* The solicit for issue #3 proclaims “Don't miss this one, folks. If you do, it just might drive you...mad.”, so now I fear some kind of Ultra Comics riff.

* “Kids love chains” is the most metal-ass quote of all time and I hate that it’s being wasted as an arc title on this book.

#Donny Cates #Geoff Shaw #Dee Cunniffe #John J. Hill #Mark Waid #Me #Superman #Opinion

[lostinthewoods-kristoff]

After all, why not? Why can’t I hook up twice in one night?

DATED: Prom leave us alone SUMMARY: Mitte convinces Kristoff to let his hair down at prom NOTES/WARNINGS: None just good clean kinda steamy fun @mighty-mitte

MITTE

Town wide prom was… A strange phenomenon. Not the sort of thing Mitte had ever encountered before Swynlake. Of course, this was a place that had brought a lot of new experiences.  Magic, alternate o

realities, vampirism. She wasn’t complaining, but it was discomforting how quickly these events had started to feel normal. Mitte was getting eager to shake things up, be a little bit of a troublemaker just for the hell of it. She’d had to be so careful lately with the dangers of killing someone so easily. But tonight she was well fed and looking fine as fuck, if she did say so herself- and she did- so she wanted to have some fun. 

You could easily argue she’d had plenty already, what with sneaking off to her favourite town hall storage room with her date already for some messing around, but, well, if Kristoff was going to turn up to a second town hall event- without even having been dragged along by her this time- what was Mitte to do but push her luck? 

Of course Marisa was her date, but they were two independent and easily distracted women. She’d wandered off to talk with some work friends and Mitte, who did not know them and wasn’t at all interested in the awkward this-is-my-date-no-not-my-girlfriend-just-my-date dance, wandered off to go see her old pal in espionage instead.

“As I live and breathe.” Mitte said as she sauntered over, voice breathy and one hand placed on her chest, “Kristoff Bjorgman, am I seeing you at another town event, or am I just losing my pretty little mind?”

KRISTOFF

Kristoff had no idea why he was even here.

He had been aware of Swynlake’s various events since he had started coming back into town of his own free will. They had made the shop workers a little ditzier than usual, a road would be closed here or there, and come sunset, the place would be like a ghost town. Kristoff had stood and watched from the sidelines, head tilted, brow furrowed. Why were there so many parties? What were they celebrating?

Turns out, they were never really celebrating anything. Kristoff had never understood that. 

And he had never really had any desire to go to any of those events, something which definitely hadn’t changed -- what had changed, though, was that now people kept bugging him about going. His flatmate, his work friends. And then there was the inevitable talk about everything the next morning, a blow by blow account of everything that had gone on. At least if he was there he wouldn’t have to have those conversations…

Which is why Kristoff was stood in the corner, in a rented suit that definitely wasn’t to theme, wondering if it was too early to go home. When Mitte arrived, it was as silent as always, and in a dress that-- that-- what was his point again?

“Who says it can’t be both?” He returned, eyebrows arching.

MITTE 

His heart stuttered. It was, obviously, not the first time someone's heart had gone funny at the sight of her, but hearing it always made her feel powerful. If she pointed it out Kristoff might make the argument that she had simply scared him by dancing over all quiet like, but even if his glance down at what she was wearing had been brief it wasn’t brief enough for her not to notice the way his eyes lingered on the slit at her thigh and the low neckline of her dress.

That was rather the point of wearing the thing, she’d be offended if it didn’t get to him at least a little. Marisa was a big fan of the look. 

Apparently he was used enough to her antics now to be able to return fire. There was one version of reality where Mitte curled her lip and said ‘bite me’ and cackled and then the two of them were just old buds for the evening. But that would be boring, even if it did come with significantly less risk of giving Kristoff an aneurysm. 

So instead Mitte pouted, eyes all wide. “Oooh, that was mean.” She simpered as she reached his side, shaking her head. “At least now I know you’re the real Kristoff and not some super social imposter.” She tipped her head back and smiled up at him, shifting her weight to rest over one hip so the slit on the side of her dress rode up her thigh.“I’m glad you decided to come along.” Mitte said, one hand resting softly on his arm, grin turning a little devilish, “you cut a real handsome shape in a suit, y’know.” 

KRISTOFF

Kristoff rolled his eyes, looking away— but it was mostly an excuse to not have to look at Mitte anymore. Not that he didn’t want to (he definitely did want to, actually, way more than he probably should, which was probably her intention in the first place, wasn’t it?), just that he kinda didn’t trust himself to. Making a fool of himself? Nothing new. But pissing off a vampire? Even one who was his friend? He didn’t want to stray into that territory.

Plus, the eye rolling and the teasing were what he was used to. That was what they did. Not as easily or as readily as they had in that dream, mind, but still. It was pretty typical for the two of them. And focusing on that was better than focusing on the way her dress shifted as she did, exposing even more skin—

And now she was complimenting him, and smirking, and he was definitely blushing. Right? “It’s not mine,” he admitted, blurting the words out because he apparently didn’t have anything else to say. “It’s rented.” He clarified, his face screwing up like he regretted every word out of his mouth. “We can’t all have—“ he waved a hand at her dress, immediately regretting acknowledging it. “Fancy event wardrobes.”

MITTE

Flustering Kristoff was just so easy. She doubted anyone would blame her for having fun with it. At the end of the day no one could say he was really suffering right now, could they? Poor Kristoff with the undivided and flirtatious attention of a girl in a revealing red dress. Even a short month or two ago his blushing might’ve been enough to spook her into cutting the whole game short, because there were some things you just didn’t play with- peoples’ lives, for example- but now though it caught her attention her thirst was sated enough that it didn’t entirely distract her and she only thought of the blood pooling under his skin for a moment. 

Mitte’s smile turned bemused as he bumbled his way through the story behind his suit, her laugh light and airy. “Oh, you like my dress?” She looked down like she was only just noticing it for the first time herself, fingers delicately tracing along the neckline. “I guess it is kind of fancy. Want to know a secret?” She popped up onto her tiptoes to whisper in his ear, voice low, “it’s not mine either. I’m borrowing it from a friend.” Mitte stepped back, head tipping slightly to the side so her hair spilled down one shoulder, “so you see, neither of us actually have fancy event wardrobes.”

KRISTOFF

It took all the little Kristoff’s inside of big Kristoff’s brain a second to pull themselves together after Mitte stepped in close to him. She was definitely saying something (and hopefully he’d catch up to that later), but he was distracted by the warmth of her breath on his ear, and the scent of her perfume, growing stronger as she leaned in towards him before fading away again. He watched her hair tumble down over her shoulder and then, like two ends of a cut wire joining together again, he sparked back to life. 

Kristoff searched his back catalogue of self-deprecating jokes for one that might suit, because usually when he wasn’t sure what else to say, but he came up kinda blank. His mouth was open, definitely like he was about to say something, so he probably should— 

“Guess not,” he managed eventually, which definitely wasn’t worth the wait. Kristoff cringed a little, turning an even deeper shade of red (he would match her dress in a moment though, wait, maybe don’t think about the dress—) and awkwardly cleared his throat. “What about your date?” He asked, because that was normal, right? He was being normal. “Do they have a fancy wardrobe?” Wait, was she even here with anyone? He had just assumed— “I’m guessing you’re not here alone. Right?”

MITTE

Oh, it was going so well. Mitte might have almost felt bad for how quickly she could turn his brain to goo if it wasn’t so satisfying. It felt good to be flirting for the sake of flirting again, and not just for the purpose of luring some stupid sod into an alley for a bite to eat. She waited for Kristoff to pull himself back together, wondering how long it would take him to twig that amusing as it all was, she was also seriously interested in the idea of dragging him off to that little supply closet for some fun.

He would probably turn down the offer, at least at first, but you’d have to be blind to miss the way he was staring at her with his mouth hanging open. 

She swallowed a laugh when in all his fumbling for something to say all he could think to ask about was her date. “No, I’m not here alone.” Mitte answered with a wry smile, “I came with my friend Marisa. She’s…” She actually knew exactly where Marisa was- could’ve probably found her with her eyes closed on smell alone- but she pretended to scan the crowd anyway, tapping a finger against her lower lip. “Oh, she’s over there.” Mitte made a gesture towards a group of girls, and one particular brunette in a pale blue dress, “she does have a fancy wardrobe. Case in point, I borrowed my dress from her.” She smoothed her hands down her sides, turning back to Kristoff, “what about you? Anyone lucky on your arm tonight?”

KRISTOFF

Kristoff looked across the room, following Mitte’s eyes as they scanned over everyone. Admittedly when she pointed, all Kristoff registered was a group of pretty girls in very expensive, but very nice looking dresses. Whichever one of them was Mitte’s date didn’t really matter, because they all looked pretty much like they were up to snuff. Up to Mitte’s standards, he meant — or the standards of that dress. Whichever were higher.

(And Yknow, for his own sake, Kristoff kinda hoped that Mitte’s standards were low, ‘cause he was the opposite end of whatever spectrum that girl was on, and he didn’t think that was a good thing. Not that he was necessarily thinking about being Mitte’s date, or anything, he was just thinking— how had he got onto this again?)

He was a little startled to find Mitte looking at him again, and it took him a moment to register what she’d said. “Me? No.” Ha. Funny, Mitte, very funny. Kristoff had a grand total of two friends, and she was one of them, and he didn’t really know if Olaf thought of him as a friend, ‘cause he had hit him with a car, so he probably shouldn’t— “No, I got dragged here by the guys from work, but— I doubt I’ll be staying long. Just this drink, and then,” he jerked a thumb in the general direction of the door. He wasn’t one for parties, even when his friends hadn’t ditched him.

MITTE

He was here all alone. Perfect. Mitte wasn’t sure why exactly she was so determined to extend their physical relationship beyond the realm of an alternate reality. Well, primarily it was just because he was hot, but also if she could bag him in one universe but not the other that was basically implying Other Mitte was somehow better than her and Real Mitte would just not stand for that. It was as thorough a reason as she ever had for doing anything. That reason being: to see if she could.

“You wanna duck out so soon?” Mitte stepped a little closer and stared up at him, all sultry pout and innocent wide eyes, her hand resting on his arm again. “We haven’t even danced yet.” Her voice was soft, almost a purr, meant only for him to hear even though she wasn’t quite close enough to whisper. “You can’t come to a party looking all handsome and not stay long enough for at least one dance.”

KRISTOFF

There she went again, calling him handsome. He wasn’t sure if she was joking with him or not; it would be kind of a cruel joke, if she was, and he didn’t think Mitte was necessarily a cruel person, but Kristoff also wasn’t a very good judge of character. Whether it was a joke or not, it still made him blush, ducking his head and turning his face away as his lips twitched into a small, almost amused smile. His reaction wasn’t helped by the far too familiar weight of the hand on his arm, or the way she was so close that all he could smell was her perfume, or the low, coy lilt to her voice that reminded him once again of that dream…

“I don’t dance,” Kristoff told her, his eyes glancing from hers, to her lips, to the hand on his arm; there was a lot going on right now. He was having a little trouble processing it all. “Unless you’re not very fond of those shoes.”

MITTE 

Hook, line, sinker.

It was almost too easy, and she’d be bothered by that if the outcome wasn’t certain to be satisfying. Yes she caught him staring at her mouth, didn’t need super senses for that one. Didn’t say anything about it but she did soften the sultry edge of the pout by smiling just a little bit, like he had been. 

It grew into a smug grin at his quip, and Mitte trailed her hand down his arm until she could twine her fingers through his, “I borrowed the shoes too.” She gloated, glancing over at the dancefloor then back at him, though her voice was softer when she spoke again, “and it’s not like my reactions aren’t sharp enough to avoid your feet.” Though really, if he didn’t want to dance it wouldn’t be the worst thing… Mitte leaned in to whisper again, letting her eyes drop to his lips for a second before looking back up, “unless you’d rather skip straight to sneaking off to the storage closet to make out. I do like dancing but I wouldn’t be against that.” She didn’t lean back right away this time, one brow quirked as she waited to see how he would react.

KRISTOFF

Had Kristoff fallen asleep? Was this another dream? Mitte’s hand was in his and she was like super close, and then she was talking about closets? And making out?

Listen, Kristoff had not done a lot of dating. In fact, he had done no dating. There had been that boy out in the farmlands, when he’d been just a boy himself and still not quite used to human company but that was… different. And he’d been kinda glad when he’d moved away, ‘cause he’d never really known what to say to him after that summer.

So yeah, forgive him if he was blushing. A lot. And if he kind of gawped like a fish for a second whilst he fully registered just exactly what she was suggesting. “Is that what you do?” He asked, clearing his throat and ducking his head. He made no move to put some distance between them, or to take his hand from hers. “Go to closets and... make out with people? Sounds like a movie, or something.”

MITTE

OK, that had been pretty strong, she knew that. Mitte just figured it was better to get the offer out there, oblivious Kristoff would never pick up on it otherwise. So she lapsed into silence after making it and just watched his reaction play out on his face, not even being distracting by rubbing her thumb across his knuckles even though it would be funny to interrupt his thought process.

From anyone else his comment might sound like judgement, but Mitte knew he was just trying to work it out, work her out. "It has become a bit of a habit actually, now that I think about it." She said after a soft laugh, amusement colouring her tone.  It really had become her go to prom activity. Now she was just trying to one up herself by getting two in one night. 

He looked so good when he blushed. Some monster rattled its cage in the back of her head but Mitte pushed it back down by spending a moment counting the threads on Kristoff's jacket. He hadn't let go of her hand, or moved away. Now Mitte did sweep her thumb across his knuckles, just to get his attention. "Its fun." She promised, voice silky. "The dancing and the making out. Seriously, we could just dance if that's all you want." Her eyes darkened and she used her free hand to trace slowly and delicately down the buttons of his shirt, stopping just shy of his belt and pulling her hand away, "I'll even stop flirting." Mitte said on a breath, looking up at him through her lashes, "if you ask." 

KRISTOFF

Kristoff was not going to ask.

He had a lot of things he wanted to ask Mitte. Mostly, why him? Don’t get him wrong, that dream had been good (very good), but it wasn’t like Kristoff was the same person as that dorky-but-in-a-cool-way super spy. He wasn’t dorky in any way except that; awkward, occasionally unpleasant to be around, usually clueless as to what was happening right in front of him.

He inhaled sharply as he fingers ran down the front of his shirt, and he tried to look at them, to watch the path they took down his chest, over his stomach, but she was too close; it just made him go cross-eyed. Definitely not dorky-but-in-a-cool-way. He looked up instead, meeting her eyes. Should he be afraid of her? Well. He was kind of afraid of her, in that moment, but had nothing to do with her being a vampire.

She could probably see the cogs turning in his head. The instinct to run vs the desire to stay, how to put that into words, how to put anything into words, because it had been a while since anyone had said anything— “And what’s my other option?” He asked her, sounding vaguely strangled. “If— if I don’t just want to dance? And… if I don’t want to stop the flirting…?”

MITTE

Let it be known; Mitte was a danger to people like Kristoff long before she’d become a vampire. Because she knew how to present herself, how to charm her way in or out of a situation. It was an advantage of life on the road, she’d met people of all different temperaments, and once you’d dealt with a personality type before it was a simple matter of small adjustments to cater a technique to the individual. 

Kristoff was your classic awkward guy. Cute, unassuming, not great with social cues. Not always fantastic bed partners at first but usually willing to learn and easy to teach. (She had enough evidence that Kristoff was very capable in that department not to be too worried if he wasn’t perfect from the get go.) 

She really would be fine with just dancing, if he drew that line, but she was pretty sure he wasn’t going to. He proved her assumption correct just a few seconds later, sounding for all the world like he’d just run a marathon or something. Mitte giggled and tipped her head to the side, in the direction of the hallway, then leaned back towards him to whisper. “Making out in the storage closet.” She reminded him, letting her lips brush the shell of his ear before she shifted away. 

Mitte lightly circled a few of the shirt buttons in the middle of his chest, looking up at him. “Don’t worry, nobody’s gonna catch us. Unless you’ve got an overprotective father on the town board I don’t know about, that’s the only time that happened. And I still managed to get away with a tupperware full of fancy crab cakes so not a total loss as far as a prom goes.” She grinned, letting the mood lighten a little before Kristoff went into cardiac arrest.

She cast her gaze back to the hallway again then quirked a brow at him, voice low and sultry, “you wanna get out of the dance hall?” 

KRISTOFF

Yeah, yep. Kristoff thought that was his other option.

He had no idea what he was doing here. Well, no, not true, he knew exactly what he was doing here, he just wasn’t sure what was making him do it. He was hardly the adventurous type, had never been one to sneak out of parties to make out in places you shouldn’t (or places you should, for that matter). 

And there was always that little voice in the back of his head, the one that nagged, that whispered his doubts to him. But what about Mitte’s date? What about their friendship? What if this ruined everything? Worse, what if he was super bad at it, or at least worse than he had been in that dream, and Mitte decided she wanted nothing more to do with him--

The little voice was silenced for a second, though, as Mitte joked again. He was kind of glad for the momentary change in tone, for the opportunity to roll his eyes and give her a ha ha very funny expression. He definitely didn’t have an overprotective father, though he was probably going to have to ask Mitte for that story… 

And then she was looking at him again, doing that thing she did where she looked all coy and mysterious, and Kristoff decided that that little anxious voice could go right to hell. “Lead the way.”

MITTE

This had all been surprisingly smooth sailing. Mitte had expected a little more protest, some more shock, maybe Kristoff telling her she was just acting weird. She wasn’t sure how much that old dream played into his desire now, or if she’d just managed to bambozole him so much with all her flirting he couldn’t use the sensible part of his brain, but either way she was pretty proud of herself.

He was cognizant enough to roll his eyes at her story, so as far as she was concerned she still had enough control of his faculties to be making the choices he wanted to make. And that choice was to sneak off and make out with her. Mitte grinned up at him and stepped back, taking his hand more securely in her own and striding out of the main hall, into a hallway that’d become very familiar. 

As before when she’d been here with Marisa, it was empty, and the closet door still unlocked. She ushered Kristoff in first and slipped in after, closing the door by pressing herself up against it. He still looked a little lost, but less panicked than before. Mitte slid her hands up into his hair, using it to pull his face down to hers. She kissed him slow but firm, not wanting to freak him out with too much at first.

KRISTOFF

Kristoff knew that if he allowed himself to think for even a second, he was going to psych himself out. He would panic about getting in trouble, or upsetting Mitte’s date, or her using this as some kind of an excuse to get back to draining his blood (which wasn’t fair, and he was really trying very hard to put that behind himself), and then he would say y’know what, never mind, and he would probably leave his personal belongings back at the work table and just walk directly out of the town hall and back into the forest, never to be seen again.

So, no thinking, which turned out not to be a problem pretty much as soon as Mitte closed the closet door behind them both. There was no pause, no fumbling; she pulled him towards her and he didn’t put up any argument, deciding that letting her take the lead was probably for the best. Case in point: he didn’t know what to do with his hands. They hovered for a second, whilst he was admittedly a little distracted with her lips on his and her hands in his hair, before they managed to find her hips, shifting over her waist, settling just below her ribs. He was glad she had started slowly; he kissed her back almost carefully, like he was frightened he’d do it wrong -- and to be honest, he sort of was. 

MITTE

While there were cons to what she had become, heightened senses were absolutely a plus in these scenarios; she carded her hands through his hair and marvelled at how soft it was, the warmth of his hands at her waist, the gentle curve of his lips against hers. He was almost shy with the way he did it, but Mitte was sure he’d warm up soon enough. She let her hands roam along his shoulders and down his chest, and considered wriggling them under his jacket to push it off, but did not want to freak him out. So she pushed them back up into his hair, nails scratching ever so lightly against his scalp.

When it started to seem like he was going to need a minute to breathe she trailed soft little kisses across his cheek and jawline, resisting the urge to dip her face down and trace her lips across his neck- again, she did not want to freak him out- eventually reaching his ear. “You’re doing fine.” Mitte murmured, “would you relax and kiss me like you mean it? Messing this up is more difficult than you’re assuming.” She shifted her mouth back to his, keeping to that same steady pace. 

KRISTOFF

Kristoff wished he could say something smart. Something like, I didn’t know this was a performance review, or… well, that was the only thing he could think of, to be honest. And he couldn’t even really think of that, because there was some kind of disconnect happening between his brain and his mouth - the speaking part, at the very least.

So: he was going to have to use his actions, if he couldn’t use his words. He raised one hand to her face, palm pressing to her cheek so that he could tip her head back a little more as he pressed closer to her. At least they couldn’t fall backwards through the door, so he didn’t have that to worry about. Though, to be honest, the leaning down probably wasn’t the best angle for his neck… so. Kiss her like he meant it. 

There was a shelf behind them, or a cupboard, or… something. To be honest, Kristoff had no idea what it was, but he didn’t think it mattered. He pulled away just long enough to make sure that there was some space before he reached down, lifting Mitte with his hands behind her thighs, pulling her legs around his waist. It was a complicated motion for someone as clumsy as him, but he managed to get them turned around and Mitte set down on the bench/shelf/whatever without taking his lips from hers, and without major injury, which he thought was quite impressive.

“How’s that?” He asked her, nipping at her lower lip before leaning in again.

MITTE

He smelled good, which was not new information at all, but it was amplified and impossible to ignore in this small space. Mitte wasn’t worried about going crazy sexy vampire killer on him though- thanks to her time right here with Marisa earlier, all those urges were sated- so it just served to get her more excited, the din of the world outside the door forgotten. 

All she really had to worry about was making sure she didn’t grab at him too hard, but she could manage that. Most of the time. And if she did get a little carried away she’d know real quick, so it would be fine.

Speaking of getting carried away. Mitte made a noise of surprise in the back of her throat when Kristoff picked her up, grinning for a moment as he set her down on some surface that had been behind him. Smart. With her legs wrapped around him and the split going up one side her dress had risen up the top of her thighs almost enough to expose the lacy red underwear she had on, but she didn’t think either of them were upset about that.

“Perfect.” Mitte said all sultry. Her hands roamed his chest while they kissed, dancing about lightly, occasionally swooping down low to flirt with the line of his trousers where the shirt was tucked in. Eventually she slid them around under his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders and down his arms. 

KRISTOFF

Kristoff definitely wasn’t upset about it, mostly because he hasn’t noticed it yet, because his attention was conveniently caught by Mitte’s lips, and her hands as they slipped across his chest. It was enough to make him shiver, but he slipped out of his jacket without any protest. It wasn’t like it was his, anyways; she could do what she liked with it.

It was a lot easier that way, he found. Let Mitte take the lead and follow suit, though to be fair, lifting her up and spinning her round had been his idea, and they had both definitely enjoyed that. Maybe he wasn’t so bad at this after all? He was still trying not to get too far ahead of himself.

He pulled back from her only for a second, taking his lips from hers to trail kisses across her jaw, down the curve of her neck, breathing in the smell of her hair and her perfume as he went.

MITTE

He was hot. Literally, Mitte wanted to soak up his warmth like a sponge, make her cheeks go red again. She was used to being cold but not to her core, not like this. She wasn't used to not being sure if someone shuddered at her touch because it was good or because she was cold enough for them to feel it through their clothes. 

Kristoff wasn't against taking more clothes off anyway, so she couldn't be cold enough to stop him. She tipped her head back when he turned attention to her jaw and down, making a soft sound of pleasure as her legs tightened around him. (Vocal cues were good, and so was praise, so Kristoff earned some for his bold moves for sure.) 

Her hands slipped under his arms and around his back, scratching down his spine gently. "Would it be okay if I did the same?" Mitte murmured in the general direction of his ear, "no funny business, honest. Just regular sexy neck kissing." 

KRISTOFF

The old Kristoff (of about twenty minutes ago), would have said yknow what? Let’s wrap this up actually. The last time he’d had Mitte’s lips at his neck he’d lost an unknown amount of blood and had felt pretty nauseous for a while, and he wasn’t in any particular rush to repeat that experience.

But the Kristoff that was now stood in a supply closet with Mitte’s legs wrapped around his waist and his hands on her hips was not the old Kristoff. He was potentially, just maybe, someone who was kind of fun, and apparently someone who gave in to certain urges, and he was definitely someone who responded well to both praise and vocal cues…

Mostly, though, he was someone who trusted Mitte. 

“Yeah,” He nodded. Eloquence wasn’t his strong suit. “Yeah, that’s - that’d be okay.”

MITTE 

It was weird to ask, but the last thing Mitte wanted to do right now was freak him out. Things were going so smoothly.

Too smoothly of course, and she should've known better than to trust that. Or herself. 

Maybe it was because she'd never been alone in such a small space with him. It was all filled up with his smell; earthy and warm and dangerously familiar. 

Her head tipped down and she pressed a trail of hot kisses along Kristoff's jaw, leading down his neck. The deep breath she took was what started the trouble. Oh god, it would be so easy. Her mouth lingered at his pulse point, she felt sharp and unwelcome teeth prickling her lower lip. 

"Fuck-" Her voice was shaky, just a breath. 

This was it. She was a monster now, wasn't she? Normal things like making out with a hot guy in a storage closet were suddenly out of reach.

Mitte braced her hands on his shoulders and pushed him back, trying to be gentle. 

Still too close. His cheeks were red. His blood thrummed hypnotically. She wanted it. She wasn't even hungry. It'd be so good. Her fingers flexed on his shoulders, aching to drag him back in. 

No. Not again. "I gotta go." This wasn't fair. 

She slipped off the table he'd sat her down on, trying to keep it together. Casual, calm, collected. Not yearning for his blood and cursing herself. "I-" Mitte swallowed thickly, and wondered how visible fangs were when you talked. "This… Somewhere with better air circulation next time, maybe." As she backed towards the door and yanked on the handle she managed a wink, her hand curling a little too strongly around the metal as she got it open. 

It was easier to breathe immediately, and Mitte spared him a final glance as she headed back out to the hallway. 

KRISTOFF

There was a moment of fear, of minor panic, that made his pulse jump in his neck when Mitte’s lips finally met the curve of his neck. He’d thought the trail she’d begun might’ve distracted him, but his subconscious wasn’t fooled. The longer she lingered, though, the less he cared--

And then she put her hands on his shoulders, pushing him back, and Kristoff took a step away, giving her space. She hadn’t said anything, but he had a feeling he knew what the issue was, and even if it wasn’t that she wanted to sink her teeth into his neck (again) and drain him of his lifeforce, he supposed it didn’t matter. 

He wasn’t exactly sure what to say. If he was honest, his brain was running the 400 metre sprint to try to catch up to what had just happened, and by the time he had thought to ask Mitte if she was alright, she was already gone, throwing a wink over her shoulder as she went. The door swung shut behind her, and Kristoff huffed softly, running a hand over his face. For some reason, he didn’t feel any better for having just escaped death. After a moment, he tidied himself up, and slipped back out into the hallway - this time, though, he headed for the door, out into the cool night air, putting prom behind him.

#mistoff #( t; after all why not ) #we finally finished it

[musicfeedsmysoul12]

PRIDE DRABBLES

Be me: Get bored and then write a bunch of drabbles trying to get over writers block and make them all gay cause Pride.

Summary: A collection of BNHA drabbles revolving around Izuku and various sexualities or gender identities. Various pairings.

Asexual

 It’s nothing. Or well it’s nothing he likes to talk about. He and Fumikage have been dating for about three months, and it’s amazing. They cuddle and watch movies and have great dates together. It’s wonderful and perfect for both of them.

 The only thing is when people (mostly the guys) bring up sex. They’re curious. Super curious. Izuku gets it- or well he gets the questions about kissing. 

 “Can you guys kiss?” Kaminari asked when they had been dating for a week. “I mean he’s got a bird head.”

 “No, but we’re fine with other means.” Izuku has said and left it at that. Fumikage could run his hands through his hair or nuzzle him and Izuku could do similar things. They didn’t care that they couldn’t kiss.

 But well there was the fact they wouldn’t stop asking. About sex that was. 

 “Bet you two get wild.”

 “Is it like a threesome with Dark Shadow?”

 “How far have you gone?” 

 It made Izuku want to scream. 

 He cuddled closer to Fumikage, trying to get the thoughts out of his head, placing his head right under his boyfriend’s chin. He felt exhausted after training yesterday and just wanted to nap.

 “Getting lucky tonight?” Teased a voice and Izuku wanted to groan as he burrowed into Fumikage a bit tighter. Damn it why did it have to be Kaminari? He wouldn’t let it go. “All cuddly and shit?”

 “No,” Fumikage said bluntly. 

 “To sore? Yesterday sucked.”

 “No,” Fumikage said in reply.

 “What?! But neither of you are girls and insisting on waiting for it!” Kaminari said, earning a slap from Jirou. The rest of the class had slowly started looking over to them, drawn by the commotion. Some looked curious while one of two just looked annoyed.

 “It’s none of your business,” Fumikage said shortly. 

 “He is most certainly right!” Iida spoke up stiffly. “Kindly leave them alone!” They did but they still got some looks. Izuku didn’t mind. 

 He’d known he was asexual for a while. It just wasn’t something he wanted to bring up to others just yet. Especially since Fumikage wasn’t asexual and Izuku didn’t want to deal with personal questions about that. 

 Izuku loved Fumikage. He really did, it was just sex made him go: NOPE. And back off. Fumikage acknowledged it and moved on. He told Izuku that while he was interested, sex to him wasn’t an actual need in a relationship. He compared it to a second helping of dessert. You didn’t need it but you would like it. 

 Izuku smiled, cuddling into his boyfriend. 

 He had a great one. 

Bisexual

 When Ochako and Izuku broke up no one really thought much of it. Sure they were upset a bit because it seemed like they were a great couple but no one thought much. It was high school. People broke up all the time. 

 It was only when Ochako got caught making out with Tsu and Izuku was caught kissing Tenya that people started talking.

 “Are they gay and just figuring it out?” Asked Mina as she watched Ochako and Tsu cuddle while Izuku blushed like a fire truck as Tenya actually picked him up to stop him from going out and training again after he’d worked out that morning. 

 “Were they each other’s beards?” Muttered Hanata, also watching.

 “Or it could be because we’re both bisexual!” Ochako called out to them. Both blushed.

 Okay yeah, could be that.

Trans

 He didn’t want to change in the locker room. Not in front of everyone.

 It was stupid. It was so stupid. He had been on puberty blockers and hormones for years. He had no chest really and wore a binder mostly for his own benefit. 

 But he stood there and didn’t want to change. His hands shook a bit as he tried to breathe and tried to think. Okay, if he faced away from everyone they wouldn’t notice but he did have to take off his binder and that could lead to questions about why he had one… 

 “Hey,” a voice said and he jumped, turning to see the blonde with the black lightning bolt in his hair. The boy pointed further into the locker room. “Change rooms are that way if you want.” Izuku froze. Oh shit, was he not passing? How did- “whoa, hey it’s okay. Just thought you looked uncomfortable. I am to with getting changed in front of others.”  The boy grinned and nodded, leaving Izuku to stare after him before a grin spread across his face.

 That was… really nice of him. Izuku felt his face heat up a bit and quickly went to get changed.

 Whatever their teacher wanted had to be important.

Gay

 Izuku coughed as Uraraka looked at him hopefully. He could tell half the class was watching as he tried to react to her confession. 

 “Uh…” he felt really awkward and by the look on her face, she knew it. “Uraraka… you’re a great friend. I do care about you but…” he looked even more awkward as he tried to politely say it. She was shaking her head, looking accepting when the classroom door opened and a purple-haired boy stepped in. 

 “Babe,” Hitoshi called out. “You’re late.” 

 “One second Hitoshi-“ Izuku began but stopped and then coughed as Uraraka jumped in surprise. “Sorry… but I’m…” he motioned to Hitoshi who looked confused.

 “Oh… so uhhh… no chance at all?” Izuku shook his head.

 “None. Even if I wasn’t dating him sorry…”

 “No, no it’s fine.” She laughed awkwardly. “I’m… probably going to go eat a bunch of ice cream so… have fun?”

 “Uhh yeah sorry.” Izuku quickly went to grab his boyfriend’s hand and drag him out of there, blushing. Hitoshi blinked.

 “She asked you out? Izuku you’re gayer than I am.”

 “Apparently I don’t look it,” Izuku shrugged before Hitoshi suddenly smiled. A smile that sent shivers down Izuku.

 “Well let’s fix that…” 

 It was going to be a very nice date.

Genderfluid 

 One thing about Bakugou that Izuku actually liked was that the first time she had worn the girl uniform at middle school he’d punched someone in the face who called her a slur. Those sort of thoughts had mostly died out with Quirks. After all- when someone could breathe fire or turn into a giant or anything who cared if your neighbour was kissing the same gender or about what was going on down there.

 Still, it was common enough that Izuku had been nervous. At least until the guy was punched in the face. 

 Bakugou may have stopped being her friend years ago but he did not stand for that crap. 

 Izuku had been genderfluid for years it was just only in teenage years was the draw to a girl’s skirt was something the green teen felt. As a kid, it was more fun to run around and get dirty. She had worn the skirt plenty of times on girl days and even on occasion on a boy day.

 But… she hadn’t yet worn it to UA. It was stupid, she knew that. The grape asshole had been thrown out of UA after the third day, and she knew one of her classmates was trans. No one cared but…

 Well, it was stupid.

 “Ah! Mademoiselle-“ a voice said and she turned to see Aoyoma standing there. He blinked. “Ah! Midoriya… what perchance are your pronouns for the day?” She felt something in her heat ease.

 “She her.” She explained, smiling. He bowed and reached for her hand, she let him take it, feeling her cheeks flush as he kissed it, grinning at her in an attempt to make her smile. It worked as her smile grew more.

 “Allow me to escort you to class!” He bowed and she giggled, taking his arm and letting him walk her to their class. Everyone did look up and saw them walk in but no one really reacted other than blinking and shrugging. Iida did ask for pronouns but other then that life went on. 

 Mostly. 

 Izuku did find herself often hanging around a blonde French-Japanese teen after that…

Lesbian

 Izuku did not react to seeing Uncle Shou being the one teaching him. He managed to contain his surprise mostly. (Mostly) He was lucky that Bakugou didn’t say a single thing though he figured it was from the verbal lashing he’d gotten when they were ten and Izuku’s mom had started dating her girlfriend who had brought various pro-heroes into their lives and who had all ganged up to give a very firm discussing to the boy about his actions. 

 Izuku firmly did not react when he glanced at the syllabus and saw his mama would be teaching them. He firmly did not react to Tenya awkwardly trying not to react himself to the various names and people they knew. 

 He would not let it get out his mama was a pro hero and he had uncles who were and that he knew the entire UA staff who had all learned about One for All and had roasted the fuck out of All Might. He wanted a normal school life!

 And then the door opened and his moms came into the classroom.

 Izuku let his head drop into the desk, groaning while Bakugou groaned and Tenya winced in sympathy.

 “Midnight-“ Uncle Shou began but Kayama interrupted him.

 “SHOUTA I AM ENGAGED!” That got Izuku’s head snapping up.

 “WHAT? MOM?!? MAMA?!?” Both women turned and beamed before Inko rushed over to hug him. 

 “I’m getting married honey!” Kayama ran over to hug him to, the three smiling.

 “Congrats. We’re in the middle of-“ Uncle Shou tried but Kayama snorted.

 “Please Shouta, it’s the first day and usually they’re gone in thirty minutes. We’re kidnapping our son to go to the courthouse.” 

 “Courthouse?” Izuku asked. Inko snorted.

 “I tried the fancy wedding and then your father decided to run off after I nearly threw him through a window for hitting me and trying to hit you. No fancy wedding needed here!”

 “You are also super gay and your parents forced you into it as a Quirk marriage.” Kayama pointed out. Inko gave a shrug, acknowledging her point. 

“Well, whatever the reason- come on honey! We got Hizashi as a witness and need to grab someone else…”

 “I think Thirteen-“ Kayama began in a taunting voice but Shouta snapped the book he’d been reading from closed. 

“Class dismissed for the day.” 

 Izuku snorted while his moms laughed, happy his mom was getting her happy ending.

Aromantic

 He’d never thought about getting married and having a family. It was always hero course, being a hero, being the best her could be. Romance had never factored into his thoughts. Sure he found people attractive and he supposed he’d always assumed that the feelings would turn romantic or whatever but he’d never… thought about t.

 Izuku had always been a little put off by all the romance in everything. Why did a cartoon about All Might punching people need a romance subplot between side characters? Why were papers focused on heroes’ love lives? Why did people care who was kissing who? There were more important things than romance!

 It followed him through his high school career. He just didn’t get it even as people began dating. It was just… so weird and confusing. Sure he found people attractive and had some… thoughts about some of them but he just didn’t see the point of dating.

 It eventually came to him researching. It always did. He dug into various sexualities and romantic statuses. That was how he discovered what he was.

 Aromantic. He still felt sexual desire but the actual romantic part didn’t do anything for him. He felt like a weight had been taken off his shoulders and had focused more on his studies. He even found that while excessive romance made him gag he didn’t mind romantic stories that were done well. Even if he felt sometimes there was no need for them.  

 He didn’t pay much attention to the change of time and didn’t see much point in telling people until one day he went to class and found students all wearing pins. 

 “Deku!” Ochako chirped. “Happy Pride!” Izuku blinked and looked around to see people wearing pins showing various sexualities or gender identities. “Want a pin?” Something about how she said it made Izuku blink but in a split second he smiled and turned to Momo who was waiting. 

 “Hey, can I get an aromantic pin?” Momo blinked but smiled and nodded. Izuku didn’t notice some faces as he pinned the pin to his jacket, a half-smile on his face as others cheered.

 It was nice. 

 Better then romance any day.

#bnha #my hero academia #tokodeku #shindeku #aoyodeku #i don't know the ship name #iideku #ochadeku #midnight/inko #pride #pride 2020 #transgender #trans #trans character #genderfluid character #drabbles #my writing #bnha au

[dented-nado]

So a little bird told me you were taking Sebwill prompts. I thought I should take advantage of that! May I request something along the lines of SebWill superheroes/villains? Maybe they are mortal enemies by day, and lovers by night?

This is such a perfect combination of my interests, I am so damn here for it. I hope you enjoy it!

This ended up a little long, oops! Lol! I also absolutely kind of made a soup of DC hero/villain origins and mixed them together for this lol. Bonus points to anyone who can spot every one that I made a reference to! :D

 ==================================

Years ago, William had hid in his room after a horrible day. He was only about 15, wishing he could just fly away and leave.

Then… suddenly he found himself lying on his ceiling. It had taken him several long moments of panicking to realize he wasn’t dreaming, longer to realize he could move around as he wished.

And so… he opened his bedroom window, and left home, never to look back.

Anyone who knew him now would be shocked to find that at one point, William T. Spears who stood so straightly and kept every bit of him tidy and proper… had once been a scruffy, scrawny little teenage meta-human wandering the streets of London, getting into trouble and being chased by the authorities trying to take him into and orphanage or foster care… or worse, back home.

William had learned to live off the streets. At a certain point he had even gotten a little cocky, he was so fast that no one would even see him as he stole whatever he needed or wanted. He’d lead cops on a wild goose chase into alleyways that he knew like the back of his hand, only to float away to the rooftops out of sight.

He didn’t really make friends either. He mostly just had a small pack of birds that he split some of the spoils from his day out with when they came to the cracked window of the abandoned flat he had hid in.

He had always heard of heroes… saving the earth from threats both domestic and extra-terrestrial. Hell, he had seen one of them blast through London. On one hand he was curious, if maybe he and that super-being came from similar origins. But on another hand… he couldn’t help but resent the whole idea of heroes.

They certainly never protected kids like him.

That was the first time William had a sort of haunting thought. He had escaped because… he just happened to have these abilities that he still didn’t know the origin of… how many kids out there weren’t so lucky that weren’t being saved??

Well… maybe he could save them but, well when he looked around himself this was a fine nest for himself, but more than one person? Potentially kids even younger than him? How would he even look after them? He was 17 now… maybe he could pass as 18 if he cleaned up a bit, then maybe if he had enough money by then he could buy a better place and own it himself. How much did houses cost? It couldn’t be that much if lots of adults had them right?

He’d start stealing things to sell, he decided. He could get away with it, surely.

Well, his plan had fallen short, when he had been caught, stealing the tires off a rather fancy car since he was sure he could sell them for quite a bit.

The presumed owner of said car seemed oddly amused and calm at a scraggly un-kempt seventeen-year old stealing the tires of her car.

It was then another person came around the corner rambling on her phone, she seemed almost the same age as William, though maybe a little younger. She stared at William and who William now supposed was this young lady’s mother.

William decided now was the time to up up and away out of there, only suddenly, in a red blur, the young girl had jumped up and pulled him back down, she was fast… almost as fast as him.

“Excuse you! You can’t just steal our tires and go!” She scolded.

William had tried to escape, he’d found it easy to lift incredibly heavy objects including cars above his head, but now he couldn’t seem to pull her arms off him.

“Let me go!” He demanded.

“Now young man…” The girl’s mother said patiently. “How about you land yourself right back down on the ground and we can see about helping you out so you aren’t out here on the streets stealing tires.”

William glowered distrustfully, still thrashing in frustration as the young redheaded girl pulled him back down to the ground.

“If you haven’t noticed… we’re like you. We can help you… if you replace the tires and calm down.”

William had bit his lip. He didn’t trust this strange red-headed mother and daughter pair but then again… maybe… it would be nice to meet other people like him.

Begrudgingly he had put the tires back on quickly, and hesitantly sat in the back seat of the vehicle beside said girl who had been grinning at him since she had pulled him down to the ground.

“I’m Grell, what’s your name boy?”

William stared at her like she had grown horns for a moment before finally answering, realizing he hadn’t said his own name in a while.

“William.”

“William… you’d be rather handsome if you cleaned up a bit.” She teased with a small giggle.

 It was that decision that led him to where he was now. It turned out he had been picked up and adopted by a very, very wealthy family that practically owned half the city. He learned he was a meta-human, and certain supernatural genetics had caused his abilities to develop. While he had flight and a decent amount of strength down, he eventually found his most key ability was telekinesis, allowing him to move around almost anything with solid mass with his mind.

Grell seemed to have both flight and strength as he did, but she also was far faster than him and caused fire to ignite out of thin air. It suited her red hair and personality perfectly in his mind.

Grell and him also saw rather eye to eye on using their meta-human abilities to give more attention to the people trapped in bad homes that needed saving and she became a pseudo-sister to him. He found out her mother had taken Grell when she was only 9 years old and run away with her in the middle of the night. Running far away from the father who had treated them both poorly. Then, Grell’s mother had been lucky enough to find love, not even knowing she was going to be marrying into a vast amount of money, but that had certainly been a nice bonus.

Outwardly of course, they were both celebrities of sorts, especially when they turned 18, they became public figures. Grell flourished happily in the spotlight. William on the other hand… could handle being polite and interacting with others at important events, but he really did hate all the attention – he was relieved when… at night, him and Grell would dawn garments to hide their well known identities, and would do the vigilante style work of trying to find and save kids from bad situations, feed those who needed it, and punch a few robbers and other criminals on the way if it served them.

William did sort of understand the superhero dilemma more now. It seemed as if something was always happening that would distract from the “smaller” work. He had been more than frustrated when a man… no…a demon it seemed that controlled and moved through the shadows decided to make William his arch nemesis. There was no clue to who this man causing chaos could be. His entire face was covered, not only making it seem as if he had no facial features, but it also made William wonder if there was a man under there how he saw or breathed with that thing on. It was also clear when this villain spoke he had some sort of voice filter on that scrambled the tone of his voice, causing it to sound garbled and off-putting.

His only solace between the stress of his daytime persona, and his ‘night job’ – was the boyfriend he had managed to be with despite at all. Sebastian Michaelis. They had met at a gala, and despite himself, after one dance, William could already feel himself being swept off his feet by the raven-haired man with a mischievous glint in his eyes. And so… after that, he had made a point to see him. Grell had teased him that he was absolutely head over heels for the gothic man that stuck out like a sore thumb against the light colors most of the people at gatherings tend to wear. Sebastian was dashing in his own right… and well, William had been called “Goth lite” by Grell as well as their mutual friend Ronald Knox. So they had something in common.

It wasn’t long before William had to admit he was head over heels for Sebastian, and they had begun their romantic outings. Of course their relationship eventually got media attention, they couldn’t go on dates for long without someone recognizing them. Somehow though, while it seemed Sebastian was also someone who reveled in the spotlight much more than William, the way Sebastian would hold him or rub his back soothingly made him feel more confident in handling such attention.

After about a year and a half of dates and nights spent together, William officially asked Sebastian to stay with him in his apartment. It was more of a condo than an apartment, but William didn’t like that word much. It was one of the properties that had been gifted to him that hadn’t been turned into a high-quality rescue shelter for children.

William… hadn’t told him about his night life yet, and Sebastian always seemed to take his word for it. It wasn’t he didn’t trust Sebastian, in fact he was beginning to feel as if he’d do just about everything for this man. Yet… well, vigilante-ing was dangerous business, even if you could fly and move things with your mind. He swore he’d tell Sebastian about his night life well before they got married.

But for now… he enjoyed moments like this, laying on top of him while they slept, ear pressed against his chest, listening to his heartbeat for comfort. Sebastian would often run his hand through William’s hair, effectively petting him until the stern man slept. He didn’t want these quiet, comforting moments to ever end….

…and he’d be damned if he let any sort of super-villain or threat come between them.

#sebawill #sebwill #au #hero au #villain au #hero x villain au #prompt fill #writing prompt fill #sebastian x william #black butler #kuroshitsuji #sebastian michaelis #william t spears #tw #tw for past abuse mention #no detailed descriptions or flashbacks though.

[loopy777]

RE: WIPs game: do I even want to know what Dicebenders is is it another scam how many times are the Gaang gonna get arrested for scamming

No, this time it's me scamming people. XD The dice in question are the RPG Dungeons & Dragons kind.

For a while I was doing a screencap webcomic in the style of "DM of the Rings" and "Darths & Droids" with another creative fan named Captain Boomerang. I was the scriptwriter and selected the screenshots for each panel, and Capt-BA would assemble the comics and improve my scripts (a process that did frustrate me a little, as I felt locked out of the revision process, but I did like the results. I just felt like I wasn't holding up my end of the partnership a bit). I wrote a story bible explaining the characters and storytelling rules, planned out the adaptation of the entire AtLA premiere, and had less detailed plans for the rest of the series, but we only got 6 comics in before Capt-BA went on a trip and never returned to the internet. I did manage to re-establish contact with her long enough to get permission to continue the comic, but the problem is that I have no image-editing skills whatsoever.

If I could find comic-making software that I know would do what I want and be easy to use, I wouldn't mind dropping some money on it, but everything I've looked at is trying to do lots of things I don't need. I only want a way to import existing pictures into comic grids, and then easily add dialogue bubbles. That's it. But the stuff I've found is more about image-editing than comic assembly, and it takes me an hour to put together a dialogue bubble that looks good. So I have 3 scripts that were never produced, which along with the planning docs are what's in that WIP folder, and I don't ever see myself going beyond that.

Besides, someone else already managed to complete something like this, and while I'm not a fan, I don't need to be. At this point, Dicebenders is dead. I'm glad I tried it, and it's a shame it didn't work out, but I'm happy with the other projects I've done instead.

I am squatting on an empty Tumblr for it, though.

Anyway, to share something new, here's the first section of the Story Bible I wrote to make sure Capt-BA and I were on the same page in terms of characterization. The rest of the bible details the plotlines for full series.

AVATAR: THE LAST DICEBENDER

BIBLE

Premise- A small group of players attempt to run a fantasy martial arts RPG that winds up essentially becoming the Avatar saga, or something very close. The main point of the series is comedy, based mostly on ridiculous links between Avatar and RPG's. Sometimes the humor will be in the vast difference between what happens in the comic, and what happens in the cartoon with the same screenshots. Other times, the funny will come from the unexpected ways they converge.

SPIRITUAL PREDECESSORS

DM of the Rings- The original, and my personal favorite. It's a good showcase of how to run a single quest together, while using narrative jumps to skip to the good bits.

Darths & Droids- A similar project, this stands out from its predecessor in two main ways. The players and GM are more friendly with each other, and are more or less having fun with each other. There is also a running, coherent storyline in both the game and in the lives of the players.

Benders & Brawlers- This is actually an existing attempt to do Darths & Droids with Avatar. This is helpful as an example of what we DON'T want to do, retell the Avatar story in a completely straightforward manner, with RPG players behind the characters.

CHARACTERS

None of the characters will be given real names. The players shall always be referred to by their character names, although this can be done in a teasing, ironic manner. When the characters are speaking, their dialogue bubble must always be attached to an image of the character.

The Gamemaster- The GM is a female in her early teens. She is a geek, and a bit of a social outcast for it. Nevertheless, she's trying to make that work for her, although she's not quite mature enough to make it happen yet. She has just discovered RPG's, and in her enthusiasm has gone all out in starting her own campaign. The only problem is that she doesn't know how to recruit players, so she ropes her best friend and little brother into playing with her. This is the GM's first campaign, so she'll a little in over her head. She knows the mechanics of play, and what she's supposed to be doing as GM, but doesn't have the fine skill in crafting an engaging RPG experience. Still, she wants to do her best, is willing to learn, and has a positive attitude about the whole thing. The GM has a strong crush on the Sokka player, but the only way she can express it is by having all the female NPC's flirt with the Sokka character.

Katara- Female in early teens, and the GM's best friend. Katara's player was friends with the GM from when they were both in grammar school, so while they have grown up into wildly different personality types, they are fully loyal to each other. Katara is popular, and outgoing, and doesn't care or know about geek stuff at all. She's only playing the game because the GM begged her to. At first, Katara is clueless about RPG's, and frequently questions or ridicules the mechanics of the game. She never quite gets into the idea of role-playing, but quickly takes to the idea of meta-gaming. She'll have her character act like a righteous do-gooder, because completing missions and fighting bad guys earns XP. She hoards items that will boost her stats. She'll advocate abandoning a mission/plot if it doesn't pay out enough rewards. Katara's player also can tend towards trying to Mary Sue her character, but this is inconsistent and usually shot down by everyone else.

Aang- Male in junior high, and the GM's little brother. He plays simply because his sister has cajoled him into it, and there are hints that he's getting some kind of reward or payment for it. He abuses his position by forcing the GM to give him what he wants in the game, even if it breaks the rules- access to the restricted Airbender class, the ability to bend all four elements, overloaded stats, an Avatar State that protects him from dying, a magic super flying cow ride, etc. However, it's important to note that Aang's player isn't a jerk. He's just immature, and like all kids, just always goes for what he wants via the easiest path, and doesn't realize that he may be causing trouble or hurting feelings. He's enthusiastic about trying out this RPG thing, but he has trouble coming up with any action beyond attacking or retreating. He's also hyper aware that the GM and Katara are girls. He is too old for cootie concerns, but thinks that girls are fundamentally different creatures with their own incomprehensible concerns. Having a big sister, he doesn't find this a big deal, just part of life. Aang's player is too young to be a geek. He likes cartoons and sports and fantasy and school-dramas. He also tends to follow whatever his sister likes.

Sokka- Male in late teens. This guy is your quintessential RPG player. He has is own top-quality dice, he's played campaigns and systems of all kinds, and knows the tropes of the hobby cold. He's a huge geek for all things geeky, but roleplay is easily his favorite. He's a social outcast, but he's made friends among his fellow geeks, and thinks life is just fine. Sokka's player joins when he meets the GM at the comic/games shop they both frequent. The GM was buying some sourcebooks and material to support the fantasy martial arts game she's running, and Sokka noticed, asked about it, liked what he heard, and got permission to join the game. What Sokka doesn't realize, because he is a geek and neither has experience with it or realizes it's even possible, is that the GM is sweet on him. This manifests in the character Sokka's canon luck with the ladies, only kicked up a notch. *Every single* female NPC flirts with him, whether it's appropriate or not. Sometimes player Sokka notices and tries to roleplay it, and sometimes he's just plain confused. Sokka has a few quirks. His best set of dice are his Lucky Red Dice, which always roll high when he needs it, but have been tested and proven to be fair dice. He also mandates that every character he plays use a boomerang; he was turned into a geek by the first video game he ever played, a Legend of Zelda title, and his favorite weapon from those games are the boomerang. Each of his characters has a unique, named boomerang.

Zuko- The GM's favorite NPC. She created him to be a compelling, dramatic character, with a complicated back story, moral struggles, badass loner personality, angst about his existence, a darkly noble quality, and a cool scar. The GM intended Katara to get to know Zuko, for her to try to woo him away from the side of evil, and perhaps to even have a romance with him. The PC's, however, couldn't care less about him. To them, he's just another mini-boss, and the fact that most of his character development is happening "off screen" means they don't realize that he's recruitable. A frequent gag is Zuko delivering a stirring monologue while no one pays attention.

Iroh- Background NPC. The GM tries to use him to give (ignored) hints to the players.

Toph- (tentative) A male munchkin gamer who picked a long list of weaknesses in order to get superbending. Toph's player is a friend of Sokka's player, brought in after an "incident" with his old group, and causes some initial resentment in the group when tries to show the n00bs how its done. Cowing Toph's player is a major victory for the GM.

Momo- NPC, but maybe make him a talking sidekick who gives the players hints when the GM is really exasperated?

Azula- the GM's best favorite villain. Azula is the GM unleashed, letting her take out frustrations on the players in both combat and harsh taunting. Eventually the GM comes to like the character so much, she retcons mental health issues into the character's backstory, and has her pet NPC, Zuko, spare her.

#dicbender #avatarpg