#the pattern was a fucking mess like it had some very obvious mistakes but i didnt know how to fix them

[rivaiin]

i finally finished the colorwork sweater i was making and it has the wonkiest fit ever which is a real pity cause the design is really cool

#the pattern was a fucking mess like it had some very obvious mistakes but i didnt know how to fix them #without fucking up the colorwork cause it was the first time i didnt something like that #but like if youre telling me the neck ribbing is a 1x1 i need an even number of stitches it just works like that #and the neck had like 75 stitches so like #also the neck had no shaping whatsoever and like idk if thats the norm for yoke constructions but it just #sits weird on the neck obvoiusly cause its just a circle #also the goddamn cast on method the lady that made the pattern used looks amazing buts its not stretchy #and i can barely fit it over my shoulders #but then the body is very big and yeah #im gonna block it see if that fixes anything but i very much doubt it

[archonoftears]

info: modern au! reader receives a package that helps her tease her boyfriend while he’s at work. 

warnings: 18+ smut, slight breeding kink (mentioned), lingerie, phone sex (kinda), pretty vanilla, no penetration, just description, a tiny bit of dom/sub (implied through dialogue)

word count: 1,626

authors note: umm head empty, thoughts only filled with laying in zhonglis bed and teasing him over the phone. i really can’t remove myself from modern au! with ceo daddy zhong. so here we are again. not gonna lie though, i found myself looking at dragon dildos yesterday and now i just wanna write dragon zhongli and sacrificial maiden. so maybe after i finish with the first chapter of my other fic i’ll get right on that. 

ps no beta, i just kinda got this out and edited it once. so sorry if any mistakes or issues.

please thirst with me if you want to!!

Glancing around your dining room table you felt defeated by the amount of packages staring back at you. You were surprised by the latest delivery of clothing you had received for PR from a few high end designers. You knew you shouldn't have been shocked, dating a CEO of a multi million dollar cooperation came with many perks. Yet you never imagined anything like this. Knowing the mess would only stay on the table if you didn’t start tackling it. You began opening up a few packages, finding bags and shoes. Even the latest spring wear from the major brand ‘Liyue Qixing’ sat in a box for you. Before setting your eyes on a more intricate looking box. Opening it to discover some of the most beautiful lingerie you had seen in a long time. Looking at the brand name ‘Scent of Spring’. You didn’t recognize it, but you were quite enamored with the pieces inside.

Forgoing opening any more packages you quickly gathered the items in the box and wandered off to the bedroom you shared with your boyfriend. Selecting a ivory and gold silk longline balconette bra, with matching thong, and harness. The gold tulle flowers that patterned the silk and lace were soft and delicate under your fingers. You couldn’t go a second longer without wearing the beautiful set. Quickly stripping off the clothes you were wearing and slipping on the lingerie. Loving the feel of the soft lace and silk against your skin. Staring at yourself in the mirror. 

‘This lingerie had to be designed by some deity who knew Zhongli’s taste.’ You thought to yourself as you admired the way the balconette bra exposed half of your breast and how the thong straps cut into the flesh of your hip in a sexy way, giving your body a more defined silhouette.

A light bulb went off in your head, walking over to grab your phone and opening the camera app, returning back to the mirror. Posing yourself quite provocative as you snapped several photos, dropping to your knees and taking a few more photos, before flipping through them. A coy smile playing on your lips as you went to call Zhongli.

Zhongli was startled by the sound of his phone ringing on his desk, glancing down to see your contact photo, a smile immediately forming on his face, he swiped to answer.

“Hello (name), is everything alright my dear?” Zhongli greeted as he turned from the documents in front of him and leaned back in his chair. You seldom ever called him when you knew he was going to be in the office all day, preferring to email him if you needed anything so he assumed this must have been important.

“Everything is fine, just calling to see what you were up to.” You greeted over the phone. Zhongli let out a small sigh, relieved that nothing was wrong.

“I’m just preparing for a meeting with Fatui Industries in a little bit.” Zhongli started, glancing at the clock to check the time. “What are you doing today my dear.” He asked, knowing you didn’t have much on your schedule today.

“Well I was going through some packages I received, you know the PR kind. It was mostly clothes from some nice designers.” You hummed, he could hear you twirling your hair in your fingers as you spoke.

“Oh really? Hopefully they sent things that are your style.” 

“That’s why I was calling actually. There was this one package, the clothes are really nice. But I think they’re more to your taste, and I wanted to get your opinion on them.” You confessed. 

“Of course, I can do that when I get home for you if you would like.” Zhongli replied, glancing at the clock noting that he had about 27 minutes until his meeting. “I should be done with work after I meet with Signora and Childe.”

“I’m actually sending you a couple photos right now, please check your email and tell me what you think.” He couldn’t put his finger on it, but you seemed awfully excited about all of this but he complied with your request.

“Of course, one moment.” Opening his email, quickly finding the one from you at the top and opening it, his eyes widening in realization as he enlarged one of several photos in the email. His voice catching in his throat as he examined it.

“Are the clothes to your liking, sir.” You cooed from the other end of the phone, knowing very well they were in fact to his liking. 

“Ms. (Name)..” Zhongli growled quietly.

“Yes sir?” You asked innocently, Zhongli aware of the game you were playing, but nevertheless here he was clicking on the next photo, feeling his pants grow tighter as he continued to view the photos. The one of you on your knees sending more blood rushing to his already aching erection.

“Are you being a good girl right now?” 

“I’m always a good girl Sir.”

“Are you? You don’t look to be acting like a good girl in these photos.”

“Then should I send you some more photos so you make sure I’m being good?” He could feel himself getting riled up just by the implications of what was being said.

“Well… I’ve already sent them so hopefully you don’t mind.”

Not needing to be told twice Zhongli refreshed his email inbox to find a new message. Opening it to discover new attachments. Slowly he clicked the first picture. Finding you not in front of the mirror in the bedroom anymore, but now on the black sateen sheets of the bed the two of you shared. Angling the camera in a way to show how you would look if he had you pinned down. You looked ravishing, from the way you let your cleavage spill out exposing your nipples, to the way you spread your legs. 

The next photo your hand was on one of your breast cupping and pinching the nipple. The next photo was taken lower, your hand was now in your panties clearly teasing yourself. And the final attachment was a video, it was no more than 15 seconds, but in those 15 seconds you show yourself pumping your fingers in and out of your pussy, before dragging your fingers out of yourself and licking the wet slick off your digits. Zhongli was taking deep breaths as he watched. His eyes following your every movement.

“Sir…” You moaned, lust lacing every syllable. “Do you think I look like a good girl in those photos?”

Zhongli couldn’t say anything for a moment. Letting the video replay itself over and over, his eyes finding new things to focus on each time it replayed. From the way your plump lips wrapped around your fingers or the way you quivered when you plunged your two digits into yourself. He just wanted to see you do more.

“When did being a good girl equate to acting like quite the little slut? Surely I’ve taught you better than that.” Zhongli replied firmly, as he adjusted the way he was sitting to accommodate his throbbing cock.

“This is what you’ve taught me…” the breathiness of your voice letting him know you were in fact still touching yourself as you replied.

“I don’t recall teaching you to send provocative photos to me while I’m at work.” He glanced at the clock again, 16 minutes until the meeting. Fuck. 

“Did they make you hard?” You asked suddenly.

He was not a liar, so he wouldn’t lie to you. “Yes they did…” 

“Did they make you want to come home and stuff your big. thick. cock inside of me.” The punctionaction of your words were breaking him down.

“Yes they did…”

“Master are you going to come home so I can show you how much of a good girl I am, when I’m milking your cock.”

“My Lily… I-” Zhongli wasn’t used to you being this forward with him.

“I need you to come home and fuck me now. Because if you don’t pump me full of your cum I might go crazy.” You whined your voice working wonders on his resolve. “Please… Please come home and breed me sir.”

One final weak glance at his clock showed he had 9 minutes before they would arrive.

You moaned again calling his name out through the phone, the thread holding his composure together snapping.

“You’re not allowed to cum until I get home do you understand.” Zhongli growled into the phone, quickly on his feet, grabbing his bag and making his way to the door of his office. “Do you understand?”

“Yes sir..!” You exclaimed.

“I hope you understand you won’t be walking for the next few days my Little Lily.” He warned before leaving the safety of his private office.

“Yes yes! Hurry please.” 

“I am.” Quickly saying goodbye and hanging the phone up  with you, while walking towards two approaching figures. 

“Mr. Zhongli goo-” Signora began, reaching her hand out to greet him, but he didn’t meet it.

“My apologies, there seems to be an emergency at home, can you meet with my assistant to reschedule.” Zhongli haphazardly explained. “Again my deepest apologies.” He finished, turning on his heel and b lining it to the exit. Letting the receptionist know that he was leaving and scrambling for the parking garage.

“What do you think his emergency was?” Signora stood bewildered where Zhongli had left her and Childe.

“Do you think everything is alright?

Childe seemed to be having the best laugh of his life as his colleague pondered the obvious.

“Trust me everything’s fine.” Childe said in between laughs. “We should probably reschedule for Monday, he’ll probably need the whole weekend off.”

“This is why I hate partnering with you, you’re too vague sometimes.”

#zhongli x reader #zhongli x fem!reader #zhongli x you #modern au! genshin impact #smut #imagine a big bed of black and gold sheets #a bed designed for a god #that's the bed i wanna be spread out on for zhongli #cakey cries #genshin impact x reader #rex lapis x reader #morax x reader #genshin x reader

[xmalfoyweasleyx]

He flirts with everyone - F.W

Summary: Y/n gets drunk at the opening party of the joke shop when she sees her best friend Fred flirting again. She accidentally tells him about her feelings when she thinks it's George...

A/N: Normally I write smut but I LOVE this idea and I had so much fun writing it! I'm a little insecure about it because it's not smut, so please give feedback. I hope you'll like it! x

Warnings/Includes: Drinking, alcohol, insecure reader, 1 mention of sex, really passionate kiss, angst to fluff :)

Today was THE day, the opening of Fred and George their joke shoppe. It all started in the evening, with a big opening party.

Y/n was outside watching the doors of the shop, preparing herself to walk through. Dimmed music and lights could already been noticed where she was standing. She was a little nervous. The twins are her best friends, they knew each other since they were little, but it's been a month now since she's seen them. That was long for them, it was the longest they haven't seen each other, ever.

When she opened the door she was overwhelmed with the loud music and all the people in the room. How is she supposed to find those twins? But before she started searching properly, she already saw George standing there. You really couldn't miss him, with his tall figure and bright smile he stood out of the crowd.

"George!" you screamed. George turned his head immediately and smiled bright.

"Y/n! Finally!" he grinned and he gave you a big hug.

"It's so pretty in here, congratulations Georgie" y/n smiled. George seemed proud, she was thrilled to see him back but she couldn't stop herself from wondering where Fred is.

As if George could read her mind: "I think Fred is.. er.." he said while looking around.

And that's when they saw him standing next to the stairs. "There" George added. But both of their smiling expressions changed when they really saw him. Like we all know him, Fred was flirting again. Y/n knew she really had no single right to care about that, but the jealousy hit her like a truck. And George knew that.

A pretty tall lady was standing next to him. They were both laughing and giggling. Fred looked so damn handsome, she thought. His suit, the hair,... It was beautiful. Y/n watched how Fred gently laid his hand on the woman her shoulder and she seductively moved her fingers against her glass of alcohol. ALCOHOL that's it.

"Where's the alcohol" y/n asked George. He had a worried look on his face. "Y/n I don't think... I... Fred is just-" he stuttered but y/n cut him off. "I don't care, you don't owe me an explanation and certainly not in your brother's place, now give me some firewhisky or something" y/n stated.

"I know you're in love with him y/n" he explained full of pity. Of course George knew, you were his best friend and it was obvious to him but not to Fred. George always had to watch how you were hurt when you saw Fred with another girl, it happened back at Hogwarts too.

"Oh. Well. If you know then give me the drink" she kept asking. George nodded. They walked to the table with the drinks and George poured something in for her.

"You're not going to say hi to him?" he guessed. "Nope" y/n answered and she threw the whole drink down her throat. George felt sorry for her but also laughed a little, he liked drunk y/n after all, it was always fun.

-

An hour later there was already a dance floor full of people dancing their soul out. Including y/n. The alcohol was exploding in her body and she poured another shot down her throat when she saw Fred dancing with the girl from before or was it another girl already? One thing y/n knew for sure was that the girl was hot.

Her favourite song came on so she danced and danced... When suddenly, she didn’t know if it was an half hour later or maybe only 2 minutes, she felt someone pressing her shoulder.

Y/n turned around and saw Fred. “When did you get here?” he asks confused. Y/n decided not to answer and she kept dancing, swaying her hips to the music. “Weren’t you planning on saying hi to me?” he tries again.

“Nope” y/n responded trying to ignore the boy. She wasn’t even able to look into his eyes because she knew she would just melt.

“I’m going for another drink bye” she muttered, trying to get away from there as fast as possible. When she turned around Fred grabbed her arm to stop her.

“I think you’ve had enough, love” he whispered.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do Fred Weasley and you certainly don’t have to call me love” y/n said angrily, leaving Fred confused.

Why didn’t she say hello to him? Didn’t she miss him? He missed her and this is what he gets? Fred didn’t understand a thing.

“Wow, calm down, what the hell is wrong with you?” he scoffed now getting angry too. "With me? Why don't you just go back dancing with that girl you stupid git" y/n insulted, immediately regretting what she just said. Fred was hurt. Angry. He didn't understand this at all.

"You're mental" he snapped. Tears started to form in y/n's eyes and Fred walked away. Leaving y/n there guilty, sad and drunk...

Y/n ran outside, finding an empty doorstep on a random house next to the shop, where she could sit on. Tears fell down when she buried her face in her hands. She didn't want to be so mean to Fred, but maybe shutting him out was the best way to get over him?

What y/n didn't know is that Fred regretted what he said too. He saw how hurt she was and he hated seeing his best friend like that. So he decided to go look for her.

His heart broke when he saw y/n sitting there, her hands in her hair and tears falling down. Fred sat next to her without saying a word. Y/n looked up and smiled, not knowing it was Fred.

No, she thought it was George, he knew how she felt after all. Normally, y/n was the best in telling them apart, but after all that alcohol, she made a big mistake.

Fred on the other hand, thought y/n knew it was him. He had no idea y/n thought she was sitting next to George.

"Are you okay?" Fred asked. "I messed up" y/n cried.

"You didn't mess up" he ensured her, trying to calm her down, but it became worse. "I did! Oh why am I in love with your stupid brother" she sighed, leaning down to lay her head on Fred's shoulder (or what she thought was George his shoulder).

Fred was shocked. In love with my brother, he thought, so she is in love with George? Did that stupid twin of him make her cry like this?

"Are you in love with my brother?" Fred gasped, trying to hide the hurt in his voice. He would never be able to watch how y/n dates his brother, the thought of it made him sick. He didn't want y/n to be in love with someone else and especially not his own brother.

"I thought you knew" y/n asked confused. "No, I didn't" Fred whispered, almost inaudible.

Y/n was confused, she talked about this with George just hours ago? But she forgot it already when she remembered how mean she was to the boy she loves with her whole hard.

"I love him, George, but he'll never love me the way I love him" y/n sobbed.

Fred gulped. Did she just say George as in: she loves George. Or did she just say George to him?

"You don't understand, I wanna have his babies!! I want to come home and see his smile, I want him to fuck me into oblivion!!! Please help me George" y/n suddenly screamed dramatically, still very drunk.

Now Fred was sure, she thought she was talking to George. Which meant all she said was about him. He wasn't able to move. Fred was shocked. How? When? Why? He had so many questions.

"But he flirts with everyone, every piece of woman he can find, he flirts with it. I'll never be enough" y/n sniffled.

That's when Fred finally put all the pieces together and realized why she acted like that. She must have seen him talking to that girl. All those girls. Has he really been so blind? And did she really think she's not enough for him? His heart broke and glowed at the same time.

He wanted to tell her so many things, he wanted to explain everything, to apologize. He wanted to tell her so so so much.

But he couldn't, he was speechless. It was like he was glued to the floor and turned into a puppet with empty strings.

"George?" y/n stammered when she saw the look on his face.

Fred only responded with eyes full of pity.

They looked in each others eyes for a moment, when suddenly, she realized.

The scar, the pattern of freckles and the chubbier cheeks.

It was Fred.

Y/n gasped loudly. "I-I-... Fuck." was the only thing coming out of her mouth.

She panicked, embarrassed and afraid of what will come next. So she grabbed her wand. The only idea that came up was to apparate away from him.

She waved her wand but before she even did something she felt Fred grab her arm and in a second she was in a room with him. He was first.

"Where are we" she asked. "In my apartment" Fred answered.

Y/n nodded and an awkward silence filled the room.

“Do you really think you’re not enough for me?” Fred whispered.

“What does it even matter” she huffs.

Fred took a step closer and he grabbed her hand. Y/n her eyes widened. “Do you really think that?” Fred repeats.

“Yes” y/n answered weakly.

“Why?” he questioned interested.

“Fred, look at you, you’re a handsome owner of a shop who played quidditch for years, I mean, look at that chest, you are funny, you are sweet, all the ladies drool over you and you flirt with all of them. They’re so pretty and I’m... I’m, me.” y/n rambled.

Fred’s heart was beating hard inside his chest, her honest words made his knees go weak. If she only knew how he saw her. How pretty he thinks she is. He was stupid for flirting with those girls right in front of her. It was his fault, her insecurities.

“I don’t want to ruin our friendship, I know you don’t feel the same way, well that’s obvious, but I can’t see you that much any more, because when I see you I just want to rip off that shirt and kiss-“ she rambled and rambled like she was already doing the whole night, as if there was a ramblingpotion in her drinks.

But Fred cut her off by grabbing her shoulders and pushing her chest close to his.

“For Gods sakes, shut up woman” he whispered with a smile and he kissed you.

It was not just a kiss, it was something you both wanted to do for so long now. You both had never felt this way before. The passion was unexplainable. Fred grabbed y/n her ass very gently making her gasp a little, now he could enter his tongue. They fought for dominance. Y/n pulled on his red locks and pressed her body impossibly closer to his. She wanted to feel close to Fred, she wanted to show him how much she loved him.

Fred felt the same way, he left a very gentle bite on her lip, making her moan a little. His heart was swollen in his chest and he finally understood what they meant with those belly butterflies.

He was going to marry that girl one day, and like she said: give her his babies. The thought of her (actually) funny confessions made him grin on her lips.

“What are you smiling about” y/n chuckled when she left his lips.

“Nothing, nothing” he grinned.

After recovering from their passionate kiss, y/n and Fred were sitting on his couch. They talked and talked like they always could keep talking about random stuff. But now the topic was a whole different one.

Fred made sure y/n realized how bloody sexy he thought she was. He promised he would try his best to only flirt with her and he talked about how he liked her too back at hogwarts. Y/n couldn’t believe it at first but after talking for a while she was convinced.

She laid in Fred’s arms while he drew little patterns on her back. She enjoyed his smell and how warm he felt. It felt safe, it felt like home.

“Thank god, finally!” they heard a voice coming from across the room. It was George.

You all laughed.

“Without you we wouldn’t lay here like this Georgie” Fred joked.

“But I didn’t do anything?” George furrowed his eyebrows.

“I know” Fred laughed placing a soft kiss on your head.

-

join my taglist :)

general taglist: @rudypankowisdaddy

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( I hope you’re not disappointed because this has no smut )

#fred fluff #george weasley #harry potter #fred weasley #weasley #fred and george #fred weasly x reader #fred angst #x reader

[jonahlovescoffee]

“look at me” | J.M.

a/n: ok guys i wrote smut in honor of the release of wdw’s new album that includes a smutty song D: so first i would like to clarify that i’m still a 15-year-old virgin so i have absolutely no idea in how sex goes and i don’t read a lot of smut in general so i apologize if any mistakes are made in my writing :) anyways happy reading!!!

summary: you and your boyfriend sneak off to have some fun. (this is probably the worst summary i’ve ever written)

warnings: oral, blood kink, dirty talk, making out, unprotected sex (but on a serious note, wrap it before u tap it guys!) so read at your own risk luvs <3

word count: 5022

“do what you want to me nobody gotta know”

You felt Jonah’s lingering stare on you all the way through dinner at his house. His alert eyes followed your every move and he didn’t even bother to be more discreet about it. He and his band had just returned from tour and usually, you both would spend the first few weeks constantly exploring each other’s bodies as you released all the lust that was bottled up inside you for far too long but this time was different. After your recent promotion in your department at work, your workload had gotten twice as heavier and you soon found yourself being too busy to indulge in any form of entertainment, including spending time with him in the bedroom as he desired. As expected, he was now extremely close to his breaking point and was perfectly capable of ruining you once both of you were alone.

Yet being the mischievous person you were, you decided to tease him a little and test his limits. With an innocent smile plastered on your face the whole time, you let out an exaggerated moan of pleasure when you tasted Christina’s cooking and pulled your bottom lip between your teeth on purpose for more times than you could count, not forgetting to make sure that he was at the perfect angle to see what you were doing.

He had his meal silently, not speaking unless he was spoken to and when he did, the evident strain in his voice did not go unnoticed by you, so did his clenched jaw and his knuckles that had gone slightly white from clutching onto the cutlery a little too hard. No one else noticed the sexual tension between you both despite it being so thick that one could cut it with a knife, which made this silent exchange between you and your boyfriend many times more exciting.

Once dinner was over and all the dirty dishes were taken to the kitchen, Jonah caught your wrist in a tight hold when you were about to enter the living room. “You’d better stop what you’re doing, sweetheart,” he warned once the others were out of earshot, already in front of the TV having an argument about which movie they should watch. “It isn’t funny at all.”

“I never said it was,” you gave him a toothy grin which agitated him more. You used your free hand to cup his cheek, tracing it softly with your thumb as he closed his eyes and leaned into your touch, exhaling a shallow breath. You stood up on your tiptoes and leaned your face closer to his, your lips barely inches apart. “You’re always so needy for me, love, I’m terribly flattered,” you said, your lips brushing his with every word. “And I want nothing more than for you to take me now,” you continued and you felt his entire body stiffen.

“However,” you let your hand trail down from his face, over his muscled torso, then allowed your fingers to play with the waistband of his black ripped jeans. His eyelids fluttered open as his breathing turned ragged for your fingers were so close—so dangerously close to his member that was growing harder and harder by the second. And you weren’t even doing anything. “I don’t want to do that with your friends around,” you gave him a quick kiss on the lips before pulling away and wiggling your wrist out of his grasp, leaving him wanting for more.

“You’re gonna be the death of me y/n,” he growled furiously at you, earning an extremely sweet smile from you.

“I know,” you chirped happily and proceeded to skip to the living room. “Oh and Jonah? Try to hide your excited buddy would ya’? He’s being too obvious,” you tisked with displeasure, gesturing to his southern region.

“I wonder why,” he muttered sarcastically to himself as he adjusted his pants to make the bulge in them less obvious as best as he could.

“Come on guys, the movie’s starting!” Corbyn hollered from where he sat on the couch with his girlfriend by his side, to which you replied with a simple “coming” before grabbing the bowl of popcorn off the coffee table and plopping down onto the other end of the couch.

“I’m here, I’m here, jeez,” Jonah hopped over the back of the couch and landed beside you shortly afterwards, the impact sending few popcorns flying out of the bowl. You shot a death glare at him as he rested his arms over your shoulders and opened his mouth, a silent request for you to pop a popcorn into his mouth (which you obliged), his eyes fixed on the wide tv screen, acting like you both didn’t have the conversation just seconds ago.

Because of how sexually frustrated you were, it was impossible for you to concentrate on the movie when his finger was idly tracing random patterns on your upper arm from where his hand rested, turning your mind into a fuzzy mess and blurring all your senses together until all you could focus on was his touch that had somehow travelled to your neck, stopping at the sensitive spot beneath your ear.

“Wanna suck this part so bad,” His whispered into your ear, his warm breath making your skin tingle with pleasure as his finger circled the spot with his finger several times, causing your breathing to hitch, momentarily stunned by his words. Before you could say anything though, he pulled away completely with a chuckle, choosing to place his hand on your thigh instead.

This bastard. He knew the effect his simple gesture had on you and he was shamelessly wielding it to his power.

Without a word, you placed your left hand lightly on the front his black ripped jeans as you planted a kiss on his collarbone, frowning when he didn’t offer you any reaction at all, pretending to be too fixated with the movie to even notice what you were doing. Fine. Two can play this game.

You glided your hand ever so lightly like the soft caress of the cool night’s breeze over his crotch at first, subsequently picking up the pace and pressure as you went, palming him discreetly with your clueless friends sitting merely several feet away from you. Beneath your palm, you could feel his member pushing against the material of his jeans almost immediately as he emitted a soft groan from his lips.

“Fuck,” he breathed, tightening his grip on the back of the couch as he bit back another groan when your lips came into contact with his jaw and slowly made their way down his neck, leaving faint red marks on certain spots where you had nipped softly along the trail of kisses. “What are you doing?” He seethed through his gritted teeth, a sign that he was annoyed at you for driving him to the brink of losing every last bit of his self control but he made no move to stop your actions.

“What’s wrong with expressing my love for my boyfriend?” You teased which made his frown deepen, grabbing your moving hand in his, abruptly stopping your movements.

“Expressing your love, huh?” He grabbed your chin and forcefully tilted your face so you were looking at him straight in the eyes. Even through the darkness of the dimly lit living room, you could make out every defined details of his attractive face—his chiseled jawline, the perfect arc of his slightly furrowed brows, his elegantly straight nose and most importantly the flame of lust that was burning like wildfire in his eyes. “Why don’t we take this elsewhere if you really wanna do so, sweetheart?” He asked but his dark tone made it sound more like an order instead of a question, your previous playfulness dissipating instantly.

You wanted to retort, reminding him that you had told him that you weren’t inclined of doing that in the presence of his friends but you weren’t stupid. You knew very well that if you continued to push anymore buttons, he would not let you get away with it easily.

“Good,” he said and let his hand drop from your chin. “Let’s go then.”

Without a word, Jonah dragged you off by the hand towards his room, brushing off the prying questions from your friends with a simple “she’s not feeling well”. You didn’t say anything as you followed after his fast-paced footsteps, almost tripping over your own feet because of the giddy excitement that you felt at the moment.

He kicked the door shut behind him once both of you entered his room, his hands already all over you and your lips connected with each other’s in a heated kiss with his tongue in your mouth, exploring every corner of it, asserting utter dominance before you had a chance to react, making you gasp and habitually let your hands drift to the front of his lavender hoodie to pull him closer as you tilted your head so that he could kiss you deeper. He blindly spun you both around so your back collided against the door and pinned you against it before breaking the kiss, biting your bottom lip slightly as he pulled away to your dismay. You wanted to taste more of him so you tried to tug him down once more to collide his lips with yours but he stopped your actions with a low growl.

“What do you want from me, sweetheart? Teasing me all day like that,” he asked sternly, staring down at your petite figure that was trapped between his arms. Under his intense gaze of his once vibrant hazel eyes that were now nearly consumed by the black of his dilated pupils, your brain shut down all of a sudden, subsequently taking away your ability to form words in your head, let alone speak. He inched closer until your breath mingled with each other’s. “Fine, since you’re not going to speak, we’ll do this my way then,” he finally said when you remained speechless. You felt a tingling feeling between your thighs at the anticipation of what he had in store for you.

“Get on your knees, now,” he ordered and you obliged right away without a second thought. You didn’t need any further instructions to know what he wanted you to do next for his intentions were already clearly written on his face. In a blink of an eye, you already had his belt undone and his jeans unbuttoned and unzipped, shuffling them down his legs along with his boxers, just low enough to reveal his considerable length standing proud and tall in its full glory. The sight of it never failed to make your eyes go wide in amazement and your mouth go dry no matter how many times you had seen it. “You want to express your love, babygirl, now’s your time to do it. Go on,” he urged, making you groan softly at his forwardness. “Show me how much you fucking love me.”

You did not wait another second to wrap your hands snugly around his member to give him several good long strokes before taking it in your awaiting opened mouth, flicking your tongue just over his sensitive head and sucking it a little to taste some of the salty precum. He let out a soft groan, one hand still keeping a firm grip on the counter as the other pulled your long hair back to give you more room. You proceeded to leave open-mouthed kisses down his length, your warm exhales across his aching dick teasingly torturous, not forgetting to lower your head to lick his balls before moving your mouth back up his length again. You felt his hand on your hair tighten as you purposely took your sweet time of savouring every inch of him ever so slowly instead of going hard and fast just like he wanted.

“Tease me more, baby, and you will regret it later,” he said with all seriousness and you knew that he wasn’t joking. You spit on the tip a little before fitting him into your mouth once again, then sliding down while your hands were kept snug around the base of him to help jerk off the rest of him that couldn’t fit in your mouth. You gradually picked up speed, your hands meeting your lips in steady movements as you started to bob your head quicker up and down his shaft, his breathing turning rhythmic and heavy, small moans let out with every exhale as you worked him.

Jonah was in pure ecstasy as he watched you take his dick so well on your knees, saliva dribbling down your chin as you licked and swirled your tongue over all the right spots, earning involuntary groans after groans of pleasure and making him instinctively push his hips forward into your mouth, consequently making you gag lightly as you neared your limit.

“Fuck, baby, that’s it, you’re doing so good,” he managed to say between ragged breaths, “but is that all you’ve got?” His grip tightened on your hair immediately and before you knew it he was pushing you back down quickly and then tugging at your hair to pull you off over and over again just as you were about to pull back to breathe. Your hand fell from the base to the back of his thigh to keep yourself steady as he thrusted into your mouth nonstop, focussing on keeping your jaw lax despite the protests of your gagging reflexes.

“Deeper,” he instructed strongly as you gagged, your tongue pulling back last. Tears stared to prickle at the edges of your eyes and you glanced up at him, subtly shaking your head to tell him that you couldn’t go any further but he wasn’t taking “no” for an answer. He had spent more than enough time in the bedroom with you to know your body better than you do and he was sure that you hadn’t reached your limit yet despite your denial to his request.

“Come on, I know you can do this, sweetheart,” he drawled, your hesitation had his hand pushing your mouth down his length by your hair until it reached the very back of your throat as your nose touched his stomach, making you wince at the discomfort. Yet you continued to bob your head, taking almost his entire length in your mouth. You pulled back a little and brought your hand back to the base to give him quick hard tugs as your tongue glided across his tip until he was biting down on his bottom lip with his eyes close as you felt him twitch inside your mouth, almost reaching his high. His erotic groan that followed sent heat pooling at your core and was starting to ache for touch.

So you silently slid a hand into your panties, your dress making it terribly easy to access the sensitive part between your thighs and you soon enough found yourself touching yourself while your other hand continued to jerk him off in your fist. You fully removed your mouth from around his tip to give him kitten licks, also partly because you found it incredibly hard for your moans to escape with his member in your mouth without gagging.

Your discreet movements did not go unnoticed by him and he pulled you up by the collar of your button-up dress all of a sudden, taking you by surprise. His other hand moved to pull up his jeans and boxers. “I didn’t say you could touch yourself, did I?” Jonah growled in your face when you reached his eye level. “Such a desperate little whore,” he tisked disapprovingly while shaking his head at you. His tone was condescending, as you were some sort of trash that was greatly frowned upon by everyone. “Fucking answer me when I’m talking to you.”

“I just want to relief the ache,” you whined as he dragged you towards the bed forcefully, taking you by surprise, causing you to stumble over your own two feet and crash into him when he suddenly stopped walking and turned around to face you. “I want you to make me feel good, please,” you begged him with pleading eyes but it was no use.

“Naughty little girls like you don’t deserve to get want they want, do they?” He asked and you nodded in response, earning a warning snarl from him. “Don’t you understand what I say, slut? I said open your filthy mouth and use your fucking words.”

“Yes, Jonah.”

“So prove to me why I should forgive you.”

“Gladly,” sike.

You placed your hands on his chest and leaned your entire weight onto him, making both of you fall backwards against the floor, before you were taking off his hoodie. Your hands were already roaming his muscled torso while your lips connected to his neck, giving him sloppy kisses all over his neck, sucking and nipping just enough to leave faint marks that were barely considered as hickeys at all the wrong places, having engraved the exact places of all his sweet spots in your mind but avoiding them all on purpose just to spite him and forcing him to give you what you wanted.

You knew that if you had complied to his wishes, it would do you no good at all. It would’ve taken you longer to get what you wanted and you didn’t have the patience to wait. Just like how he knew dirty talk was capable of driving you insane, you also knew that your disobedience would make his mind go completely haywire, especially when you were doing everything wrongly.

That’s why you were honestly surprised when he actually waited a full moment until you started kissing down his chest before grabbing your shoulders to flip you over so he was hovering over you.

“You just can’t stop being a shitty brat, can you?” He licked his lips quickly before attaching them to your neck, right at the spot where he traced with his fingers earlier, and sucked hard, making you moan and cling onto him tightly with your hands tugging on his soft brown hair, keeping him close as he repeated the same actions on different spots, turning you into a moaning mess. “This is how you pleasure someone,” he demonstrated by ripping your dress apart and unhooking your bra in one swift motion before he started to massage your breast as his lips worked wonders on your neck, fully hoisting himself up with only one hand. You instinctively grinded against him, the soaked thin fabric of your panties and his jeans being the only barriers separating his length from your entrance.

“But this is how you mark someone up,” without a warning, he sank his teeth deep into the flesh near your collarbone, hard enough to draw blood, forcing a gasp out of you due to the pleasurable pain that shot through your entire body at the mere action. He wasn’t even nipping anymore — he was biting you, exactly like how a vampire would bite its prey before sucking the life out of it. He sank his teeth deeper causing more blood to ooze out of your body, which he, in turn, sucked and swallowed every single drop of it. With a final swirl of his tongue around the prominent bite mark, he pulled away far enough for his entire face to be in your field of vision, his teasing grin showing off all his teeth that was stained in red with some of your blood.

You pressed your thighs against each other in hopes of generate some kind, any kind of friction to soothe your aching core that was pulsing so furiously as soon as you beheld his sharp canines that was stained the reddest.

And he slowly let his tongue glide over all his teeth, wiping them clean as you watched intently, mumbling a soft “fuck” while staring wide-eyed at him in disbelief.

He moved the hand from your breast to the sensitive area between your legs and dragged his fingers over your entrance, to find you completely drenched with arousal.

“Never expected you to have a blood kink,” he smirked with satisfaction at his discovery, “but I guess you do now, huh?” He ripped your panties off without a second thought like it was the most natural thing to do in the world.

“Jonah, what—”

“Your flimsy little underthings always get in the way of things,” he cut you off mid-sentence before you could protest further.

“But—Fuck,” words failed you when he started to rub painfully slow circles around your fluttering core with his thumb while he dragged his middle finger up and down your slick folds, teasing at your entrance. You rock against his hand to get that friction you craved yet he kept the moving pace of his hand so damn slowly that whimpers fell from your lips, much to his delight.

“For someone who was reluctant to fuck with my friends around, you sure are goddamn needy for me right now,” He attached his lips to yours once again to drown out your noise, your lips moving in perfect sync with each other’s as he licked his way into your mouth. A wave of warmth washed over you as your tongues entwined, making your toes curl, unfurling all your senses as the taste of his lips and his touch silenced all thoughts.

Except one.

“It’s no fair that you still get to keep your pants on when I’m already naked,” you said, breathless once you detached your lips from his after the heated kiss, placing your hands on his toned chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest, his hot exhales fanning your face. He let out a light laugh but it sounded far from amused.

“When can you learn how to fucking behave, baby?” He lowered onto you, his lips falling to meet the bite mark he left on your skin, kissing it softly once. Then twice. “Or do you need me to remind you who you belong to?”

You didn’t expect him to choose that moment to slip a finger inside you without any warning, pumping it in and out of you as his thumb continued to rub your bundle of nerves. You slid your arms around his neck, pulling him as close as possible to you. Pitchy moans escaped you, ringing across the room as he gradually picked up speed.

“I said we’re doing this my way, understood?” He asked sternly, which you replied with a breathy “yes”.

“And I can do whatever the fuck I want, no questions asked,” he added another finger into you, making you arch your back towards him, your mouth hanging open in bliss as your moaning continued. He drank in the wonderful sight of your body reacting so beautifully to his actions. “Got it?”

“Yes...yes, Jonah,” you could barely get the words out of your mouth when his fingers sped up and you habitually spread your legs open wider, your eyes shut as his fingers worked their magic. Your eyes were screwed shut as your brows furrowed, concentrating on the immense pleasure that consumed you at that moment, your mind barely able to function at all. Sooner than you expected, your legs started to tremble with desire for release. “Jonah, I’m close, I’m really really close,” you whispered shakily and he exerted more pleasure on your clit.

But just as you were about to finally reach your high, he pulled his fingers out of you rapidly, leaving you empty and begging desperately for him to put them back inside you.

“Should’ve thought about this when you disobeyed me so many times today, sweetheart,” he said with an evil grin, “and bad girls don’t get to cum.”

“Nor do they get to pick the positions too but,” he sat back and looped one arm around your knees and another around your shoulders to pick you off the ground before laying you on his plush, comfortable white bed that felt like heaven in contrast to the cold hard ground you were laying on just now. “I’m going to let the latter slide this once.”

“So tell me what you want to do, baby, the choice is all yours,” he nibbled your earlobe from where he laid beside you, his arms tucked securely around your waist, keeping your body pressed flush against him. You could feel the tent in his pants that was pressing against your backside and the words left your mouth before you yourself could even process them properly.

“I want to ride you.”

He untangled his arms from around your waist and sat up so he was leaning against the headboard. “Show me what you’ve got, love,” he said, nodding his head at you, urging you to do whatever you wanted.

You quickly slid down his jeans and boxers to let his now completely hard and throbbing cock free, already. With his hands tucked behind his head, he licked his lips as he watched you pumped his member a few times before positioning yourself over him and lining yourself up. You gripped his shoulders again, looking back up into to meet his lust-ridden gaze before leaning in to give him a light kiss, which he instantly responded back with more passion. You pulled back to make sure you were lined up before you slowly sank down on to him, making both of you let out a few curses when you were fully down to his base.

“You’re so fucking tight,” He groaned as you waited until you adjusted to his size, leaning your head against his shoulder for comfort.

You slowly lifted yourself up, almost pulling away from his dick completely before you let yourself sink back down, clenching around him again as his fingernails dug into the side of your hips. You started to pick up pace, switching between grinding and moving up and down on him, his grunts encouraging you even more. “Jonah....fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” you shrieked, a string of obscene profanities that you never knew that you knew proceeded to escape your mouth as you bottomed out each and every time, slamming yourself right down onto the hilt.

“You like my dick buried in your tight little hole huh? My dirty fucking girl,” He asked, watching intently as your breasts bounced with each movement, your head thrown back in pleasure as you let soft moans escape, a sight he thought was both hot and beautiful at the same time. He moved his hands back up to your waist, keeping you steady as you continued to grind and moan against him.

“Yes, oh fuck, yes, Jonah, I love it so damn much,” you managed to reply before your lips were captured in a passionate kiss with his once again, one of his hands cradling your face as you continued to ride him quicker, shifting your position a little to find a better angle so that he could hit deeper. When you finally succeeded in finding it, you held on tighter onto him, clinging to whatever that could keep you grounded to this world as you felt like you were falling off the edge of it when he sped up some more. You soon felt your insides clench around him. “Jonah I think—” you were cut short by a gasp of your own when his other hand collided with your butt, the sharp sound echoing throughout the room.

“No,” he said through the kiss without any hesitation. “You can only cum when I say so, dear,” he bit your bottom lip tauntingly and you heard the silent challenge for you to fight back against his orders as clear as day.

So you slowed down your pace, trying your very best to restrict yourself from cumming all over his dick. And he didn’t like what you were doing. “Did i say you could slow down?”

“No, but at this rate I—”

“You shitty brat never run out of excuses,” he growled before gripping your shoulders to flip you over so you were laying on your back on the bed.

“Guess I’ll have to take matters into my own hands,” he said as he pounded mercilessly into you, your eyes screwed shut and your brows furrowed as you concentrated on holding your cum in. The bliss you felt at the moment was so immense that you couldn’t help but shriek his name over and over again although the effort of not approaching your high was painful at the same time.

By the time you had become aware of your hands, they were already dragging down his back, your nails piercing his skin, drawing pretty red lines along his back. “Tell me whose cunt is this, baby,” he was hitting your g-spot now and your hand moved to grip the sheets.

Prick.

“Fucking look at me when I’m talking,” he ordered sternly and of course, your eyelids flew open immediately at his words.

“Yours, all fucking yours, Jonah.”

“Good. Now, do you wanna cum now, babygirl?” He asked, picking up his pace as he chased after his own high as well.

“Yes, please please please,” you whimpered, tears already welling up in your eyes.

“Yeah, cum all over me now, baby,” he pressed a soft kiss on your lips as white ribbons of pleasure poured out of you almost immediately, just as his warm liquid was released inside you and you moaned as it filled up your insides.

“I love you,” he said when he pulled out of you and laid down beside you, leaving you empty and sore as heck.

“Love you more,” you replied, kissing the tip of his nose. “But you were too harsh on me just now,” you pouted and he smiled.

“I thought you love me putting you in your place,” he teased and you hit his arm playfully. “You gotta admit, you were turned on by my actions.”

“Shut up,” you said and he leaned in once more to kiss your pout away.

#corbyn besson #daniel seavey #jack avery #jonah marais #wdw #why dont we #why don’t we #zach herron #wdw imagines #jonah marais imagines #wdw smut #jonah marais smut

[mochegato]

Pixie Spy

Chapter 5

Chapter 1    Chapter 4

Marinette laid on Nino’s living room floor studying the stolen Grimoire files on her tablet.  She had been staring at the same page for the last two hours, making little progress.  Just because she could translate the ancient text, it didn’t mean it was easy or quick.  In fact, it was headache inducing and with Adrien focusing on keeping them caught up on homework while she and Chloe were otherwise occupied, she was translating alone.  She knew there were amazing secrets held in the texts, the drawings promised amazing new powers for each of the miraculous, she just needed to decode them.  

She scrunched her eyes closed and rubbed them to clear her vision that had started crossing.  Now, she decided, was a perfect time to take a break.  She looked around the room for a distraction. Adrien was near her on the floor, leaning against the couch and working on the physics assignment they had received that day, having already finished the calculus assignment.  Alya, having already passed her research onto Chloe, was on the couch working on the French Lit homework. Nino was sprawled out on the couch with his feet propped up on Alya’s lap, not working on anything, staring off into space with a furrowed brow instead.  

Everyone was working quietly except for Chloe who was making her discontent with her surroundings abundantly clear through her frequent huffs and exaggerated movements.  She was sitting in a chair making notes in a notebook referencing her laptop occasionally.  She huffed and wiggled uncomfortably in the chair, “Tell me again why we have to do this here?” Chloe demanded, not bothering to mask her disgust with the middle class surroundings.

“We can’t meet in the hotel because we can’t take the chance the Waynes would see Marinette walking in the lobby or the hallway. We can’t meet at Adrien’s place because Asshole Dad.  We can’t meet at Marinette’s in case they’ve made her already.  That leaves my place or here and my place has the twins who are currently both grounded and bored so… that leaves here.” Alya explained calmly, not bothering to look up from her homework.

“Yeah, yeah, but couldn’t we have met at like a nice café or pub?” Chloe whined, rubbing her arms as though contact with the chair fabric were scratching her.

“And take the texts outside?” Adrien asked with a raised brow motioning toward Marinette.

“Plus until we know how much they know, it is probably best I’m not seen out more than absolutely necessary, hence the…” she indicated the oversized hoodie she had stolen from Kim some time ago she had been wearing all day, mostly with her hood up, completely enveloping her head.

“I thought that was so you could hide from Laurence…” Alya said with a sly grin.

“Or Noelle,” Adrien threw in.

“Or Ignace…” Chloe added, keeping her focus on her laptop.

“Okay stop.  Really, Chloe?  Wouldn’t you much rather talk about the throngs of people throwing themselves at you?” Marinette attempted to divert her to one of her favorite topics, herself.

“Oh sweetie, we don’t have that kind of time.” Chloe said throwing her ponytail over her shoulder.  “We’re just talking about the ten or twenty we know about willing to let you tie them up and beat them like a piñata then thank you for the privilege.”

“That sounds like a regular Saturday night for you, Chlo,” Alya grinned.

“I…I don’t know how to react to that.” Marinette scrunched her face in confusion.  “My first inclination is to say she’s exaggerating, but it’s Chloe and if anything she would underplay it.  Plus I am extremely not happy with that little insight into Chloe’s bedroom, so… I’m going to ignore this entire conversation.” Marinette said turning back to her tablet.

Adrien looked up from his notes for a few moments staring in thought at nothing, “Valid,” he nodded, turning back to his work as well.

Nino had stayed silent throughout the conversation staring instead unfocused at a spot on the floor for the past few minutes. Adrien glanced back at him with curiosity.  “Hey,” he smacked his hand into Nino’s leg, “you okay there?  You completely missed us teasing Marinette about her fans. That’s one of your favorite topics.”

“Ahhh, Laurence… yeah, that dude makes me nervous. Michel is cute though.  I could see that.” Marinette gave an affronted squawk. Nino continued without acknowledging her, “No, I was just thinking… we know Batman’s secret identity.”

“Yeah,” Adrien said uncertainly.

“And he doesn’t know ours.” Nino continued.

“Right,” Adrien encouraged still not sure where the conversation was going.

“And we have you and Chloe, both pretty famous and could easily end up at a party or event with at least one of them…” Nino mused thinking out loud.

“True.”

“So… how much can we mess with him about it without getting killed?” Nino asked raising his brow with a playful glint in his eyes.

“Dude!” Adrien exclaimed excitedly, his eyes lighting up at the thought.

“You want us to prank the Dark Knight?” Alya looked at him like he was crazy.

“Really?” Marinette deadpanned.

“Yeah, you’re right.  It is potentially fraught with danger.  We might need to bring Alix and Max in on this.” Nino nodded still thinking about how he could manage it.

Alya dropped her head into her hands, “Idiot.” She muttered shaking her head in her hands, not entirely sure if he was joking or not.  Honestly, either option was possible.

“Well, that makes you two perfect for each other,” Chloe deadpanned still focused on writing something down in her notebook missing the withering look Alya shot her.

“Okay Kim,” Marinette rolled her eyes at Nino.  She looked uncertain for a moment then pushed herself back until she was sitting on her heels and spoke hesitantly, “Or… we could discuss if we are still certain we don’t want the Batfamily here.  Are we sure we don’t want their help?”

“Yes, yes we are,” Alya replied, her voice bordering on disbelief that Marinette would even ask.  “We know what the Justice League is like.  We know what they’ve done and we have a damn good idea what they could do given half the chance.  We gave in on Constantine and look what happened.  We cannot trust them.”

“Think about the last few weeks, Marinette.  Think how much worse they would have been if those people had powers to begin with and understood the extent of their powers, how to push them, how to exploit them.  What to ask for from Hawkmoth to do the most damage?” Nino added.

“The bats don’t have superpowers.” Marinette defended.

“But they work with people who do.  They have strategized attack plans around people who have powers. They understand them and what’s most effective…” Chloe added barely looking up from her notepad.

“And they are incredibly well trained in combat and strategic planning… It would be hard enough without them having super powers. With them, we would be fucked.” Adrien added cutting in on Chloe’s statement.

“We are barely keeping up as it is.  If one of the bats of Justice League were to get akumatized…” Nino let the statement trail off, allowing everyone to use their imagination to fill in the rest.

“Exactly!  We are barely keeping up.  Do we need to consider getting help?  From someone with more experience and different skills?  From someone with experience using superpowers against an opponent?” Marinette ran a hand over her face, “I’m just… I’m getting scared. And I don’t know if that is because I’m seeing a pattern or if I’m just frustrated with where we are and desperate for any change.  And the more distance I have from it, the more I wonder if Constantine was right.  Is it time to bring someone in, but we’re just too scared to try something different?”

“As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted by a banal, obvious statement,” she glared at Adrien, “they have a good understanding of powers, their strengths and weaknesses, and how to strategize around them, which would make them powerful akumas, or incredibly advantageous assets against an akuma.”  Everyone stared at her in surprise.  “Stunned looks terrible on you.” She said making clear she was directing it to all of them.  “The silent awe of me is appropriate though.” She said sitting back in her chair only to immediately grunt and start squirming against the fabric again.

“It isn’t just the powers, I don’t trust them, especially Batman.  If we give them half the chance, I’m afraid they will try to take the miraculous because they think they could wield them and protect them better.” Adrien admitted.  

The group took a second to let both sides of the argument sink in, unsure how to move forward.  Both outcomes could lead to horrific outcomes that nobody wanted to allow. They were all afraid and they knew they were, but like Marinette, they didn’t know if the fear was holding them back from making a mistake or from having a breakthrough.

After a few moments of quiet, Nino broke the quiet in a soothing voice, “We have no way to know which way things will tilt.  Let’s see what we get from the files and reassess then. No reason to introduce more chaos until we know what we have to work with already.  Have you found anything yet?”

“A bit.  Ugh,” she said accepting the change of topic and looking at her notebook with disgust, “this would be so much easier if the kwamis could just tell us all the possible uses of the miraculous were and the ways they could be combined.”

“Yeah, but then Hawkmoth would have known too… and Mayura and Argus.” Tikki pointed out.

“That’s a horrifying thought.  I don’t think we could have taken Hawkmoth and Mayura when we started if they had known all their options.” Adrien shuttered thinking about it.

“That’s why they created the rule that kwami could only tell the very basic powers and responsibilities.  Anything more than that can only come from the Order, so if anyone stole a miraculous, they wouldn’t be able to effectively wield it, making it easier for trained wielders to get it back.”  Trixx said.

“A bit more effective back when there was an Order and masters who actually trained wielders, but you know, times change,” Plagg shrugged with a thinly disguised disgust.

“Okay but let me just say not having known this,” Marinette turned the tablet around for them to see the image of the dragon miraculous she had been studying, “was an option is extremely upsetting.”

“Dibs!” Nino called out, jumping up from the couch before anyone else could call it.

“Fuck you, I saw it first.  I’ve got dibs.  I’ve got plans for it.”  Marinette blew him off.

“No way, you’re going to see all of them first.” Nino pouted.

Marinette grinned at him, “Guardian” she singsonged.  

Trixx floated up closer to the tablet.  “Oh that one.  Yeah, everyone likes that one.  It’s actually just a variation of the power you know already so it is a lot easier to pick up than it looks.”

Plagg floated next to her to check it out too.  “If you like that one, just wait until you find out about…” his sentence was cut off by an overflow of green bubbles falling out of his mouth, causing him to glare at nothing and everything at the same time.

“Okay enough of that.  My turn.” Chloe announced turning her laptop to display pictures of each of the Waynes and their alter egos.

Adrien leaned forward to get a closer look at the images and suddenly his eyes got huge and he gasped, “Oh my God… in the name of all that is holy and good in this world, please tell me the one in the godawful, Red Skull wannabe mask is the one you were making heart eyes at all night.  Please, please, please…” Adrien begged Marinette.

Marinette refused to meet his eyes and pursed her lips, focusing intently on the laptop.  “No comment.”

“It is him! Can I please, please be there when you ‘discuss’ that mask with him before we kick him out?” Adrien said shaking with delight at the thought of it.

Marinette glared at him, “We are going to be focusing on getting them out of Paris without drawing further curiosity or ire, not their wardrobe.” She pointed out turning to Chloe with an expectant look trying to prompt her to continue but couldn’t stop herself from whipping back toward Adrien, “And, I don’t even know if he was even interested in me at all.  It’s far more likely they are concerned about the situation than he is about getting a date.”

Chloe rolled her eyes, “You’re not that stupid, Dupain-Cheng. The honeypotting wouldn’t have worked if he wasn’t interested.”

“I did NOT honeypot him…. And I still don’t know what that means!” Marinette yelled exasperated.

“Yeah, yeah.  But I get to be there right?” Adrien implored ignoring her annoyance and still not giving her a definition.  At this point, it was a matter of pride… or comedy.  Either way, he was dedicated to never telling her what it meant.

“Oooooo and me too,” Alya jumped in.

“You should just leave your com on so we can all hear.” Chloe commented with feigned disinterest.

“We should put it on speaker.  The kwamis will want to hear it too.” Nino agreed with a grin.

“I hate all of you,” Marinette grumbled crossing her arms in front of her as she pouted.

Adrien chuckled at her before putting her out of her misery, “Okay, Chlo.  What did you figure out?”

“So, I focused on Bruce Wayne, Richard Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, and Damian Wayne.  I couldn’t get an identity on Spoiler and there is no public information on Cassandra Cain, who is probably Batgirl, so I could only look at her vigilante work.  But if Constantine is right, they are both still in Shanghai.  It is unlikely they would have brought them in just to talk with us.  So for tonight, they don’t matter.”  Chloe explained before continuing with her analysis.

“The rest of the Wayne family are a treasure trove of insecurities, pressure points, and triggers.  I’m just going to go over the biggest ones since we hopefully will only have to deal with them for a few minutes at the most.  These unstable assholes are definitely Hawkmoth’s wet dream. Extremely well trained and no control over their emotions.  All have extreme versions of insecurity complexes, but react differently.

“Bruce Thomas Wayne is a control freak.  His public persona isn’t much help.  As far as I can tell, most of it is a mask.  He pretends to be a drunk, irresponsible, billionaire playboy but we know he’s Batman so all that is bullshit.  What isn’t is that he is a good negotiator and actor, all of which means he can be a good manipulator and we know from his experience as Batman that he is extremely strategic.  Be suspect of anything he tells you.  His intentions appear to stem from a genuine concern with making lives better, but how much he is willing to listen to other people’s opinion of what constitutes better is questionable, especially after what we know of the Justice League’s actions. He has a history of enforcing his vision onto other people, whether they want it or not, of taking control.  He needs to be in control, or feel like he is so he can prepare for what is coming and make sure it doesn’t turn against him.

“The oldest, Richard John Grayson, has a martyr complex.  He’s so devoted to the saving people thing he became a cop in his civilian life as well, by all accounts an uncorrupt one, and that’s saying something in Gotham and Blüdhaven.  Takes on too much at one time trying to fix everything and feels responsible for every bad thing that happens, even if he wasn’t there… especially if he wasn’t there, to stop it.  If he only would have done whatever, then the bad thing wouldn’t have happened.  If only he was better, blah, blah, blah. Sound familiar?” she looks pointedly at Marinette.  “That’s his weakest spot.  He takes the blame.

“The next, Jason Peter Todd has abandonment issues.  He’s constantly waiting for people to walk away from him like his parents did.  There is something more there, I know there is, like whatever happened when he disappeared for a few years, but we don’t have access to that information. Ridiculously protective of kids on the street, I think because he essentially grew up on them himself. But, here’s the catch, he became a crime lord in order to protect them.  He is willing to go dark to protect people, so they never have to feel like he did and never have to do what he had to do.  He’s straightforward and aggressive.  He feels like everyone is going to walk away from him because he isn’t enough for them to stay.  He’s dangerous.

“The next, Timothy Jackson Drake has inadequacy issues. Wealthy, absentee parents who likely never treated him like anything more than a business asset.” She looked sympathetically at Adrien.  “He is a certified genius.  Started running Wayne Enterprises a few years ago.  He likes a challenge and is an incredible negotiator.  He likes working things out on his own.  He’s smart and curious.  He knows exactly what to ask in order to get the information he needs without you even knowing that’s what he did.  Be careful answering any questions or reacting to any statements from him.  He is constantly trying to prove himself so people will love him.  He takes any failure extremely personally because it means he doesn’t deserve love and a reminder that he isn’t who he thought he was and therefore not worthy.

“The youngest, Damian Wayne, known as the Ice Prince in Gotham, has a superiority complex.  Nobody gets close to him and nobody wants to.  He showed up in Gotham at age 10 with a fully-fledged attitude.  Everyone and everything is beneath him.  He also drives himself to extremes in order to confirm his superiority.  He insults and belittles others because he believes he should be superior to everyone around him, but he is afraid he isn’t and if he isn’t better, then he is significantly worse.”

The rest of the room looked at her sympathetically.  They all knew she wasn’t just talking about Damian. That was her up until a few years ago. She needed to believe she was better than everyone else and needed everyone around her to believe it too.  If she was better then she deserved her parents’ love.  If she had everyone else’s love, it made it easier to fool herself into believing her parents loved her as well, or blunt the feeling when she would realize just how much they didn’t.  But years of therapy, a higher purpose, and real friends that truly wanted the best for her but refused to take any shit from her, made her realize she didn’t need to be that person to deserve love.

“Also keep in mind there are likely significant trust issues going on here.” Chloe continued ignoring the looks from the rest of the room.  “There are a lot of reports of violence between Red Hood and Red Robin, Red Hood and Robin, Red Hood and… everyone actually, as well as Robin and Red Robin.  Based on fact that violence is higher immediately after a changing of the guard, I’d say the passing of the mantle from one Robin to another has never been consensual and likely contributed to their complexes.  They are held together by the thinnest of threads.  We can snap that if we need to… but I don’t think we want to go that far.  If we snap that… I don’t know how much damage that will do or if they will come back from it.” She cautioned hesitantly.

“Agreed.  I don’t want to go there.  There is plenty to use without going into the family issues, without causing irreparable damage.” Marinette concurred.  They didn’t want the Bat family in Paris but they didn’t want to destroy them either. She wasn’t willing to let herself or her team become monsters in order to stop them.  At the end of the day, they were ultimately all on the same team, they all wanted the same outcome, they just had different ways they wanted to get there… and different ideas about who got to decide that… and who should lead it…

“God these people need a hug not whatever that ‘family’ of theirs is providing each other.” Nino said aghast at the report.

“Marinette’s already on top of that, at least for one of them…” Alya smirked.

“Fuck you, bitch.” Marinette narrowed her eyes at her.

“I’m on top of that one,” Nino grinned, raising his hand.

“Oh God.  Seriously we need to investigate that brain bleach thing,” Marinette groaned squeezing her eyes shut trying to keep that image from appearing.

“Okay,” Adrien announced over everyone, “we all agree after this whole Hawkmoth thing is over, I get to kick Constantine’s ass and we all portal over to the Batcave and hug the insecure, unfairly cute, prickly, little echidnas until they feel better, right?” Adrien asked solemnly.

“Ugh, fine but I’m not hugging the gremlin.  Someone else gets that one,” Chloe called out throwing out her arms.

The room stilled as everyone else looked at each other, “Not it!” they all called at almost the exact same moment.

“Damn it,” Nino cried as he realized he had been a few seconds slower than everyone else.

“That’s what you get for being a turtle.  When the confrontation happens, I got the pampered rich kid.”  Chloe announced.  This was her area.  She knew just where to push kids like that, like her.  She knew exactly what to say to get them, her, to hit them at their most vulnerable.  To push just enough to make an impact without breaking them.

“No, Chloe.  We don’t want to tip our hand and we need you guys to stand sentry.  I want you, Alya, and Nino to hang back acting as scouts. This is likely to go bad and I need you guys in a triangular formation a block out watching for akumas.  Adrien and I will talk to them.”

“Alone?” Nino asked tentatively.  His job was to protect.  He didn’t like the idea of not being close enough to act if they should need it.

“They aren’t going to attack us, at least not physically.  And we will take an extra miraculous each.” Marinette smiled gently to placate him.

“Are you sure two is enough, m’lady?” Adrien asked curiously.

“You sure you aren’t just trying to keep it a bit more intimate for you and your boy?” Alya waggled her eyebrows.

Marinette glared at her, “Two should be enough.” She said ignoring the previous statement, “Combined with your two, we should be able to cover what we need to. It’s just the Batfamily.  We should be able to handle them with just one each even if they wanted to attack us.” She grinned at Adrien.  “Magic, gotta love it.”  

“Okay but when he calls you incompetent, which he will, you need to push back.  Point out the ways he’s failed.  He isn’t better than us, no matter what he thinks and the sooner you make him realize that, the sooner the real conversation can start.” Chloe warned.

“He is all of, what, 13?  We are not going to try to emotionally damage a child.” Nino stated flatly.

“As long as he thinks he is better than us, he won’t take us seriously.” Chloe warned.  Nino just glared back at her, not willing to give in on this.  “Fine, if you don’t want to point out his failings, then point out the most impressive things we’ve done that they haven’t.  That should suffice.  Not as effective, but it should get you there.”

“Okay, if we’re going to start discussing strategy, we’re going to need some sustenance.  Let’s get dinner ready so we can start discussing the plan for tonight,” Alya said throwing Nino’s legs off her lap.  Marinette and Nino followed her to the kitchen leaving Chloe and Adrien behind.

“You know, I noticed something with your analysis, Chloe,” Adrien started quietly keeping his eyes on their friends.

“I would hope you noticed more than just one thing,” Chloe chided him.

“Cute,” he said rolling his eyes, “Jason was the only one you said was dangerous, why is that?  

“I thought it was obvious?  The others have a limit.  I don’t know that he does.  And Marinette likes him, a lot.  He has a power to hurt her that the others don’t.  And they are very different.  They are both willing to go as far as necessary to help others, but to her that means killing herself, to him that means killing everyone else and himself,” She looked at him uncertainly, “and I’m not sure how she will react to that.”

“You think he would do that if we let him stay here?”

“I don’t know enough about him to predict what he will do.  He dialed it back to work with the bats again but… There really isn’t that much on him. I can tell you what Red Hood has done and that is bad, but not Jason Todd.  Since he disappeared, presumed dead, hell maybe he was, who knows what happens in Gotham, there is nothing on Jason Todd.  If you want me to try to predict, you can hop on down to Africa and see if you can borrow the kwami of prediction.  Until then, it’s all guesswork.  I need to see him.  See how he acts before I could even try.”

He stared at her for a few seconds a look of utter confusion on his face, “You think the kwami of prediction is in Africa?”

“Do you ever hear any miraculous related shit doing down in Africa?” she fixed him with a knowing stare.

“No,” he said cautiously

“Exactly, because they know what’s coming and they do their fucking jobs.” She winked at him and walked away.

<><><><><> 

Bruce, Jason, Tim, and Damian sat in the living area of Bruce’s hotel room in various states of suited up for the night.  They had barely had time to throw their bags in their rooms before meeting up to prepare for the night.  Damian was completely dressed and ready to go on a moment’s notice, as always more than ready to focus on business.  Bruce and Tim were in everything but their masks, choosing comfort until they had to leave.  Jason was sitting in a large chair in just his pants and shirt, attempting to look relaxed and nonchalant about them being so close to the girl he met at the gala. They were all staring at a massive screen linking them to Dick, Alfred, and Selina in the Batcave.  

“So, how’s Paris, boys?” Selina asked from her position lounging in one of the chairs.  “Meet any interesting people yet?  Jason?”  She added with a smirk.

“You know Bruce, all work and no play.  We haven’t gotten a chance to get out and meet anyone.  Doing this instead.” Jason shrugged with a practiced indifference, forcing himself to recline further back into the chair in an effort to seem casual.  

“Haven’t even gotten to see the Eiffel Tower yet?” She asked in mock sympathy.

“Oh, no, we saw it… from the plane.” Jason played along.

“You really should make sure to visit the Eiffel Tower while there, Master Bruce.”  Alfred threw in trying to downplay his amused smile.

“It’s not as impressive as you think it will be,” Tim muttered to nobody in particular.

“We’re here for a reason, Jason.  If we don’t want to lose today, we need to get started immediately…”  Bruce admonished him but upon looking up and seeing Alfred’s unimpressed look added, “We can get lunch near the Eiffel Tower tomorrow.  Better?” He looked to Alfred who switched to small smile instead.  Taking that as approval, Bruce nodded to Tim indicating they were ready for him to start his presentation.

Tim nodded to Bruce and moved to the front of the group and pulled up an image from the Ladyblog displaying five superheroes and their names on half of the screen.  “I’ve found a few local resources on the heroes we couldn’t see back home and have downloaded their contents and sent them back to you guys,” he said nodding toward the half of the screen displaying the cave, “so you can look through the information as well.  I’m not sure what is preventing the data from being accessible from America, but I suspect magic.” He glared at the screen like it personally offended him, “I hate magic.

“I’ve only had about 30 minutes to prepare so this is going to be brief.  I mainly focused on… well actually I mainly focused on figuring out the best resources for information, downloading copies of the site content, and sending a copy back to the batcomputer.  But after that, I mainly focused on figuring out who the heroes are so we know who we might run into and who to look for tonight.  

“The available information indicates a villain named Hawkmoth appeared in Paris roughly five years ago…”

“Huh. Where have I heard that before?” Jason muttered from his seat.

“… and the heroes Ladybug and Chat Noir appeared at the same time.” Tim continued a bit louder this time.  “There appear to be five regular heroes and a few heroes that appear from time to time. Here are images of the heroes we know about,” he nodded to the image on the screen.  He switched briefly to another image displaying the lesser known heroes before returning to the image of the main five heroes.  “Not every battle is caught on camera and of the battles that are caught, most of the actual fighting is not caught, making it easy to miss heroes and villains in the fight.  The resources make it clear there likely are more heroes that we don’t know about, which I would say is a definite since your girlfriend didn’t appear on any of the sites.” He nodded toward Jason who just huffed and crossed his arms in response, not willing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

“The primary heroes are Ladybug and Chat Noir, with Ladybug as the leader.  Those are the two we need to convince if we want any information.  We know a few identities of past heroes, including a girl who lives in this hotel, Chloe Bourgeois.  She was a bee themed heroine named Queen Bee.  Since then another bee themed heroine has appeared and is one of the 5 regulars.”

Jason narrowed his eyes at the screen, “It looks like the same person.  Could it be her in a different costume?”

“I don’t think so,” Tim answered shaking his head, “When I was looking at her page on the sites I think I saw that she has been seen at the same time as the new bee hero.  I can analyze it more when I get more time, but the local experts don’t appear to think they are.  We don’t know the identity of the new bee.”

“You think they look similar?” Dick asked incredulously.  “You’re crazy.  Their costume, hair color, eye color, height, everything is different.”  Jason looked between Dick and the image of the two bee wielders a few times.  One of them was crazy, he just wasn’t sure which one of them it was.

“Figure out where she lives then you should arrange to run into her tomorrow.” Bruce said nodding toward Tim.

Tim gave a single nod to Bruce accepting the assignment.  “There seems to have been a massive overhaul of heroes about a year into the fight.  All of the heroes except Ladybug and Chat Noir were replaced with new heroes.  No explanation was given… or maybe there is one I just haven’t found it yet.”

Damian scoffed, “There’s one villain and five or more heroes and they haven’t been able to take him down?  Pathetic. These are the people entrusted with objects capable to destroying the world?”

“I haven’t been able to get much information yet so we don’t know exactly what is going on but it looks like there is more than just Hawkmoth.  He might be a leader or mastermind behind the villains.  I’ve seen at least a few other villain names mentioned when looking up the heroes.”

“Do we think they all have a miraculous as well?” Dick asked.

“Not sure.  I haven’t gotten that far yet, but it stands to reason.” Tim nodded absentmindedly.

Jason moved closer to the screen staring intently at the pictures of Ladybug from different years.  There was something familiar about her but there was something else sitting on the edge of his consciousness, he just needed to figure out what his subconscious was trying to tell him.  His eyebrows furrowed and he narrowed his eyes trying to block out anything but the images.  His eyes widened as the realization suddenly hit him, “Mother fucker!”  He whipped around to Tim, “Do we have any indication of how old these heroes are?  They look like babies in those older pictures.”

Tim shrugged, “Haven’t gotten that far yet so, not sure.  But I glanced at a section on Ladybug and Chat Noir throughout history so at least for them, somewhere between 5 and 5000.  I should have a better idea tomorrow after I’ve had a chance to read a bit more.”  He squinted at the pictures, “You think they look young?”

“You don’t?” Jason asked incredulously.

Damian examined the images a bit harder as well.  “They do seem around my age in the first images.”

“Really?  I’m with Tim, I can’t tell either.  I can’t get a good feel for age when I look at the pictures.” Dick’s voice came over the speaker.  “That’s strange.  Their faces are at least partially exposed.  I should be able to get an idea at least.” He paused for a few seconds. “Do you think the magic is helping conceal their identities as well?”

Tim stared at the images as well, moving slowly closer to them, “Maybe,” he nodded subconsciously, “I can’t get a feel either.  The longer I stare at them the harder it is to tell anything.”

“Magic.” Bruce shook his head in disgust.  “Anything else to tell us tonight, Tim?”

Tim shook his head “Not today.  I’ll have more tomorrow.”

Bruce nodded a thanks and switched places with Tim.  Damian scowled at Tim and moved to put some distance between him and Tim.  Tim fought off rolling his eyes in annoyance, but only just managed it.  Bruce turned to the rest of the team, “Okay, as soon as we are done here, we’ll start scouting the city to see if we can make contact. We are not looking to be too subtle with this.  We want them to know we are here.  If you catch sight of them, let the rest of us know we will send someone to talk to them about a meeting later tonight or tomorrow.  I want to make this very clear.  Our goal today is to meet the local heroes and set up a meeting in the next few days in order to gather more information.   The primary mission is recon.  We have no idea what exactly is going on here or how dangerous it is.  We are not engaging tonight.  We want them to trust us, think we’re on their side, and get as much information out of them as we can, on the situation and the miraculous.”

“If we want them to trust us, we should leave the rabid squirrel here.  Or better yet, send his petty ass home.  He’s only going to cause trouble.” Jason griped, motioning toward Damian.  Tim did roll his eyes this time.  It was a stupid fight to pick.  Damian wasn’t going anywhere.  Damian wanted to come and Bruce gave in.  They were just on containment duty now, trying to minimize the damage Damian would do.

“You’ve made your feelings more than abundantly clear on the matter, Little Wing, frequently.  Damian is there now.  Deal with it.” Dick reprimanded him, tired of this conversation. Jason hadn’t gotten his way in their discussion in the Batcave.  He hadn’t gotten his way discussing it the next day.  He hadn’t gotten his way in the car on the way to the airport or boarding the plane or on the plane or deplaning or while checking into the hotel, he wasn’t going to get Damian kicked off the mission now.

“Someone needs to be there to make sure you don’t tell them all our secrets trying to impress some vapid, philistine harpy.” Damian snapped turning his back to Jason.  

It was a small miscalculation, but in this family that is all that is needed. By moving away from Tim, he had placed himself close to Jason and by turning, he had left himself open to Jason’s much longer arm reach.  Jason grabbed Damian’s cape and yanked back sharply.  “Watch your mouth, you puerile, creepy, little shit.”  Damian let out a startled grunt before landing with a loud thump on the ground.  He growled at Jason and tensed to pounce on him.

“Jason!” Bruce admonished moving between the two boys.  “Let’s focus on the mission.”

Jason rolled his eyes.  Of fucking course that would be Bruce’s reaction. “Right. Don’t want to prevent the oncoming disaster if it’s coming from inside the house.” He leaned back in the chair with a huff.  “You want to focus on the mission, Old Man?  Fine.  Coming at them with an almost full team that includes this asshole,” he motioned toward Damian, “doesn’t exactly scream ‘trust us’, does it?  Do we really want everyone to show up to this thing?  Maybe one or two of you should stay in the room.”

“Considering your girlfriend threatened to leave us bloody and broken, more is probably a safer bet.  We probably should have insisted on Dick coming as well, maybe have the girls meet us here too.  And do you really want to leave Damian unsupervised?” Tim asked with a raised brow fully facing him.  The only way to attempt to contain Damian at this point was to keep him close and Jason knew it.

“You could stay with him.  We weren’t planning on actually having a discussion tonight anyway.  That way you could get more research done and someone could watch the child.” Jason reasoned. Tim nodded in thought.  Not a bad idea at all.  He would like more time to research before they actually interacted with any of the heroes.  But it came from Jason so there must be something wrong with it.  He just needed to figure out what it was.

Damian growled at the description.  “I am not a child.”

Jason scoffed back at him, “You act like one.”

Damian jumped at him flipping midair and unsheathing his katana, landing with it a few centimeters from Jason’s jugular, “Could a child do that?”

“One just did.” Jason glowered at him, hitting the sword away.

“Jason has a point.” Dick spoke up, breaking the tension.  Damian whipped his head to Dick’s image on the screen his face giving away a flash of hurt before almost immediately schooling his expression into a blank look.

“Did that hurt to say?” Jason asked with a smirk, “It looked like it hurt. That’s okay sometimes the most satisfying things do.”

“Yeah, that’s healthy,” Tim muttered to himself.

Dick rolled his eyes and continued on, ignoring Jason, “Sending so many, especially hostile ones, looks like a power play.  It looks like you’re trying to intimidate them.”

“We are,” Damian snapped at him.

“You aren’t.” Dick corrected him. “You’re trying to get them on your side. You are trying to get them to trust you.  Not scare them.”

“We won’t all show up to meet them.  I’ll take the lead along with Tim.  Jason and Damian will hold back and watch.” Bruce clarified.  “For tonight I want everyone out and about so we can cover more ground and hopefully either run into one of the heroes or make our presence known enough to get their attention for tomorrow.”

“If this” Damian indicated all of them in the room, “is all it takes to scare them, they need our help more than we thought.”

“He didn’t say it would scare them, he said it looks like we are trying to scare them.” Jason responded with a sharp edge to his voice.

“You’re welcome to stay back in the room.” Tim offered annoyed with the conversation.

“I have information I want too” Jason growled at him.

“We are not here to get information on that woman.” Tim rebuked him.

“You aren’t” Jason muttered turning away.

“Jason” Bruce said sternly, “We are here to collect data on the miraculous and the heroes and see how much danger we and the world are in and if something needs to be done.”

“Not get you a date with a girl you don’t know and don’t even know if she is interested.” Tim taunted him.

“This is not about getting a date,” Jason defended himself.

Tim, Dick, and Damian all scoffed in unison while Bruce and Alfred gave Jason a skeptical look.  Selina sat in the background with an amused smile.  Really, the only result she was interested in from this mission was Jason finding his girl.

Jason glared at him before turning to Bruce, “I know what we’re here for…” He wouldn’t turn a date down if it should come up and if he managed to find her, he was definitely going to ask her.  But, his priority was to help her, which meant both finding her and getting information on the miraculous.  If he wanted to achieve both of his goals, he first needed to focus on that the family wanted… for now, so they would be distracted and he could focus on his other mission alone.  “What exactly were you thinking might need to be done?”

“Whatever we have to.” Bruce responded calmly but with steel in his eyes.

Jason furrowed his brows at Bruce.  That explanation was significantly more hostile than the original mission statement.  Not that he was surprised, but Bruce stating it so plainly meant he considered it a higher probability.  “That’s a far cry from the ‘we’re just gathering information’ mission you extolled earlier.” Jason gritted out.

“It’s all related.” Bruce stated.

“Why do you think we’re here, Todd?  We need to figure out if we need to acquire the miraculous and how to do so.” Damian snapped at him.

“You’re planning on taking the miraculous?” Tim rounded on Bruce, his confusion evident, having come to the same conclusion as Jason.  “You said over and over again you didn’t think we needed to worry about the girl that broke into the cave and now you’re planning on stealing their miraculous?”

“We are not going to steal their miraculous!” Jason exclaimed.  What the hell was going on?  He had thought they were making progress.  Bruce agreed to investigate and offer help fight Paris’ villain and now they were planning on taking out the heroes themselves.

“We are going to assess the situation.” Bruce clarified trying to pacify them and bring emotions down to a quiet rumbling rather than a full out roar. Completely content was never an option and Bruce knew it.

“We wouldn’t steal Green Lantern’s ring, we shouldn’t even be thinking about touching theirs.”  Jason yelled.

“We would if he were evil.” Dick reasoned, not at all surprised by the turn of events and long past getting upset when Bruce made plans like these. Bruce liked to be prepared.  The Paris heroes might not ever do anything evil. They might become allies, but that wouldn’t stop Bruce from figuring out their weaknesses and how to take them down should the need arise.

“If they were evil, Constantine wouldn’t be helping them.” Jason argued back, his face starting to turn red, “Not wanting to have you interfere doesn’t make them evil B.” Jason argued back.

“We are not planning on taking anything, but we need to be prepared if things go bad.  We don’t know enough to even begin to guess what could go wrong to cause us to step in. At this stage, we are just trying to get an idea what is going on so we can get a better idea of what to ask later so we can make a plan.” Bruce started moving toward the balcony doors as he pulled on his cowl, “Now finish suiting up.  Let’s go.”

“Oh this is going to go just fucking swimmingly,” Jason muttered under his breath as he pulled on his jacket and grabbed his helmet.  Tim hummed in agreement and started bracing for the worst, which was standard practice at this point.

   Chapter 5

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 Note: *Sigh* I honestly thought they would meet again, kinda, in this chapter, but then they didn’t, the unruly bastards.  So very sorry.  Next chapter I promise!  I swear it is the next scene.

#maribat #jasonette #Pixie Spy

[ohsnapcracklepopfriends]

Here it is friends. Part one of my Taylor-Swift-nostalgia induced carraville fic. I will be writing a short part two but I figured I’d get this up now and it could be read on its own at this point. I haven’t proof read it so please excuse any mistakes but I hope you enjoy!

Jamie undid his tie. It was a plaid tie, blue instead of red to suggest his neutrality. It was a good day or at least it should’ve been. Liverpool beat Everton two to one, he’d had a good show (no one was harassing him on Twitter yet and Gary had made a few mistakes, Jamie thought that qualified a pretty good show), and he had a date at eleven. He should be fucking buzzing but Jamie just feels the idle hum of numbness. Even the five-goal thriller that was their first game of the night hadn’t got his heart pumping like it used to. 

Gary walked in silently, startling Jamie who quickly pulled on a jumper. Not that his state of dress mattered, Gary’s eyes stayed glued to the floor. He walked to the far corner of the dressing room to change out of his suit, as far away from Jamie as possible.  He hadn’t said a word to Jamie all night when the cameras weren’t rolling. It hurt. Especially when Gary was so good at acting like everything was fine when the commercial break ended. He even fooled Jamie a few times.

Kelly knocked on the door, making sure they were both decent, before walking in to say goodnight. Jamie watched as Gary smiled at Kelly, as he laughed with her about something. Jamie used to do that: make Gary laugh. Kelly turns her attentions to Jamie. She compliments him on his interview tonight and asks him where he and Tom are going for their date. 

“It’s quite late,” she comments, “you can’t really be going to dinner.” Jamie give her a fake laugh. 

“I’ve got a reservation and everything Kells. We’re going to that new vegan place. He’s picking me up.” You heard that right: vegan. Because on top of everything, Tom fucking cared about animals and the environment. Jamie wasn’t complaining too much, though. He could suffer through some tofu if it meant not having to go to Gary and his old haunts. 

“Ooh!” Kelly said, “do I get to meet him? Redknapp keeps talking about how lovely he is, I figure I could judge for myself.” Ah, yes, Redders. Running into Redders had been an accident. They managed to bump into him at the golf course the week before. Tom was good at golf, unlike Redders, as much as he tried to be. Tom gave him a few pointers, helping Redders fix his posture for his swings. They ended up playing a whole round together while Jamie played ping-pong with an eight-year-old girl in the clubhouse. Redders hadn’t shut up about how Tom’s wonderfulness and his perfect swing since. Jamie nodded at Kelly. He figured he couldn’t do any more damage. 

The three of them stood in the parking lot waiting for Tom’s car to pull in. He wasn’t late of course, he never is, they just got out earlier than anticipated. Gary had tried to skitter off to his car but Kelly practically dragged him back up on the curb. Gary, despite trying to put on an agreeable face, looked about as miserable as Jamie felt. Jamie thought he was slightly better at hiding it though. 

At 10:59 Tom’s blue Volkswagen pulled in. One minute early. He wore a nice checked shirt with the first few buttons undone. His hair and shirt were miraculously crisp and clean after a full day of work. He looked like a fucking god with his symmetrical face, sharp bone structure, and straight nose. Kelly certainly took note of that. “Our Carra is a lucky man!” She whispered before going over to Tom to introduce herself. Tom shook her hand and complimented her dress which, to be fair, was a very nice floral pattern. 

Tom stuck his hand out for Gary to shake. “Hello Gary, my name’s Tom. It’s nice to meet you.” Gary takes a minute to collect himself and takes Tom’s outstretched hand giving it a firm shake. 

“It’s nice to meet you as well.” It sounds remarkably fake, of course it does, but Tom doesn’t seem to notice. He just turns towards Jamie with a perfect smile. 

“You have such lovely friends, Jamie. It was nice to meet you both.” Jamie wasn’t so sure about that but played along and let Tom walk him to the car. Tom opened Jamie’s door for him before walking around to get in himself. He saw Kelly sling an arm around Gary’s shoulders as they drove away. Jamie took a deep breath and remembered it was all for the best. He reminded himself that this was what he wanted: stability. He didn’t want to fight anymore. The words Gary had said that night still rung in his ears. He was sure his own snarls were not forgotten either. 

It started to rain as they parked but Tom had an umbrella. Gary never had an umbrella. You’d think that living in Manchester he’d learn to at least keep one in his car. Instead, he resorted to sprinting away from the rain as fast as he could trying to avoid the rain, he wasn’t as fast as he used to be. But Tom was prepared, he always was. He held the umbrella for the both of them as they walked around to the front of the restaurant. 

“James, try the torte it’s quite delicious.” Jamie hated being called James. Absolutely hated it. Not when Gary said it though. His stupid manc accent stretched the vowels into velvet. When Gary said it he felt special. Tom’s polished London accent made him feel posh, pretentious, and twatty. James. Ugh. It was like the word torte. It’s a fucking cake, just call it what it is. Jamie took a bite of the torte. It was good if you ignored the aftertaste of soya in the frosting, a little dry, but Jamie nodded his head like it was an orange mcflurry. He let Tom finish the dessert. 

They’re in the car. Tom’s dropping Jamie off at his apartment. Tom must have noticed that Jamie had been quiet and switched the topic to something a little more in his wheelhouse: football. They were talking about England and possible squads for the upcoming international break. Tom started talking about moving Kyle Walker into midfield and Jamie couldn’t take it. 

“That’s bollocks. Where is the one place on the field where we actually have players? Fucking midfield. Gareth’s drowning in defenders but not experienced ones. Playing Walker in midfield fucking undermines Henderson and leaves the young centrebacks overexposed.” Tom laughs for some reason. Jamie doesn’t find it funny.

“Well, you would certainly know.” This is what you want, he reminds himself again. Peace, calm, stability. This is happiness. But, fuck, Jamie missed Gary. He missed the challenge. He missed the little crease between Gary’s eyes. He missed Gary’s squeaky voice when he gets worked up. He missed fighting and bickering with Gary over things that didn’t matter. He missed screaming at Gary and Gary screaming back. He missed the really hot sex they’d have after such screaming matches, making Gary scream in a different, more satisfying way. He missed Gary’s laugh, his smile. It seemed to Jamie that neither of them have smiled much since that day. Jamie thought that smiling didn’t seem worth it if Gary wasn’t smiling back. 

Jamie checked his phone. It was nearing 1 am. He had a handful of messages from Kelly. Jamie didn’t want to read about how great she thought Tom was, he fucking knew that Tom was great. On paper, he was fucking perfect. The perfect boyfriend. The dream guy. Not for Jamie though. He dreamed of an angry, passionate, crazy, wonderful manc. He opened his messages anyways though, figuring Tom would want to hear what Kelly thought about him. 

Jamie. I know you’re on your date but we need to talk. Can you call me? It’s about Gaz. The first one read.

He’s at mine. Really upset. He said not to talk to you so I figure you know what’s going on. That sounded about right. Kelly caring more about Gary’s well being than Gary himself. Gary was too stubborn to care. 

Call me please. The last one read. Fuck. They’d made a mess of things. Not only had they made a mess of themselves, but they’d also dragged the others into it. 

“Can you pull into that park up there?” Jamie asked Tom. He nodded and turned down the radio, waiting for Jamie to say something more. He didn’t though. Not until he got out of the car and puked some partially digested salad in the grass. Tom came over to him and rested his palm on Jamie’s mid back. Gary used to pet his hair, carding his fingers through it, on those mornings after he’d had a little too much to drink. 

Jamie laid on his back in the middle of the parking lot. The rain soaked through his thin shirt in seconds. Tom looked down at him concerned. “I can’t do this, Tom. You’re so lovely. I mean you’re so fucking lovely but I just can’t—”

“I get it, James. You’re still in love with him.” The bastard still looked perfect even drenched with rain. Jamie guessed that he probably looked like a drowned rat. Jamie must have been giving him a confused look because he laughed and explained further. “I saw the way you used to look at him on the tele like he’s the fucking sun. I saw the way you looked at him tonight like being around him was tearing you apart. Besides, I’m pretty sure half the nation knew there was something going on there.” Jamie laughed at that. They had been pretty obvious. And not just Gary, apparently. Apparently, he was just as open of a book. He needed to call Kelly. 

She picked up after three rings. “Hi Carra,” she whispered, “needed to get out of the living room, Gaz’s sleeping on my couch.”

“Is he okay?” Jamie asked, not really wanting to hear the answer. 

“He’s a wreck, Jamie. He misses you.” I miss him too, Jamie didn’t say, so much. 

“Can I come round?” Jamie asked. Kelly said yes so long as Jamie can get Gary the hell out of her living room and gave Carra her address. 

Thankfully, Kelly’s place was nearby, about a mile away. Jamie didn’t know where he got the energy considering he was dead on his feet a few minutes before, but he ran there as fast as he possibly could. His water-filled shoes squished loudly with every step. He got there in seven minutes and was panting heavily when he knocked on the door. Kelly let him in wordlessly. 

Gary was still sleeping on the couch when he walked into the living room. Kelly gave him a nod and walked into the kitchen. Jamie kneeled next to Gary and cupped his cheek with his palm. Jamie hadn’t realized how much he’d missed that simple feeling. Gary’s forehead was still crinkled in his sleep. His eyes were dark like he hadn’t slept much. Jamie hadn’t either. It was hard to sleep alone, without Gary’s comforting weight on his chest. Jamie took Gary’s hand from where it was tucked under his chin and intertwined their fingers. The weight of Gary’s hand in his set relief running through Jamie’s body. Gary started to stir at that. 

“James?” Jamie smiles at that. His stupid name sounds beautiful coming from Gary’s mouth. His eyes weren’t even open yet and Gary already knows it’s him. “What are you doing here?” He opened his eyes slightly but upon seeing Jamie they were wide open. Gary’s eyes were red and bloodshot. Jamie just wanted to yank him into his arms and hug him forever. 

“What are you doing here, you muppet? Bothering Kelly at 2 am?” Jamie said playfully. Gary flushed slightly. “Come on, Gaz. Let’s get you home.” He grabbed Gary’s hand to pull him up. Gary stumbled when he tried to take a step. Carra looked down at the empty beer bottles and figured that was why. He grabbed Gary’s arm and slung it over his shoulder. Gary’s head rested in the crook of Jamie’s neck, his soft breathing tickling at the skin there. 

“Kelly,” Jamie called softly into the kitchen, “we’re leaving.” She came out to stand in the doorway in her fluffy, pink bunny slippers that Jamie had somehow not noticed before. Jamie thought he should get Gary a pair. 

“Set an alarm,” she said, “he wakes up early. Don’t let him bolt.” Jamie figured Gary wouldn’t be racing out of his apartment at 5 am with the hangover he was sure to have but it was still a good idea. Gary was an unpredictable, stubborn bastard at times. Jamie thanked her and helped Gary down to his car. 

It was still pouring when they got out of the building because clearly the gods wanted Gary to either sober up or catch his death. Thankfully, in his upset Gary had forgotten to lock the car meaning Carra didn’t have to fumble around for his keys in the current weather. Except, that Gary wouldn’t get into the car. He sprawled his limbs over the door so Jamie couldn’t push him inside. 

“Gary, if you don’t get your arse in that car, I’m going to leave you out here to drown.” Obviously, he wasn’t serious but he figured that Gary might be drunk enough not to know that. Gary just smiled up fondly at him and stayed put. 

“I love you,” he said, looking like the most radiant, beautiful thing Jamie had ever seen in his life. His hair was a mess, stuck down to his forehead. His cheeks were bright red from a mix of alcohol and the cold. His eyes were still red but god they held all the love in the world. Jamie could see that somehow, after everything, Gary still loved him, truly loved him. After all the things he said, screamed, did, this man--this beautiful man--still loved Jamie every ounce as much as Jamie loved him. It didn’t matter what he should want, he wanted Gary and all of his adorable, infuriating flaws. His recipe to happiness was just that: his own. He didn’t need stability, calm, peace. He needed to feel something. 

Jamie cupped his face for the second time that night. He ran his thumb over Gary’s wet, stubbly cheeks. Jamie couldn’t help himself. He kissed Gary with all of the kisses they’d missed in the past two months. The two months of pain, loneliness, desolation. He kissed Gary with all of the love he had in his cold, wet body and Gary did the same. Gary moved slower than Jamie, less frantically but no less enthusiastically. Gary clutched at his jacket like a vice, unwilling to let go. Jamie moved his hands around Gary’s body. He wanted to make sure that everything was still as he remembered it. And it was. Of course, it was. He had Gary in his arms, it didn’t matter that the rain had picked up. Though, he was sure he’d hear about the soggy interior of Gary’s car in the morning. He pulled away reluctantly for breath and rested his forehead against Gary’s.

#carraville #jamie carragher #gary neville #thank you taylor for the inspiration #very loosely inspired by the way I loved you #my fic

[moonflower-31]

I Won’t Forget You - Spencer Reid x Reader

Masterlist 

Part 9 

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader 

Warnings: Just some self doubt. 

Tags: @dra-reid, @eevee0722, @ceeellewrites, @anotherr-fine-mess, @ssahoodrathotchner 

~~~~~~~~~~~ 

If you were honest, you didn't sleep much that night. Too much was on your mind. Namely a specific Doctor. 

You stared up at the terrible, obnoxious, and stupidly carpeted ceiling. It was a silly pattern you'd expect to be in a cheap motel that most likely had bed-bugs. Not one that was considered 'decent'. 

You had tossed and you had turned over and over for the past hour. The way Spencer had completely ignored you after the interrogation irked you. You kept getting mixed signals from him. Was he just jealous? Did he just not want to see his friend sexualize herself? Or was it just embarrassment that you were his coworker? No matter how much logic you applied to the situation, the latter seemed to be the truth. And that hurt you to no end.  

Were you really so much in the wrong for Spencer to think badly of you? You'd think he'd be one to understand that people make mistakes. Or that you have to do some things to get to the end goal. And that not all of those things are pretty or something a 'lady' should do. 

But then the other portion of your cerebrum began to ponder whether or not you were just overthinking this. That you had only known each other for two months. Over that even. And you remembered every waking moment. 

After staring into the void that was the ugly ceiling, you sat up with a huff. This was ridiculous. You weren't going to be able to sleep whatsoever if you didn't resolve this. At the very least put the self-doubting part of your mind at ease. 

You stood up from the terribly hard mattress and grabbed your phone. You adjusted your shirt and the way your pajama pants looked before you exited your room on a mission. 

You brought up the memory of Emily giving you your room number and overhearing Spencers. Room 206. 

You locked the motel door behind you and headed towards the door in question. Thankfully his room wasn't too far away from yours. 

You finally reached the door and without fully thinking about the time and whether or not knocking on someone's door at fucking 3 in the morning was going to piss them off, you knocked three times. 

And then that's when the doubt set in. Immediately you began debating on what was the safest escape route. The side of the building was closer to Spencer’s room than your room was. Maybe you could just ditch the doorbell and hide behind a bush like a child. 

But of course, as soon as you had made up your mind, the knob miraculously turned. And a few moments of nervous panting later, he opened the door, giving you a curious, but genuine smile. 

"Hey, (L/N). You need something?" He asks. You narrow your eyes at him. He was asking something so off the obvious elephant of a topic that you knew he was avoiding it. 

"Yeah, I'd think coming to your door at 3:02 am means I need something, Spencer." You tease. He chuckled back and smiled a little easier. 

"I'm listening." He promises, his gaze focused seemingly on your eyes. 

"Heh. Well… first off, why are you even up? And don't give me the excuse that I woke you up. Because you are a dead heavy sleeper." 

"Guess you caught me." He says. His body language was completely different than what his eyes and words were telling you. He was looking at you warmly and greeting you kindly like a friend. But his body language was more hesitant, almost like he was trying to keep himself from doing something. 

"Guess I did." You trailed as you pondered over your newfound observations of the tired Doctor. "So? Why are you up?" 

"I...can't sleep." He admits with a heavy sigh. 

"Really? Well, I guess we're both insomniacs." 

Spencer lets out a gentle laugh and looks down towards the floor. "I suppose we are."

You laugh gently with him for a few more moments, before you both fall back into silence. You look away from him after a build-up of embarrassment just as he turns to look you in the eye. You were both so damn awkward. 

After a couple of seconds, you didn't know where it came from but a strong surge of confidence pushed through your veins. 

"Look… Spencer…" you begin, looking up at him. His ears seem to perk up at your starting tone, finally looking you in the eyes. As you stare into his hazel eyes, you feel the nervousness of talking to him melt just a little. You could do this. 

You take a deep breath and continue. "I don't know what I did, exactly to warrant you ignoring me yesterday. I get that seeing someone you're close to doing something like what I did, probably was as embarrassing as it was for me to do it knowing you all were watching." The blush on your cheeks brightened and you could feel how warm they were. 

Spencer turned his head slightly to the side, his eyes narrowing as he began to try and understand what you were saying. Before he could say anything in response, you continue your statement. 

"But I don't want our job to drive us apart. Cause… I kind of like this dynamic we have. I like being your friend and I like talking statistics and facts. Especially when we both know that the rest of the team won't understand. It's the best way to mess with them." You begin to laugh as you continue, your eyes never leaving his. 

"I-I do too…" he admits, smiling down at you. He wanted to say so much. So much was on his mind that he wanted to tell you, but he knew you had to say your peace first. Otherwise he'd be talking over you.

"I don't want to lose this. So… let me make it up to you. Let me bring you over to my place this time. I'll let my roommates know not to bother us and I'll show you Voltron or something." You suggest, sighing through the last few words. "Please. Don't push me away. You're the one person I've met in the last five years I haven't wanted to push away so they didn't get too close." 

You immediately realize what you said, causing your rapid inhale to stutter. You desperately hoped he wouldn't take it the wrong way. Even with as much as you wanted to tell him here and now how you truly felt, you knew you couldn't until you dealt with your mother. She had ways of torturing you and the people around you that you didn't want to be used on your newfound family. So for now… you had to keep it on the down low. 

Spencer's gaze got as soft as it could get and he smiled his brightest. "People with abandonment issues, whether being abandoned or doing it themselves tend to have a harder time choosing and keeping friends. So… I'm glad to have made that cut, for you." He expressed. "And… I would gladly have a vol...tron marathon with you. With or without your other friends." He assured you. 

And in that instant you felt as if the entire world was lifted off your shoulders. You had been so nervous that he was going to reject your attempt at making up. Guess that was what you got for assuming of people. 

You smiled and pressed a hand to your chest. "Thank you…" 

Spencer nodded slightly, his smile still present on his lips. After a few moments he widened his eyes and looked around. "Do-" he started, watching as your bare shoulders shivered a bit. "Do you wanna come in? I made coffee." He asks, an extra chipper tone in his voice as he began to prioritize your health. 

You chuckled. "Sure, Spence. I'll come in and have some coffee. As long as you don't start going crazy and bouncing off the walls when you're slap-happy." You couldn't help but tease, nudging his shoulder as he let you in. He grabbed a nearby blanket and wrapped it around you as you did, chuckling to himself as you teased. 

"I never got the idea of 'slap-happy'. The dictionary definition is 'casual or flippant in a cheerful, almost inappropriate way' but in recent years it's been used to describe a lethargic person unwilling to sleep." He asks, pushing the door behind the two of you closed. 

"I dunno where I even got it. I just kept hearing it used like that in my childhood. Guess it stuck." You pondered, taking a seat on the motel sofa. "So, where is this coffee you speak of?" You ask, putting on your most childish smile. Spencer’s gaze never left you, bringing him to a bright smile as he watched you. 

"Heh, I'll go get you a cup. Sugar?" He asks. 

"Three whopping spoonfuls, Spence. No more, definitely no less." You insist in a fake posh voice you definitely didn't make up just now. 

Spencer couldn't help the loud laugh that echoed out his mouth as he went over to the kitchen counter with the coffee maker. "Sure thing my lady." He played along with a chuckle, taking out the coffee pot and a cup to pour it into. 

He couldn't ignore you in hopes these feelings would go away. They weren't going to. He couldn't even get through 6 hours, 37 minutes and 43 seconds without talking to you. Or at least being near you. He couldn't sleep without knowing you were okay. Without seeing you before he went to bed. There was no use in ignoring these feelings. They were there, no matter how much he wished they weren't, for your sake. 

He was glad you took it as him being uncomfortable with what you had to do to get information from the unsub. Sure, it had caused a fire-like jealousy that burned in his chest. But that wasn't why he left. He left because a part of him imagined it was him getting to flirt with you. Getting to see under your skirt if he leaned back in his chair enough. It was perverted, and you didn't deserve that. 

He let out a gentle sigh and added the creamer and the three spoonfuls of sugar to your cup, letting his worries wash away. He had feelings. And sometimes those feelings lead him to the bathroom in hopes he wouldn't give it all away to you when you returned from interrogation. 

"One extra sugar-y coffee for her highness." He says, chuckling as he gave you your cup. You giggle from his own fake-posh voice, taking the cup as he hands it to you. 

"Thank you, Spencer." 

Spencer’s heart could have stopped right in this moment and he wouldn't be happier to see you smile as happily as you were. You trusted him. You wanted to be friends with him. If that's what he could have for now, it's what he would take. 

○●♡●○ 

You were groggy that next day when you got onto the plane and got home. The time you spent filling out the report for the case was mostly full of you and Spencer sending each other psychology memes through email when no one was watching, and waiting for the other's reaction. One you ended up sending him made him laugh so hard he nearly fell out of his chair. So despite feeling groggy, you felt victorious.  

"So… you wanna tell us what happened between you and boy-wonder?" Morgan asked, leaning against the counter in the lounge area of the bullpen as he drank his second coffee of the day. 

"Nothing! We just… talked. And now we're good." You answered vaguely, knowing the hell that would break loose if Morgan or Garcia even knew what you felt last night. Even if it was most definitely platonic, (at least that's what you keep telling yourself.) You couldn't deny how many times you actually thought about kissing him. 

"Nuh-uh, mama. You ain't gonna get away with just a touch and go." He teases. You rolled your eyes playfully, a smile pulling harder onto your face. Morgan grinned. 

"Kid, that face alone tells me something happened. Spill. Or I'll go talk to pretty boy and get my answers from him." He playfully observes and threatens. 

You widen your eyes and gently push against Morgan’s shoulder. "Hush. Nothing happened. We just had a chat at like 3 am over the coffee he made. And I fell asleep on the couch in his motel room, alright?" You giggle as you remember the night. Miraculously, you didn't fall asleep on his shoulder and trap him. You were glad for that. 

"Uhh uh… and I'm a superstar wrestler." Derek teased, taking another sip. 

"Who's a wrestler?" Emily asked, walking into the lounge with an empty coffee cup. 

"Apparently Derek is because he keeps insisting that something happened last night when nothing did. Spencer and I just had a chat. Nothing more, alright?" You insist, hoping Emily would be more on your side. 

"Alright, whatever you say kid." Morgan gave up, drinking the last bit of his coffee before washing it. "Have a good night, (Y/N). See you tomorrow." He bids you farewell. You roll your eyes again and wave him goodbye. 

Soon after Morgan left the doorway, Spencer replaced him, obviously looking for you. Emily looked at you once she realized who you were looking at. She smirked and nudged your shoulder.

"What?" You ask, seeing Spencer coming towards you. 

"You got it bad." She comments, immediately sending your cheeks into a bright red fury. 

"Who's got it bad? Is it allergies?" Spencer asks, making you sigh with relief that he was so innocent in those departments. 

"U-uh��" you start, seeing Emily watch your misery with a smirk on her face. You make a mental note to get back at her for this later. "Yeah, talking about u-uh… allergies. I get them bad." You finally answer, feeling stupid for taking the low-hanging fruit. 

Spencer, thankfully, didn't say anything and instead shrugged. "Well, I hear the over the counter medication Aleeve can help with that." He offers, clutching at the strap of his bag. You smile at how cute he was in his cardigan and tie. Always formal. 

"Yeah, I need to try it. A-anyway… you ready to go?" You ask him, walking away from Emily. You already knew she was giving you a teasing look from behind you. It was best Spencer didn't.  

"Y-yeah, I uh… was coming to get you actually." He says, looking into your eyes with the widest and most adorable fucking smile you'd ever seen. You felt a bit of yourself melt and flashed him a smile in return. 

"Really? Okay then, let's get going to my car. Unless you don't want me to drive to my own place." You tease, reminding him of how insistent he had been when he had offered to take you home. He chuckled, obviously remembering the memory. 

"I think it would be better if you drove. I haven't visited just yet." He answers, beginning to walk with you out of the lounge and out of the bullpen. 

"Good, so at least this time I don't have to worry about rain in my car cause I always keep a small part of my driver side window open for air. " you tease again, walking beside him to the elevator. 

"That… is a terrible idea. There are more opportunities open to people to steal your car than for your car to stay cool from an open window." Spencer expressed, giving you a look of disbelief. 

"Hey, it's a habit." You say, pressing the down button on the elevator. 

After a few minutes, you begin to feel a nervousness build up in your belly. The last time you left together, your mother had greeted you with her fake face and fake cleavage. You couldn't help but feel a little deja vu. 

Spencer looked over to you, having found something else to say. He noticed the gentle indent in your cheek, making him slightly smile at how cute it was. He reached out his hand and rested it on your back once he made sure you knew what he was doing. 

"I doubt she'll be here, (Y/N). The probability of her being here after two months, 1 week and 3 days is very unlikely. If she does, the office has been notified to arrest her on sight." Spencer assured, rubbing your back gently. You sighed again, a smile forming on your face again. You felt strangely assured as you felt the warmth of his hand against your back. It was even better knowing he didn't do this for everyone. This was going to be okay. You were going to be okay. Even if your mother decided to be a bitch and try and come back for you. 

"Thanks Spence." 

Spencer nodded as the elevator doors opened, prompting the two of you to begin your walk to your car. 

"So… tell me about this 'Voltron'..." Spencer prompted as you both entered the parking lot. You giggle and wrap your arms around your sides. 

"Man, you are so behind on the times." You commented, unlocking your car and climbing into the driver's seat. 

Spencer joined you in the car, promptly bumping his head against the ceiling of the car. You gasp softly and fight off the urge to laugh. 

"What are you, a gnome?" He groans, rubbing his head. You finally laugh, leaning over your steering wheel. 

"Try lowering the seat. It's one of the notches on the side." You tease in a mixture of laughter and giggles. 

Spencer smiled at your reaction, putting the seat down and putting his seatbelt on. You pushed through the rest of your giggles and started the car. 

"Oh… uh, just as a fair warning, my roommates they… can be a little much." You turned towards him and warned. He shrugged. 

"I'm sure they aren't that bad, (Y/N). I mean, we hang out with Morgan and Garcia all the time. How much more weird can they be?" He asks. "Considering the probability, not very likely." 

You shook your head and laughed. "Alright, let's see if your theory is correct, Doctor." 

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x reader fic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #spencer x you #spencer x reader #spencer x y/n #spencer x reader fanfic #spencer #Criminal Minds #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fanfic

[moongothic]

Idiot’s first crochet sweater and boy howdy did it turn out wonky lmao

For this sweater I was kind of following this video tutorial by VivCrochets, except for the pattern which I didn’t do. But that’s not really what caused this sweater to turn out like an absolute mess, no no, it was other things lmao

The sweater fits my arms perfectly, I love the collar I made (although you can’t see it properly because I ain’t giving you a face reveal), and in theory the sweater would be cute. But the torso is stupid fucking wide and looks ridiculous when worn. So, what happened here?

In hindsight, it’s easy for me to say that I shouldn’t have followed the tutorial for the front- and backpanels as closely as I did, instead of doubling the width of the sweater from the ribbing* I should’ve made it much thinner, that way it wouldn’t have turned out to ridiculously wide for my frame. Why didn’t I do that?    Crocheting is fucking slow and takes so much freaking time. And I’m already very much a person who hates having to start something over. So while crocheting, even though I was worried it was turning out bad, I just told myself to just “believe in the process” and I hoped that even if it looked silly and oversized now, it’d be okay when it’d be completed. And the longer I went with that prayer, the harder it became to turn back and undo both panels, due to how much work it’d be to redo them entirely.   *(55 rows to 110 doublecrochets, more than the original 40 -> 80. My yarn was thinner than what Viv used so I had to make the ribbing longer than hers and didn’t take into considderation how much wider it’d get when doubled)

(Alternatively I should’ve done the sleeves last instead of starting with them, because then I would’ve been able to make the sleeves oversized too so they would’ve matched the torso better. But I didn’t, I started with the sleeves, I made them thin because that’s what I prefer, and there was no way I was going to undo and redo those sleeves entirely by the time I had the torso done)

Another additional goof that happened while making this sweater was that... I got the wrong yarn...    So I had from the get-go wanted to use a pale purple/lilac/lavender-y color for the top part of the sweater, and at our local yarn store... Well, there was this one yarn, and it looked a bit pinkish, but I told myself that it was close enough to what I actually wanted and in the right lighting it’d look more purple than pink, so I went with that yarn, desperately clinging onto what I had told myself.    Skip to some time later, I’ve ran out of that yarn and I needed to get more to finish the sweater. I went to our local yarn shop and found out they were out of the yarn and weren’t sure if they’d order more. I told the seller which one I wanted, even showed her the color number on the yarn label (brought one with me) and she asked which color it was. Naturally I told her it was a pale purple, since that’s what I had been telling myself the color had been.    A week later I return to the shop to find out they had more yarn. And it was pale purple. Like actual pale purple. And the seller was like “was this the right color?” and I told her yes because I didn’t have it in me to tell her it wasn’t the right color so I just went with it and bought some, telling myself it was close enough to the other yarn so nobody would be able to notice the color difference.    I got home, put the yarns side-by-side. The difference was really obvious. But it was too late, this was what I had to work with, and unless I undid the nine pink rows on the backpanel and all of that on the sleeves, and went back and bought even more of that purple yarn, there was no fixing this. And you know how I feel about starting over.

And so, the back panel transitions adruptly from pink to purple, the thin strips on both sides of the torso are pink, as are the sleeves. Mistakes were made.

Which is what I’d probably like to call this sweater, The Mistake Sweater.

(I will say though, when I started working on this sweater I did originally make the sleeves super wide, I just decided that I didn’t like that and restarted the first sleeve (since I had only just started and what I did undo was very little work). And originally the sleeves did have two rows of black at the very top that were going to separate the sleeves from the shoulders better, but I realized the sleeves were way too long for me due to how wide the torso turned out, so I undid those. The sleeves are still stupid long but that did compensate at least a little bit. My point is, I didn’t go through this entire project never undoing old work. That’s it. That’s the point.)

#Sidenote: I do know I could prooobably fix the sweater with a sewing machine by cutting off excess on the sides and sewing it together #(Maybe) #I just. I put so much time into making this sweater I don't want to do that? #One day if I really feel like it I can unravel the entire bloody thing and start from scratch #But I only wear sweaters at home so I don't care #It's fine #This was a learning experience and that's what matters #If I ever make another crochet sweater I know what I should not do lmao #Yarncraft Diary #Mine

[chaoticdean]

SEAL Team, the parallels and Jason Hayes’ journey

[Spoilers for 4x01 and 4x02, read at your own risks!]

I don’t know if my mind keeps going there because I’ve been watching Supernatural and reading between the lines for so long, but the way SEAL Team highlighted Jason’s journey through these last two episodes absolutely blew my fucking mind.

THE GODDAMN PARALLELS, PEOPLE.

The first and obvious one are the parallels they’ve started to set between Jason and Cerberus, all the way into season 3: Cerberus not being on top anymore, making mistakes that could potentially be dramatic (which he does on that op, effectively taking Brock down at first and then Jason), and Brock having to make the hard decision of taking him off duty; Jason, on the other hand, is left wondering what’s left of his life, if he still has a purpose as Forces leave Afghanistan and J-Bad behind, if Jason Hayes can exist outside of War. 04x01 was set to parallel both stories and it’s been done so very effectively (also side note, gotta thank Director DB for these gorgeous wide plans — boy might have taken a page out of the Lord of the Rings playbook, as per @camille-williams’ comment​). The parallels between Jace and Cerb ends with the scene where Brock brings him back into the cages’ room, and there’s an interesting bit of dialog from Jason here that directly highlights Jace’s path:

“A warrior’s place is on the battlefield. That dog was bred to be in the fight. But I think he’s suffered way too much stress, combat and trauma. I think it’s time for him to just be a dog.”

………… sirs, is that foreshadowing?

(yes, it is)

The way they set the flashbacks between current-Jace and 13-years-ago-Jace was absolutely spot on, basically highlighting Jason’s self-doubts as they’re going into their final mission with Bravo Team ‘as it stands’ (because both Ray and Clay are set to leave at that point). The way Jason’s mind went from “Family first” to “Bravo Team always comes first” takes a wide place, also highlighting all the in-betweens — Jason wanting to be a family man, having more kids/opposed to Jason walking on Ray and Naima being sweet as fck (The Perrys, man, do I love the Perrys ❤️) and looking at that picture of Alana and Mickey with blank eyes. We get a glimpse at what Jason used to be, carefree, always in for a fight and a laugh, which is now being paralleled by the team-leader who gets shit done. I also loved that we got to see what Ray was like before he turned into what he is now, paralleling with his current family situation (again, THE PERRYS ❤️).

The parallels between Jason’s ex team leader Guzo and present team leader Jace was one I didn’t expected but ended up loving. We get to see how Jason evolved and morphed into the warrior and team leader he is today, and truth be told, I don’t think he’d be here without Guzo. We see him knock some sense into young Hayes, and we get to see the exact moment where Jason’s head shifts into the Team mode we’ve been seeing him in ever since the serie started. I also personally loved some of the tidbits we got from the dialog (“You can’t be half a gangster, Hayes”, “All in all the time”), including the “When you’re outside the wire, home is where you hang your helmet” because that’s a direct callback to a line that Jason said to Ray in season 3. There’s a lot of Guzo in Jason, and this episode put a lot of effort into making sure we get to understand Jace’s journey… which I loved, because we didn’t get to see a lot of that in the past.

Then comes the parallels between Clay and Jason, set so carefully since season 1, that turns into a very blatant show of “Clay is Jason from a decade ago minus the goddamn trauma”. There’s a whole different meta post to be made about Clay’s story arc over these last two episode, and I’m not sure I have the strength to dive in just yet, but I’ll say this bit: Clay’s story has been crafted from day 1 to be paralleled with Jason’s, and if that wasn’t clear enough before, I think these two episodes gave us the most solid view of that. If not for the fact that it’s Clay who get’s to take out Al-Hazred Jr. when we know Jason took out Al-Hazred Sr. 13 years before (effectively moving his career forward onto the path he’s now been on for a decade), I think the plan has always been to follow Clay’s journey as he works up the ladder of Bravo Team, and with STA-21 taken off the table and Bravo 1 stepping down, I wouldn’t be surprised to see both Ray staying and Clay effectively starting to train as Bravo 2 (although there are probably going to be disciplinary consequences, but I wouldn’t be surprised to see that pattern unfold later on during the season). 

Which brings me to my best friend’s question from last night: when do you think Jason’s “Oh” moment happened? Was it there all along, or does he work up to it during those two hours and come to realization later on in that bar?

I do think he works up to it. It’s clearly highlighted throughout the entire episode, but the first thing that struck me is the way the flashbacks are carefully crafted to give off a “what’s my place in all of this, and do I still have one” vibe. 

The scene where Ray is Skyping with Naima when Jason arrives was incredibly powerful to me. The dialog itself (“Just come home safe, that’s all that matters to anyone in this house / People in that house is what matters to me the most”) highlights Jason’s family situation, the fact that he’s coming home to an empty apartment, and it’s directly shown by him taking Alana and Mickey’s photo in hand. That’s when we get the “Family always come first” flashback, and it’s maybe the most painful of it all.

We see Jason’s doubts as to where he stands in this, and it might be the first time ever. The parallels (again!) between now-Bravo-1-Jason and then-Bravo-1-Guz is so carefully set that I half-expected him to show up at the end in that bar, knocking some sense into Jason (I guess he kind of did, since Jason is looking at Guzo’s picture on the bar’s wall before he gathers the Team to say his piece). 

Then there’s the conversation between Chaplain Walker and Jace, and boy, oh boy, is it foreshadowing (no pun intended) (okay, maybe a little). 

For the sake of it, let me just pull up dialogs real quick:

J: Whole place will be scrapped in a month. You’ll be out of business.

W: I’ll be reassigned. Address will change, job never does.

J: You ever wish you had a job where at the end of it, there was a sign that, I don’t know, said that you were done, that it was over?

W: What would that look like?

J: My Flyers, when they win the Stanley Cup, they go down Broad St. and they have a parade. It’s a victory… you see it.

W: Unfortunately for us, the war on terror doesn’t have a goal line to cross. But you know, you don’t strike me as the type who need to spike the football. 

J: Just be nice to know that it was worth the cost. 40 fallen brothers, a broken marriage, broken body… broken head.

W: You told me last time we spoke, you know you’ve made an impact that will last forever here.

J: The only thing that’s gonna last forever is this war. I’ll — I’ll see you around.

W: You know, I —  I think you’re wrong about them just scrapping it all. Somebody’s gonna sort through it. You know, ask the questions that we all should ask.

J: I don’t understand. What do you mean?

W: End of the day — what do you take away from here? What can you pull from the rubble, to be cherished? What do you need to leave behind? And what can you pass on to someone else?

SEAL Team 04x02 — Forever War

This is the first time I’ve ever seen Jason voice his doubts, in public, to someone who is NOT Ray, or for that matter, Sonny. This is Jason acknowledging that he doesn’t really know where he stands, or what’s left for him. We’re starting to see the “where does Jason Hayes stands in all of this, and can Jason Hayes exists outside of the battlefield”.

(Also, I love Chaplain Walker, can we keep him pretty please?)

Then they go home, and Mandy drops the hammer on him (“If I don’t walk away now, I’m gonna lose myself forever”). He sees firsthand someone he loves and connects with deciding to walk away. The whole conversation between them is Jason trying so hard to hold onto the threads and Mandy basically saying “this is me walking away because I can, we can, you still can. You’re not just a shell of a man doomed to be sent on the battlefield, Jason, there’s more to it.”

We get the cages’ room scene with Cerberus coming back and Jason voicing the fact that it’s time for Cerberus to “just be a dog” because he’s seen enough war, enough trauma. 

And then comes the bar scene with a steel chair. 

First and foremost, and that is not entirely Jason related, but I’m a big fan of the song choice in the background of the Savis scene (Matt Costa’s Make That Change), if only for the exact part of the lyrics that have been chosen to be played at that exact moment (“Because the start is the finish line, even if you take two steps back / You gotta make that change to see a brighter day”). Now, I don’t really believe in coincidence, and even if it is… It’s a really nice nods to what’s about to unfold.

And boy, does that unfold. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a sobbing mess all through the entirety of Jason’s speech. 

I think learning that Clay’s taking the fall for Ray is the final straw for Jason. We see the realization on his face right before he turns to Guzo’s portrait on the wall. I’m not going to go much further than that, I’ve giffed the whole dialog of Jason explaining he’s standing down earlier right here. 

All I’ve got to say at this point is that this was supposed to be our season finale last season, and it culminated the whole arc of Jason’s character over season 3. I’m incredibly excited to see what’s in store for the rest of season 4, and how/if Jason adapts. I see growth through a man that spent a lot of time trying to ignore and override the signs of his body and mental health to keep grinding, because he truly believed that’s what he was meant to be. I wonder what his next step is going to be, and where it’s going to take him.

This is incredibly all over the place, but I swear I’ll get better at sorting through my ideas overtime. Until then, enjoy that mess of a meta and feel free to add to it if you’ve got anything else to say.

#good lord spn really did broke me #i know for a fact that literally NO ONE is going to read that long ass post but i also DON'T GIVE A FUCK #this is 2k words about jason hayes and i'm not sorry #seal team #seal team meta #seal team cbs #jason hayes #character meta #character analysis #jus.meta #seik-o #archer-and-lionprince #usersamanne #overtimeme #mutteringghost #abcdefuk-off #usermone #userbravo

[imnotwolverine]

The Englishman JACK - CHAP 1

Chap 1 The Name Is Jack | Chap 2 >

Summary: Jack travels to his new employer and Bunny tries to get away.

Word count: 4.657 (17 min. read)

Disclaimers: Strong language, misogyny, mention of relationship with great age gap, lots of cigarettes and “the thrill of the chase”.

--

Call Me Jack

--

Lipstick stains and cigarette buds were all that was left of her. The woman who made him into a man. The room he stood in now felt strangely unwelcoming. Like he was a stain himself. Black and bold in this lavish palace of beige and gold, on the top floor of the Parisian Grande.

The smog of cigar smoke and traffic jams was rising up through the ceiling-height windows, starting yet another day in this crazy paradise called Paris. The city had somehow always felt pompous to him, just like this apartment. Buffed gold furniture, heavy beige curtains, the scent of patchouli and sex lingering deep in its essence. It was the french way, she would have said. But she was no longer here. And he was not here to stay.

Thumbing over the precious jewels that had once graced her stretched out earlobes and wrinkled swan neck, he remembered the time he had accidentally teared one of these off. She had simply laughed at his eagerness. But he had felt great shame, crawling around on the beige carpet to look for one of the missing pearls.

I’ll buy a new one, my boy.

My boy. Years had passed since then. Since that moment. And she had made her boy into a man.

All he now had to do, was avenge her.

--

It was the same thing each and every morning, it seemed. The metal bullet shells chinked as they were cleaned away by the butler on the next terrace. With heavy strokes of the broom the morning silence was broken. But the world didn’t seem to mind. All was quiet. The birds were hushed, the sun was struggling and wisps of mist drifted lazily over the rolling Tuscan hills. Like the Italians themselves, nothing here seemed to be eager to get started with the new day.

Even the three bodyguards that were stationed on the far edges of the porch seemed to be more asleep than awake. Dressed in their sharp black suits they rose from the mists like great Greek statues, squared shoulders turned to stare out in the distance. What they were looking at exactly, was anybody’s guess; for the next 10 miles or so, the land was pretty much entirely owned by Bunny’s family, the Maniari’s.

Sighing quietly, Bunny sat back in her black and white cushioned chair, making the mists curl away for a moment. The northern porch hardly had the best view; a large wall hid most of the gorgeous landscape. But it was all she was allowed in terms of “freedom” as she had her breakfast session out here in the morning chill. As usual she was dressed to a tee, floral blue sundress and pretty magazine-style hair indicating she had been up at least a few hours already.

She was so very different from her family, who wouldn’t wake before the sun was high and the remnants of last night’s “hunting games” were cleaned and cleared. In fact she was..bored. Was a woman of her station even allowed to be bored? Here be Bunny, the ridiculously rich and perfectly cared for mobster misses! Bunny, the woman who had it all but wanted even more! She snickered to herself. Would the wax melt off her wings if she too would try to touch the sun? Just out of mere curiosity whether it would hurt? Would she drown in the seas and for once be done with this? This..this...ugh.

Knowing she was no Icarus by any means - it was the lack of waxen wings on her back, she figured, she flicked back some of her brown locks. The men who stood on the far ends of the porch seemed truly dazed today. A rough night perhaps? Having finished her last bite of marmalade on toast - also so very un-italian, she tapped the ash of her cigarette onto the ashtray next to her plate.

Would they notice if she’d fly off? It was a good question to pose in a world where men turned a blind eye on so many things. Squinting her eyes, Bunny took another long suck of the ashen delight between her fingertips. These men truly did seem blind. Or at least sleepy. Heads were hanging slightly limp and from the soft beeps coming from Number One’s walkie talkie, it was clear he was definitely not paying attention.

Her father had once said that these men were stationed near her for safekeeping. But Bunny knew better. She knew they were just as much here to keep her from running off. Away from this golden cage with its marble floors and far too expensive crystal chandeliers. But these poor men couldn’t help it either. They probably had played a late night of poker with Big - something you simply couldn’t win even if you had all the good cards in your hand. Life simply wasn’t fair like that. Not here at least.

Quietly slipping from her chair, her dress brushing through the mists, Bunny snuck back inside - to get out.

These dresses are only getting shorter, huh? With a devious little smirk Jack settled back in the cushioned airplane seat. He watched as one of the flight attendants shuffled by with her demure little smile. The plane was about to take off, heavy engines rumbling on the taxi strip. But first, he’d let one of these sky angels do the honours. And, looking up, apparently the lady of choice had come to her calling. Italian presumably, he saw her lips curl in a semi-flirty smile.

‘Good afternoon.’ - Her French accent was horrid. ‘May I please assist you with your seatbelt?’ She was already leaning over before Jack could object. Not that he would. Settling back a little more, he let her tiny hands clutch around the metal clasp. It was a challenge to get the thing tugged around his luggy hips. But he didn’t protest as she bent over a little more. If anything, he let the opportune moment run its course as the taxiing plane rolled over a pesky little bump. Enough for him to bump into her in consequence, the little accident followed up by a polished act of surprise on his end. A warm, steadying hand on her hip was all it took to turn the woman into a blushing, flustered mess. She chuckled and apologised with that same awful little accent.

Not that he cared. With a suave, calm smile he settled back, thanking her in perfect Italian. And with that the deal was sealed; he had ensured that this flight would be just as delightful as this woman’s dress implied..

You know what they say. Can’t let a good thing get away.

‘Found anything?’

The two men stepped into the beams of the car’s headlights. The night around them was muddled black, heavy rain clouds obscuring the skies. It was one of those moments where a seeing man could feel blind. Though these men didn’t seem to be concerned with the dark. Sharing a handshake, muddied feet slushing in the red earth, they greeted one another. One of them showed a slight limp.

‘No -’ The limping man coughed raggedly. ‘Nothing.’

‘And the footprints?’

‘Dead end.’ His cough continued and he spat on the ground, bloody mucus seeping into the crimson soil.

‘Brother..’

‘We’ll find ‘em. Just give me more time.’

The other wished to object, but a soft crack in the bushes on their left disturbed them. Someone was there. An intruder. Hidden in that pesky veil of night. With a grumble the healthy man grabbed for his gun. But the limping men stopped him.

‘Brother? Let me..!’

A church bell rang in the distance, silencing them. Twelve times the heavy copper tolled, announcing midnight, and the end of their fleeting meeting.

‘Whomever it was, we can’t chase ‘em.’ The limping man sighed. ‘And rain’s comin’.’ He coughed again and grasped the other man’s sleeve. ‘Let’s go. Ghosts aren’t worth bullets.’

Was there something like the thrill of being chased? Bunny clutched the steering wheel of her trusty blue cake tin on wheels, squealing with excitement as it slipped in the puddles of last night’s thunderstorm.

Much like the weather - the air now clean and fresh, she felt a renewed energy in her bones. This could very well be the time she’d succeed. The time she’d finally get away.

She had omitted all the non-essentials. She had learned by now that it was key to not act suspicious. Learn the patterns and only then take the leap.

The last time had failed catastrophically. Apparently she had been too obvious with her packed suitcase at the ready. Not even a lie about a personal safety plan with all the gang violence going on was enough to dissuade her father from her intentions. She could still feel the ache in her buttocks from the spanking she had received.

So yes. She had learned. She had learned to be more inventive. And now here she was. Smirking. With a sideglance she looked to the backseat of her trusty little Fiat. A small designer bag lay there discarded. Barely noticeable to the male eye, but packing much more than just the usual feminine essentials. In fact this bag held none of the usual make-up items and hair spray. It held passports, roadmaps, money and a well-thought out escape plan. She was ready. She was. Right?

Clutching the steering wheel a little tighter, she looked back at the road. And just in time. With a panicked foot on the brakes she slid through the mud, barely managing to evade the unamused looking vintager who had just stepped onto the road after inspecting his vineyard.

‘Fuck.’ Bunny muttered quietly, keeping the slower speed long enough to raise an apologising hand at the man. It was the new one. The new vintager, the other one deceased some years ago. The other wine makers had refused to take on this piece of land. And none would say it aloud, but the reasoning was simple; it was the only small trip of land that separated the Maniari estate from the Luchesse estate. Two mobster powerhouses trying their best to overrule the other; you simply didn’t want to be in the middle of that.

And now Bunny had nearly killed the one person who had dared to take on the challenge.

Trying her best to calm her racing heart, Bunny looked back to the road ahead of her. She couldn’t make a mistake now. Not when she was so close to getting out. So close to freedom. Because that’s what she wanted, right? She was ready, right? Clutching the steering wheel she pushed the gas pedal a little deeper again, forgetting for a hot minute to look back. And in doing so, she missed one essential little cue in the shape of a rushing car behind her.

The thrill of the chase was back.

Jack gritted his teeth. Not even the lovebites in his neck or the linger of sweet perfume could calm his nerves. He was hours away from Florence. Hours away from pretty city women, good coffee and proper infrastructure - the roads all red mud around here.

Jack was also not sure whether this rental he had received from that car dealer was set up for failure, or that it was just misfortune that had killed the engine. Either way: he was stuck. Stuck in an idyllic picture of green winelands covered in a thick blanket of ethereal mists. A dreamscape, the likes he had seen on postcards sent by his good friend Luigi. Those cards had often described trivial things, until a week ago, when Jack received a request. And if it weren’t for their friendship, it would be for his own devices that Jack found this trip to Tuscany to be a perfect way to spend some time. One plane ride, car drive and engine failure he was here. Stuck as a bug in a rug. Or in this case stuck with a car in the mud.

‘Fuck.’ He grumbled, turning off the radio that was bleating on about some local seismic activity. He wished right now he had accepted Luigi’s offer to have him chauffeured to the estate. But Jack was a proud man, and a man of resolve. Besides, he enjoyed driving in most cases. It gave a sense of freedom, of power. Engines rumbling, the windows rolled down.

But that would be for another time. First he had to find a new means of transportation.

Swinging open the door he stepped out into the morning mists, nostrils flaring out to breath in the biting cold that licked around his heated skin. Perhaps he shouldn’t have worn his fine calf leather shoes, he mused, looking down at the mud splatters as they painted a red dotted work of art over the recently polished noses.

Gritting his teeth again he cued a cigarette to his lips and turned around the back of the car, picking up his suitcase and hat before starting his way down to the nearest village.

Bunny knew she had failed when she turned the roundabout. With a flash of black and white the sleek suit of Number Four was hard to miss from behind his steering wheel. And he was far too close for comfort. Especially with him driving the Mercedes-Benz, its engine rumbling like a dark horse to match his steely gaze.

Taking a swift turn, Bunny changed plans. Straight roads were omitted and made way for the local Saturday market, her car soon disappearing in the hustle and bustle of cows, chickens, cabbages and coffee.

Nervous hands thrummed on her steering wheel as she moved at a snail’s pace through the meandering crowds. It was terribly busy, and that made the market both a blessing and a curse all in one. Old nans with hunchbacks, young children playing soccer, farmers marketing their produce; any other time this would have been a lovely place to be. But right now Bunny had no time to wait for the cows before her to cross the street. And so with a quick flick of the wrist she escaped her car, bag in her hand as her swift feet zipped past the meaty backsides of two brown cows before she vanished into the misty morning mayhem.

Her heartbeat was racing. Fluttering like a little bird caught in too small a cage. Sweaty hands clutched onto the bag in her arms as she apologised to a leather faced man she bumped into, his large chest already puffing up before he turned to scold her for not “using her godgiven eyes”.

‘Scusi!’ She scampered away, little mules clicking on the paved village square. She had made sure that, though practical, her clothes wouldn’t have raised any suspicion on her family’s part. And with her always wearing something rather fashionable, today was no exception. Her calf-length blue summer dress waved around her legs as she brushed past the flower stall sales men, their hands waving around in the air to catch her attention.

‘Miss! Miss! Why the hurry?! Good morning, good morning!’

She wished to throw them a wistful smile, but her eye caught on to a blur of a neat suit on the other side of the square instead. Another mobster? Really?! Keeping her green eyes transfixed on the man who was trying to chat up with one of the salesmen, she noted he was different from the others. Brown suit covered up to his calves in mud and with his handsome face contorting in agony, she saw him turn away from the salesman. She had never seen this man before. He looked foreign, his skin far less tan than most Italians and his eyes a shade of Mediterranean blue. He could very well be one of the American movie hunks she used to fawn over. Cary Grant, Humprey Bogart. His slicked back dark hair and chiseled cheeks by no means inferior to the legends of the silver screens.

But there was no silver screen here. And Bunny had no time for funny business. She had to figure out what to do. Go home and act like nothing happened? Try again later? Or get out on foot and hope that her father’s henchmen wouldn’t use their bloodhound like noses to track her down. 

Feeling cold shivers run up her spine she wished to grasp for her bag, only to realise it was no longer hanging down her hip. There went the last of her plans. Washed down the drain, like the fish scales washed by the fishmonger behind the tall, handsome stranger. Who, strangely enough, had disappeared.

‘Good morning signora.’ A warm honeyed voice brushed past the shell of her ear and without looking, Bunny darted off. Did Number Four get backup? Or was it one of them? Fuck-fuck-fuck. With hasted feet she pushed past a group of women doing their daily shopping, disturbed eyes looking her up and down before they stepped aside for the mobster daughter’s pursuer.

‘GET OFF ME!’ Bunny exclaimed when she felt a hand on her arm, her hands raising up to throw in a punch if need be. But it wasn’t Number Four who stared back at her. It were heavy dark eyebrows, risen near comically onto the handsome stranger’s face.

‘I am..profusely sorry milady! I…’ Blue eyes blinked at her before he reached out a familiar item to her: her bag. Bunny exhaled. It was just her bag. Her bag! Her.. She snapped her eyes back at him. Who was this?

‘Thanks.’ She grabbed for the bag, only to see his hand wrap a little more tightly around the tan leather.

‘Wait a moment…’ He narrowed his eyes and terror was back in Bunny’s bones. Fuck. Was he with them?! She tugged a little more fiercely on the bag, but it didn’t budge. Oh please let go! Please let go! She pulled and pulled, but she was no match to the hidden muscles beneath the man’s well-cut suit. He smirked.

‘Are you..the Maniari sister?’ His accent finally clicked; foreign indeed. British, most likely. Was it the man her brother had mentioned to be visiting soon? Frowning, Bunny looked back at the man, only to realize another two suits had popped up in the corner of her vision. She had to make haste. Now.

‘Follow me and find out.’ She breathed, using her momentum to pull her bag free from his hand before running in the direction of a narrow alleyway between the houses. Fresh laundry was hanging from lines that crossed above her head, casting the street in a misty play of shadows, waving over her escaping form.

As half expected, the man continued to pursue her, muddied soles following her in close proximity.

‘Where are we going?’ His voice remained level despite the exertion and Bunny cast him a side glance. He jogged easily behind her, eyes looking up and around the narrow street. She wasn’t sure whether he was nervous about onlookers, or just admiring the change of scenery.

With a sharp turn they entered an even smaller alleyway. But just as she was about to make another right, she saw men rush past. And from the looks of it they were most definitely looking for her. Sharp suits, eager eyes. Within an instant she had pressed her back against the wall, making the stranger half bump into her.

‘In a bit of trouble?’ He smiled. ‘Do tell me it’s not a stolen bag, for…-’

‘Shut it.’ Nervously looking around herself, Bunny decided to keep heading straight, passing through another alleyway where a few women were hanging out carpets to give a pounding. Dust circled up in the air, offering a perfect getaway for their retreating feet.

Some streets later Bunny found herself back at the other side of the square. And if she wasn’t mistaken, her car wouldn’t be far from here. With nimble feet she moved through the crowds that were returning home after their shopping. Arms full of fresh fish, bread and vegetables; it was a challenge to not knock anything out of hands as she zipped past.

Staying hidden in the shade of the narrow passage, she eyed the street where her car was left in the middle of the road. No suits were seen, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. Over her shoulder, the stranger watched along with her. Was he really not with them? Or was this just play pretend and would he be there to push her into their arms at the opportune time? Feeling her heart thump in her ears, Bunny pressed back into his chest, wishing to back away. And thankfully he did so too, sidestepping so they could remain hidden in the shadows of the buildings surrounding them.

‘Bunny, right?’ He whispered, looking at Bunny’s mildly flushed face. She was a beauty with her brown haired bangs and sparkling green eyes. And a feisty one too. With a scowl she looked back at him.

‘And you are?’

‘A tall dark handsome stranger?’ He tried, smiling. She rolled her eyes quietly and looked back at the square. As half expected one of her father’s henchmen had stepped out from one of the alleyways, shaking his head at someone who didn’t wear a suit. They were everywhere. Why had she even been so stupid to try and get out? Who did she think she was?

‘God have mercy.’ She whispered, shaking her head in defeat. This might just have very well been the last time she’d be allowed to even be outside. Here be Bunny, the mobster misses who became a prisoner in her own home. Woopti-fucking-doo.

‘May I suggest something?’ Jack eyed the little blue car that was left alone as the mobster henchmen ran into another street to continue their search.

‘Shoot.’

‘Charming woman you are.’ He teased.

‘Don’t push it.’ She looked back into his blue eyes, expectantly, waiting for him to dish up his idea.

‘I drive, you lay low and once at home you better have a really good excuse for your father.’

Bunny snarled. There went the last of her plans.

‘Papa!’ Bunny kissed her father’s cheek with perhaps a touch too much enthusiasm. Would he notice she was faking it?

‘Bunny, dear.’ Augusto leaned back a little to brush a loving thumb over his daughter’s face. He seemed quite oblivious to whatever had just transpired.

‘Sleep well?’ She asked, stepping back so her father could move to his desk where a recently lit cigar was waiting. Thick smoke curled up to the high ceiling of the dark, wood panelled office. And from the half-closed shutters and slow movements of Augusto it was clear he was having a particularly rough morning. Or hangover. Or perhaps both.

Waiting in the door opening, Jack shifted on his feet. He was painfully aware of the disheveled state of his shoes and pants. And all that running may have very well ruined his hair too. Keeping his hat in the crook of his arm he looked around the room. So this was it. The lion’s lair. The heart of the operation. Jack was just about to be addressed by the mobster lord who had settled back in his desk chair, when rushed footsteps echoed through the smooth marble hall. The mobster lord frowned and looked up and over Jack’s shoulder, where a heavy breathing bodyguard shot an exasperated look at Bunny.

‘YOU!’ The man wanted to step past Jack, but the Englishman was smooth in “accidentally” obstructing the doorway, eyebrows raising in feigned shock.

‘Apologies!’ Jack bowed slightly, making the bodyguard scowl even more. Apparently more people were having particularly rough mornings. Jack smiled inwardly and watched as Bunny stepped back to side with her father, her eyes betraying just how nervous she was despite her cool facade.  

‘She was out, boss.’ The man pointed a reproachful finger at the brunette. ‘You little devil --’

Augusto inhaled sharply, face souring. ‘Out?’ He looked up and Bunny flinched. Augusto was an impressive looking man. Thin silver streaks framed his rugged looking face and his eyes flamed with passion, madness or both. Standing up with a pained groan he looked down at her, her feet wishing to shuffle back, but bumping into a small garbage bin instead.

That’s what she was to her father in this moment. Garbage. His face melted into complete and utter displeasure. ‘And what, daughter sweet, were you doing..out?! HMM? Wasn’t I clear?!’

‘Papa..I just..I wanted to --’

‘NONE OF THAT.’ Augusto inhaled from the cigar between his fingertips and let the smoke fume out through his nostrils. He looked like a raging bull, eyes wild as he looked back at the bodyguard, then Jack. Jack looked back at Augusto with level eyes, keeping them trained on the mobster lord with an unfazed expression.

‘And you?’

‘Your daughter was kindly enough to pick me up when I had car trouble.’ Jack stepped forward and bowed confidently. ‘Jack Wa--’

‘Are you a fool?!’

Jack raised back up and saw the mobster had turned back to his daughter, making Bunny shrivel smaller and smaller every passing second. She shook her head.

‘How..ugh..how are we ever to find you a husband? This insolence! You are just like your mother. You women you!’ He gripped Bunny’s face between digging fingertips and studied her for a second, snarling: ‘I’ll deal with you later.’ He let go, leaving small red marks on her skin as she rushed past Jack and outside of the room. Jack swallowed. He knew that Luigi’s family were mobsters. He had never cared much for it. All rich people seemed to have their flaws. Their peculiarities. And he was a friend of the family right? But perhaps that had just now been completely and utterly ruined.

‘And you must be Walker.’

Jack quickly returned his attention to Augusto. ‘I am.’ Jack nodded solemnly, keeping a straight face as the bodyguard turned on his heel and looked Jack up and down. His eyes lingered especially long on his sodden trousers, red mud dried like bloody splatters on the brown wool fabric around his calves.

Oh, how he wished he could have changed into a different suit before meeting Augusto. First impressions mattered, you see. 

‘Do not be nervous.’ Lucia smiled, squeezing her fingers around his bicep. ‘It’s just men. Stupid, silly, rambunctious men. They wouldn’t know a good thing even if it hit them straight in the face.’ Her silvery eyes glanced over at the bellboy who kept a straight face, staring in the direction of the elevator doors as they zipped up to the 11th floor of the Parisian Grand.

‘I’m not nervous.’ Jack looked down at her. All silvery haired class wrapped in a black satin gown. She was breathtaking. ‘Not for them at least. I’m nervous for..you.’

‘Me?’ She chuckled softly. ‘Oh sweet darling. You do not realize what a gem you are. The men in my life never cared for their women the way you do.’ She sighed and looked down at the ring on her finger. Wrapped around the smooth black tuxedo jacket, it sparkled like a star in nightly skies. She missed the one who gave that ring to her. But he was gone. And were it not for Jack, she’d feel rather alone - and terribly bored.

‘And your husband?’

‘Well. What can I say. He was a man. I loved him. I fought him. I hated him. And then he died.’

Jack swallowed as the elevator’s bell dinged, signalling they had arrived at Lucia’s suite. The place where he’d meet her family - and perhaps in a way become part of her family too.

‘Remember to be better than them my boy.’

‘It’s Jack, madame.’

‘I know, I know.’ She laughed and the doors slid open. Her fingers tapped comfortingly on his arm before they strode out into her palace of gold and glitter. ‘But you’re still my boy...Jack.’

--

Chap 2 >

--

General tagsquad: @harrysthiccthighss​ @tumblnewby @magdelen69​ @thereisa8ella​ @darkbooksarwin​ @summersong69​ @madbaddic7ed​ @luclittlepond​ @maroonmolly @just-a-normal-fangirl18​ @hell1129-blog​ @agniavateira​ @tillthelandslide​ @elinesama​ @maddyreads14

#henry cavill as jack #henry cavill fanfiction #the englishman jack #tuscany #1956 #mobster fic #paris

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

Diplomat’s Son & Roi (Peter Parker's iPod, Part 11.)

Description: Blip was hard. Dating MJ was a pleasure in Parker’s life, so it was even harder when she told him that things aren’t working as she anticipated - one month before college. Although they remained friends. But Peter isn’t too sure if he can handle liking yet another girl.

Part Summary: Peter hoped that everything can last forever - but he was lying to himself. When MJ finally figures out his deal, he is not in such a pleasant position - either, he has to tell you or MJ would. But telling you proves to be much more difficult than he thought.

A/N: I would say that this is some very light smut. Very light tho. Also, yes, I am aware that this playlist slowly turns into the tracks from Contra and Modern Vampires of the City by Vampire Weekend. But you cannot stop me. Also, if my calculations are right, Peter is like... Almost 19? Maybe even 20? I am lost in the timeline ffs. So WORRY NOT, IT IS LEGAL.

Word count: 4.1 K

Tagging: @fanboyswhereare-you, @lukesbabylon, @eridanuswave​

Master list: H E R E

MJ was watching every move Peter had made over the next two weeks. You knew about it, but you didn't say a word. You didn't know what Peter had done, but it seemed to be quite personal. And when something was personal between those two, you knew that you don't want any part in their beef.

Peter tried his best with being secretive while visiting you. Sometimes, as the weather got better again, you started to sneak out of the room more and more often, having Speedy showing you the best views in the whole New York. Sometimes, he bought you some of the best sandwiches in Queens, sometimes you got a pretty decent milkshake and some ice-cream.

But MJ wasn't dumb. She was a lot of things, but not dumb. Over time, as she continued with finding your room empty with your room empty and window open, she had her suspicion. And Peter was officially damned when she noticed a web hanging from the wall next to your window once she was watching a movie there with you.

It was one May morning when she was waiting for him. You were by his side, and for a reason, you had a feeling that there was something that needed to be resolved between MJ and Peter. So you just ran after Ned, telling him something about Lord of the Rings.

“Okay, Peter. I was leaving it be for a long time. But you should speak your colors finally.” - She told him, tugging him aside, next to the fountain. Peter gave her an unknowing look, furrowing a bit. But he was pretty nervous - MJ could tell based on how he hugged himself and stepped aside, tugging the strap on his shoulder a bit. Even if they weren't dating anymore, she still remembered every reaction.

“You and Y/N. What's that about? Do you think I don't know?" - She crosse her elbows on her chest, staring at Peter. Peter wanted to tell her how wrong is she, but MJ was quicker than him. - "Webs around her window, her being gone through most of the time, especially during nights, she tells everyone she does but doesn't date anyone... Parker, I know you dragged Spider-Man into this. All I want to know is what you are you trying  to archive here."

At that moment, Peter knew that MJ is onto him. She knew what was happening. And MJ knew, obviously for a long time. Parker knew that it is too late to lie to her. but how on Earth should he want to speak his mind?

"MJ, I swear that I don't want to hurt her. I know you think something like that. No. I would never." - Peter starter to stutter out, looking MJ in the face. But she didn't seem to be convinced at all. With a long exhale, she told Peter to continue with his story. - "It crossed my mind a long time ago and I told myself that its not a bad plan. I just wanted to get to know her, ask her out and stuff and I didn't know how to do any of that."

"So Spider-Man came in handy as a romance tool, is that right? Peter, this is fucking stupid." - MJ rolled her eyes. She could barely express how mad and disappointed she was with Peter. But there was no way on Earth that she'd bitch him down. Oh no. Once you'll get to know, Peter was fucked. Yeah, once you'd know about all of that, you can bitch Peter down all by yourself. - "Do you realize how much she'll be hurt once you tell her? And I'm not even speaking of the fact that if someone with dangerous connections would get to know, she could be harmed and maybe even killed. Parker..." - She sighed.

"You have to tell Y/N. The sooner, the better. And if you're too scared to tell her, she would get to know. And if it would take her more time, I'll be the one to tell her." - She told Peter with a firm tone. So, that was the last stop officially. MJ didn't play around with this sort of stuff and she wasn't just blatantly threatening Peter. She wasn't the one to do this kind of stuff. Peter could be sure that once is MJ's patience is gone, she is going to tell you everything.

"I don't care how you're going to do all of this, but fix it and be quick." - She told him the last thing she wanted to and left to catch up with Betty who was waiting for her at the fountain. To be honest, Peter didn't want to go to school at all. Now when he knew that MJ knew this secret and she could tell you every time, Peter didn't want there at all. So he just turned away from the building and walked home.

Because you weren't dumb, you noticed that Peter didn't come to literature class and that he didn't even was there when lunch came by. - "I spoke to Peter in the morning, didn't I? Or am I paranoid?" - You asked Ned with a furrow, looking at MJ after that. MJ nodded and turned to Betty to scratch her back. - "He was there, we were walking down the park, we were talking and then he left."

"Maybe he wasn't feeling good." - Ned shook his head, giving you his lettuce so you could chew on it. MJ just nodded with her lips shut. - "But it would be fair if he'd at least say hi." - You mumbled, taking the vegetables, asking MJ about the last sociology class you had. It was quite late in the evening when MJ knocked on your door, watching you scrolling through HBO with a blank stare.

Something was really off that day - you got pretty used to Speedy coming two times, sometimes even three times a week - on Thursday and Tuesday. And it was Thursday and he was nowhere to be seen as if something happened. Usually, he let you know that he won't be coming over - he left you a small note under the window when he wasn't coming by. And this time, he just disappeared and didn't give you a hint.

"You good? Don't you want to re-watch Vampire Diaries with me and Betts?" - MJ looked at you on a Thursday evening, furrowing a bit, watching you covered with the blanket. She was sure that on that Thursday, Peter won't come to see you. He was too scared for that - in her opinion, it would take him at least three to four days before he picks up enough courage to at least look your way. But you sent a smile her way and shook your head.

"You sure? I mean, I would not like you to die here. Corpses rot pretty fast according to the research I've done." - The girl rose her eyebrows, laughing when you threw a pillow her way.

"Love you, girl." - She smiled nonetheless, closing the door for you. It could be around eleven when Speedy landed in front of your window. You were already fast asleep - and he even checked if MJ is asleep too. That was when he encouraged him to open up the damn window and sneak into your room, locking the door.

Peter thought that he's ready to confess - his identity, why he did what he did, he thought that he's ready to explain everything to you. He thought so emphasize that word. In reality, he was a mess inside. Many feelings were tearing him apart. The fear of losing you or that maybe you will think that he's a liar and a cheater because both of those names would be rightfully owned by Peter. Gently, he woke you up with pressing himself onto your back, kissing your neck.

"What the hell are you doing here so late?" - You mumbled into the pillow while the boy traced a pattern on your upper back. You needed your few minutes to wake yourself up.

"I couldn't fall asleep so I decided to visit you." - Peter whispered honestly, leaning his forehead into your shoulder carefully, waiting for you to gain some form of consciousness. You were just done for.

"How nice to wake me up this late when I have to go to school tomorrow, Speedy." - You mumbled angrily, finally turning your head to look at the smiling lips. Jesus. These lips were something - but you wanted something more. It was quite some time you two were meeting and probably if he wouldn't be such a gentleman, you would already do stuff together. It was quite obvious that this time, you're the one to do the first baby steps. - "You were only thinking about yourself." - You mumbled, pulling out a subtle smile.

"No, I just... I just wanted to talk with you." - He said sincerely, looking you in the eyes with a furrow. This was his chance - but to wait for what you had to say was a mistake. Because you made something different out of the context.

"But I don't want to talk." - You whispered back, scooping so close that you could feel him breathing. I probably was even that he woke you up - and in the night, you could be a greedy beast when it came to that.

To be honest, Peter wasnt the only one to feel the subtle click that happened one night. The feeling just somehow was there - it was that light feeling that made you feel that maybe, just maybe, you can do some stuff together. Something in your mind was making you keen on that mysterious boy - you only knew that his father figure was dead and that he was fourteen when he got all of these crazy powers. You didn't know anything more - but for a reason, you were attracted. He was almost oddly familiar as if you knew the smell and that smile, but you only thought that because you already knew each other for a fairly long time. You remembered the way he moved around your room and in the streets, you knew the way he smiled at you... You knew everything.

"So do you want me to leave?" - Peter asked nervously, still smoothing your shoulder because he didn't have any idea what to do or what were you talking about.

"I don't want you to leave either, dummy. Come here." - You mumbled under your breath, bringing him in for a kiss. Quickly, you closed your eyes, kicking the damned blanket off your bed, making him fall on you. Oh, Peter finally figured out that you didn't want to speak since you had something much different on your mind.

"Or... I mean... Do you want to tell me something? Something’s wrong?" - You asked worriedly, smoothing his back gently as you both tried to catch your breath.

"It... Can wait, I think. Nothing serious." - Peter stuttered out before you got into your all-time favorite position - the Spider boy was hovering above you, your knee was leaning into his hip and practically, he was pressing you down into the mattress. You nodded before clinging onto him, trying to bring him down a bit just to feel his body onto yours. You usually went in with some nice, soft, and slow kisses - that day, it seemed rushed, harsh, almost too aggressive. You even bumped into his teeth with yours once or twice. And that was when the craziest question just left your mouth.

"Do you think you can take this off?" - You asked with your eyes closed, tugging the spandex off of his body a bit. That made Peter open his eyes pretty wide, watching you. - "I mean, the mask can stay, of course. I just want to feel... You." - You opened up your eyes, smoothing his jaw gently. - "I'll take this off, of course. Let's just do this in underwear this time. I wanna see how it goes, please." - You begged.

Peter rolled his eyes under the mask, catching his breath. That sounded so nice. Just the idea of it made him smile a bit and his cheeks redden, immediately forgetting about the thing he had to say to you. - "Only if you won't make me talk when I do it." - He said shortly. There was still the little fear that once you'd hear his voice, it would all be out. You furrowed a bit at that, but nodded almost instantly, already sitting up to play some music.

That night belonged to Contra and Modern Vampires of the City, both albums by Vampire Weekend; since you grew to love them when listening to them with Peter a lot. Before looking at him, you smelled both your armpits and checked what underwear you had on. Well, since you forgot to take off the bra since you came home from school, this part of your body looked rather decent. Your panties weren't such a hit, but having hearts all over them was acceptable when you turned your head a bit and looked at him standing with his back to you only in his boxer shorts which were kinda too big for him.

And he had some really thin legs. He was cute. And so solid that your breath stuck for a while. You shifted your weight on your feet. Only the back had sent you to heaven. And woke you up definitely. You shot your look back in front of yourself, feeling your heart beating a bit faster.

"So, because we don't want this turn to a naughty shit show, Imma climb under the blanket. I promised not to look, but just to feel, yeah?" - You asked silently. Since he wasn’t speaking, as he said previously, you waited until he nodded, and then, you walked to the bed, picking the blanket from the floor and listening to Diplomat’s Son. Then you turned away, listening to the boy coming to the bed, feeling as the mattress got down under his weight.

Once he was giving you the vibe that he's ready, you looked at the parts your eyes had already discovered - his lips, jaws, and neck. The rest was still a mystery. But you jumped a little when you felt the contact of naked skin on your naked skin. He was so warm and his skin was so... Gentle. Except when you slowly dragged your foot on his calf, that thing was hairy and sticky.

You two forgot how to kiss or even breathe as you slowly put your palms on his waist, as you usually did during your sessions. You didn't even focus on if his muscles as hard as a rock, no, you smiled when your thumb found mold on his ribs and you circled it.

"You feel so nice." - You said quietly, kissing a small, sweet spot on his collarbone. Which made the boy give in into your touch, exhaling slowly with his eyes closed. - "And you smell nice too." - You smiled and bit him playfully, making him jump at the feeling of your teeth.

Jesus, he would like to tell you the same thing. That you look beautiful with your hair around your head like a halo, that your smell alone makes his head spin and that feeling your arch of the foot was making him excited. But he only leaned in to put his palm on your jaw so he could kiss you.

When Peter was sure-sure you don't mind it and that your eyes are closed for real, he let you bend your head so he could kiss you down on your neck, brushing the collarbone gently. It would maybe seem funny to other guys your age who had nightstands at parties and stuff, but for both of you, this was something extraordinary.

Sure, you were with guys before, but you never took it so slow. You knew Speedy since March, already, but you guys only made out. Most of the guys would bend you over in their super suit and then, they would disappear, never seeing you again. There was some kind of vibe that Gonzales isn't like them. But also, for men, he took it painfully slow. So this was the best first step you could make him do before pushing off from the cliff with something more.

You whimpered and moved a bit when his palm found your waist, having a joyful smile with your eyes still closed. Gently, you touched that palm, feeling the veins on it pretty intensely. - "Kiss me and close your eyes, okay?" - You whispered, looking at him. And he did as you told him, feeling as you moved the palm up to your ribs, then even more up under your armpit.

Without realization, he jumped a bit when he felt the material of your bra with his fingers, pushing his body into yours more, moaning into the kiss. And it was the sweetest and purest moans you've ever heard. Just when you wanted to move his palm even upper, he stopped kissing you and looked you in the eyes. Or at least you thought he did so.

With heavy breathing, he looked on his palm on that material, then looking you in the eyes. Slowly, you let go of that palm, palming his jaw again. You listened to the first notes of the Taxi Cab before you nodded. You were on fire at that moment.

"Just do it, I want you to." - You begged, putting your knee up to his waist so your foot was resting on his ass. Damn, that was a nice ass to touch. And Peter just did as he was told. And in the first moment, he couldn't even understand that he is holding your breast in his palm. At least until he squeezed and opened his mouth as he watched you bent your head backward, making the most erotic sound he had ever heard.

That deep moan sent shivers down Peter’s spine - and Jesus, he wanted more. So naturally, he leaned his weight onto his right elbow, still laying above you, palming it once again. Just as you swore each other, he didn't look at what he’s doing, he watched your joyful face. Carefully, he palmed your breast once more before he tried something he read in a magazine and tried only once. And he was worried that he's about to fuck it up.

To keep you moaning, Spider boy kissed a trail down to where his palm was while he pressed the palm down on your chest. Peter was pretty handy with making you occupied - so you couldn't say since when his palm was put flat on your abdomen, but suddenly, you could feel it there. Before you could protest, that boy shut you up with a kiss, getting your leg off his ass, smoothing the back of your thigh. The only thing you were capable of was to close your eyes when his lips gently touched your breast again.

You knew what he's about to try, so you circled a hand around his shoulder, spreading the legs a bit wider when Speedy’s palm pressed on your hip, playing with the hem of your panties. Just when he was about to do it, he stopped kissing your breasts to look you in the eyes. And dear lord, you almost went insane when he finally palmed your fanny. Peter watched every small reaction you could give him - but the hottest thing, except another quiet and deep moan, was your body leaning into the touch.

You couldn't breathe at that time. When he wanted to lean away from you a bit, letting go of that warm spot, you caught the palm, staring at him. - "It's fine. Please." - You whispered, kissing him again. Peter steadied himself, coughing a bit nervously, taking a deep breath when he slipped under the piece of cloth.

Oh wow, oh damn, the chaos inside him was... Wow. You were hot and wet down there - so much that it surprised him. It was a kind of a puzzle for a while to figure out the angle for further. When he brushed that spot, you let him know - you squealed and bit your lips harshly, your eyebrow knitting with concentration. You nodded when he tried it a few other times, picking up both the location of the bundle of nerves and speed you liked, bending down to kiss your breasts.

You soon started to travel a little, feeling as the spot between your legs started to get even hotter as the claims started to appear out of nowhere. Just when you felt that you cant do it for a moment longer, you made him shut you up with a kiss so you could moan into his lips as you palmed your breast, taking out the nipple. You could hear both your excited breathing, your moaning, his whimpering, and the fingers brushing that spot while Roi by VIDEOCLUB was playing.

It was getting more and more intense and extreme until you closed your eyes firmly, leaned from him and moaned oh fuck yes, oh, oh my God in various order possibly a hundred times. You were shaking, you couldn't catch your breath and your thighs captured his palm while he tried to do his best with prolonging that state you were in. The French rap in your ears got even louder than before and boy oh boy, you were seeing the stars. Everything just mixed up together and it was such a beautiful experience.

When you could breathe again, you smiled lazily. You were done for; dear lord, how much you wanted to repay Speedy, but you were out of order. You could barely move or breathe, you couldn't speak nor thinks. You just let him hug you as you brought him closer and kissed his cheek.

A few minutes after, you both got dressed up - you gave him some wet wipes to clean his hand before slipping into the suit, and even if you didn't repay him in any way, he seemed to more than fine with it. You were radiating with happiness when you put on a fresh, long shirt and a fresh pair of panties, leaving the bra behind. The room smelled like sweat, sin, and some kind of naughty activities.

"Did you... Really... I know its weird, but, did you..." - He mumbled from dressing up and you watched as the suit covered his back again. - "Are you asking me if I came?" - You whispered with a smile, waiting for him to join you in the bed. Before sitting next to you, he nodded, being red as tomatoes.

"I came. That was... One of the most amazing ones I had. Surely the wildest one." - You whispered and kissed his chest in the spandex once you both laid down again.

"I wasn’t sure what to do at all." - He chuckled lightly and you looked at his lips before you raised your stare to his face. Could he be honest with not having too much experience in this area? That left you in slight awe, honestly.

"You were doing great. What was that you wanted to talk about?" - You mumbled, putting your head on his shoulder. That made Peter get outta the trans rather quickly. His hand around your waist stiffened for a second. No way he could tell you at that moment. No fucking way. He just made you cum - no.

"Nothing. You wanna talk about something?" - He answered nervously. You grinned and nodded.

"I'll be out of New York next weekend, a need a little getaway. You up?" - You asked, making him terrified, but at the last moment, Peter realized you're just shitting him. - "You can have your suit on during the day and sleep only in underwear in the night. How does that sound?"

"I've never heard a better idea, Y/N. I've never heard a better one."  - Peter closed his eyes and kissed the top of your head, thinking about how fucked up he was.

#peter parker #Peter parker x reader #peter parker imiagine #spider-man #spider-man imagine #MJ jones #michelle MJ jones #michelle jones mcu #betty brant mcu #betty brant #betty x mj #ned leeds #ned leeds mcu #my babies #my grown babies

[banashee]

Please mind the tags and warnings for this one!

 Four Late Night Confessions (+ one mutual "I Love you")

 1)

 For all the trouble Clint has gone through in the last 20 years, getting an opportunity like this is pretty much the chance of his life. Even if he wasn't running out of luck and chances, he'd have taken it. Sure, Clint had been shot at and bleeding profusely when they offered him to work for SHIELD and start a new life, but even then, dizzy and in pain, not to mention half-starved and exhausted from months on the street, he'd known it might be his best - maybe only - chance.

 Now, one year later, Clint is stuck in a safehouse in the middle of nowhere. It's late at night, and he spends two hours tossing and turning on the thin, lumpy mattress before he gives up and kicks away the sheets. Sitting up on the edge of the bed, Clint groans in annoyance and rubs a hand over his face, through his already messy hair and back over his face. Letting out a long breath, he remains sitting there for a short while, then he finally makes his way out to the living room.

 The howling wind from outside creeps in, settles in his bones and makes Clint shiver in the cool air. He regrets not having put on a hoodie or socks, but he is also too stubborn to walk back now.

 To his surprise, the light in the small living room is on, and when he enters the room, his handler has made himself comfortable on the couch with a thick book in one hand and a steaming mug in the other. The room smells of coffee, and even though Clint shuffles in quietly, Phil looks up from his book as soon as he does.

 “Oh, hi. Can’t sleep?”

 “Hey Boss. Not really, no.”

 “There is more coffee in the kitchen, if you want any.”

 It’s nice to be known, Clint thinks, and makes his way across the room to go get himself a mug. There is no way he is going to sleep tonight, anyway.

 “Thanks.”

 On his way back to the couch, Clint pulls a book out of the shelf and he doesn’t really look at what it is. For one, he’s not sure he will be able to focus on the story. He also never had the opportunity to read a lot when he was young, which means he doesn’t know a lot about books to begin with.

 So, he just reads whatever he can get his hands on - thankfully, SHIELD safehouses often have a small selection of books, if only because some agents left whatever they finished behind for the next person to enjoy. Over time, Clint figures out what he likes - so far, he knows that he enjoys most fantasy and sci-fi books, and that dramas bore him to tears. He tries to stay away from those, but is otherwise open to pretty much anything.

 As it turns out, he grabbed a cheesy romance novel this time - oh well. As long as it keeps him occupied, he figures it’ll be fine.

 Except, it isn’t fine. Well, the book is. But Clint is not.

 No matter how hard he tries, he can’t stop thinking. His brain is running wild and he can’t stop thinking how he even got here. The mean voice in the back of his head keeps telling him that he doesn’t deserve to be here, doesn’t deserve to have this job. This chance.

     ‘You should have died years ago.’    it snarls at him sometimes, in the middle of the night when he lies awake and can’t calm down. The thing is, as hard as he works and as much as he is terrified of making a mistake and losing it all, Clint is also happy.

 He’s got a purpose in life, 3 meals a day and a warm place to sleep. He’s got a room on base to get back to. Sparse and impersonal as it is, it is still a home to him.

 There are people who actually give a shit if he lives or dies, which is honestly still new to Clint. Especially since he started working with Phil exclusively, he has learned what it is like to have someone who cares on a personal level. His handler is a very rare combination of competent badass, warm, honest, caring and protective.

 It is this mix of characteristics that made Clint like and respect the older agent from day 1, and it is definitely this combination of characteristics, paired with the fact that Phil is easy to talk to and that they spend a lot of time together, on and off the clock, that caused Clint to develop a huge crush on him in no time. But he’s got a lid on it - he has to. There is no way he can lose what he found.

 Without noticing, Clint has been staring at the same book page for about half an hour now and he’s got no idea what even happened in the plot. Also, his coffee has gotten cold by now. He curses under his breath and puts his book down in frustration.

     ‘So much for calming down’     he thinks and resists the urge to toss the book across the room. As much as he wants to do something like this sometimes, he hates useless violence, even when it doesn’t go against people.

 The short fuse he inherited from his father is unfortunate, but Clint actively tries to work against it. Anything that separates him from his old man is a good thing in Clint’s opinion - it’s enough that he looks like      he     did. There is no way he’ll allow himself to develop the same patterns of behavior.

 The book in his hand, cramped in white-knuckled, is shaking.

 “...Clint? What’s wrong?”

 He didn’t even realize that Phil stopped reading and is right in front of him now, without touching, but close enough to easily do so if it should be welcome.

 It takes Clint a while to find the words for what is happening, and he isn’t even sure if it makes any sense. After minutes of total silence, and Phil looking more and more concerned the more time passes, Clint lets out a long breath of air.

 “Since I joined… I’ve never been so happy. I’ve also never been so scared. I just - I don’t want to mess this up.”

 He doesn’t look at Phil when he says this, already embarrassed as soon as the words leave his mouth, but he knows that his handler - his friend - won’t judge him for it.

     2)

 The constant noise and vibrations of the jet feel like a jackhammer in Clint’s brain. He wishes, not for the first time, that he was physically able to screw off his head and several limbs for the duration of the entire flight, store them somewhere soft, quiet and comfortable and then reassemble himself upon landing. No such luck.

 He doesn’t even manage to sleep, even though he knows it’ll be many hours until they arrive back at base and there is plenty of time for a long nap. Clint turns in his seat to bitch about it to Phil, but the older agent looks tense and gravely as he puts his phone away in his suit jacket.

 The words get stuck in Clint’s throat, and instead of saying anything, he watches as Phil steps closer and sits down heavily in the seat next to him.

 He almost asks “Are you okay?” but he doesn’t - he knows the obvious answer is “no” because their OP went wrong in so many ways, it’s a near miracle they’re both only lightly injured - let alone alive. The same cannot be said for the dead civilians.

 Clint knows, before Phil even says anything, that he is feeling responsible for it. And really, after a few minutes of silence, Phil sighs with a shake of his head and tells Clint,

 “I fucked up. I’m sorry.”

 In reality, there was nothing they could have done - the intel had been wrong from the start, and there had been no way they could have known until it was too late.

 But Phil is running this OP, he is responsible for the calls made and the outcome will be on his head. It is a special kind of guilt, one that is hard to live with, even though he’d had to learn it early on in his career. Coping is an entirely different story.

 Right now, he is devastated. Agent Coulson is shoved back somewhere in the back of his head, while Phil, the human being, is trying to deal with it all.

 Clint doesn’t answer verbally, because he knows all of these things, but he scoots a little bit closer until their shoulders are pressed together. He offers company and comfort, resting his hand on his leg, open and palm up. It doesn’t take long for Phil to take it and Clint can feel the slight tremors running through him. He squeezes, just firm enough to be reassuring, but otherwise gentle.

 Neither of them talks for the rest of the flight.

       3)

 He is a sniper. Not exclusively, since he’s got plenty of useful skills, but the matter of fact is that, occasionally, part of Clint’s job is to kill people.

 He is good at it, because he never misses. And this is why Clint is so careful, always reading and re-reading the mission briefings, picking the plan apart with Phil again and again until he knows every single detail by heart.

 If he takes the shot, he knows it will be a kill shot - no questions there. So he wants to make sure that the necessity to rid the world of another human being outweighs all other morals.

 Usually, this takes a special kind of training and coping techniques. It’s not an easy or comfortable job, but Clint can usually deal with it because he knows that the people who end up in his scope do so for a very good reason. Usually, he doesn’t lose sleep over it, because he knows the circumstances and the backgrounds.

 He never enjoys it - he would be wrong in his position if he did. But if pressed, he would admit to being relieved - in some cases even satisfied -  to know that certain individuals are no longer around to hurt people.

 Sometimes, there is no kill order in place. In those cases, Clint takes the shot because he knows it’ll be either one of his fellow agents, an innocent person or himself who will be going home in a body bag if not the person he takes out. It happens.

 The point is, while it is certainly no walk in the park, Clint can cope with these situations.

 Right now though, he is kneeling on cold tiles, head stuck in a toilet while he throws up whatever he managed to choke down earlier. In his head, there are two main thoughts that are at war with each other, screaming at him and each other, leaving Clint shaking and disgusted with himself.

 The thing is, they didn’t know that the weapon smugglers ran a human trafficking ring as well. They didn’t know, not until they entered the other part of the building and were met with the terrified eyes of a few dozen people who had learned to expect the worst whenever the door opened.

 Clint is choking and coughing, clutching the cold porcelain with shaking hands. He knows that this OP ended up pressing all the wrong buttons for him. Too many things that hit just a little too close to home, too much that makes him think back to - no.

 In the warehouse, Clint can't remember a clear thought, he acts out of pure instinct. Things turn into a blur at some point, and all he knows it that he somehow freed all the people who were hurt by those fucking bastards, and then…

 A kind way to put it would be that Clint went on a rampage. By the end of it, none of the traffickers is left alive, and he doesn’t feel a smidge of guilt about it.

 After the fact, as much as he wants to say that they deserve it, Clint is terrified that this OP broke something in him. What if he crossed a line? What if there is no turning back?

 Another wave of bile raises up his throat and he spits and coughs until there is nothing left anymore.

 He is completely out of it, and he doesn’t even realize that the bathroom door is opening. It is only when Phil is next to him, rubbing small circles into his back that he catches on to the fact that he’s got company. It doesn’t stop him from shaking apart.

 “I killed 15 men today.” he chokes out, not even looking up. His gaze is blurry and cast downward.

 “I killed 15 men to protect the people they hurt. But I didn’t feel anything while I did it.” And this is the part that terrifies him most.

 Clint doesn’t regret what he did, but he is afraid of his own reaction - or lack thereof - in the situation itself.

 Adrenaline is one hell of a drug, he knows this. Clint is no stranger to getting things done and dealing with the feelings and the aftermath later, but this mission was an extreme situation, and frankly, he is way too shaken up now to think clearly.

 Breathing is incredibly hard, and moments later, Clint finds himself falling apart.

     ‘That’s a new low. Sobbing into a toilet bowl while being drenched in unspeakable things after a complete clusterfuck of an OP’     the mean voice in his head is sneering at him, but even now, Phil doesn’t leave his side. He keeps touching Clint, gentle and in an attempt to comfort, but he remains silent. That’s okay though. What do you even say after a day like this? It’s not like either of them knows a certain answer.

 It comes to no surprise that Clint is on mandatory leave after this, and that’s how it is until the shrinks and Director Fury say otherwise.

       4)

 Phil has blood on his hands.

 Not physically, at least not anymore - he is freshly showered and is wearing standard issue clothes while he is waiting next to the hospital bed for Clint to wake up.

 Just a few hours before, he’d been soaked in blood that wasn’t his own, desperately holding onto the man currently unconscious, hoping he’d survive long enough for help to arrive.

 There had been some time in between - well. Phil is fast.

 Right now, he is trying to keep his breathing carefully even, staring downwards and in front of him. He is carefully holding Clint’s pale and limp hand in his - there are scrapes and bruises, both from his time in the hellhole and from the IV line. Without even realizing it, his thumb is slowly stroking the cold palm of the other man’s hand.

 Phil would be lying if he claimed that he wasn’t - isn’t - utterly terrified of losing Clint. The two of them have known each other for many years, have worked together for almost as long. They know each other, care about one another, certainly more than is strictly professional. And maybe - just maybe… Phil doesn’t dare get his hopes up.

 Truth be told, right now he only wishes for Clint to wake up again, anything else can wait.

 Phil has had a lot of time to think, in the past few years in general, what with them being what they are. Then, he found his asset and best friend missing, which led him to tear the country apart to find him again. And he did, weeks after his disappearance.

 He finds Clint in an empty warehouse, tied to the ceiling in nothing but stained, ripped underwear. He had been unconscious at the time, pale and way too skinny, beaten bloody and with limbs that look twisted and broken.

 Thankfully, Clint is safe now, and it looks like he is slowly waking up. At first, he starts stirring, eyes still closed but twitching. His hand in Phil’s is twitching weakly and the beeping of his heart monitor speeds up, but all of this tells Phil that he is alive - Clint being alive is all he wants right now. Softly, he squeezes his hand again and then says,

 “Clint, you’re safe. Please wake up.”

 His hand is twitching again, but this time, his eyes are fluttering open. Clint’s breath is shallow and erratic as he is blinking against the dimmed lights in the room. He is panicking, which sadly doesn’t surprise Phil. He knows that waking up in a panic happens to Clint more often than not, even when he isn’t coming back to himself in a hospital bed after a no doubt horrifying experience.

 It is in the middle of the night, not that Clint would have any sense of time right now.

 Carefully, Phil squeezes his hand and tells Clint again that he is safe, repeating himself over and over until his wandering gaze stops and his heartbeat is slowing down a bit. His eyes settle on Phil, and Clint smiles weakly at him. Even though his face is a swollen, black and blue mess, the relief is obvious.

 “Hi.”

 Even with this short word, Clint’s voice is breaking and almost non-existent. Talking hurts - he gratefully accepts the straw from the waterglass that Phil is offering him.

 “Hey. Try not to talk, okay? You’re safe and I’ll be right here. You’ll be okay.” he promises, and it seems to ease a little bit of tension in Clint. He nods, indicating that he understood, but he is way too exhausted for anything else. He drifts back to sleep, holding the other man’s hand as tightly as he can manage in his sorry state. Phil squeezes back, and brushes a bit of hair away from his forehead with soft fingers. Clint is almost entirely asleep, but he still leans into the touch.

 It’s when he can manage to stay awake for longer than 5 minutes that they talk a little bit. Clint listens to his list of injuries and scheduled surgeries with an almost stony face, but Phil knows him well enough to be able to tell that he is scared.  Scared of losing his ability to shoot, losing his ability to be “useful” and therefore, losing everything he’s worked and fought hard for in the last decade.

 Even after so many years, Clint still seems to think so little of himself. It makes Phil want to go back in time and murder a few people.

 “What about - them?” Clint asks one night, and it is clear that he wanted to ask this for a while.

 “I took care of it - they won’t hurt you again. Or anyone else, for that matter.” Phil tells him, and it is the truth. It was messy, no doubt - but he would do it again. For Clint, he would do anything.

 “...Did you-?”

 “Yes.”

 Mutely, Clint nods. He doesn’t ask any more questions, mainly because he trusts Phil and doesn’t need any details, but also because he isn’t sure if there even is a proper response for this. Instead, he leans close against Phil, who wraps an protective arm around him while Clint is falling asleep once again.

       +1)

 “I was scared it would be too late.” Phil tells Clint quietly, and shifts a little closer to him.

 They’re still in the small room in SHIELD medical, and although Clint is getting better, they still don’t want him to leave yet. He gets more and more frustrated and even more cranky every single day, and Phil is trying his best to be there as much as possible. He knows why Clint hates medical, and he can hardly blame him for it. Too many bad   past experiences.

 “Me, too.” Clint confesses, and sighs unhappily. He’ll have a lot to work through, but for now, he mainly wants to get out of here.

 “While I was there… I kept thinking, I never even told you that - uhm. That I love you. Because I love you, Phil. I love you a lot.”

 Phil is speechless, but he smiles at Clint, surprised but utterly happy to hear this. It makes his heart beat so fast, he is glad that he isn’t the one currently hooked up to machines. They would go crazy, no doubt.

 “I didn’t want to die before you know that.” Clint continues, and Phil tightens the hug around him - he’d started to lay down next to Clint while he is stuck in the hospital, offering warmth and comfort, and it very much looks like he made the right call. Clint leans into him while Phil tries to find the right words.

 “I don’t want you to die at all. Because I love you, too - so much.”

 He can feel Clint smile against him before he hugs back just as tightly as Phil hugs him right now. He wishes he could touch him, hold onto him properly, but his arms are still in casts and bandages, so he’ll have to wait for a little while longer. But Phil is here, with him, and that is all he really needs right now.

 “Our timing is fucking awful, you do realize that, right?”

 The statement is so very Clint, not just because of it’s incredibly dry delivery, and it actually startles a laugh out of Phil.

 “Well, yes, that’s one way of putting it. Better now than later, though… I’ve wanted to tell you for ages, but…” he doesn’t finish the sentence, but he doesn’t have to. Instead, he leans forward, fully intending to cuddle closer to Clint, but the archer goes for a kiss instead. His lips are dry and chapped, but he is warm and alive in Phil’s arms, and that is all that counts.

 The kiss surprises Phil a bit, but it’s certainly not unwelcome. He kisses back, slow and gentle, letting Clint decide how much he wants right now, not just because he is afraid of accidentally hurting him. He would have let him take the initiative in any other case, too, and there are plenty of reasons for it.

 “Fuck, I really want to get out of here.” Clint says later, and Phil presses a small kiss against his temple while he makes himself comfortable against his shoulder.

 “I know - soon.”

 Clint leans into the touch and hums happily when Phil scratches his scalp with blunt nails.

 “Until then, I’m not going anywhere. Promise.”

+~

19 - Confession

Warnings: - hints at Clint's shitty upbringing - implied/references child abuse - blood and violence - talk about death and killing - mental health issues - vomiting - human trafficking (not graphic but still upsetting) - hospitals

#banashee writes #marvel fanfiction #65 Random Prompts #whump #angst #hurt/comfort #friends to lovers #phlint #clintcoulson #tw blood #tw injury #tw violence

[wazzupmrstark]

We’re Only Kidding Ourselves- Part Eighteen || Tom Holland x Reader

A/N: take a shot every time you see the word neck I’m just kidding please don’t you’ll die of alcohol poisoning I can’t have blood on my hands

Prompt: Enemies to lovers au (from @marvelellie‘s 1k writing challenge!!)

Summary: You work as a production assistant for the Spider-Man: Far From Home crew, or rather as Tom Holland’s handler. The two of you don’t get along very well to say the least, but you won’t quit and he can’t fire you so you’re stuck with each other.

Warnings: swearing, mentions of previous smut, use of the word buckwild

What I listened to while writing: the fire alarm from the building over also Hannah Montana

Word Count: 3k

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine| Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve | Part Thirteen | Part Fourteen | Part Fifteen | Part Sixteen | Part Seventeen

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was that you couldn’t feel your left arm. The second was that you were completely naked. Suddenly everything that had happened last night came rushing back and feelings of longing, regret, and nausea hit you all at once, making you want to close your eyes and pretend none of it had ever happened. But it had. And soon enough Tom would wake up too and you’d have to face the reality of it together, like adults.

But for now, you could process alone. As for your arm, it was being crushed under Tom, who you could only assume was also completely naked under the sheets that were pooled around his waist. You wiggled your fingers slowly underneath him, trying to regain feeling. You didn’t want to wake him, but you needed your arm back. Agonizingly, you pulled your arm from underneath him inch by inch so that you wouldn’t disturb him, before finally rolling over and sitting up.

You bit your lip to stop yourself from gasping out. Your arm wasn’t the only thing that was sore. Your thighs, shoulders, and core all ached as you moved, serving as a reminder of the night before. Had it really been that long? You tried to count back the months in your head. The last time you’d had sex was well before you’d started this job, so apparently yes, it really had been that long. 

A chill ran through your body, making you shiver as you sat on the edge of the bed. You hadn’t realized how warm Tom was until you weren’t touching him anymore. You wanted nothing more but to crawl back under the covers and curl up next to him for the rest of the morning, but you had to be out of this room and at the airport in a matter of hours. 

With a sigh you pushed yourself off the bed and made your way to the bathroom. You did a double take at your reflection in the mirror. You were almost unrecognizable. Your hair was a complete mess, and not in the sensual, post-sex way that everyone else’s seemed to be after getting laid. And as you should have expected, extremely noticeable red and purple marks of varying sizes were littered across your neck and collarbone. 

“What the fuck, Tom, are you a fucking vampire?” you muttered to yourself, poking at the hickeys. They were going to be a bitch to cover up. If you had known how visible they’d be, you would have stopped him. Who were you kidding, no you wouldn’t have. He was too fucking good with his mouth. You bit back another curse. That was a matter for later.

At the present moment you had to focus on washing the chlorine and sweat out of your hair. You turned on the shower and let it warm up before getting in. Once you were in the shower you stood frozen under the water with the realization that no amount of scrubbing was going to wash away the night before. 

Tom was awake but still in bed when you came out of the bathroom wrapped in nothing but a towel. He didn’t even pretend not to enjoy the view, but didn’t say anything to you until you started gathering your clothes in your arms to take back to the bathroom to change.

“You know you don’t have to-“ he paused when you whipped your head towards him. “I mean, doesn’t it seem a bit redundant?” 

You rolled your eyes and dropped the towel right there as if to prove a point. Tom raised his eyebrows, but didn’t look away. You were too tired to feel self-conscious. Tom had already seen you in your most vulnerable state already anyway.

He watched on lazily as you dressed, a soft smile tugging at his lips as you nearly tripped over your sweatpants. 

“Just to be clear,” you said, as you pulled a t-shirt over your head, your voice coming out hoarser than you expected, “what happened last night isn’t happening again. It was a one time thing.”

If you hadn’t known better you might have thought Tom looked a little deflated. But whatever you thought you saw was gone instantly. If you had blinked you would have missed it.

“I believe that’s how one-night stands work, love,” he quipped.

Of course. You’d known him for so long you kicked yourself for thinking any different. Tom wasn’t one to double dip.

“Right.” 

You were the one who made yourself clear about the situation. It was a mistake. It was a moment of weakness. It wasn’t happening again. So why did Tom confirming the fact that you were nothing more than a fling to him make your heart contract in your chest? Maybe because the words you said to each other, the hushed whispers in your ear had led you to believe differently. But Tom told girls what they wanted to hear, and that’s why fell to their knees, quite literally, for him (aside from all the obvious reasons of course).

You turned around to look at your reflection in the mirror next to the television. The hickeys only looked worse after your shower and were peeking out from behind the collar of your shirt in a pattern winding up to your jaw.

“Christ, Tom,” you exclaimed in a hushed whisper. You met his eyes in the mirror. 

“What?”

“You realize anyone with eyes is going to take one look at me and know exactly what happened?’

He squinted at where you were pointing to on your neck and smirked. “You weren’t complaining last night.”

“I was a little preoccupied,” you mumbled under your breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

Tom sat up a little more in bed and examined his arms and chest. “What’s the damage on me?”

You crossed the room and climbed back onto the bed next to him to get a better look. There was a few bruises along his hips and chest, but whether they were from stunts or from last night, you weren’t sure. You hadn’t been as generous with your mouth as he had, so there was little evidence you had ever touched him at all, save one small hickey on the place where his jaw met his neck. 

“You’ve just got the one,” you assured him and put a finger to where the bruise had blossomed overnight. He groaned at the pressure and you yanked your hand back, folding it with the other in your lap instead.

“I don’t suppose I can convince you to wear a turtleneck?’ Tom asked with a lopsided grin.

“I will if you will,” you agreed. “We could match.”

“As inconspicuous as that would be, I think you’ll be fine with a hoodie and some makeup.”

“I forgot you’re an expert on the subject,” you said, only half joking. 

Tom gave you a smile that didn’t reach his eyes and shrugged. “What can I say?”

“Please, please make sure you cover yours up too,” you begged, already imagining the headlines that would be all over social media if anyone got a picture of the rosy mark on his neck. Or god forbid, if anyone saw them on both of you and connected the dots. 

“I’m not an idiot, y/n.”

You made a face and Tom picked up a pillow from beside him and chucked it at you in retaliation. 

You caught it easily it back at him with more force, hitting him square in the face. “Come on, get up. We have to be at the airport in an hour.”

“I’m up, I’m up,” he insisted with hands up in surrender and stood from the bed.

You watched him stretch as the sunlight streaming in from the window struck his figure and made his curls look nearly golden. He caught your eye and flexed his abs at you with a smirk. You couldn't deny the heat that rushed to your cheeks or the impulse to lick your lips, but you only rolled your eyes at him and tossed a random pair of his pants from the floor over to him. 

You tried your hand at covering your hickeys with some foundation and concealer, but makeup had never been your specialty. Your complexion came out looking rough and uneven, but you planned to wear Harrison’s sweatshirt anyway, as Tom had advised, so you hoped nobody would look too closely.

Suddenly, your phone on the counter buzzed with texts from Harrison and Harry simultaneously. It hadn’t stopped going off since you woke up this morning, but you’d been ignoring it until now. A quick glance at the notifications told you that no one had heard from Tom all morning and they were getting worried You popped your head out of the bathroom to see him shoving clothes into a suitcase haphazardly, still only wearing pants.

“Why do you have to make my job so difficult?” you asked pointedly. 

He looked up with a glare. “Can you be more specific?”

“You haven’t been answering your phone. Can you just let someone know you’re alive?”

“Yeah. Whatever.”

You turned back around, trying to fight the familiar annoyance bubbling in your chest as you shoved all your makeup and toiletries into your makeup bag. Why had you let him fool you into bed? Stupid fucking charm. Stupid fucking arms. Stupid fucking accent, and sharp tongue, and pretty eyes fuck. You felt tears welling up in your eyes and gripped the counter forcefully. Sleeping with your boss had been a mistake, but it had happened. And you were going to have to get over it. 

You took a deep breath and grabbed your bag to pack and ran smack into Tom who was coming into the bathroom right as you were leaving. His expression softened when he saw the tears in your eyes.

“Hey,” he said, hesitantly bringing a hand up to your face and then running a thumb along your cheek, collecting tears that had already started to fall, “are you okay?”

“I will be.” You weren’t sure if you were telling him or yourself what you needed to hear, but you set your jaw and pushed past him all the same.

You had to be downstairs any minute now. Everything of yours was packed and Tom was... mostly packed. You did one last survey of the room for anything of yours and saw that you had only missed a few hair ties before you were satisfied. You thought you were ready to go before you realized you still needed to find Harrison’s sweatshirt. 

With a groan you tipped your suitcase back onto the floor and unzipped it. It was a mess inside since you weren’t the neatest packer either, and you had no idea where it could be. Harrison would kill you if you lost it, but you were sure it was in there somewhere, you just weren’t sure where.

“Whoa, whoa, what are you looking for?” Tom asked when he came back out from the bathroom and saw you digging through your suitcase like a madwoman. 

“Harrison’s sweatshirt!” you exclaimed as if it should be obvious.

It’s probably all the way at the bottom,” he reasoned. “Don’t worry, you have it.”

“No I need it,” you sighed. “I’m not supposed to show my face, remember? Much less my neck.” You glanced up at Tom who looked all too amused. “This is your fault.”

“Y/n, you’re acting like someone died, it’s just a jumper.” He stepped over your suitcase to grab something off the armchair and tossed it down to you. “Here just wear this one.”

You picked it up from your lap and unfolded what turned out to be a dark blue hoodie you didn’t recognize. 

“Is this-”

“It’s mine,” he said casually. “Just wear it until we get to New York and you can find Harrison’s again.”

“Are you sure?:

He nodded. “As much as I’d like for everyone to see my handiwork I think you oughtta stay out of trouble for now.” Tom didn’t know how right he was. 

“What about you?”

He stepped back over you and picked up a similar looking black hoodie from the ground and flashed it to you. “Perks of packing at the last minute.”

You caved and shrugged the hoodie on. It was smaller than Harrison’s, but softer on the inside, and it would work just as well. “Thanks Tom.”

“Don’t mention it.” He pulled his hood up over his head and leaned over to you to do the same. “Looks like we ended up matching anyway.”

You were only two minutes behind schedule once Tom was all packed and you took your last look at the hotel room the two of you had shared for the past few weeks. You didn’t know if you expected to feel sentimental, but all you could feel was relief over the fact that you were leaving and flicked it off from the doorway. Tom laughed and did the same before holding the door open and stumbling into the hallway behind you with all of his stuff.

Even though you both had all of your luggage to carry with you Tom challenged you to a race down the hallway. There was an attempt, but you were still so sore you had to do a weird sidestep thing to keep up. 

“Why are you walking like that?” Tom hissed.

“Why do you think?” you hissed back. 

“Oh shit,” he chuckled “my bad.”

You cringed with both pain, and regret. “Yeah. Your bad.”

He had slowed down for you, but he couldn’t wipe the shit-eating grin off his face. Boy sure did have a lot of pride in his abilities, and you wished you could take him down a peg, but you couldn’t.

“You lost it, didn’t you?” Was the first thing Harrison said when he saw you in a sweatshirt that wasn’t his. 

“No, I promise I didn’t. It’s just-”

“At the bottom of her suitcase,” Tom finished, coming up behind you. 

Harrison looked back at you for confirmation. “Something like that.”

“Thought you said you didn’t have one of your own,” Haz reminded you with a smile, pulling at one of the strings around your neck teasingly. “You know I still would’ve lent you mine, you didn’t have to lie.”

Tom didn’t give you a chance to explain. “It’s mine, mate.”

“Oh.” He let the string fall back onto your chest and pursed his lips. 

You wanted to elbow Tom in the ribs, but you had to pretend like it wasn’t a big deal. “He saw me looking through my suitcase in the middle of the hallway and offered me his.”

“Ah,” he nodded. “Well for what it’s worth, I think you look better in yellow.”

You offered him a small smile before he gathered his things to load on the boat and left you standing with Tom. 

“What the fuck?” you demanded. 

“I should be asking you the same thing.”

“What do you mean?”

“I thought you said there wasn’t anything going on with my mate.”

“There isn’t,” you growled.

Tom picked up the same string Harrison had been toying with. “Then why is this such a big deal?”

You paused for a second before snatching it out of his grasp. “You don’t get to do this to me,” you bit out and walked away towards the boat as Harrison had. You heard Tom call after you, but you didn’t turn around. You didn’t care if it was your job to stay with him right now, you needed some space.

The airport was completely compromised, of course. You had no idea how long people had been waiting for the cast to fly out of Italy, but it had to have been days, and they were gambling too, since pretty much everyone but Tom had already left. They couldn’t have known he’d fly out through the same airport, but apparently it was a chance they were willing to take.

Tom was gracious, of course. He stopped to take some pictures and sign merch despite security’s urgency to get him to his gate. You thought that he was being a little more generous than usual to spite you as well, since you’d specifically told him to be in and out.

Harrison and Harry had been flagged down to take some photos as well from fans who had spotted them and were desperate to have any piece of Tom, even if those pieces were people. You could tell they were both flattered, but a little flustered. They agreed to go over though and were nice enough to pose with the teenagers for a few pictures before scrambling to the other side of the walkway to where you were.

You couldn’t imagine ever being a part of his life, being so recognizable for nothing more than having a connection to Tom. Harrison was an actor, but Harry wanted to do film just like you and he was constantly in the spotlight because his brother was Spider-man. You were more than happy to stand on the sidelines and be an onlooker, someone who got glimpses of the lifestyle, but never had to partake.

Tom was talking to some kids now, and you were about to tell him to wrap it up when he did something that stopped you dead in your tracks. As he was smiling for a young boy’s selfie, he pulled his hood down and ran a hand through his hair. For a split second it was quiet. Then it was absolute chaos. You couldn’t tell if the fans were going buckwild over his hair, or the fact that he had a giant hickey on his neck. There was a strong possibility of both. You couldn’t hear anything over the screaming, but you thought you saw him mouth something at you.

“Jesus, where do you reckon he got that from?” Harrison asked you, but you were frozen to the spot. You didn’t trust yourself to speak.

“This is going to be  PR nightmare,” Harry groaned. “Mum and dad are going to kill him. God, why does he have to be such a showoff?”

“I think you mean why does he have to be such a dick,” you spat angrily, crossing your arms over your chest. 

Tom’s eyes searched the crowd once more, looking for someone through the masses of people until he finally met your gaze. You stared straight at him with murder in your eyes and watched in disbelief as he winked at you.

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[sayingthesamethings]

there’s a $14 hole in my wallet and I blame western artists...

Context: I just blindly bought Map of the Soul: 7 and sat through the most heartbreaking 40 minutes of my entire existence as a BTS fan.

Author’s Note: Hi guys. I apologize, but this is not a new chapter of Magic Shop. This is simply a rant containing my opinions and criticisms of BTS’s newest album Map of the Soul: 7. You are free to scroll past. I don’t blame you. But please, do not message me to argue and harass me. We can have a conversation, and I can answer questions if you have any. Please, don’t be a butt. With that out of the way...

let’s get down to business.

To put it simply, I hated a majority of this new album. I bought the album without listening to the previews of the tracks (my biggest mistake), and decided to play straight through the album with no breaks for a raw first impression of the musicality of this album. No, I have not gone through the lyrics, and will not for a little while.

Because I cannot get over what I just went through.

This album has the most conflicting genres I have ever heard. Keep in mind, I did not read the translations, so my initial understanding of the song is not entirely correct.

But can someone tell me why we go from (what sounds like) diss tracks, to anime openings, to ballads, to upbeat pop in such an abrupt amount of time?

I feel like I have whiplash from how many turns this album took. I thought I knew where this album was going when I watched Shadow and Black Swan, but then Ego came out. Which wasn’t too much to swallow, but it was still odd.

And then ON came out.

Let me tell you about just one of my issues with ON. The most obvious one that almost everyone has been talking about is the excessive use of auto tune. I can’t tell what’s worse: the auto tune or the fact that I can’t imagine the song without auto tune. It almost feels as if the song was produced with auto tune being the only thing in mind. And this isn’t tasteful auto tune. It isn’t used as an affect. It drowns out the whole song! And I can’t tell if this was just a stylistic choice or if it was just a complete lack of trust in BTS’s ability. I doubt it was the latter, but I can’t say for sure.

The performance for ON is fairly enjoyable, visually. I’ve read a few people are unhappy with the distribution of the dance between the members, but I see it as a change in pace. It may be a good or bad change, but it’s change nonetheless. Yes, j-hope and Jimin are amazing dancers, but you can’t discredit all the other members just because you love j-hope’s and Jimin’s dancing more. Yes, they are definitely the better dancers of the group, but the others still work hard to perform the same dances. You can see the effort everyone put in to making this performance.

V, RM, and Jin stood out the most to me in this sense. I commemorate their improvements and hope they continue to work hard.

So this leads up to the album. I’m only going to comment on the tracks that stood out to me the most, cause there are a lot of songs and a majority of them felt too monotonous for me to really feel any kind of interest in. There’s gonna be a lot of skipping around, so bear with me please.

The most peculiar of the bunch, in my eyes, is Jin’s solo, Moon.

I feel like I just listened to the opening of the second season of a slice of life anime.

Moon is so simple, it hurts. I always make jokes about mainstream music and it’s lack of chord diversity and repetitive patterns (we did this a lot in jazz band), but this track takes the cake. I felt no climax or emotion from this song. This song was safe, and that probably disappoints me the most. Jin’s solos in the past have been so powerful and stunning, that this song just does him dirty.

Shawn Mendes has entered the chat

Filter does well in showcasing a different side to Jimin, but it sounds like Shawn Mendes ghostwrote this song. The guitar with the very prominent slides and shifts just screams Western music.

But I still think that Jimin did very well with this song. He works with his strengths, and the breathlessness in his voice really sells Filter as one of the few replayable songs of the album.

I can fuck with UGH!. It has similar vibes as Ddaeng (땡), but the backtrack isn’t nearly as good. The fall to notes in the backtrack is disturbing when done so prominently and in such a strict, reoccurring pattern, but I can look past it.

The aggressiveness in UGH! is something I can really appreciate. It’s one of the few saving graces for the track. It really reminds me of past rapline tracks, which is maybe why this track seems more fitting to their respective performers than others.

If Inner Child had been slowed down, I could have enjoyed the song just a little more. Taehyung really hits hard with slower songs, and he could have really put more soul into the song if he had the room to do so. Though, I suppose the chorus might not have made any sense as the oscillation might not translate well into a slower tempo. I think the slower tempo would have created a holier (for the lack of a better word) presence and a more delicate and fragile image.

Respect your elders...

...by sticking to your original sound. Respect starts off strong and starts sounding like older BTS tracks, but then auto tune strikes again and Suga is the victim. The rapping sounds like a conversation between the two, but the auto tune ruins the connection Suga and RM build through their interactions and interjections. I also wish that the back track was a little more busy because of how laid back the rap is, but repetitiveness seems to be the concept of this album...

ON felt the need to come back around for round two and dragged Sia into the mess. If they were gonna bother Sia about “collaborating” the least they could have done was actually have all of them record together rather than asking Sia to pretty please sing over this one part of the song. What bothers me more is that they butcher her beautiful voice just for the sake of continuity.

My suggestion for the second version of ON is to create an acoustic version and have someone who is more interested in singing in another language sing with them in the same room.

And this is nothing against Sia, but we’ll come back to that.

The saving grace, Ego. Easily the only track I would have bought, had I known what this album was before I purchased it. Ego is j-hope’s song. There’s no doubt about it. j-hope has such a duality to him, and the contrast between his more serious raps and more upbeat raps is clear as day. Again, the auto tune does him dirty, but I can appreciate the uplifting feel behind both the backtrack and j-hope’s raps.

So what’s the deal with the album itself?

There’s a few things I wanna touch base on. This album has no clear concept musically. It’s all over the place, and it sounds like the whole album is a playlist or like it was put on shuffle. I can’t tell what belongs in the album, and I’ve lost sight of the top and the bottom.

There’s such a heavy Western influence on this whole album that I can almost taste the cheeseburgers drenched in maple syrup.

So a lot of American and Canadian artists and songwriters had a part in creating this, and they’re very proud of the shit they put out. I went through the discography to look up some of the artists that participated and often ended up on their social medias, where a handful happily announced their participation for the whole world to hear.

Whether you look up the songwriters or not, it’s hard to miss the western influence in all of the songs. BTS has had songs influenced by Western music before. It’s just that the modern pop influence isn’t working for this album. But it still makes sense! One of BTS’s biggest markets is in the west, so speak to your audience. Influence is great and all, but domination is not.

The problem with Sia...

I don’t think Sia or BTS did anything wrong. What people sometimes need to be reminded of is that while these people very much love us as their fans, they are still part of a business. A business needs to look out for itself, or else it becomes a charity, and it just can’t function like that.

The collaboration is a business agreement that went sour. I think there should have been more care and work towards getting Sia to sing more parts. Korean, preferably, but English would have worked too. You can’t throw a single recording out on top of the song and call it a collaboration. It’s almost rude. And I really do believe they got her to sing that one line once and just used it again the second time it came around.

It lacks effort. Sia was used. BTS was used.

To summarize, I hated the musicality (or lack there of) in this album. I feel like I had an okay idea of what the over genre of music was going to be, and I feel lied to. It’s all over the place, and there’s nothing natural about their voices because of the overwhelming presence of auto tune. I’m honestly scared to see this all in concert because none of these have overwhelming potential to be something spectacular live. I’m scared to hear their natural and beautiful voices over such harsh music and backtracks.

I wish Western music would just stay out of BTS. I’m not saying I want it to go away, cause I believe there’s some good influence that has been shown. It’s just my disappointment is overwhelming these positive traits.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading my thoughts on Map of the Soul: 7. It means a lot to me that you were interested. If you’d like to chat about the album or have any questions for me, feel free to send me an ask or message me.

#map of the soul #map of the soul 7 #map of the soul: 7 #bts #unpopular opinion #criticism

[explodingcrenelation]

Tony Stark and the Messianic Archetype in Avengers: Endgame

* * * * * S P O I L E R S ahead for Avengers: Endgame * * * * *

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From a purely analytical standpoint, I don’t have anything against Tony’s character arc in Endgame culminating with his death. His last moments in the heat of battle weren’t rushed, poorly written, or unearned. If Tony Stark was going to die on screen, of course he’d do it like a goddamn badass—and he did.

At this point Marvel is telling a single story to millions upon millions of people and there’s no way they can craft a narrative to suit every single person. When I say Tony's death didn’t work for me, I do so knowing that Marvel wasn’t writing the story for me anyway. And I'm not trying to disparage the creative team's efforts and storytelling choices. They made a call. I don’t agree it was the right one.

For me, Tony’s death traps him inside a Messianic Archetype that doesn’t elevate his character in a wholly satisfying way and doesn’t fit the themes of the established, team-centric universe. In this essay I will…

…actually write a fucking 4000-word essay, so buckle up and read on if you’re in for the ride.

What Is the Messianic Archetype?

The Messianic Archetype is a messiah trope. It’s exactly what it sounds like—one person (usually (but not always) white, usually (but not always) male) who sacrifices themselves for the greater good. 

Here’s how TV Tropes puts it: 

In media, the Messianic Archetype is a character whose role in the story (but not necessarily personality) echoes that of Christ. They are portrayed as a savior, whether the thing they are saving is a person, a lot of people or the whole of humanity. They endure a sizable sacrifice as the means of bringing that salvation about for others, a fate they do not deserve up to and including death or a Fate Worse than Death. Other elements may be mixed and matched as required but the Messianic Archetype will include one or more of the following:

- The Chosen One. - True Companions who follow him. - Betrayal by one of those followers. - Persecution by nonbelievers. - Crucified Hero Shot (or other parallels to the Passion Play). - Figurative or literal resurrection. - A Second Coming. - The initials JC.

Some examples of Messianic Archetypes in popular narratives are: Gandalf in Lord of the Rings, Spock in Star Trek: The Wrath of Khan (or Kirk in Star Trek: Into Darkness), Harry Potter in The Deathly Hallows, Superman in Batman vs Superman, or Neo in the Matrix trilogy. The Doctor in Doctor Who is frequently and repeatedly presented as a messiah figure. Multiple incarnations of Sherlock also follow suit in multiple imaginings of the the Reichenbach Falls scenario. (I won’t go into details with any of these characters. I trust the Messianic Archetypes here are obvious to anyone familiar with these stories.) 

In the Marvel Cinematic Universe itself, we see Messianic Archetypes popping up all over the place—like daisies! Steve plays this part when he sacrifices himself in The First Avenger to stop Red Skull's plan to bomb several major American cities. His time in the ice is a kind of death from which he is subsequently “resurrected” in modern day New York. To a lesser extent, he also offers himself up as a sacrifice to save Bucky in The Winter Soldier. 

T’Challa follows this pattern in Black Panther when he’s betrayed by W’Kabi, defeated by Killmonger, and subsequently resurrected within the safety of M’Baku’s tribe. 

In the first Thor movie, Thor is betrayed by Loki, sacrifices himself to the Destroyer to protect his human friends, and he comes back from near-death with the return of Mjölnir, having proven himself worthy of the hammer. 

Carol Danvers destroys Mar-Vell’s engine in Captain Marvel to keep enemies from getting their hands on tech that could harm millions of innocent people. Her human life symbolically ends in the subsequent explosion, and she’s effectively reborn with superpowers.

Pepper Potts is betrayed by her former colleague Killian in Iron Man 3, selected as his “chosen one” for the Extremis injection, and she dies and is reborn from fire.

Yondu in Guardians of the Galaxy Volume 2—

Well, I could go on for a long time, but... you get the idea. 

The Messianic Archetype isn’t particularly new to popular media, let alone the MCU. 

This trope is deeply, almost subconsciously, woven into the fabric of popular western storytelling. There's nothing inherently wrong with that. Tropes are tropes for a reason—they speak to us on a cultural and instinctual level. We want to hear these stories over and over, replay them in new ways and look at them from different angles precisely because there is something meaningful in the narrative. 

And Tony Stark's narrative is no exception. His repeated acts of self-sacrifice fit into the Messianic Archetype very, very well.

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Proof That Tony Stark Has a Heart

The MCU kicked off in 2008 with the first Iron Man movie and Tony Stark has ostensibly been the main character of the franchise from the beginning. 

The Iron Man movies establish early on that Tony has a savior complex to match the size of his ego. Our genius playboy billionaire philanthropist is a deeply flawed hero who started out his career as a maker of WMDs. He was widely known as “The Merchant of Death” before he saw the error of his ways. Tony understands he has done many Bad Things and he must atone for those Bad Things—with his life, if necessary.

“I shouldn’t be alive, unless it was for a reason. ... I finally know what I have to do and I know in my heart that it’s right.” —Tony Stark, Iron Man

The first Iron Man movie climaxes with Tony ordering Pepper to blow the Arc Reactor to stop Stane’s rampage, even though Tony might perish in the process. In Iron Man 2, Tony is actively dying from palladium poisoning, but he faces down Vanko (sans Iron Man suit) on the speedway of the Monaco Historic Grand Prix. In the first Avengers movie, we see Tony put his life on the line to get a nuclear weapon out of New York.

This is a repeated pattern for Tony, and like an addict, it’s one he struggles to break. Over and over Tony flings himself into the fray, believing he’s the one who makes the difference—he’s the willing sacrifice whose blood saves the world. 

Tony selects himself to be “the chosen one” because he sees himself as the one at fault for bringing evil into the world. 

“We create our own demons. Who said that? What does that even mean? Doesn’t matter, I said it cause he said it. ...So why am I telling you this? Because I had just created demons, and I didn’t even know it.” —Tony Stark, Iron Man 3

Iron Man 3 shows us just how deeply responsible Tony feels for the wrongs of the world. Because he made naive (and selfish) mistakes when he was young, Tony blames himself for creating villains that plague the earth now. 

We see this best in the aftermath of the destruction of Tony’s mansion in Malibu. 

“Pepper, it’s me. I’ve got a lot of apologies to make and not a lot of time. So first off, I’m so sorry I put you in harm’s way. That was selfish and stupid and it won’t happen again. ...And I’m sorry in advance because I can’t come home yet. I need to find this guy. You got to stay safe. That’s all I know.” —Tony Stark, Iron Man 3

Yes, Tony absolutely provoked the Mandarin, a known terrorist, and the result is the complete annihilation of Tony’s home. Tony accepts responsibility for the destruction as though he was the one who shot the missiles himself. He goes so far as to volunteer himself for a solo mission to find the Mandarin without even bothering to contact SHIELD or the Avengers for help. He made this mess, he’s going to clean it up. All the while he suffers through crippling anxiety and panic attacks, demonstrating that the burden he’s put on his own shoulders is, in fact, too much for him to handle by himself. Still, Tony denies himself the comforts of home and family until he can atone for his wrongdoings.

Miraculously, Iron Man 3 gives Tony a respite when the tables are turned and, for once, Tony is the one ultimately saved by Pepper. After her rescue (pun intended), Tony gives up the armor, commits to having the shrapnel taken out of his chest, and he starts rebuilding the literal ruins of his life—both physical and metaphorical.

The respite doesn’t last, of course, because recovery doesn’t go in a straight line—oh, and also the franchise isn’t over and the MCU kinda needs Iron Man. And so Tony slides back into familiar, self-destructive patterns. 

"Few years ago, I almost lost [Pepper], so I trashed all my suits. Then, we had to muck up Hydra. And then Ultron. My fault. And then, and then, and then. I never stopped. 'Cause the truth is, I don't wanna stop.” —Tony Stark, Civil War

Tony taking on the mantle of the Messianic Archetype once more in Endgame falls perfectly in line with his established need to compulsively and perpetually atone for his sins. As a perfectionist who needs to assuage his guilt for his ongoing (and perceived) failures, Tony simply can’t stop himself from offering up his life in penance. Statistically it was bound to catch up with him, and in Endgame it does.

And not only does Tony give his life in true Messianic fashion, we are “treated” to a hyper-realistic and painfully extended sequence where his life drains out of him as his loved ones gather to witness him gasping out his last breath. (Thanks for that, by the way, Marvel. I’ll put this scene with the dead baby bunnies my childhood cat used to bring home as gifts. How thoughtful.)

Maybe the reason for the intensity of Tony’s death scene is to make the audience believe his death is the Real Thing, not some comic-book-superhero-movie trickery that he’ll be back from in a few minutes’ time. Perhaps it’s the only way to ensure we commit to the emotional depth of the moment. Perhaps the filmmakers see it as an homage to RDJ’s acting talent and commitment to the role. Regardless of the rationale behind the camera’s unflinching gaze, Tony’s excruciating death hammers home the brutal and lonely reality of the Messianic Archetype: it’s cruel to put the fate of the world on one person’s shoulders. 

But Tony embraces that end. He throws himself into the machinery of fate, convinced he’s the cog that will make it all work. 

And he does make it work. 

So why is that a problem?

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The Team-Oriented Universe

The problem with Tony doubling (tripling? quadrupling?) down on the Messianic Archetype at the apex of the franchise is that the MCU is an ensemble, team-oriented universe. 

“You think you're the only superhero in the world? Mr. Stark, you've become part of a bigger universe, you just don't know it yet." —Nick Fury, Iron Man

Fury tells us from the get-go that Tony isn’t the be-all-end-all of the MCU. It’s possible for Tony—for them all—to become something greater than the sum of their parts. 

“There was an idea, Stark knows this, called the Avengers Initiative. The idea was to bring together a group of remarkable people, see if they could become something more.” —Nick Fury, Avengers

The entire first Avengers movie is dedicated to establishing this premise, to getting these knuckleheads to work together because, alone, they’re too wrapped up in their own bullshit to adequately deal with the forces that threaten the planet. Things don’t start to go right for them until they set aside their personal issues and act as a unit. 

As we all know, our team passes the test and they establish an important principle of the MCU: teamwork is powerful and it’s more effective than working solo. 

True, Tony’s self-sacrifice in the context of the Battle of New York helps save the day; but it’s only one part of a coordinated effort. Tony chucking the nuke into space would have been pointless without the added efforts of Steve to coordinate civilian safety, Hawkeye to relay enemy movements, Thor to separate Loki from the scepter, Natasha to close the portal, and Hulk to subdue Loki and ultimately catch Tony as he fell from the wormhole. The team achieved a better outcome together than they each could have achieved separately. 

But even in the shared afterglow of winning the Battle of New York, the individual members of the team struggle to perfect their dynamic. New challenges present themselves. There’s always room for the team to grow and become stronger together as the franchise progresses. That’s the whole point. 

Tony, for his part, waffles back and forth between his desire to be the savior mechanic (to fix everything by himself) and his desire to work cooperatively with his found-family of superheroes for the common good. This internal conflict plays out over the course of the franchise as Tony takes on the Mandarin by himself in Iron Man 3. The issue then escalates in Age of Ultron when Tony convinces Bruce to help him create Ultron, unbeknownst to the rest of the team. Murder-bot problems and team drama ensue. Tony’s cycle of guilt perpetuates itself in the wake of the disaster in Sokovia, which prompts Tony to adopt the Sokovia Accords. He submits himself and the team to UN governance in Civil War. More team drama ensues.

The logical progression of this escalating team conflict should have involved Tony confronting his deep-seated compulsion to destroy himself for the sake of others. This is exactly the problem Pepper keeps trying to point out to him—his Messianic tendencies have started to cause more problems than they solve. 

“There is nothing except this. ... There's the next mission, and nothing else.” —Tony Stark, Iron Man

Tony has struggled from the beginning to find the right balance between personal sacrifice and sharing team effort. 

Pepper frequently tries to remind Tony that he doesn’t live alone in the world, he can’t do it all by himself. And there are people who want him to live. 

“You’re all I have, too, you know.” —Pepper Potts, Iron Man

Imagine how emotionally satisfying it would have been to see Tony outgrow his need for sacrificial penance and internalize a better lesson: that the savior can be saved, the burden can be shared, and life can go on. 

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A Better Ending for Tony

The MCU had the perfect opportunity to give us an ending that would be happier for Tony and a better fit for a team-centric universe. 

In Guardians of the Galaxy we see Peter Quill and his team survive the power of an Infinity Stone by working together to share the burden of its energy. 

Peter Quill is the son of a Celestial—he’s basically immortal up until the end of Guardians of the Galaxy Volume 2. That’s why he and his team could hold the stone without any ill effects. 

Also, they only had to channel the power of one stone. Not six. 

That’s a fair point. 

But by the time Tony had all of the Infinity Stones in Endgame, the battlefield was chock full of all kinds of superheroes. Wanda and Carol by themselves are  embodiments of two of the Infinity Stones. Hulk had managed to bear all of the stones by himself earlier in the movie. Steve, T’challa, and Bucky are enhanced super soldiers. Thor, Valkyrie, and the other Asgardians might not be Celestials, but they are gods—and there were a lot of them on that field.

And we’re supposed to believe none of these characters could offer any help to Tony whatsoever? None of them could hold Tony’s hand for a single minute to save his life?

There are plenty of arguments that could be made: Tony was too fast, no one knew what was happening, or everyone else was occupied in battle. But at the end of the day, it’s a choice the creative team made. Tony died because they wanted him to die. 

And not much would have to change to save his life. 

Imagine this: Tony gets the stones from Thanos and, in true Messianic Archetype fashion, he commits to making the snap, fully expecting it means his death—but then Pepper is there and Pepper has always been the one asking Tony to stop offering up his life to pay for some imaginary debt he thinks he owes. He hesitates, and it’s just long enough for Carol and Wanda swoop in, putting their hands on him and taking the brunt of the energy. Thor and Steve and Bruce and Clint pile on. Peter Parker links up, too, and on and on until the entire rest of the team, all across the battlefield, are in contact with each other and alight with power, channeling the energy of the six stones, keeping Thanos and his monsters at bay. 

Tony can still have his ultra-badass “I am Iron Man” moment as he stands at the center of this surging and fluxing cosmic energy—but this time he does it with support. There are people who care about him (and each other) on all sides. And there are so many of them. Tony isn’t the only one who matters, he’s just the lynch pin that holds it all together. 

Tony is Iron Man. 

More importantly? Together they’re all the Avengers. 

*SNAP*

The universe is set right.

Maybe Tony doesn’t escape entirely unscathed. Maybe he loses his arm as suggested by this post. Maybe the others all leave with their own scars, too. But Tony’s alive and he’s finally, deeply aware of what it means to transcend the limits of personal sacrifice and share the hero’s burden with others. 

He knows now exactly what the Avengers are capable of. Oh, and by the way? That protective shield he wanted around the world in Age of Ultron? Here they all are. All these wonderful, powerful people are going to protect the Earth. And you know what? They don’t need Tony Stark’s myopic self-sacrifice to do it. 

Tony finally feels like he’s done enough—and maybe now he believes there are other heroes out there who can do better than he can. Anyway, he gets to go home to Morgan and Pepper and he finds that it’s not so hard for him to let the new kids do the tough jobs now. He happily goes back to his role as “consultant” for the Avengers, he’s a mad inventor helping change the world for the better, and he also gets to have the long adventure of being a husband and a dad. He doesn’t have to choose one identity over the other—he’s Iron Man. He can redefine what the job means whenever he wants to.

(Also, he finds a way to rescue Nat because she didn’t deserve to be fridged like that. Just saying.)

This ending, or any number of variations like it, would have allowed Tony to finally show real growth at the end of his character arc, instead of succumbing to the same old self-destructive pattern we've seen from him time and time again. And it would have reinforced the theme of teamwork and its power to elevate all those who participate. 

Maybe it’s cheesy, but you know what? It’s the ending I wanted. I know I’m not alone. 

+

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Tony’s Not Really Dead, You Say? 

“There’s no need to be upset about Tony’s death,” some might say. “Tony’s gonna come back!” 

Resurrection is a huge part of the Messianic Archetype—and it might be that the filmmakers do intend to bring Tony back in some later movie. It might be they simply want Tony’s death in Endgame to sit a little while longer so it has a greater impact. (Gotta push for that best picture Oscar, right? The Oscars hate superhero movies, but they do love a sad ending.)

While I’m wishing for things, maybe Marvel will also release the multiple alternate endings they filmed for Endgame, essentially creating a “choose your own adventure.” Maybe we’ll all be able to pick the ending we like best and forget the rest exist. 

But I can’t make a judgement based on what might be, I can only say how I feel based on what we were given in the theater—for all intents and purposes, that’s the official story Marvel wants to share. 

The Endgame narrative insists there’s only one possible path to victory against Thanos. The “one possible path” is basically the equivalent of the creative team saying, “Don’t @ me.” There certainly must have been an impossible number of endings they could have put on film. Tony’s death is the one they picked. 

So, sorry for @ing you, Marvel, I guess, but there’s just one more point I want to make...

+

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A Personal Note

RDJ acted the hell out of Tony's final scene. He acted the hell out of the whole franchise. Tony's death was powerful and intensely moving. I wanted to ugly cry in the lobby after the movie was over, and I was upset for days after. 

So. Good job, Marvel. You got in some surprises and you wrung out some feelings from viewers like me. Now that the movie’s taken the world by storm, the surprises will play themselves out. So, I guess the big question is: Will audiences want to revisit this adventure and the feelings you ultimately left them with? 

For me? My reluctant answer is: no. I don’t want to see Infinity War or Endgame again. Not really. Not in their entirety. I didn’t mind the slog through Infinity War in 2018 because I thought, Hey, maybe this is leading to an ultimately happy and satisfying conclusion for these characters I care about so much. And, to be fair—right up until the last 15 minutes of Endgame, I was ready to say, “All’s forgiven.” 

There’s this thing in storytelling called “payoff.” It’s when you deliver a satisfying resolution or fulfillment to your audience after they commit to your narrative journey. Payoff can be extraordinarily subjective, so, again, I acknowledge that there’s no way to please everyone. 

For me, there’s no reward in the resolution of Endgame that makes the slog to its conclusion worth it. Tony’s ending is so needlessly sacrificial, so unnecessarily brutal, that it erases much of the enjoyment I otherwise had in watching the entire rest of the film. 

Don’t get me wrong. I like sad movies and scary movies in their own context. I like them when I can choose them and know that’s what I'm getting myself into. Sometimes I want the catharsis of being utterly terrified or brought to tears. Sometimes we need stories to give us the chance to feel deep and scary emotions in a safe environment. That’s an important function of creative work.

And, I mean, truly, Endgame gave us some great acting, great effects. Amazing talent. Really fun and creative moments. I’m not trying to disparage all the work that went into its making. 

But I feel like someone took me in a limo to a high-class restaurant to eat caviar and watch sad arthouse theater when all I really wanted was to go into town with my friends for some ice cream and a fun movie. 

I didn’t need rainbow-colored sprinkles on my ending, but something a bit sweeter would have been nice. So, well done, Marvel. But also—no, thank you. 

As it stands, Endgame was too bitter for my taste.

#avengers #endgame #spoilers #negativity #long post #meta #my rambling #tony stark #iron man

[jaydier-blog1]

A Guide to Writing PTSD & Psychosis

Something I’ve noticed over my (too many) years on Tumblr is that sometimes, first-hand accounts of mental illness can be hard to come by. It’s totally understandable, and it took me a long time to get to this point, but it can put writers in a bit of a bind who aren’t satisfied with only the DSM-5 and Wikipedia to accurately portray their muse(s)’s MI. That being said, hi, my name is Holo, and I’ve been living with PTSD and comorbid psychosis for almost a decade at this point, and I’d like to share some of my experiences.

This is by no means a complete or exhaustive guide. The thing about brains is that apparently they’re complicated, and that means that everyone develops MI differently. While there are broad strokes that are generally consistent across diagnoses (and said broad strokes are typically what make up the ‘criteria’ of any MI), not everyone will have every single symptom, and not everyone will display the symptoms they do have the same way. I really do recommend using these sorts of guides as guides to writing MI, rather than actual rules.

I’mma start with some basic definitions. PTSD is post-traumatic stress disorder, which is a disorder that develops after witnessing or experiencing a traumatic event. Not everyone who goes through trauma will develop PTSD, and I believe the actual statistic is somewhere between 20-30% (double-check my factcheck before you quote me on that, please). Comorbid mental illnesses (or comorbidities) are MIs that occur with or alongside the ‘primary’ illness, usually because of said ‘primary’ MI. For example, my psychosis is comorbid with my PTSD; it is because of my PTSD that I have psychosis.

Psychosis itself is more of a broad term than a specific diagnosis, and it will generally assume one (or more) of three forms: 1) delusions, 2) hallucinations, and 3) disordered thoughts. I personally struggle mostly with delusions and hallucinations, and I don’t particularly experience disordered thoughts, so that’s what I’ll mostly focus on.

Before I move on, though, I want to share something that an old psychologist of mine told me and that I’ve never really forgotten: it’s possible, and even common, to experience and exhibit occasional symptoms of MI without ever actually having that particular mental illness. A random delusion or general panic attack does not mean your character has psychosis or PTSD. Again, brains are complicated, and what defines a MI diagnosis is the consistent, pervasive presence of multiple symptoms that interfere with the patient’s day-to-day life. You can have obsessive-compulsive tendencies without having OCD. You can be anxious without having anxiety. You can be depressed without having depression.

Another thing is that a lot of MI have symptoms that overlap (which is why comorbid MIs are, again, pretty common). My PTSD comorbidities include depression, anxiety, claustrophobia, and psychosis. In fact, when I first started displaying my PTSD symptoms, I was diagnosed with depression because that was the comorbidity that showed up most prominently at the time, and it took several more years before my doctors and I realized that my depression was a symptom and not the full illness.

Alright! Let’s see if I can break down things into more manageable chunks to talk about.

PTSD

PTSD symptoms are wide, varied, and incredibly subjective from person to person. In my experience, this variance starts with what exactly was the trauma that the PTSD is originating from. Someone who was in a war, for example, will have different triggers and experience different symptoms than someone who was abused (and even then, someone who was verbally abused will once again have a vastly different PTSD experience than someone who was physically abused). Figuring out what your character’s trauma was that caused them to develop PTSD is your vital starting point.

In my experience, PTSD tends to develop slowly. One of the things doctors look for when diagnosing PTSD is that patients are still suffering after six months have passed from the initial trauma. After my initial trauma, I thought I was fine. I was asymptomatic, until months later when symptoms started to creep up on me (and as I mentioned earlier, at first it appeared primarily as depression, and I didn’t even connect it to my trauma at the time).

I experience hypervigilence with my PTSD. I am always aware of where I am, looking for possible exits and escape routes. I get nervous and anxious if I feel trapped in a room or area. (I tried going to a corn maze once. It was a bad time.) I also have an exaggerated startle response. If someone sneaks up on me, accidentally or otherwise, I’m going to react much more dramatically than other people. It’ll frighten me a lot more than it would someone whose startle response isn’t so pronounced. At worst, I’ve had experiences where someone sneaking up on me and startling me as a joke sent me into a full panicked meltdown. (I’d been having a rough time before that, but it was the straw that broke the camel’s back, so to speak.)

To which I’ll segue rather smoothly into things building up! I find it really difficult to ‘destress’ and relax if I have a lot of small triggers and uncomfortable situations pile up on me within a short period of time or without respite, to the point where something rather minor can set off an entire chain reaction and end up with what looks like an extreme overreaction.

Panic attacks can look different from person to person, or even day to day. Sometimes, panic attacks show up for me as in inability to focus, irritation and snapping angrily at every little thing while my hands shake to the point where it’s difficult for me to hold things. Other times, it’ll look like a screaming, crying mess, huddled up in a ball in a corner on the floor. How people express panic attacks varies greatly, and no one way is an ‘incorrect’ portrayal of your character’s panic attacks.

Flashback episodes are an easy, prominent way to showcase PTSD in media, and so it’s something that a lot of people are familiar with, but in a very narrow way. While it’s possible for someone experiencing a flashback to completely lose touch with their current reality and experience an exact repeat of their traumatic incident, that’s rarely the case. More often than not, my flashback episodes feel more like an overlay, where both reality and my flashback are happening at the same time. Innocuous things will suddenly seem much more ominous and dangerous, I’ll mistake the people around me for those who were present during my traumatic incident, and I tend to experience hallucinations (which I will go into more detail about later on). Someone in a flashback episode could even experience age regression, usually back to the age they were during the initial trauma. Flashback episodes and how someone experiences them are extremely personal, and I strongly suggest doing more research on the topic to find more varied accounts, and piece together how your character would respond to these events, if they even experience flashback episodes at all.

I’d like to take this next moment here to mention triggers. Triggers are highly subjective, depending on the person and their trauma, and they can often be obscure and strange. A particular scent or a familiar name could easily be enough to make someone extremely uncomfortable. Sometimes, triggers are only marginally connected to the initial trauma, or not seemingly connected at all. Conversely, something that might seem like an obvious trigger might not be a trigger at all! Brains are fucking weird like that. Also, a very common experience with PTSD (or any MI with triggers) is that day-to-day life is disrupted in favour of specifically avoiding known triggers. Crowded places will trigger my aforementioned claustrophobia, and so I will often avoid social outings, to the detriment of my friendships and familial relationships. (Which is a good example of triggers having nothing to do with trauma, actually. I was alone when my initial trauma happened. Why the hell am I afraid of crowds. @brain explain this) And not only this, but some days a trigger might not affect me at all! Triggers are so, so subjective. They’re a minefield of possibilities and dangers that can shift on what sometimes feels like a daily basis. It can be a real headache to deal with. Taking the time to get into the mind of your character and deciding what triggers them and what doesn’t it another important part of defining how you write their struggle with PTSD.

Psychosis

Since it’s what I have the least experience with, I’ll talk about disordering thinking first. Disordered thinking is pretty much exactly what it says on the tin, and people experiencing disordered thoughts can appear distressed, confused, and have issues articulating their emotions, even to the point of not being able to form full sentences or fully acknowledge questions being asked of them. I strongly suggest doing more research on this topic outside of this post if you think it might apply to your character.

Delusions are, again, fairly self explanatory. Delusions are probably my most prominent version of psychosis that I struggle with on a daily basis. Personally, the most frustrating part of delusions is that I’m well aware that they aren’t real, but I can’t shut them off anyway. In general, my most common delusions is that Person X is out to get me/is trying to sabotage me. Logically, I know that this is ridiculous, but I still have the anxiety and panic that that situation would induce. While I’m sure there are psychotic people out there who cannot distinguish their delusions from reality, and that is absolutely a valid way to portray it, I have personally never met someone like that. It seems to be a lot more common that delusional psychotics are aware that their delusions are not real, and yet we are still forced to change our patterns of behaviour to accommodate for that delusion as if it were real regardless.

Hallucinations are broad and come in way too many forms. Media likes to portray hallucinations as full-bodied apparitions that are indistinguishable from real life, and while that can be correct, I find that I rarely experience those. Most of my hallucinations are tactile hallucinations. These are hallucinations where I feel as though I’m being touched by someone or something, usually in a negative way (these hallucinations can even trigger or be triggered by a flashback episode). There are also auditory hallucinations, visual hallucinations, and even olfactory and gustatory hallucinations, although I’ve never had experiences with the latter two. Often, I find I can fairly quickly differentiate hallucinations from reality, just by doing a quick check around me. If someone is not touching me, the feeling of a hand on my arm is a hallucination. Visual hallucinations (of other people) tend to not interact with the rest of the world the same way a real person would. Auditory hallucinations do not have an obvious source, and those around me won’t react to the noise. And, of course, the usual disclaimer of everyone who experiences hallucinations experience them differently applies here too, this is just my personal experience with hallucinations.

In conclusion

PTSD and psychosis are both broad MIs with a lot of complexity that vary from person to person. I fully encourage you to continue your research into these MIs and discover what is right for your character(s). I’d like to reiterate that this post is non-exhaustive and has focused on my personal experiences with my day-to-day life as someone who has these MIs. This post is absolutely available for you to reblog if you’d like, and my ask box is right here if you have any questions or discussions you’d like to direct to someone willing to be a first-person source on these topics.

I hope I’ve helped! Now go forth and write! :D

#pstd writing guide #ooc;; the universe is a hologram #psychosis writing guide #writing guide